Family Moab

Family Moab
In Arches National Park

Monday, February 27, 2012

Going Through the Desert

Frail.
Flawed.
Limited.

These are not words I would normally choose to describe myself. Though I have realized their truth, especially in the past ten years, I keep the knowledge to myself - partly hidden even from myself. I think that the flaws and the limitations are not so obvious; perhaps most people won't notice.

Right now I am at a point where the truth is undeniable. I am in the desert of late February, an appropriate place to be during Lent, I suppose. The wind howls outside, running paths are still snow-covered, kids are getting sick, and I am sick. Having an autoimmune disease sure makes you aware of your flaws, it's not pretty to have one part of your body attack another part.

I went to the doctor last week on an issue unrelated to the celiac, and discovered that one of my heart-valves leaks a little. It's no big deal now, but he cheerfully assured me that one day it would be. My sick son was playing his Nintendo DS at the appointment and heard the summary. The doctor asked at the end of the appointment, "What do you think of your mom? Is she a good mom?" William replied, "Yes, but she needs heart surgery."

I left feeling like I wanted to punch my hand through the wall. It's not that the situation is so bad - it's not - but it's not clean, not pretty, not perfect. My body is a perfect metaphor for my 'self'; it is uniquely flawed, with definitely limitations (not always clean, pretty, or perfect). On the other hand, it's functional, has certain gifts, and as far as I know it remains my only option.

I heard this morning that the Navajo people make beautiful woven blankets with a perfect pattern, but they always weave an imperfection into one corner on purpose. They know that absolute perfection is not part of nature, not part of life. I had to laugh, because I would never have made myself so obviously imperfect on purpose, but perhaps that is the perfect way to be.

1 comment:

  1. Humorous riposte from my sister, edited for length and reprinted with permission:

    So, I often wonder how I would survive in a post-apocalyptic society or after the aliens have attacked and the humans are diving for cover. Now, in my musings on the demise of civilization the first thing that I hope is that all of this happens immediately after a fresh bikini wax. I'm no expert, but it seems to me that personal hygiene ends up falling by the wayside in trying times like the apocalypse, and if that is the case I want to be able to enjoy a clean bikini line for as long as possible. Not to mention the fact that alliances are formed quickly (this I know from watching Survivor), and I may have to do some questionable things in order to secure my survival. Questionable things that look better after a bikini wax, if you know what I'm saying.

    Now, my next thoughts are usually about my vision. Being practically blind, much like you were before your surgery, I feel like I should have extra contact lenses stockpiled. But then practicality raises its ugly head, and I realize that my contact solution will no longer be made. Which means I will need to rely on glasses. Yikes! We all know that glasses fall off and get stepped on in these scenarios, and since I can't see more than a decimeter in front of me without some kind of visual aid, I have to sincerely hope that my bikini wax bargaining has aligned me with a strong ally who will help me navigate over the various debris or body parts littering the terrain.

    Soon after concerns about bodily deforestation and incipient blindness arrives the worry over food. Being on a restricted diet is rather, well, restricting. When offered life sustaining rations, do I turn them down politely? Sorry, I can't eat that MRE, it has gluten in it. No, no, keep the corn products away from me, I'm allergic. I also imagine fresh produce will be hard to come by, so I will probably only be eating meat. Mostly squirrels and pigeons, I imagine. However, that necessitates hunting, and as we've already established my inability to see, I will kinda be up shit creek

    So, to sum up: Best case scenario-I've made a great alliance based on my intelligence, charm, and freshly waxed and shaved body. I am in a group the helps me see, eat, and hide from the flesh-eating zombies. Worst case (and most likely) scenario-I end up wandering around blindly, hairy and starving. Too weak from lack of gluten free food and unable to see, I walk directly into enemy hands, or off the nearest cliff, never to be seen or heard from again. Ahhh, the irony! To survive the apocalypse only to die at the hands of hereditary digestive/vision problems!

    Why am I bothering you with all of these ridiculous thoughts? I've decided that you will be even worse off than I will in the face of total societal collapse. At least you will have Rob. He will either end up building a contraption that both purifies water and creates gluten-free food, or the aliens will prize him for his vast intellect and as part of his family you will also be saved. At least, as best as I can figure.
    Love ya-
    Karen

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