They call me brave.
I submit that there is more bravery in the world than one could ever fathom. Quiet acts of survival, love, support, even stubbornness.
I live out loud because I know I can't do it on my own. I need people as much or more than they need me. I suppose the thing that makes me stand out is that I unabashedly live for connection. To reach out. To lean in. To hold tight. To sit in silent acceptance. To laugh in comfortable companionship. Yes, there is rejection, but it floats away like dandelion seeds on a river surface. It is worth dealing with rejection to have found the deep solace of an answering, "Me too."
I feel the authentically deep need of those around me. I give love because it is needed, and because I need it. I'm not even a little bit ashamed of that.
Maybe that makes me brave. Maybe I don't know any other way to be.
Friday, June 24, 2016
Monday, June 20, 2016
The Body Keeps the Score
Small disclaimer: If you haven't read this blog before, it is one big mess of TMI. I have no filters. You WILL know far too much about me, should you continue. You've been warned. So ask yourself now, "Do I really want to know?"
As the noisy, flashy, firework kind of stress in my life has diminished, it has come to light that trauma has truly left it's mark on my brain. I find myself split in two, partially detached enough to be fully aware, and partially immersed in my post traumatic reactions. I watch myself experience episodes of depression, sensory overload, anxiety, uncontrollable sobbing over nothing. There aren't many flashbacks, and it doesn't mimic the PTSD I experienced after my car accident in high school, re-living the accidents over and over. I'm beyond most of that. Though at times I am distantly haunted by scenes of blurry remembrance in the hospital, trying to process what had happened to my body, having no control and no say through the pain of being poked and wired and prodded.. Or scenes of staring at the chair legs, vaulted ceiling, and paint-spattered wall of my old family room and kitchen while my dismay at the puddle of paint that spread under me and how it would ruin the floor. They don't torture me in that same, flash-bang, terror kind of way. Unfortunately, now, it's a puzzling labyrinth of discovering how my brain and my neurology have been rewired. I have been listening to The Body Keeps The Score by Bessel Van der Kolk. It has been fascinating to start to understand what my body has recorded and why, what parts of my brain have shut down or lit up due to mere moments in life, and what I need to do to utilize neuroplasticity and reprogram once again. Sometimes I feel silly. Overly dramatic. There is so much worse that people have been through. I want to logically talk my brain out of having been so effected by the laundry list of repeated trauma. Shattered ankle, torn rotator cuff, kidney stones, liver lesions, near-deadly IUD and unexpected open abdominal surgery, sprained shoulder, broken foot and torn shoulder labrum. These are not child abuse or war or genocide. But there isn't any logic to it. It has rewired, and I am left to deal with the tangle. I am tempted to shut down and shut up (as if that were really possible for me), but I know that in such instances, loneliness can spell regression and even suicide. While I have experienced depression and anxiety, I haven't had even the inkling of suicidal thoughts since I was deep in teenagedom and such things were empty threats for attention. I had a dream the other morning, in my waking sleep. I was standing at the side of my neighborhood road, where cars cruise down the hill around the bend, and I just stepped out in front of one of them and it ended. It felt so good in that second. So simple. To be done. That is when I jerked awake, thinking, "Oh crap. I need professional help." And also, chuckling darkly to myself, "With my luck, I wouldn't die." These are thoughts I want to be ashamed of and keep secret. But I won't. Secrets like that kill. And I don't want to die. Not even close. I love my life, my home, my family, this freaking wonderful, amazing planet and the incredible people that populate it. The nearest I can tell is that my brain is just finding the nearest possibility of ending the chaos. I'm tired.
I spent the weekend before last, crying. All the time. At everyone who talked to me, or looked at me. Everything was a trigger. I came home from lunch with a friend and sat in Aaron's office and sobbed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Over and over. I'm sorry for putting you through all of this. Thank you for staying with me. I'm sorry this mess is yours to deal with too. The only thing that took me out of it was hours of hiking and running in the pouring rain with Aaron. Forced immediate presence. Be here now, in the rain, mud, dirt, rocks, trees, sticks, ridges, waterfall. It was glorious. It's so bizarre to be so madly in love with life, and be.... malfunctioning.
Sunday afternoon, I lay in bed clinging to the promise that I have spoken out loud to my family and friends: My story isn't over yet. I would never just end it. I will always keep trying. I wore my semicolon project bracelet as a security blanket and watched myself sob into my pillow. The next day I felt normal. Actually normal. I went for an incredibly peaceful solo run. I did laundry and played with my kids and danced in the kitchen. I felt the fire of real fight inside myself for the first time in weeks. Real hope. Monday I woke up jittery and anxious, but functional. I went to Costco, where I experienced a bizarre sensory overload episode with marked immediate memory loss. In Costco. I couldn't even remember what time of day it was for a while. My head was buzzing and I had tunnel vision. Every color, every movement, every sound, took over. A separate part of me watched in puzzled fascination and gave me the advice to start grounding. Feel your toes in your shoes. Identify 5 things you can see, 5 you can hear.... Somehow I made it through checkout and out to the car where I had a full anxiety attack and cried hard. I did grounding exercises and breathed myself down for ten full minutes before I could drive myself home. And then I was fine. Exhausted, but fine.
A couple of days later, after discussing my symptoms and various traumatic experiences with my yoga instructor.... my dad, my friends, a couple of strangers... (there really is something wrong with my filters).... I narrowed in on my surgery being the main episode I am suffering most from. It won't go away. It has been a year. Why can't I get over it?? Then, standing in my closet, anemic and exhausted and packing for a trip, I had a mind-blowing realization. My period is a trigger. For over a decade I have had a regular menstrual cycle that makes me wonder how I'm alive. It is easily more than 10 times the volume qualification to be medically defined as menorrhagia, or "abnormally heavy flow". When my surgery occurred, I went to sleep expecting my uterus to be removed along with the offending IUD, and when I woke up, confused, stitched and stapled, even that choice had not been mine. Every month, when that horror comes (and even the weeks leading up to it), my body experiences the terror of being stripped of choice and free-will all over again. My period is victimizing me. Holy crap.
I stood in my closet and sobbed.... again. Then I texted my first line of trauma brain spill- husband, sister, trauma-familiar-judgement-free-zone friends. I could hardly believe it. They all said it made perfect sense.
What are my choices now? Face the primal fear of surgery again? My every fiber wants to scream bloody-horror-film screams at the thought. Leave it be and wait til menopause, allowing the mental and emotional rape to continue month after month? Gosh, it sounds horrid calling it that, but I won't apologize for stating what I feel.
One thing is absolutely clear. I need help. I need a doctor that I can trust and feel comfortable with.... if such thing actually exists. I also need a really good therapist. And the $1400 that the hospital owes me and is refusing to pay..... and a lawyer.
As the noisy, flashy, firework kind of stress in my life has diminished, it has come to light that trauma has truly left it's mark on my brain. I find myself split in two, partially detached enough to be fully aware, and partially immersed in my post traumatic reactions. I watch myself experience episodes of depression, sensory overload, anxiety, uncontrollable sobbing over nothing. There aren't many flashbacks, and it doesn't mimic the PTSD I experienced after my car accident in high school, re-living the accidents over and over. I'm beyond most of that. Though at times I am distantly haunted by scenes of blurry remembrance in the hospital, trying to process what had happened to my body, having no control and no say through the pain of being poked and wired and prodded.. Or scenes of staring at the chair legs, vaulted ceiling, and paint-spattered wall of my old family room and kitchen while my dismay at the puddle of paint that spread under me and how it would ruin the floor. They don't torture me in that same, flash-bang, terror kind of way. Unfortunately, now, it's a puzzling labyrinth of discovering how my brain and my neurology have been rewired. I have been listening to The Body Keeps The Score by Bessel Van der Kolk. It has been fascinating to start to understand what my body has recorded and why, what parts of my brain have shut down or lit up due to mere moments in life, and what I need to do to utilize neuroplasticity and reprogram once again. Sometimes I feel silly. Overly dramatic. There is so much worse that people have been through. I want to logically talk my brain out of having been so effected by the laundry list of repeated trauma. Shattered ankle, torn rotator cuff, kidney stones, liver lesions, near-deadly IUD and unexpected open abdominal surgery, sprained shoulder, broken foot and torn shoulder labrum. These are not child abuse or war or genocide. But there isn't any logic to it. It has rewired, and I am left to deal with the tangle. I am tempted to shut down and shut up (as if that were really possible for me), but I know that in such instances, loneliness can spell regression and even suicide. While I have experienced depression and anxiety, I haven't had even the inkling of suicidal thoughts since I was deep in teenagedom and such things were empty threats for attention. I had a dream the other morning, in my waking sleep. I was standing at the side of my neighborhood road, where cars cruise down the hill around the bend, and I just stepped out in front of one of them and it ended. It felt so good in that second. So simple. To be done. That is when I jerked awake, thinking, "Oh crap. I need professional help." And also, chuckling darkly to myself, "With my luck, I wouldn't die." These are thoughts I want to be ashamed of and keep secret. But I won't. Secrets like that kill. And I don't want to die. Not even close. I love my life, my home, my family, this freaking wonderful, amazing planet and the incredible people that populate it. The nearest I can tell is that my brain is just finding the nearest possibility of ending the chaos. I'm tired.
I spent the weekend before last, crying. All the time. At everyone who talked to me, or looked at me. Everything was a trigger. I came home from lunch with a friend and sat in Aaron's office and sobbed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Over and over. I'm sorry for putting you through all of this. Thank you for staying with me. I'm sorry this mess is yours to deal with too. The only thing that took me out of it was hours of hiking and running in the pouring rain with Aaron. Forced immediate presence. Be here now, in the rain, mud, dirt, rocks, trees, sticks, ridges, waterfall. It was glorious. It's so bizarre to be so madly in love with life, and be.... malfunctioning.
Sunday afternoon, I lay in bed clinging to the promise that I have spoken out loud to my family and friends: My story isn't over yet. I would never just end it. I will always keep trying. I wore my semicolon project bracelet as a security blanket and watched myself sob into my pillow. The next day I felt normal. Actually normal. I went for an incredibly peaceful solo run. I did laundry and played with my kids and danced in the kitchen. I felt the fire of real fight inside myself for the first time in weeks. Real hope. Monday I woke up jittery and anxious, but functional. I went to Costco, where I experienced a bizarre sensory overload episode with marked immediate memory loss. In Costco. I couldn't even remember what time of day it was for a while. My head was buzzing and I had tunnel vision. Every color, every movement, every sound, took over. A separate part of me watched in puzzled fascination and gave me the advice to start grounding. Feel your toes in your shoes. Identify 5 things you can see, 5 you can hear.... Somehow I made it through checkout and out to the car where I had a full anxiety attack and cried hard. I did grounding exercises and breathed myself down for ten full minutes before I could drive myself home. And then I was fine. Exhausted, but fine.
A couple of days later, after discussing my symptoms and various traumatic experiences with my yoga instructor.... my dad, my friends, a couple of strangers... (there really is something wrong with my filters).... I narrowed in on my surgery being the main episode I am suffering most from. It won't go away. It has been a year. Why can't I get over it?? Then, standing in my closet, anemic and exhausted and packing for a trip, I had a mind-blowing realization. My period is a trigger. For over a decade I have had a regular menstrual cycle that makes me wonder how I'm alive. It is easily more than 10 times the volume qualification to be medically defined as menorrhagia, or "abnormally heavy flow". When my surgery occurred, I went to sleep expecting my uterus to be removed along with the offending IUD, and when I woke up, confused, stitched and stapled, even that choice had not been mine. Every month, when that horror comes (and even the weeks leading up to it), my body experiences the terror of being stripped of choice and free-will all over again. My period is victimizing me. Holy crap.
I stood in my closet and sobbed.... again. Then I texted my first line of trauma brain spill- husband, sister, trauma-familiar-judgement-free-zone friends. I could hardly believe it. They all said it made perfect sense.
What are my choices now? Face the primal fear of surgery again? My every fiber wants to scream bloody-horror-film screams at the thought. Leave it be and wait til menopause, allowing the mental and emotional rape to continue month after month? Gosh, it sounds horrid calling it that, but I won't apologize for stating what I feel.
One thing is absolutely clear. I need help. I need a doctor that I can trust and feel comfortable with.... if such thing actually exists. I also need a really good therapist. And the $1400 that the hospital owes me and is refusing to pay..... and a lawyer.
Friday, May 6, 2016
Some emerging truths
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.
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.
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.
 |
| 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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)