Clearing Up Misconceptions (Otherwise Entitled: Things that Make Me MAD!)

Without going into detail (because, after all, this blog chronicles my reactions to life, not my life itself), all the students of AHA had to stay off campus Thursday-Saturday. I spent Wednesday night, Thursday, and most of Friday with a lovely day student and her family, but she doesn't keep Kosher or observe Shabbat, so Friday afternoon I went over to the home of a very wonderful modern Orthodox family: "Jacob", "Leah", and their fourteen-month-old-daughter, "Dinah." (Yes, yes, obvious Biblical reference. I couldn't resist.)

I mostly had an excellent time there: "Leah" and I have a lot in common (she's youngish), and I had lots of fun playing with "Dinah." But a couple of sticky situations came up surrounding my pain, and I want to gripe about them.

When I say I do not need help: guess what? I really mean I do not need help. When I say I will tell you if I need help: guess what? This really means I will tell you if I need help. It does NOT mean you should stop asking for right then and then insist ten times that you help me pack up, when I say I don't need your help and can do it for myself. (The solution? You come with me and I'll pack up too fast for you to do any of it.) There are so many things I really cannot do for myself; beyond taking basic care of myself, I really cannot do any of the other things kids my age generally do when visiting other peoples' homes (dishes, meal prep, etc.). Is it really so hard for you to let me AT LEAST take care of my own things?

While we're on the topic...the other day I was hurting so much I literally crashed to fetal position on the floor in one fell swoop. Everyone was startled, and "Sasha" was laughing slightly. I smiled a bit, both because it was nice to be lying down and because the whole situation was so absurd there was nothing to do but laugh. But "Sasha", once she calmed down herself, looked at me and said skeptically, "Sarah, you're smiling..." as if by smiling I was cancelling my right to fall down, or proving that I was not in as much pain as I was showing. Um, excuse me? As my mother says, the fact that I have a sense of humor does not mean I'm not in pain. My humor is a survival tactic; it takes real work to see the funny side. That doesn't mean I'm not suffering.

Also, nice moment from last week: We were all in Liturgy class, and we were sitting in a circle on the floor singing. I was hurting a lot, so I crawled across the floor and curled up next to "John", every now and then reaching out to touch his leg because I needed to feel his presence and support. When I was capable of sitting up, I asked if I could hold his (very large, very strong) hand. He gave it to me and I grasped it; he looked at me quizzically and said, "You're clenching...is...this...?"

I responded, "Yeah, well, I'm hurting a lot. Tell me if I squeeze too hard."

"John" screwed up his face in a very expressive "are-you-crazy" look, and pointed out, "I'm tough."

So with his permission, I squeezed. I needed his support. I watche dhis fingers slowly uncurl, and paranoia set in as I wondered whether he really disliked holding my hand and giving me emotional support...whether he wasn't really as good a friend as I thought he was...whether he just wasn't interested in me...etc. But a minute and a half later: "OK, Sarah, I'm losing circulation."

Ha. Ha. Ha. I am IRON WOMAN!!! (OK, not really. But hey, who knew I was strong enough to squeeze a hand that huge so hard?)