Becoming a Lake.

Published on by Mary Gelpi10 Comments

Yesterday I overheard an interview with Marc Nepo. He is a poet, philosopher, and spiritual author. The interview covered many things, including his battle with cancer, the loss of his job, and his subsequent awakening. From what I can gather, because I haven’t read it yet, his most recent book “The Book of Great Awakening” is about presence, being conscious in the present moment. Those are a few simple words to sum up an enormous task. But as he speaks about it he makes it seem simple. And at its core maybe it is. But getting to that state of awareness is quite the journey. An excerpt from the book was read during the interview and I think it was one of the most beautiful and important pieces of writing I’d ever heard. Here is the excerpt:

How Does It Taste?

 An aging Hindu master grew tired of his apprentice complaining, and so, one morning, sent him for some salt. When the apprentice returned, the Master instructed the un-happy young man to put a handful of salt into a glass of water, and then to drink it. “How does it taste?” the master asked. “Bitter,” spit the apprentice. The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take the same handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby lake, and once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt in the water, the old man said, “Now, drink from the lake.”

As the water dripped down the young mans chin, the master asked, “How does it taste?” “Fresh,” remarked the apprentice. “Do you taste the salt?” asked the master. “No,” said the young man.

At this, the master sat beside the serious young man who so reminded him of himself and took his hands offering, “The pain of life is pure salt; No more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains the same, exactly the same. But the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is enlarge your sense of things…stop being a container. Become a lake.”

Lucky, Actually

Published on by Mary Gelpi17 Comments

While it’s a total cliché to “give thanks” today on Thanksgiving, I’ve always found it important to acknowledge and share gratitude. So what better day than today. 2011 has been one of the worst years of my life. So I’ll start by thanking God, for crapping on me this year. Just kidding! I’ve finally begun to understand why what happened this year happened, and I’m starting to accept that I am exactly where I need to be. Would I have chosen this? No. But I have to think that means something greater than me is at work, and I need to embrace that.

One of the biggest thanks I can give this year is to my family, starting with my mom and stepdad. On that awful day in January when I was too weak to walk to the bathroom, my Mom and Marc raced over as soon as I called. They sat with me in the crowded E.R. as I tried to turn my wheelchair into a makeshift bed. Marc took Monty and played on the levee behind the hospital while my mom stayed with me, for the whole 10 hours we were there. Since then, I, at 27, have moved back in with my parents. It’s not exactly ideal but what I finally realized is, Thank God they took me in. I was at a point where I was absolutely unable to care for myself. They basically just “scooted over” and let me climb on board, never making me feel like a burden. That’s love. And that’s something to be grateful for. Two weeks after “the crash”, my sister Amelie flew in from California. She “extreme home makeover’d” my apartment, stocked my pantry and fridge with healthy food, found a massage therapist and bought me 10 sessions, researched homeopathic doctors, and cooked meals for me while she was here. The most beautiful part of that act of kindness was that I didn’t even ask her to do any of it. She did it all on her own. Her ability to anticipate needs and never wait to be asked for help has always impressed me. Since then, over and over people have shown their love and support in different ways. My aunt and grandma sent money to help pay for my doctor in Miami, which doesn’t take insurance. (Not that I have insurance anymore anyway. Because why would they give insurance to a sick person who actually needs it? Oh wait…) My brother and sister-in-law let me crash on their couch in New York City for a month and lay around and write. I became their self-appointed sick, adopted child. That was kewl. Gabe let me live at his house in Nola for free while taking classes in the city. Kaitlin gave me a bag of the movies we find funniest to cheer me up while in a sickly depression. In big and small ways, a lot of people stepped in. I’m lucky.

There is plenty to be grateful for, even in the midst of hardship. In fact sometimes it is in those dark times that we are able to see real reason for gratitude that perhaps we’d skipped over before. Truthfully this year has kicked my ass, beginning literally on January 1st. Upon losing my health, I lost my job, a relationship, my apartment, and perhaps most painfully, my independence. But what I have begun to gain is perspective. A reason to dig deeper, wade through the crap, and find purpose. I’ve got a long way to go. A long way.  But I’ve got a roof over my head, food on the table, and the priceless gift of unconditional love. That means I’m not alone at the end of the day. And that’s what I’m most grateful for.

Health and Happiness and Happy T-giving!

Curse words.

Published on by Mary Gelpi18 Comments

Let’s talk about curse words for a second. Because I love talking about those fuckers. Oopse!

Don’t you love how someone will say “What a BITCH! Pardon my french…” It’s like, that..was not french…and you don’t actually sound very sorry for saying it. I wonder how that started. But not enough to actually google it. Anyway, I bring up the subject of curse words because I used a bunch of them in my car this morning as I was stuck going 35 miles per hour on the Causeway. (For you Yankees, the Causeway is the longest continuous bridge over water in the world, and runs across Lake Ponchartrain connecting the North Shore to New Orleans. Fun facts yaaay.)  So this morning there was thick fog, and that means the normal 65 mph speed limit (which is actually more like 75 mph, let’s get real) was dropped to 35 mph. It seems like overkill to me, but I’m trying to talk about curse words here so why don’t I stick to the DAMN subject. I was headed to New Orleans to take my nursing school entrance exam, and at the rate of traffic I was never gonna make it. Thus, the curse words ensued…

I don’t know what the satisfaction is in saying curse words, but it seems like whatever point you’re making, it adds the perfect amount of emphasis. It makes funny things funnier and angry things angrier and unimportant things seemingly more important. For example: Who ate all the corn flakes? Vs. Who ate all the Fucking Corn Flakes? See how that works? Anyway I started thinking about curse words and a conversation popped into my head that I had with my grandparents around the dinner table a few years back. The conversation had died down a bit and out of the blue my soft-spoken, conservative grandpa asks me “Mary, would you ever let a boy talk dirty to you?” I started to choke on my meatloaf immediately and washed it down with lemonade. I clear my throat. “What do you mean?” He went on to tell me that on the golf course that afternoon, a couple was playing near him, and the man kept cursing in front of his wife. “Even the F word,” he raised his eyebrows at me. “You wouldn’t let a man talk like that in front of you, would you?” I shook my head no, I lied. But for what it’s worth, I prefer people not to curse. Unless you’re alone in your car on a bridge. It was right after this that my Grandma (also named Mary, I’m named after her) said something extraordinary. “You know, I have Never used that word in my life, and I never will.” I know what you’re thinking–she’s lying. But if you knew her, you’d know that 1. she doesn’t lie and 2. it’s totally believable that she’s never used it. She’s as pure and innocent as they come. It really struck me when she said that. I had said it that morning just brushing my hair.

Another memory pops into my head concerning curse words. My dad was another one of those pure souls. Never did drugs, hardly drank, and never cursed. He hardly even raised his voice. He was similar to my grandma in that way. And he didn’t refrain from those things in some kind of stick-in-the-mud fashion. He was a TON of fun. He was a lot of people’s best friend. (At his funeral there were six eulogies. Six.) Anyway, it was about a year after he was diagnosed with cancer that the six of us were getting ready to go out to dinner. He had just gotten home from work at the grocery store. We rarely ate out, so it was always kind of an occastion when it happened. We were all waiting outside our enormous Chevy Grey Van (with carpeted walls) when my dad went back inside to get something. When he opened the front door, our 110 pound labrador retriever burst through, wiggled through my dads hands and took off down our neighborhood street. My dad, the smiling, mild-mannered sweet man, transcended. Something snapped. He was NOT going to let Bacchus get away with this. Off he went, running, no— sprinting down Wilson Court, still in his suit, with his tie flapping behind him, yelling after Bacchus.  “You son of a bitch!” he yelled. At one point he began picking up rocks off the street, hurling them toward the dog. “You son of a bitch Bacchus!” Zoom, another rock. The dog, barely visible at this point, was miles ahead of him. Bacchus may have been a fat son of a bitch, but he was fast. My dad never stood a chance. The four kids and my mom stood in front of the van stunned with our jaws dropped. Who was this man? When he got to the stop sign, he gave up, slowly turned around and started the defeated walk home, panting. The five of us watched. I remember feeling uncomfortable because I had never heard him curse before, but suddenly I noticed, my mom was laughing, followed by the other three. One of those group laughers that starts small and bubbles into breathlessness and strange sounds. Something about it was incredibly refreshing. By the time he made it back he was laughing of too, of course. Through his diagnosis and the grim prognosis-6 months- he had always kept it together. Finally, our fat fast dog running down the street got him to lose it, just a little. Just for a moment. It was great.

I thought about these things as I finally made it to the end of the bridge. Turns out my test wasn’t until 9, not 8:30 like I had thought. So I was going to make it. All those F bombs for nothing. Maybe next time instead of saying that word when I’m upset, I’ll say what my grandma says: Fiddle Faddle.

Health, Happiness, and $%@!

Old Man With Grocery Bags

Published on by Mary Gelpi4 Comments

One of my favorite sights to see is that of an old man or woman walking down the street with grocery bags. I can’t explain it, but I love when I see this sight. I see it in New Orleans more than seldom and like the weirdo I am, I stop and stare. Watch them for as long as I can. It’s such a sight to see. Something about it makes me feel connected. Like I know who they are or they know who I am and I think about how small my presence in the world is. I wonder what it is about that image that gets me. But I’ve always loved it.

A couple of days ago I was riding my bike with Monty. The local grocery store Conseco’s is only a few blocks away, so to get a little exercise I ride my bike there and get groceries for the day. When I arrived back at the house I got off my bike and was unleashing Monty when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. There he was. An old, old, old man, a grocery bag dangling at either side, walking with a limp down the sidewalk. I froze. He didn’t look at me, he looked off, like he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. Almost like he didn’t even know where he was going. I stared. Monty stared. I  felt all of the city noise stop, there was stillness as he wobbled by. It gave me that feeling again. Calm, connected. I almost wanted to take his picture but I thought that might be perverted, or worse, make him mad. I watched him until he turned left and looked back at Monty who I felt was thinking “My owner is a creeper.”

Anyway I went in and wrote about that man I saw but I don’t think it’s where I want it yet. Sometimes I feel I could write a whole book about an old man or an old lady carring grocery bags down the street. It’s funny the things that stick with us, inspire us. I’m sure one day I’ll be the old lady, teetering with my bags. A girl can dream.

Heaven.

Published on by Mary Gelpi9 Comments

You know what I wonder about lately? What talk show hosts talk to their guests about when they cut to a commercial. Because they always lean in as the camera zooms out, and I’m wondering, what are they saying? “Dude, you bombed.” Or is it more cordial? “Thanks again for coming on my show blah blah blah.” Watch the next moment on a talk show before the break. It’s just one of those things I think about. I also think about this: What makes a good person? A few weeks ago a girl told me I didn’t need to worry about getting into heaven, “Because you’re hilarious!” she said. I found it odd because I don’t think a sense of humor exactly is your ticket in. I’m sure there are murderers out there who can tell great jokes. I’m also wondering what Heaven consists of. I used to think it was a white puffy place where you just hung out and reunited with all the dead people from your past. But I’m starting to think it’s not such an “entity” that you get into.

My beliefs have been reconstructing themselves this year. As a child I thought that following the Golden Rule and loving unconditionally got you in, among other things like Church on Sundays and not banging until you get married. I guess I still think that to some effect, but my concept of Heaven and how you get there has changed. I think what happens after you die is an evolution of your soul. But you can only evolve once you’ve learned and grasped whatever is necessary here on earth. My mom explained one theory to me that says the reason for humans to exist is to bring God into higher consciousness. And I can believe that. Sometimes I think, that guy who everyone says knows what he’s doing, DOESN’T SEEM TO KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING! Maybe when we struggle and then overcome, our achievement becomes that of the entire Universes. Our lessons are God’s lessons.

I just think you’ve got to get it before you move on. I don’t know what the lesson is specifically, in fact I’m sure there is more than one, but I know you can’t evolve until you’ve understood what you were sent here to. Maybe it’s different for everyone. I don’t know if I’m conveying properly how I feel, because maybe I don’t even understand it myself. And I don’t pretend to. I just know that when I watch people like “The Real House Wives” or “Toddlers and Tiaras” or  Rick Perry, I think to myself, they don’t get it. I can’t exactly place my finger on what it is, I just feel intuitively that some people get it and other people don’t. And the one’s who do will move on to something greater, the ones who don’t will take another lap around the track. That’s the thing about the universe, it will deal you the same set of cards until you learn how to play them properly. This year has dealt me some tough cards, so I hope I played them right and get a better hand in 2012. I’m sleepy  now.

Health, Happiness, Heaven.

Something Else.

Published on by Mary Gelpi7 Comments

I think I had a bit of an epiphany over the weekend. I went camping on a beach with some crazy people I know. It was great. Suddenly though, I don’t want to talk about being sick anymore. I don’t know that typing out everyday that I have a migraine and I’m really fatigued and all of my muscles hurt, is helping. In the beginning I started this out with some encouragement from a few different people that I should do it, and it might help other people. And if it even helps one person, then it’s worth it. But I think there is something more important at work here. I think the goal should be to show that you can have a stupid illness like that, and still have a happy life. A productive life. Sometimes people read what I write and tell me it’s really depressing. And I think, depressing for you? I’M the 27-year-old living on my parents couch! But the whole truth is, it could be way worse. I’ve got two feet, two arms, half a brain, and a sense of humor that seems to carry me through the toughest situations. I get that from my dad.

Anyway I’m not sure what direction this is going to go in. I’ll still give reports on how I’m doing though it’s hard to think that anyone reading this cares whether my migraine cycle stopped or how many pills a day I’m up to, or down to. The illness is a part of me, and something that happened to me, but it is not who I am. And I feel called to write about bigger things and do bigger things, even though at times that seems impossible. But I’ve come a long way already. It was just in January that I would dread walking to the bathroom, because it fatigued me so much. I still have a ways to go, but for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel like I am going to recover enough to do big things. Only the universe knows what’s in store, but I am anxious to see what lies ahead.

So no more elaborating about what I feel like. From now on, just assume I have a migraine and I’m fatigued. That way I won’t have to write it everyday. What I’m saying is, great health or bad health, I’m going to keep looking for the reason I am here and why I have a passion for writing. I have a feeling it’s not just to write a blog about being sick. That seems to diminish what I consider a gift that was given to me. I don’t mean to un-substantiate the seriousness or shittiness of this illness, because it is both. And everyone I talk to with it fights a battle everyday. I know the exhaustion of just explaining it. But I want the illness just to be in the background of what I’m doing. I don’t want it to have center stage. I want to show that life can still have meaning and importance, even if you’re stuck in bed. It may have been the reason I started this, but it won’t be why I continue. It’s time for something else.

My Liver

Published on by Mary Gelpi4 Comments

I’ve been thinking a lot about my liver. It’s like, 25 pills a day…my liver must be in overdrive processing all the crap I swallow. But in my anatomy class I was looking at the liver on the model that shows all the organs, and it’s huge! Like much bigger than I thought. I always assumed it’d look like a spleen or kidney or something, but no, it stretches from your right hypochondriac region to your epigastric region. That’s two whole regions! None of the other organs take up that much space. Well the intestines take up a lot, but you get it. Big organ the liver is. And I really hope it will be functioning by the time I am 50 but I often worry it won’t. Can you get liver transplants? I’ll ask my lab teacher.

I had another dream I was dying last night. Well first I had a dream I was looking at a horse and the horse’s head was on fire. It was really creepy. I even consciously thought “I’ll need to tell my mom about this.” Then it transitioned into me being attached to a parachute that wasn’t functioning properly. I kept thinking I was going to crash and burn and die but I didn’t. I would land OK. And then again, whisked up into the air, clenching my teeth and waiting to crash. Pretty stressful. The last part of the dream I was in a car with my dad and someone else that I can’t place. Again the car was attached to the parachute and being thrown all over the place. Only this time, I was calm. I closed my eyes and my thinking was this: It’s fine. If I die and there is no afterlife, then this is the end and I won’t have consciousness to suffer. If there is an afterlife I’ll get to see a bunch of people I miss and probably bounce around on some awesome cumulonimbus clouds. I always imagine Heaven to be filled with pink cumulonimbus clouds. Anyway it was the first time in my stressful dreams that I had attained composure and a feeling of calm before death, which rarely happens in those dreams, so I’ll consider that a win. Score.

I’ve been feeling crappy but functionally crappy for the last week. If I can get myself out of bed, take my meds, drink 3 cups of coffee, I am usually feeling alive about an hour later. It’s that first hour that is tough to push through. Monty usually helps with that because he gets anxious to go out and if I don’t get up he eventually paws me in the face until I start moving. He’s my best motivator, really. I still worry if I’m on the right track. I am working up to go to nursing school but when I talk to people in the program, they work very long hours and study very long hours. I just wonder if I will be able to handle it. But, I’m going to keep trying. Maybe I’ll just be a nursing student for like 4 or 5 years if that’s how long it takes. But I won’t sit around and be an invalid. That’s depressing. I gotta try stuff. Even if I fail.

Anyway, going to try to study more about neurons and the nervous system. It looks like it’s about to storm outside, so that is exciting for me. I like to just sit by a window and watch a storm for as long as it lasts. Sometimes I feel like I could do that for days. Or years. But Monty wouldn’t like that now would he. Peace!

Health Happiness and Functioning 50 Year Old Livers

Ew, Sick.

Published on by Mary Gelpi1 Comment

I promised myself I would dedicate one year to this stupid blog, good, bad, ugly, healthy, sick, and everything in between. This week falls under the ugly category. It’s hard to explain, but it’s been really challenging physically and mentally. I don’t feel like writing about it, but I’m trying to stick to my goal. I’m really terrible at meeting goals, so take this!!…me….Now I’m yelling at myself? Awesome. I’m on a roll.

I woke up feeling like death again today. Bad migraine, pain all over, and a foggy foggy head. I am still battling the migraine and the brightness of this computer screen isn’t helping exactly but nothing is helping exactly so I’ll keep going.

It’s been a sick week. A dead week. I can hardly articulate what I mean because my brain doesn’t seem to be doing its job; like processing thoughts. Like being able to talk and write correctly. Like making sense of peoples sentences. Like probably failing my anatomy test on Wednesday. But I need to stay focused and like my mom always tells me: Just do today. Just do what’s in front of you.

It’s weeks like this where I’ll be looking for my phone while talking on my phone. Where getting up from a sitting position makes my heart pound and gives me shortness of breath. Migraines check. Achy body check. Unwarranted exhaustion check. Depression, hopelessness, anger, check check check.

What I am trying to do is be at peace with what is happening in this moment. Even if that entails feeling like shit physically and feeling sad mentally. Sometimes, you need to let yourself be sad. Cry it out. Or punch it out through a pillow. This week has been a battle with myself. It’s crazy to me that I still have to remind myself that I can’t do the things other people can. I can’t keep up with the pace of most of the world. What’s been hard is the feeling that my life is absolutely out of control. It’s like I am floating, just going wherever the current takes me and not having a say so in where I end up. That’s a tough feeling. That has a little to do with the anxiety I’ve been feeling I think.

Someone once told me that control is just a facade and that rang true to me. People love to be in control, but the truth is we have very little control over many things that happen to us. People who do everything right get cancer. People who want to get pregnant can’t. People who are smart with their money lose it all to something they couldn’t help. Good people die young and evil people grow old. There are a million ways in which to feel like we have control. But maybe that’s all it is– a feeling. Not anything real.

Of course in saying all of this, I realize there are parts of my life that I can control. Like; don’t start drinking screw drivers at 1 am. DUH. There are consequences I know I can prevent and I need to start being proactive about those parts. I guess I am still dealing with the acceptance part of this and I don’t know how long that is going to take. Apparently like 15 years isn’t long enough. Maybe it will be a life long endeavor. Yaaay sounds fun! I really need to focus my energy towards positive things or I’m going to fall in a hole of doubt and never get out. There are people way worse off and getting by with more freedom and more happiness. Maybe Oprah is right. Maybe life really is easy, we just make it hard.

I have no idea if anything I just wrote was coherent or adhered to any type of organization or if it was all disoriented jargon. But, I wrote. When I really didn’t feel like writing. And I promised myself I would do this, so here is me doing it. And possibly failing. But at least failing means I tried. Fourth grade lessons coming full circle woohoooo! Head is throbbing now, back to rest.

Health Happiness and Disoriented Jargon

 

 

The Idiot

Published on by Mary Gelpi3 Comments

I am writing from a horizontal position on my couch with Monty next to me, who is on and off the couch chasing flies. Class started 10 minutes ago but I am still having the pleasurable experience of a migraine (day 3) and dizziness and weakness and all that jazz. This time however, I am not wondering how I got this way. I know exactly why I’m crashed  and it’s mostly my fault.

Halloween was Saturday and since I’ve never done a Halloween party sober, I thought I could handle a little drinking and be fine. This comes from a little thing called denial that I go through every now and then. I pretend like I can party like other people, work like other people, and stay on top of everything I need to. You’d think after so many years of being sick, overdoing it, paying the price, I’d GET IT BY NOW. But, it turns out I’m a slow learner. To be honest, last year was when I really began to even acknowledge and accept this illness and the limits it has created for my life.

Long story short, we ran out of beer so I intelligently switched to screw drivers. Way to go Mary, WAY TO GO. (If I ever drink sugary alcoholic drinks it’s really bad news the next day) Not only did I fall asleep at the Halloween party 30 minutes in, but I lost a whole day the following day. Sunday was spent in bed, in and out of consciousness, and in terrible pain. The migraine medicine didn’t work. The pain killers didn’t work. Nothing worked. It carried on into yesterday, which was really great because I had to move all of my belongings from my old apartment to the new house I’ve been staying at in New Orleans. Most everyone would agree moving is exhausting and pretty much sucks all around, and trying to move with a migraine is even more fun. Now it is Tuesday and I am still feeling the effects of Saturday night and the  crash from physical labor yesterday. I have one of my hardest tests of the semester tomorrow, so I am trying to drink a lot of fluid and stay horizontal until I get some strength and my head pain goes down. I’m really dizzy when I stand again. Don’t know exactly why that is today.

Anyway I’ve been reflecting a lot and it’s not like I’ve discovered anything new. I know drinking is just a bad decision in my state so I just really need to stop. Except for maybe a glass of wine or two at dinner every now and then. Especially because Saturday wasn’t even worth the next day that I lost. It’s simply immature and irresponsible at this point to keep doing things like that, so I’m going to stop for a while. I think the rest of 2011 needs to be sober. If I am serious about getting well, I need to give up things like that. And I should have a while ago. Simply put, I need to stop being an idiot.

Anyway this is getting boring and turning into a Dr. Phil pow wow. But maybe if I write it down I’ll be more serious about it. It can feel lonely not being able to do the things that other people my age are doing. I think if I hung out with 75+ year olds I’d feel much more part of the crowd. Maybe I’ll go scout out new friends at the neighborhood nursing home.

Before I made stupid decisions Saturday night, I had a really nice day. We went slack lining at City Park which I always enjoy. Not only because right now the weather in New Orleans is really sexy, but also because it’s something physical that I am able to do, and I usually don’t pay for it the next day. If you’ve never heard of slack lining here it is: Basically, tight rope walking, but on a slack line, (an inch thick.) I can’t tell you what the appeal is, I mean, it’s just walking a couple of feet above the ground. But there is something addicting about it. It requires focus and balance, and once I walked across the whole line on my own I remembered the great feeling of conquering something again. It was nice to have a physical goal and be able to reach it. Here are some slacking photos:

This should be a motivational fibro poster
monkey business
Caleb

While we were outside one of the coolest dogs ever showed up. Her name is Teegan, and she is basically the size of a pony. She’s an Irish Wolf Hound and made Monty look small for once. The two of them played tug of war over a stick for a really long time. Finally Monty had some real competition. At one point Teegan got a little mad and snapped at Monty, but he really didn’t care. He ended up with the stick ane that is all he cared about. He effing loves sticks!

Hey there lil guy

 

My Stick, MY STICK

I guess that’s all for now. I’m hoping everyone had a great Halloween, (better than mine) and I’m actually looking forward to the rest of 2011. Time to get healthy for REAL.

Health and Happiness and I mean it this time.

 

The Office

Published on by Mary GelpiLeave a comment

There is a room in my mom’s house called ‘the office.’ When I was really sick in January and February I spent most of my time here. It’s a small square room that has two walls of windows, a bible on the window sill, and a few shelves of books about botany and psychology and other things I know very little about. I feel a connection to this room and it’s always been my favorite place in the house. Sometimes I feel I could sit by this window, watch the birds flirt and the trees flutter and not leave for a couple of years. I would think I would grow tired of this room because I spent so many depressing sick days here in the winter, just wishing to feel better, waiting to get back into the world. I was certainly not a part of the world then. Or it didn’t feel like I was. But somehow I still love this room. It’s the first place I go in the morning. It’s probably the windows. I’m always drawn to them. I make my coffee, take my pills, and sit for as long as I can– Until the phone rings or someone walks in the door or Monty paws at me to go outside. I don’t play music or have a TV on. It’s just quiet and it’s really nice.

See? Nice.

This morning started in a peculiar way. First I woke up with a killer migraine at 6 (that’s not the peculiar part.) I took my meds and went back to sleep. At around 9 I woke up to an intense knock at the door. Someone who was knocking with PURPOSE or anger or both. Since it takes me like 10 years to get my bearings in the morning there were a few rounds of purposeful knocks before I made it to the door. When I got there no one was at the door anymore so I walked down the porch steps to see a Sheriffs car outside. My first thought: Fuck, my stepdad died. OK so I may have a little PTSD because last time a sheriff called our house it was to tell my mom her husband had died. The truth of the matter is, I prepare myself for news like that all the time. It was just some idle Tuesday that my mom called barely able to get the words out through her tears that Roger had died in his hotel room the night before. He had some kind of heart attack in his sleep. After you get news like that, the fear or the readiness to receive traumatic news follows you everywhere. So back to the sheriffs car: Fuck, Marc died. The guys face was so solemn and serious, I clenched my hands and prepared for the worst. “Hi ma’mm, is Marc home?” PHEW! MARC WAS ALIVE! He may be going to jail but nonetheless, alive! Anyway it turned out to be no big deal. There is this neighbor near us with a dog that keeps running onto our property and barks all day long blah blah blah, Marc left them a note, and for some reason they called the sheriff to make sure we weren’t going to kill them or something. I don’t know. I went back inside after I discovered no one had died and no one was going to jail. So that was 9 am.

After that my mom and I were up and my migraine was still trying so I took another dose of meds and drank coffee and talked with her about dreams, death, life, all the goodies. I love waking up this way. (To coffee and philosophy, not migraines and cops) I could sit and drink coffee and talk about life and death all day long and be perfectly content. We were talking about my dad and my mom said “I think the best part of the experience with your dad is that he not only showed you how to live, he showed you how to die.” And she was right. My dad did both with ease, honesty, pureness and beauty. I only had him for 12 years, but it’s incredible with how much he left me with.

I guess I need to get back to errands and studying and emails and the junk that clouds up our days. Anyway it’s been an eventful morning, but Marc is here, having a business meeting with my mom, and I’m in the office watching the birds and the trees from my favorite spot. Not too bad.

Health Happiness and No More Dead Dads! :)

GUILTY

Published on by Mary Gelpi1 Comment

There is a phrase called “Paying the price” that someone with CFIDS/Fibro/Lyme Disease/WhateverthehellelseIhave/ is very familiar with. Paying the price comes from illness crimes. It’s very easy to commit crimes against the illness. The most common crime I commit is overdoing it, which results in paying the price. Paying the price means you don’t get to do much of anything for a couple of days because your body hates you and you’re going to spend ample time on a couch or a bed with disturbed sleep and in my case watching a lot of Frasier because let’s get real, Frasier rocks, and promising you’ll never do it again. NEVER! But of course, you do. Because this is life, and you want to have fun. And apparently you haven’t paid a high enough price. APPARENTLY.

Anyway I overdid it this weekend, thus I am paying the price. First of all I traveled. FELONY. I also went to a wedding. MISDEMEANOR. I drank at the wedding. MURDER. Then I went to a Saints Game. DEATH PENALTY. Was it fun? Duh. It was way fun. But now I am couch ridden and very behind in my studies. Tisk tisk. Luckily Frasier is on Play It Now on Netflix so I have plenty of material to keep my sick little mind occupied. I tried going to class and comprehending anything my teacher said but I could only focus on the way she says calcium and phosphate. “Calshium Phoshphate.” She’s from India and her pronunciations keep me on my toes. I left class really foggy headed and dizzy so I’ve been drinking fluids and staying horizontal to try to get back on track. I’m going home this weekend for some TLC and to rest. I am a sucker for peer pressure, and the only thing I get peer pressured into at my parents house is watching Bill O’Reilly, so I should be able to handle that.

I don’t feel like I have a lot to say. So I guess I’ll go now. My anxiety is a little better so that’s good news. Maybe I am just too fatigued to notice it lately. Anyway, it’s 4:30 pm, I’m going to get ready for bed.

Health Happiness and Felony’s

A Story About Death

Published on by Mary Gelpi2 Comments

Let’s talk for a second about death. Because I love it, and one day I’m going to die. And so are you! Isn’t that awesome? There’s something I do sometimes and I encourage other people to do it to: say out loud “I’m going to die.” I do it to free myself when I am feeling trapped– it reminds me that time on this earth is temporary. I think 99% of our lives are spent in either uncousciousess of the idea or denial. It could be an ego thing or a fear thing, but all I know is I’ve always been eager to talk about death but I’m usually dismissed as morbid or depressing. I don’t like to talk about it like “God dude, one day I’m going to die….what’s the point…blah blah blah.” I think talking freely and happily about death can be a very intelligent and healthy conversation to have, it just seems like no one wants to have it.

Well I do. And I realize why I’m like this. I have this very distinct memory of sitting on our back deck in Colorado in August. I was 12. The weather was hot but nice, and my mom and dad, a volumptuous jazz singer named Veronica who sang at our Church among other things, and me were sitting around a patio table sifting through sheet music. You know what we were doing? Picking out funeral music, for my dad’s funeral. He was dying of cancer. Theoretically this is totally depressing. But I’m telling you, it wasn’t! He was in this striped robe, (an awesome robe, I still have it) with his legs folded and laughing and making jokes, and so was my mom and so was Veronica. They set the stage for me emotionally that death is not all bad. They laughed, so I laughed.

My mom and dad sang at the choir in our Church so my dad was particular about the songs he wanted. He didn’t want sad music. And so we played happy music. Beautiful, hopeful, honest music. Veronica sang, and it was perfect. It was just how he wanted it.

So that was my first big experience with death. And I guess being so young and seeing someone that you expect to have around forever slowly leave, makes you examine your own immortality. It’s not so much that I care how I’m going to die, I just worry whether I’m “doing it right” while I’m here. I don’t know when I’ll die, and I want to make sure I’m staying in the moment. I want to be conscious. (Insert some quote about dance like no ones watching )

Wait, that last part is a lie. I TOTALLY wonder how I will die. Not in an obsessive way but out of simple curiosity. Although for a solid year all I did was dream about the possible ways that I would die. There was a lot of falling out of airplanes and a lot of not being able to breathe and a lot a lot a lot of tornados. Ick. Then one day after my health really plumetted in Jaunary of this year I was talking about my fear of death with my mom. Some days I really felt like I was dying, but it had been a fear I’d had for a while. I told her I wasn’t so scared conceptually of it, but I was scared of the pain of it. My dreams were really stressful; I was always closing my eyes and clenching my teeth as the plane went down waiting for the pain to hit me. My mom stopped me and said “Mary, you’re in pain everyday. You’ve been sick for years. Dying can’t be any worse than what you’ve been through?” And then we started talking about how life is the hard part. This is the painful part. Death will be exciting. It will be incredible.

After that I was able to let some of my fear about death go. I still do think about it a lot. I really wonder what is next. If there is a next. (I know there is a next. I know it!) What will it look like. And what will I be without a body? I could go on and on and this is what I think about when I go to sleep so sorry for the death spill on aisle 6, but I just felt like talking about it. Or typing about it.

Anyway I guess I am just hoping that if it’s a week before I die, I can sit outside like my dad did and laugh about my funeral and plan it with family and friends and know that I have loved and I am loved. Those are the things that will outlast me.

So what’s the point in all this? The point is: You’re going to die! And that’s great news! I’m going to die too. And we’ll see each other again, in other blogospheres, in other bodies. But we’ll have all the lessons and love that we’ve acquired while we were here. That’s what I think Heaven is. Something like that.

Health, Happiness, and You’re Going to Die! Smile!

Sweet Dreams

Published on by Mary GelpiLeave a comment

I don’t know what the eff is going on lately but I have this newfound anxiety which is pretty unpleasant. I’ve never had anxiety before so I’m still getting used to this new feeling. If I can sum the feeling up in symbols it’s like this: !!!!!!!!!???!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!…..!!!!!!!!  …?….!!!!!!!!!!!!!. It’s kind of exciting this “anxiety”. Since I’ve never had it before it’s something new I can scratch off the list. Score! It’s like restlessness meets unease meets subtle guilt and fear you’ve done something wrong. It’s been about three weeks of this and still going strong.

The other fun part of it is my high anxiety dreams. I’ve always had stressful dreams that end up with me all sweaty and yelling something like “Doooon’t Killll Montyyy!!” My mom, who was a student of Jungian psychology told me to start writing my dreams down, and then I would get to the root of the issue. I guess half of the issue is not knowing what the actual issue is. I bet I sound like such a typical girl right now. So my mom told me to write the dreams and she’d help me analyze them. And I’m all “But I hate rehashing my dreams! They’re terrible!” And she’s all “You’ll never solve it that way Mary! Don’t be a quitter!” So anyway, I started writing them down.  And no, this is not totally unsubstantiated psycho babel. Think about it. Your conscious mind can’t possibly access and work through all of your current life situations, (it’s too busy texting and driving and facebooking) so when you sleep you access the greatest window to the unconscious. Jung said the mind worked in symbols, and so analyzing dreams is just a matter of breaking those symbols down. Mom if I’m getting this all wrong please correct it. You’re the smart one.

Anyway this is last nights dream:

I tell my mom that I want to go to Colorado for Thanksgiving but she telsl me we’re going to stay here and spend it with Jess (one of my best friends) and her family. I am kind of sad about this because I’d rather spend it with my Colorado family but I agree…the next thing I know me and Jess are floating on tubes down a river, a muddy Southern Louisiana river (the ones you go tubing on near our house) We’re tubing down the river and Monty is swimming at our side. Pretty soon we are going surprisingly fast down the river and just letting the current take us. Somehow I end up stuck in some sticks and rocks and I am trying to get loose. Jess also got stuck but she got out first. When I finally get out of the sticks I see a note from Jess saying she went on but she is really excited for thanksgiving and she’ll see me soon. I think that’s fine until I realize I don’t know which direction to go. The river doesn’t seem to go obviously in one direction or another. The next thing I realize Monty is missing. (this is a common theme in many of my dreams) I start to panic a bit because night is falling and monty is missing and I don’t know which direction to go. (see why I have anxiety!?!?)  As I am floating down the river I’m calling out for Monty..I start to float into a herd of HUGE GEESE but nothing happens. (as in they don’t kill me like I thought they might) Finally I see a sheriff standing on a bridge and I’m calling out to him loudly to save me. There is traffic and for a while he doesn’t hear me but finally he does. He anchors me up from the water and I tell him I have a dog that we have to find but the whole thing feels grim and it’s pretty certain we’re not going to find Monty.

THE END.
So much fun right? Actually the unexplainably large swarm of geese was fun. So here’s what my mom responded with:

“Awesome dream…lots to see but I’m crazy busy right now getting ready for company so we’ll have to process it later.  In the meantime write down who Jess represents to you and what Monty represents to you and we’ll go from there  love you, mom”

I understand, company can be a headache. That’s all for now. Health Happiness and Sweet Dreams.

Pay Phones

Published on by Mary Gelpi1 Comment

I still feel shitty today blah blah blah. My legs are all cramped up blah blah blah. The good news is it’s Saturday and all you have to do on Saturday in the Fall is watch College Football and as previously stated, I’m awesome at doing that. LSU vs. Florida, 2:00, woo woo. It really helps that the weather is so sexy right now. It’s like if you’re going to have a migraine, it might as well be in sunny 70 degree weather.

Yesterday my friend Jared and I went for a walk around mid city New Orleans and it was nice. (Again, weather.) And Monty was eager to play. My legs hurt and my headache was in and out but after two large large cups of iced coffee the headache went away and I got a little energy. By this point it was 2:30. I was finally awake. I don’t think I am meant to exist before early afternoon. I’m just not a great person in the mornings. I feel I do better in late afternoons and best at night. I like when the time changes and it gets dark early. It’s like my nighttime greatness doubles!

Can Phone.
.

Anyway on our walk we passed this payphone. I love seeing payphones these days because they’re like this ancientartifact that really aren’t from that long ago but anytime I pass one it never works or the phone has been ripped out. But if you’re really lucky you’ll get a dial tone. It’s like a technological four-leaf clover! So we pass the same one I always pass on the walk to the coffee shop and notice some mardi gras beads on the top. (You’re never ever far in Nola from some carelessly thrown beads.) And a diet coke can was where the phone part used to be. So my inventive friend attached the diet coke can to the mardi gras beads and made a can phone! 25 cents not neccesary! I just know some drunk person is going to come across it one night and totally have a conversation on that can phone and something about that makes me happy.

Then we took Monty to Bayou St. John where he swam after sticks and hopefully didn’t pick up anything poisonous in that very very very very dirty water. He was just having so much fun though, it might be worth the Bayou Flu. I bathed him when we got home at least so my bed wouldn’t smell like the bayou. Yes, he sleeps in the bed with me. Lay off. He’s a good spooner!

So a friend shared this article with me which sums up pretty well what a chronic illness can be like. She nails it on the head about time management. Everything becomes so calculated when you’re sick. It can be shitty, but if you start to look at it as the new way in which to live your life and not an obstacle to see as getting in your way, it makes it a little easier. Anyway her Spoon Theory makes perfect sense and it’s good to know I’m not the only dealing with fibo-myalgia-lyme-chronic-shit whatever. The world is full of sickleys! Health and happiness and can phones.

Crash

Published on by Mary Gelpi1 Comment

I am in the middle of what people in the Biz call a ‘crash.’ Basically my muscles feel like jello, I have pain all over and I can barely keep my eyes open. It’s awesome!!! The only way to overcome a crash is to get horizontal and sleep for however long it takes. I’m on my 5th cup of coffee but if I blink for too long I could be in a deep sleep fast. I just need to hold on a little longer and push through because I have my second anatomy test in twenty minutes. After that, I can shut my brain and my body off and hopefully awake to something a little better.

I knew it was going to be a rough day when I awoke drenched in sweat after a sequence of high anxiety dreams. I pretty much always wake up at some point during the night or in the morning and need to change clothes. It’s really sexy. Anyway my muscle pain is relentless today as it was yesterday. Pretty much the only thing that helps is sitting in a bath, but there is no such thing as a portable bath tub so I’m kindof stuck. Almost through it though. I need to listen so some pump up music like MIchael Jackson. Or Sarah Mclaughlin.

I should be studying technically because I didn’t do so hot on my last quiz and my brain has felt really foggy all week. But it’s like it hits a certain point and then I can’t retain any more information. Sometimes I can’t even speak properly. It takes a really long time to find the right words and my memory? Forgettabout it. I definitely study better at night and I did as much as I could handle last night before seeing double and feeling the fog roll in. I am sitting in the sun on campus hoping it will give me natural energy. I took all kinds of vitamins today hoping it would boost me but basically I still feel like there is something sub-earth which is pulling me downwards. I’d like to kick whatever is doing that in the face. Not that I’d have the energy to BUT STILL. At least the migraine cycle broke. OK enough whining. WHAT ELSE.

My test is on bones and joints. There are 206 bones in the human body. Hmm that is all I can remember right now.This test should go great. I may sleep for the next 3 days, so see you when I see you.

Bloody Mary (Get it? Cause I’m getting my blood drawn and my name is..you get it)

Published on by Mary Gelpi2 Comments
Pins and Needles

Don’t I look excited? I loooove getting my blood drawn! OK so Miami was awesome and we stayed at this beautiful place with a beautiful view and good food. Kindof hard to beat. If I was one of those facebookers that took pictures of my feet and food I would have ALL KINDS of photos to share but I’m not, so I don’t. It always amazes me that people take pictures of their feet, and then post them on facebook for the world to see. It’s like, feet are ugly. Chances are, you have feet. And chances are they’re ugly. There’s a possibility they’re less ugly than the average foot, but that’s the key, they’re not cute, they’re only less ugly. There  was a girl in my high school, I can’t recall her name at the moment, but she had pretty remarkable feet. I always used to stare at them. I’d gaze all longingly at them and then slump my head down and look at my own stupid toes and get really envious. Anyway, I’m lucky my doctor lives in a beautiful place like Miami and not say, oh I dunno, Detroit or like Grand Junction, Colorado. (JK, I’m from Grand Junction. AKA The Junk Yard/ The Junk. Good people, boring town.)

Anywho, the trip was really great for the most part. Execpt for waking up with a migraine every morning, I felt pretty well. I don’t know why my migraine cycle started back up again. Sometimes it happens when I travel, but when I went to Destin a few weeks ago I had not-a-one, so I don’t know what that’s about. Maxalt saved my life as usual. My mom asked me “Can you imagine your life without maxalt?” and the truth was  I had never thought about it. When my mom became ill in the 80’s there was no such thing as maxalt. She’d spend days in bed until it finally subsided or she’d end up in e.r. I am really lucky that for all 2000 of my issues at least modern science allows me to treat most of them. I am very fortunate in that regard and I probably don’t say it enough.

There was another discovery at the doctors office. I have gained nearly FIFTEEN POUNDS since January. It’s really crazy. I did need it though. People were looking at me with Church eyes when I weighed 98 pounds, and I must say I felt less womanly at that size. Now I feel a little more substantial, and that if a cat or small mammal attacks me at least I can defend myself. I’ve never been a fan of the size 0 stick figures that everyone seems to be obsessed with. Plus I live in the South. We like junk in our trunk.

The blood work results will be back in a couple of weeks so until then the doc said to keep up what I’m doing. Speaking of which, I have an anatomy test on Wednesday which covers every bone in the body and I am insanely unprepared. My favorite bones you ask? The clavicles. They’re just fun to say. I’ll leave you with a picture of my view. As my favorite musical artist Lil’ Wayne says “Life is a Beach I’m just playin in the Sand.” PEACE YALL.

Who picked out THIS dump?

Oh Em Gee.

Published on by Mary Gelpi3 Comments

I keep having the most STRESSFUL dreams ever. And it doesn’t help to have a migraine permeating them. Last night was one that I have pretty often. It’s finals week, but in some variation of high school/middle school/church camp. A teacher that taught me in middle school named Mr. Goldsworthy, (whoa, I am just realizing what an awesome last name that is!) is the one who’s final I am unprepared for. He was a really good teacher, but tough. So I am scrambling in the dream because it is made apparent to me that I have not attended one class all semester and there is no possible way I am going to do well on this math exam. It’s crazy stressful. In last night’s dream I was desperate for a calculator but all I could find were those crappy 5 dollar ones you get at Walgreens but what I really wanted was the scientific kind because those things basically do the math for you, y’know? Anyway of course I woke sweating from my eccrine  sudoriferous glands (NURSING SCHOOL WHAT WHAT) with a KILLER migraine. It was a really stressful way to wake up. I did not pack last night. I need to pack. Peace in the middle east.

Miami!

Published on by Mary GelpiLeave a comment
80's Butt Rocker

So my new haircut has me looking like an 80’s butt rocker but that’s OK because… I’m Going to Miami!…(cue Will Smith song.) My doctor/Godsend/Miracle Worker/all that is good and powerful/ is there. It so happens to be that my brothers in-laws live there too so we’re having a little reunion where hopefully I will get some sun with the fam and good news from the new blood work.

When I first had my blood taken there in February we discovered my immune system was four times more active than average and my T-Cells were 1/4 of what they should be. So that had a little to do with the feeling that I might crumple over and die at any second. For that, the doc prescribed immunovir, an anti-viral, which put my pill-per-day number right around 20. Blood work in June showed some improvement but hopefully this next round will show even more. I’m sure everyone is at home just biting their nails at the results so I will report them in a timely fashion. You’re welcome!

Traveling really blows and I always seem to crash hard the day after I fly. (Like, stuck in bed most of the day.) Nola to Miami isn’t so long but it happened last time I made the trip, so the doctor said to drink twice as many fluids on the day of travel and eat protein. Check and check. The best part of traveling is the ginger ale you order on the plane, and the people watching. I wish it were appropriate to wear sunglasses in the airport so I could watch everyone without looking like such a creep. But I’m pretty sure I’d just look douchey with my shades on so I’ll have to pretend to read something. Reading? Ew!

I have to pack. I’m a terrible packer. Let’s see if I can get it right.

Health Happiness and Butt Rocking Hair Cuts!