To borrow a phrase from my sister, I feel like a bag of ass. My head hurts. My body is weak. My sinuses are a snot factory. My temperature is elevated, 99.9. Not technically “fever level.” Still, I don’t feel cute at all. If Zac Efron asked me to go out this evening, I’d be forced to tell him to come back another day. That’s how bad this is.
When will this–whatever it is–be over?
I’ve spent most of the last twenty hours in bed. Now I’m propped up in a chair, where I just ate a meal and am currently blogging. With any luck, I’ll be back in bed in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. If anyone has any medication that would knock me about for, oh, seven solid days, please leave it on my doorstep.
In other news, Dad has his heart catheterization this morning. From what I’ve been told, it took a while but went well. They put three stints in. With any luck, he’ll be home tomorrow or the next day.
I’m currently at just under two hundred words–that’s about all I have to offer at the moment. I wish I could tell you that I’m hanging in and holding strong, but I’m not. At the same time, I haven’t completely lost heart. Mostly I’m in shock. Like, This again? You’ve got to be kidding! And yet, no, life is not kidding. Sometimes it’s tough stuff. Sometimes it takes all the strength you have. Which, I hate to admit, is more than you realize.
Yesterday I was worn out. This morning I woke up sick (sicker than I have been lately), and things have gotten worse as the day has progressed. (The day has progressed, I have regressed.) I’m assuming it’s a sinus infection. Unless it’s the flu again (that would seriously suck), it’s almost always a sinus infection, and–at least in my mind–I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for one week shy of five months now. Granted, it backs off now and then, but I haven’t felt like myself since the beginning of last October.
As the Post-It Note in the above photo communicates, I am over this.
This afternoon and again this evening I got out of the house to buy kimchi, since rubbing fermented cabbage juice on the inside of my nostrils is the only thing I’ve tried in the last five months that has seemed to make a remarkable and sometimes-quick difference. As I’ve mentioned before, it contains a specific strand of bacteria that is useful in fighting sinus infections, but the problem is that the bacteria doesn’t show up in every jar, or–if it does–can die off before the product itself reaches its expiration date. So it’s a crap shoot.
My search for kimchi this evening sent me, once again, to the Asian food market, which is basically like one big meat locker. I mean, it’s freezing. Even the check-out lady had a coat on tonight. Personally, I think they should turn the heater on, especially if they want people spend some time there. You know, get comfortable, look around. Of course, the heat would probably make the place smell terrible, since they have all that raw fish in there. But I digress. Tonight I noticed a new product on the shelves–next to the kimchi. It’s called sweet tamarind, and apparently it’s a fruit. I took a picture of it, since it looks like I feel.
Like poop.
Now this post is already longer than I intended. After going to the Asian food market, I stopped by to see my dad in the hospital. They are talking about doing his heart catheterization tomorrow. Dad said, “Marcus, you’ve got to take care of you. I’m here taking care of me, and you’ve got to take care of you. Go home. Get some rest.” So that’s what I’m about to do, get some rest. Mostly I’m trying to “hang in there.” Not that I have much choice in the matter, but I honestly don’t mind being sick now and then. But I’m tired of being generally sick then getting really sick every few weeks. (That’s my gripe, Lord. What’s yours?) In short, my emotional reserves are low. Still, I see the immunologist four weeks from tomorrow, and surely I can stick things out for another month. After all, I’ve come this far.
Last night I watched the movie Wonder and cried all the way through. It’s about a boy with a genetically deformed face and his struggle for acceptance, both from himself and others. The movie is based on the novel (with the same title) by R.J. Palacio, and I actually enjoyed it more than the book. The book is broken up so that each chapter is told by a different character, and although I loved the overall story, I had trouble “settling in” because the point of view kept changing. I never could get past the writing. But that wasn’t a problem last night with the movie. I was totally settled in. I was a mess.
You should watch it and be a mess too.
Today I slept in until one in the afternoon. (It’s two now. I’ve already had breakfast and am currently blogging. I am ON it.) Anyway, I’m teaching and performing tonight at a local USO dance. It’s a fundraiser, and I believe the organizers are planning to whore me out for “$5 dollars dances.” My grandpa was in the Navy, and here’s what he said about whores–“Five dollars, five minutes.” So I guess that will be my slogan for the evening. All this to say that I tried to get as much sleep as possible last night because I plan on being worn out this evening. In the best way, of course.
One of my friends messaged me and said, “Are you psyching yourself up for all the dances tonight?” Except instead of saying “psyching yourself up,” she said “patching yourself up.” (Freaking autocorrect.) I said, “I’ll be patching myself up AFTER.”
I had a lot of dreams last night. Now I can’t stop thinking about them. That’s the damn thing about deciding to pay attention to your dreams (or anyone). Once they see you’re interested, they won’t leave you alone. Give ’em an inch, they’ll take a mile. (Rude, I know.) Anyway, the main dream last night involved my being at a large mansion for some sort of party. First my friends and I had to make it through the gate, this large, wrought-iron deal. Once we made it inside, there were tons of rooms and–get this–tons of refrigerators. More than any one person could ever need. They were inside and outside. It was like an ice-box collection. They were all full of food, and, of course, I was on the search for just the right thing to eat.
My therapist says houses always represent yourself, your life, your physical person. So the fact that I’m dreaming about mansions, I think, is a good thing. Maybe I’m bigger than I realize. It’s obviously taken some work (the iron gate) to get inside, but now that I’m here, maybe it’s almost time for the party (the fun part of life). As for the refrigerators, I’ve been dreaming about them for the last few years. They just show up now and then–usually only one of them–and I’ve never been able to figure out their meaning. I read online that they refer to “cold emotions,” but my therapist says online dream dictionaries (and all dream dictionaries) are bullshit. Anyway, when I woke up this morning, the meaning of the refrigerators was clear as day. I thought, Duh. They represent stored energy. They represent my potential.
I can’t tell you how exciting this revelation is. I just looked at some of my digital dream journals for other refrigerator dreams. In one of them, I was cleaning paint off the outside (getting ready to clean things up). In a later one, the inside of the refrigerator was empty except for some Post-It Notes (meaning I still had things to do). The last time I dreamed about a refrigerator, there were juice bottles inside, but they were empty (I felt like I was out of juice?). In last night’s dream, there wasn’t just one refrigerator, but dozens–inside and outside–and all full of food. I can only assume, since the dream came from my unconscious, that this means I have no idea how much stored energy is waiting to be used in both my interior and exterior life.
You get to hope for a better ending.
That being said, I’m currently exhausted. I’m ready to start dreaming about microwaves, about actually eating some of that food in those refrigerators. (Let’s use that potential!) Still, I’m grateful to see the progression. This is one of the nice things about paying attention to your dreams and (sometimes) writing them down. You get to see that–deep down–something is actually going on with you, that there’s progress being made even when you feel like life is punching you in the gut. Like the movie I watched last night, you get to watch yourself struggle then overcome and find acceptance. As you see your story changing, you get to hope for a better ending than the one you’ve always imagined. You get to believe it could actually come true.
This morning I saw my internist, who’s a saint as far as I’m concerned. First of all, she allayed my fears that anything was seriously wrong with me. She said that my chronic sinus infections and other such irritating problems were most likely due to a “glitch” in my immune system, that–like being gay–some people are just born this way. In order to confirm or deny her suspicions about my immune system, I gave up four vials of blood to be sent off for analyzation. Hopefully the results will pinpoint exactly what’s up.
To make up for the loss of blood, I ate three chocolate bars.
In other news, apparently my B12 levels, although technically “in range,” are low for someone my age. So my doctor’s nurse gave me a B12 shot, and this afternoon I bought liquid B12 to take sublingually. With any luck, this supplementation will positively affect my overall energy.
These were the “big items” for the day, but my doctor and I also discussed my (genetically) high cholesterol, for which she prescribed some dietary changes and a natural supplement (red yeast rice). She said, “Let’s try this for two or three months, then re-test. If it’s still high, THEN we’ll talk about statins.” For my sinus problems, she told me about a different saline-rinse product and actually endorsed using baby shampoo in my sinus rinses once or twice a week. (So not everything I’ve read on the internet and tried in the past is crap.) Lastly, she told me that the most likely reason I threw up in my mouth while sleeping a couple nights ago was because of the salsa on my nachos, not because of the actual nachos themselves. “Tomato products open up the esophageal sphincter,” she said, “so it’s best to limit your intake of them to before 4 PM.”
Who knew?
This afternoon I saw my therapist, and when we discussed my health challenges and what my doctor told me today, she said, “So it sounds like the problem is genetic, and that means IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT. Everyone is dealt a different hand in life, and this is simply yours.”
Now how did she know I’ve been blaming myself for this?
I spent the rest of the day running errands and looking for the supplements my doctor mentioned. Really, despite the fact that I didn’t sleep much last night (most likely due to DAA or Doctor-Appointment Anticipation), it’s been a great day. My body has felt pretty good–really good, all things considered–and I’ve felt hopeful about getting my health issues sorted out soon-ish. Plus, I had coffee for the first time in two weeks (I gave it up when I got the flu), and that made me smile (and then made me jittery). But the bottom line is that between feeling a bit better and seeing both my doctor and my therapist in one day, I’ve been encouraged. At least for today, I can see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Before I went to bed last night I ate a plate of nachos. I can’t imagine they were good for my cholesterol, but they were good for my taste buds, so that’s something. Then I lay down, watched an episode of Breaking Bad, and absolutely passed out. At some point during the night–I really don’t know when–I was rudely awakened by my own vomit. Quite literally, I awoke to find myself heaving. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot coming up, and my lips closed in time to keep everything in. But it tasted awful. Anyway, I stumbled to the bathroom, drank some water, went back to bed and had terrible dreams, and woke up with a headache.
I’m never having nachos again.
Today I’ve been worried that last night’s adventure in the land of acid reflux will repeat itself when I go to bed later. Earlier I ate a bowl of soup and have been thinking, I don’t want to taste that again. So I’m determined to not eat anything while I blog in order to give everything a chance to settle down. I realize last night’s upset was quite possibly a one-off, but considering all the health problems I’ve been having lately, I’m paranoid that I’ll soon have one more thing to worry about. I’m concerned that I’m truly falling apart.
Might as well just put me in a wheelchair and get it over with.
Other than my general sense of worry, today has gone well. My mechanic tuned up my car, Tom Collins, so he should be good to go for a while. This afternoon I worked on marketing stuff for the swing dance event I’m working with, and that made me feel like I’m contributing to the world. Additionally, I saw my parents. I went to the bank. Tonight I talked to my sister, who’s a great listener and encourager. Talking to her always makes me feel better.
Now I’m doing laundry, since I’m seeing my internist tomorrow and want to be wearing clean pants for the occasion. (Considerate, I know.) The appointment is early, and I have an improv comedy rehearsal tomorrow night, so it promises to be a long day. For that reason, I’m going to try to wind down. Hopefully I’ll be able to get some rest and not throw up on myself.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m almost ready to hit the road. There’s a sock hop in Missouri tonight, and I’ve spent the day getting ready. I took a shower, shaved, even clipped my fingernails and toenails. I kept thinking of that line from Scent of a Woman–“Get yourself up, get yourself together.” Then I put on a new pair of jeans along with a fresh white tee and made a delightful breakfast–fried sweet potatoes, scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit. And hot green tea. I feel like a new man.
I’m also ready to go back to bed.
I think the lingerings of the flu are finally over. Now I’m just back to my normal level of tired due to whatever is wrong. I’m currently listening to Natalie Merchant’s song “Wonder.” They say I must be one of the wonders, God’s own creation. And as far as they see, they can offer no explanation.
I said yesterday that I’ve been planning my own funeral. This is “mostly” a joke. I don’t know what’s going on with my body, but I don’t really think I’m dying, at least in the immediate sense. I think a person generally knows when “this is the end,” and I don’t have that feeling at all. You never know, of course, but my intuition says I’ll be around quite a while longer. (So you’re just going to have to get used to the idea.)
That being said, I have been thinking about death. Not in a macabre or morbid sense, but in an everyday sense. What I mean by this is–let’s face it–death happens every day. It’s something everyone–everyone–has to go through. Why not think about it? In my case, I don’t think I’m afraid to die. Granted, I’m terrified–absolutely frightened–of being sick and in pain. I don’t want to drown, burn to death, or have every bone in body broken and go through kidney failure. But taking that last long breath and drifting off this planet the same way I drifted in? That part I’m okay with.
Earlier I was thinking, If I were to die soon, would I be disappointed in myself? And whereas I still have a hundred things I’d like to do–like publishing a book, sharing my story, and helping others–I’m proud to say that no, I’m really satisfied with how I’ve lived my life. There’s a concept in spiritual teachings that part of our soul’s journey is to integrate–to line up our heads and our hearts as we pull all our scattered pieces back together. In short, the goal is leave this planet intact. This is why Jesus, as he hung on the cross, said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” It wasn’t about God and those who had wronged Jesus. It was about Jesus and his own personal soul, about not hanging on or being bitter, about not dying with any unfinished business. Indeed, he said, “It is finished.” His soul had done what it came to do. It could leave whole.
I’m not pretending to be like Jesus–by any means. (Although I do think I have good hair like he did.) There are still a lot of things in my life that could stand cleaning up, so I’m not putting myself on a cross here. At the same time, I realized earlier that I’ve worked my ass off these last several years to get myself up and get myself together. As much as anyone else I know, I’ve worked to own every part of my past and, at the the time, not use any of it as an excuse to be bitter, cynical, or unkind. I told my therapist recently that this work is tough stuff. She said, “You’re right, and it’s why most people don’t do it. But the reward is less anxiety and stress, better relationships, and peace.”
I think to think of this reward as coming home.
Honestly, I’m so often focused on what’s left to be done that I don’t give myself enough credit for how far I’ve come. But today I am. If only for this moment, I’m recognizing that if I were to die today, it would be well with my soul. I’ve done The Hard Work.
Toward the end of “Wonder” Natalie Merchant sings, “With love, with patience, and with faith, she’ll make her way–she’ll make her way.” With love, with patience, and with faith, I know I will too. I believe we all will eventually. We all will make our way home.
For the last few weeks I’ve been putting off a project–writing a paper about marketing strategy for the swing dance event I’m working with. I’d planned to do it a couple weeks ago, but then the flu struck and struck hard. Anyway, the event is a few weeks away, so any marketing ideas I have are about to become moot, at least for this year. So today was the day I wrote the paper–I started this evening and worked for six hours on it. I still need to proofread everything, but the paper is done. It’s eleven pages long, almost five thousand words. This is why I’ve been putting this project off for so long–my brain is bleeding.
I just told my friend Matt about how I spent the day, and he said, “Have you blogged yet?” I said, “No.” He said, “Are you going to blog about procrastination?”
Ha. Ha. Ha.
This afternoon I finally heard from the immunologist’s office. They told me what additional bloodwork and tests they need, so next week when I see my internist I’ll be giving more blood. Also, they’re sending me a “new patient” package, and I have an appointment the first week in April to see the immunologist (provided the tests do indeed reveal a problem).
I guess five weeks isn’t that far away, all things considered.
Y’all, I’m completely nervous, worried, and paranoid about what the tests will reveal. I’m already planning my own funeral. (Say nice things about me. Please bring casseroles to my family. My dad likes chocolate cake.) Still, I keep telling myself that whatever is wrong has been wrong for a while, and it won’t do any good to bury my head in the sand or run away from it. Hell, if I can handle being sick, I can handle knowing WHY I’m sick.
So now we wait.
Such is life.
I need to wrap this up. I’m going out of town to a dance tomorrow, and it’s currently after midnight and I still have things to do. I’d like to proof that paper. Also, I’d like to take a shower, since I’m beginning to smell myself. This is one of the downsides to feeling poorly and not having many reasons to get out of the house–you don’t bathe. Frankly, it’s disgusting, but at least no one else is here to smell me. (I’m single.) As my dad says, “Such is life.” You put something off, and then you do it–you’re sick for the longest time, then hopefully you get some answers–you take a shower, or you don’t–you feel the way you feel. If you can, you try to accept life for what it is, with all its imperfections, atrocities, mysteries, and wonders.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Since one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.
Today has been cold and wet, and I hate that. It’s depressing. It makes my feet cold. Why I wasn’t born on a tropical island, I’ll never know. Last night I was up until almost four, first watching Netflix then working on some Reichian Therapy breathing exercises. The exercises focused on breathing into your belly and chest, breathing into only your belly, and breathing into only your chest. I’m still not sure I was doing it “right,” but I think I saw my own aura during the process. I don’t know what else it would have been, this reddish/pink light dancing across the ceiling. And no, I hadn’t been drinking. I was completely sober.
Anytime I’ve tried to see an aura, mine or someone else’s, it’s never worked. That being said, every couple of years I have an experience like I did last night. It’s always out of the blue, never predictable. When it involves someone else, I’ll see colors around them, like a halo. When it’s just me, it’s usually when I’m lying down, and I’ll see colors projected on the ceiling. The first time it happened, it was yellow–last night, pink. I don’t know what any of it means, but experiences like these always remind me that there’s more to us than we realize. We’re not just flesh and bones. We’re bigger, more beautiful than that.
Despite my energetic experience last night, I’ve felt completely human today. My body is still dragging, and I spent most the day being angry at someone I don’t even know–the author of a book I just finished reading. The book was supposed to be about marketing “your business.” Instead the author spent most their time bragging–about their successful companies, their successful friends. (Harrumph.) In order to offset my bad mood, I went to a local bookstore in search of a book by Alexander Lowen, the founder of bioenergetics, which is similar to Reichian Therapy. (It’s my latest obsession.) I didn’t find the book, but I did enjoy browsing.
This evening I got back out to return the marketing book to the library and run some errands. I ended up buying a pair of jeans and three white t-shirts for a sock hop I’m planning to attend soon. It was exciting to get something new, even something little, but spending money when I don’t have a job always stresses me out. I feel the same way when I buy food, but then again, you gotta eat. My answer to this stress is usually to spend more money, so tonight I got on Amazon and bought the Alexander Lowen book I couldn’t find earlier. (I used a gift card from Christmas.) Of all the books I’ve read about the mind-body connection and healing, Lowen’s has made the most sense and been the most practical, and I can’t wait to dive in and learn more.
This morning I heard from my internist’s office. They spoke with the immunologist’s office, and the immunologist is supposed to let them (or me) know what tests they need. Yesterday it sounded like they wouldn’t take my case at all, and today it sounds like they’ll consider it, so I guess this is progress. By the time this is all over, I’m going to be a pro at waiting. I’ve been thinking this isn’t the worst thing in the world, having all this time on my hands while both my body and my doctors do their thing. Since starting this blog and especially since getting sick four months ago, I’ve been able to read and digest mountains of information about the body, healing, personal growth, and even marketing. This time in my life is frustrating for a lot of reasons, but it’s also provided me the opportunity to learn more than when I was in college.
So that’s something.
You can’t force an outcome.
Last night while working on the breathing exercises, I ended up breaking a sweat, grunting, even laughing. I didn’t have any specific memories come up, but I can only assume this was all beneficial, a release. Other times when I’ve done exercises like these, nothing. So I’ve been thinking that just like you can’t make yourself see an aura, you can’t make yourself heal. You can have a practice like yoga or meditation, some sort of space for the healing to show up in if it wants to–and I think you should–but you can’t force an outcome. Healing either happens or it doesn’t. Having tried so hard to heal for so long, I’m coming to see any healing, any letting go or movement in the right direction, as a grace, this inexplicable, beautiful burst of light that comes to us for no apparent reason.
This afternoon I spoke to the immunologist’s office, and they said they were waiting on my internist’s office for further lab results, results I’m pretty sure don’t exist. They said, “We get so many referrals, we typically don’t take new clients unless they have lab results showing an active infection.” I sent a message to my internist asking where we go from here–and I see her next week–but I don’t mind saying it’s difficult to advocate for yourself when you’re not feeling well. This, of course, is exactly when you need to advocate for yourself–when you don’t have the energy to do so. As Alanis Morissette said, “Isn’t it ironic?”
It really is funny how quickly your standards can change. Six months ago I wouldn’t have thought anything about making a phone call to ask for a doctor’s appointment. Today it took all the emotional strength I had. Maybe emotional strength and physical strength go together. After I got off the phone with the doctor’s office, I took a shower and returned some spark plugs to the auto supply store (because my mechanic told me the spark plugs were crap), and I was ready for a nap afterwards. Instead I came to my parents’ house and met my mechanic, who replaced my spark plugs (with ones he bought) then told me I could stand to have additional work (a throttle cleanup) done.
So that was good news.
Now I’m hanging out at home in order to raid the refrigerator and get the blog done. It’s been keeping me up the last few nights, and I’d like to have it checked off my to-do list for the day. This way I can pass out later if I want to. Honestly, I never thought this would be my life–constantly worn out, willing to work but unable to, discussing my problems on the internet. I remember once telling the universe that I could handle whatever it threw my way. I wasn’t trying to be cocky, but simply affirming my inner strength. I said, “I can do this. Bring it on.” Now I’d like to say–“I take it back.”
Pressure is necessary to positive internal change.
Joseph Campbell says, “Nothing can happen to you that is not positive. Even though it looks and feels at the moment like a negative crisis, it is not. The crisis throws you back, and when you are required to exhibit strength, it comes.” This is a statement that sounds great when your life is going well and is a real kick in the nuts when it’s not. Nothing can happen to you that’s not positive. Please. What chronically ill person is going to have THAT tattooed on their forearm? But here’s the thing–deep down, I really do believe that. Like a lump of coal under extreme pressure, I know that a profound transformation is happening here. Slowly, but it’s happening. I’m already stronger than I was six months ago, and I’m sure that wouldn’t be the case were it not for the physical and emotional challenges I’m currently facing. Honestly, I hate that life is set up this way, but it is. Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don’t shine on their own.
Today I attempted to have a normal day. I got up, fed the dogs I’m taking care of, scrambled myself some eggs. Then I settled into my laptop and answered some emails and worked on a couple side projects. It didn’t take long, however, for me to get overwhelmed. I got an estimate to replace the spark plugs in my car, and that reminded me that I don’t currently have a job. I thought, Maybe I should get one. Then I remembered that I’m still sick, so even if I had a job, I wouldn’t feel like going to it. Then I started feeling like I was completely behind “on life,” so I closed my laptop and tried to take a nap. When that didn’t work, I buried my nose in a book.
This evening I taught a dance lesson for a young couple who’s getting married this summer. As they were swing dancing, I kept sitting down, thinking, How do they have so much energy? Still, it was good for me to get out of the house, make a little money, and feel useful. Plus, it was helpful to be around people. When I stay by myself for too long, it’s easy for me to lose perspective. I start thinking things will never get better, things will never improve. My thoughts spiral down. In the midst of my problems, I forget that the sun comes up each morning.
This is my main challenge when I’m sick, being able to see my way into the future. When I’m well, I’m optimistic. I can think of a hundred ways in which my life could easily improve. But when I’m chronically ill, that optimism wanes. It’s like I get emotionally stuck in the mud. I start thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and I shut down, opting for distraction. I’m not convinced this is the worst thing in the world. Usually when I distract myself I’m still learning. And even if I’m not, who cares? As my therapist said recently, “If your life is such that you’re able to binge watch Netflix without hurting anyone, do it. Be grateful that you can.”
I think a big lesson I’m learning lately is to not try so hard, to sit back and relax, to let my body rest. This is tough for me. I’m a make-things-happen kind of person. I didn’t hear from the immunologist’s office today, and I’m already planning my next phone call or surprise office visit. Still, it does seem that answers often show up when we stop looking for them. This is the balance I’m working on–how much to push, how much to let go.
Mostly I’m simply trying to take things easy and truly be okay with that. Even in my present state, I could fill up every minute of every day with various projects, but I know I’d end up running myself further into the ground. So I’m trying to take it day by day and trust that at some point I’ll be back on track. My therapist says everything happens when it’s supposed to. So for now this is where I am, knowing that just as the sun rises, it never rises before its time.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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if you're content with yourself and you're always with yourself, then what's the problem?
