There's a great line by Dr. Seuss in his board book version, I think, of his alphabet book. In the regular version for the letter "I" it says something like "Ichabod is itchy... and so am I" but the board book is smaller (and more easy to chew on as a small child) so the words are condensed to "itchy, itchy Ichabod... i i i"
Man, I'm feelin' ya, buddy.
We've used that phrase over bug bites and occasional rounds with poison ivy for years, but it's most of what I've been trying to not think about today. I am fairly sure that all of the weird dyes, meds, adhesives and cleansers have united against me on my right side from my neck to about my belly button and I am ITCHY, ITCHY ICHABOD, all right! I have tiny bumps all over my skin on my right arm and front of my torso, and I'm having flashbacks to when I was a kid in the summertime who had been graciously given a case of chicken pox (thanks a lot for sharing, Hinrew). My Dad kept telling me to not scratch as I chilled on a sheet-covered couch because it would scar. I vividly remember musing, "nobody will ever see my scalp" so I scratched away, intensely, without too much relief, and pulled scabs out of my hair. Imagine my astonishment and bemusement when I heard I'd lose my hair during chemo! Whoops. Guess people are gonna see my scalp after all!
I survived.
I also survived my 10 day late period this month. It should have arrived around the 6th. It waited until two days before surgery, the 16th. So that cloud of piratey talk you heard but couldn't quite identify the source of? Yeah, that was me. I told a friend there weren't going to be any F bombs left for the rest of the world's conversations because I was using them ALL. The nurses laughed when I told them, soothed me, and said it happens more often than you think. The stress of whatever is upcoming holds it off... until it can't anymore. I lived to tell the tale.
And since I know some of you are like, "waiiiiit..." YES, chemo does mess all that up too. For awhile there were none, which was splendid, let me tell you, and then they came back more or less regularly. Sometimes it skipped. Sometimes it's early. Always it's a pain.
Years ago, I dragged a friend of mine to the talk for parents that schools give before they give the "our bodies are changing" talk to the students. We all watched the video and at one point, I kid you not, it was stated that, "soon, your period will become such a normal part of your routine that you won't even notice it." As every woman's jaw dropped, the driest voice I've ever heard interjected from somewhere in that accumulation of parents and it pronounced, "LIAR."
After everyone present got control of themselves, my girlfriend and I mused about how hilarious that was, how inaccurate it was, and how the students who were about to be seeing the video might take that as gospel and have NO IDEA THAT IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY.
Never have I planned an overnight stay, a vacation, a camp out, anything, without considering when and if Aunt Flo would decide to grace us with her presence. Are you even kidding me? You'll never even notice?! Like your gang won't notice that you're crabby from PMS and need to stand back and toss chocolate to you? That your clothes don't fit right? That your skin and hair get more oily? That you generally feel crummy? And that it's about to become more fun and games? Ugh. Seriously, people, tell the truth!
You will notice. It might suck. I survived. So will they. So will you. Life won't stop, not for a period, not for the loss of a job, not for the loss of a loved one, not for a natural disaster. You're going to have to keep going even when you think you can't.
All of you facing down a hurricane, physically or otherwise, do what you can with your prep work, keep in touch with your village, and know you are not alone. When things are stable, help those whose world has been rocked. If you need ideas, look to my tribe- they are excellent at this! You don't have to be strong ALL THE TIME, so take your turn when it is your turn, and let others help when you can't. Go meet your neighbors- bring their empty trash cans back from the curb for them- and they might turn into friends. Leave a few minutes early so you DO have time to stop to check on the friend whose home you drive by on your regular outings. Love hard. Use your gifts. You are needed!
You are loved. Don't forget it.
Now I'll go find my Benadryl. And my bite sticks.
Love, Ichabod
