responding to the unheard call

We missed church this morning, but I've been thinking about a sermon from two weeks ago in which we were challenged to think about what we are called to do.  For my entire spiritual life, I've wondered about what I'm called to do and how I would know when it happens.  Even at 45, I find that I still wonder, "What is my purpose on this earth, in this life?"  On the way home from church, I realized that I do know what I was called to do--and that I've been doing it in ways for years.  Even before I recognized the call, I had responded to it.

I thought about the things I have given my time to during my adult life.  As a fairly young adult in grad school, I always made extra time for the young women in my classes when they alluded to abuse, rape, or assault.  I provided chocolate and tissues and walked them to counselors' offices.  Even before that, I sat with friends in high school and college and provided hugs, a shoulder to cry on, and an ear to listen.  As a mom of young kids, I organized a group for working moms who needed support in their lives.  I became a peer counselor for Sidelines to support women on bedrest with twin pregnancies.  And now I'm part of Hystersisters.  All of these things have given me a feeling of peace and rightness.

For more than 25 years, supporting women is the one thing I've made time for continuously.  Other things have grabbed my attention for a few months or years.  Then they passed out of my life.  It is only now, as I am able to stand back and look at the tapestry of more than two decades, that I can see the pattern that has emerged.
I was called to minister to women--but I don't remember hearing any call at all.  At what point did God say, "This is what thou shalt do?"  At what point did I say, "Yes, I accept?"  God called to my spirit, and it responded joyously, albeit somewhat obliviously.  Did any of our Bible figures respond to a call with as much cluelessness as I did.  Does it count as accepting the call when you don't know you've done so?  I think so, but it's an odd feeling to know that I didn't recognize what life I've been living until I was halfway through it.

In other news, there's still no news on the unemployment front.  Hubster still has no job and unemployment benefits run out soon.  Lots of stress there.  At the same time, though, it's a beautiful sunny day, and we have friends taking us out for a late brunch today at Thunder Bay Grille.  We are so fortunate that the huge rain that hit Milwaukee and caused such horrible flooding didn't hit us.  If our power had gone out for more than 10 second, we would have lost sump pumps and our messy cluttered basement would've been a disaster.  Our basement is dry, our basement walls are intact, and the sun is shining.

it's my party and I'll cry if I want to

After 15 months, my husband is still unemployed.  I find that I am really struggling with that right now--largely because of the money issue but also because I feel like I'm starting to lose my sense of self with him at home all the time.

God has placed some conversations into my life over the past couple days.  One was with a woman I know through HysterSisters who has been dealing with similar issues with her own husband.  I had forgotten how healing it was to know that there's at least one other person who understands how hard it is to try to be supportive of a man while trying to heal and deal with your own grief and anxiety.  The other conversation was with my mother, who says things I don't like to hear but that I already know.  These two very different conversations have allowed me to finally say,

• "I'm stressed."
• "I feel resentful."
• "I don't know how much longer I can live like this."
• "Is there another line of work I am qualified for that would pay more?"

It surprised me that I haven't actually been able to say these things until now.  I'm so angry.  There isn't a thing I can do to get my husband a job or to change how he approaches anything or get him to do more around the house or in the community.

What I've realized is that I have no place to be me.  There is no "my place" anywhere.  Everywhere in the house there are people and there are sounds.  I'm going to end up tackling the basement--but there is so much crap down there that belongs to my husband that I know I'll be dealing with resentment there, too.

I don't see that I have any choice, though.  It's an ugly and dark space that smells bad, and it's hardly a place I can consider a sanctuary for myself.  But I am so craving alone time--to read, to write, to nap, to daydream.

Since my husband lost his job, the financial impact on our family has been horrific.   But I am finally realizing that with him home all the time, I have been losing pieces of me as well.  And I have to find them again and try to glue myself back together or the whole family will fall apart.

It's so hard to be the backbone of the family when all I want to do is melt into a ball and be taken care of myself.

just a second....

This video is amazing.  First, it's just adorable, with these cute little girls giggling about clean underwear and repeating all the things they (and we) have heard as women.

Second, it's a project that has such an amazing message: GET A SECOND OPINION!  I will always be grateful that my former gynecologist was opposed to doing hysterectomies unless they were truly necessary.  She gave me many things to think about and pointed out that a uterus does so much more than grow babies.  Having this to think about for two years prepared me to to ask questions and learn what was best for me when my gynecological problems resumed.  I was opposed to a hysterectomy, but knowing what options were available helped me determine that it was the best option for me.

This video is part of a website that promotes the importance of women getting second opinions and being their own health advocates.  You can find the site at www.givemeasecond.com.

Aren't you worth a second?

where have all my marbles gone?

This year is the Year of Getting My Shit Together, or, the Year of Finding My Lost Marbles.

I remember one time when the kids were little, and I made one of my regular pilgrimages to the grocery store.  One of the bags had developed a rip when I put it in the trunk of the car.  When I got home, I was trying to carry in all of the bags at once.  (Yes, Mom, you're right.  Sometimes it IS best to take two or three trips.)  As I walked into the house, the bag spilled little jars of expensive baby food.  In my panic about the loss of the food and money and time it would take to replace them, I lost my grip on another bag and ended up with a big pile of flour in the driveway, mixed in with the baby food.  And by the time I finally got to the door, I was so upset that I dropped the bags and dented every can I had bought.  I sat down right in the middle of the living room and bawled for a while.

I've been thinking about that day a lot this past year.  It seems that we've had a series of unfortunate events, with each one overlapping on or two others.  I will still be recuperating from dealing with one issue when another one jumps in full-force, only to be followed by another.  Boom boom boom.  No time for breathing.  This is the case in every area of my life.  It's particularly upsetting with the professional aspect of my life, as that has always been my safe haven for when things are rough in my personal life.  It has been my stability, my place where I feel accomplished and in control.  Lately, not so much.

I've decided to do what I did with my groceries.  First, try not to get as much stuff in the first place.  Instead of buying expensive glass jars of baby food, I began making my own baby food.  It actually was easier, and I felt better about myself for doing the healthier thing for my babies.  Second, I determined that if it would take me a bit longer to accomplish a task (as in, take two or three trips), I should.  Seriously--how much time did I really think I was saving?  It was maybe one or two minutes.  Third, accept the fact that sometimes life just bites and you have to do the best you can.  Finally, if you get to the end of a rough patch and need to cry, that's okay--as long as when you're done you carry on.

1. Have less stuff to deal with.  I'm returning to teaching--no more administrative work for me.  As much as I loved pieces of it, I did not do well with juggling two totally different sets of rhythms.  I never had down time.  During the times I had always refreshed myself from the semester's work, I would have an increase of administrative work to do.  I had non-stop work, and no time to prepare for or recover from the busy times.  Although my return to teaching will have some financial implications for my family, I feel so much at peace about it.  I find that I am getting excited about teaching writing again, and I'm already regaining my focus.  I'm a teacher again, with no split professional identity.  The energy for that is slowly starting to recharge.
2. Take the time to do the job right.  I am learning to discipline myself to sit in front of the pile of papers or the computer when necessary, even when I don't feel like it.  I constantly remind myself that it's always the first couple of papers that take the longest, as I get into the swing of the assignment.  I told my students I would have feedback on drafts posted today, and while I had wanted to have it done earlier today, I am plugging away, making a genuine effort.  In fact, writing this blog entry was one of my rewards for getting through a certain number of drafts.  Putting the time in will pay off.
3. Suck it up, buttercup.  Okay, I admit that teaching in the summer would not be my preference.  If it weren't for the fact that we so desperately needed the money, I would be lounging around in the pool or napping right now.  But this is what it is, and I'll be okay.  I'm remembering to be grateful that I am able to have some income during the summer at all.  And I'm also very grateful that teaching one course in the summer will allow me to practice doing a better job now, so I'm prepared for it in the fall.
4. If I need to cry, I will do so.  It also means that if I need support, I will ask for it.  In fact, in anticipation of this, I have already requested regular meetings with a couple of my colleagues to help me develop a different sense of accountability and on-going professional development/re-energization.

So here I am, halfway through an electronic pile of drafts to read, actually making some progress.

we are angels in each other's lives

I often wonder about all the ways we make a difference in the lives of others, even though we may not know we have done so.  God may use us in many ways without our knowledge.

There have been some times, though, when I have sensed that I was a tool.  Yesterday was one of those days.  I have been following the blog of a woman whose husband is dealing with a urinary tract cancer.  Her husband is a now-retired former colleague, one with whom I did not work closely, but he always struck me as a good and wise human being, and I was sad to hear he had cancer.  I've never even met his wife.

As I have followed her blog, I have been struck by her honesty and engaging writing style as she has tried to make sense of this journey they are now on.

After many times of feeling a desire to write her an encouraging email, yesterday I felt a strong call to do so.  She had written about her mother telling her to "get over" the cancer and that cancer was no excuse for feeling depressed and wanting sympathy.
Here's part of the email I wrote:

You have a right to feel however you feel, and don’t let anyone make you question that.  You do what you need to do in order to get through each day, each night, and each week.  It would be a shock if you didn’t experience some depression or post-traumatic stress.  In fact, I have a friend who was diagnosed with early-stage endometrial cancer a year and a half ago.  The cancer was treated completely by a hysterectomy, and she has no gynecological cancer risk remaining.  And still, she has been in treatment for PTSD for over a year and just now is starting to feel whole again.

Cancer doesn’t just eat away at the body, piece by piece.  It also eats away at the minds and souls and lives of everyone close to it.  It consumes your life and takes it over.  For those not living with it and sleeping with it and laying it all open for the doctors to figure out, life goes on as usual and cancer is just a blip.  Those people can’t understand why you act like life is so different now; they don’t understand that your life truly is different.  The time between appointments and treatments is, to them, what “normal” is.  For you, it isn’t even an oasis.  Although you may have more time to take care of some daily tasks, your mind is still on what came before and what comes next.  Everything else is just going through the motions.  To others, a doctor’s appointment is just an appointment.  To you, a doctor’s appointment is fraught with fear, anxiety, caretaking, preparation, and the unknown.  Each appointment is a distillation of all of life’s biggest challenges.  Add days and months of appointments to each other, and it’s a miracle that you’re still here, still thinking and feeling, still managing to get to those appointments.  And there are daily miracles in the midst of all of this, when you manage to shower, accomplish laundry, and see to the feeding and care of your own body—not to mention that of your husband’s.

Right now, your own daily survival is a monumental accomplishment.  You have no obligation to put on a happy face for the benefit of anyone else.  Right now should be about you and your husband.  And if you find the energy to speak up and talk back, well, you are not at your best right now, and no one should expect you to be.  And anyone who can't handle that is welcome to go make hotel arrangements or take over the cooking and cleaning for you.

No matter the outcome of anyone’s cancer diagnosis, there is a period of time when you must simultaneously prepare for the worst while hoping for the best.  How can one mind, one heart, contain those two contradictory tasks without being bruised?

I sent it, along with a request that she not even reply because she has enough on her to-do list and I just wanted her to know she was in my prayers.  I had a strong feeling that it was the right thing for me to do, sending the email, and when I clicked on Send I figured that was that.  I felt a sense of peace at having sent the email, and that was how I knew it was a God-thing.  Or so I thought.

Two hours later, I received an email--from her husband.  It said this:

I'm filled with gratitude; words fail.  Thank you for being a quite literal angel for my beloved [wife] during a particularly rough patch for her.  Your wise, humane, and loving words constitute an inexpressible comfort.

I was (actually, I still am) touched.  There have been many times when I have followed through with something I have felt called to do.  Most of the time, I am filled with a sense of peace and rightness.  Every so often, though, I am given a reminder of what my purpose is in this life and that in small ways, every now and then, I am fulfilling that purpose.  Despite all the roughness of the past year for myself, this man has now served as an angel in return, to let me know that I still have something to offer, that I can still make a difference.

EMG update

Well, that test pretty much sucked.  I told the doctor that I hoped he got lots of useful information, because I'm never doing that test again unless margaritas are involved.

Electrified Porcupine

I am having an electromyogram this (EMG) morning.  Until last week, I had never even heard of this test.  Basically, the doctor will stick a bunch of needles into me and then send electricity into me through the needles.  I'm such a baby when it comes to pain, and people I respect have said it was horrible.  One person said it was okay and just a bit tingly.  I'm really, really hoping that's the experience I have--but I'm not counting on it.

Since the beginning of March, I've been experiencing some numbness in my feet and lower legs--not all the time, but it's something I'd never experienced before.  A few weeks ago, I realized that while I was shaving my legs, I couldn't even feel the razor.  Also, I was experiencing occasional mild tremors in my left hand.  So, early last week, I dragged myself to the doctor, convinced I must have multiple sclerosis.

The doctor was not particularly concerned about the hand tremor, since that happened after I had started a new medication with that as a side effect.  She did some initial neurological screening, and I was relieved that she was pretty sure I didn't have a central nervous system disorder.  Still, she referred me to a neurologist, and that's where I'm headed today.

I would have put off making the appointment indefinitely, but Thursday afternoon I began experiencing sudden and overwhelming weakness in my legs.  And then I started feeling the numbness (is that even possible, to feel numbness?) up to my hips.  Two days ago, I was scratching my right calf (I have to watch myself scratch, just to be sure I don't draw blood) and I discovered that I was feeling the sensation after all--in my ankle, of all places.

The hubster will have the car today for a job interview--which means that I not only can't drive myself, he won't be with me at all.  Fortunately, his BFF is available and will be driving me and waiting for me.  It's a good thing I like this BFF, because I may come out feeling fairly traumatized.

He's coming to get me in about half an hour.  Ugh ugh ugh.