Sunday Spotlight

Posted by Kym

While caught up in the enthrallment of National Novel Writing Month, I might need to do a spotlight every other day or so. Yes, yes, look over there, see how fabulous so-and-so is (let me distract you from the shambles that is my blog). There are times when being altruistic has possible selfish connotations.

Personally, I do nice things for other people because a) it makes ME feel good, b) they say nice things about me afterwards, and c) when I make my next attempt to take over the world I might manage to swing a little extra support.

Without further ado, a new blog I discovered while deep in the throes of self-pity over my rather wretched state of health and the stalling of my weight-loss attempts. Searching through the bloggisphere for weight loss blogs lead me to a brand spanking new one. She’s a personal friend now, almost like family in fact, and I am so not above a little nepotism to help someone get ahead.

She’s only got a few posts up so far so if you can, take the time to start at the beginning. She’s a hoot and a half and I’m only partly saying that so that she’ll support my next attempt at world domination.

So without further ado I present Some Blogging Chick of Boom Chicka Chicka. I attempted to contact her for an interview, but I think she’s too busy pretending Halloween didn’t happen to answer my emails.

So while we wait for her blushing response to my praise (and for her to say nice things about me, because hey, that’s what this is really about, right?), enjoy the gratuitous cuteness of my little darlings…Click to Enlarge.

Pain

Posted by Kym

I don’t handle it well. Never have really. I’ve always been the sort to crumple up at the first sign of it. Wincing and cringing like an animal who’s seen one too many petting zoos. I have a long, vivid memory, and pain is the sharp side of that double-edged sword.

I’ve never had to endure much. No broken bones. No serious health problems beyond some “growing pains” (read calcium deficiency) that plagued me into my twenties, a few episodes of moderate menstrual cramps. You wouldn’t know it to look at me during those few times though. Neil once came home to find me curled up on the floor moaning in pain. “Have you been taking your calcium pills lately?” he asked. I shook my head no.

I’m an idiot and it shows.

I whacked my knee a good one about a year and a half ago and it was tender for about a year. The slightest touch and I’d cry out. With two exuberant young girls in my charge I often had to endure more than the slightest touch. Now, at age four, after a year of watching me cringe, Emma is beginning to grasp it. I watch her move to climb up onto my lap and then pause, uncertain. “This your owie knee?” she asks. I hate that she has to ask that. Soft tissue damage the doctor said. The pain will come and go. My knee will tell me when I have done too much. Likely always will.

I live in fear of my kneecap.

The three hour hike we went on a couple weeks ago. So much pain. But so much strength. I pushed on through the pain, keeping the whining to the barest of minimums (for me). The effects of that hike still linger and my weakness is mortifying to me. Once, it was comforting. I enjoyed being able to beg off, claiming my weakness as an excuse. Now, it is a millstone around my neck. I want more. I want to strive. I want to live. And I do not want the fear of pain to be a factor.

I tore something during the hike I think. It sends stabbing waves of pain shooting out and down from my left thigh when I have done too much. And I wince, and I hobble. I don’t down three ibuprofen like I would have once upon a time. I need to feel the pain. Need my leg to be my traffic signal. Now I can go. Now I must stop.

I teach myself about pain. The comparitiveness of it. I recite a littany in my head, focused on the pain of others. Neil’s step mum with slipped and bulging disks. Having to take serious pain meds just to cope. Enduring traction. Her daughter comes to wash her hair for her because the pain is too much. Even in childbirth I have not known the kind of pain she faces. Daily.

My pain and my fear are nothing compared to the cancer sufferer, the starving child, the injured soldier, the fleeing refugee. Nothing.

And I find that I can, indeed, teach myself this. And I can smile through the pain and shrug, and say it is not so bad. I do not crave the attention so much anymore. Don’t feel the need to gasp, perhaps a little louder or more often than I would if alone. Don’t wish to curl up on the couch till the pain slowly fades away.

I want more than that now. And that fact alone gives me so much hope for myself it’s a wonder I’m not weeping as I write this. I guess I’ve learned that there are larger things than myself to weep over.