I Went to the Beach and all I got was Sepsis: Part I

No joke, no metaphor.

Well, kind of a joke, but just in the play on “I went (PLACE) and all I got was this (CHEAP OR UNWANTED THING)”. Not about going to the beach, even, but also definitely not the sepsis part. And to be clear, going to the beach had nothing *to do* with said sepsis, but since it did start when I was there, I figured I was still within the bounds of accurate wordplay.  Also, while cliffhangers can be fun, I’m not a sadist or a narcissist, so spoiler alert: I’m basically fine now. 

But yes. I’m generally not a fan of the whole “Oh-Em-Gee, Sorry guys! Can’t believe it’s been X days since I blogged last! I’ve been soooo busy doing….(things)” type post, usually because they’re after either 3 days (nobody would have noticed!) or months and months (and filled with little other than self-flagelating promises to who-knows-who that they’ll be a better blogger this time, as if their blog could actually dump them or lock them out).  But it felt a little disingenuous to just jump right back in with a smattering of news crumbles blowing my mind lately, or how Pinterest forced me to make peace with my creative originality fixation, or a new recipe after a month of static without explaining a little about why I went AWOL.

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Gratuitous beach-restaurant-art-sale-wall picture.  Because when I disappeared from the internets, I was at the beach! (And then the hospital.) But for now, yayBEACH!

…And because the only things I ever photograph are food, the places that serve food, my dog, and stuff I want to buy but know I shouldn’t so I just hoard the pictures of the stuff instead of the stuff itself. On big girl days. Where was I?

As I’ve mentioned before, I have Cystic Fibrosis. The last year or so has been fairly consumed with a repeating cycle of get quite sick (for me), quite quickly (for me), for no apparent reason (even by my relatively spontaneous exacerbation standards) –> go in the hospital, insisting on answers this time! as to why I keep getting sick –> do roughly the same thing as always, changing this drug here, or that dose there, but with no real change in cultures, drug sensitivities, test results, imaging, or other common explanatory sources for sudden and marked decline –> get almost entirely better anyway (most thankfully, I might add) –> go home and finish treatment, shrugging shoulders as to why but still cautiously grateful for the improvement –> do everything I normally do to take care of myself –> get quite sick, quite quickly, for no apparent reason roughly six to eight weeks later. When I was last in the hospital over Christmas, it was the fourth time that year (the sixth doing a 2-3 week round of IV antibiotics).  When I left, I cynically joked that I’d see everybody around Valentine’s Day, since I had last been in right before Thanksgiving. I overshot and was closer to St. Paddy’s.

I had been feeling kind of “meh” for about a week by mid/late February, but in my more normal, gradual process-of-getting-sick-again way rather than the sudden drops of 2012. Actually encouraged by this, thinking the cycle may have at long last been broken, I did what I always do during such normal, gradual processes; I added more treatments to try to beat back the exacerbation a bit more aggressively, I started taking a pretty potent oral antibiotic – and continued planning and packing for my upcoming beach trip with Madge and Faja (a.k.a. continuing life as usual, if a little slower). Salt water/salt air is GREAT for CF lungs, so I figured a week of R&R on the coast, extra treatments in tow, could only help matters.

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See? Grainy Iphone Selfie taken in condo before dinner once I was there. TOTALLY don’t look septic. A little steroid-smooshy, perhaps, but definitely not septic, and I’ve got giant eyeballs anyway, so whatevs.

We went, we ate (fabulously), we shopped (a lot), and I slept. A LOT. I knew I was getting sicker than I thought I would, and that the pace was picking up a bit, but I thought I could stick things out another week until my already-scheduled doctor’s appointment. The morning we left, I was getting dressed and fancified, and started coughing. Like I do. Every day. At exactly this same point in my fancification routine. No biggie. But this time I couldn’t stop, and couldn’t stop like I had never experienced “couldn’t stop”. Rather immediately, I felt quite confident that if I didn’t make my way to the bed or the floor likerightnowthisminute, that my legs were going to just give out beneath me; and though I never have been one to do so, that this just might be what it feels like right before one passes out. I simply could. not. stop. to. inhale. When it finally DID stop, I found I couldn’t really breathe back in, either. My heart was beating so hard that I felt like my pulse was choking off my airway. No big gasps; no sudden, deep, panting relief, just this very weird sensation as if my lungs were already full of air (although they weren’t) and yet still starved of oxygen (because they were).

From that point forward, it took me another 2 hours to finish packing what would normally take me 30 minutes. Fold a few shirts; put in suitcase. Forget that bending over makes my heart race and cuts off my airway again; lay down for ten minutes. Get back up, pack toiletries; go lay down another 20 minutes as legs feel like jello. I was concerned, but still not panicked; I assumed it was just a pretty severe flare of the asthmatic component of my ailment collage, and once a few medicines kicked in, would calm down.

It got a little better, but not much. Because I have these sorts of freak things happen just enough to know how to ride them out (nothing like showing up at the doctor, totally fine, and shrugging, “I really was pretty sick 2 days ago”), and because I’ve been playing nurse/chief investigator on myself since I was in roughly the third grade, and because anyone with a chronic condition will tell you that you don’t go to the ER unless you are in so much pain that you would invite a bear mauling for the sensory distraction OR are fairly convinced you’re in the actual process of dying quickly and uncomfortably (and probably won’t make it until weekday business hours), I decided to do all the things I know to do for these sorts of things and wait it out a day or so. Things would wax and wane just enough to make me thing, “Maybe?” with each trough, but would ramp back up with a little more “Nahh, this shiz is getting real” at each successive return. I called my doctor, started some laundry, and started preparing for a nice long stay in Le Hospitale.

To Be Continued…

Have a Little Faith (or else)

From the “things that are legitimately interrupting my ability to sleep soundly, and either have immense or zero actual bearing on my life” files, a question of “faith.” Namely, other people’s reactions to other people’s faith – or more pointedly, lack thereof.

I’ll get in to the nuts and bolts of what I believe about other realms another time, but for all intents and purposes, I’m agnostic in its most literal sense – I believe that as we exist in our current form and with our present faculties, we can neither prove nor disprove the existence of a deity or deities; whether he/she/it/they are involved in our current, present existences as we perceive them nor the degree of his/her/it/their involvement, should the first two premises be demonstrated positively.  To be clear, I find militant, unshakeable atheism just as confusing and irrational (again, in its literal sense of “lacking in rationality’’, not its colloquial value judgment) as I do militant religiosity. I also find some militant atheists’ broad and baseless intellectual attacks on people of faith just as offensive as believers’ presumption of non-believers’ low moral standards and certain, deserved, future otherworldly torture.

But the fact that I had to stop and point that out, and make such a big deal out of the fact that cross my heart and swear on Cooper and my closet that I’m not belittling religious people, actually kind of illustrates exactly what has me so chapped lately. Using, for hamster wheel and word count purposes, *social media* as a very small and workable micro example of a huge-ass macro THING… poke around on Facebook, kill a few hours on Pinterest, glaze your brain on Instagram, and without trying – actually, even if you’re actively trying to avoid it – you will see endless streams of quotes, graphics, icons and the like referencing faith. Reminders among believers to each other and themselves that they are loved unconditionally, and living lives of legacy and purpose; encouragement against creeping doubts and wearying worldly troubles. All, for all intents and purposes, good stuff.

I, personally, do not draw strength or encouragement from such posts and pictures, as their underlying premises do not hold any particular truth for me, let alone that of such guiding virtue to serve as a gut-check or refocusing aid. But am I bothered or offended by others’ posting of them, or the fact that they do find them helpful? There are definitely some that, if I was really trying, I could find offensive – you know, the ones waxing on and on about how (presumably) the poster is “chosen” and “called” and whatnot, again, presumably excluding-by-deduction those who don’t share the same faith (at best – some of the inter-denominational Christian mudslinging I see has me hoping for their sakes that Jesus ISN’T paying much attention to their daily lives – but I digress).  Or the ones based on the premise that “this world (i.e., me & my ilk)” is all but conspiring to ruin any shred of peace or happiness the poster may fleetingly grasp; or the ones alluding to the idea that anyone who doesn’t have faith is just too stupid or stubborn or arrogant or self-loathing to want to experience true knowledge/humility/grace/peace/insert generic state of well-being here.

See? If I wanted to be offended by that which encourages and inspires those I love, and which is shared with only the best intentions – I absolutely and most certainly could, and would have fairly legitimate grounds on which to do so.

But why would I? And that’s my question…for people of faith, why are similar quotes, pictures, and the like posted by explicitly non-believing people so offensive? Again, just to really cover my ass here, I’m not talking about posts belittling believers as stupid simply for having faith. But reminders to each other and ourselves that even without a g-d, we can make a difference, and that someone else values exploration and questioning and new ideas as much as we do; encouragement against misunderstanding of our guiding principles and accusations that we have none – is that not also ‘all good stuff’?

Even if you, personally, do not draw strength or encouragement from such posts and pictures, as their underlying premises do not hold any particular truth for you, why is it considered an affront on my part to post such things, things that encourage and inspire me and others I love, things posted with only the best of intentions on my part, too? If it’s because they seem accusatory, as if I’m saying that by having faith you don’t value exploration, or questioning, or new ideas…how is that any more accusatory and offensive than someone else’s post about her ‘station as a chosen daughter of the king’? Nowhere in her post does it say “and you’re not! Pfft!” Likewise, “’When I do good, I feel good; when I do bad, I feel bad. That’s my religion.’ – Abraham Lincoln” doesn’t finish with “and adding Jesus to the mix makes you dumb! Sheep!”

In either case, getting offended, to me, means one of two things: either you’re assuming somebody’s adding that little bit at the end in their own minds, in which case, you’re being pretty logically uncharitable (and should probably question your friendship with said person); or you’re, uh, projecting a little bit. As in, “…and I’m NOT chosen, or at least these people Hmmph.”, or “…and that must make me stupid or weak to need more than that, or at least these people think so. Hmmph.”

I’m sure there are just as many “nice atheists” and “nice agnostics” running around making their communal-minority-faithy-friends paranoid and defensive about their own declarations of faith, etc, yada yada yada. And as with basically everything I call a “problem”, I get that this kind of needs a giant “hashtag-first-world” tacked in front of it. Disclaimers, disclaimers, laaaaa laaa laa.

But my general naïve confusion – “seriously? what’s so freaking touchy about this?” has turned in to that thing, like when women get pregnant and suddenly see babies EVERYWHERE, or you pick up a screen print of a fox at the thrift shop, and three weeks later you’re afraid to ‘round the corner at Target lest yet.another.fox.figurine. jump out in your field of vision uninvited. It just seems like the faithy people get so much broader and longer a hall pass to sort of elbow into the edges of other people’s value sets, but the fact that I arrange my life around seeking out evidence, striving towards openness, and if all else fails, trying to give people the benefit of the doubt – none of which run counter to any major themes of any major religion, Christianity included – leaves me pretty consistently on the (intellectual/spiritual) defense.

I’m sincerely not whining, and at this point, not even particularly bothered – if nothing else, there’s definitely a general majority/minority principle at play here, at least in my own particular little spheres. I’m just genuinely amazed at how hair-trigger the sensibilities of even some of the most laid-back of folks seem to be when it comes to even a perceived attack on their faith (or, more accurately, them as people faith), while their comparable statements are supposed to just be…Tuesday?  That my post of a Carl Sagan or Neil deGrasse Tyson is “I mean, a little aggressive, is all” or “just not necessary, really” but others’ quotes and verses declaring, say, ‘the almighty’s intent to heal those he loves’ are on me to take in stride?

For the record, yes, I do think my reaction to other people’s odd-but-we-all-do-it dichotomy of shared/personal inspiration is ‘on me’. I think it is, and should be, *my* responsibility as a relatively intelligent, sentient being, choosing on my own accord both to interface with this particular form of media at large and with this or that person in particular, to temper any errant hair-trigger negativity on my part with my knowledge of this person and their intentions, and failing that (i.e., he or she really is kind of being an ass and trying to goad people), the fact that ah yes, I’m still the one *choosing* to stay friends – real or virtual – with this person and view what they choose to say and post also. It’s just that, since it’s kind of become my own little triplet-stroller or fox statue for the time being – that I’m trying to shake, in part by writing this post – that more people on both sides of the fence at least attempted the same approach.

I swear it. The words “Question Everything” are just as much my reason to hop out of bed in the morning as “Jesus Loves Me” are yours. I’m happy you have your words, and on my most cynical of days would never try to take them, and the sentiments in which they are rooted, from you. Can we just shake on it and see if you can try to leave me mine?

Comments and Caramels

Just a quick little administrative post to let you know that I haven’t just been ignoring comments, all kicked back and too-cool-for-school (or responding). The little program I use to ninja block all the comments from non-humans works a little too well, and I had to figure out a few kinks and bugs and stuff to be able to comment back, at all, myself.

I may be missing a few eyelashes, but it’s finally been figured out. Fixed. Responses sent and henceforth coming in a timely manner. Falsely projected snobbery and laziness remedied.

Also, regarding my promised giveaway from my first post: I didn’t forget about that, either. Well, maybe kind of a little bit. But anyway, to make up for it, EVERYONE WINS! YOU get a treat! and YOU get a treat! and YOU get a treat! AHHHH!

If and only if you left a comment on my first post (Patricia, Sharon, Nicole, Kris, and Josh) – shoot me an email at chronicuriosity(@)gmail(.)com by this Wednesday, February 20, and include your preferred shipping address, to claim your beetus-busting prize of homemade fleur de sel caramels. Faja, yours are downstairs waiting, and Madge, I’ll make you some hummus or something, you carb snob.

See kids? This is what your teachers meant when they deducted ten points for forgetting to name and date your homework, insisting that it matters to “follow directions carefully.”