Blizzards And Belief

After filling up near the AZ/CA border, I dropped by Dairy Queen to pick up one of my favorite dessert treats: a Butterfinger Blizzard. I then phoned my brother and inquired, "So how's the blizzard in Michigan treating you?"

He was snowed in at his place in Detroit, facing the woes of the worst blizzard to hit the Motor City in 40 years, while I was reveling in the warm weather of southwest North America. Cruelly, I shared with him that I was thoroughly enjoying a DQ blizzard in 70 degree temperatures.

The day prior, while on the phone with my parents, I had inquired if they were joining any of their friends to view the Super Bowl. My dad informed me they were snowed in and that church had been canceled that morning. They wouldn't be going anywhere, and would attempt to get reception on the 12" scree television in the guest room. (For the record, my parents have never had cable TV, nor a reliable internet connection, for that matter.)

On my final leg "home" from Phoenix, I thanked Jesus I wasn't in Michigan. And I did again the following week, when my mom informed me that the high for the day would be 8 degrees, and that Dad recently got his car stuck in the drive back to our home. Mom told me they had to call and pay for a tow truck to help get him out.

While my parents faced 8 degree weather, I faced the sun, laying out in 80 degree weather at the north end of Newport Beach. As I absorbed a large dose of Vitamin D, I read several chapters of a book my friend Lisa had told me about several summers ago, as we sat in a hot tub and talked about life, the disappearance of my latest man, and her engagement to her now-husband. That conversation took place in Grand Rapid, Michigan, in summer, when Michigan is wonderful.

But the segment I stumbled upon in that book that afternoon stated, "January in Grand Rapids is almost beyond description. It makes me think that maybe we heard wrong when God said hell is hot, because I think hell might be very, very, mind-numbingly, scream-when-you-open-the-door-cold, like January in Grand Rapids. Hot is tropical. Hot is flip-flops and the smell of coconuts, but cold is much more reminiscent of eternal punishment in my estimation. Like Grand Rapids in January." Cold Tangerines, Shauna Niequest.

The author's words once again confirmed for me that I had made the right decision to spend the winter season not in Michigan.

And then I went for a jog, barefoot, along the beach, and as I did I began to believe.

I began to believe that I was going to get my health back.

And somewhere between lifeguard tower 74 and tower 36, a woman sitting in her bikini hollers out to me, "You're awesome! And you're beautiful!"

 

Typically I wouldn't have heard such a shout out, but the batteries had died on my running radio that morning, so there was no music to drown out the sound of the waves crashing, the seagulls squawking, and this woman's words coming at me.

As I glanced back to see who said it, by how she was sitting beside a man, I sensed she wasn't a lesbian. I mumbled a thank you (that she probably couldn't hear), and kept going, thinking, perhaps someday, I'll reach awesome health status again. And that maybe, someday, I'll meet another man, who calls me beautiful by name, like the man in Colorado did.

This week I posted on facebook the following: came to CA to process my #CFS chronic illness only to discover a treatment center in the OC that thinks they can help... but could use HELP! w/medical bills. contribute 20 to 100 and i'll send you one of my books as a thank you. (* each month i'm gift about 4 to 6 "good" health days... yesterday was one of them... i was also gifted a free lift ticket - hurrah!)

Next week I start treatment in Newport Beach. And so we'll see if my body responds positively to it...

The "Practice" of Smiling

At the end of "Week 3" (i.e. the end of January), I drove east to Arizona to celebrate Super Bowl weekend. Friday evening I ventured downtown with a couple of friends to absorb the pre-game energy reverberating throughout the host city. Although my head hurt (as it often does these days), I found myself smiling like I used to on occasion in New York City, when there was no real reason to smile, but rather you just feel alive, and the smile comes naturally. (And then some man thinks you're smiling at him, and you have to clarify, no, not you buddy, I'm just smiling at life.)

My Qigong instructor recently encouraged us to implement smiling as a practice. She explained to us that she has been on retreats where everyone is instructed to maintain a smile on their face for the duration of the retreat, even if they're not feeling particularly happy. She said by the end of the retreat, everyone felt loved (by the friendly smiles they received) and they felt happy, and wanted to continue to smiling just because, because the practice had become habit over just a few short days.

She encouraged us to smile more to help spread happiness in the world.

But in Phoenix, the smile just came, and then I found myself dancing in the streets, when no one was dancing near me. But there was music - fun dance music - coming from somewhere. Thankfully, Saturday night, I joined a "real" dance party, where others danced the night away with me. Again, I smiled big, and felt grateful that I had made the trek out to AZ just to be goofy with a couple of my old high school friends and the crew from their neighborhood.

 

And on Super Bowl Sunday, I didn't wake up with a headache.

  

Migraine headaches tend to make you smile less than the average person. The past 10 days, I've faced a headache EVERY single day, and my migraine medication didn't help. (But thankfully I've had friends that did, help with the smiling, that is...) Today it feels like I won the Lotto; the day is nearly over, and no headache, of any sorts. :)

But on my way home from Phoenix, Monday afternoon, another headache set in, reminding me I had my fun, and now it was time to pay up. At least the gas was cheap. Only $1.90 in AZ, about 2/3 the cost of what it is in California. So before I crossed the border, I stopped to fuel up.

And as I did, I noticed a Dairy Queen - open for business, in the middle of winter.

You have to understand, I have a thing for DQ Butterfinger Blizzards. And you need to understand, the closest Dairy Queen to me in Michigan closes at the end of October and doesn't reopen until the weather warms up above 50, which sometimes takes until the end of April.

As you can imagine, I was thrilled to see a Dairy Queen open for business.

To Be Continued...

Mitochondrial Dysfuntion

In December a good guy friend of mine in NYC reprimanded me rather than celebrated with me after I finally secured my malaria prescription. "Katrina, you do NOT have malaria!"

I acknowledged I might not have active malaria in my system, but it was likely the malaria I had been infected with in Uganda triggered Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) in my body.

My friend then wanted to know the science behind the illness, "Well, what causes Chronic Fatigue Syndrome?"

I told him, "They don't know."

"Sure they don't," he replied with sarcasm and skepticism. He then went off on some rant about a change in diet. Our conversation escalated into an argument. My first big one ever, I think, with a non family member. (I was actually proud of myself for how I engaged in the conflict.) He insisted, if only I ate the right food, I would get my health back. His insistence implied that it was my fault that I was still sick, and that it was within my control to heal my body. I shared with him that I didn't want to pursue special diets (i.e. paleo, gluten free, etc.) for fear it might trigger an eating disorder. And it went downhill from there, as he insisted that by me stating that, I already had an eating disorder.

A few days later "the guy from down the shore" told me over facebook chat that he has a neighbor with CFS who has been chasing after special diets for the past 15 years. His neighbor has tried everything under the sun and no food regiment, liver cleanse, or dietary supplement combination has restored his health. My therapist also assured me I don't have an eating disorder; instead, she told me I had good self-awareness to know what might make me susceptible to one. (That same night I shared my most recent NYC shenanigans, and had my therapist laughing so hard that I considered she should be paying me for my fabulous story telling.)

I mention all of this, because during week 2 out in California, I continued my investigative research and found some answers. Hurrah! I finally know the core cause of what it plaguing me.

After spending the past two years ruling out Anemia, Thyroid Issues, Adrenal Fatigue, Lyme Disease, Gluten Allergy, other potential Africa ailments (Schistosomias, Strongyloides, Filarias) and Pyschosomatic Illness (like PTSD and depression) ALL of which can cause various forms of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome...

Thanks to Dr. Sarah Myhill's presentation I FINALLY know the science behind MY health issues. I have mitochondrial dysfunction, which is a cells' inability to convert enough energy for the body to function properly. Think of it this way: most people get about 100 "energy credits" a day. However, individuals with mitochondrial dysfunction only get 10 to 20 per day, and when you spend more than what you have, your body crashes with debilitating fatigue and migraine headaches. Unfortunately it takes 25 to 50 energy credits per day to work a full time job, so...  that makes life a bit tricky...

Another CFS expert explains it like this: It's like your body blowing a fuse. When you do more than your body can handle, your fuse blows. Even if you "reset" the fuse, you'll keep blowing it when you push your body beyond its limits. The trick to living with mitochondrial dysfunction is to figure out a pacing for your body so you don't keep blowing your fuse.

That said, I think I need to start that company I've been dreaming of, so I can delegate out most responsibilities, and work 10 to 15 hours a week...  Ha! If only it was that easy. I know it's possible, but certainly are also a ton of obstacles between here and there.

Week 2

When I worked at summer camp years ago, every week of the summer was numbered. We'd talk about Week 1, Week 2, etc. and wrap up the summer after Week 11, when the weekly kids programs would end, and the guy I was dating in 1996 would break things off with me at the base of teepee village, near canoe beach, with a kiss on my cheek, and the words, "You're going to meet a lot of studs at U of M."

I never did (i.e. meet any studs at U of M), and he apparently didn't meet any wonder women at his college. Because mid-year, shortly after Valentine's Day, he came knocking with an apology, and the plea to give him a second chance. He won me back in a heart beat; however, he dropped me again do to "irreconcilable" career pursuits, and perhaps the freshmen 15 I had gained while feasting on bagels in my dorm's cafeteria. How cruel a world it was back then, when everyone was into low-fat, keeping women like me ignorant of the fact that a diet filled with carbs is certain to pack pounds on to anyone.

But that's a different story, for a different time. I just wanted to mention counting by weeks and my decision to do the same to track my So Cal experience this winter season. Week 1 started when I arrived, Sunday, January 11.

For most of the week 1, I simply got acquainted with the town I'm living in. One day I discovered a nearby park that offers free QiGong classes. Last time I was in So Cal for a short stint, I took up free improv classes, and had been hoping to try something new this time too. Since QiGong class was free, I decided to give it a go at the end of my first week. Since then I've decided to integrate this class as a regular part of my week.

Initially I had hoped to take scuba diving classes, but with my health still being weird, and scuba diving classes being costly, I figured this was a better option for the time being. Although, someday, I still hope to get certified and then go diving in Indonesia, where my friend Jacinda lives, and some other guy who I hardly know insisted I come to visit.

My QiGong instructor is from Calcutta, India and has a delightful accent and tells stories from time to time about Tibet (which, for the first half of my life, I thought was a make believe place, that my camp friend Al had made up). One day she explained how the old people there will wear a special belt, with a large circular pad that covers their lower back to help keep their kidneys warm amidst the cooler temperatures, and unheated living spaces. She explained that it's good to keep our kidneys warm, and beneficial to our bodies to drink warmer liquids rather than to shock our systems with cold beverages, especially in the winter season.

Funny, how my dad has been drinking hot water for years, not knowing the benefit he has been bringing to his body by doing so.

Of course, all this stuff about keeping your kidneys warm could be crap, and simply a tradition passed down by the people of Tibet from one generation to the next. But I like to think there are many "best practices" and beneficial practices out there pertaining to our health, and they don't necessarily all stem from Western medicine.

Which is why I'm taking this Chinese-based QiGong class. The simple exercises are supposedly beneficial for your immune system and energy levels. We even do a slew of exercises that are intended to help your internal organs, like your liver.

And my blood work continues to indicate I have compromised liver function, which isn't a huge surprise since that's where the malaria parasite hangs out, and where it probably did some damage having been left untreated in my body for so long. Who knows if these exercises will help at all, but certainly they can't hurt.

Along with QiGong, at the end of "Week 1" I had the opportunity to do some climbing. As I posted on facebook...

last night i returned "home" with scraped up knees, calloused hands, and chipped fingernails... super grateful for the opportunity to rock it out yesterday ‪#‎NewJackCity‬ ‪#‎RockClimbing‬ (even with my energy levels at one/fifth the normal person, i choose to live... please pray that i can find a unique job opportunity that requires only 20% the energy of a normal one... and/or that God would hurry up and heal my body from ‪#‎CFS‬ already!)

Pictured below is my friend Joyce, sprawled out like Spiderman at the top of the climb. Jen in red, is at the bottom, assuring her safety as her belayer. I also climbed this nearly 70 foot route, getting two-thirds the way up thinking, "What in the world am I doing?"

I thought the same thing as I was driving through Iowa on my way out West. "What am I thinking? I can't do this. My body isn't strong enough to make the trek." But I kept climbing to the top, just as I stayed on the road to California. When I arrived in Lincoln, Nebraska, I considered the conditions I drove through my first day out and thought, There are 99 ditched cars between Michigan and Colorado, and mine ain't one of them.

So I've made it to California, and am settling in. Yet the question remains: now what?

Keep the Light On

Yesterday I woke up on an air mattress.

I did the same today and I'll do the same tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. For at least the next two months, my air mattress will be my portable bed for wherever I end up staying the night. (Primarily, I'll be staying with my friend, Jen, in Redlands, but it's likely that I'll be bouncing a bit too, as I hope to spend my weekends closer to the ocean and my church in Hollywood.)

It's not that I'm opposed to sleeping on an air mattress. But in sleeping on one I'm reminded I'm still unsettled, still a vagabond, and I've been living this way for two and a half years, ever since I lost my health to an African illness and my possessions to a hurricane.

I panicked for a day, wondering if I had made a mistake in returning to California for the winter season. What am I doing here? I questioned, as I turned to my air mattress for an answer.

On my first night back I journaled, "And I made it... and I'm so overwhelmed, having no clue why I am here back in Cali, yet knowing it's the very place I needed to come to keep my spirit alive."

Michigan winters are brutal. I knew it wasn't the location to process my reality that there's a good possibility I may never be well enough to work a full time job again. A part of me hopes that someday I might be able to support myself with my writing. I've been receiving enthusiastic response to my first book, and comments encouraging me to keep at my next one.

One friend wrote to me on my facebook: LOVED your book!!!!! Please hurry up and finish the next one! Lol

Another stated: The worst part of reading your book was knowing that I would have to wait awhile until the second one! I really enjoyed it.

On Tuesday, I sat down at a coffee shop to start on my 2nd book.

And I resisted. Even though I already have an outline for my 2nd book, the last thing I want to do is write another one. Writing a book is a lot of work. It's exhausting.

But then today I remembered, yes, it isn't easy, but writing is a gift that God has given me, and it's a gift that may someday be able to help me get off my air mattress, and into a for real bed.

So I wrote some this afternoon, not much, but I did write. And I'll keep writing these next two months. And, as the Sunday night sermon encouraged (see mosaic.org for podcasts), I'll be seeking to keep my light on.

Hank, who spoke, informed us, that even Oprah, a woman who has the world, keeps a gratitude journal. I may be sleeping on an air mattress, but I couldn't be more grateful for sunshine, palm trees, and mountain views.

Last night I climbed Mount Rubidoux, praying the prayer, over and over, "Jesus, heal my body... Jesus, heal my body." I'm not sure He ever will, but I'm going to keep asking Him to restore my body to full health. And as I learn to accept my present, I will seek to embrace the gift of now that He has given me.

I've Arrived!

A trunk full of books, surfboard up top, guitar & clothes in back, and my snowboard riding shot gun... from Michigan to Nebraska to Denver to Vegas to Hollywood...

A week ago I packed up my car and started my drive out West.

It wasn't easy.

And I hope to never ever make that trek alone again.

(* Although, it was beneficial that I could put Spice Girls on repeat and sing over and over "So tell me what you want, what you really, really want..." as a means to help me stay alert, without annoying anyone else.)

But I'm glad I pushed myself to make the drive.

And as I stepped foot into my church in Hollywood last night, I knew I had made the right decision to return to the West Coast for this winter season.

Thankfully, while en route, I was able to pause for a couple of nights in Denver and to reconnect with a half dozen friends. I stayed with an old college housemate (who made me a steak dinner & tiramisu dessert), grabbed coffee with an old California housemate, and had a fun evening at the Yardhouse downtown, with some Spring Hill camp friends.

I had maybe wanted to reconnect with my ex-boyfriend too, to say the good bye that we never got to say in person, but instead we simply exchanged a few texts. Nice texts. Texts that communicated that we're still rooting for each other in life, even though things didn't pan out romantically between us.

From Denver I ventured to Vegas, where I stayed with a friend who I had roomed with at Forest Home summer camp a dozen years ago. There's a story I'd eventually like to share involving her, a napkin, and my life in New York, but for now, know that I know too many people, and I may have landed a good story for a future book.

After a Friday night in, and Saturday night out in Vegas, Sunday I finally arrived to Southern California, where I'll be until, well... I don't exactly know when. If God opens the doors for me to stay, I'll stay. But it was so good to walk the stars in Hollywood last night, and to see snow covered mountains, while walking through the shadows of Palm Trees, in 60 degrees temperatures as I was out and about today.

My friend Bryan told me years ago, "Katrina, you have a California heart. You just seem to belong here."

I think perhaps I do. But we'll see.

From the Third Floor

"Life is like riding a bicycle," explains Albert Einstein. "To keep your balance, you must keep moving." And moving is what I'll be doing this week, as I drive cross country to California, with a trunk full of books, and surfboard strapped on top of my car, not knowing exactly when I'll be returning.

This Einstein quote started the sermon I heard this morning, where at the end of the service, I went to the prayer area and rounded up a few people to pray for me, for complete healing of my body. I had wanted to do this last Sunday, the day I took my final malaria pill, but I didn't get the memo that the service time had been changed. I arrived just in time for the closing songs which I naively thought to be the opening songs, until the closing benediction was prayed over us.

Still, after making the 45 minute drive to Ann Arbor, I wanted to attend a church service, so I quickly departed that church, and ventured a couple of miles down the road to the Lutheran church I attended my first semester of college. The parking was a bit tricky. I ended up parking a few lots away and hopping over a fence to get to church. Thankfully, I wasn't wearing a dress, so I could easily navigate the short cut. (I later realized, it's not so adult-like, let alone lady-like, to be hopping fences when you're in your mid-thirties. Oh well. At least no one was looking.)

I arrived mid-sermon, as the pastor was sharing the story of how he experienced God at work in finding the perfect home for his dog that he could no longer house. His story reminded me of our dog Doobie, who was named after a joint, that my family took on when a woman from our church showed up at our home distressed, crying to my mom about how the man she was going to marry in a few days didn't want Doobie. (He was a widower, and felt his 5 kids were already a lot to handle.) Her tears convinced my mom to take on Doobie, which we naively didn't know was named after marijuana until a decade later. Well after, my Dad stood on the front porch of our home in Down River Detroit, and frequently called after him. "Doobie. Doobie. Doobie, where are you? DOOOOOOOOBIIIE"

My Dad was a pastor at the time.

But the pastor at the Lutheran church last Sunday morning was trying to make the point that sometimes it's in the little things that we can see God at work. It's not always just about the stories, where for instance, someone falls out a thir... story window and lands safely on the ground.

I didn't catch if he said third or thirty, so I asked him on my way out of the church, but he couldn't recall what he had said. But his example, of what he framed to be a unlikely way God might work stuck with me, because I knew someone who had "fallen" out of a third floor window.

I met the man in Times Square a few summers ago and we ended up grabbing drinks. Over conversation I learned he was in Haiti when the major earthquake struck in 2010 and he felt a strong pull to jump out the third story window where he was at the time. If he hadn't stepped out the window, the floors above him would have crumbled on top of him to his death. But he felt this force to jump, and he landed bruised up a bit, but he lived.

He explained to me that it felt like some sort of God thing, yet he didn't exactly believe in God, so he felt like it was this force that spared him his life.

Kind of like how we had met in Times Square, he explained. A similar force brought us together, he tried to convince me.

Right.

Anyway, the man was in the town for meetings at the UN, happens to own a gold mine, and has played basketball with the President a few times.

The past several weeks, he has been on my mind (not for dating reasons), but I have experienced a prompting that I should get back in touch with him. After that Sunday morning example, I'm all the more convinced I should shoot him an e-mail this week. Again, I don't know exactly why, but sometimes in life things stir in you and perhaps it's the Holy Spirit, and perhaps it's not. But you mind as well move forward and see... and see what God does with it.