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It’ll Pass

One of my favorite book series is Anne of Green Gables. In one of the later books after Anne is married she befriends the old sailor Captain Jim that runs the local lighthouse. Captain Jim is a lovably simple fella, but sometimes he says things deeply profound. One of those quotes, which I am sure I will butcher, has stuck with me and always comes to mind on particularly rough days. He said something along the lines of “Even on those days when I’m hurtin real bad I feel sorta cheerful cus I know sooner or later it’ll pass.”

Sooner or later it’ll pass.

Captain Jim would know–he weathered plenty of storms in his time as a sailor.

So far in my life I’ve always found this to be true. All the pain I’ve felt–migraines, broken bones, surgeries, sprains, strains, infections, gallbladder attacks, unbearable cramps, gastroparesis, depression–no matter what the pain or the cause of it, always it has passed.

Sometimes in the moment of extreme pain you can’t imagine it ever will. It seems it will last forever–that there never has been and never will be anything except this all-encompassing pain. Hundreds of times I’ve felt like I couldn’t make it til it passed, I couldn’t handle one more second of pain. Somehow I always did. Always do. And then eventually it always eases. Always passes.

I’ve been thinking about that with this cough. I’ve already been sick for more than a month. It seems so long and yet it could last for much longer still.

At the absolute worst point–when the coughing fits came about 40-50 times a day and each one left me gasping, choking, crying and each cough was agony to my ribs–I felt then I couldn’t handle it. Each time I felt like I couldn’t take even one more coughing fit. I wondered how I was supposed to keep going with my classes–or at all really. Each of the jabillion times I woke up in the night to cough and choke and choke and cough one thought kept going through my mind. This Sucks.

But each time I handled just one more coughing fit. One more day. One more night.

And then this past week something awesome happened. All the sudden it started to ease. Coughing fits were less intense. I stopped needing my handy vomit bags so much. I felt like eating more (something about regularly coughing up part of whatever you last ate makes it not very appealing…). Then coughing fits came less frequently. Somehow by the middle of the week I could go an hour, or two even without a single fit! Suddenly I could go to all of my classes and it was hard, but doable. Without even realizing it at first I had made it through the worst and it started to ease.

Believe it or not, it looks like even whooping cough passes. And it might even do so before the hundred day mark!

So head up, feet forward and be a little cheerful, cus sooner or later it’ll pass.

You Can’t Go Back

The other day I got some good news. When my dad got home from work I excitedly told him about some extra scholarship money I’d been awarded because of my academic performance. My 14 year-old brother, who was in the next room playing Battlefront (and evidently eavesdropping) said, “you should get a scholarship for sports.”

I pointed out the teeny flaw in that master plan: “I don’t play sports anymore.”

Look we all know that teenage boys can be more than a bit obtuse, and my little bro is no exception. Currently he is in the sports, fitness and body image obsessed stage. He tells us how he is “teased” by his friends about his muscles being too big; he works out way more than he should, and he flexes A LOT. Another thing he does a lot is make insensitive inquiries such as, “when you gunna start running again?” Or, “Are you ever gonna play basketball again?” And even,” When you gun’ get back in shape?”

I get it. He misses the older sister that he could be proud of. He misses the girl that ran five miles a day and was known for her white-girl hops on the basketball court. He misses the sister that could do as many pull-ups as the boys and who’s life revolved around the court and the gym. ¬†I get it because I miss her too.

I also get that it’s much cooler to have a sister who plays college basketball than one who gets good grades and blogs about being sick.

I get it, but he doesn’t. I’ve tried to explain it to him several times: “I’ve tried to get back in shape but I keep getting infections.” Or, “I’m trying but my body gets very sick if I work out too hard now.” And even the hardest one, “No, I don’t think I’ll ever play basketball again. Not for school anyways.”

He doesn’t understand how before, even with the PI, I could do all these things (even though he doesn’t realize what a struggle that was) and now I can’t. For a while neither could I.

Then I figured it out: you can’t go back.

I can’t go back. My body’s not the body it was before I got sick. I’m not the person I was before I got sick. No matter what I do, I can’t erase that year.

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My parents weren’t good at action shots, so they had to wait for a FT. Also I think a teammate’s parent took this.

Years of running, lifting, sprinting up and down the court–they’re all gone, unraveled¬†and eaten away by months of deconditioning, sickness and undernourishment. The muscles I worked so hard to build over years of training were metabolized to keep my organs going. My heart, which once propelled me through miles with ease, withered and weakened so much that mild cardio now gives me shaking chills. It’s like the first 18 years of my life never happened–like the strong, athletic version of Miranda never even existed.75051_530260573738353_2147077193_n

On the other hand those long, lonely nights when I was too sick to sleep–they’re with me still. They’re with me when I close my eyes. They’re with me when I walk through the Blue-Ridge sunshine to class. They’re with me as I smile down at my sleeping niece. They’re with me when I feel, as I often do, full to the bursting with a life worth living. Those nights, those hardest moments of my life, they’re a piece of me now.

You can’t go back.

So you go forward.

I can’t play basketball anymore, so I put everything I’ve got into my school.

I can’t run out my feelings anymore, so I write.

I can’t do intense workouts anymore so I do yoga, walk, bike and build up slowly.

I can’t work as hard at a lot of things as I did before, so I work smarter.

I can’t be the person I was before so I try to become someone better, someone stronger, someone kinder.

You can’t go back. It’s hard, but it’s probably a good thing.