A Time to Celebrate

The combination of February and March has become a bit of an odd cocktail of sobering and celebration. 

A few weeks ago, I marked the four year anniversary of my proverbial "hard drive crash." 

Four years. 

In some ways, I feel like it can't possibly have been that long, and in others it feels like at least ten.  

It's hard to believe that it wasn't that long ago that I was 30 lbs underweight, lying in a hospital bed at Hopkins, consuming mostly egg whites, rice chex, and an occasional, er, steady stream of gummy bears.

Or when I went out to Mayo in 2012, I still had all of my organs intact. In my naïveté, I thought I would spend a few days in Minnesota and come home with a sparkly little cure. 

Looks like I was a wee bit off.

If it's even possible, I think the medical community is more confused by me now then they were four years ago. This very month, I'll see not one, not two, but three new specialists, along with adding a new procedure to my "glowing" resume.

(45 minute registration ending with the very last question of - “You don’t have a pacemaker, right?” I will now start introducing myself as Lydia and Penelope Buschenfeldt…you've been warned.)

I find that I spend an inordinate amount of time dangling between that place of peaceful acceptance and burning curiosity. I desperately want to move forward and live my life in whatever capacity I am lucky enough to do so, and yet, a combination of a progressive little mystery disease and several medical road blocks halt that process every time. The thing is - I don't inherently believe that our bodies break for no reason. I just don’t, plain and simple. I also believe that our bodies can heal if given the opportunity…which begs the question - what's standing in my way? What am I missing?

For four years I have traveled to doctors all over the country. I've been on countless pharmaceuticals, IV therapies, and herbal protocols. I juice and meditate daily, and I hang out with my favorite contingent of old ladies at adaptive yoga. I could write a guide book to alternative therapies. Even with the most restricted diet known to man, I would wager a solid financial estimate that I consume more green vegetables than most, and given my proclivity towards the dear root vegetable, I assure you I have beta carotene coming out of my pores. (It is truly a wonder that I am not orange) I live, sleep, eat, and breathe an unprocessed organic lifestyle, full of love, and hope, and deep breaths.

And yet, the questions remain.

The algorithm that just doesn’t make any sense - Why, when given every opportunity, does my body continue to throw logic to the birds?

How can I really, truly, devote my life to helping and healing others…when I, myself, am not healed?

Or is it because of my path to healing that I am able to do so?

Just more questions.

And so I keep looking, and learning, but most importantly - living. 

Living in the questions.

And that, my friends, is something to celebrate. 

I've never understood those people that hide their age, or don't want to celebrate their birthdays.
They just gloss on over them with a wave of the hand and an uncomfortable grimace.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

Yes, I understand the moment when you realize you have been out of college for 10 years and you can no longer lump yourself in with the “post-collegiate” twenty-somethings.

Or when you realize the little babies you babysat in 7th grade are in college, and your first little campers are married.

I get the fleeting nature of time.

But to truly hide your age and gloss over a birthday?!?

That I don’t get.

I will happily tell the world that this Friday I'm turning 32. 

THIRTY TWO!

The world has put up with my need for ponies, and markers, and mountains, and bedazzlement for 32 years! (Much obliged, by the way)

I’ve been given the opportunity to be ALIVE for 32 freaking YEARS!

Is there a better birthday present than the chance to live?

I know it’s not given to everyone, and it’s not a gift I take lightly. 

And so despite the questions and the off-road medical adventures, I’ll keep on keeping on - putting one foot in front of the other, taking a deep breath, and seeing where the path may lead. And maybe that’s where I can really and truly find, and stay, in the place of peaceful acceptance. For there is peace that lies in knowing you are doing the one thing you can - to keep going. 

And so I'll keep going. 

Keep trying.

Keep marching on. 

And I'll celebrate.