One of my best gal pals and I got together last night to catch up. The previous visit was just before my hospital adventure and the kids needed some play time as well. Kim and I met in Kenpo class back in March and have been pretty much inseparable since then. It’s not often, but truly amazing when you happen to meet someone that you “click” with such immediacy, almost as if we’ve known each other all of our lives. Laughter fills our conversations and I’m truly blessed to have someone to share the not-so-happy stuff with as well. (The not-so-happy stuff is all neurotic!)
Backtracking just a bit… Kim has had to miss karate since Friday, June 13th. During class, we were running line drills (suicides), when she heard a loud POP in her right calf. And that was that. Not looking very happy, she told me that this pain was very familiar and knew that this was not going to be fun. Out on leave since then, Kim has hobbled around with a massive hematoma, her calf turning lovely shades of yellow, green, brown, and purple. Like me and my surgical recovery, she has refused to see her injury as an impediment to receiving her yellow belt in July. Seeing us on the street, you wouldn’t think that we were a couple of “badass” karate mamas, but just give us another year or two!
So, talking about books last night, I mentioned that I was currently reading “American Shaolin” by Matthew Polly. Kim’s eyes lit up and she shared that she was rereading “Way of the Peaceful Warrior” by Dan Millman. Again, I felt that little excitement of connectivity… What are the chances that we’d both be reading books on martial arts and spirituality at the same time? (Our karate instructor’s daughter once told us that we were “soul sisters”. From the mouths of babes!) We then went to the Peaceful Warrior website and she made me promise to read the book before I added the DVD to my Netflix queue.
Not wanting to give too much of the book away, Kim gave me a taste of the PW philosophy by posing the question: Where are you?
I would guess that 99% of respondents would reply with the obvious, literal answer. Of course, that would be correct, but peel away a few more layers and think about the circumstances that have brought you to where you literally are. Mine are numerous… Childhood abuse, growing up in Texas. (No, growing up in Texas is NOT child abuse.) Marriage, divorce, marriage. Having and raising my own children. The influence of friends and family. Taking the road less traveled and sometimes just following others. Having loved and lost, wondering about love that will never be. That is the essence of HERE.
It was getting late so we said our good-byes, hugs and kisses. The girls were tired and whiny; my husband was tired and whiny. I just wanted to take my Percoset and go to bed. Slowly climbing the stairs, as the whole idea of HERE still echoed in my mind, it was as if the volume had been turned up to “11”. Steve’s yelling at the girls to clean their room “or else” they wouldn’t go to the circus tomorrow for Mel’s birthday. My heart broke because they sounded so pathetic, “Daddy, I’m tired! We promise we’ll clean up in the morning!” I decided to tame Mother Bear and just listen… Shut up and listen. This was very difficult because a part of me WANTED to argue. This was even more odd as Steve and I NEVER argue, but that might explain a lot of our problems as of late. My heart was screaming, “Stop being an asshole! Who gives a shit about their room?!” It’s never been clean for more than half a day, so what gives?
I painfully crawled into my bed, avoiding the use of stomach muscles, hoping that the drugs would kick in soon. Where in the hell am I?
Jumping out of bed, I ran down the hall and snuggled in-between my two little ragamuffins. They were still sobbing silently and again, my heart broke a bit more. Where am I?
Whether it was the drugs or not, I didn’t care, but the clarity of the moment struck me. I am here... Here between the two most important people I couldn’t ever love more deeply in my entire life. The two that give me the reasons for getting up in the morning and doing what I need to do throughout the day. I don’t think there could have been a more perfect here imaginable.
Life is what you make of it. Mine isn’t perfect, there are a few things that I’ve neglected to tend to lately, mainly my marriage. Again, the clarity of the moment illuminated some recent happenings.
1. My husband doesn’t listen to me and I don’t listen to him. I scheduled a small cake and ice cream party at the same time that he had tickets for the circus. Details of the argument aren’t necessary but I did ask him if the time for the party was going to work before I sent out invites, he said it was fine. I ended up feeling hurt and rescheduling the whole thing.
2. We are living on two separate schedules. He works graveyard/12-hour shifts, three to four times a week. When he’s off, he sleeps late and goes to bed even later. Because I teach and am off for the summer, it’s not so bad right now. During the school year, we literally pass each other on the road and don’t see each other for days at a time.
3. My husband has checked out and I don’t know where he is… I’m not sure he even knows where he is. Our talks are very surfacy. He’s not an emotional person but I can honestly say that he doesn’t look happy. What struck me the most was his reaction to my recent hospitalization... There were moments that I would have loved for him to hold my hand, tell me that he loved me, and that he would have been devastated had I not made it through. Not wanting to over-dramatize my medical emergency, I did lose a lot of blood and was in a very serious situation. It’s not that I don’t think he gives a shit, I just don’t think he knows how he feels and how to show it.
With the girls, he tries to be a good daddy. He’s hardly ever around but he tries. It’s gotten to the point where they are very much a product of my discipline and attitude than his. But I can tell that they are really in need of having him around more consistently. (I have evidence but would rather not say.)
Lying there, enjoying my moment of clarity, I decided that I’m okay. I’m good with my life and myself. I have lots of friends and acquaintances whom I love and would bend over backwards for… They are just that great. I’m good with my body and energy… The bedrest will pass quickly and I’ll be on my way to black-belt-hood soon enough. I’m okay with my job. Teaching is great and I teach at a great school. My girls are okay. They are blessed with good health, a decent mom and dad, and they will be fine. I’m a resilient person. With God’s grace, I’m a survivor of many things that have shaken me to the core but have emerged better than I was before.
I know what to do now and have to be gentle and patient in the process.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
My Summer Vacation
So, I'm lying in bed Tuesday evening when all of a sudden, I feel this distinct pain... Exactly like the pain I had on and off during my 30 hour delivery with Melissa. (Trust me; once you've had pain like that, you NEVER forget it!) Carol Burnett described labor pains akin to "pulling your lower lip over your head". Either way, not my idea of fun.
Uh, rewind... I'm 41, how can I be pregnant? (Duh, I know how that works!)
Instinct must reassess, maybe appendicitis??
Anyway, gathering my strength, I rolled off the bed, and shouted for Steve to come upstairs.
Not being a man, I have no idea what it must be like to see the woman of your dreams, or any woman for that matter, screaming in pain, commanding you to get the kids dressed, and to bring an empty trash can "just in case". The nausea actually didn't hit until I tried “sitting” my way down the stairs. True to form, I wanted to make it to the truck before everyone else did. At least my competitive streak was still intact.
Living in the middle of God-forsaken Copper Basin, where to go? Steve drove by the fire station up the street. The lights were off. "I don't think anyone is there."
"What do you mean 'I don't think anyone is there!'? It’s a fire station… They're asleep! Forget it! Just start driving into town before I puke!"
At the Chevron, right as one would pull out of the God-forsaken community of Copper Basin, there sat an ambulance. Weird, huh? We pulled up and asked where the nearest ER was. In the darkness, I managed to make out a couple of guys hanging out, probably eating, and not too worried as to why a family-of-four, packed in an Expedition, was looking for help sometime after midnight. We were directed up the road 26 miles to Gilbert Hospital.
Upon arrival, the nausea hit pretty hard. I remembered having pizza for dinner earlier… This was not going to be very pretty at all. The bumpy wheelchair ride into the ER jarred my insides up, but I must say, the jungle-motif children’s ward did manage to bring a smile to my face. (Being 5’1” and about 115 lbs. soaking wet, this did little to enhance my womanhood. I wear a size 3 in girls’ shoes and must often resort to the children’s department to find a pair that fits. I’d kill to find a nice pair of comfortable-fitting, black patent leather pumps with at least a 3-inch stacked heel... Preferably Gucci. Now THAT would be classy! Feel free to purchase as a get-well gift should you so choose.)
Throwing up is one of my least favorite things in life. I mean this in all seriousness. Smashing my hand in a car door, paper cuts, visits to the dentist, stitches, etc. are all preferred modes of misery compared to regurgitation. BTW, this was how I was able to stay mostly sober in college and avoid the pain associated with binge drinking, as most of my idiot friends did not.
My cast-iron stomach, and will, finally gave in. Again, what it must be like to see the woman of your dreams, or any woman, hurling into what looked like a blue, mini-sleeping bag made for Barbie or Ken? Never mind the fact that all other bodily functions cease to perform within optimal range while this is happening. Oh yes, did I mention my will caved in as well? I don’t consider myself vain but I do try to at least shower, wear clean underwear, and speak proper English, especially when I’m teaching. There’s nothing like lying in fetal position, soaked from head-to-toe, and wishing death would come quickly. “Toast” would be the best description for me at that point.
Enter “knight in shining armor”. This doc had the bedside manner of a doorknob but he came with a nurse bearing morphine. Wow… It was really amazing how quickly death moved down to the bottom of my to-do list. I don’t remember his name, but I think he had a moustache. So, Dr. Moustache proceeded to poke and prod and even got a leg lift out of me. “Hmmm...”, he murmured in his soap opera voice as he played with his ‘stache’, “Looks like appendicitis.”
As an aside, the irony that another teacher from the same school, named ‘Monica’, in the same grade, would have appendicitis within the same year, floored me. I look for continuity and wonder in the smallest of situations. This actually made me feel a little better.
Have you ever had the “orange stuff”? It has the pleasant smell of Tang, ah childhood, but tastes like new tires? Forcing some of that down before my scan, Dr. Happy-to-Serve-You came back and sent the girls out of the room. “You’re pregnant. Stop drinking the __________.” As I write this, I’m still trying to figure out which was the more shocking of the two: Pregnant or not having to finish the quart of “Orange Death”.
By then, the wheels of the amazing world of internal medicine were in motion. In the fourth grade, my goal of reading every book in the school library about the human body was easy enough. My grandparents also owned the coolest set of medical encyclopedia I’d ever seen. The glossy overlays showing how muscles and nerves and bones worked separately and together are still fresh in my mind. The ordered ultrasound would be amazing as well… How often does one get to really see inside of themselves?
The ultrasound tech was a young guy, shoulder-length hair, very now. Generally, small talk comes very easily but he was either way too tired or absorbed in work to chat. Looking at the screen, nothing was very distinguishable… nothing was very distinguishable… nothing was very distinguishable. Okay, let’s move onto the internal ultrasound. Even under the influence of morphine, the probe was very uncomfortable at best. Nothing very distinguishable on the screen. Finally, the feeling of when you smash your hand in the car door… Not the pain but knowing that you are physically doing it but you can’t stop it from happening?
The “units” were ordered and a pint of “B Positive” was immediately administered. (What a blood type! No joke!) Maybe it was the morphine, maybe it was disbelief. Before the doctor had even said I was pregnant, the “labor pains” at home said it all: ruptured ectopic pregnancy.
Having had lots of crap to deal with throughout life, especially childhood, I’ve become very good at avoiding the obvious. There hadn’t been any blood when the pain began a few hours earlier so it must not have been that bad. Basically, the new medicine I learned that night was that the ultrasound revealed nothing because it could not ‘see’ anything. By that point, I had already lost about a liter of blood.
The facility at Gilbert Hospital is very nice but minimal. My other first would be getting to ride the helicopter to Mountain Vista where surgeons were waiting. People can be very nice if you give them the chance. Steve asked if he and the girls could go up to the helipad to watch us take off and they were very gracious about it. Of course, the morbid part of me thought that maybe this might not be such a great idea… After all, would Steve ever be able to afford counseling for both girls should they see their mother die in a fireball over the city of Mesa, Arizona??
Nah, that wasn’t going to happen. The morning was too perfect. Although going up in a tiny contraption isn’t by far the safest means of transport, there was no nervousness at all. Even if it was the morphine speaking, I think I still would have felt as calm. The sunrise and the city lights below were spectacular. The temperature was balmy and the air was still. Too bad I wasn’t in shape to hijack the stupid copter!
The landing was perfect as well… The staff that met me on the roof was kind and welcoming. The OR staff was set to go and immediately wheeled me in. The only thing that I can really remember after that was meeting the anesthesiologist. “Are you an athlete?” he asked. I wasn’t sure how to answer that one. Having begun a regular workout routine in January and starting the study Kenpo in March, maybe? “Your vitals look very strong considering. It’s amazing that your heart rate is only at 50.” Then blackness…
The next 24 hours are probably very familiar to any of you that have had to spend any amount of time recovering in a hospital. Vitals and blood test. Sleep. Vitals again. Sleep. Here’s some juice. Sleep.
The one vexation was my blood pressure. It’s always been low. My normal is about 100-95 over 65-70. Dr. Nieves, my young, pretty surgeon, finally came by to see me. “I had to see it with my own eyes. We can’t understand why your bp is so low but everything else looks fine.”
My “output” was good so my kidneys were functioning. No fever. Low heart rate so there was no internal bleeding. She could not believe how good I looked… I couldn’t believe how much better I felt. She went on to describe the surgery. The bulk of the time spent was cleaning up all of the blood to find the gushing fallopian tube. The left ovary was left intact but the tube was completely removed. Dr. Nieves also did a great job with the incisions, actually the laparoscopy. There are three cuts; one right in the belly button and two on either side, about six inches apart from center.
Once I was rested up and able, I showered this morning and was allowed to come home. Thank God for Tempur-pedic! (Get one, now! BTW, I think the butt logo is funny. Must be a Swedish thing.) I am now resting comfortably, and very patiently awaiting my next adventure.
Uh, rewind... I'm 41, how can I be pregnant? (Duh, I know how that works!)
Instinct must reassess, maybe appendicitis??
Anyway, gathering my strength, I rolled off the bed, and shouted for Steve to come upstairs.
Not being a man, I have no idea what it must be like to see the woman of your dreams, or any woman for that matter, screaming in pain, commanding you to get the kids dressed, and to bring an empty trash can "just in case". The nausea actually didn't hit until I tried “sitting” my way down the stairs. True to form, I wanted to make it to the truck before everyone else did. At least my competitive streak was still intact.
Living in the middle of God-forsaken Copper Basin, where to go? Steve drove by the fire station up the street. The lights were off. "I don't think anyone is there."
"What do you mean 'I don't think anyone is there!'? It’s a fire station… They're asleep! Forget it! Just start driving into town before I puke!"
At the Chevron, right as one would pull out of the God-forsaken community of Copper Basin, there sat an ambulance. Weird, huh? We pulled up and asked where the nearest ER was. In the darkness, I managed to make out a couple of guys hanging out, probably eating, and not too worried as to why a family-of-four, packed in an Expedition, was looking for help sometime after midnight. We were directed up the road 26 miles to Gilbert Hospital.
Upon arrival, the nausea hit pretty hard. I remembered having pizza for dinner earlier… This was not going to be very pretty at all. The bumpy wheelchair ride into the ER jarred my insides up, but I must say, the jungle-motif children’s ward did manage to bring a smile to my face. (Being 5’1” and about 115 lbs. soaking wet, this did little to enhance my womanhood. I wear a size 3 in girls’ shoes and must often resort to the children’s department to find a pair that fits. I’d kill to find a nice pair of comfortable-fitting, black patent leather pumps with at least a 3-inch stacked heel... Preferably Gucci. Now THAT would be classy! Feel free to purchase as a get-well gift should you so choose.)
Throwing up is one of my least favorite things in life. I mean this in all seriousness. Smashing my hand in a car door, paper cuts, visits to the dentist, stitches, etc. are all preferred modes of misery compared to regurgitation. BTW, this was how I was able to stay mostly sober in college and avoid the pain associated with binge drinking, as most of my idiot friends did not.
My cast-iron stomach, and will, finally gave in. Again, what it must be like to see the woman of your dreams, or any woman, hurling into what looked like a blue, mini-sleeping bag made for Barbie or Ken? Never mind the fact that all other bodily functions cease to perform within optimal range while this is happening. Oh yes, did I mention my will caved in as well? I don’t consider myself vain but I do try to at least shower, wear clean underwear, and speak proper English, especially when I’m teaching. There’s nothing like lying in fetal position, soaked from head-to-toe, and wishing death would come quickly. “Toast” would be the best description for me at that point.
Enter “knight in shining armor”. This doc had the bedside manner of a doorknob but he came with a nurse bearing morphine. Wow… It was really amazing how quickly death moved down to the bottom of my to-do list. I don’t remember his name, but I think he had a moustache. So, Dr. Moustache proceeded to poke and prod and even got a leg lift out of me. “Hmmm...”, he murmured in his soap opera voice as he played with his ‘stache’, “Looks like appendicitis.”
As an aside, the irony that another teacher from the same school, named ‘Monica’, in the same grade, would have appendicitis within the same year, floored me. I look for continuity and wonder in the smallest of situations. This actually made me feel a little better.
Have you ever had the “orange stuff”? It has the pleasant smell of Tang, ah childhood, but tastes like new tires? Forcing some of that down before my scan, Dr. Happy-to-Serve-You came back and sent the girls out of the room. “You’re pregnant. Stop drinking the __________.” As I write this, I’m still trying to figure out which was the more shocking of the two: Pregnant or not having to finish the quart of “Orange Death”.
By then, the wheels of the amazing world of internal medicine were in motion. In the fourth grade, my goal of reading every book in the school library about the human body was easy enough. My grandparents also owned the coolest set of medical encyclopedia I’d ever seen. The glossy overlays showing how muscles and nerves and bones worked separately and together are still fresh in my mind. The ordered ultrasound would be amazing as well… How often does one get to really see inside of themselves?
The ultrasound tech was a young guy, shoulder-length hair, very now. Generally, small talk comes very easily but he was either way too tired or absorbed in work to chat. Looking at the screen, nothing was very distinguishable… nothing was very distinguishable… nothing was very distinguishable. Okay, let’s move onto the internal ultrasound. Even under the influence of morphine, the probe was very uncomfortable at best. Nothing very distinguishable on the screen. Finally, the feeling of when you smash your hand in the car door… Not the pain but knowing that you are physically doing it but you can’t stop it from happening?
The “units” were ordered and a pint of “B Positive” was immediately administered. (What a blood type! No joke!) Maybe it was the morphine, maybe it was disbelief. Before the doctor had even said I was pregnant, the “labor pains” at home said it all: ruptured ectopic pregnancy.
Having had lots of crap to deal with throughout life, especially childhood, I’ve become very good at avoiding the obvious. There hadn’t been any blood when the pain began a few hours earlier so it must not have been that bad. Basically, the new medicine I learned that night was that the ultrasound revealed nothing because it could not ‘see’ anything. By that point, I had already lost about a liter of blood.
The facility at Gilbert Hospital is very nice but minimal. My other first would be getting to ride the helicopter to Mountain Vista where surgeons were waiting. People can be very nice if you give them the chance. Steve asked if he and the girls could go up to the helipad to watch us take off and they were very gracious about it. Of course, the morbid part of me thought that maybe this might not be such a great idea… After all, would Steve ever be able to afford counseling for both girls should they see their mother die in a fireball over the city of Mesa, Arizona??
Nah, that wasn’t going to happen. The morning was too perfect. Although going up in a tiny contraption isn’t by far the safest means of transport, there was no nervousness at all. Even if it was the morphine speaking, I think I still would have felt as calm. The sunrise and the city lights below were spectacular. The temperature was balmy and the air was still. Too bad I wasn’t in shape to hijack the stupid copter!
The landing was perfect as well… The staff that met me on the roof was kind and welcoming. The OR staff was set to go and immediately wheeled me in. The only thing that I can really remember after that was meeting the anesthesiologist. “Are you an athlete?” he asked. I wasn’t sure how to answer that one. Having begun a regular workout routine in January and starting the study Kenpo in March, maybe? “Your vitals look very strong considering. It’s amazing that your heart rate is only at 50.” Then blackness…
The next 24 hours are probably very familiar to any of you that have had to spend any amount of time recovering in a hospital. Vitals and blood test. Sleep. Vitals again. Sleep. Here’s some juice. Sleep.
The one vexation was my blood pressure. It’s always been low. My normal is about 100-95 over 65-70. Dr. Nieves, my young, pretty surgeon, finally came by to see me. “I had to see it with my own eyes. We can’t understand why your bp is so low but everything else looks fine.”
My “output” was good so my kidneys were functioning. No fever. Low heart rate so there was no internal bleeding. She could not believe how good I looked… I couldn’t believe how much better I felt. She went on to describe the surgery. The bulk of the time spent was cleaning up all of the blood to find the gushing fallopian tube. The left ovary was left intact but the tube was completely removed. Dr. Nieves also did a great job with the incisions, actually the laparoscopy. There are three cuts; one right in the belly button and two on either side, about six inches apart from center.
Once I was rested up and able, I showered this morning and was allowed to come home. Thank God for Tempur-pedic! (Get one, now! BTW, I think the butt logo is funny. Must be a Swedish thing.) I am now resting comfortably, and very patiently awaiting my next adventure.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Okay, I Did It...
I went and chopped my hair off. Not having any individual pics of my new-do, I had to protect the identity of a former student who happened to stop by for a visit. Going shorter would still be an option... I ended up cutting my girls' hair as well. Kait's was getting l-o-n-g so she was the most upset when it happened. At least she doesn't look like an orphan anymore.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)