Gentle hugs to you all

I'm a hugger. I hug anyone and everyone, sometimes against their will. I am convinced that hugs make the world go round. But sometimes people squeeze me just a little too tight, pat me a little too hard, or even high five me with too much force. I'm fragile. The glue that holds my body together doesn't work well and having my body jarred around or hit makes it even worse.

Mom often jokes that I need a t-shirt that says, "Please don't touch me." But that seems a little extreme. I'm usually too embarrassed to tell people to be gentle around me and often times, even the gentlest hugs or touches can still hurt. It's not uncommon that when my hand is being held I say, "Ow, you're dislocating my finger." Or someone will pat me on the back and it will sting for five minutes. Or somebody will hug me and I will tense up in pain because my body is too inflamed to even be touched.

I don't want people to afraid to hug me. I love hugs and I need them. I just want to make everyone aware of how much it hurts, even if you think it's "not that hard." What's worse is that if I ever tell people that they hurt me, they tell me it wasn't hard and I need to toughen up. I would if I could.

People always ask how they can pray for me or help me. So after years of suffering through people's hugs, I am finally asking everyone to be gentle(r). I live sick, I live in pain, but I love the comfort of (gentle) pats on the back, hugs, and high fives. So please keep them coming, but be aware that you're not as gentle as you think you are.

My name is Stacie and I like gentle hugs.

Choices

As I sit in the bathroom, staring down at the blue and white tiled floor that hasn't been replaced since the 70's, I am reminded of all of the other times I have sat in this bathroom. The day I went into an autonomic crisis and my teacher told me to leave class early because I couldn't stop crying. The day during my first final of the week, that I started vomiting profusely and both my best friend and sister ran across campus to get to me and help. And the days when I was just really scared or overwhelmed and just needed a place to think. Case annex first floor bathroom is my place. And for those of you who know what the case annex bathrooms look and smell like, you can see why this isn't the best place to be sad or sick. And yet I find myself here time and time again.

I wish I could choose where I got sick, when I had an autonomic crisis, and when I just felt so fatigued that I couldn't continue what I was doing. But more often than not, it happens at times and places that are less than convenient. Like during class, 8 am finals, work, presentations, hanging out with friends, and church. I can't even tell you how many sermons I have listened to through the PA system from the couch in the college room or the bathroom. Last semester, I jokingly said that I didn't deserve credit for one of my classes because I must have spent at least a fourth of the lectures in the bathroom, sick and crying.

But you know, even if I could choose where and when I got sick, I don't know what I would choose. The class that may be boring but is helping me earn the degree I want so badly? The dinner with my friends that I paid $12 for? In the middle of a good sermon or song that uplift me spiritually? Or when I am at home enjoying my bed and what little rest I find at the end of each day? No, I wouldn't choose any of that. But luckily I don't have to. Some choices you make and some choices make you.

Ehlers-Danlos made me. My heart condition made me. Dysautonomia made me. I didn't choose to be sick, and yet I am. I've sat and wondered why many times only to be reminded that even if I knew why, how, or for how long, it wouldn't make any of it any better. So I make choices too. I choose to put a smile on my face, most days. I choose to continue my education even though sometimes each day, each class, and each moment are struggles. I choose friendship, family, love, and fun. I don't choose anger. I don't choose sadness. I don't choose sickness. I choose to be more than the diseases that have chosen me and try to consume my life. I choose happiness.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't sick. I'm guilty of whining, "I just want to be normal." But then I am reminded that "this too shall pass." Whether in this life or the next, I won't always be sick. I won't always feel pain. Someday I will have a glorious new body that feels nothing buy joy. Until that day, I am praying for everything I do to bring God glory. I pray that every ache, pain, sniffle, cough, palpitation, and tear will somehow praise my maker. Because no matter how weak I feel, God's strength is never changing, his love for me never wavers, and he brings new mercies and blessings each day.

2 Corinthians 12:9-10:

And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.