March 27, 2010
Jeremy is a creature of habit. He's not big on change, not big at all. Sometimes, particularly the times that I'm wanting to shake things up a little, I find that trait a little irritating. Until I remember that I am one of those things in his life that he will never change. Then my heart softens.
One of the things that Jeremy loves to do is to hike. But it's not just hiking, it's hiking up to Wasson Peak, the tallest point in the Tucson Mountains, the range that borders the western side of the city. He hikes the same trail almost every time. He loves that in the familiarity of it he still sees new and different things. He's been trying his best to do the hike once a week. It's about a three to four hour hike. The view at the top is breathtaking. The view at the top looks out over the valley where we scattered Harper's ashes. Jeremy did that hike yesterday and we talked about it over dinner last night.
I usually ask him what albums he listened to during his hike. He usually makes it through three and maybe part of a fourth. He's intentional about what he takes with him. Last night he told me about the wildflowers that are in bloom right now, how aromatic it was. And then his eyes welled up with tears. He told me how he thinks of her when he's up there, at the top. How he feels like he's her guardian, watching over her. "You are her guardian. You're her daddy," I said. And I felt myself pull back. I wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand, but I didn't. I wanted to tell him all the thoughts I had about him being Harper's daddy, but I didn't. Instead I sat and listened to him talk about what it felt like for him, quickly wiping the tears away from his eyes as he spoke, his bottom lip quivering. Just listen Abby. This isn't about you. This is about Jeremy and his daughter. Don't intrude. Just listen.
And so I listened. I felt my heart open up in a way I can't explain. All this warmth started radiating inside me. And was that joy I felt? Joy? Really? I think it was. I held tight to every word he was said. This was a moment I had thought about. In my fantasies, it was supposed to play out differently, but here it was nonetheless, in it's tragic, mixed up way. I had waited for this moment. Before we lost Harper, the fantasies had been of me sitting in bed next to him at night, listening to him tell me about some adventure the two of them had gone on together. Hearing the adoration in his voice. Sensing the protection for his little girl, the pride. And in my fantasies, I didn't mind being the outsider observing the bond the two of them were forming. I wanted Harper to be a daddy's girl. And that's what it felt like last night. That's why I pulled away. I let them have their moment. Their father-daughter moment.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Body Remembers
March 26, 2010
Last Friday after work I cashed in on my birthday gift certificate from Jeremy for an hour long massage at The Lotus Center. As I lay there on the table, I started to worry, Should I explain all the scars on my legs to her? I did explain the bruises on my arms from the shots I got during my recent hospital stint. I didn't want her to think I was being abused (or that I was an IV drug user!). No Abby, just relax. I'm sure she sees scars all the time. This isn't about what happened. This is about taking care of yourself now. Just relax. So I did. I relaxed, but, silly as this sounds, it took a little work to relax. At one point I got kind of choked up thinking about all my poor body has been through and how good it felt to do something kind to it. So after the massage as I was leaving, I decided to schedule an appointment for another massage next month. Time to shift the balance on the scales for my body!
Since then I've been thinking a lot about my body. I feel so disconnected from it sometimes. I realize how little control I have over it, not just with my health issues, but with aging too. Sometimes I feel like it's just this shell I've been given to carry me around in this world. But other times I feel incredibly connected to my body physically. I feel grateful for all that it does for me, the pleasures it can bring me, the places it takes me. I think this is one of those areas that I need to find some balance between the connected and disconnected feelings. Maybe. Maybe this is exactly where I should be.
I have had two very strong body memories this past week. Strangest thing. One was when I was talking with one of my closest friends who is pregnant. I was asking her if she had felt the baby move yet. And then I told her about feeling Harper move for the first time when I was 16 weeks pregnant. "It was like my heart was racing, only in my stomach," I told her, a smile immediately on my face as I remembered. And I could feel her then. I could feel Harper fluttering away in my stomach as I told her. And then I began crying. "I smiled every time I felt her move," I said. It was a beautiful thing.
I have another friend who recently had her colon removed and then just two weeks ago had her j-pouch construction surgery. She's been having a hard time since then, problems that I had too at that stage of the game. That's when my bag leaked all the time and I got a skin infection around my stoma and was hospitalized again. My skin was so infected I couldn't keep a bag attached to me. I stopped eating as much as possible. It was horrible. And she's dealing with all that now. I called her yesterday to listen and help if at all possible. When I hung up the phone, I felt my stoma begin to output. My hand instinctively went to the side of my abdomen to feel it, only there was no colostomy any more. It was the strangest thing. A phantom colostomy. Wow. I had actually experienced that phantom colostomy for a week or so after I had my takedown surgery (the surgery where my colostomy was taken down and I was totally reconnected and sewn back up), but that was over a year ago.
Who says the body doesn't remember? It sure does. Boy does the body remember.
Last Friday after work I cashed in on my birthday gift certificate from Jeremy for an hour long massage at The Lotus Center. As I lay there on the table, I started to worry, Should I explain all the scars on my legs to her? I did explain the bruises on my arms from the shots I got during my recent hospital stint. I didn't want her to think I was being abused (or that I was an IV drug user!). No Abby, just relax. I'm sure she sees scars all the time. This isn't about what happened. This is about taking care of yourself now. Just relax. So I did. I relaxed, but, silly as this sounds, it took a little work to relax. At one point I got kind of choked up thinking about all my poor body has been through and how good it felt to do something kind to it. So after the massage as I was leaving, I decided to schedule an appointment for another massage next month. Time to shift the balance on the scales for my body!
Since then I've been thinking a lot about my body. I feel so disconnected from it sometimes. I realize how little control I have over it, not just with my health issues, but with aging too. Sometimes I feel like it's just this shell I've been given to carry me around in this world. But other times I feel incredibly connected to my body physically. I feel grateful for all that it does for me, the pleasures it can bring me, the places it takes me. I think this is one of those areas that I need to find some balance between the connected and disconnected feelings. Maybe. Maybe this is exactly where I should be.
I have had two very strong body memories this past week. Strangest thing. One was when I was talking with one of my closest friends who is pregnant. I was asking her if she had felt the baby move yet. And then I told her about feeling Harper move for the first time when I was 16 weeks pregnant. "It was like my heart was racing, only in my stomach," I told her, a smile immediately on my face as I remembered. And I could feel her then. I could feel Harper fluttering away in my stomach as I told her. And then I began crying. "I smiled every time I felt her move," I said. It was a beautiful thing.
I have another friend who recently had her colon removed and then just two weeks ago had her j-pouch construction surgery. She's been having a hard time since then, problems that I had too at that stage of the game. That's when my bag leaked all the time and I got a skin infection around my stoma and was hospitalized again. My skin was so infected I couldn't keep a bag attached to me. I stopped eating as much as possible. It was horrible. And she's dealing with all that now. I called her yesterday to listen and help if at all possible. When I hung up the phone, I felt my stoma begin to output. My hand instinctively went to the side of my abdomen to feel it, only there was no colostomy any more. It was the strangest thing. A phantom colostomy. Wow. I had actually experienced that phantom colostomy for a week or so after I had my takedown surgery (the surgery where my colostomy was taken down and I was totally reconnected and sewn back up), but that was over a year ago.
Who says the body doesn't remember? It sure does. Boy does the body remember.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Happy Anniversary to Me!
March 24, 2010
Today is one of those significant anniversaries for me. March 24, 2008, the day I was hospitalized. The beginning of events that would change my life forever.
I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. G (my GI) on Monday. He looked at the CT scan results from my recent hospitalization and said that I did in fact have an obstruction. That's what caused all that pain. He said they didn't know what caused it, could have been an adhesion, inflammation, or something I ate. If it was an adhesion or inflammation it could happen again. Well, I guess if it was something I ate it could happen again, but I honestly don't think that's what it was. Anyway, it resolved itself and all is well. In fact, all is better than well. Dr. G asked me if I wanted to come back to see him in six months. I clapped my hands and said, "Yes!" SIX MONTHS!! I haven't gone that long without seeing him in two years. I got all choked up when I scheduled the appointment on my way out.
I told Jeremy Dr. G said it was an obstruction. "Huh. Your first obstruction." The possibility of obstructions comes with the territory when you have a j-pouch. While the pain was right up there with the worst I've experienced (a 10 out of 10 on the pain scale - and I have a pretty high tolerance), it's still good to know if it happens again that's what it will be like.
A while back I decided I wanted to start giving back. I'm feeling good, I'm able bodied - time to do some volunteering, but I wanted to find something to do that I felt passionately about. I decided the Ronald McDonald House would be a good fit. I could give back to families and children who were dealing with major medical issues, but I didn't have to be in the hospital setting. Perfect. So last night I went to an orientation at the Ronald McDonald House. While we were going through a tour of the house we met a few of the families staying there. We passed one pregnant woman in the hallway. She spoke briefly with one of the staff and thanked her a couple of times. The staff woman had tears in her eyes and said to a couple of us walking near her, "It always amazes me how these people who are going through some of the most difficult times are so thankful for everything." I knew exactly what she was talking about. When I was in the hospital I thanked everybody for everything all the time. It got exhausting to be honest with you. But people were doing things for me all day long, and quite unglamorous things at that. Things that I couldn't do for myself. How could I not say thank you all day long?
On my drive home I thought about Harper. I wondered if emotionally I would be able to this volunteer work or not. Is it going to bring up too much stuff for me? Have I healed enough? Or is that exactly why I need to do it? It's no longer about me. I can understand much of what these people are going through. Isn't it time to give back to them, even if it's hard for me? That's what sacrifice is, right?
I got home around 8:00 p.m. after the orientation and there was a beautiful bouquet of flowers sitting on my welcome mat from my dad and his wife. A little bit of sunshine just when I needed it!! I'm not going to view today's anniversary as a sad occasion. Today I'm alive. I'm here and I'm feeling good! So happy anniversary to me!! I survived!
Today is one of those significant anniversaries for me. March 24, 2008, the day I was hospitalized. The beginning of events that would change my life forever.
I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. G (my GI) on Monday. He looked at the CT scan results from my recent hospitalization and said that I did in fact have an obstruction. That's what caused all that pain. He said they didn't know what caused it, could have been an adhesion, inflammation, or something I ate. If it was an adhesion or inflammation it could happen again. Well, I guess if it was something I ate it could happen again, but I honestly don't think that's what it was. Anyway, it resolved itself and all is well. In fact, all is better than well. Dr. G asked me if I wanted to come back to see him in six months. I clapped my hands and said, "Yes!" SIX MONTHS!! I haven't gone that long without seeing him in two years. I got all choked up when I scheduled the appointment on my way out.
I told Jeremy Dr. G said it was an obstruction. "Huh. Your first obstruction." The possibility of obstructions comes with the territory when you have a j-pouch. While the pain was right up there with the worst I've experienced (a 10 out of 10 on the pain scale - and I have a pretty high tolerance), it's still good to know if it happens again that's what it will be like.
A while back I decided I wanted to start giving back. I'm feeling good, I'm able bodied - time to do some volunteering, but I wanted to find something to do that I felt passionately about. I decided the Ronald McDonald House would be a good fit. I could give back to families and children who were dealing with major medical issues, but I didn't have to be in the hospital setting. Perfect. So last night I went to an orientation at the Ronald McDonald House. While we were going through a tour of the house we met a few of the families staying there. We passed one pregnant woman in the hallway. She spoke briefly with one of the staff and thanked her a couple of times. The staff woman had tears in her eyes and said to a couple of us walking near her, "It always amazes me how these people who are going through some of the most difficult times are so thankful for everything." I knew exactly what she was talking about. When I was in the hospital I thanked everybody for everything all the time. It got exhausting to be honest with you. But people were doing things for me all day long, and quite unglamorous things at that. Things that I couldn't do for myself. How could I not say thank you all day long?
On my drive home I thought about Harper. I wondered if emotionally I would be able to this volunteer work or not. Is it going to bring up too much stuff for me? Have I healed enough? Or is that exactly why I need to do it? It's no longer about me. I can understand much of what these people are going through. Isn't it time to give back to them, even if it's hard for me? That's what sacrifice is, right?
I got home around 8:00 p.m. after the orientation and there was a beautiful bouquet of flowers sitting on my welcome mat from my dad and his wife. A little bit of sunshine just when I needed it!! I'm not going to view today's anniversary as a sad occasion. Today I'm alive. I'm here and I'm feeling good! So happy anniversary to me!! I survived!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
It is what it is
March 21, 2010
It is what it is. I've been hearing people say that a lot lately. I think it's become one of those generational catch phrases, although grammatically speaking I realize it's a sentence, not a phrase (smile).
Last night we were driving home from a party, Jeremy was playing a new Freedy Johnston song for me, and my mind started drifting. With the dark skies engulfing me, no visual distractions but the stars, it was easy to go to contemplative places.
I always think about her on our way home from parties and get togethers. I didn't realize she was so much a part of those daydreams in my mind, but she was. I know I thought about the fact that we would probably need a new car, a four door instead of two door, once she was born. I guess I must have visualized getting her in and out and buckling her in more times than I realized. And so it was that I began thinking about her last night. The should have been thoughts. Some of my friends who were pregnant at the same time and shortly after me were at the party. They were buckling their little ones into their car seats on their way home from the party. I had held one of them just an hour earlier, kissed his chubby baby cheeks, smelled his hair as he snuggled his head into my neck, swaying back and forth instinctively as I held him. I didn't turn to look at my empty back seat on the way home. I knew it was empty.
"Did you read my blog about my dream the other night?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I did," he said as he reached over and put his hand on my knee.
"I wanted to see her in my dream. I was excited because I thought I was going to get to see her. Did I say her name out loud?" I asked. The tears welled up in my eyes, one blink away from rolling down my cheek. "I thought I was talking in my sleep."
I didn't cry. I start to think, my life could be different, and then I stop myself. Of course my life could be different. It could be different in many ways. I could be dead. I could have gotten accepted into that school in South Africa and never have ended up marrying Jeremy. I could have gone to law school and be in some totally different place in my life. Things happen. Good things happen, bad things happen. It's the randomness of life. I don't believe things happen for a reason. Telling me that goes nowhere with me. They don't happen for a reason - we choose to make good or bad from the things that happen. We choose. I truly believe that. I'm doing my best to choose to let my experiences shape me into a better person, with a deeper understanding of comfort, love, goodness, gratitude, grace, and forgiveness. And it takes work. It takes serious work to do that. This blog has helped me do that. It's helped me challenge the choices I'm making in how I view my world.
And so now, whenever I start with the my life could be different thoughts, I switch it up to, Oh Abby, you know, it is what it is. It is what it is. I think they call that acceptance, don't they?
It is what it is. I've been hearing people say that a lot lately. I think it's become one of those generational catch phrases, although grammatically speaking I realize it's a sentence, not a phrase (smile).
Last night we were driving home from a party, Jeremy was playing a new Freedy Johnston song for me, and my mind started drifting. With the dark skies engulfing me, no visual distractions but the stars, it was easy to go to contemplative places.
I always think about her on our way home from parties and get togethers. I didn't realize she was so much a part of those daydreams in my mind, but she was. I know I thought about the fact that we would probably need a new car, a four door instead of two door, once she was born. I guess I must have visualized getting her in and out and buckling her in more times than I realized. And so it was that I began thinking about her last night. The should have been thoughts. Some of my friends who were pregnant at the same time and shortly after me were at the party. They were buckling their little ones into their car seats on their way home from the party. I had held one of them just an hour earlier, kissed his chubby baby cheeks, smelled his hair as he snuggled his head into my neck, swaying back and forth instinctively as I held him. I didn't turn to look at my empty back seat on the way home. I knew it was empty.
"Did you read my blog about my dream the other night?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I did," he said as he reached over and put his hand on my knee.
"I wanted to see her in my dream. I was excited because I thought I was going to get to see her. Did I say her name out loud?" I asked. The tears welled up in my eyes, one blink away from rolling down my cheek. "I thought I was talking in my sleep."
I didn't cry. I start to think, my life could be different, and then I stop myself. Of course my life could be different. It could be different in many ways. I could be dead. I could have gotten accepted into that school in South Africa and never have ended up marrying Jeremy. I could have gone to law school and be in some totally different place in my life. Things happen. Good things happen, bad things happen. It's the randomness of life. I don't believe things happen for a reason. Telling me that goes nowhere with me. They don't happen for a reason - we choose to make good or bad from the things that happen. We choose. I truly believe that. I'm doing my best to choose to let my experiences shape me into a better person, with a deeper understanding of comfort, love, goodness, gratitude, grace, and forgiveness. And it takes work. It takes serious work to do that. This blog has helped me do that. It's helped me challenge the choices I'm making in how I view my world.
And so now, whenever I start with the my life could be different thoughts, I switch it up to, Oh Abby, you know, it is what it is. It is what it is. I think they call that acceptance, don't they?
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Am I Dreaming?
March 16, 2010
Where's my locker? I think I have to go through the library to get there, but I can't seem to find the library. "Excuse me? Can you tell me how to get to the library?" I could see it, but I couldn't get there. They were building a wall where the staircase used to be so I couldn't get there. I couldn't get there. So I stood still. And suddenly, before me was a huge water slide, big enough it would have filled a football stadium. It was dark. I couldn't see very well, but I saw other people jumping down the water slide, fully clothed. I looked around me. Well, if I'm wet when I get there it's their fault. They're the ones who built the wall. So I plugged my nose and jumped in the water. I slid in the darkness, swooshing up the sides of the tunnel. I was terrified. When I got to the bottom, another obstacle was before me. I was in a life-sized pinball machine. Okay, okay. I get it. I can do this. This could be fun. I raced around through the machine. Speed. Speed. I felt speed. And then terror. Everything went dark and there were faces and hands reaching out for me. Wait a minute. I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming this. I don't have to be scared. If I'm dreaming this, then I can control it. So what do I want? What do I want to dream about? I want Harper. Maybe she'll come to me in my dream. So I tried. I tried to see her through the yellow light. I tried to spot her in the faces swirling around me on the street. I saw a little girl with loose brown curls framing her face and my heart quickened, but it wasn't her. "Harper?" I could feel myself calling out her name. Am I saying her name out loud? Can people hear me? Am I talking in my sleep? "Harper Lee Cashman?" I called again. I was calling her name out. And I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep.
Where's my locker? I think I have to go through the library to get there, but I can't seem to find the library. "Excuse me? Can you tell me how to get to the library?" I could see it, but I couldn't get there. They were building a wall where the staircase used to be so I couldn't get there. I couldn't get there. So I stood still. And suddenly, before me was a huge water slide, big enough it would have filled a football stadium. It was dark. I couldn't see very well, but I saw other people jumping down the water slide, fully clothed. I looked around me. Well, if I'm wet when I get there it's their fault. They're the ones who built the wall. So I plugged my nose and jumped in the water. I slid in the darkness, swooshing up the sides of the tunnel. I was terrified. When I got to the bottom, another obstacle was before me. I was in a life-sized pinball machine. Okay, okay. I get it. I can do this. This could be fun. I raced around through the machine. Speed. Speed. I felt speed. And then terror. Everything went dark and there were faces and hands reaching out for me. Wait a minute. I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming this. I don't have to be scared. If I'm dreaming this, then I can control it. So what do I want? What do I want to dream about? I want Harper. Maybe she'll come to me in my dream. So I tried. I tried to see her through the yellow light. I tried to spot her in the faces swirling around me on the street. I saw a little girl with loose brown curls framing her face and my heart quickened, but it wasn't her. "Harper?" I could feel myself calling out her name. Am I saying her name out loud? Can people hear me? Am I talking in my sleep? "Harper Lee Cashman?" I called again. I was calling her name out. And I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep.
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