Sometimes it's hard not to feel like God is kicking me while I'm down.
In the past I've listened to my Dad how he’s felt “abandoned by God”, literally comparing himself to Job. Actually. Said. The words. At the time, I wanted to smack him around, and rightly so - all that was going wrong was that he didn’t like his job and it felt like a chore to go to work every day, plus they were being forced to dip into their savings a bit for my healthcare. He was still making a 6 figure income, owned two homes and a piece of investment property, had more savings than most people will ever see in their lives, an in-tact and living immediate AND extended family, and good friends. (And for the record: he still has all of that, except now he's got a job he enjoys.)
I have to say that I lost some respect for his perspective that day; I’d always considered him level-headed enough to know how dire a situation was. But to say that God had abandoned him and his remote control curtains that block the light on the 52 inch HD widescreen made me lose that trust. He’d always called me spoiled and said that I take things for granted. It was like the hypocrisy suddenly had it's own gravitational pull.
A while after he was through that point in his life, I expressed my incredible anger at him for that. He was too proud to go see a therapist more than a few times, and frankly he was obviously suffering from depression (that was the reason I didn’t call him out on his grossly obnoxious whining at the time). He still put up a fuss about how his feelings were justified but seemed to unwillingly admit that his "abandonment" complex was taking it a step or 17 too far.
Okay, this is getting off track. The point is that I hate it when people think/act like God has abandoned them when they’re going through something so not even close to being remotely the worst case scenario. (EDIT: Just to make it clear, I don't find it so upsetting when the person is legitimately thrown into chaos, i.e. A death of a loved one, losing a limb, divorce or infidelity, losing a job, home, or both, etc...)
And yesterday? I had to check myself.
I know part of it is the hormones but I surprised the crap out of my Mom when she came into my wing of the house to find me crying for what had to be the 5th time in about a week (which is probably about as much as she's seen me cry in 4 years, not counting the tears that sometimes come with pain - it’s not really crying as much as when you’re in a certain kind of pain your eyes just water to the point of making tears).
I wasn’t feeling abandoned by God, but I really felt like He was kicking me while I was down. Now I have to backtrack to explain.
On Friday, I had my first chiropractic adjustment since I went under the knife because I was having headaches from my neck being out of alignment. Naturally, we couldn’t adjust the majority of my spine because that would require manipulation of my abdomen. So Doc tried something different than normal to try and adjust a subluxation I could feel right between my shoulders.
Somehow the other method really messed up my left arm and come Saturday I could barely move it. I hoped it would get better if I slept but it didn’t. I couldn't push anything, pick anything up, or even lift my arm or move it side to side. I've had it this bad only once before in my life and it was to the point that it was literally worse than the surgical pain.
At 2 a.m. on Sunday morning my old intestinal pain come back. It’s was the first time since the surgery. I had been hoping it was gone, but it’s apparently not. It wasn't nearly as bad and I knew what caused it this time, but it still burst quite a bit of my balloon. I woke up my mother to talk to her because I was pretty distressed. She tried to convince me it was a fluke which I might have bought if the pain had been different from the pain I had routinely before the surgery. But it was exactly the same, just not as ambitious as I'm accustomed to.
That morning, I was taking down all the vitals I could take so that when I talked to Dr. Cook about the pain I experienced, I'd be able to give as much info as possibly about my current condition. Part of me really wishes I hadn't. I weighed myself and saw a number I swore I’d never see. That alone made me want to cry.
While I knew that the gain was due to the complete lack of activity for 3 weeks and not so much because of what I was eating, it still didn't really help me feel better about the situation. I thoght I had been doing pretty well, all things considered. My diet hasn’t been the best but it didn't justify the gain I saw. I’d been eating much smaller portions, the food is pretty healthy, and the only junk food has been the ice cream to cool me off and an occasional cookie. We've been making our own fruit "smoothies" with this powder packed with vitamins, protein, and hoodia. Small chicken salads, Fiber One bars, low fat yogurt, with iced tea, lemon water and milk as beverages.
Have I ever mentioned that I hate my body?
A few hours after the discovery, when I'd managed to put it out of my head, I had what I can only describe as ‘phantom ovarian pain’. It wasn’t as bad as it usually was, and a bit different, but I knew I couldn’t be feeling what I was feeling. It was in the exact spot my left ovary was (and remember, I know for sure where it was now because of the conscious pain mapping) and it was quite frankly broke my heart. If there was one pain I thought I'd be rid of...?
I’ve also been feeling guilty about my photography clients that still don’t have their photos (even though they are all SO understanding), incredible frustration over my new phone not working the way it should, I still wasn’t able to move around very well, I keep forgetting words in the middle of conversations and then forgetting the talks altogether. My parents are still doing everything for me at all hours of the night, and I haven't been able to return phone calls or text messages because I'm either too tired, can't talk because my voice is gone, too out of it to hold a conversation, or I forget how to use the phone.
All that plus the incision pain, the itching from the narcotics that I could no longer deal with because my left arm literally hurt too much to move, and my hormonal mood swings...
It all added up to me telling my Mom that I felt like God was kicking me while I was down.
I don’t really blame myself too much; everyone has their moments of defeat. But once I manage to get out of those break-downs, I tend to feel stupid. It’s okay to be upset but really? God kicking me?
When I can use terms like, “my wing of the house,” and “my new phone,” do I really have to go there?
I still have all my limbs. I have wonderful people in my life. I have two parents that love, protect, and take care of me. I’m rarely denied something I want desperately; not need, just want - like a new phone that texts better than the one I’ve had for 5+ years but still works better than some of the newer models out there. I have all my limbs in tact, I have awesome doctors working with me (including my acupressurist who made a house call yesterday for my arm, which is now 90% better), my parents have enough money to pay for my medications, I have a comfortable bed with my own air conditioner so I can deal with my fevers, I’m not losing hair or growing a beard from all the medications I'm on, and I’m able to sit up for longer periods of time than I was before the surgery.
All things considered, I’m lucky. And most of the time, I know it. As much as things have been going wrong, it could be a million times worse. And things will get better: I just have to keep reminders of that fact around me (like this entry, for instance).
: breathes : I guess I just needed to get this all out. My main point is that while I think I’m allowed to have moments where I lose it, I’m glad that I can eventually get back to a place where I can see the full picture. And thank you to those of you who take the time to reply to these entries because they’re one of the many elements that pull me back out of my exasperation.
I have to say that I lost some respect for his perspective that day; I’d always considered him level-headed enough to know how dire a situation was. But to say that God had abandoned him and his remote control curtains that block the light on the 52 inch HD widescreen made me lose that trust. He’d always called me spoiled and said that I take things for granted. It was like the hypocrisy suddenly had it's own gravitational pull.
A while after he was through that point in his life, I expressed my incredible anger at him for that. He was too proud to go see a therapist more than a few times, and frankly he was obviously suffering from depression (that was the reason I didn’t call him out on his grossly obnoxious whining at the time). He still put up a fuss about how his feelings were justified but seemed to unwillingly admit that his "abandonment" complex was taking it a step or 17 too far.
Okay, this is getting off track. The point is that I hate it when people think/act like God has abandoned them when they’re going through something so not even close to being remotely the worst case scenario. (EDIT: Just to make it clear, I don't find it so upsetting when the person is legitimately thrown into chaos, i.e. A death of a loved one, losing a limb, divorce or infidelity, losing a job, home, or both, etc...)
And yesterday? I had to check myself.
I know part of it is the hormones but I surprised the crap out of my Mom when she came into my wing of the house to find me crying for what had to be the 5th time in about a week (which is probably about as much as she's seen me cry in 4 years, not counting the tears that sometimes come with pain - it’s not really crying as much as when you’re in a certain kind of pain your eyes just water to the point of making tears).
I wasn’t feeling abandoned by God, but I really felt like He was kicking me while I was down. Now I have to backtrack to explain.
On Friday, I had my first chiropractic adjustment since I went under the knife because I was having headaches from my neck being out of alignment. Naturally, we couldn’t adjust the majority of my spine because that would require manipulation of my abdomen. So Doc tried something different than normal to try and adjust a subluxation I could feel right between my shoulders.
Somehow the other method really messed up my left arm and come Saturday I could barely move it. I hoped it would get better if I slept but it didn’t. I couldn't push anything, pick anything up, or even lift my arm or move it side to side. I've had it this bad only once before in my life and it was to the point that it was literally worse than the surgical pain.
At 2 a.m. on Sunday morning my old intestinal pain come back. It’s was the first time since the surgery. I had been hoping it was gone, but it’s apparently not. It wasn't nearly as bad and I knew what caused it this time, but it still burst quite a bit of my balloon. I woke up my mother to talk to her because I was pretty distressed. She tried to convince me it was a fluke which I might have bought if the pain had been different from the pain I had routinely before the surgery. But it was exactly the same, just not as ambitious as I'm accustomed to.
That morning, I was taking down all the vitals I could take so that when I talked to Dr. Cook about the pain I experienced, I'd be able to give as much info as possibly about my current condition. Part of me really wishes I hadn't. I weighed myself and saw a number I swore I’d never see. That alone made me want to cry.
While I knew that the gain was due to the complete lack of activity for 3 weeks and not so much because of what I was eating, it still didn't really help me feel better about the situation. I thoght I had been doing pretty well, all things considered. My diet hasn’t been the best but it didn't justify the gain I saw. I’d been eating much smaller portions, the food is pretty healthy, and the only junk food has been the ice cream to cool me off and an occasional cookie. We've been making our own fruit "smoothies" with this powder packed with vitamins, protein, and hoodia. Small chicken salads, Fiber One bars, low fat yogurt, with iced tea, lemon water and milk as beverages.
Have I ever mentioned that I hate my body?
A few hours after the discovery, when I'd managed to put it out of my head, I had what I can only describe as ‘phantom ovarian pain’. It wasn’t as bad as it usually was, and a bit different, but I knew I couldn’t be feeling what I was feeling. It was in the exact spot my left ovary was (and remember, I know for sure where it was now because of the conscious pain mapping) and it was quite frankly broke my heart. If there was one pain I thought I'd be rid of...?
I’ve also been feeling guilty about my photography clients that still don’t have their photos (even though they are all SO understanding), incredible frustration over my new phone not working the way it should, I still wasn’t able to move around very well, I keep forgetting words in the middle of conversations and then forgetting the talks altogether. My parents are still doing everything for me at all hours of the night, and I haven't been able to return phone calls or text messages because I'm either too tired, can't talk because my voice is gone, too out of it to hold a conversation, or I forget how to use the phone.
All that plus the incision pain, the itching from the narcotics that I could no longer deal with because my left arm literally hurt too much to move, and my hormonal mood swings...
It all added up to me telling my Mom that I felt like God was kicking me while I was down.
I don’t really blame myself too much; everyone has their moments of defeat. But once I manage to get out of those break-downs, I tend to feel stupid. It’s okay to be upset but really? God kicking me?
When I can use terms like, “my wing of the house,” and “my new phone,” do I really have to go there?
I still have all my limbs. I have wonderful people in my life. I have two parents that love, protect, and take care of me. I’m rarely denied something I want desperately; not need, just want - like a new phone that texts better than the one I’ve had for 5+ years but still works better than some of the newer models out there. I have all my limbs in tact, I have awesome doctors working with me (including my acupressurist who made a house call yesterday for my arm, which is now 90% better), my parents have enough money to pay for my medications, I have a comfortable bed with my own air conditioner so I can deal with my fevers, I’m not losing hair or growing a beard from all the medications I'm on, and I’m able to sit up for longer periods of time than I was before the surgery.
All things considered, I’m lucky. And most of the time, I know it. As much as things have been going wrong, it could be a million times worse. And things will get better: I just have to keep reminders of that fact around me (like this entry, for instance).
: breathes : I guess I just needed to get this all out. My main point is that while I think I’m allowed to have moments where I lose it, I’m glad that I can eventually get back to a place where I can see the full picture. And thank you to those of you who take the time to reply to these entries because they’re one of the many elements that pull me back out of my exasperation.