belonging

Round 2 of attacking Babesia has begun! This is the hardest it's been so far, going back on meds after a week off. There's been a lot at play this last week or two--  a sick kitty, summer heat, and my hormones have been out of whack, which isn't helping me feel any better.  Toward the end of my week off, that old familiar fatigue began to creep back in, and then after resuming all of my meds yesterday, the fatigue increased tenfold, my joints hurt, my head ached, and I have been once again bombarded with a mild yet persistant nausea. Thankfully, today is better, but I definitely sense the need for a nap!

Honestly though, I find my biggest challenge this week is allowing myself to be REAL from one moment to the next, which inevitably means moving through a lot of emotions.  Like this morning. The cat puked, and I started to clean it up, and my legs were too weak to squat down. So I had to sit down on the floor to clean it up, and then my shoulders and elbows hurt so bad I had a hard time getting up again. I burst into tears, like a toddler whose lollipop just fell into a pile of dirt. There are moments that I still can't wrap my mind around all of this. It's all too humbling when basic things like getting up off the floor turn so darn complex. I so easily forget that the pain waxes and wanes, and that this too shall pass, and instead, I just crumble.

Of course it runs deeper than the physical limitations...  I've noticed lately that it seems like this summer has been all about revisiting distant parts of myself that I miss. Taking the kids to camp a few weeks ago made me want to hike up to the bald or down to the pond...  things I just couldn't do. Noah and his crazy love for running brings back running memories of my own while training for the triathlon, juxtaposed with how my hip cramps up now just taking the dog for a short walk. And this week, Zoe and her Granddaddy are at the Swannanoa Gathering making all sorts of musical mischief, and I find myself longing for an escape like that, where I can forget about this disease for a week or two, and just collapse into a community of people who share a profound connection around their love of chords and picks and strums and open tunings. They both talk about me joining them next year, and I begin to wonder if I'll be better by then....  for now, my guitar hangs lonely on the wall because my hands are too tired and sore to play, and the mere thought of trying to get around in a place like that and being around that many people exhausts me.

At the same time,  I watch my Dad, whose knee is really bothering him, hobbling around like a champ. He is a stubborn cuss, who probably should rest and take it easy more, but I also feel a desire to be more like him...  to push past the pain and fatigue and stubbornly do what I want to set out to do. Last night, he and Zoe came here for dinner after a long day of music-making...  and all I had the energy for was throwing together boxed gluten free macaroni and cheese and frozen vegetables.  I just felt so wimpy and inadequate...  and yet, cooking something more was just simply not in the cards.

So when I say I'm struggling with allowing myself to be REAL, it's about navigating my way through  and accepting what I am and am not capable of right now. Again.  Haven't I been there done this before, gosh darnit? It's about being honest with myself around how much I can handle, which is different from one day to the next. It's about offering to others what I can rather than what I really want to offer.

It's also about owning my story as it unfolds, and allowing others to have their own stories too...  something I touched on a bit last week. But for the sake of being truly honest, I've noticed pieces of myself I don't like to admit are there....  like the one that feels jealous or resentful or even angry when I hear of someone treating their illness a different way and they're doing just hunky dory... and like the one that, when I'm having a good day, misses the attention and sympathy I receive when I feel crummy and thus somehow remains a victim, rather than reclaiming her power. I know these things are human, and fogged up and intensified by being in the muck at the moment, but they only lead me to doubting my path and the landscape of my own emotions and feeling like a needy, bitter ole woman. Sigh.

We (I) forget just how much self-forgiveness and being gentle with ourselves plays a role in healing.  We (I) forget that healing is like the peeling of an onion...  and that it goes much deeper than the medicines we choose to take, and that just when we think we've got one part licked, it comes back and presents itself as some sort of cosmic do-over.  We (I) forget just how strong we are when we're embedded in the muck. We (I) forget that even when it feels like we're idle, directionless, stuck, weak, that we're really moving right along, moving forward, toward feeling better and belonging to our lives once again. 
 
Belonging.  That words just feels so ripe for me right now. I want to belong to my life again. I want to belong to something larger than this disease. I want to belong to the creative energy of a tribe. I want to belong to my own ever-changing visions. But perhaps part of healing is shedding down all of the layers, like a snake, until we're completely naked of who we thought we once were...  so that we can truly belong to who we are right now.  Not a "comfortable" process by any means, but oh-so-neccessary. And if we squint a little bit and look at it in just the right light, it can even be exciting.

See?  Even in the muck, there are bursts of clarity.

This week's protocol:
M, W, F: Ceftin, Septra, Mepron, Artemisinin, & Enula