Last week, I read BloggessJenny Lawson’s new book Furiously Happy.
Image from Amazon.com
Furiously Happy deals with Jenny’s mental health issues, how she copes with them, and, importantly how they help make her the person she is. It is truly a gift to folks with anxiety, depression, other mental health issues (and to those who care about them). It shows them that they’re not alone.
The blurb on the flap sums it up pretty well:
This is a book about embracing everything that makes us who we are – the beautiful and the flawed – and then using it to find joy in fantastic and outrageous ways. Because as Jenny’s mom says, “Maybe ‘crazy’ isn’t so bad after all.” Sometimes crazy is just right.
While Furiously Happy is geared towards folks with mental illness, I came away from the book feeling comforted about my physical illness, Crohn’s Disease. Because Furiously Happy reminded me that other people — probably everyone, in fact — struggles through life with something. And that’s why we all — every one of use — need each other.
Because no matter what each of us is facing, we’re not alone.
Plus, the book is hilarious. You will rarely enjoy mental illness quite this much.
Oh, and go read her most recent blog post, which had me laughing for hours last night. It is a compendium of awkward moments sent to the Bloggess via Twitter.
One of my favorite things about blogging, is that often, my bloggin’ buddies often give me the opportunity to tell stories that I don’t have the opportunity to tell.
Like this one.
Now you know that I had a wonderful childhood. As the youngest of five, somehow, I never felt unwanted, no matter what was going on. Except once.*
As I entered the kitchen, I noticed that my mom and two sisters, Beth and Judy, were sitting at the kitchen table, discussing anatomy. Female anatomy to be precise.. They were discussing “holes.” Their holes.
This might be a good time for guys to switch to another blog.
Yes, Mom, Beth and Judy were sitting at the kitchen table talking about their holes. Both of their holes. The TWO holes in their nether regions.
I was 7 years old, and very confused.
“But …” I started saying …
They didn’t want to listen. They continued talking, ignoring me.
Panic started to rise in me.
“But … but … listen to me!!!” I finally practically shouted.
They all turned to me and Beth said, “OK, Lease. What do you want to say.”
I looked around the table and said softly, in fear:
“I have three holes! There’s the one I pee through, the one I poop through, and one in the middle that doesn’t do anything. Don’t you guys have three?” Panic was building in me as I realized that the three of them just continued to looked at me. Judy rolled her eyes. She smirked.
“Nope. You’re just weird, Lease,” said Judy.
They all looked at me, blankly, until finally I left, taking my incomprehensible extra hole with me. And let me tell you that I was baffled about that openingfor years.
For more than 50 years, I’ve wondered what that conversation was actually about. Over the years, I asked many times, but since the incident didn’t scar any of them for life, so they’d long since forgotten.
Now what does this story have to do with blogging and blogging buddies?
Well only yesterday my buddy Alice, of Coffee and a Blank Page commented on my blog piece, Tush Technologies and linked to an article more or less on this subject. Well, on the subject of vaginas, anyhow. Weird technological things about hoo-hahs to be exact.
Now I didn’t know that there was such a thing as a “menstrual cup” either. Apparently I haven’t changed much since I was 7. These new (to the extent anything used for Eve’s Curse can be considered “new”), more environmentally friendly collection devices. You can shove a cup into your box at the requisite time and, well, fill er up!
But according to the article that Alice sent me, there were draw backs with the cups. I’m sure you saw the problem leaking through, didn’t you.
Well, there was a problem Until Now. Because there is now smart, ummm, cootch, technology to keep that cup from runneth-ing over.
If I’m reading the article right, it will tell your smart phone when you need to, umm, dump.
Ain’t technology grand?
I don’t know exactly why, but this article made me think of something from another bloggin’ buddy, Father Kaine of The Last of the Milleniums.
* OK, I will admit I didn’t feel completely welcome that time when I was pushing into my newly married sister Beth’s bedroom when she’d pulled the bookcase in front of the door, either.
Recently, a close friend/relative was diagnosed with a chronic disease. He’s pretty miserable.
It’s a hard thing to accept, that diagnosis. To find out that you have something nasty that you don’t want, and it’ll always be with you. Gee Willikers, who the hell do you thank for that?
Still, having had a chronic disease for forty years, I’ve learned a thing or two that I can pass along.
I’ve learned that basically, it’s a frog’s life. Yup. A while ago I figured out that living life with a chronic disease simply means you’re a frog.
You don’t look like a frog!
You see, most of the time, life is normal. You hang out in the pond with your family and friends. You eat bugs which is gross, of course. But still, life is good most of the time.
This pond has an all you can eat buffet!
But naturally, life isn’t quite that easy. It isn’t quite that easy if you don’t have health problems. But if you do, well, you have to pay attention to what happens to you. The Devil is in the details. Actually, the devil is in the damn symptoms you probably think aren’t worth bothering with.
You have to watch out for pot. Pots. You have to watch out for pots.
Huh?
Oh surely you’ve heard about frogs and pots!
No? Let me rekindle that image.
Rumor has it* that sometimes someone (an asshole no doubt) puts a poor, unsuspecting frog into a pot of boiling water. The frog (being smarter than the average bear) immediately jumps out. Of course s/he does! It’s painful! If s/he doesn’t, well, we won’t need to worry about that frog’s gender much longer.
Shit! THAT HURTS!
Sometimes with a chronic illness, you get really sick. It’s dramatic, debilitating. It sucks. And generally, the reaction is to JUMP!
Jump! To the phone to call the doctor. Jump! To call the nurse. Jump! To call my husband. Jump! To scream to heaven for my mother (because, in spite of the fact that she is in another realm, when something hurts, I want Mooooooooooooooom!). Jump! To call my sympathetic friends.
Hell, I’ll call whoever will come and help me. Because the water in that pot is too damn hot; I must react. Whatever it takes. I then follow the advice I’m given, and feel better. Much better.
Sadly, it’s not always easy being green. Or having a chronic disease.
You see, sometimes, the frog ends up in a pot of cool, refreshing water. And then, dammit, that same asshole turns on the heat. The results ain’t pretty.
Shit
Twice in the past few years, I’ve found myself hanging out in that stupid damn pot after someone turned on the gas (sometimes literally). In retrospect, it seems idiotic of me.. Me! The expert patient, with 40 years of practice! It seems so obvious. But day to day, really, it is not at all clear that the water I’m in has heated up so much that, well, getting out just doesn’t seem worth the effort.
Because, you see, when you have a chronic illness, there are little things that creep up, little pains that are really nothing. Nothing at all. Certainly nothing to complain about. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to mention to that person on the other side of the bed.
Just as surely, it’s nothing worth calling the doctor about. Nothing even worth remembering during those routine visits. Nope, it’s all good.
But then suddenly, unexpectedly, you realize that that little ache, that pain that started off so mild, that has stayed with you and built up. Day by day. Suddenly it becomes unbearable.
So, I thought of what advice I should give to my poor depressed friend.
Pay attention to your symptoms. If you have an acute problem, jump out of the pot. Call your doctor. Duh!
Pay attention to your symptoms. If something little seems hardly worth mentioning – JUMP ANYWAY!!! JUMP OUT OF THE DAMN POT!
More specifically, call your doctor. Let him or her know what is happening. SQUEAK! I know that’s what mice do, but I’m sure frogs squeak too,when they have to, too. It may be nothing, in fact, it probably is. But mention it anyway. And if it is something, there may be help closer to hand than you think.
The two times I stayed in the pot?
The first time I didn’t want to go on a medicine my doctor thought would help me; I read too much. The day after my first dose of that medication I was nearly pain free. Gradually, I had been barely able to walk, sit or stand. I have a good doctor but I didn’t want to follow her advice.
The second time, I was somewhat less stupid. I was away, and developed a painful skin condition, that started up slowly. It was no big deal. NBD at all. Until, after a couple of weeks, it was. When I talked to my doctor, she made a simple recommendation. I followed it and the pain went away.
I’ve lived with Crohn’s for 40+ years. And you know what I’ve learned? Find a good doctor, and listen to him or her. Then just float along as best you can.
Because except for eating bugs, a frog’s life is pretty damn good.
* When I was looking this up on my bible, Wikipedia, I learned that this whole “frog in the pot” thing may not be precisely true. It may not be that a frog will just hang out until it dies while the water heats up. Fuck you Wikipedia. Way to ruin a good metaphor. Go eat bugs, Wikipedia.
All images are from Google. I leap in your general direction, Google images!
FiftyFourandAHalf 