For someone so secular, I sure do love those Christian celebrations. Christmas: so spectacular it has its own entire season, and with the presents, carols and novelty-sized Toblerones... what's not to like? Then comes Easter, when we thank God for Green & Blacks. Nestled in between: Easter's hick cousin, Shrove Tuesday.
Poor old Shrove Tuesday, only famous for the pancakes. I am not a huge fan of the griddled batter snack per se, but I revel in finally having an excuse to openly spoon Nutella straight from the jar. My lack-lustre approach to both Christianity and pancakes means that Shrove Tuesday usually passes me by - if no money passes hands, well, it just doesn't seem worth it. This year, however, the day when we celebrate pancakes - and Jesus...doing something - has stirred something in me. Or maybe I just ate too much Nutella...
Shrove Tuesday also marks the beginning of Lent. I only have one friend who I know rigorously adheres to self-imposed abstinence: wonderful Joanne. Every year, sweet things are banned; this Lent, she has added meat and fish to the list (she presumably will be living off cheese and Monster Munch for the next month). Every year, I admire her dedication and wonder why the hell she doesn't just abstain from something easy, like sleeping with gravel in your bed. Still, it warms me to think that people still commit to traditions that test spiritual resilience rather than just their ability to consume chocolate in industrial quantities.
I had lunch today with my gorgeous friend Jen who works relentlessly to tame and socialise the feral young ladies of Bermondsey in the Green Zone that is an inner-city state school. Before I selfishly ditched her to pursue the bohemian dream, I taught along side her and seeing her today made me realise how much I missed her, Becky, Eirian and all the other incredible young teachers who spend their time - and I do mean all their time - helping their students to learn. Or at least, trying to make them learn. Or at least trying to make them stop talking. Or stop telling you to fuck off.
It was fitting that I had lunch with her today, on Shrove Tuesday, because it got me thinking seriously about the things we give up. At the beginning of this year, this illness of mine meant that I had to give up a job that I truly enjoyed; I had to give up working with colleagues I loved and admired and I had to give up the stability of a routine and a regular income that I have craved since becoming ill again two years ago. By its very nature, waiting for a kidney is an unpredictable and uncomfortable experience; but teaching, for all its pressures and stresses, provided a much needed constant in my life.
I chose to start teaching and I chose to stop: both were the right decisions for the circumstances in which they were made and I was fortunate I had the ability to choose. I didn't choose to have this illness though and it can be hard not to be resentful when it makes you give up things you love, or simply take for granted. I cannot convey how much I miss having a drink when I'm thirsty or wearing arm-bearing t-shirts in public: both minor, inconsequential elements of life but notable by their absence.
Conversely, there are many things I had to give up for kidney failure that are awesome. I have given up urinating: handy for festivals, saving on loo-roll and avoiding the very un-sexy post-sex toilet trip. I have given up diets - a whole bag of mini-Creme Eggs doesn't seem to so dire when you know it can just get sucked off at dialysis the next day. I have given up on the toxic men who inexplicably don't find tubes hanging out of my neck or geriatric wards appealing. If he can't hold your hair back whilst you repeatedly vomit green bile, he's just not that into you.
The wait for a kidney is essentially just a super-long Lent... which, if you think about it...makes ME Jesus! We both wander in the desert: him in the actual desert, me in the metaphorical desert of renal failure, but neither of us have a lot to drink...at the end of the forty days, things were definitely looking up for J-Dog and, similarly, my time in the desert will eventually come to an end - an angel will save me too. And by angel, I mean an inexperienced motorcyclist on a blind corner.
Sometimes we give up things we love because we choose to; sometimes, we do it because we have to, but we always have the choice to walk away with dignity, strength and humility. I gave up my job, my friends and my security...but at least I still have Nutella. I think that might be a sacrifice too far.
Poor old Shrove Tuesday, only famous for the pancakes. I am not a huge fan of the griddled batter snack per se, but I revel in finally having an excuse to openly spoon Nutella straight from the jar. My lack-lustre approach to both Christianity and pancakes means that Shrove Tuesday usually passes me by - if no money passes hands, well, it just doesn't seem worth it. This year, however, the day when we celebrate pancakes - and Jesus...doing something - has stirred something in me. Or maybe I just ate too much Nutella...
Shrove Tuesday also marks the beginning of Lent. I only have one friend who I know rigorously adheres to self-imposed abstinence: wonderful Joanne. Every year, sweet things are banned; this Lent, she has added meat and fish to the list (she presumably will be living off cheese and Monster Munch for the next month). Every year, I admire her dedication and wonder why the hell she doesn't just abstain from something easy, like sleeping with gravel in your bed. Still, it warms me to think that people still commit to traditions that test spiritual resilience rather than just their ability to consume chocolate in industrial quantities.
I had lunch today with my gorgeous friend Jen who works relentlessly to tame and socialise the feral young ladies of Bermondsey in the Green Zone that is an inner-city state school. Before I selfishly ditched her to pursue the bohemian dream, I taught along side her and seeing her today made me realise how much I missed her, Becky, Eirian and all the other incredible young teachers who spend their time - and I do mean all their time - helping their students to learn. Or at least, trying to make them learn. Or at least trying to make them stop talking. Or stop telling you to fuck off.
It was fitting that I had lunch with her today, on Shrove Tuesday, because it got me thinking seriously about the things we give up. At the beginning of this year, this illness of mine meant that I had to give up a job that I truly enjoyed; I had to give up working with colleagues I loved and admired and I had to give up the stability of a routine and a regular income that I have craved since becoming ill again two years ago. By its very nature, waiting for a kidney is an unpredictable and uncomfortable experience; but teaching, for all its pressures and stresses, provided a much needed constant in my life.
I chose to start teaching and I chose to stop: both were the right decisions for the circumstances in which they were made and I was fortunate I had the ability to choose. I didn't choose to have this illness though and it can be hard not to be resentful when it makes you give up things you love, or simply take for granted. I cannot convey how much I miss having a drink when I'm thirsty or wearing arm-bearing t-shirts in public: both minor, inconsequential elements of life but notable by their absence.
Conversely, there are many things I had to give up for kidney failure that are awesome. I have given up urinating: handy for festivals, saving on loo-roll and avoiding the very un-sexy post-sex toilet trip. I have given up diets - a whole bag of mini-Creme Eggs doesn't seem to so dire when you know it can just get sucked off at dialysis the next day. I have given up on the toxic men who inexplicably don't find tubes hanging out of my neck or geriatric wards appealing. If he can't hold your hair back whilst you repeatedly vomit green bile, he's just not that into you.
The wait for a kidney is essentially just a super-long Lent... which, if you think about it...makes ME Jesus! We both wander in the desert: him in the actual desert, me in the metaphorical desert of renal failure, but neither of us have a lot to drink...at the end of the forty days, things were definitely looking up for J-Dog and, similarly, my time in the desert will eventually come to an end - an angel will save me too. And by angel, I mean an inexperienced motorcyclist on a blind corner.
Sometimes we give up things we love because we choose to; sometimes, we do it because we have to, but we always have the choice to walk away with dignity, strength and humility. I gave up my job, my friends and my security...but at least I still have Nutella. I think that might be a sacrifice too far.
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