So here I am, back home, a week til surgery, still trying to digest it all--haha, funny, considering the circumstances. To sum it up for those outside of the know, after 3 different medical specialists, umteen tests, and many hours of missed class, it was finally decided that I needed to go home. Each doctor told me this separately but I was so determined to find a way out of it and couldn't believe it was time to go, just as I start getting into a routine. In the end, fate ruled. I've never cried harder in front of anyone before (or even in my own privacy) than when Dr. Guliana (the doctor at the CMT) told me that the gastro decided that for what I needed done, it would be better to be in the States where they have the specialists to deal with the problem. My chest collapsed, my heart racing overtime trying to keep myself from falling over. Every person in the waiting room at the doctor's office was staring at the erratic gringa who couldn't keep herself together. I didn't care. At that moment, I lost the one thing that gave me life, that made me smile, that brought me such unconditional and inexplicable joy: Armando, my girls, my adults, my family of families, my 5 year old best friends, the smiles, the hugs, the laughter, the hope, the lessons, the volunteers. I had to think about myself and I couldn't have hated that feeling more. I had to go home.
After saying "hasta pronto" to my colegio girls and a few people at the Center who knew what was going on, friends in Quito, and of course the volunteers, (and a last minute send off lunch from the Holguins, loves of my life), I got on a plane pretty quickly, broken, angry, hopeless. I couldn't understand (and still struggle to) WHY, if there was a god, he would do this to me: not just take something away from me, but take something so seemingly selfless. I thought I had learned the fragility and great gift of life after I did this three years ago. What could I possibly gain personally from this awful situation? I thought I had my life back after my drama three years ago. They took the disease out, it no longer controlled me. Turns out in the end, our bodies still rule everything else we want and need emotionally, spiritually, academically, personally. I am only human. I hate that.
Well, it turns out that even when you think you've hit rock bottom, it can get worse. I spent a few days after getting in at home by myself as my parents were working. I thought obsessively, filtering my feelings and situation, struggling to find reason, which I always look for first. I couldn't find it. I didn't want to leave the house. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want anyone beyond my immediate family and friends to know I was home. I wasn't home. My head and my heart weren't with my body. They were in my classrooms in Quito with the students I had left, just left. Never have I felt so empty and alone before.
After 2 days of sulking in my own melancholy, I snapped. I wasn't myself and I couldn't take it anymore. Where was the strong, fiercely stubborn girl who never let anything but herself rule? I realized that I had something to live for. I had to get better, physically and emotionally, not only for myself, but to get back to my work: my Jean Pierre, Armando, my adults who I love so much, my colegio students who are probably driving Jose crazy. But once again, the universe ruled. I went to the doctor: 6 months en casa. 6 months. I died emotionally again. He told me he felt worse than when he tells people they have cancer. He might as well have told me I have cancer. I didn't see a difference.
My silver lining....I've been looking for it relentlessly since they told me I was going home, but even moreso after learning of how complicated the surgery actually is. It's in the silver lining that I think I will eventually come to terms with reason. It first began its revelation to me when I called some of the volunteers back in Quito who were with me last year the same night I learned of my fate. They've been my rock the past few weeks, covering my butt with other volunteers, covering classes, letting me cry to them at 3am because I'm so frustrated and can't accept what was going on, all along giving me courage, for myself, for a quick return to the Center. Almost immediately, after about 6 hours of tears, I stopped crying. They made me laugh, cracked my anguish, and for a moment, I stopped thinking about me. I don't remember what they told me exactly that made me smile (it doesn't take much usually), but I felt a little less sad and eternally grateful for the gift of their presence in my life.
Later that night, I got a surprise skype call from a friend from Quito. Some people just have the gift of perspective not only in their own lives, but in giving perspective to others. He gave me that, reminding me that this isn't the hardest thing I will face in my life. As scary as it is, I know this is just a test. Something good will come of this which will bring me back to the equilibrium I always look for in the universe. I was so grateful for his call, his honesty. Some people never seize to surprise me. I love friends like that.
So as I continue my search for my silver lining, for my equilibrium, for some sense of peace in all this (which I will probably find on my return flight to Quito!), I've been doing my best to distract myself: I'm working at the office, reading a lot, thinking hard about grad school, studying some spanish vocabulary. I've been doing a pretty good job with this, but then there are the moments I'm by myself: driving in the car, running an errand to the grocery store for work, seeing little kids shopping with their parents or dressed up for Halloween, where I'm reminded that I'm here, not there. I fight with these moments all the time. These moments want to break me again. I fight to take a deep breath, keep calm, and know this is only a test.
Just as soon as I found myself back in Hamburg will I find myself in Quito, my arms wrapped around my family in the place I call home. Si se puede.
Well, it turns out that even when you think you've hit rock bottom, it can get worse. I spent a few days after getting in at home by myself as my parents were working. I thought obsessively, filtering my feelings and situation, struggling to find reason, which I always look for first. I couldn't find it. I didn't want to leave the house. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want anyone beyond my immediate family and friends to know I was home. I wasn't home. My head and my heart weren't with my body. They were in my classrooms in Quito with the students I had left, just left. Never have I felt so empty and alone before.
After 2 days of sulking in my own melancholy, I snapped. I wasn't myself and I couldn't take it anymore. Where was the strong, fiercely stubborn girl who never let anything but herself rule? I realized that I had something to live for. I had to get better, physically and emotionally, not only for myself, but to get back to my work: my Jean Pierre, Armando, my adults who I love so much, my colegio students who are probably driving Jose crazy. But once again, the universe ruled. I went to the doctor: 6 months en casa. 6 months. I died emotionally again. He told me he felt worse than when he tells people they have cancer. He might as well have told me I have cancer. I didn't see a difference.
My silver lining....I've been looking for it relentlessly since they told me I was going home, but even moreso after learning of how complicated the surgery actually is. It's in the silver lining that I think I will eventually come to terms with reason. It first began its revelation to me when I called some of the volunteers back in Quito who were with me last year the same night I learned of my fate. They've been my rock the past few weeks, covering my butt with other volunteers, covering classes, letting me cry to them at 3am because I'm so frustrated and can't accept what was going on, all along giving me courage, for myself, for a quick return to the Center. Almost immediately, after about 6 hours of tears, I stopped crying. They made me laugh, cracked my anguish, and for a moment, I stopped thinking about me. I don't remember what they told me exactly that made me smile (it doesn't take much usually), but I felt a little less sad and eternally grateful for the gift of their presence in my life.
Later that night, I got a surprise skype call from a friend from Quito. Some people just have the gift of perspective not only in their own lives, but in giving perspective to others. He gave me that, reminding me that this isn't the hardest thing I will face in my life. As scary as it is, I know this is just a test. Something good will come of this which will bring me back to the equilibrium I always look for in the universe. I was so grateful for his call, his honesty. Some people never seize to surprise me. I love friends like that.
So as I continue my search for my silver lining, for my equilibrium, for some sense of peace in all this (which I will probably find on my return flight to Quito!), I've been doing my best to distract myself: I'm working at the office, reading a lot, thinking hard about grad school, studying some spanish vocabulary. I've been doing a pretty good job with this, but then there are the moments I'm by myself: driving in the car, running an errand to the grocery store for work, seeing little kids shopping with their parents or dressed up for Halloween, where I'm reminded that I'm here, not there. I fight with these moments all the time. These moments want to break me again. I fight to take a deep breath, keep calm, and know this is only a test.
Just as soon as I found myself back in Hamburg will I find myself in Quito, my arms wrapped around my family in the place I call home. Si se puede.
