What Is It About Me?

In so many ways, I am becoming Ebeneezer Scrooge.  Certainly not in the more-money-than-I-know-what-to-do-with way, or the mean, stingy, miserly way.  No, I am becoming Scrooge-like in the generally-hating-the-holiday-season way.  As much as I appreciate the birth of the man who would willingly die on the cross for my sins, I've never been much of a birthday celebration person.  And with all the hype and hoopla surrounding the anticipation of the holiday season, the day itself always seems anticlimactic, like is was far more work and worry than it was really worth.  But more than the seeming aggravation of the season, it is the obligatory family shin-digs that I dread the most.

Anyone who knows me or has been following my writing is aware of the strained relationship I tend to have with family members.  If not, a brief whirl-wind tour of family history may illuminate the rest of this story: my brother broke my leg, my sister got me turned in to Children's Services, and my father forgot he had daughters.  Sounds like a fabulous family get together scenario, yes?  Don't get me wrong.  I am capable of loving my family in spite of their perceived ills because they are family.  That doesn't mean I particularly enjoy spending tons of time with them.  Which works out for everyone because I seem to be little more than an afterthought to them in most regards.  For example...

My brother lives in a very small town where everyone knows everyone and it seems like everyone gets along.  The neighborhood collectively has a big brew-ha every year for Halloween, and for years now the family has been invited.  Except for me.  Well, that's not entirely true.  Several years ago, I was told in advance this was happening and was actually able to make it.  Since then, I have known this tradition continues, and I have known that the rest of my family attends, but I have never received another invite.  Pretty much yearly, after the fact, my sister mentions that the kids missed seeing us at the Halloween event.  Well, maybe if I had been given information about when it was I could have been there.

This is just one of MANY such scenarios, as is evidenced at every family shin-dig I am obligated to attend.  As I am sure happens at most family gatherings, memories and reminiscings of good times past are enjoyed around the table.  In my family, this is the point in the conversation that I fall quiet because I have nothing to contribute to the happy memory being shared since I have no idea what they are talking about.  Birthday parties and bon fires past are remembered with great fondness while I am reminded yet again that I am out of sight and out of mind.  Listening to the kids talk about when they have had overnights with my brother or sister causes me to question why my own kids were never offered the same experiences.  Watching my sister's kids fawn all over my brother while they hardly seem to recognize me drives the point home.  Overhearing about comical interactions over facebook reminds me that I have more FB friends that are in-laws than blood.

But why?  What is it about me that makes me so invisible, so unnoticed, so forgotten?  Is it simply a matter of the so-called "middle child syndrome"?  Is it because both my brother and sister were wild kids and therefore demanded parental attention and, since old habits die hard, that is simply where the attention continues to be focused?  Actually, in my heart of hearts, I believe I know the answer.  But even if I am correct in my supposition, I still don't understand why it makes me a black sheep.

So as if the holiday season itself weren't stressful enough, I am doubly burdened by the knowledge that I will be forced to endure the hurtful reminders that for the rest of the year I am not even on the family radar.  Sometimes I wish they wouldn't feel obligated to include me in holiday events, since, with the exception of my sister's invites to her kids' birthday parties, they feel no obligation to include me in anything else.

Garbage, Ghost, or Guardian Angel

In my line of work, I come across some characters.  Conversations have the potential to be unusual and thought-provoking, or plain old down-right weird.  For example...

At the chiro's office, there was a patient, Bill, who was a recovered cocaine addict and a born-again Christian.  As a fellow Christian, I never judged, but considering the documented effects of long-term cocaine use I DID take some of the things he said with a grain of salt.

Bill usually had morning appointments.  During one of his treatments, the hot stones were set up in one corner of the room heating for a later appointment.  We didn't keep the stones set up in the room when they weren't needed since they took up valuable work space and the appointments for the service were few and far between, so this was the first time Bill saw the set up.  Bill was a chatter, and during the course of the conversation he asked more about the hot stone service.  Then he said very matter-of-factly, "The spirit in this room doesn't like the stones being in that corner.  That's where he hangs out."

I beg your pardon.

Bill went on to explain that he had the ability to see spirits, call them angels if you prefer, and that there was always the same spirit standing in the corner of my treatment room.  He said he got the impression that the spirit was nothing to be afraid of; instead, it was watching over the room, as if it were a protector ~ a guardian angel.

Huh.  Really?  There's a guardian angel in my treatment room?  OK.  If you say so.

I wondered aloud if the property had been some Native American holy ground or ancient burial site, then the conversation turned to other topics.

I had all but forgotten about this episode until very recently when I was back in the office for a massage trade with my former coworker.  We were trading 90-min massages, so we were in the room for the better part of the morning.  At some point, the lights in the room dimmed and re-surged a couple of times and my coworker said, "That was weird," When I mentioned that this used to happen periodically when I worked there, she jokingly added, "Must be the ghost in the room."  I knew she'd said it in jest, but it sparked the memory of the conversation I'd had with Bill years earlier.  I asked if she had ever treated him and told her about the conversation we'd had.  She said she did remember him because he had mentioned to her that the spirit was not in the room when she was working, and he figured that the spirit was not attached to the room, but to ME specifically.

Wait.  What?  The spirit doesn't watch over the room, it watches over ME?  I'm not sure how I feel about this.  Who is this spirit?  Does it watch me workout?  Does it watch me take a shower and get dressed?  Does it watch when I'm intimate with my husband?  Should I be creeped-out here?!

Then I thought about the time I was running on the Scioto Trail and heard a very real, audible voice tell me to turn around.  And the time I was riding on the Olentangy Trail and heard yelling in the woods along the riverbank but was told to keep going.  Joshua thinks this spirit is the guardian angel that rides in the car with me to keep my aggressive driving from causing harm.

OK.  I suppose I shouldn't be unnerved by this spirit following me around ~ if there really is a spirit following me around.  Call me crazy, but I'm not ready to fully rely on the word of an eccentric recovered drug addict.  Besides, what make me worthy of my own personal guardian angel?  I'm not complaining, just doubting.  Why me?  Why is there not a spirit attached to my coworker?  Or every believer, for that matter.  What makes me more deserving of this protection that anyone else?

I do seriously doubt whether or not there is a guardian angel that is continuously at my side.  Yet, I must admit that I am comforted by the idea that someone ~ or something ~ is constantly looking out for me.  I wonder if Bill saw whether this spirit is wearing a jet pack in order to keep up with my driving.

Holding On To A Promise

Since January 2008 I have:

~ Dislocated ribs T8, 10, and 11 in the back; ribs T2, 3, and 4 in the front; and my collar bone at both ends - all on the right side.
~ Dislocated the left wrist 3 times in 3 different places.
~ Partially dislocated the L2 vertebrea
~ Dislocated both SI joints.
~ Dislocated both kneecaps.
~ Partially dislocated 3 different joints in my left foot - all at the same time.

This list doesn't even scratch the surface of the myriad of injuries sustained throughout my earlier life due to the maddening joint hypermobility I deal with or the developmental quirk that causes sciatic pain in my left hip.  Am I a train wreck, or what?  I feel like the embodiment of the the passages in the Gospels, "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

I haven't slept well in weeks due to the pain in my hip and shoulder preventing me from getting comfortable.  I toss and turn most of the night, jockeying to find a position that doesn't cause pain, tingling, or numbness somewhere in my being.  Lying on the left side hurts my hip, lying on the right hurts my shoulder, and lying flat on my back not only hurts my low back, but also causes tingling in my forearms and hands due to the way my elbows hit the mattress.  So more often than not, I end up in an uncomfortable looking twist, with my upper-body flat and my arms resting on my abdomen so the elbows don't hit the mattress, and my lower body twisted to the right with knees bent so there is no pressure on the left hip or low back.

My ribs have been bothersome for several days, and I've worn my brace more than once this week.  When the ribs are out in the front, muscle tension creeps up my neck into my jaw and ear.  When the ribs are out in the back, muscle tension radiates from my bra-line all the way up to the base of my head.  Today has been particularly rough as I woke up with muscles so bound up that I couldn't turn my head to the right without pain.  After several hours of wearing my brace, a few rounds of utilizing the heating pad, and a regular regimen of 30min on/30min off with the TENS unit, I can once again look to my right shoulder, but tension remains ~ and will, I have little doubt.

I'm too young to hurt like this.  I sometimes envy my "little old ladies", as I like to call a few of my patients who are in their 80's, who live very active, independent lives with little or no pain to speak of.  Here I am, less than half their ages, and I am completely falling apart.  I have a "Bucket List" a mile long that includes things like hiking the Appalachian Trail, hiking El Camino in Spain, and taking bicycling tours of foreign countries.  But, given how I feel at this exact moment, I doubt whether my body will hold up long enough for me to do any of it.  It truly sucks being held back by one's own physicality.

My spirit is more than willing ~ in fact, it yearns ~ but the body is less than cooperative.

My only solace is the faith and hope that one day my spirit will no longer be confined to this decrepit body, that one day my spirit will be free, with a new heavenly body that will never hurt, never feel pain, never be limited by the confines of mortal flesh.  In the meantime, I believe in a God of miracles, so I will continue to pray for one.  I doubt my worthiness and His willingness to answer in my favor, but it never hurts to ask.  Right?

What Do You See?

Look at me.
What do you see when you look at me?

Do you see beauty?
Do you see mischievous eyes and defined cheek bones?
Do you see full lips in a sly smirk?
Do you see sun-damaged white spots among freckles?

Look at me.
Really look at me.

Do you see a confidence?
Do you see triumph over adversity?
Do you see leadership?
Do you see authority?

Look at me.
What do you see?

Do you see a confused little girl?
Do you see the baggage of molestation?
Do you see wariness?
Do you see fear?

Look at me.
REALLY look at me.

Do you see exhaustion?
Do you see weariness?
Do you see sadness?
Do you see depression?

Look at me.
What do you SEE?

Do you see ugliness?
Do you see anger?
Do you see spite?
Do you see obstinance?

Look at me.
Really LOOK at me.

Do you see love?
Do you see compassion?
Do you see forgiveness?
Do you see a healer?

Look at me.
What DO you see when you look at me?

Do you see a strong will trapped inside of a weak body?
Do you see frustration?
Do you see resentment?
Do you see determination?

LOOK at me.
Really look at me.

Do you see dark under-eye circles?
Do you see droopy breasts?
Do you see a saggy paunch decorated with the Silver Medals of Motherhood?
Do you see chubby thighs?

Look at me.
What do you see when you look at ME?

Do you see the war for my soul raging within my flesh?
Do you see the mercy of God?
Do you see the love of Christ?
Do you see the touch of the Spirit?

Look at me.

Do you see me at all?