[*dun, dun, dun*] The Twilight Zone [*gasp!*]

A bout of pneumonia and an appendectomy had me “out of the office” for 12 days.  Not that I have an office.  Nor do I have anywhere near an office job.  [Just to clear up any unnecessarily believed implications behind such a euphemism.] Returning last week was not a hard decision.  In fact, in my mind, it was the OBVIOUS choice.  The fact people questioned it – well, quite frankly, confused me.  It just showed they didn’t really know me. [Now those who accepted my decision and questioned my sanity and the validation of wisdom were a different story. Ha!]  I WANTED to be back.  It wasn’t a question of necessity or allowance or even ability.  I knew it would kick me in the shins and other places of pain and severity (it did, in fact).  Still, there was the desire to return to the place I had committed to and so in had come to love. 

“Very nice.  Sweet in fact.  Touching really.”  You might be saying.  “But so what??”

Agreed.  This has to have a point. 

The thing is, for all my desire and all my anticipation and expectation...the one thing I hadn’t at all prepared myself for was the...

*Dun, dun, dun!*

The Twilight Zone.  *gasp!*

I returned – pumped and ready and perceivably eons out of the loop!  I mean, I was only gone for 12 days!  My coworker with animal growing on his face had shaved.  The lizard had been found! (But I didn’t actually know she was missing...).  The “newbie” on staff was carrying herself as if she were no longer new (not that it really surprised me but she was still finding her OE legs when I left).  The snack clip was back in circulation. People were holding conversations and laughing about things everyone knew but made absolutely no sense to me.  There were new inside jokes and small changes and adjustments. (“Is this new?”  “Oh yeah!  We’ve been doing it for like a week.  Oh, right... sorry.”)  Not to mention I felt like EVERYONE knew just about everything about my immediate history and I didn’t actually know anything but the base of the current world at camp. 

At one point during the middle of the week I paused.  “Wait?  Do I work here??  Life seems so out of place!”   I’ll admit there were times I felt like an outsider.  And other times I felt a little replaced.  Perhaps not the most appropriate feelings, but probably understandable – if you are indeed in the...*dun, dun, dun!*...Twilight Zone. *gasp!*

It was strange.  To say the least.  But there are some important lessons or at least minor acknowledgements to be made.

For example...

Get this – the world doesn’t revolve around me!  I know this, truly I do.  I didn’t expect the world to stop just because I wasn’t there.  But I love to save the world.  And the fact the world survived and did just fine without me?  Probably a good reminder that I can always be part of the solution (whatever the situation may be) but if I step back occasionally, someone else probably will step up. 

You appreciate what you have more when it’s gone.  Cliché, I know.  Anyone who knows me knows I love OE and I’m stoked to be here right now – but it’s not forever.  It’s not what I want to do forever.  I was super frustrated at Christmas with whether what I did mattered and whether I was really being faithful to stick around.  Not being at Michindoh when I was supposed to be?  Not being with campers when I wanted to be?  Confirmed for me how much I do enjoy what I do and how much I do feel faithful in still being here.

People will feel really bad when you tell them that you didn’t know the lizard was missing upon the announcement of her return.   I didn’t really care that the lizard was back because I didn’t know it was gone. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t still be excited that the lost has been found.  Responses are still choices. 

Sometimes when everyone seems to know everything about you and would rather talk about it than answer your three questions about what has been going on at work – it might have more to do with their care than anything else.  In asking, they’re asking to be a part of your world.  I already have an in to the work world...I work here.  But my personal world?  Just like yours, there is only entrance with permission.  It is weird to have tables reversed when I like to be the one to take care of everyone else.  But, well, in the end...they ask because they care.  They know because they care.  They’re praying because they care.  They also know you’re not incapable but because they, you’ve got it...care, they are probably also going to be protective. It’s hard. But it’s okay.

[I could write more things,  Seriously. But instead...] I’ll just end with the fact that God is faithful.  Another cliché phrase, perhaps.  But before, after, and in the midst of my [*dun, dun, dun*] Twilight Zone [*gasp!*], He showed up.  What could and perhaps should have been a challenging and frustrating week where I was trying to knit myself back into a picture where I had dropped a stitch and missed a pearl...was positive and joyful.  God is still good.  He’s working in and through the strangest Twilight Zone situations.  And He’s working in and through me...which might be the strangest of them all!  

Confessions of a Kid Who is No Good at Being Sick...

I’m a terrible sick kid.

Anyone who knows my medical history now has my permission and my plead to stop laughing.

It’s true.  I don’t handle being sick well.  I just don’t feel like life really makes allotments for sickness.  And, perhaps more accurately, some mal-wired piece of me doesn’t make allotments for sickness either.  The proper answer to sickness in my life? To buck it up and work through it.  There are things more important than how I feel.

Seriously.

I could give you example after example of how this has played out but suffice it to know I had curiously exceptional attendance in college despite everything and while one time last spring I was sent home sick at lunch, I can’t actually bring to mind a time in my semi recent past where I’ve called in ill.  I’m just never sick enough to justify taking time off – of anything. 

Most people would call this sort of mindset...

Denial!

Maybe. 

I just think most things you can work through. That what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.  And some combination of “what’s the big deal?” and “I get to decide so...” Alright, I will also concede that the people pleaser in me would much rather meet up to the expectations and commitments before me than place them aside for something as dumb sounding as “I don’t feel good”.

But there’s more to being a terrible sick kid than that.

Because when I am sick, I don’t handle it well.  I become whiny and irritable.  (Yes, even more than usual, thanks for asking).  And needy – but I don’t actually let people take care of me very well.  Counterproductive?  I would say so. 

So what happens when, in the name of being sick, I’m stuck on a 10-day “vacation”? Well, confusion for one.  I was never off for 10 days in a row during cancer!  And here you’re going to tell me that some odd combination of pneumonia and cheater’s appendicitis have done the trick?  For real?  Come. On!

And yet, in my last 10 days I’ve been taught some important lessons about being sick.  Like the fact it’s okay to let people take care of you from time to time.  Not to mention, when you’re THAT sick, a blind man sees through your claims that you’re feeling fine.  I was a little caught off guard by the intensity and legitimacy of the individuals who were there to offer and provide whatever I needed long before I could ask.  And not just my mommy (who I still need to take care of me even though I’m just shy of 24 years old) either.  I didn’t have a day without at least one text asking me how I was feeling or how I was doing.  To let me know they were praying for me.  It is weird to be the one who wants to take care of everyone else and to suddenly be the one being cared for. Admittedly, I don’t do it very well...

I learned other things too.  Like (but not limited to)... it’s hard to get better if you don’t slow down.  In fact, I have spent more time in the last 10 days in my pajamas than in jeans.  Furthermore, I’ve slept more than I’ve been awake. (Anyone who knows me can sight these as not just “woah, really?” statements but NOTEABLE accomplishments).  I’ve read.  I’ve watched movies.  I’ve had phone dates. I’ve made it through the comics every morning and the evening news every night. I’ve spent some time in my journal and I’ve managed to do a little reflecting.  Life has been soooo slow.  But good. 

In the end, the time was almost...healthy.  Healthy enough that I find myself in moderate pain (we won’t talk about how many mg of Ibuprofen I’m allowed to take in conjunction with Tylenol to reach this functional status.  Not important) and am anxious to be back to work with my colleagues and the camp I have come to love and the kids that always have a way of stealing my heart. Blast them!  I am antsy and grumpy that I won’t be there to greet the new group when they arrive tomorrow so that I can make it to my post-op appointment instead.  Eager to get back to being too busy and trying too hard to take care of the world...it sounds almost refreshing!

In the end...I’m still a terrible sick kid. 

I don’t handle being sick very well and I don’t anticipate I ever will. 

On the plus side...I’m tonsils and a kidney shy of losing all the body parts there really are to lose (I’m a gallbladder, a thyroid, four wisdom teeth, 32 lymph nodes and now an appendix down)... so that she keep me settled for a while.  Plus, I’m on enough antibiotics to kill bacteria within a 100ft radius of my body AND yep, cashed in and made sure I got my flu shot before I left the hospital.  I intend to ride healthy for the rest of this blasted winter season. 

If not...

Call the Missing Parts Club.  I am now a Gold Card Member and they’ll be forced to deal with my incredulously grumpy persona and accompanying dripping nose.  : ) 

Anything Important? Anything Real?

I’ve really wanted to write.

And suddenly I have the time. 

Yet mostly I’ve stared at the cursor on a white screen until my attention is diverted for a few minutes and I eventually close my computer and/or fall asleep.

See writing is one of those things – one of those things I think I have a passion for.  When I write something meaningful or something that matters, it makes me come alive.  I love the look of words on a page and I love the way suddenly thoughts I couldn’t quite express take shape as my fingers fly. 

The problem is that my motivation to write has been mere desire.  I want to but I also want it to be something significant, profound, intentional.  I could just write, but why?  For what reason?  Simply because I’m capable? But unless I’m writing out of passion, well there is never anything really worth writing about.

A year or so ago I came to these conclusions about passion and desire (and capabilities for that matter)...

“Passion is always about something external – outside of person, outside of self, about something else.

Desire is always about something internal – inside person, emotional and so changing, about self

Passion can fuel desire and desire can fuel passion but one must be careful of the foundation and/or motives as desire may fuel a selfish passion or passion may produce an unhealthy desire.

Capabilities without desire boils down to obligation and duty.

Capabilities without passion is self-sufficiency.

Desire without passion is often a prideful power trip...because desire is brought back to self.

Passion without desire is merely ideals and good intentions...because passion is about something external. 

Capabilities without desire or passion is apathy.”

Recalling and re-finding these conclusions bothered me.  Not because I’ve been home sitting in my pajamas for two, going on three, days doing nothing and not writing though I could.  But because somehow it registered something bigger, deeper...

Because writing isn’t making my blood flow.  Whoop-de-do!

But what is?

When is the last time I felt passion for...anything?  Let alone anything important, anything real?

I take even just brief stock of my life and I immediately note that I’m functioning on capabilities and limited desire – in almost every spectrum.  I’m capable.  Good.  And desire comes into play because desire, being internal often has to do with my want to succeed, to please, and to achieve.  And what I have a lot of is, in fact, self-sufficiency.  And a realization that I need to let go of my pride. And when success, achievement, and people pleasing wear me out for the day?  I’m apathetic. 

Too often, far too often, I just don’t care. 

About anything. 

Not really.

I want to.

I used to care about everything.  Absolutely everything.

And then I think I got tired.

But now what’s keeping me going?  What moves me? What propels me?  What shakes me?  What encourages me?  What inspires me?  What angers me?  What motivates me? 

And why don’t I have an answer for any of those questions? 

God’s been distant in my life the last few months.  Distant, so distant. I suppose that’s not really very accurate.  I’m quite aware that I’m the one who is distant.

I need Him now more than ever but He also can’t be – for reality or for show – the answer to those questions.  Because the unfortunate and honest answer is that He’s not. 

God’s not currently my passion. 

This saddens me.  But I feel as if I would be more disappointed with myself if I had replaced Him with something else...I have not.

I’m finding myself lacking the passion for much of anything.

Especially anything important, anything real...  

Grieving Cancer

On November 15^th of 2011, I went in for my “yearly” – an appointment at the good ol’ University of Michigan hospital with my surgeon and the doctor who has been monitoring my cancer care on a macro level for the last three years – since fall of 2008. 

Oh yeah,  now might be a good point to mention that I had thyroid cancer (just in case you didn’t already know); diagnosed at age 19, the day after Christmas of my sophomore year of college. 

Nearly four years later after signing my life away on a “Five Wish Form” – just in case via hospital protocol, two major surgeries, four notable hospitalizations, a ridiculous dose of radiation, several biopsy stabs to my general neck area, numerous scans and ultrasounds, literally hundreds of blood draws, later and I still had what I declared for the curious was an “existent but non active thyroid cancer diagnosis”.  The medical science aside (you’d have to talk me later for more of my story and the details), I had existent protein levels in my blood work pointing toward thyroid cancer tissue that was unidentifiable on my scans...meaning we couldn’t treat.  While the levels were negligible for the average person, they were dangerous for a person such as myself... without a thyroid and with a cancer diagnosis. 

Basically my options were to either a) hope it would gradually clear out by itself, b) wait for it to grow so that location could be identified and properly treated and eradicated, or c) live in limbo (my self-proclaimed “sabbatical”) as if life were normal until ‘a’ or ‘b’ could be established.  When after six months ‘a’ failed to come through – we moved into ‘c’ and hoped for ‘b’... essentially eliminating the hope of ‘a’.  And such it has been. For two years worth of sabbaticals.  And such I anticipated it would remain as I went in for my yearly this last November.  At the rate I was going – I could die with a diagnosis.

Imagine my surprise, then, when my blood work came back with indistinguishable levels.  The ‘a’ option which disappeared some time in 2009 was suddenly the answer.  I go in anxious...and prepared for anything.  But I wasn’t prepared for a “blood work looks excellent! In fact levels are unidentifiable!”  I nearly jumped out of my seat.  “So I’m cleared then?  My levels have never been unidentifiable!  Am I cleared?”  My doctor laughed “maybe after five reports that look like this one we can officially clear you.  But for now, know you’re in good shape and don’t have anything to worry about for a while.”

I was far more excited in my shock than I imagined.  I eagerly called and texted the extent of my world.  I ran back to work to tell my coworkers (some of whom had only known this part of my story for a month or two...and for a couple, a day or two) – they celebrated with me in a way I wasn’t quite expecting.  I wasn’t prepared for how excited they would be for me and I shook telling them my news and nearly cried later realizing the depth of their care and the rest of my world’s joint rejoicing. 

And then the 16^th came and life went on. 

Quite literally.  That’s how the story goes.  Life went on.  That’s the way it always went with me and cancer.  Life went on and so did I.

At Christmas time – the 4 year anniversary of my diagnosis – I realized that I never dealt with the “clear” because I never really dealt with its presence, not where it matters.  I’ve felt propelled ever since to again watch the movie “My Sister’s Keeper”.  I have only watched it once and haven’t thought or dared to play again since.  The story, while quite different from my own, was too close to home.  The narration of the family, the thoughts of the girl – I wept.  It was my response the first time and I watched it.  And I think I want, maybe even to need to watch it again for the same reason.  I need to cry.  And I’m realizing I need to grieve.

Cancer is a funny thing.  At least mine was... During the thick of things, I hated it.  When it was its worse, I loathed it.  And so I did what I did best, pretended that nothing was wrong and there was nothing I couldn’t handle and life went on.  “Life went on and so did I” really was the best summary.  Mostly, I stuffed and repressed grief. I have two compilations of writings – ponderings, journals, reflections – pieces written to help me process when the “stuffed and repressed” built up.  The first “Glimpse...” was my first four months trying to deal, confident my “all clear” was just around the corner, watching God show up.  The second, “The Sequel” (its title referring to something different than what you might be assuming), was compiled nearly two years later and was the combination of what was going on beneath the surface of my “life went on and so did I” exterior.  To read these compilations one might see some of my bitterness and hurt and resentment – especially over the pieces of life that it had touched without permission...my family, friends, school, finances, relationship with Christ...  Then it ends.  Generally speaking, as far as anyone on the outside could tell, I handled it quite well.  But I haven’t processed much of anything cancer related in a long time and I never spent much time grieving cancer when I had it.  And only limited time grieving the loss of the things it touched. 

But cancer is a funny thing.  At least mine was.  And now that it is gone.  I miss it.  It was such a huge piece of me that losing it was a relief – a burden lifted.  And yet, its loss also left a gaping hole.  Sounds crazy doesn’t it?  Despite living as if it didn’t exist, despite the fact that unless I tell you – people have spent time with me over the course of two years before they find out – you probably don’t know, part of me doesn’t really know who I am without that diagnosis.  It has been such a part of my life for the last four years that it just...is.  And while I get excited to explain that I’m ‘clear’ to people who ask... I also feel like a piece of my identity is missing.  I learned so much with cancer – figuring out who I am and who God is and what it means to be part of a bigger picture and now it’s just gone.  It was a painful experience but I would go back and do it again (I processed this out some 18 months ago).  It was a hard friend, a hard teacher, but that teacher was my friend and I miss it.  I miss it being my secret giver of tough lessons (my own Miagi); I miss it being my secret super-human strength (“You seriously graduated with honors and went through cancer the whole time??” “yep...”); I miss it giving me a secret sense of purpose (“Anika, wait! Because what no one else knows is what you know you fight against every day.  What you fight over.  What you strive to be more than.  No one needs to.  But look who you’ve become despite it?  Look what God’s done in and through it?”).  It seems silly to grieve the loss of something like cancer – especially the wimpy form of cancer I battled. But it’s there. 

Grief.  I feel grief.  Sorrow and pain and heartache.  And I’m processing two kinds of grief all at the same time in two different ways for the same thing.  The thing I am realizing is that grief comes when a piece, a person, an endeavor, meant something.  I wouldn’t be grieving anything right now if it wasn’t such a big part of my life...

And I bring it up now, because maybe I am supposed to.  Maybe I am supposed to grieve it. Maybe there is more that God needs to do in and through this part of my story.  Or maybe it is finally time for me to move on.  Maybe it is time for this chapter to see its last page.  Maybe it’s time to be free to just breathe...