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For the past three weeks, I've been quietly battling what can only be described as a paranoid person's worst nightmare. 

As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I've been having some trouble with my legs and feet as of late. About three weeks ago, I spent the better portion of a week exercising far too much, and too strenuously. (See everyone? Exercise kills.) And following that week, my ankles and my feet and my shins just started bothering me. They were sore, but also in pain, and they felt funky. It was hard to walk around. And it was vague and unspecific. Was something sprained? Was it an infection? Was I falling apart at the seams? It was all very unclear. 

And then this past weekend, it got really bad. Really hard to walk. Lots of pain. Lots of freaking out. And nothing really made sense. Nothing except the story of the Brazilian supermodel that scared the living shit out of me three months ago. It seemed to be hitting too close to home.  

After eight and a half months of living in this country, with just eleven weeks left until my return to the states, I thought the finish line was in sight. I thought I had just about made it through. And, I thought that I'd done pretty well with the paranoia. But then this thing started, and I found myself back at square one. And by square one, I mean my first day of seventh grade at Windward, when I literally had a panic attack in the administration office and cried to the school counselor for two hours about missing my elementary school. (It was then we discovered my slight lack of coping skills) 

The thing is, I'd never really thought about what it would be like to not have use of my legs and feet. I complain so much about the whopping size of those suckers, and joke so often about how difficult it is to find shoes. But my body-paranoia usually centers on the loss of my eyesight, or hearing, or losing a finger. It never crossed my mind that something horrible might happen to the very foundation of my body; the very things that I so often wish were different, or smaller, or at least more manageable in shoe stores. 

For the past two weeks I've walked/hobbled around this fair city, taking cabs from place to place, experiencing what it's like to be somewhat disabled. I've learned that Jerusalem is absolutely one of the worst places in the world to be handicapped. There is almost no way someone seriously injured or wheelchair-bound could live here. Aside from the ubiquitous hills, there's a huge lack of elevators, slippery Jerusalem stone everywhere, narrow sidewalks, and horrible drivers that will run you down if you take more than three seconds crossing an intersection. It's kind of appalling. 

I must admit, as scared as I am to receive the results of yesterday's blood test post-Purim, I'm looking forward to getting some sort of resolution. And as scary as this has been, and as much as I've withdrawn from loud, crazy, laugh-y spotlight-hogging Jaclyn, I am somewhat grateful for having this little, horribly scary experience. 

Today in T'filah I felt myself praying with greater intensity than I can remember in recent memory. I felt myself connecting with the prayers about our bodies and souls, speaking and chanting the words with greater fervor. And, though I did not stand during the Amidah, I attempted to release my tension and breathe into the sacred words. In a way I guess I was petitioning God to help make me better, but also thanking God for giving me a body that works most of the time. I think moments like this can either make you totally angry and disconnected (which, to be fair, happened during Kabbalat Shabbat services on Friday) or they can make you think deeper about what you do have, and what you're fortunate for, and how disappointing it would be if you didn't have that anymore. 

So, on that note I leave you. Tomorrow is Purim, and we have two days off from school! (The second day is, in all seriousness, is supposed to be for getting over a hangover) Though I'm not particularly in the costume-party-make-a-fool-of-yourself mood, I do look forward to laughing a little bit and not taking myself, or my peers and faculty, so seriously. 

Until next time,

Jaclyn