Accepting a New Identity

I don’t think it is a big secret that a lot has changed in my life over the last two years. As this journey has progressed, there have been tremendous gains and life lessons that I feel incredibly blessed to have learned at a young age-lessons that have grounded me and shed light on what is important in a way that no other life experience can. But there have been tremendous losses too, and as much as it is difficult for me to acknowledge loss, I am learning that it is a necessary part of moving forward.

I don’t want to tell you that I have completely lost my identity, because that would imply that the core of what defines me as a person has changed. I have, however, lost some essential elements of what I believe helped to shape my identity in the first place. Two years ago I could have told you that I was, among other things, a teacher, a runner and a singer. Today I am none of those things, and even just putting those words in print takes a deep breath (and perhaps a piece or two of pumpkin bread…).

I think one of the things that makes these losses cut so deep, is that none of them came with any sense of closure. All of a sudden, I couldn’t run anymore and just as suddenly, a 1% chance of vocal chord paralysis became a harsh reality. When I walked out of school a week before Thanksgiving last year, I really and truly believed that I would be back in a few days. I had written detailed plans for the substitute, explained to the students that I was having a little procedure on my stomach and I told them that I would be back on Monday. It has been nearly a year, and many Mondays have passed without my return.

Hindsight can be such a jerk. Yes, if I think about it now and analyze where I was a year ago, I can easily see that I was functioning purely on adrenaline, in a body that was dehydrated and malnourished well beyond the realm where any surgery would be easy. It doesn’t take rocket science to see how cutting a hole in my stomach and jamming two feet of plastic into my intestines would jar things up a bit. Thank you, Captain Obvious.

But to be honest, at the time Captain Obvious was nowhere to be found. When you are in that body, trying to live your normal life and juggle your doctors appointments while thinking about the needs of 28 fourth graders…things that seem so obvious now just don’t cross your mind. Nearly a year later, it still pains me to know that I unknowingly lied to my students. I never, in a million years, thought I would be here, writing this blog nearly a year later, as a person who has been labeled as disabled and hasn't been in a classroom since 2011.

So yes. There have been losses and I am still, as my father says, “peeling the onion." But, I have also made giant improvements in the last year. I am, without a doubt, infinitely healthier in mind, body and spirit. I am learning to adjust to my new normal and not think of my life as being paused, but instead as taking a new path. This path has not been the yellow brick road that leads me to the wizard (I do however spend a good amount of time in sparkly shoes). It is a path that has taken many twists and turns and one that has ultimately led me to the heartbreaking conclusion that it may be time to move on in my career.

I feel a bit like a broken puzzle piece, one that after years of over-use and a little adversity, no longer fits properly back into the completed puzzle. The puzzle piece looks like it should fit right in from far away, but when push comes to shove, it just doesn’t snap into place. I have attacked every new obstacle in my path with the mindset that if I can overcome it, I can return to teaching. But that race of hurdles becomes more and more difficult when you realize that you aren't the same puzzle piece that you were two years ago.

I’m not ready to say that I’m not a teacher and I haven’t given up hope that things may suddenly return just as swiftly as they left. However, right now there are three big obstacles and an entire score of sub-obstacles standing in my way of being the teacher I want to be. Even if you momentarily ignore the fact that I have zero immune system or that I still get at least a third of my calories from a tube, I still get an FUO (that’s fever of unknown origin…not flying unidentified object) at least 4 days a week, I can’t talk for more than an hour at a time and most days I...er...let's just say I spend more time in the bathroom than I spend out of it. These three things alone are not exactly conducive to providing a quality education and no one knows how long they may stick around.

So moral of this extraordinarily long-winded blog post is to tell you that today I went back to school-not as a teacher, but as a student. I’m starting a year-long program through SUNY’s Institute for Integrative Nutrition to become a certified health counselor. I will be certified through the AADP (American Association of Drugless Practitioners) to counsel children and adults in any aspect of health and wellness, but I’d like to eventually focus on people who have had life-changing diagnoses, surgeries and/or allergies. I still have the piece of paper from the day I was diagnosed with gastroparesis that told me to eat only chicken broth, ensure, carnation instant breakfast and mashed potatoes. Yep, that's it. I mean, slap my face on a Wheaties box, because clearly that diet would make me the picture of health…

I managed to pull myself out of that deep level of malnutrition and failing health, but it was the hardest thing I have ever done. If I have the opportunity to pay it forward and make that transition to health and happiness easier for someone else, then I simply can’t pass it up. I think, to truly heal, I need to allow all that I have learned throughout this journey to shine through the losses.

It is quite an odd juxtaposition, to say the least.

I am thrilled to start this new journey into the world of nutrition and my heart flutters to think about the possibility of feeling useful and needed again. At the same time, I am absolutely, positively heartbroken to consider the possibility of leaving behind a career that I deeply love and desperately miss.

But, for now, I'm taking a deep breath and stepping over the mountain of what-ifs and maybes.

For now, my sparkly shoes and I are drinking our green veggie juice and plunging headfirst down a new path, with open eyes and a full heart, ready to see what lies ahead.