Adventure, Ho!

Ya'll want to know about our Hawaii trip, right?  I'll give you some of the overall highlights.  After several tedious hours of travel, my initial impression of the room was "yay, flat landing surface," as expected.  It was dark, but we were close enough to the ocean to still hear the waves, even with the porch door shut.  

This was our view in the morning.

The morning view was much more interesting, particularly after some sleep.  We wandered down to meet with the family for some breakfast, and Andy and I eventually meandered to the beach.  We rented some snorkels, and I was happily diving under the waves, chasing after some fish.  I am at home in the water.  Andy needed a five minute lesson on how to use a snorkel, some gentle persuasion, and literal taking by the hand, but conquered a lot of fear in a short period of time, enough to start exploring a bit further out on his own before the end.  That was what I was looking for, that particular kind of difference and experience.

I came back to the shore for some water and then was made immediately aware that something was wrong.  When we got back up to the room, I threw up, several times.  A fever rolled in, the kind where I was burning up but could not seem to get warm.  A few voices assured me it was motion sickness which pisses me off still, honestly, because A) I'm a goddamn fish, B) a fever isn't part of those symptoms, and C) unsolicited voices telling me what I'm experiencing in my body infuriates me.  I had a bug of some kind, further emphasized when Andy picked it up about two days later, no ocean involved that day.  Soooo, unfortunately Andy and I spent a third of our vacation feeling pretty lousy, a level of nausea lingering for the rest of the trip.  

After my day inside, after the vomiting had stopped, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning to the WORST bag explosion I have ever experienced, as in waking up in a literal pool of shit.  I yelled for a towel and Andy was pretty quick to help me get over to the shower, where I jumped in pajamas and all.  He called housekeeping while I was hosing off.  Once I was finally clean with a fresh bag, housekeeping brought the sheets in.  And while I didn't need to explain, it was nice to have the opportunity to--I showed her my ostomy bag, and she immediately started asking if we needed gauze or any other first aid supplies.  She didn't really know what to do, but her concern was touching, particularly as we were handing over the poopy sheets and towels to go with her.  She did bring us some free detergent for the guest laundry services, though, and Andy got a load going while I sat upstairs feeling miserable.  For the rest of the trip, I kept my emergency bag change on my person rather than back in the room.

But that wasn't the whole trip, thankfully.  We had some good family time.  Andy and I had a few adventures down to the village.  We had a lovely massage.  Adam and I (above) saw several turtles while we were doing some kayaking in the bay.  We took in the landscape of Waimea Falls and swam near and in the waterfall.  Another adventure we took to the Dole plantation for about every pineapple treat you could think of, including Dole Whip, pineapple soft serve covered in fresh pineapple chunks.  

KNEEL BEFORE YOUR GOD, BABYLON
(That's coffee)

Andy only came home with two Hawaiian shirts, for anyone wondering.  And, yes, it was weird to come home where the house was quiet again, compared to the constant low thrumming of the waves.  

Yes, he is a strange beast, but I love him.

It was nice, too, to see family around and not be at work for a couple of weeks.  When we got back home, Andy slept for thirteen hours and I slept for fourteen hours--so glad that we budgeted time to recover from vacation into our schedules.  Our next major adventure is still probably going back to Scandinavia.  :)

The Post-Goal Depression

Whenever I finish a book or a major goal, there's a particular kind of depression that sinks in.  I swear, there has to be a German word for it, but I've found it called a "book hangover" or "post-series/book depression."  

I have been so absorbed in finishing that book that it has colored my day, and suddenly that urgency is gone.  Or for a more specific example, our last major goal of finishing our student loans, I find myself listless when strategizing our next paycheck--I looked forward to payday on the hopes that I might be able to throw just a little bit more toward paying them off.  It was exciting to watch those numbers start to go down, to feel that we were finally at a point to start making tangible progress on this particular debt.  This was exciting; this helped tough weeks pass along; this factored into nearly all of our purchases, whether we could pick up fast food on our way home today or buy that ceiling fan for our dining room this month.  This kept us on budget, and it kept us encouraged.  When we hit specific milestones, we had reason to celebrate.

...and that's suddenly gone.

It's WONDERFUL to have checked that off of our list.  But this particular malise is what I'm meaning, that weird depression when a goal or something you enjoyed is completed.

For myself, when it's a book or series that I've just finished, I drift around until I find a new one.
I mourn the loss of immersion in that world and feeling what those characters were feeling.  For our household goals, we seem to have an odd refractory period, where we take a few months to figure out what we're doing next, let the energy dissipate and then pull it back in when we're ready to identify and attack that new goal as though we were surprised by our own success.

I already know what our next house goal is, to pay off the car, but I want to allow myself to feel the absence of the previous goal first.  Post-book, I can take a moment to recognize what I appreciate from that particular media and better assess what I liked and did not like about it, out of the ravenous push to finish it (the goal always to experience more rather than reach the end).  Post-house goal, I want a bit of time to adjust to life with that change, meaning that we'll have a month without that automatic student loan payment, I think, before I reconfigure all the pieces in our budget again.  It's definitely one of the weirder griefs that I can think of, but it is a particular flavor blend of grief and satisfaction to check something major off of the list.

There is rest in those moments.  There is gratitude.  And there is confusion.  And this particular edge of grief.

Good timing for a distracting vacation (and a reason to buy a new book...)!

Student Loans: ACHIEVMENT UNLOCKED

Folks, I'll just come right out and say it:  Andy and I started our marriage with about 65K of student debt and we haVE MANAGED TO PAY OFF OUR STUDENT LOANS.  

WAH-HOOOOOOOOOO!

All of it.  All 65K.  DONE.

WHAT. A. RELIEF.  I still don't fully comprehend it yet!

I'm not going to turn this into a "if I could do it anyone can do it!" kind of bullshit.  There was a lot of hard work, strategizing, and tough decisions that went into this, but there was also a fair bit of luck.  We are both managers at 32 and in a position that pays a living wage that also had a healthcare plan that worked for our needs--this is not a typical scenario.  Having family and friends that demonstrated kindness and support had an impact.  Not having any children, not having a expensive pet, these have also contributed.  Having good credit helped.  Living in an area with a comparatively lower cost of living helped.  

Andy and I are not the norm--Andy and I have beaten the odds.  

While my joy is deep and vast, I feel all the more firmly that I would wish this relief for all of my peers, the thousands upon thousands of Millennials disparing under their own student loans, as well as anyone who went back for a Master's degree after a certain point.  This kind of debt is a recent phenomena and not something that should be continuing.  The burden of student loans is staggering and crippling and crushing and debilitating and many, many people have frankly given up ever paying them off.  The Millennials I know want to live securely, not lavishly, as though I were talking to someone explaining depression-era dreams.  I don't know many that have dreams of millions or a yacht when affordable healthcare and rent is a much more pressing concern.

It is possible, my friends.  I won't say that everyone can do it, because life isn't so simple.  For those that need the hope, it is possible.  For those who have prayed and loved us through this process, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.  

Time to celebrate!

I Found a Grey Hair

Andy and I were coming back from a work conference recently, with all of the punch-drunk after effects that implies.  One the way home, everything was a little bit funnier, decisions were a little bit harder, and we were very much ready to finally get to bed.  Adam graciously offered to drive, which at least took the thousands of pounds of high velocity machinery out of my hands and we steadily bore down the interstate for the few hours home.  Energy began to wane for all three of us, so we elected to stop off and take a bio break.

I popped in line for some fast food and Andy stood behind me.  He reached up to the top of my head and announced "You have a grey hair!"  He pulled on the hair in question, confirming it to himself once again.

My response:  "Okay."

And that was it.  Even in my exaggerated state from the events of the day, I felt nothing about this.  Andy could have been pointing out that the particular beige color on the wall was called "eggshell."  Then, I felt that maybe I should be feeling SOMETHING.  I'm supposed to be embarrassed by this or existential dread or something, right?

Culturally, we're expected to fear getting older.  Signs like these are supposed to trigger an evaluation of self image, that particular pang of realization that everything is temporary.  Understanding our own mortality--even as a subconscious push--gives us the impetus to create, to "leave something behind."  We mark history with plaques, stories, and gravestones, afraid of being forgotten or leaving things unfinished.  We mourn the things we'll never to get do and opportunities not taken in lieu of others we did.  The quest to be remembered is a yearning for immortality, that we want to feel our lives had an importance outside of our experiencing it.

Whether this is something that is at the forefront of your mind or something just outside of your peripheral vision, mortality is a part of human existence.  An awareness of it drives some people more than others; ignoring it similarly drives some people more than others.

I'm aware of the lack of permanency in my life, where even the end of a season (whatever "season" might mean in the particular situation) does not bother me--I still have gratitude for the season that was as I move into the next.  I'm not ashamed of my age or a grey hair, even though there is a pressure to feel something about this.

Huh.

Melvin & Me, Part 27: Bodily Autonomy

Through the trauma of dealing with my disease and all of its fallout in my life, the strategies I have cultivated to keep myself safe and alive have been steadily shaped into some robust protectors.  These voices are invaluable resources when my body is falling apart; however, when things are less dire, these voices become counterproductive, more harmful than helpful.  What I mean by that, as an example, is that the parts of me that are trying to keep me safe make me very fearful to take some chances, such as trying to learn how to ride a bike.  Engaging some of those lower core muscles is VERY reminiscent of different ways I brace myself against certain pains, which puts me in a certain mental space less conducive to learning.  Outside of these emotional elements, the logical components seem to feed off of that momentum, that there are real elements of physical danger when it comes to riding a bike, particularly when you don't know how and I am not keen to break a bone again, if possible.  All told, the sum of these experiences make for a lot of white knuckles, although now at least I'm aware of what cliff to talk myself down from.

Another muscle that Survival!Larissa likes to flex is a fierce protectiveness of my bodily autonomy.  No one will force a treatement on me or make any permanent change to my body--whether it's a medication, procedure, or even a "healthier" choice for lunch--without my express consent.  This will take me from zero to sixty in an instant.  That particular sharpness doesn't give a damn about anyone else's feelings in that moment; it's all about survival.  Even the implication that I might not be doing the right things to take care of my own health will trigger that immediate anger.  "You don't know my case; you don't know the full details of my medical history; you don't know where I'm at emotionally," I scream at the hypothetical person giving me advice.  I am braced for a fight.  

So when it came to Andy's vasectomy, I have had a lot of mixed feelings about this.  I made a decision that ultimately influenced his decision to make a permanent change to his body.  It was a decision for both of us, but the change was to his body.  I feel some level of guilt, but much more gratitude, that he recognized that he was part of the team, that birth control wasn't just my responsibility.  He was the one to suggest the vasectomy--it had scarcely crossed my mind to ask, since I was so focused on protecting my body to scarcely think outside of it for a solution.  This decision helps me enjoy physically intimate time with my husband much better, that I'm not worried in the back of my mind that I messed up the birth control somehow--he has taken that worry away from us and that baggage out of sex.  

I had this same Survival!Larissa tactic flex in another arena recently, when my sister-in-law came into town with her new baby.  She had made the request that folks must be up-to-date on their TDaP vaccine (tetanus, diphtheria, and acellular pertussis [whooping cough] for those curious) before they would be allowed to hold him.  Two things hit me immediately:  1) I can understand completely why she would establish those rules and I respect her choices for her and her child and 2) the veritable roar of my subconscious that was already readying my defenses including walls, cannons, and boiling oil.

I am absolutely an advocate for vaccination.  The proof is irrefutable from any reliable source that vaccines have and continue to prevent disease and, emphatically, do not cause autism.  There are some vaccinations I cannot receive due to my Crohn's--specifically, I cannot re-up my measles vaccination.  I absolutely rely on herd immunity to protect me from these.  Surely I would extend that logic and courtesy to my nephew.  

But logic and courtesy weren't what I was feeling nor what I needed to feel in that moment.  Instead, I was on an immediate mental tirade.  How dare anyone even indirectly imply that I wasn't taking care of myself correctly?  How dare anyone try to impose a choice and change on my body?  If I have to jump through these stupid hoops just to have the privilege of being in someone's presence, maybe I'll just stay at home, thanks.

In short, I had a lot to work through and ultimately had to come up with some alternate reasons to get my booster shot prior to their visit.  I can't even bring myself to say that I did it for Keaton--it has to be for me or I cannot stomach it.  I have to give myself a selfish reason, despite my other beliefs, in order to calm Survival!Larissa voices.  There was no way to allow empathy in when those voices were so loud.  I genuinely cannot see outside of myself in those moments.  I have to protect myself.  I have to protect myself.  I have to keep the castle from crumbling again.  I can't waste away to Crohn's again.  Not again.

Not again.

The rage covers up a lot of grief and fear.  These voices that want to keep me safe, the intentions are good and wonderful, but less useful out of those situations.  I acknowledge them; I have compassion on those parts of me.  There were and are so many reasons for these voices to be here.  But in the meanwhile, I need to feel the rage, to ride it out and see what's happening at the source of it.  I need to understand that trigger better and will only do so if I allow myself to feel it.  

I do not expect this one to go away completely.  I am aware of my medical rights and will continue to exercise them.  Unfortunately, I will be in many, many more situations where they are necessary--I am an active member of my healthcare team and will continue to be.  But better honing in on when those voices are needed and when they are counterproductive, that's the trick.