7 years
7 years ago today I was diagnosed with epilepsy. I really, truly don't mean for that to sound morbid--I honestly forgot about the significance of "March 8th" in my life until a dear friend brought it up a couple days ago. Today I find myself really reflective, as anyone would be on a day like today. I find that as time goes on, March 8th has become one of those milestones in the year much like New Year's or birthdays, a day where we take some time to think about where you've been and where you're going. What really struck me this year, initially, was not how devastating an experience becoming epileptic was, but how LONG 7 years is. I mean, 7 years! A lot has happened in 7 years. And 7 years is a long, long time to have a disease that they told me I didn't even have in the first place. I find that I'm healing--the wound is not as fresh, and it will never heal completely; but I'm not crushed in the same way I used to be. I think about how young I must've been then; I feel so extraordinarily young now, and even as the person who lived through the event I can't imagine what it was like for my 7-years-younger-self to go through it. It's so funny that people always marvel at how old I was when I first starting having seizures, because while 16 years old may be ancient in the epilepsy world, as a human being I was still a little girl. I've grown up a lot since then, but I'm still a little girl in a lot of ways.
Sometimes, I hate how much my life is defined by my health. On particulary frustrating days, I wish I could just throw out my pills and any other remnants of epilepsy from my life--I wish I would forget the words seizures, epilepsy, MRI, neurologist, etc. But attached to this tragedy in my life are some of my greatest joys. I learned a few years ago that denying the role my health has played in my identity, my friendships, and faith would not make it any less present or profound. And I learned that it was okay to be shaped by my life experiences, even negative ones. Because owning it and growing from it is what turns it from a destructive experience to a constructive experience.
This is not to say, of course, that I think of it all as sunshine and roses, even on a day like today. Tears do burn at my eyes when I remember the day that I woke up to find that my whole life would never be the same. I'm still scared about medication, the frequency of my seizures, and my still contested MRI's. As much as I may be healing, I still grieve this. Especially on a day like today.
It was fitting that today in my synoptic gospels class we were talking about the essential qualities for biblical interpretation, one of which is being honest with and embracing not only our social location but the meaning we project onto the text because of who we are and what we've seen. I have learned to embrace the fact that my theology is almost entirely health-based. 7 years ago today my life stopped making sense. So 7 years ago today I started to worship a God who, in his divine senselessness and absurdity, gave my life meaning. 7 years ago I was hospitalized and completely ill; and yet today I am preparing to become a chaplain in that same setting, only this time not as the sick one. Absurdity does have its own meaning.
7 years ago today I thought my life had ended. Yet as I reflect on all of this, I realize that it was 7 years ago today that my life actually began.
Sometimes, I hate how much my life is defined by my health. On particulary frustrating days, I wish I could just throw out my pills and any other remnants of epilepsy from my life--I wish I would forget the words seizures, epilepsy, MRI, neurologist, etc. But attached to this tragedy in my life are some of my greatest joys. I learned a few years ago that denying the role my health has played in my identity, my friendships, and faith would not make it any less present or profound. And I learned that it was okay to be shaped by my life experiences, even negative ones. Because owning it and growing from it is what turns it from a destructive experience to a constructive experience.
This is not to say, of course, that I think of it all as sunshine and roses, even on a day like today. Tears do burn at my eyes when I remember the day that I woke up to find that my whole life would never be the same. I'm still scared about medication, the frequency of my seizures, and my still contested MRI's. As much as I may be healing, I still grieve this. Especially on a day like today.
It was fitting that today in my synoptic gospels class we were talking about the essential qualities for biblical interpretation, one of which is being honest with and embracing not only our social location but the meaning we project onto the text because of who we are and what we've seen. I have learned to embrace the fact that my theology is almost entirely health-based. 7 years ago today my life stopped making sense. So 7 years ago today I started to worship a God who, in his divine senselessness and absurdity, gave my life meaning. 7 years ago I was hospitalized and completely ill; and yet today I am preparing to become a chaplain in that same setting, only this time not as the sick one. Absurdity does have its own meaning.
7 years ago today I thought my life had ended. Yet as I reflect on all of this, I realize that it was 7 years ago today that my life actually began.