Joy and Pain
Written on April 24, 2012 by Kristin Anderson
Like sunshine and rain! Here we go, here we go …
When I was about seven years old, it was all about Rob Base. And now, in my current state of agony, I recall my purple and pink turntable (really? Yes.) and my Awe. Some. Vinyl collection that deserves a capital “V” because it demonstrated one of my finer, intrinsic qualities — my killer, eclectic taste in music. I still shock my musically-inclined, former radio DJ boyfriend when I tell him which records I owned “back in the day.” But I digress.
I get ill …you know the deal …
Rob Base used to make me bust a groove (still does). And my mom liked him. Today, my joy comes from my 4-year-old niece and soon-to-be 2-year-old nephew. I love hearing my niece say, “I really like this song” when I play MGMT in the car or teach her to find the beat while she dances. I love tickling my nephew until he says “don’t do that!” and yet continues to laugh. But my joyful little petri dishes always seem to leave me with a souvenir after my trips to Santa Barbara. I can’t seem to escape without a virus of some sort. Lupus just makes me suck all the juicy germs right off of them — my Jurlique hand sanitizer be damned!
Bring me down … I’ll have to fight to get back up …
News flash for the “normals” reading this: normal people get colds. People with lupus (or fill-in-the-blank arthritis) destroy 10 boxes of tissues in two days and cough so hard they throw out their back. So here I am, not quite lying down, not quite sitting, wincing in pain, because my respiratory infection of the past five days wasn’t enough pain. I felt like I was hacking a lung out but instead my bursitis, tendinitis and spinal stenosis conspired against me —
I keep smokin’ hot like fire.
My boyfriend says I’m smokin’, but he only gets a nasty glare from me in my current state of stuffed up-hacking-can’t-breathe-can’t-hear-haven’t-showered-for-God-knows-how-long-ew-Gross!-OMG-THIS-HURTS! But somehow, somewhere in my head, I know that with pain comes joy. With stress, comes resilience. With all the hatin’* that comes when you are sick, comes strength, power, endurance, courage.
Don’t talk back, I’m not a new jack … ‘Cuz fresher than you, an’ you’re whacked … I keep tryin’, I’m not lyin’, Up to number 1 is where I’m flyin’
* In an upcoming column I plan to dive into some uncharted territory — chronic illness and bullying. This is subject matter I am very well acquainted with and prior to sharing my experiences, I’d like to know, what is your experience with illness and bullying?