disaster, relief

Foreshadowing of the disaster: I drove back here to Radford on Sunday afternoon. It had been warm when I left, but it was cold and rainy and gross when I got here. Not having hot flashes anymore these days, I was very cold and decided to change clothes. I really wanted to put on my favorite jeans, which are all faded and about five years old, and have holes in them, but are wonderfully broken in and comfy and somehow have always managed to fit me. So I got them out of my bag, pulled them on, and found, to my horror, that the button was gone. Apparently, the last time I wore them, a couple of days before, the button came off at some point, because they were too small, but I refused to accept this and wore them anyway. It was tragic. I looked around for a sewing kit, which I have never used but am pretty sure I have somewhere, so that I could sew on a button, which I'm not sure I know how to do...but I found nothing of the sort. I was very sad and began to mourn the loss of my favorite jeans.

The disaster: Out of spite, I decided that I wouldn't change clothes after all. Then I remembered something that I had said I must do immediately upon arriving at the apartment: try on my bridesmaid dress. So...I did. I tried just stepping into it from the back as I have done every other time I've tried it on, and it was much tighter, such that I was afraid I couldn't even pull it up over my hips. So I tried not to panic and just put it on over my head instead, causing me, of course, to get makeup all over the inside of it. It was too tight before I even zipped it up. It was almost as if the lining was going to rip to shreds if I even took one normally-sized step. I tried to zip it up, and literally couldn't do it. I thought I was going to break the zipper off if I forced it anymore. Now seemed like a good time to panic. I started crying (because that was obviously going to help, right?) and called my mom, verbalizing this shocking and awful truth: My bridesmaid dress is too small. She was stunned, as was I, though neither of us should have been, but, being a mother and all, she told me what to do: call Jessica's mom and ask if she can hook me up with a good alterations person in Radford who can, perhaps, fix my dress this week. Ok... I can do that, I thought, but meanwhile, I will continue to freak out. I took off the dress and pretty much threw it across the room, put my clothes back on (my favorite jeans would've been especially comforting at this point,) and looked in my phone for the Kincaids' number, which, of course, wasn't there. I recently got a new phone and apparently didn't put their number in it for some very stupid reason. So I called Jessica to ask her for her home number, and she didn't answer. So I looked up Lindsey's (Jessica's sister) number, which, even more absurdly, was not in my phone anymore either. I needed Facebook. But my internet hasn't been working for months at the apartment, and my roomate was in the process of moving to her new single apartment around the corner, and her computer is password-protected. So I ran outside in the rain to go to her new apartment and ask her for the password. (I could've just called her, but I wasn't thinking very clearly at this point.) As soon as I got out to the parking lot, Joe had pulled in. I was expecting him, and he was right on time, but I had been hoping he would be a little late, such that I could perhaps stop freaking out before his arrival. I was glad to see a friendly face, but sorry that he had to enter my already-stressful world at this particularly disastrous moment, though, really, he has witnessed enough Sara freak-outs that I suppose he's used to it by now. So anyway, Ashley gave me her password, and I looked up Jessica and Lindsey, neither of whom had their home number of their profiles, and Lindsey didn't have her cell phone listed either. After some other failed attempts at roundaboutly finding the number, I realized I could call Amanda, who could give me Lindsey's number, and I could then call Lindsey, who could give me her home number. Luckily, this plan worked beautifully, as Lindsey was at home, and simply handed the phone to her mom. I was hoping, of course, that she would tell me something to the effect of "Oh yes, one of my best friends does alterations, so if you tell her I sent you, she'll do it in an hour." I did not get this positive of a response, but she did tell me a place downtown that she had used for alterations, directed me as to how to get there, and suggested that rather than calling, I show up, dress in hand, preferably crying. No problem, I thought. When I called my mom back to update her, she had an additional idea: I was going to the doctor Monday morning to get blood taken, but, since I've gained 15 pounds and am obviously hypothyroid now, maybe I can convince my endocrinologist to give me Syntroid now instead of waiting for my next appointment, which is, appropriately, two days after the wedding. Then, perhaps, I could at least not gain a terribly large amount of weight in addition to the dreadful 15 pounds I've already put on. Good idea, Mom. It being Sunday night and all, it was now time, simply, to wait.


The interim: Admirably, Joe tried with great perseverance to convince me that I needed to just relax because there was nothing I could do, but, of course, I continued, though more moderately, to freak out. I should have known this was going to happen... I should have taken my dress home so I could've figured this out sooner...Why do I have to be fat NOW? Of all the times in my whole life up to this point, now is the MOST inconvenient time for me to be fat....God wants me to be in Katie's wedding, right? So they have to be able to fix my dress, right? Etc. Finally, I went to bed, managed not to have nightmares about the dress attacking me, and got up, ready for my fateful day. I journeyed to the doctor's office, realizing, as I drove, that my heart was beating fast (which it shouldn't do anymore, since I'm now off my heart meds totally, no longer in need of them what with my under-active thyroid). I knew my heart was just doing this because of nervousness, but I feared that when I got there, they'd take my pulse, see that it was too high, and decide that I must not be hypothyroid yet and can therefore certainly not start taking Synthroid. Luckily, though surprisingly, they didn't take my pulse at all...or my blood pressure...or even my weight. It was strange. The nurse taking my blood asked me if I'd gained weight (as if he couldn't tell), and when I said how much, he seemed unconcerned, and told me that I could stand to gain the weight, and that I look better. (I assure that this is not the case.) This seemed a bad sign. I went on to explain to him that my weight is a problem because of this whole dress issue. With gross inaccuracy, he refered to the dress issue as a "minor detail," but did, fortunately, let me go talk to the doctor about the possibility of getting on Synthroid sooner rather than later. This marked my first ever entrance into a doctor's actual office, and it made me quite nervous. However, it went as well as I could have expected, even though I didn't cry, which, sadly, I can rarely do on command. He informed me that my blood results would be back the following day, and that if they confirmed that I need Synthroid (which, presumably, they would), then he could call it in and I could immediately start taking it. Perfect. I felt better already. With my new sense of hope and restored belief that there is, in fact, a God, I went straight to the dress shop, dress in hand, though positive I couldn't cry, as I was, at this point, smiling. As it turns out, this place doesn't do alterations anymore, but they told me a place, also in downtown Radford, who does, and directed me there. I took my dress there, explained my circumstances, and the woman very nicely told me that the seamstress wasn't in today, but would come in first thing tomorrow (Tuesday), and would look at my dress and let me know what could be done. I was more than happy to leave the wretched (once beloved) garment there. My work for the day was done, and things, though still uncertain, were looking up. The rest of the day was spent with little to no (ok...little) freaking out, and provided a much-needed opportunity for reflection with one of my favorite fellow psychology majors, which is always nice. The doctor had told me that physical activity, at this point, has the potential of being beneficial (whereas before, I was basically going to gain a lot of weight regardless of what I tried to do to stop it), and, incidentally, Joe and I took a long and delightful walk at the park. Having just finished my heart medicine, I was amazed at how far I could walk, even sans medication, without getting winded and feeling my heart pounding out of my chest. It was fairly exciting, really, and I kept using it to remind myself, I am getting better. I am getting better. I may be fat, and that may suck a lot, but I am getting better. The words of the great poet, Billy Joel, began to run through my head repeatedly: "Keep things in perspective: this is my true objective."

The relief: Yesterday morning I awoke with anxious anticipation of the two phone calls that I would be receiving (from the doctor and the seamstress.) Though it took a bit longer than I would have liked, I finally got a call from the nurse (Mr. "minor detail" himself) who said, simply "Hi, Sara! The doctor just called in the medicine to your pharmacy!" to which I, very unprofessionally and childishly, responded, "Yay!" I would have hugged him if this conversation had happened in person. I was so excited. I drove straight to CVS, got my medicine, frolicked outside like a child with a bag of candy, and decided that I would just call the dress shop. The seamstress hadn't looked at my dress yet, but did it right then, and I went in to try it on for her. She said she could definitely fix it, and that while I'd have to pay an extra $10 rush fee (truly the epitome of the phrase "a small price to pay"), she could easily have it finished for me on Friday, the day before I leave for the beach. I think I probably skipped down the sidewalk and to my car, at which point I called all involved parties to tell them the good news. I was ecstatic...I don't even know to describe it. All is right with the world. And everything I was worried about before all this happened doesn't matter anymore. Maybe I will look fat in my swimsuit at the beach, maybe I will look fat in all Katie's wedding pictures, but I'm going to the beach to hang out with old friends who I love dearly, and one of my best friends is getting married, and I get to be in her wedding...and my dress fits. :) God is good. Life is beautiful.

The celebration: Dallas had invited me to a show in Pulaski last night, and I had previously been torn about going, because I wanted to see him, but was in such a foul mood about all this that I thought it might be better if I didn't go and irritate him and not have fun anyway. Needless to say, this was no longer an issue, so I went. It was a rocking good time, and a fantastic way to end my already wonderful-beyond-words day. He genuinely shared my joy, despite its miniscule nature in comparison with his current situation. We had some terrific and much-needed discussion at Waffle House (what better place for discussion is there?) which I will probably reflect more on later. But it was great. I have done nothing to deserve a friend like him. He listens to me, understands me, makes me feel good about myself, loves me. He's the best. That is.... after my new favorite doctor and my new favorite seamstress. So, maybe, the third best. ;)

One more thing: I'm wearing my favorite jeans...fastened with a safety pin. :)

rest, sweet rest

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)

I have been very tired today for some reason. But one of the best things about the progress I've made in terms of my health is that these days, when I'm tired, I get in bed...and I go to sleep. I recognize that this doesn't seem like a big deal, but it's something that I haven't been able to do with any sort of consistency during the last year. I would lie awake for hours, exhausted, but unable to sleep. Then came the vicious cycle of getting angry because I couldn't sleep, and therefore being too angry to sleep. When I told people about my insomnia, they would inevitably ask if my "mind was racing," but in fact, it was my body that was racing, literally unable to rest. Finally, it's slowing down, and when I lie down, I sleep. I have never appreciated sleep this much before. I am weary and burdened, and I'm so thankful for God's gift of real rest, figuratively, of course, but also literally.

bulge

One more thing. My PIM poem seems appropriate.

wandering motionlessly somehow
she is begging to be
indifferent to this bulging body

small steps

I've been feeling better and better each day, thus confirming that my thyroid is, in fact, the root of all evil. It's weird, because my endocrinologist pretty much brushes it off anytime I imply that my depression is going to get better when my thyroid goes away...even though everything I've read (for example, the quintessential Living Well with Graves' Disease and Hyperthyroidism) lists depression as a side effect of hyperthyroidism. He just keeps saying that it's more often a side effect of hypothyroidism, and that may well be true, but he goes on to say that of all the many hundreds of hyperthyroid patients he's seen, none of them have been depressed, and I absolutely do not believe that. I think he just doesn't bother to ask them, which seems unwise to me. And I suppose that I don't know with certainty that one is causing the other, but I have been feeling steadily and gradually less depressed as my thyroid has been steadily and gradually disappearing. There is a positive correlation, if you will, between the size of my thyroid and the severity of my depression. Probably a pearson r not too far from +1. Sorry...statistical nerdiness. See? I must be getting better: my nerd power is returning! :)

I've been pretty productive lately too. I've been cleaning out and reorganizing my bedroom here at home, in preparation for moving back into it for real sometime in the near future. I'm getting rid of a lot of stuff and trying to make my room at least somewhat representative of my current self, since, realistically, I'll probably be living in it for a year. I've made a lot of progress, so I'm feeling more excited about living here again.

I've also been taking advantage of having a piano available to me every day. I've been practicing every day, trying to become something more than a mere ex-pianist. I've been working on the first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, which has been most enjoyable. The more I play, the more I realize how much I missed it. And I am getting a little less rusty (I guess that's what happens when you practice!), which is making me happy.

In other news, I just finished reading Bill Bryson's The Mother Tongue, which was utterly fantastic, and the chapter about word play inspired me to try to write a sensible palindrome (sentence that is spelled the same way forward and backward, for non-English nerds.) It's really quite difficult, I have found, and I don't have anything worth sharing...yet.

The downside of all this progress (if you want to call it that) is that it's happening because my thyroid is disappearing, and my disappearing thyroid is also continuing to cause me to gain weight. It appears that I have gained a whopping FIFTEEN pounds, which is a HUGE amount for my little 5'2" frame. And this is a most inopportune time, because I have to wear both a swimsuit and a bridesmaid dress (bought when I was skinny) within the next two weeks, during which I will probably be gaining more weight, because I don't get blood taken again until Monday, and, therefore, won't even have a follow-up appointment until after both the beach trip and Katie's wedding. The worst part is that my clothes don't fit, which is a bit of a problem, obviously. I haven't actually tried on my bridesmaid dress in a while, so I'm planning to do that first thing when I get to the apartment on Sunday, just to make sure. I've just been assuming that I can still get into it, because I really have no choice, but I'll feel better once I know for sure. And I'm still excited about the beach (it's a reunion of old neighbors, who I love and can't wait to see) and the wedding, but I'd be more excited about both if I were thin. That's lame, I know, but it's true. I just keep trying to remind myself that gaining weight is actually a good thing, because it's a sign that I'm getting better. And I can feel it. Praise God; I am getting better. Fatter, but better. ;)

wavering uncertainly

I desire silence
not drama

God be with my
wavering and uncertain heart


I've decided to get back into the habit of writing a Poetry in Motion poem every day like I used to long ago. That's mine for today. Write yours here. You could win $100!

spin around and fall down, do it again

"I think you like to be the victim
I think you like to be in pain
I think you make yourself a victim
Almost every single day..."
(Everclear)

I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish I didn't have to hurt someone in order to get better. I hate it, even if he doesn't think I do. Which he doesn't. I wish I could explain it some other way than the two ways I've explained it, but I can't. And it's ridiculous for me to try any more. It's ridiculous that I tried again tonight. Because it obviously isn't helping, and the process of trying to be clear and then being misunderstood is just making me sicker. It is unhealthy for me to have to deal with this right now. And I know that isn't fair, but that's the way it is. I CAN'T help him. I have tried, and I have failed. Miserably. And the more I try, the further I sink into the state of being unable to help. And that isn't something I'm happy about... or proud of. And it isn't something that is easy for me to say. The words "I can't" were barely in my vocabulary before that day, just a few short weeks ago, when I had no choice but to admit that I had to leave school. But there are things that I can't do. And this is one of them. And it is hurting someone. And I am sorry. But I can't fix it. I can't deal with it any other way.

And it's unfair that I have to end up feeling like a failure. It's unfair that he wants me to feel guilty. It's unfair for him to throw scripture in my face, as if I am trying to hurt him. As if I want it to be like this. As if I am not trying my absolute hardest to do what I have to do. But I have nothing to give. So what I have to do is get better. Someday, hopefully soon, I will be able to help people again. But not today. And I'm sorry.

I'm unbelievably thankful that God has put people in my life who will let me call them at 1 in the morning and cry and vent. I have never been more grateful for that than I am now. And to end on a lighter note, let me quote the one I called and cried to and vented to tonight:

"His skull is very thick...and his brain is very small."

I surrender.

a world with dew still on it

I finally watched my brother's favorite movie with him tonight. A River Runs Through It is pretty much a way of life to him. It was fantastic and kind of made me feel like I've been missing out on something all this time when I hadn't seen it. I absolutely loved it, as I assumed I would, since it's his favorite. Now would probably be a good time to mention that my brother, Alex, is my very favorite person on the face of the earth. I love him more than anything, and we have always understood each other better than anyone else understands either one of us, as far as I can tell. (As a brief parenthetical digression, the picture above is my brother, fly fishing, and was taken by his friend and roommate, Joel. I had a conversation with a friend of mine about the symbolism in my default picture on the blog, and it inspired me to use photography on here more. I will probably, from now on, only use pictures I've taken, or perhaps pictures of me, but this one seemed too appropriate not to use.) It's really a beautiful thing. This movie was just the same. I totally see why it's his favorite, and it is now among my favorites, too. It's exactly the kind of movie that we both love: it's about something earthy and natural and not overdone or epic or huge, something real. And while it's about fly-fishing in one sense, at its core, it's just about life. The message is summed up in the words of Rev. Maclean's final sermon:

"... but you can love completely without complete understanding."

I'm so thankful that that's the truth. I am so thankful that the people around me--my family, my friends, my church--love me, even though, to varying degrees, they don't understand what's going on within me. They don't completely understand, but they love me anyway. This message, while not terribly deep or profound, I realize, is one that I probably needed to come into contact with at this point in my life. You see, I have a desperate, undying, burning desire to understand people. All of them. At every moment. I want to know what makes people tick. What brings them joy. What makes them hurt. What makes them love. What makes them do everything they do. As a future psychologist, and as a human being, it is my life's goal, simple, yet impossible: understand people. And yet, understanding is not what Christ commands:

"'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments." (Matthew 22:37-40)

He calls me to love Him, which clearly entails a great lack of understanding (if you've made any sort of effort to love God, you know this), and He calls me to love my brothers and sisters, none of whom I can completely understand, and many of whom I don't even know.

The truth, it seems, is that I can, indeed, love completely without understanding completely, but that I will never understand completely if I do not, first, love.

And so I will keep trying. I imagine that I will keep failing, but because there is grace, I will keep trying. And trying. And trying.

I have never been fly fishing, but it seems as if, like Norman, I, too, am haunted by waters.