This last class, as I moaned repeatedly, (you all are a very patient group) was haaaaaaaaaardddddd! I don't have a lot of confidence in myself as a student yet, and this challenge really wore me down. By the end of it, really, I was just at a place where, exhausted by the sheer enormity of it all, I found it hard to make myself study at all.
Struggling also to keep my spirit in an extremely petty and reactive work environment was trying as well, mostly because I have a long established pattern of feeling like everything is all my fault. When people are critical and angry with me, it fits in with how I see myself, 'validating' everything that I think about myself.
There is also the stress that comes with each and every medical visit. I'm a person who (yeah, this is shocking...) paid little or no attention to her health before, going to a doctor when something went wrong, waiting for years sometimes, between visits. Now all of a sudden even the taken-for-granted-good-health can no longer be taken for granted. There are symptoms and I don't know what they mean. When I wake up in the night sweating profusely and throwing off the blankets, is this menopause? Is this cancer? Is this simply the hot and humid summer we've been having? I don't know, and I don't know how to tell the difference. I worry about lumps. I can't tell the difference between the scar tissue, which is part of my new normal tissue make up. I find this all discouraging, because I have no confidence in my own abilities to stay on top of this: Cancer snuck up on me once, after all, but when I try to express my concerns and fears, I feel foolish and over reactive. This week, I went back to my regular family doctor for some routine stuff. I've always liked his quiet nature. He said, "You are careful about your BSEs, right?" and I said, "Well, I am, but I can't tell you what's normal and what's not anymore." Much to my surprise, he stopped everything to give me a brief class on telling the difference between scar tissue and cancer. A place that I'd been worrying about seemed not so worrisome to him, and he explained why, and showed me what he was looking for. I was really touched by that, even as I felt foolish. I said, "Thanks. I know it sounds foolish, but these sorts of things will bother me in the night..." and he looked at me mildly and said, "Well, of course they will." Unaccountably, I just felt like crying.
So things are settling down here. The class is over, I've gotten a B. I have a new job, and it seems as if it will be a much nicer place to work. I had a doctor acknowledge my fears and even provide me with knowledge that I can use to breathe just a little bit easier. I'm back on my diet (I majorly crashed and burned on that, gaining back six pounds in the last three weeks of class). So I'm re-losing what I previously lost, which makes Friday weigh-in kind of difficult to explain, so I haven't explained at all. So even though things are looking up here, I'm 'stuck' somehow. Not unhappy, really, just not motivated to get things done. I don't know why. I just want to breathe deeply, and to think, and to read, and to visit with people. I want to be with Tim. I want to talk with my kids (although, Dylan's story about having a gun pulled on him made me wonder precisely why this is so important to me.) I just want to immerse myself in my friendships, in my little family, in a good book. Writing. When the phone rings, I stop what I'm doing and sit down to visit with the friend on the other end (Hi, Stevie Wren!) Even as I'm ashamed of my lack of motivation, I can't seem to find it within myself to 'push' myself right this minute. It occurs to me that maybe, what I am trying to immerse myself in is, simply, life. Maybe I am simply trying to come back to life.
For the first time in a while, I feel like it could happen.