My 35th year ended just as the year had gone: literally bumpy. You see, I was covered head to toe in hives again, in and out of the hospital, having all of my blood drawn. There were and still are, undiagnosable. Technically they are called 'idiopathic' and technically I call them 'fucking awful'. You see, they aren't just a few, they cover 95% of my body at a time, swelling my face so badly that my kid didn't recognize me. After two weeks of constant pain I finally realized I couldn't do everything and called my mom. They were threatening to admit me for up to a week and I needed backup. So my personal super hero hopped on a flight to help.
Once she arrived my life became a whirlwind in both good and bad ways. Good: I got my dream house (rental, slow down, I haven't yet won PowerBall) and could move in immediately. They were also able to just bring me in as an outpatient for testing and shots. Bad: itchy, itchy hives during a very stressful work time, with a sick kid. My poor daughter was also in the hospital but luckily for a different reason and hers is, thankfully, resolved. In my last week of 35, I packed 55 boxes, hand carrying over 85% of them to my new place each night. This would allow us to get settled more quickly and as a bonus, save some money. It did however, mean that I was carrying boxes when I should have been sleeping and recovering. Let's just say my doctor's aren't the happiest with me.
But... I did it. With the help of my mom, I got us moved. I didn't sleep for a week, but I did it. We are now in the new house and it's here I turned 36. The hives are fading and more tests loom but for now, they're manageable.
Looking back over the last year I am honestly surprised that I survived. It was brutal in an entirely different way than the previous year. These last few years have not only kicked my ass they have changed almost every single thing about me. I was talking to a friend about love and dating and realized that previously, I was Pollyanna. I always thought that dating was fun, that there was in fact someone out there for me. That love was kind. I am not that person anymore. There's a bitter edge to me that I don't like. I am jealous and don't particularly trust males. I am full of anger and a bit of hate. That doesn't sit well with me at all. I love a lot of the changes in me, but that one, that one I can't let linger.
So for this year I am going to focus on a few new things. The first one, a given, my health and the health of my child. The second, my career because if you see aforementioned house, it came with a fairly decent price tag and momma's got expensive taste in furniture. But the third, the third is the most important one: love. Love for myself. Love for my life as it is. Love for the family and friends that have reached out, rushed to my side and helped carry me across the finish line of 35. Honestly and truly, I could not have survived without them. Their safe harbor kept me going. They quietly urged me on and listened to tearful breakdowns more often than I care to admit. Because they believed in me, I could. Because they made me think I could get through the worst, I did. I repeated their words in my head as I had 12 vials of blood drawn in a sitting. I saw their faces as I sat and cried through the night. To them, I owe everything. And that everything means perhaps, letting go of some of this hate I carry so I can be a bit of the girl that they used to know. It doesn't mean I am putting on my rose colored glasses, far from it, but it means that maybe, every so often, I can remember the girl who wore them every single day.
So 36, please be more gentle. If you are, I will be. We can meet in the middle.