I'll spare you all my normal frilly introductions and just cut straight to the chase: I am MAD. I was sad yesterday, but the sadness has changed it's shape and now it's just anger. This may or may not make sense to anyone, but it is the truth. I am angry at my own body, and it's not because I'm not shaped like Kim Kardashian (although that wouldn't be such a terrible thing). It's because I'm sick, although I feel fine. Wow. I've never actually seen what those words look like in print. I'm sick. I almost want to laugh, but I'll probably cry and throw things instead.
None of this is new. I've alluded many times to the fact that I have multiple sclerosis (MS) and rapid cycling bipolar disorder. Yep, that's me, crippled and crazy. It's practically dance floor conversation for me now. ("You dance really well, where did you learn to meringue?" "Thanks! You know at one point I wasn't ever supposed to walk again and that I tried to kill myself six times before I was 20?" "Really? That's awesome! So what congregation did you say you were in?") But thanks to modern medicine and a steady spiritual routine, I'm fine emotionally. I have my moments but they are no more extreme than those of anyone else living in these end times. I manage, and I consider myself a happy person. And as a result of the mental and emotional journey I've taken over the years, I'm much more sensitive to others, which, I believe, has contributed to me having so many wonderful friends that I don't quite deserve but for whom I am eternally grateful. And not only can I walk (doctors weren't sure I would again), but I can dance, run, do boy push-ups....I'm in better shape now than I was before my diagnosis. Ok, sure. I have a limp, my vision gets blurry sometimes, my left hand or leg may suddenly not want to move for 5 seconds...but compared to how things were, all of that is minor. I went through a lot of physical therapy to get to this point. Some people with relapsing-remitting MS never get back to doing this well after a flare-up; I went from paralysis to hiking and swimming. I was able to get right back into the full time ministry, and Jehovah has allowed my damaged brain to learn Spanish fluently and even pick up some things in a few other languages here and there. I never would have seen any of this for myself a few years ago.
The funny thing about blessings, though, is that we enjoy receiving them so much that sometimes we just want more of them. I've always admired missionaries and traveling overseers from a distance...and I've had a small taste of that life by moving to the Spanish congregation and by having the opportunity to serve unassigned territory here and in a temporary assignment abroad. I love that life-simple; focused mainly on service and on loving the brothers and sisters. And that's what I want. It's been my goal for some time now to move to a country where there is greater need. I have no husband, I have the stamina and the desire-no time like the present, right? I look around and so many would love to "step over into Macedonia," as the Bible puts it, but their circumstances don't allow it. I've been feeling good for a long time. And though I love my congregation and am happy about what Jehovah has let me do there, I feel like I need to do this, on behalf of everyone who can't. An opportunity arose when a close friend announced she'd be returning to her hometown in Mexico and relayed to me that there is a great need in the English field, especially for native speakers to help the non-native speakers who want to help in the English group. Oh, the wheels in my head weren't just turning; they nearly spun off their axles at the thought of a situation so ideal. Abroad, but not too far from home; with the family of a close friend, which of course would make my parents feel more at ease; in a foreign language territory, yet speaking my mother tongue. The ideas were just flooding in and I let my imagination and my emotions take off downriver on a speedboat. I started telling everyone about my big dreams of being a need-greater in Mexico. I'd sell my car to my sister and live well down there off my disability money. I could see it so clearly, all the experiences and the challenges and the colors and excitement. I'm turning 30 next month, yet no one would be able to look at me with pity as so many of my peers settle into life with their husbands and children. I was going to Mexico. It almost sounded too good to be true. That's probably because it was.
Last night I was joking with my mother about how my going-away bash would rival Hollywood. She responded, "But why would you have a party if you'll be back in 3 months?" Had she not been listening? My plan was to MOVE. I reminded her of this, and she says, "Yeah, but you'll have to come back every three months for your medicine." I was silent. My medicine! I truly had forgotten. The reason I'm doing so well, the reason I feel good, besides holy spirit, are my regular pills and injections. I asked my neurologist once if I could ever get off the injections and she essentially bit my head off and swiftly reminded me of my adventures in the wheelchair. Point taken. And I know from experience what happens when a person takes anti-depressants and stops them. I need my medicines to function, period. I don't know what would happen if I stopped them and frankly,I don't want to find out. I might get down to Mexico and completely fall apart, and though I guess I'm pretty brave, that isn't a risk I want to take. So I began researching to see if I could find my medicines in Mexico. I know that many people purposely go there for medicines and medical treatment because of the substantially lower cost. And yes, the costs are lower, but here, with my health insurance, I pay nothing for a medicine that would cost me $300 USD per month in Mexico (it retails at $1800 per month here!). And that's just the injections; I haven't calculated in all the pills. So my next idea was to see if my health insurance would cover me in Mexico. It wouldn't; unless I had to go to the ER and that coverage would only last for my first six months in the country. The only feasible option was what Mom originally said-going back and forth, every three months. And I couldn't see myself having money for four round-trip tickets from Guadalajara to SF every year-not with Social Security as my only income while I am there. It hit me like a half-ton truck: this was not a realistic idea. It was a dream, and it probably wasn't going to come true. For the first time in a long time, I cried myself to sleep. And, to add insult to injury, my hand stopped moving for a while.
Some of my tears were born of my disappointment at watching Mexico dissolve before my eyes, but what hurts worse is that I feel I have no right to be upset. I know that if someone else were to cry to me about their limitations, I'd try to remind them of their value to Jehovah, and how everything we do for him must be viewed as a privilege. And more so if they had done as much as Jehovah has let me do in my circumstances. I always tried to be so positive, telling myself I'd never let the obstacles be a chapter in my life. They're merely footnotes, I'd say. I joked about my illnesses as if they were just endearing quirks that made me an individual. And the fact that I've been stable for so long made that easy. Jehovah has kept me in mind for so much and let me do things I never thought were possible for me. And if I keep focused, he might continue to let me participate this much in his service. How dare I be greedy and ask for more, I thought. I ought to just stay here with my free meds and be happy. But I was laying there, crying about losing the prospect of a foreign assignment. It's like a teenage kid getting a brand new BMW and being upset because it wasn't a Mercedes Benz. Shame on me, I thought. I prayed and cried, and cried and prayed, and this morning I woke up and had a great morning in service...until someone asked me about my Mexico plans, at which point I started crying some more. I wanted this so much. I WANT it, so badly. And I feel I'm being ungrateful for all I already have, because I want it. Uh-oh...here come the waterworks again. Am I crazy? Don't answer that; I'll rephrase. Am am wrong to hold on to the hope that this could work out somehow? Because I'm not ready to let it go yet. I know this is beyond my reach. I don't need to be told that I'm being unrealistic. I just keep telling myself that Jehovah's reach is longer than mine. And I'm hoping he'll see fit to reach and get me this one-that is, if he doesn't think I'm asking for too much.
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