I might never run an ultramarathon. I might, but I also might not. I'm starting to be okay with whichever of those it ends up being.
I'm in a weird stage of healing. It's not unfamiliar to me. It's that stage where you can finally do things, but you can only do them slowly, and partially, and for only as long as your healing body is cool with them. It's not clear how far you'll be able to push yourself in the end. In this stage, I come out of my cocoon and check out what time and stress have done to my body. Extra padding around the waist, hips and thighs, weaknesses in certain joints and muscles (most of them, really. Hypermobility Syndrome sucks). I start to really face the crumpled and damaged pieces of my psyche and spirit. And then I have to decide what to do about it. I buckle down and put it under some more stress in order to maximize my new potential. I have work to do. I have to imagine the caterpillar slightly underwhelmed when she emerges to check out her new wings... new potential for beauty and flight to higher, further places that any caterpillar could have imagined.... but her wings, they are wet and floppy. It takes time, and sun, and vulnerability, and work, and stress before she flies.
All of the things I thought I was are being redefined. The 'things I'm not' like to parade around in my head sometimes. They are noisy. I'm not as fast. Not as strong. Not as thin. Not as attractive. Not as flexible. Not as capable.
But I really like some of the things that I am.
I am more honest. More patient, More humble, More kind. More loyal. More understanding. More encouraging. More gentle. More raw.
I'm beginning to understand that life can be all of the things, all at once. Hard and amazing, Heaven and Hell, torturous, beautiful, raw, peaceful, hectic, dark and light, full and empty, loving and lonely.
I say "beginning to" because if I declare a lesson learned, another one starts. Wouldn't want to tempt fate. If you know my story, you can understand my hesitation. Life just keeps on coming.
I look back on two years ago and I'm not even remotely the same person. There are parts of her that I mourn. And that's okay. I'm really happy... and sometimes really sad too. And that's okay.
I used to point my determination at specific acts. I will run a 50k. I will get my yoga cert. I will climb this mountain, I will get down to 18% body fat. But I think for now, my goals run more along the lines of... I will love fiercely. I will stay vulnerable. I will be present. I will keep trying. I will stay hopeful.
I've been planted in this beautiful spot for healing. There is something special in the works- though I can't quite name it. Our new home, new church family, new area is exactly what I need right now.
She's gonna be great, this new me.
Friday, May 6, 2016
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Not Okay
On January 6th, I stood on a 16 foot ladder, painting a new wall that was built in effort to make our house more sellable. We were frustrated, but hopeful that the new wall and a new realtor would be the change we needed to finally get out of this odd, lovely house that we grew out of 5 years ago. To pull ourselves from the mire and finally move on. It was supposed to happen.
I had been on the ladder for 20 minutes or so, in the very tippy top of the ceiling vault. Slowly, I felt the ladder begin to slip. I clung to the top of it as it scraped down the wall. "Oh, no..... oh, no! Oh no, no no! Somebody help me!" My 10 year old son ran to my aid, trying to push the bottom of the ladder and hold it in place, but the weight and momentum was already too much for him. The ladder foot hit the opposing wall corner and flipped. My arm, with an almost-healed previous shoulder sprain, caught the wall and wrenched the paint cup out of my hand. I detached from the ladder as it clattered against my shin. I landed almost upright, on both feet, but the left one was sideways. The impact sent me into immediate shock. I saw stars. I screamed. The muffled sound of my kids screaming and crying registered around me as I slid my back down the wall and I lowered myself, trembling, into a puddle of spilled paint. "No, no, no. Not again. Please. I can't do this again. I can't."
I stayed on my back, shaking uncontrollably, and consciously slowed my breathing as tunnel vision tried to take over. In broken, labored speech, I tried to talk my children out of panic. "It's okay, I'm not okay, but it's okay. Call Dad. Bring me my phone. It's okay."
My phone buzzed the moment I got hold of it. It was a text from my lawyer for the IUD case. His firm had decided not to take my case. Awesome.
Who to call? Alicia had enough on her plate. Michelle. No answer. Nicole was closest. I'd call her. No answer. Cindy. Cindy makes all the sense. She's got medical training, and she's super calm in emergencies. "Hey Cin." My voice was shaky. "I need help.... I fell off a ladder and I'm injured and laying on the floor in a puddle of paint. I think I broke my foot." She would come.
It seemed like the whole world wanted to talk business or check in the moment I was out of it. I got a myriad of texts from different people all at once. Annie, James, Greg, Aaron, Jenna. I needed to cancel the house showing. I needed to get the paint off the floor and wall before it dried there. I needed to breathe. I needed not to be injured.
Talon let Cindy in. She jumped into calm action. Checking me for head injuries, asking for juice to raise my blood sugar. We had no juice. Just leftover sparkling cider from New Year celebrations. She cracked it open and I sipped sparkling cider through a straw, still lying in paint. What a celebration.
I couldn't get over the mess I had made. Cindy finally grabbed a rag and cleaned up most of the paint just so that I would shut up and focus.
"I can't do this again, Cin. I can't."
"It's not like last time. No matter what, it's not as bad as last time. You can do this. You're probably experiencing some PTSD. You're okay."
"I have a race in 6 weeks! I can't cancel my first ultra AGAIN!!"
I called my brother to ask if I could come get checked out and get x-rays. As usual, he was willing. Cindy made calls and rearranged her schedule so that she could drive me to Salt Lake. I called Aaron and told him to meet us at Mike's office. My kids brought my old crutches to get me to the car, and an old towel to protect Cindy's car from my paint splattered clothes. Crutching to the car on a double sprained shoulder was horrid.
Cindy kept me talking, and laughing through the pain as we made our way to Mike's office. He was waiting there with his staff, and Aaron.
X-rays and adjustments. The films didn't show any breaks, but that's common for new foot injuries. Stay off it, rest, ice. Come back in if you can't weight it once the swelling goes down.
8 days later the breaks showed up. Ryan ordered a CT scan. 4 days later, on CT day, I was handed a disc and told to take it to a specialist. 5 days after that, Dr. Gorman told me surgery wouldn't help the outcome, but with breaks in 4 places, I'd be out of commission til April.
After the initial trauma faded, I felt like I had it. I could handle this well. This was peanuts compared to what I've already been through. I'm way tougher than all of this. I borrowed a peg-leg knee crutch, which made it easier to be independent and didn't exacerbate my shoulder injuries. If I just kept living, I'd be fine. Right? This was just another upgrade.
Less than 24 hrs after listing with a new agent, we got the house offer we'd been waiting for. Two days later, we went house shopping and put in an offer on a dream house. I had been so careful not to fall in love with houses before I could buy one, and finally, it was time.
The very next day... the day that we found out that our buyers backed out, a friend and fellow Wasatch Mountain Wrangler's body was found in an avalanche field. Mourning took precedence, and the house went back on the market. The dream house turned into a dream again.
The thing about upgrades is that you have to break down some stuff first. Winter with no running, no mountains, no yoga, no sunshine, and consistent low-level pain has started to take it's toll. We had the big Wrangler Formal last week and while dancing on a scooter wasn't ideal, the night with my friends, being recognized as Crew Chief of the year, laughing and dancing.... it was life-giving. I thought I could make it. Stay positive. I can do this. But my confidence was waning.
I can hardly live in my house. We have had something like 16 or 18 showings in the past 11 days. I have scoured my house on one leg and with one good arm more times than I can count. And every showing feels like a personal inspection and rejection.
My body chemistry hasn't been good or normal in a very long time, but since my abdominal surgery, my hormone balance has been worse than ever. The only real option a doc will give me is a hysterectomy. And I don't know if I can face another surgery and recovery right now. I wish I hadn't kept my uterus last May. I mitigated it as best I could, and finally conceded that I needed to attempt to do something... again. I decided to try a progesterone cream to try to balance out the estrogen dominance that causes me to lose more blood than 10 normal women do every month. The progesterone makes me angry. Really angry. Depressed. Isolated. Not okay. I stopped using it two days ago. But damage is done. My spirit is a little bit broken. I hate living in my own head. I hate that my amazing husband has to deal with me. I hate that I yell at my kids.
Friends keep asking if I'm okay. When I am with you, I am. When you are in front of me, I am. Honestly. But most of the time now, I'm not. I'm not okay. I think I will be in time.
I love you all. I love that you care. If I knew what could be done to make things better right now, I would do it. I would tell you. You can ask me all you want. But I can't tell you what you can do to help if I don't know.
As much as I want to crawl into a deep pit and disappear, I am not done. I will never stop fighting. But sometimes fighting looks like shutting down and waiting out all the things I can't control. It looks like withdrawing, and putting up walls, and hiding from the awful jealousy for those who can get out into the sun.
So if I don't answer your texts, emails and calls sometimes, if I opt out of plans, if I say I'm fine when I'm obviously not, it's because there isn't much you can do. It's because I'm deep in survival mode. I don't want to vent anymore. I don't want to express my anger or impatience or sadness anymore, because it just makes it fresh and throws me into a new shame spiral, and drives us all mad. I don't want you to feel bad about it. I love you. And I love that you love me. You might just have to let me be a portion of myself until I can feel whole again. I'm trying. And that has to be enough.
I had been on the ladder for 20 minutes or so, in the very tippy top of the ceiling vault. Slowly, I felt the ladder begin to slip. I clung to the top of it as it scraped down the wall. "Oh, no..... oh, no! Oh no, no no! Somebody help me!" My 10 year old son ran to my aid, trying to push the bottom of the ladder and hold it in place, but the weight and momentum was already too much for him. The ladder foot hit the opposing wall corner and flipped. My arm, with an almost-healed previous shoulder sprain, caught the wall and wrenched the paint cup out of my hand. I detached from the ladder as it clattered against my shin. I landed almost upright, on both feet, but the left one was sideways. The impact sent me into immediate shock. I saw stars. I screamed. The muffled sound of my kids screaming and crying registered around me as I slid my back down the wall and I lowered myself, trembling, into a puddle of spilled paint. "No, no, no. Not again. Please. I can't do this again. I can't."
I stayed on my back, shaking uncontrollably, and consciously slowed my breathing as tunnel vision tried to take over. In broken, labored speech, I tried to talk my children out of panic. "It's okay, I'm not okay, but it's okay. Call Dad. Bring me my phone. It's okay."
My phone buzzed the moment I got hold of it. It was a text from my lawyer for the IUD case. His firm had decided not to take my case. Awesome.
Who to call? Alicia had enough on her plate. Michelle. No answer. Nicole was closest. I'd call her. No answer. Cindy. Cindy makes all the sense. She's got medical training, and she's super calm in emergencies. "Hey Cin." My voice was shaky. "I need help.... I fell off a ladder and I'm injured and laying on the floor in a puddle of paint. I think I broke my foot." She would come.
It seemed like the whole world wanted to talk business or check in the moment I was out of it. I got a myriad of texts from different people all at once. Annie, James, Greg, Aaron, Jenna. I needed to cancel the house showing. I needed to get the paint off the floor and wall before it dried there. I needed to breathe. I needed not to be injured.
Talon let Cindy in. She jumped into calm action. Checking me for head injuries, asking for juice to raise my blood sugar. We had no juice. Just leftover sparkling cider from New Year celebrations. She cracked it open and I sipped sparkling cider through a straw, still lying in paint. What a celebration.
I couldn't get over the mess I had made. Cindy finally grabbed a rag and cleaned up most of the paint just so that I would shut up and focus.
"I can't do this again, Cin. I can't."
"It's not like last time. No matter what, it's not as bad as last time. You can do this. You're probably experiencing some PTSD. You're okay."
"I have a race in 6 weeks! I can't cancel my first ultra AGAIN!!"
I called my brother to ask if I could come get checked out and get x-rays. As usual, he was willing. Cindy made calls and rearranged her schedule so that she could drive me to Salt Lake. I called Aaron and told him to meet us at Mike's office. My kids brought my old crutches to get me to the car, and an old towel to protect Cindy's car from my paint splattered clothes. Crutching to the car on a double sprained shoulder was horrid.
Cindy kept me talking, and laughing through the pain as we made our way to Mike's office. He was waiting there with his staff, and Aaron.
X-rays and adjustments. The films didn't show any breaks, but that's common for new foot injuries. Stay off it, rest, ice. Come back in if you can't weight it once the swelling goes down.
8 days later the breaks showed up. Ryan ordered a CT scan. 4 days later, on CT day, I was handed a disc and told to take it to a specialist. 5 days after that, Dr. Gorman told me surgery wouldn't help the outcome, but with breaks in 4 places, I'd be out of commission til April.
After the initial trauma faded, I felt like I had it. I could handle this well. This was peanuts compared to what I've already been through. I'm way tougher than all of this. I borrowed a peg-leg knee crutch, which made it easier to be independent and didn't exacerbate my shoulder injuries. If I just kept living, I'd be fine. Right? This was just another upgrade.
Less than 24 hrs after listing with a new agent, we got the house offer we'd been waiting for. Two days later, we went house shopping and put in an offer on a dream house. I had been so careful not to fall in love with houses before I could buy one, and finally, it was time.
The very next day... the day that we found out that our buyers backed out, a friend and fellow Wasatch Mountain Wrangler's body was found in an avalanche field. Mourning took precedence, and the house went back on the market. The dream house turned into a dream again.
The thing about upgrades is that you have to break down some stuff first. Winter with no running, no mountains, no yoga, no sunshine, and consistent low-level pain has started to take it's toll. We had the big Wrangler Formal last week and while dancing on a scooter wasn't ideal, the night with my friends, being recognized as Crew Chief of the year, laughing and dancing.... it was life-giving. I thought I could make it. Stay positive. I can do this. But my confidence was waning.
I can hardly live in my house. We have had something like 16 or 18 showings in the past 11 days. I have scoured my house on one leg and with one good arm more times than I can count. And every showing feels like a personal inspection and rejection.
My body chemistry hasn't been good or normal in a very long time, but since my abdominal surgery, my hormone balance has been worse than ever. The only real option a doc will give me is a hysterectomy. And I don't know if I can face another surgery and recovery right now. I wish I hadn't kept my uterus last May. I mitigated it as best I could, and finally conceded that I needed to attempt to do something... again. I decided to try a progesterone cream to try to balance out the estrogen dominance that causes me to lose more blood than 10 normal women do every month. The progesterone makes me angry. Really angry. Depressed. Isolated. Not okay. I stopped using it two days ago. But damage is done. My spirit is a little bit broken. I hate living in my own head. I hate that my amazing husband has to deal with me. I hate that I yell at my kids.
Friends keep asking if I'm okay. When I am with you, I am. When you are in front of me, I am. Honestly. But most of the time now, I'm not. I'm not okay. I think I will be in time.
I love you all. I love that you care. If I knew what could be done to make things better right now, I would do it. I would tell you. You can ask me all you want. But I can't tell you what you can do to help if I don't know.
As much as I want to crawl into a deep pit and disappear, I am not done. I will never stop fighting. But sometimes fighting looks like shutting down and waiting out all the things I can't control. It looks like withdrawing, and putting up walls, and hiding from the awful jealousy for those who can get out into the sun.
So if I don't answer your texts, emails and calls sometimes, if I opt out of plans, if I say I'm fine when I'm obviously not, it's because there isn't much you can do. It's because I'm deep in survival mode. I don't want to vent anymore. I don't want to express my anger or impatience or sadness anymore, because it just makes it fresh and throws me into a new shame spiral, and drives us all mad. I don't want you to feel bad about it. I love you. And I love that you love me. You might just have to let me be a portion of myself until I can feel whole again. I'm trying. And that has to be enough.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
2015 in Review: Yep, one of those.
How to I sum up the lowest lows and the highest highs all in one blogpost? I thought 2014 was gutsy, but you.... you just took everything and ran with it.
What happened? Let's break it down.
January:
- The impromptu trip to Moab that changed EVERYTHING. My first significant running distance on my ankle hardware. I ran with Jenna for the first time... this would prove to be incredibly significant in the year to come. The sunset at Fisher Towers that cracked open my depressive cage and set magical things into motion.
- AcroYoga came back into my life. Bryan and Ashlee and all the acro community. They have helped to build my confidence while keeping me humble and connected.
- I began getting back out on the trails in earnest, hitting up Ogden's Waterfall Canyon with Aaron.
February:
- The first annual Wasatch Mountain Wrangler Formal was a huge success and one of the funnest nights of my life thus far.
Aaron made the year in review video and I still just die of love and laughter every time I watch it!
- Got back on the climbing wall for the first time since my accident.
- Replaced my oven... because it died a drawn out and silly death.
March:
- Siri turned 5!
- Saia turned 10 and reached his goal of running 5 miles on Antelope Island!
- Arya turned 7!
- We camped out at "The Wedge" at the San Raphael Swell with a bunch of Wrangler friends and family, and I put in a good 12 miles with Craig and Jenna- two of my favorite people.
- Our boys and Arya earned their first belt promotions in their homeschool Karate class.
- Aaron ran the Buffalo Run 50 miler in 8:04.
- I ran the Buffalo 25k in... well, it was slow, and it hurt like hell, and I cried my way across the finish line and into the arms of some pregnant lady I didn't know, but I finished it. It was a major moment of victory for me.
Renee came out to surprise me and keep me company, which meant so much!
- Ended up in the hospital with a horribly painful kidney stone. The required CT scan saved my life. Was diagnosed with liver lesions, and a life-threatening 7 year old rogue IUD.
- Washing machine died just as my kids all got the stomach flu and I was down and out. My neighbors took pukey laundry loads home and returned them clean. My amazing cousin bought us a new washer out of the blue. I am so blessed.
- Had my first MRI. It was terrifying and extremely expensive. It confirmed that my liver lesions were benign and of no current threat to my health. Huge relief.
April:
- I left my job at Mountainland Physical Therapy and went on their PRN list. I can never thank them enough for helping me heal. And for allowing me to help others heal. It was a huge part of my recovery.
- Had lithotripsy to break up my kidney stone, and spent some painful, groggy, wheezy, medicated weeks passing the pieces.
- Aaron's brother Nick married Marin. Their wedding was gorgeous and fun, and a welcome distraction from the mess of my health issues. Managed to look pretty despite feeling half-human. And my kids had matching outfits.
- Took a family trip to Zion while we waited for my scheduled surgery. Aaron and buddies ran the traverse. The kids and I met them at the end with treats and Dew. We stayed in the vacation home of wonderful friends Greg and Janet and had an incredible family experience in Zion National Park and the surrounding area (Toquerville Falls!).
- Aaron turned 36!
May:
- Our minivan bit the dust.
- I spent time enjoying the little things. Tea parties with my girls, reading aloud to my kids, resting.
- I chopped off 18 inches of hair. Beware the woman who cuts off her hair. Her life is about to change.
- Had a pre-op appointment that confirmed the plan to have a laparoscopic hysterectomy and scared the crap out of me. Threw a tantrum, screamed and cried a bunch, then went running, and put my big girl panties on.
- Exchanged my big girl panties for a hospital gown, woke up from anesthesia to the shock of having had emergency open abdominal surgery. The rogue IUD had been absorbing into my bowel and had it not been found I would have been dead of sepsis within a year. It was a miracle I had made it this long. I was in shock, and grateful. Poor, traumatized Aaron. We both had a lot of psychological recovery to do. Jenna, Matt and Alicia came to get me through my hospital stay. I will always be grateful. It meant the world.
- Faced the reality of recovery and PTSD. Hit some of the deepest lows. Lost all optimism. Reached out in desperation and was lifted. My friends were my angels.
- Talon turned 13!
June:
-Volunteered at the Bryce 100, running the Pink Cliffs Aid Station with Matt, Alicia, Aaron and friends. We camped out in the freezy freaky weather and I cooked pretty much nonstop. It was amazing. I loved every second.
- Started moving again. Got back to the trails a little at a time.
- Spent mucho sanity time with Jenna. Gosh, she saved me.
- Went on a spontaneous campout family reunion in Heber with my parents and siblings. Paddle boarded for the first time. Watched my brothers teach my boys to fish, and my boys catch their first fish!
-Decided it was time to fight. Gave anxiety and depression strong notice that they weren't in charge anymore.
- Went back to yoga.
- Aaron attempted the WURL (Wasatch Ultimate Ridge Linkup), and almost finished on his first attempt. The friends who he went to support, Jennilyn and MVH, went on to finish.
July:
- Summited Sardine Peak with Aaron for my first summit since my shattered ankle.
- Replace dying van with our 2009 Aspen.
- Aaron was asked to leave his job of 12.5 years. This was a hard blow, but a blessing in disguise.
- Summited Mt Aire with Jenna
- Went back to AcroYoga
- Attended a backbend workshop to celebrate my 1 year ankle anniversary.
- Talon, Saia and Arya earned their 2nd belt promotions in Karate.
- Summited Mt. Superior with Jenna
- Volunteered at the Speedgoat 50k with Aaron and friends. I really love volunteering at races.
August:
- We camped out in the Tushar Mountains and crewed/cheered Aaron and so many friends at the crazy tough Tushars 93k. Yet another Wrangler Party!
- Attended Outdoor Retailer.
- Celebrated our 14th Anniversary! I'm so lucky to have Aaron!
- Aaron accepted a position with Oracle in Lehi, UT.
- We went to HAWAII!!! Through the heaven-led generosity of our dear friend Dean, we were able to visit my parents on Oahu and have the most beautiful, appreciated vacation ever! We made the most of beaches, waterfalls and mountains, we climbed banyan trees, we snorkeled with a sea turtle, we boogie boarded, we ate from food trucks and local joints and loved every second of our time there. There was no better place I could have celebrated my 33rd birthday!
- Aaron started work at Oracle.
-Finished off August with stitches to Saia's head. :P
September:
- More family hikes and homeschooling.
- Took a day trip to Bear Lake with family.
- Took a spontaneous trip to Lake Powell with Jenna (Aaron is the very best husband for letting me go!) Stayed on a Houseboat with our friend Jen and her amazing family. Soaked up so much sun and water. Made the most of the trip home through Capitol Reef.
- Crewed Kenzie through the Bear 100. Aaron paced his brother Matt for 15 miles. Had an amazing weekend cheering and helping friends and absolutely loving their company.
- My cute girlies got their ears pierced.
October:
- Signed up to run the Antelope Canyon 55k in February. I'm scared spitless... and so excited.
- Summited Gold Ridge with Aaron.
- Summited Sunset Peak with Jenna
- Earned my High White Belt in Tae Kwon Do.
- Summited Pfeifferhorn with Jenna and Ashley
- Attended the CHVRCHES concert with Aaron, Jenna, Merete, MVH, Brent and his darling daughter. So awesome.
- Made out with Autumn
- Practically made out with Jenna
- Absolutely made out with Aaron
- Summited Olympus on Halloween morning, dressed as a mermaid... with a bazillion Wranglers in costume. So much fun!
November:
-Summited Big Baldy with Jenna
- Summited Gold Ridge again... with Jenna
- Listed the house for sale.
- Our boys earned their third belt promotions in Karate.
- Went as a family to Monument Valley with Ultra Adventures and TAUR friends to perform service for Navajo families there. We slept in a hogan, re-mudded a sweat lodge, ran up a mesa, tore down a condemned house, helped finish up a building interior, worked on trails, installed composting toilets and solar panels, and rebuilt a sheep pen. We rubbed shoulders with the salt of the earth. We met Annie and Brad (this would prove significant).
- Summited Grandeur with Jenna.
- Summited Frary Peak on Antelope Island with Aaron and Miju
December:
- Siri earned her first karate promotion.
- Summited (snicker) Meridian Peak and Ensign Peak with Aaron (for his hundredth peak this year!)
- Started adventuring with Annie. She gets me. We laugh... a lot.
- Sprained my shoulder and tore the labrum in a freak AcroYoga accident. C'est la vie!
- Summited (heehee) Flag Rock to hide my Secret Wrangler gift.
-Aaron and I summited Cave Peak in a blizzard with 80 mph and thigh deep drifts to try to find our Secret Wrangler Gifts. We did not succeed!
-Annie, Brad and I summited Cave Peak AGAIN, with snow shoes in 13 degree temps, to succeed in finding the gifts. There was much laughter. It was worth it.
-Snowventured up Lamb's Canyon to find Jenna's gift. Laughed so hard.
-Snowventured up Millcreek Canyon with Brad, Annie and Andrew to find Andrew's gift. It was amazing.
- Snowventured to summit Avenues Twin Peaks with Brad, Annie, and Aaron to find Annie's gift partway up Little Black. Again with the laughter and awe.
- Spent my last day of 2015 snowventuring up Mueller Park with Aaron.
452+ miles
95,500+ feet of elevation
125+ hours of mountain time
Looking back on this year overwhelms me. I am so blessed!! So much has happened. None of us are the same people we were when this year began. There has been more pain, sadness, joy, laughter, love and change than I ever could have imagined. So much is still up in the air. We are poised for so much more change in 2016.
More than anything, I am grateful. I LOVE our life!!!
May you and yours make the most of your stories as they happen. Don't accept excuses, and be champions of your own happiness. Happy New Year!!
So much love,
Kakes
Thursday, July 16, 2015
The Strangeness of Peace
If I were my friend, I would look at the laundry list of things from the past year and say, "Oh honey. You've been through so much. You are amazing. I'm here for you. Hang in there." So I am trying to be that friend. To be there for myself no matter what. To rally other friends around on hard days and to raucously celebrate the good ones.
My husband was given the opportunity to leave his job this past week. By that, I mean he is burnt out after 13 years with the same company and was essentially asked to "plan an exit strategy". We had just bought a car the day before, and despite the assurance that our Out of Pocket Maximum has been met, the medical bills have kept coming. I feel that considering all that has happened in the past year, I would be justified in throwing a big fat tantrum. I should be panicking, right? The moment I heard of his meeting at work, I hit my knees. I didn't pray for magical solutions. I didn't curse God or ask why. I have learned that life is going to go on happening, and most of the time the only big beautiful miracle is that you get through the tough times, and you get to keep on living. I simply prayed for Peace. I prayed for the strength to handle whatever this new challenge would bring. That was an easy prayer for God to answer, since all of that peace and strength lives inside me. He introduces me to new depths of it every day. From the moment my knees touched the carpet, I have felt it. The panic and anxiety surge at times, but the Peace soothes over them like a calming balm. I think the only other pervasive feeling has been a sadness at watching my strong and fearless mountain man struggle. He is so brave. I pray for his peace and his courage. I cannot give him mine.
After a difficult year of roller coaster drama, permeating sadness, anxiety, anger, and confusion, the feeling of Peace is somewhat strange. It comes with the understanding that this is change that we begged for, hoped for, cried many tears for. It is time to move from our mucked in little stuck spot. It is harder than expected, but this is us, heading in the right direction.
My husband was given the opportunity to leave his job this past week. By that, I mean he is burnt out after 13 years with the same company and was essentially asked to "plan an exit strategy". We had just bought a car the day before, and despite the assurance that our Out of Pocket Maximum has been met, the medical bills have kept coming. I feel that considering all that has happened in the past year, I would be justified in throwing a big fat tantrum. I should be panicking, right? The moment I heard of his meeting at work, I hit my knees. I didn't pray for magical solutions. I didn't curse God or ask why. I have learned that life is going to go on happening, and most of the time the only big beautiful miracle is that you get through the tough times, and you get to keep on living. I simply prayed for Peace. I prayed for the strength to handle whatever this new challenge would bring. That was an easy prayer for God to answer, since all of that peace and strength lives inside me. He introduces me to new depths of it every day. From the moment my knees touched the carpet, I have felt it. The panic and anxiety surge at times, but the Peace soothes over them like a calming balm. I think the only other pervasive feeling has been a sadness at watching my strong and fearless mountain man struggle. He is so brave. I pray for his peace and his courage. I cannot give him mine.
After a difficult year of roller coaster drama, permeating sadness, anxiety, anger, and confusion, the feeling of Peace is somewhat strange. It comes with the understanding that this is change that we begged for, hoped for, cried many tears for. It is time to move from our mucked in little stuck spot. It is harder than expected, but this is us, heading in the right direction.
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Mushy Thoughts On Not Dying
It makes me wonder how many times in a day we skirt death unknowingly. How many of my loved ones did I almost lose today? How much longer would I hold them if I knew? I'm pretty sure there would be a lot more "Breath Hugs". You know, where you hug someone and then settle in for a full 'breathe together' moment that makes you just let go and be for a sec. Yeah. Those are my favorite kind. Never had one? Try it. It's better than melty chocolate. It's just that good.
What else? More thoughtful moments. More spontaneous 'yes' acts. More checking in just for the sake of checking in. More fending off sharp thoughts before they became sharp words that we regret later. More kindness.
Ever wonder what it's like to walk into somewhere like church or yoga class after you've not died? For the most part, nothing changes... except you. People are still living their stories, and rightly so. Not many people look at you and think, "Man, she was like millimeters from sepsis and sudden horrible death not so long ago. She had to get cut open to save her life! Glad she's still around! Break out the balloons!"
Surprisingly, to me my story matters a little less, while everyone else's story matters a little more. I think a lot more about what others have been through, and I think about how I make people feel. It's not a new concept. Our girl Maya Angelou has been talking about it for decades.
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| Still a fave. Thanks Maya. |
My Mama is the best example of this. She is a beautiful woman with a bright, wide smile and soft blue eyes. She has followed my daddy around the world, often not knowing the native language of the people she is connecting with, but never failing to connect. Never failing to draw a sweet child into her lap simply by exuding love. Children know. They know when your arms are a safe place and when the door to your heart has so long ago lost its hinges that it sits wide open to them. This is my Mama. I can see now that someday life's blows will wear me down, break me up, and only serve to make me soft like her. Those many moments when the temptation arises to clam up and turn hard against the pain, to cut myself off and slowly wither, I think of my Mama. I think of the life sustaining love that is salve to my soul, and I can't. I just can't. When the question comes, "Can I give up yet?" This is my answer. My mama, and all of those many who have made me feel. Loved, important, inspired, beautiful, powerful, strong, soft, shiny, amazing, real, happy. All of those people to whom I might return the favor- who are encouraged by my courage. You are my answer.
More often than not, I have questioned what it is that I believe.
Know this: I believe that there is a God in Heaven who grants us miracles, and I believe without a doubt that WE are those miracles for each other. WE are the tools in His hands. And even as we are receiving the miracle of someone else's love and encouragement, we are creating miracles for others just by continuing to live and love.
So keep living and keep loving, my friends. You did not die today. You can be a force for good.
Much Love,
Kristyan
Monday, June 22, 2015
Fighting Back
When I found out about my rogue IUD and the need to go under the knife again, I swore that I wouldn't let myself get to the depths of depression and anxiety that I had battled tooth and nail after my ankle reconstruction.
I didn't want the drama, the stress, the utter despair. I was careful. I was aware. Or so I thought. I didn't even realize I was slipping. I didn't identify the dull haze of apathy as leading me to the same place. I put on a good face. I enjoyed time with my family and friends, and relished their attention when I had it. I was genuinely happy in those moments. But behind everything, there was relentless pain and a heavy question weighting my chest..."What is the point?" I had no goals. I had given up on becoming. I didn't think I was allowed to become anymore. I just ...was. I encouraged loved ones, with my undying optimism and empathy. I was everything for everyone else... but not for me. Life was good... but not for me. Adventures were out there waiting to be had.... but not for me. Greatness was within reach and the future looked bright.... but not for me. The exhausted sense of surrender subtly grew until every morning I woke with the same thought. "Can I give up yet?" I felt like a peacefully drowning toddler who suddenly realizes she can't breathe, and just what that might mean. It wasn't like me not to tread water. This wasn't me!!
I had a particularly poignant panic attack the other day. I had taken the kids on an incredible camping trip with my family while Aaron was off running the Wasatch Back Ragnar Relay. We had both arrived home exhausted. I laid on Aaron's warm chest, staring at the ceiling, and wailing aloud every massively crushing fear as tears coursed down the sides of my face and filled my ears. What if I'm not allowed to have good anymore? What if no one really loves me and it's all just pity? What if I have lost every bit of fitness and I'm just getting flabbier and weaker by the minute? What if my haircut just makes me look like a fat boy? What if I never get to do the things I love again? What if the copper toxicity that has ravaged my mind and trashed my body is permanent? What if it triggers early onset Alzheimers and I can't remember my family anymore, and they are stuck with the insane husk of what used to be me? "I'm serious! I'm so screwed up, Babe!! I'm so screwed up!!"
To Aaron's credit, he only laughed once. After proper amounts of support and discussion, and promising me that things would get better, he very gingerly reminded me, in not so many words, that these episodes effect him and the kids. Which sent me into a fresh spiral of guilt, but which also gave me fresh motivation to pull myself together and look outside myself to care for them. We ate dinner around nine that night, but it was home cooked and healthy.
The next morning was Father's Day. I stuffed my anxiety deep into my chest and did my best to make this day about him. My emotional thrashing had nixed my preparatory trip to the store the night before, so I made do. Aaron looked me in the eyes and asked me not to feel guilty, and to just enjoy the day with him. It told him I would. Sometime mid-day, I sat at my computer while he napped. My eyes swept the messy desk around me and paused on a CD set that Aaron had gotten for free from some motivational seminar. "Building a Mind of Steel: The key to managing your little voices" by Kirk Duncan. I popped it in my disk drive and put on my headphones. It was cheesy, but the longer I listened, the more it applied to me. I hadn't realized just how much I had stopped believing. I'd turned a blind eye to the fact that I was letting those dark little voices have their way. I made lists, I started the exercises. I began to fight. In the program there is a challenge to write a positive affirmation strong enough to combat the negative narrative. "Imagine if you read this about yourself every night before bed? How would that affect you?"
Don't laugh. Here is mine:
I am an intelligent and voracious learner. I am strong. I am gracious and kind, unpresuming and generous. I am unstoppable, determined, and positive. I am an inspiration to those around me. I am free and uncluttered. I am wise and decisive. I am honest, authentic, real, and unapologetic. I accept the details of myself. I own the good and the bad in the knowledge that everything changes, including me. I am whole as I am. I am my own hero. I am a champion of LOVE. I accept the challenge to grow, to improve, to expand. I am adored. I am secure. I radiate JOY. I live in faith and trust, in myself, in my God, and in those around me.
This is my fight. I will not quietly drown in doubt and fear. I will not let the little voices win.
I didn't want the drama, the stress, the utter despair. I was careful. I was aware. Or so I thought. I didn't even realize I was slipping. I didn't identify the dull haze of apathy as leading me to the same place. I put on a good face. I enjoyed time with my family and friends, and relished their attention when I had it. I was genuinely happy in those moments. But behind everything, there was relentless pain and a heavy question weighting my chest..."What is the point?" I had no goals. I had given up on becoming. I didn't think I was allowed to become anymore. I just ...was. I encouraged loved ones, with my undying optimism and empathy. I was everything for everyone else... but not for me. Life was good... but not for me. Adventures were out there waiting to be had.... but not for me. Greatness was within reach and the future looked bright.... but not for me. The exhausted sense of surrender subtly grew until every morning I woke with the same thought. "Can I give up yet?" I felt like a peacefully drowning toddler who suddenly realizes she can't breathe, and just what that might mean. It wasn't like me not to tread water. This wasn't me!!
I had a particularly poignant panic attack the other day. I had taken the kids on an incredible camping trip with my family while Aaron was off running the Wasatch Back Ragnar Relay. We had both arrived home exhausted. I laid on Aaron's warm chest, staring at the ceiling, and wailing aloud every massively crushing fear as tears coursed down the sides of my face and filled my ears. What if I'm not allowed to have good anymore? What if no one really loves me and it's all just pity? What if I have lost every bit of fitness and I'm just getting flabbier and weaker by the minute? What if my haircut just makes me look like a fat boy? What if I never get to do the things I love again? What if the copper toxicity that has ravaged my mind and trashed my body is permanent? What if it triggers early onset Alzheimers and I can't remember my family anymore, and they are stuck with the insane husk of what used to be me? "I'm serious! I'm so screwed up, Babe!! I'm so screwed up!!"
To Aaron's credit, he only laughed once. After proper amounts of support and discussion, and promising me that things would get better, he very gingerly reminded me, in not so many words, that these episodes effect him and the kids. Which sent me into a fresh spiral of guilt, but which also gave me fresh motivation to pull myself together and look outside myself to care for them. We ate dinner around nine that night, but it was home cooked and healthy.
The next morning was Father's Day. I stuffed my anxiety deep into my chest and did my best to make this day about him. My emotional thrashing had nixed my preparatory trip to the store the night before, so I made do. Aaron looked me in the eyes and asked me not to feel guilty, and to just enjoy the day with him. It told him I would. Sometime mid-day, I sat at my computer while he napped. My eyes swept the messy desk around me and paused on a CD set that Aaron had gotten for free from some motivational seminar. "Building a Mind of Steel: The key to managing your little voices" by Kirk Duncan. I popped it in my disk drive and put on my headphones. It was cheesy, but the longer I listened, the more it applied to me. I hadn't realized just how much I had stopped believing. I'd turned a blind eye to the fact that I was letting those dark little voices have their way. I made lists, I started the exercises. I began to fight. In the program there is a challenge to write a positive affirmation strong enough to combat the negative narrative. "Imagine if you read this about yourself every night before bed? How would that affect you?"
Don't laugh. Here is mine:
I am an intelligent and voracious learner. I am strong. I am gracious and kind, unpresuming and generous. I am unstoppable, determined, and positive. I am an inspiration to those around me. I am free and uncluttered. I am wise and decisive. I am honest, authentic, real, and unapologetic. I accept the details of myself. I own the good and the bad in the knowledge that everything changes, including me. I am whole as I am. I am my own hero. I am a champion of LOVE. I accept the challenge to grow, to improve, to expand. I am adored. I am secure. I radiate JOY. I live in faith and trust, in myself, in my God, and in those around me.
This is my fight. I will not quietly drown in doubt and fear. I will not let the little voices win.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Things We Can't Control
**Warning: This post is pretty raw, and contains some graphic pictures and descriptions. If you get queasy at such things, proceed with caution. If your morbid curiosity just got all excited, by all means, have at it.
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| Chop Chop |
I sat in her salon chair and we got to chatting about ridiculously personal things, (such as one does with a hairdresser, ) the giant elephant of the year came up- my health. I had until Monday to decide what my surgery was going to be. I was still undecided.
"Hysterectomy? BEST thing I've ever done... as long as they leave your ovaries."
This was the fourth time I had heard this from a friend with experience. Rachel's gorgeous mother chimed in and agreed from the chair in the corner behind me. Number 5.
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As I drove home with the window down and the radio blasting, short hair ruffling in the wind, I didn't know if the haircut made me feel any more in control, but it sure was a nice distraction.
I was feeling pretty on edge for the weekend. I tried to remain calm. I'm pretty sure no one who offered me a hug knew that I wanted to dive into their arms and beg them to hold me together.
I attended one more yoga class on Friday. Bryan greeted me with compliments to my hair and a big hug. I squeezed him hard. Don't forget to let go.
I savored that class, knowing it would be my last for a while.
Monday morning brought my pre-op consultation. I was ready to take full advantage of this appointment. I fired question after question and was upfront about my indecision.
"I just want to give you as much information as possible, and let you decide." Dr. Fillerup was frank and thorough. In the end, with the facts as we knew them, I decided I didn't like the risk factors of bleeding out and decided to simplify things by choosing the laparoscopic hysterectomy. I had no idea that it wouldn't be my choice anyway.
I walked out of the office with extensive instructions for a day of strict liquid diet and laxatives followed by fasting on surgery day. Sounded like a real party.
Aaron decided he wasn't feeling well and he would work from home the rest of the day. It didn't take long for my inner composure to start unraveling. Aaron took one look at my face, and expressed his support of one last run. I changed my clothes, tied on my brand new Altra Superior 2.0s, told him I'd be in Mueller park, and got in the car. As I leaned into the steep road heading up 400 North, I thought I might puke. I was about to fly apart. And then I screamed. A ragged, raging, almost deafening scream. I was shocked at the anguish that came out of my body. Primal anger, fear, frustration, so much more that I didn't even realize had been brewing, pent up in my chest. I screamed again, this time from my toes and finished it off with a sob. It then I was done. That was it. No more.
When I pulled up at the trail head, I was already feeling better. Lock the car, stow the keys, start the watch, and walk. I had no expectations, but when it felt good to run, I ran, and when it didn't, I walked. There were very few people on the trail. The temps were perfect, sunshine and shade in beautiful harmony. I needed this. The longer the miles, the better it felt to run them. I gave myself credit for living a bold life, and for handling the cards I'd been dealt, until I was running with my head high, confident that I could handle whatever was coming my way. It's funny, whenever I get sort of a mental grasp on how strong and brave I am, I see everyone else in a new light. What are they going through that I have no clue about? What scars are they carrying? What major events made them who they are and brought them to where they are now? I like to think it makes me kinder- to them and to myself.
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| Mountain warrior |
Liquid diets are not fun. Good friends took my kids to the homeschool opera performance so that I could stay home and deal with laxatives and all that jazz. By evening, when I cooked dinner for my family and sucked down my last smoothie, I was hangry. And then the fast began.
The next morning when I woke the kids to kiss them goodbye, I was not feeling like a warrior. We made it through check-in and paid another chunk of change to the hospital. We were SO close to meeting our out-of-pocket maximum for the year. Aaron held my hand and made me laugh through all of the preparations. One of our bishopric members, and anesthesiologist, had seen my name on the surgery list and dropped in to my pre-op room to wish us luck. I kissed Aaron goodbye and they wheeled me into the OR. There was less ado this time around. Dr. Fillerup and the nurses helped me get into position on the operating table and piled me all snuggled up in warm blankets, distracting me with being cared for as the jagged ache of anesthesia made it's way up my arm. Sleep.
I awoke to confusion and pain. They were getting me settled into my room.
"Things didn't go as expected."
I didn't understand.
Garbled tidbits of information made it through the anesthesia and morphine haze.
No hysterectomy.
They had to open you up.
Attached to the bowel.
Longer recovery.
I just really needed to pee.
"Doesn't she have a catheter? No?"
The nurses tried to help me up to go to the bathroom, but I didn't make it. Too much pain. Not alert enough. So they laid me back down and I closed my eyes, drifting at the edge of consciousness while one nurse coached a trainee on how to place a catheter. This was a nightmare. It had to be.
Ow. Ow. Ow. OW. Please, no! OW! OW!!!
They shushed and cooed at me like I was a baby until it was in place.
Please let me just disappear. I laid in my hospital bed with my eyes closed and cried.
My drug-fogged mind couldn't grasp what was happening, what had happened.
Aaron tried to explain it to me with tears in his eyes. His chin shook a little. He had had to make big decisions.
Dr. Fillerup had prepped me for hysterectomy and tried to find the lost IUD via laparoscopy as planned. But it wasn't where we thought it was. It wasn't sticking out of the uterine wall as expected. The uterus was intact. After searching through my abdomen, she'd found the string, down low on the left side, the IUD was encapsulated in a large amount of scar tissue and absorbing into the wall of my colon.
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| Little string peeking out of the scar tissue |
"Can we wake her up and ask her?" They decided against it, knowing I'd probably be too groggy and confused to make a decision, and not wanting to put me through a second surgery.
He had called Alicia, panicked and desperate for advice. Alicia is a worrier. She panicked too.
In short order they decided I should keep my uterus, and the docs decided they would need to use the remaining surgery time window, cut open my abdomen, and cut the IUD and surrounding scar tissue from the bowel wall.
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| Cut it out! |
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| The culprit- and a hefty chunk of my flesh |
Then would come stitching and repair along with a generous dusting of powder to prevent adhesion between organs.
And so it was.
The look in Aaron's eyes begged to know if he'd made the right decision. I felt awful that he had been put in that position. He was second guessing himself even now. It was the decision I probably would have made. I told him I wasn't upset. I don't know if he believed me. In truth, I was upset, but not with him, not with the decision, with my own absolute sense of helplessness.
I pushed back the sense of physical violation I felt. I inspected my incisions- my soon-to-be scars.
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| Excuse me if I feel like a pin cushion. |
This body I have worked so hard to honor. I felt like I had failed. Again.
I was in a limbo of pain, low oxygen levels, breathing alarms, IV alarms, catheter adjustments, heart rate monitors, vitals checks, blood tests, and trying to make the best of it all. Aaron was there. He made it all bearable.
Because of the nature of the surgery, I was placed on a clear liquid diet for another 24 hours. All I could think about was wanting a dang sandwich. Hangry.
I FaceTimed my parents in Hawaii. I called and texted family and friends. I wiled away the time with Netflix movies, Instagram and Facebook. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Jenna showed up in my hospital room. My Jenna.
She was the best thing ever. Having her there to talk to, laugh with, be ridiculous with, meant the world to me- even if it did hurt to laugh. I hadn't expected visitors. I'm too stinking independent. It was so very nice. Sleep that night was not restful. We were in the women's center with tiny newborns and new mamas who cried through the night. Vital checks came every couple of hours, and there was even a 4 am blood draw. Aaron was trying to sleep on the little fold-out cot thing from the sofa-chair. I felt awful for him. My abdomen was a bloated blob. All the pent up air from surgery had begun to make things hurt worse. It was a long night.
When morning came, I ordered my breakfast of juice, jello and broth and awaited the doctor's arrival. We'd be waiting all day.
A student from the DATC came by and gave me a pedicure. I could have kissed her. When the doc finally came, there was only one important question. "Have you passed gas yet?" Despite burping every few seconds and finally being able to make it to the bathroom on my own, the answer was no. It meant my intestines hadn't woken up yet. Because of the unexpected nature of the surgery, it meant I couldn't go home. It also meant I had to stay on a liquid diet.
I am fully convinced that hospitals exist in their own mid-plane twilight zone. We weren't prepared to stay for two nights. And after calling babysitters and rearranging meal plans, I got bored, antsy, and downright grumpy. The gnawing, empty sense of hunger didn't help, though I did have a small personal celebration when I finally was able to fart.
Toward the second evening, Matt and Alicia made a very welcome visit. They always make for good conversation. Aaron was not looking forward to another restless night on the torture cot, but didn't want to leave me alone. Alicia offered to make a girls night of it so that Aaron could take the kids home to sleep in their own beds. Matt went to leave only to text Aaron for a jump start. Their car was acting up. By the time the cars got started and Alicia made it back with movies in tow, it was getting late. We settled in to giggle ourselves silly to Pitch Perfect until 12:30 am. I decided no one should have to endure the torture cot and sent her home to sleep. Aside from an early morning vitals check, I was left to sleep peacefully. I woke before 6 am and made it to the bathroom on my own, and ended up feeling good enough to take a solo walk through the quiet hallways. By 7:00 Dr. Fillerup made her rounds, declared me fit to go home, gave instructions to do basically nothing except gentle walking for the next 4-6 weeks (especially no lifting), and promised to write up the papers within the half hour. I texted Aaron to come break me out, a nurse disconnected my tubes and monitors and I headed for a quick shower. It felt so good to be free of all bandages, tubes and wires. I was feeling stronger and more confident, until I leaned back to rinse my shampoo and almost keeled over with the weight of my head because my abs still didn't work. Awesome. Somehow I survived washing and dressing. I puttered about packing and tidying, all the while being careful not to lift anything that required core muscles or twisting (which includes, surprisingly, pretty much everything). Then Aaron was there, and I was free.
Home presented it's own challenges. First order of business, build a step out of yoga blocks so I could get in and out of bed. New learning curve as to how to move to get around without too much pain. Second order of business, REAL FOOD. Aaron made a special trip to the Sunshine Cafe to get my favorite Garden Classic. I laid into that thing like it owed me money. So dang good.
We have had wonderful friends and neighbors bring us meals. Family and friends have taken kids so that I could have a break from noise and being whined at. A few awesome people have dropped in to visit or sent treats. These things mean so much to us, and help immensely.
It's hard to grasp that it's been almost 2 weeks now. On the other hand it feels like it's been FOREVER since I've done anything worthwhile. The staples are out, the adhesive has worn off, the scars will heal pretty well. But I'm in the midst of the mind game. One can only binge-watch Hulu for so long before one wants to smack one's head into a wall. I have gotten pretty good at taking non-skanky bed selfies...
I've been making my way through a stack of good books. It's slow going because pain does things to my attention span. Little things that we all take for granted are serious challenges. Rolling over in bed is a delicate crap shoot, a coughing fit can leave me in tears, sneezing feels like a red-hot knife to the ab muscles, and bowel movements leave me horribly breathless.
Everyday I go on my walk down the street. Everyday I make it a little further before needing to turn back. Uneven ground is rough... and I live on a hill.
Every day things get a little better.
Every day I remind myself that this too shall pass.
Every day I wake up with the question in my mind, "Can I give up yet?"
And everyday I answer myself, "Sure. Give up expecting things to be peachy. Give up deciding to feel terribly depressed when they aren't. Give up wanting more now, and decide to be content with where you are." Then I hate myself for being so clever and logical, and make faces and flip myself off in the mirror or something.
It's a slippery slope though... giving up. It can easy lead to "Give up dreaming. Give up hope. Give up on the idea that you can have any control over anything in your life." But those ones start to make me feel a little bit dead inside, so I try not to go there.
I miss the feeling that if I work hard and love hard and keep smiling, I can have dreams and accomplish them. There is nothing quite like watching the slow death of your own optimism.
I miss the camaraderie of my tribes. I miss endorphins. I miss my mountains and my yoga mat. I miss stretching and movement.
There is a deep, and continuous battle between gratitude and cynical depression. A constant discord between what I know and what I feel.
I'm blessed. I'm loved. I'm cared for.
I know that I have friends that would do anything I asked of them, but I don't even know what to ask for. I'm almost embarrassed to be around the people who have come to expect more of me than what this numb, confused, small person can offer. When it comes down to it, I'm just rather sad, tired and lonely, and I don't know how to fix it except to just wait it out.
It will get better. It has to.
I was in a limbo of pain, low oxygen levels, breathing alarms, IV alarms, catheter adjustments, heart rate monitors, vitals checks, blood tests, and trying to make the best of it all. Aaron was there. He made it all bearable.
Because of the nature of the surgery, I was placed on a clear liquid diet for another 24 hours. All I could think about was wanting a dang sandwich. Hangry.
I FaceTimed my parents in Hawaii. I called and texted family and friends. I wiled away the time with Netflix movies, Instagram and Facebook. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Jenna showed up in my hospital room. My Jenna.
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| The Famous Jay |
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| Aaron being my bed kitteh. |
A student from the DATC came by and gave me a pedicure. I could have kissed her. When the doc finally came, there was only one important question. "Have you passed gas yet?" Despite burping every few seconds and finally being able to make it to the bathroom on my own, the answer was no. It meant my intestines hadn't woken up yet. Because of the unexpected nature of the surgery, it meant I couldn't go home. It also meant I had to stay on a liquid diet.
I am fully convinced that hospitals exist in their own mid-plane twilight zone. We weren't prepared to stay for two nights. And after calling babysitters and rearranging meal plans, I got bored, antsy, and downright grumpy. The gnawing, empty sense of hunger didn't help, though I did have a small personal celebration when I finally was able to fart.
Toward the second evening, Matt and Alicia made a very welcome visit. They always make for good conversation. Aaron was not looking forward to another restless night on the torture cot, but didn't want to leave me alone. Alicia offered to make a girls night of it so that Aaron could take the kids home to sleep in their own beds. Matt went to leave only to text Aaron for a jump start. Their car was acting up. By the time the cars got started and Alicia made it back with movies in tow, it was getting late. We settled in to giggle ourselves silly to Pitch Perfect until 12:30 am. I decided no one should have to endure the torture cot and sent her home to sleep. Aside from an early morning vitals check, I was left to sleep peacefully. I woke before 6 am and made it to the bathroom on my own, and ended up feeling good enough to take a solo walk through the quiet hallways. By 7:00 Dr. Fillerup made her rounds, declared me fit to go home, gave instructions to do basically nothing except gentle walking for the next 4-6 weeks (especially no lifting), and promised to write up the papers within the half hour. I texted Aaron to come break me out, a nurse disconnected my tubes and monitors and I headed for a quick shower. It felt so good to be free of all bandages, tubes and wires. I was feeling stronger and more confident, until I leaned back to rinse my shampoo and almost keeled over with the weight of my head because my abs still didn't work. Awesome. Somehow I survived washing and dressing. I puttered about packing and tidying, all the while being careful not to lift anything that required core muscles or twisting (which includes, surprisingly, pretty much everything). Then Aaron was there, and I was free.
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| Freedom! |
We have had wonderful friends and neighbors bring us meals. Family and friends have taken kids so that I could have a break from noise and being whined at. A few awesome people have dropped in to visit or sent treats. These things mean so much to us, and help immensely.
It's hard to grasp that it's been almost 2 weeks now. On the other hand it feels like it's been FOREVER since I've done anything worthwhile. The staples are out, the adhesive has worn off, the scars will heal pretty well. But I'm in the midst of the mind game. One can only binge-watch Hulu for so long before one wants to smack one's head into a wall. I have gotten pretty good at taking non-skanky bed selfies...
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| This one says, moody and forlorn |
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| Straight up bored |
Everyday I go on my walk down the street. Everyday I make it a little further before needing to turn back. Uneven ground is rough... and I live on a hill.
Every day things get a little better.
Every day I remind myself that this too shall pass.
Every day I wake up with the question in my mind, "Can I give up yet?"
And everyday I answer myself, "Sure. Give up expecting things to be peachy. Give up deciding to feel terribly depressed when they aren't. Give up wanting more now, and decide to be content with where you are." Then I hate myself for being so clever and logical, and make faces and flip myself off in the mirror or something.
It's a slippery slope though... giving up. It can easy lead to "Give up dreaming. Give up hope. Give up on the idea that you can have any control over anything in your life." But those ones start to make me feel a little bit dead inside, so I try not to go there.
I miss the feeling that if I work hard and love hard and keep smiling, I can have dreams and accomplish them. There is nothing quite like watching the slow death of your own optimism.
I miss the camaraderie of my tribes. I miss endorphins. I miss my mountains and my yoga mat. I miss stretching and movement.
There is a deep, and continuous battle between gratitude and cynical depression. A constant discord between what I know and what I feel.
I'm blessed. I'm loved. I'm cared for.
I know that I have friends that would do anything I asked of them, but I don't even know what to ask for. I'm almost embarrassed to be around the people who have come to expect more of me than what this numb, confused, small person can offer. When it comes down to it, I'm just rather sad, tired and lonely, and I don't know how to fix it except to just wait it out.
It will get better. It has to.
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