The last week or so brought a flood of joy, fun, doctors visits, tests, and emotions.
I thought about separating this blog into different blogs -- one for the process of starting my own business, another for living life with a chronic illness, and yet another for daily tripe and personal experiences and political thoughts I might want to share.
On the other hand - how on earth do I separate that? It is after all, part of my experience.
So many floods of emotions happen at the same time. I'm feeling sick, I have a fever and I know exactly why I have it. I had a second meeting about the micro grant. I had a meeting with my TMI specialist. And, last night my dad fell. He does that a lot lately.
Which part do I write about?
I want to write a linear story, nicely packaged so it makes sense. But right now many things in my life are complex and complete and utter bullshit and they don't make sense. In fact, it takes time and effort and energy for me to make my life have any sense at all. The quickest way for me to give my life any sense is when I reflect on what I have - like in yoga or when I take a moment to assess what I have, like when I make lists of things I must do. The times when I can do these things are when I'm at my healthiest. I can't really do either very well when I'm not well or when I'm too sick to think clearly.
My dad fell -- again. I heard it. I was sitting in the living room feeling sorry for myself because I'm sick and I have a fever and I had to stay home. I heard him knock over my mother's jewelery box. I heard her wake up and call out his name. My dad has no balance. After his chemo treatment he lost his sense of inner-ear balance. He took some physical therapy to get some muscles built up but his inner ears will never be the same. He's supposed to use a cane but around the house he doesn't always. At those times when he's not holding a wall or something for support he forgets that everything feels like the sea and he falls.
I go through the same feeling every time. He looks the same. He's quiet. I don't know if he's had a stroke or if he's passed out or if he's just gotten dizzy and tripped. I don't know if he's bumped his head. I don't know if he conscious or not. And because every fall for him feels like a loss of control and it hurts he is taking his own mental assessment of how he feels. So I don't rush to help him get up. I turned on the hall light and I walked into my parents room. I knelt down even though it made my left hip sear with pain and started picking up my mom's jewelry.
"Are you OK? Are you hurt? Can you get yourself back up?" My dad opens his eyes and looks around. He realizes that he's just achy but nothing is broken and he says he can get up. I move all the jewelry away from him and scoop it into one of her drawers and hand it to her. My dad lifts him self up and takes himself to the bathroom -- where he was going in the first place and I hear him brush his teeth as though nothing happened.
I leave and go back to watch tv. A wave of sadness floods me. I feel even sorrier for myself. I realize that my parents (and all of us) are going to die. I worry that my father is going to fall and break his hip and die of an infection. I feel as though I am trapped here even though it was no ones intention to do that. I feel sad for everyone because no one wants to grow old and decrepit. No one wants to watch it. I feel sad for our bodies. I feel sad for my body. Momentarily I want to die, even though I know my body has been heading towards death since the day I was born. I wonder how any of us ended up here.
This though is part of the process for me. Among all that I've been dealing with realtors and working to get my parent's house sold and then working on how I will find myself an affordable place and them a place to live and how I will create work for myself and doing it all while dealing with my own invisible illness, friendships, and people wanting things from me and me wanting connection and love and friendship from others.
How do we work and laugh and play and have sex and have a meaningful life when we are going through this? How do we do it? And just as quickly I remind myself that this IS what life is. Living and life and dealing with ill health and dealing with joy and watching people celebrate and watching people suffer. All our accomplishments and all our failures is part of life.
What we give and do and the MEANING we make is our soul. And that is why I write and record it. Not for any other reason. I am my soul. And so are you. Even if you fall down and cannot get back up someday. And it might happen sooner than you want. And yes -- the thought frightens me at first. But that's why I get up every day. I keep giving myself work to do and finding a meaningful existence (even when it isn't the existence everyone else around me is living). I am my soul. I'm making my time here count.