7/21 = 7/4

I was born three weeks after independence day, and I find that so fitting. I feel like I'm always emphasizing how independent I am, and how hard I had to work to get there. I don't do it to be one of the obnoxious people "showing off." I don't want to be the the poster child for "look what I can do!!"

I Seriously don't think people care, nor do I want them to, that I can: drive (anyone over the age of 16 can do that.) cook my own meals, graduate college, work and all the countless mundane things that amaze people. I never understand when I get that collective gasp, when I tell my kids any of those things.

I'm human: I falter, I fall, I crack, I bleed and I cry. It's in those moments that I need reminding of the road I've traveled, and all the speed bumps I went over at full speed. Many of which, were to my detriment. ( It's not easy to tell your mother you just broke your ankle rollerblading, when you both know you can't walk!) I've broken bones, I've crashed cars, I chased away the love of my life, by clinging so tightly, believing he was the ONLY one who see me. I've fallen down stairs, I've had seizures in public, I've failed test, I've lost jobs, I've burned rice (ok that really doesn't fit in this list, but it happened.) Yet, I navigated all that. I got to the other side with a few breaks, bruises and tears. But I got there.

When people ask me what scares me about this surgery. the answer is simple: it's losing all of the hard work I've invested in my life ... permanently, or temporally. I know all the risks, and understand all the medical jargon. However, in layman's terms I know what I'm surrendering, and what I could lose. I'm jumping in head first with the blind faith that on the other side of this speed bump ahead is just another bruise. (a bruise and a little less hair.)

I'm giving up, most of my independence for a year. I'm leaving school for the fall semester. I wont be allowed to drive for a year. That's my freedom, on four wheels.  As if it's not bad enough that I live with my father ... The idea of confinement is already giving me anxiety. I wont be allowed to use my step stool, for fear that I'll have a seizure, fall and hit my head. I break both those rules now, but once my dad sees it in print he'll be a speed bump that I'll have to take a sledge hammer to.


The idea of ASKING someone for HELP will nearly break me. Asking someone to take me to Starbucks, waiting for someone to make me food, or wash my clothes. I'm 32 ... the needy, helpless phase of my life is 12 years behind me!!

 I'm willingly saying:  OK I don't mind being dependent. I don't mind putting my social life on hold. School can be pushed aside for a year. I'm ok being imprisoned in a house (oh, how Ashley and I will end up fighting!!) Essentially, I'm putting my life on hold ...

I've lived this long breaking rules, pushing limits, doing things people said I couldn't, shouldn't or wouldn't ... I'm not so sure this will be any different...  The help wanted sign on my forehead will probably only be there until Christmas - If I let it stay that long!