Caterpillar Soup

Back in the waiting room again.  This time, for 1 shot instead of 8.  Shortly after I hit "publish" on my last post, I started showing signs of a systemic adverse reaction. Nurse zoomed in and traded out the immunotherapy for mega-doses of antihistamines, steroids, and discouragement.  A week later, the antihistamines and steroids have worn off but the discouragement is still lingering.  It just feels so *ahem* vulnerable. Turns out writing eloquent posts about vulnerability doesn't play out like an emotional version of immunotherapy and vulnerability still SUCKS.  I was in clinical supervision earlier this week, ranting about how difficult it is to be a therapist, mom, and wife while also trying to be some sort of vulnerability warrior.  She nodded and said "Did you know caterpillar's have to digest themselves before they turn into butterflies?"

Um. What?!?!

For a long time, I've held onto the imagery of butterflies as a source of hope.  It seemed like a really beautiful nod from nature about the process of change:

Step 1. Caterpillar
Step 2. Cocoon
Step 3. Butterfly

Turns out, that's the "social media" version of transformation.  Supervisor enlightened me in the scientific details of what *exactly* happens in the cocoon.  Specifically, THE CATERPILLAR DIGESTS ITSELF.  I'm not making this up.  The actual steps to butterfly are:

Step 1. Caterpillar
Step 2. Cocoon
Step 3. Caterpillar Soup

Step 4. Caterpillar Potluck

Step 5. Butterfly

Lets get our Bill Nye on.......After getting all snuggled into the cocoon, the caterpillar releases digestive enzymes that eat away the caterpillar until it is mess of caterpillar/butterfly DNA and ooze.  Also known as caterpillar soup.  Then, the DNA eats the ooze until it grows until a butterfly.  Also known as caterpillar potluck.  I am simultaneously mortified and intrigued and convinced that this is a biological representation of what it is to slog through vulnerability. 

I had to pause writing this post to see the doctor.  I *maybe* tried to bargain.....the reaction wasn't that bad.....I didn't react until shot 6, could I do a session of 4 shots.....no, nope, and no.  Sigh. 

So, I'm leaving the office with a big ole' bowl of caterpillar soup.  The oozy parts:
Vulnerability of being so allergic and med-dependant for the forseeable future. 
Shame of sucking at vulnerability even though I'm literally credentialed in Shame Resilience.
Grumpy at the thought of another round of pharmacy/insurance dueling to get next month's meds filled. 

The butterfly-DNA parts:
Gratitude that I'm still a candidate for immunotherapy and, minus the reaction, am having a positive result to treatment.
Relief that insurance is covering the bulk of the expense. 
Joy that I got to wear jeans & sneakers because it's a not-seeing-clients sort of work day.

How about you, friends?  Maybe take a moment to inventory what's in your soup bowl.  I'm sending courage and peace as you navigate the oozy and the butterfly-y parts.