“You only live once”—colloquially known as YOLO—seems like a scary way of living for me. A no-holds-barred, take-life-by-the-reins kind of thought that I don't quite feel comfortable living by. This was especially true when I woke up at 2 a.m. one morning, paranoid from medication and wanting crackers. I'm a huge fan of consistency because my life is so inconsistent. I'm perfectly content waking up every morning to my latte and a bowl of oatmeal. I'm one of those people who will go to the same exact restaurants and order the same exact thing because change is scary.
You would think that at this point in my life, I would be a pro at change. Things occur in my life so fast that I could offer a master class on how to live without holding onto control. I've fought the control system for some time now. I was particularly resentful of my lack of control this past July. I once again developed a blood clot in my arm. Leading up to it, I had done everything right in terms of prevention. I even stopped eating meat for a year based on the thought that meat could contribute to the inflammatory process, and reducing inflammation in my body would mean that I’d stop getting clots. I never miss a dose of medication. I try to eat right and exercise, and it still doesn't matter.
For the past month, I have been trying to get in better shape. I was impressed with my cardio capabilities of biking 12 miles a day—of course, in preparation for any future zombie apocalypse. But when I came home from the hospital, it was as if I hadn't worked out a single day in my life. I was starting from the beginning again—a place I'm far too familiar with. During these lack-of-control times, I try to be extra nice to myself. I walked through the door of my apartment to get cleaned up. I could smell better. I could look nicer. As I slowly undressed, I stared into the mirror thinking that I looked like a shadow of myself. These huge bruises were not me. The black circles under my eyes, the sores from the heart monitor leads and the added swelling to my frame from steroids were not me. Somewhere I existed, but not in my current form.
Three years ago, I went on a summer vacation with my mom to New York City. After a Broadway matinee and a glass of sangria, I went downhill fast. I curled up in my hotel bed and could not move. I couldn't breathe. My legs were in permanent spasm. I was whisked back to Wisconsin and to the local ER where I was admitted for H1N1 and a pulmonary embolism. I encountered many complications during my two-week stay, but none were as startling as when I started to lose my hair. It was falling out in clumps. For whatever reason, my hair was my go-to source of control. Blood clot: cut off 8 inches and added orange stripes. Pneumonia: highlighted my hair blonde. When I came down with H1N1, it felt like my last semblance of control was being taken away.
I've moved towards other means of control. I've had my belly button and nose pierced, while on blood thinners, no less. That will show you, body! Right? Even food became unreliable to me, as I spent a good part of last year only able to drink Ensure. Things got so bad that I didn't want my friends to visit me at the hospital. I wanted to safeguard them from my realities, my experiences. Luckily my friends are more stubborn than me, and they have no problem removing the towel beneath my head because I fell asleep from medications right after showering. They have no qualms about curling up in bed next to me to watch a movie. They are more OK with my limitations than I am, and I love them for it.
Control at the end of the day seems like a giant ruse. I may be more conscious of it than some because of how my life is. Control is really the nemesis though. Everything about me is in a state of flux. The more I hold on to impossibilities, the more unhappy I am. Whenever things become frustrating for me, I repeat, "let go, let go, let go." It frees me. It allows me to be present, of the moment and to let love in. The best things (and worst things) cannot be controlled. They are just situations that are, and it is up to us to decide how we want those moments to color our lives. Each day, I try to choose to be kind to myself. While a lot has happened health-wise that has seemed like a never-ending battle, my body is amazingly tough. How can I not appreciate that?