strep throat and thinking too much

I had strep throat.  Two weeks ago Thursday, I woke up not feeling well and begged off strength training.  Had Joel take me to Vanderbilt walk-in clinic, where they diagnosed me.  I always feel guilty when I don’t go to strength training.  I never feel like going, but of course, I feel great afterwards.

So when I got my diagnosis, I felt impending doom because, you know, this could be the one that takes me out, but I was also relieved that there was something wrong and I wasn’t malingering.  Then the endless questions—what did I do wrong to have this diagnosis visited on me? Is this because I didn’t wash my hands before I ate out yesterday? 

I reviewed the day before.  Wednesday, I went to the eye doctor to get a shot in my eye. He has done wonders saving my eyesight, so I took him a copy of my book.  He was actually pleased to get it.  He opened it like someone who loves books.  That made me happy. 

When we left the clinic, I felt I deserved a treat and had Joel take us out to eat. It was a mixture of rewarding myself for something unpleasant I’d done and celebrating my improved eyesight and Dr. Gabr really liking my present.  I felt free, young and invincible!  I felt like throwing caution to the winds, like I was on vacation from those pesky disciplines.  I ate a hamburger and had a drink with sugar in it (neither was on my food plan.)  Our food came, and it was too inconvenient to get up and wash my hands, and then we went to Starbucks and had a latte with coconut milk that tasted like there was sugar in it.

After beating myself up for 24 hours I finally looked up strep throat on the web.  The CDC says that it takes 2-5 days from exposure to having symptoms.  That was a jolt.  Every day before that I had been a “good girl” and done everything just like I was supposed to.  Why wasn’t my virtue rewarded?  

Aha!  Some part of me still believes there’s a Divine Tabulator Up There keeping score, and I can charm Them with my good behavior. I’m like a compulsive gambler who thinks she can beat the house.  Even abused children feel they must have done something awful to make their parents hurt them.  Better guilty than unimportant. 

The illusion of control.  The terror of not having any. I feel like I'm in freefall. Like we all are. Things change and change and change, and everywhere I look, something is threatening my earth, my country, my community. What I thought yesterday would never happen, does.  “Surely they won’t,” I say.  Then they do. The old safety nets don’t seem to be working.   The problems are so monstrous and so vast that I’ve given up the illusion that my little pittance can save things. That was Their playbook—to overwhelm us with so much egregious behavior that we don’t know where to fight back first.  What I can do seems so paltry.  Vote.  Call my Congresspeople. Get on a committee. Do my part.

And it’s gotten personal.  I got old.  Bugs are conspiring to get me.  Doing my part is whittled down to taking my pills, drinking water, getting rest, getting exercise. And now they’ve gone and closed our pool!

I’m afraid. So much change. It's tempting to want the “good old days,” except they didn’t feel that great at the time.  Things that seem settled in hindsight, I remember worrying about.  Would Hitler win? Would I die of polio?  Joseph McCarthy attacked the Girl Scouts when I was one. Did that mean I was a Communist?  Would my husband be called up for the Vietnam War?  Why couldn’t I get a loan for my new car without my husband having to co-sign?  I was the one who was working. I remember the Cuban Missile Crisis. I remember college kids killed for protesting at Kent State and peaceful marchers attacked with dogs and water cannons. I remember fallout shelters.

We can't go back  We have to do the hard work of thinking, of imagining. 

Last night Angie introduced me to a group of people from her alma mater, Berea. They are in Social Entrepreneurship for the Common Good.  One tee shirt said, “Navigating ambiguity and uncertainty.” 

That gives me hope.