God, why am I telling you this horrible story?
Even more to the point, why am I including this Prince gif?
I've been thinking of that woman lately, and not just because she ruined p0rn for me forever but because I feel that exposed. Asking for money. One of my friends asked me what it feels like and I will flat out tell you it feels wrong and shameful and weird and, and, and...
And who cares? This is the argument I have in my head. (Along with memories of a sad peep show, it's a real party up there.) But seriously. If it were anyone else I wouldn't think twice...that's what community is for...I've given to others in medical crisis...crises? Isis? Isil? Why does Obama keep saying Isil? Seriously, I'm a mess.
This whole thing has taken me so far out of my comfort zone, the non-religious, borderline WASP asking for money to go to the Holy Land to have her immune system literally reborn. I would say that in my family we were always taught not to talk about money but teaching that would require talking about it so that's not quite right either. What is right is that I have always hated the feeling of owing someone. Like if I borrowed $10 to buy lunch I would feel awkward until I paid you back.* And here we are and I owe you all something like $25,000 and I can't really pay you back. It makes me feel itchy.
And happy. And strong, and loved and supported and thank you, God, thank you. But weird, too, and that's ok, right? It's ok for me to involuntarily cross my legs sometimes, to inhale sharply, to stare up at the poster on the ceiling of someplace else I'd rather be--a boat on a lake or yellow dahlias in a vase--surely your gyno has that poster, too? The poster of a time after Israel, let's call it February 20, when I will again be well and we will all of us live happily ever after.
*If you're reading this and at some point I did borrow $10 for a sandwich or took your last piece of gum (Britt), please don't hesitate to tell me and I will pay you back and/or buy you a pack of Bubble Yum.