Bounce

The other day I wrote about fighting the frustration of pain and its control over my life.
Today the struggle was compounded.
As the possibility of a quick-fix dims, the prospect of a long-term rehabilitation becomes the only option to the seemingly impossible conclusion of chronic, life-long back pain. It cannot be door #2, thus it must be door #1. It cannot be door #2 because I cannot handle even the remotest of chances that that could be the only ending. It cannot be door #2 because I am young, and I should bounce back; I am one who bounces back. This is a shot to the pride as much as it is a side-step on my road to recovery, and I am a prideful person. But last night as I was praying, I asked God to take away the pain, and if that wasn't part of the plan, then to give me the ability to work with it and not let it drive me insane. The only thing I know right now is he will be faithful to answer that prayer. It will take more grace than I can fathom to live with this forever, grace that I clearly do not have. I want to be useful in whatever capacity he would have for me.
Thursday I go in for a bone scan, a 3-4 hour process of an injection of low-level radiation and a full-body scan, so as to get a more detailed view of any abnormalities in my body. It will detect tumors, degenerations, hairline fractures or disc problems, and hopefully will shed light on the path of plan B, which I plead will lead to door #1 and the ability to live without pain once again. I am young; I will bounce.

Thirteen Goes On

Tonight Amber and I watched the movie "Thirteen", starring Holly Hunter. Wow. It has drastically changed my idea of what middle and high school students may be faced with now. The whole time I was watching that movie I was struck with how lucky and blessed I was to have had friends and peers that were not into the drugs and sex and piercings that these kids got into. I had mentors and leaders who loved me in such a way that if indeed that was happening at my school (which I don't think it was to any serious degree) I wouldn't have been interested, as I was OK with who I was. I was in 7th grade ten years ago and I have to honestly say I wouldn't have known what drugs looked like if you'd put them in front of me. It was just so desturbing I'm almost at a loss for words--it confirmed some of the problems I've thought existed between girls and guys at that age, but it also painted such a clear picture of what life can be like w/o the knowledge and belief of unconditional love. It's nice to know I've been saved, and its amazing to see what from.

The Butcher, The Candlestick Maker, and Me

So yesterday I got my assignment for summer staff: I'm a baker at Saranac for the month of August. I hope I get a cool baker's hat. Seriously, I am so excited and intimidated by the prospect of serving for a month in that capacity; and in something I only have a vague understanding of is all the more intriguing. Wow. I have a feeling that this experience at Saranac will change my life.

Last night we flaked out of camping because it was forcasted to rain the entire time and my friends are Sallies. But still we had a girls night at Jenny's house, with margaritas, cigars, and kings. It was one of the most fun nights I've had in recent memories. Especially when Grafton said, "I'm a pretty, pretty girl." and meant it as a question. If you see him, ask him if he is, indeed, a pretty, pretty girl.
Tell him the baker sent you.

Cicada it ain't so!

I know it's a terrible pun, and for that I apologize. I just got ahead of myself. Today I was driving home from work down Rt 7, enjoying the sun and stuck in the long caravan of lives at 60mph, when suddenly a cicada flew in my window and struck me in the temple. HARD. I don't know how fast that impact was, but it was enough to make me feel dizzy. It was like being hit in the head with a tennis ball, only with less bounce and a lot more legs. After I regained my self, I realized how hilarious it was; can you just imagine that insurance report? "Lost control of car when large, red-eyed insect flew through window and stuck the driver in the temple, knocking her senseless." Somehow I don't think Geico would find the humor that I do. Oh well. Only me, eh?
Today I got the chance to talk to Dylan and Caroline for over an hour--they are two of my closest friends in Syracuse. The three of us are more like family than many parts of my actual family. We are considering getting a place together, somewhere here in the east--thee was discussion of somewhere in Vermont, or even Charlottesville. I am confident that a place with the three of us would be akin to the home of Pan's Lost boys, only with less children strewn about and probably more alcohol. We want a triple-decker king size bunkbed, if they indeed make something like that...or hammocks. Hammocks would be fun as well. It would be a boisterous rebellion against the onslaught of grown-up-hood that seems to be attacking at every turn. Marriage and buying houses and a 401(k), all things to not speak of in our home. Dylan and I are pretty serious about it, but it remains to be seen what Caroline decides. She is really the one who has more to lose in this deal, being the only one with a career and a boyfriend, so her apprehension is both expected and understandable...
On another note, Amber, Jenny and I are going camping tomorrow night with some of Amber's friends. Amber does not camp. Ever. When she heard it might rain, she asked if she should pack an umbrella. It will be an interesting experience!

Never Come Back

Lately I've been looking hard for reasons to not be frustrated. I'm in a job that leaves me mentally mushy with lousy pay, I live at home, I have a car that's so bad it should be on "Pimp My Ride", I am so single my parents think I'm gay, half my friends have moved on, and my back is so seriously messed up that I have watched a whole year pass without the ability to participate in any activities I love (I haven't paddled since Bull Falls was nearly flood stage last May) or do anything without constant and grating pain. There's a lot to be frustrated about.
But today the prospect of just one of those issues being remedied makes the whole lot seem less daunting. Soon my back may be fixed; I might be healed. I can handle living at home if I don't wake up in pain. I'm fine being single anyway, but even better when I can be comfortable just sitting in a chair. I can deal with a car that breaks down if I can walk without having to lay down for the rest of the day. I'm fine missing an eddy turn and totally getting douched if it means that I can actually carry my boat by myself at the end of the day. I'm tired of being weak and slouched and in pain all the damn time! I'm tired of it! I don't want it! And if they have to give me a friggin' new spine I'll take it! A friend the other day asked if I was nervous or scared about surgery; I honestly hadn't thought about it--the only thought I could imagine was the first one waking up out of a drugged state and not feeling, for the first time in years, back pain. I will cry, simply out of joy. It is a notion that I can only distantly imagine right now. And I don't like to make an issue of it because it's my own personal physical pain, but on the day that I move without back pain I will understand that much more the feelings of the paralyzed man whose friends dropped him through the ceiling before Jesus and who was healed, spritually and physically. Christ has healed me spiritually; now I'm just waiting for him to say, "Take up your mat and go home." I will be a different person.
I'm ready to be different.
My first apt is June 8th.