This year’s holiday season was difficult. Allow me to explain by saying that it was great to be with my family after at least 20 years of not being in the same place at the same time. I’ll clarify that the family I am referring to is comprised of my mom, my step-dad, my sister and I; another family I belong to includes my father (who passed away in 1996), my step-mom and her current husband, my sister, me and my half-brother. Yet another family I belong to is one that encompasses all of us siblings that share the same father, which includes our oldest sister who passed away in July of this year (and who didn’t meet our father or us until she was 27), our next oldest sister, me and our half-brother. If you feel like you need to draw a Venn diagram at this point, you are not alone. It quite possibly could be the start of a very pretty Spirograph picture.
For the first time in my life, I have not been in charge of the major decisions affecting my life. Leading up to this year, I have always lived big. I moved across the U.S. three times, I traveled and camped my way through 36 states, I made 3 big trips to Europe, and between ages 18 and 40, I moved a total of 23 times.
This year, the doctors decided to stop operating on me. I had to make a choice to either stay in Arizona and face a serious lack of resources because the state treats the chronically ill as expendable, or move back to Minnesota and have access to comprehensive resources and help from my family, but live in 7 months of eternal winter and leave my network of friends behind. I agonized for weeks before deciding to move back to Minnesota.
My life has changed drastically.
We lost our beautiful oldest sister. I no longer live in Arizona, I had to sell my house and car, and I had to stop working. I am now reliant upon others to drive to me, drive me around and get my groceries for me. On Christmas day, my family had to pick me up and bring me back home after we opened presents and ate our feast. The entire time I waited at my apartment to be retrieved, I struggled with overwhelming sadness.
On the way home Christmas evening, my step-dad, mom and I chuckled as we remembered their visit to me in the southwest in January of 2010, just seven months before I became sick with this mystery disease. I took them to a very popular blues bar in the downtown area of Phoenix to see an artist who they were familiar with play. I had been to that particular establishment many times, and the vibe in there was always friendly. I had no idea that going out with my parents would sprinkle some extra fairy dust over the crowd, though.
We grabbed some stools and got settled with our adult beverages. The band played through one set, and Mom and I stood in line to meet the guest artist and have him sign his CD. When it was our turn, I introduced Mom and told the artist that he knew some of the musicians that played at her place of business in Minnesota; she invited him to also set something up with her if he was interested and in the area. As we finished up with our turn and started to move away, he was gesturing excitedly to the next patrons in line, and managed to smack my mother and nearly throw her over the top of a table. She caught her balance at the last second. Luckily our night wasn’t cut short by an ambulance ride.
Before the next set started, suddenly I had three men vying for my attention. Two were buddies who decided to hang out, one was a solo guy. The two men started chatting with my parents and I; the third guy only concentrated on me, then asked me to dance when the music started up again. All I remember is that he was tall and handsome with dark hair. I didn’t see it, but my parents told me later that the two other guys actually climbed up on stools to watch me and the solo guy dance, and were giving a play-by-play of what was going on, including any physical contact that happened.
The guy I danced with moved on. The other two tried to get me back onto the dance floor, but I was getting tired and so were my parents. One of the guys insisted that I take his business card and CALL HIM. Though it was not anything within their control, both guys were only about as tall as my armpits, so they really didn’t stand a chance. I could have easily crushed them with just one of my legs. On a good day I still can’t see the top of the fridge. I’d like my prospective partner to serve some practical purpose, including the ability to reach things on higher shelves.
I told my parents on the way home that I didn’t know what happened, but I’ve never had three men compete for me in one night, and that we should go out more often.
Check back soon for part 2!
About the Author: Patient Worthy Contributor, Chelsea. Keep an eye out for posts from her as she navigates the gnarly dating world, chronic illness and searches for a diagnosis and check out her blog, The Sick and The Dating.
