Advice To My 22-year-old Self

Tali needed a shoebox to decorate for her Valentine's Day party.  I usually have a few stashed in a closet for school projects, but this time I didn't.  Luckily, I always have about 3 of them under my bed, holding onto my wishes, holding onto old pictures, hiding my secret stash of chocolate...so, I dumped the contents of the first Nike box I could find and gave it to Tali.

This is one of the things I found in that box. 

Me, at age 22, I just gotten my acceptance letter welcoming me into the nursing program at CVTC.  I had not yet become a mother to my younger three children.  I had not yet known the heartaches or happiness that would come with life, with some death, with some scares, and some successes. I did not know yet that the hurt I had known at 22 would pale compared to what life would bring later.  Noooo idea.

My life was so new yet.

If I could give my 22-year-old self some advice, what would it be?

I would tell her, Be strong, always, but don't harden your heart to love.  Having it broken will make you want to lock it up forever.  Don't.  You are stronger than anything that can hurt you.  Let it hurt.  Then, let it heal.

There will be very difficult times ahead.  Don't let them break you.  Don't. Let. Them.  They will make you wonderful if you let them. 

Do not tolerate treatment that is less than what you deserve.   Your feelings do not ever need to be sacrificed for anyone who truly loves you. 

Never be afraid to speak up for what's right.  Making waves is better than drowning.

Your heart will break many times.  Only you can pick up the pieces.  Only you can put them together the way they fit for you.  Do not trust such a job to anyone else. They will always fail, and you will always feel disappointed.  Heal yourself.  It's not up to anyone else.

Learn to forgive yourself.  It sounds so simple, but it really isn't.  Life is so much harder when we can't forgive ourselves for being human, for making mistakes.  You will be your worst critic, your harshest judge.  Be your best friend instead.

Don't spend so much time agonizing over every decision you make for your children.  Just keep on doing your best, every day.  All they'll remember is how much you loved them, how often you laughed, and what a good cook you were.  You can't go wrong with love.  Or great cooking.  :)

I Love You.

Your 37-year-old self, who wishes you'd had enough self esteem to kick the world's ass when you looked like this:

 Oh- and, don't take yourself so seriously, sweetie...

My Mom and I drinking Tequila.  Good times.  :)

Sarcasm is my Superpower

*********************WARNING**********************

THIS IS NOT A HAPPY, FEEL-GOOD POST.

If that's why you come to read my blog, then skip this one.  This shit is fah real.  I am all out of nice today. Look back a few posts, there are some happy feel-good ones in there...this is not it.  And, there will be F-words.  No apologies.  Happy posts will resume soon.


Week 5 of IV antibiotic therapy.  The IV nurse calls me to say, "The last 2 nurses who have measured your PICC line have noted that it's moved out by 1-2cm.  We'd like you to come in for a chest x-ray to check placement, and if it's in the wrong place we may have to take it out and put a new one in.  Is that ok with you?"
...........................................................
(throwing my phone across the room and inventing new swear words, foaming at the mouth, air-stabbing my own ear.  My own ear.  I don't want to hear this.)

I laugh, a tired, little laugh.  My, "this is so far from funny, I'm laughing to stop from crying" laugh.  "No, actually, it's not ok.  The PICC comes out in five days.  It's been in for 37.  It's running fine.  It hasn't moved any more than it moved a week after placement, the doctor saw it then and said it was good, and, to be completely honest, I think I have had enough x-ray exposure at this point in my life, I feel like I'm glowing.  It's not just Paleo.  My Superhero Application has finally been approved."

She laughs, this nurse.  She has a sense of humor.  Six weeks of IV's and life-threatening infections and healing from major surgery is funny.  F*ck her.  She says, "I understand.  I'll talk to the doctor again and see if this x-ray is really necessary.  I'll call you back."  Don't call me back.  I'm not coming in til Monday, when you are removing this ficking PUCC line.  Or I'll do it myself.  I'm trained.  Mad skills up in this bitch. 
She didn't call me back. 

She understands.  She understands shit.  Not going back to the hospital for another x-ray.  Another complication.  Another M Night Shyamalan fucked up plot twist that I give zero shits about.  I am so tired.  I just want to be ok, I'm so ready to be done with this IV business and begin healing for real this time.
Back to my Superhero Application.  It has been approved, and my superhero name is

StaphFire!!!!!  Giver of NO FUCKS.

My wonderful and always encouraging mother says, "Lis, you're glowing.  You look so healthy!"  No, Mom.  It's the radiation and chemicals I'm having pumped into my system on the daily.  (Beauty Secret #101)  StaphFire's superpower is GLOWING with the power of the SUN.  And, the power of the zebra bathrobe.  Or, the power of Sarcasm.

Someone else says, "You look amazing, especially since I know you have kids.  What's your secret?"  Well, recently, I've been eating cookies, fruit and yogurt, because when I throw them back up an hour after I inject myself with all of these antibiotics, they still taste alright.  And, the probiotics are keeping my immune system from allowing every single winter virus into my body that the kids insist upon bringing home, which, at this point, could be very bad for me.  I survived Round 1.  Winter is long.  We're not thinking about that.  We're just enjoying delicious probiotic-filled yogurt, kombucha, and oranges.

A drunk man with a Chevy Silverado couldn't kill me.  A massive infection couldn't kill me.  Losing 3 units of blood when I gave birth to my 3rd son didn't kill me.  And raising these strong-willed, brilliant kids hasn't killed me.  I  must be stronger.  Or, the Last Highlander.  I am Irish, after all.  That's close.  There is no killing me.  NOT THIS DAY!

Someone else says, "Well after as many surgeries as you've had, I'm sure your recovery will be a breeze!  You're a pro!"  Yeah, that lady's dead now.  I plead insanity; hers.  She doesn't know wtf she's talking about.

"How is your house so clean?  You have all these kids AND you're recovering from surgery.  Do you have a housekeeper?"  Yeah, cuz I'm so rich, with "all these kids."  Like they're rats or a scourge.  "All these kids" are AMAZING.  "All these kids" are my HEARTBEAT.  "All these kids" are all the reasons I breathe.

  I clean when I'm angry or need to feel in control, which, my desire to feel in control is pretty much all the time...so my FUCKING HOUSE IS ALMOST ALWAYS CLEAN.  If you come over and I'm cleaning, just leave.  It's safer for all parties involved.  I clean until I am a detriment to myself, because now I'm in pain.  But my house is clean...it's not so bad, is it?  NO.  Get out of my clean house. Now I have to clean again.  Look what you have done.

"Everything happens for a reason.  There must be a reason you're going through this."  Yeah.  The reason is, I WAS HIT BY A DRUNK DRIVER AT LIKE 70MPH.  Human beings are not meant to be hit at those speeds, and live.  But I did.  So now I have shit wrong with me.  I'm coping.  I'm pretty amazing.  No amount of or lack of praying made this happen or could've prevented it.  Life. Happens.  We deal, or we don't.  THAT. IS. IT.  There doesn't always have to be a  reason.  Sometimes life is really hard, and sometimes it's really good.  READY TO APPRECIATE THE GOOD NOW.  Thank you, and goodnight.

Retiring to my electric zebra blanket tent.  I will reappear in March or April.  I haven't decided yet.  I'll let you know on Groundhog's Day.

The good news is, (yes, there's always good news, even when I'm trying to just air out some negativity) I've done some major research of these two "harmless" bugs that have threatened my life.  I can trace back many of my pain symptoms and autoimmune symptoms to the year I had my hip replaced, which could also be how long these bugs have made a home in my hip joint.   Lesson:  NO bugs are harmless to someone without some of her God-given parts like a spleen, and to someone with prosthetic hips, neck bones, and arm bones.  Gotcha.  Being thankful that I'm here to have this duly noted.  I'm sure at least some of you reading this are happy to know this, too.  ;)

Thank you all for loving me through this, and I do love you right back.  And I'm posting the ugly parts of me, because they are what make us all human and what comes out when I am stretched.  Sarcastic humor is what I resort to when I am cornered.  Sick humor.  It does a Lisa good.  I will return to my regularly sweetened self who pisses everyone off because I can always see the silver lining, in a few days.  In the meantime, gloat away, because the All-Positive Lisa had a rough day.

The PICC line comes out in 2 days.  TWO.  DAYS.  And then I shall dance.  :)  Stay tuned.  And stay classy.  I am loving the shit out of this yogurt right now.

Seven Year Tears

It makes me happy and sad at the same time to report that, after seven years, my dear brother, the laughter comes much more often than the tears.  It's a good thing, because it means we're all moving along through life, and just a little sad, because it means this has become normal.  But, this is what we do, because it is the way of it.

It's not that we miss you less or don't think of you as often, but we've settled into this life routine.  We've gotten used to the fleeting feelings of pain when we realize another milestone or holiday has passed and we didn't see you in it, and we just swallow hard and move on with the day.  It just feels so wrong sometimes.  I know I say I have faith in the bigger picture, the Grand Scheme of things, and I'd like to think that I do.  But the selfish part of me just wishes so much I could have just one more day to spend with you.

No one knows me like my brother and sister.  No one in this world.  I may appear to some to wear my heart on my sleeve, but most people know very little about me, really.  You did.  You always knew my moods and my thoughts, and how to make me laugh when I was taking something too seriously, which was quite often.

I can't even write about you today.  My satire is at an all-time high,  and I just want to be a smartass.  I thought I should be all inspiring...but I'm just not feeling it tonight.  I'm remembering how silly you were instead.  How much you loved life, and how little you hid from it, and I admired that about you so much.

I just wish you were here to go have a beer with when I'm feeling the need to get out for a little bit.  To go somewhere shady and sit in the corner and make up stories about the characters that came in, and you'd wiggle your eyebrows at some gross old bag and say, "would ya?"  And I'd laugh hysterically.  Would I?!  Where you'd ask for a really strong drink, sip it as the bartender waited for you to pay and you'd sputter, "What, are ya mad at me?!"  And the bartender would never get it, but I'd be giggling.
Remember the time I was Cher for Halloween, and Carl didn't want to be Sonny because Sonny was a "little prick?"  heh.  And then some Idiot Child got mouthy at a bar and he caught my camera with his face and broke my favorite lipstick.  That was a fun night.  :) That might've been the last punch I've ever thrown.  I'm glad you were there! 
I remember how you'd think of the corniest pick-up lines to use, so sure no one would ever fall for it, and then you'd use them on random women and they'd work, and then you'd look at me like "WTF do I do now?! HELP!"  And I would never help you, I would only laugh.  Oh, I miss you.
I miss driving out to get you with my backseat full of boys in carseats because you ran out of gas on your way home from fishing, and years later, you'd drive me to my doctor's appointments after my car accident.  Thank you so much for that.  Thank you for being such a great brother.
I miss breakfast on occasional Sundays, and green eggs and ham, and green beer on Saint Patty's Day.  I think it's funny that you were always so proud of our heritage, from a very young age, and I could give a shit less until I started wondering which family members I must be like, because I'm six kinds of messed up compared to everyone living...so I joined Ancestry.com, and it turns out, I am the only one who's this brand of crazy.  So I'm original.  I'm ok with that.
We never got to go have that Scooter War in Wal-Mart that we talked about when we were both using canes.  I might have to go do that just to say I did, since I'm using a cane again sometimes.  If you're not there, I'm gonna be so pissed. 

I miss you yelling at the TV during Packer games, and it's the funniest thing but when PJ yells at video games or football, I get all misty-eyed because he sounds and acts almost exactly like you did when you were mad!  Sometimes I call his phone even though I know he gets irritated when I use his minutes, but he sounds just like you on the phone.

Sometimes I feel like someone should go, "would you just get over him already and get on with it?"  But I just don't know how.  I don't want to forget, and I know I won't.  I'm not sad and hopelessly mourning, and I haven't dedicated my life to resurrecting your memory; I just feel that your life was very important to us, it has affected so many of us, and you deserve at least a day or two a year when we remember you, when we celebrate your life and the children you brought into existence before you so swiftly left this world.  I know it's not easy for any of us, but I also know that you wouldn't want us to mourn you.  You wouldn't want us to celebrate your life either, you were always humble.  But, too bad, you're not here, so we can do what we want.  We will celebrate you.  :)

You taught me many things, but one important thing is this:  Stand up and face your pain.  It will always find you if you run, and it can come out in our lives in other ugly ways. Save the people who love you from suffering for your pain; deal with it as it comes.  I really do try.
Some days might be easier than others, but whether that pain is the hole in my heart where you are, or the scars from that damn old car wreck, or paying too much rent for a place I don't wanna live anymore or suffering someone's inadvertent boring and shallow conversation, I try to always face my pain.  So I will cry my Seven Year Tears, whenever they need to fall.  I will not wonder when I will stop missing you, because the answer will always be "never."  But I accept that this is the way life is meant to be. Acceptance is one key element to a happy life.   I will laugh and feel the rain on my face when it finally comes in the summertime and I'll remember to splash in the puddles with your kids every chance I get.  I will tell them everything I can about you for as long as they'll let me, and even after that I'll bore them with stories of myself.  But I'm not nearly as funny as you.

What would you have me say to your kids?  If there were one, all-encompassing, very crucial thing for me to say to them, what would it be?

And the song that comes into my head, of course, is Bob Marley, Three Little Birds.
I fucking love you.  I miss you so much, and I just love you. You WOULD say that.  Because above all, you would want your kids to do what makes them happy, and not to ever worry about the trivial things in the world, the material things in the world, don't worry about what others think of you as long as you are happy and living a good life.  I know you would want that for them, and I do too.  Those three little birds of yours.  They are amazing kids.  Thank you for blessing us with them.

Don't stop visiting us.  Don't stop talking to the kids in their dreams, or kissing them goodnight or helping us to keep your memories alive. Please visit Aidyn in a dream soon.  I think it would mean so much to him. We DO still need you in our lives.  It doesn't mean we don't have room in our lives for each new thing that comes to be; it doesn't meant we're trying to live in the past, it just means that there will always be a place for you, a place that no other soul could ever fill, a place of honor, in our hearts.  We love you always.  Thank you for being you.  Thank you for being my brother.

I'm playing this song for your kids today.

http://www.lyricsfreak.com/b/bob+marley/three+little+birds_20021728.html

What does pain have to do with flowers..?

Today, I had a moment in the shower.  A beautiful, serene moment, where I felt NO PAIN.  None.  Anywhere.  It was so perfect.  People who know chronic pain, you know what I'm talking about.  The moment when you go, "OH MY GOD!!  There is no hurting right now!"  And you memorize everything in that moment, where you are, the sounds, the smells, the beautiful feeling, you take a snapshot of it, you tuck it away inside and you know that it's there when you're really hurting and needing relief. 
Your God moments.

I closed my eyes, letting the hot water hit me, washing my happy tears down the drain, and I breathed.  Soooo deeply, I breathed that painless, perfect moment into every pore, every fiber of my being, and I thought of a flower, an orchid, to be exact.  The kind of orchid you can see through, how the delicate petals show their flawless veins of pink through the waxy white, I breathed that pain-free feeling into every vein I have, and I felt fucking incredible.  (I had 2- 325mg plain aspirin on board at the time, fyi)

I took this picture.  It's my orchid.  Don't steal this pic, ya cyber-thieves.   :-P


Then I got out of the shower and stubbed my toe, and the tile floor was cold, and my hip started aching again and I could use a swim and a chiropractor, but I still felt pretty great.

 https://video.search.yahoo.com/play;_ylt=A2KLqIFSFdJSeXoAlwX7w8QF;_ylu=X3oDMTB2bHV1ZGs5BHNlYwNzcgRzbGsDdmlkBHZ0aWQDVjE1MARncG9zAzI-?p=Good+feeling%27s+gone+finding+nemo&vid=2c2503224e34e58ae03dbc98220fe358&l=00%3A50&turl=http%3A%2F%2Fts1.mm.bing.net%2Fth%3Fid%3DV.4664533268300656%26pid%3D15.1&rurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DvfIuoVwhlgU&tit=Finding+Nemo+Deep+Sea+Fish+Attack&c=1&sigr=11ankndtc&sigt=1110ka9e9&age=0&&tt=b

(I hope this link works, because it makes the whole post.  If it doesn't, just Google "Finding Nemo, Good Feeling's Gone Deep Sea Fish Attack."  Trust me.  It fits.)

I didn't go WAHHHHH, where did my happy go??  Where is my good feeling, my God moment, my peace??  I didn't ask this, because I know.  It never left.  It never leaves us.  We just forget what it feels like sometimes, when the pain is too great or lasts too long, or we are having a hard time seeing an end to the hurting.  But we don't need to worry about the end.  We just need to get from one moment to the next, from today to tomorrow, and sometimes, that is all.  We have right now.  Right now, is precious.  Right now is where we are living.  Sometimes, that's all that needs to matter.  Right now.

The flowers don't stop blooming because they are afraid to die when winter comes.  They open each day, reaching toward the sun.  The bask in its warmth, they don't fear the cold days that will inevitably come.  They stop blooming because they need to rest.  They need the snow cover, or they'll never bloom in the spring. They need to sleep, they need to recuperate, they need to withdraw.  Sometimes we need to do that, too.  Flowers never lose touch with the rhythms of the earth; people do.  We, with our great cerebrums and fancy degrees and opposable thumbs, we lose touch with our roots, and we suffer so much for it. 

We can't live in fear of pain, in fear of the dark places that lie in between the patches of proverbial sunlight in life.  We exist in all of these places.  Light or dark, they are all a part of each of us.  I love them all.  They make us, we make them.  They are all God moments.

When I say "people with chronic pain, I don't just mean physical pain.  Pain can be emotional, it can be fleeting, it can be in each day or parts of days, or in the weeks or months following trauma of any kind, or chronic or caused by disease or depression or any of many things.  But pain is not the constant. YOU are the constant.  YOU are not your pain.  I am not mine.  But I AM.  And so are you.  And if we are here, no matter how dark it might be some days,  or how unbearable that pain may be, THERE IS A REASON FOR YOUR LIFE.  Trust in that. 

So there.  :)  I love you.  Keep the sunshine.  Let go of the dark when you're done with it. 

One Month + One Day Post Surgery

OK, I'm going to gripe.  A little bit.  And then I'm going to talk about how great I'm doing.  Because that eliminates the gripeyness, and points out the positives and then I can move forward.  What am I doing in here?  I'M KICKING MY OWN ASS.  DUH!

I. am.  EXHAUSTED. 

It's like constant morning sickness, without the euphoria of a baby on the way.  The tired, foggy-headed, mouth watering icky sickness that wakes me up at night and keeps me tired all day.  I think the high doses of antibiotics are friggin killing me.  Figuratively.  Truthfully, they are helping me, I know that.  But, holy shit. Also, my hands and feet have started tingling, which I'm told can be a side affect of the meds.  Oh, and did I mention the anxiety?  I get a fun heart palpitation and a panicky feeling while the IV is running, every time.  It goes away after a few hours. Another side affect.

I'M ANEMIC, WHICH MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I CAN'T BREATHE.
 I'm a bit anemic too, which adds to the anxiety feeling.

I'M TIRED OF PUKING.

Within an hour of each daily dose, I am losing my lunch pretty regularly.  I am eating yogurt and kombucha and pickles and olives and saurkraut to keep probiotics in my system and taking my vitamins mostly in the form of raw food and upped my protein, iron and vitamin C and D and

I HATE FOOD RIGHT NOW. 

I have no appetite.  I don't want to eat.  I want to throw up.  All. The. Time.  But I do eat, as much as I can.  I've still managed to lose 8lbs this month.  (I don't miss it.)

I AM REALLY HURTING SOMETIMES.

At one month post-op, I decided I want to stop taking pain meds, and I've been weaning myself off of the two they prescribed me after surgery.  I'm now using the pain as nature intended.  As a gauge.  As an indicator.  When we hurt, that is our body's way of telling us something  is wrong.  We need to listen to that very important indicator.  When pain increases, my activity has to decrease.  If I feel no pain, I will keep going like a freight train.  I know this about myself.  So I have to have something to tell me when to slow down.  This will keep me from injuring myself.  Again.  (it only took me about 7 years to learn that. duh,  I know.)  So what am I doing when my pain increases if I'm not taking pain meds? I rest.  I meditate.  I distract myself by writing or painting or sewing or playing a game with the kids or reading, etc.  I use heat or ice on my back and hip.  I use Arnica Salve, which is AH-MAZING for pain, I wish I had tried it years ago!  Massage.  Music.  I eat a Tbsp of raw honey + 1tsp turmeric + 1tsp cinnamon up to 3 times a day, which has very powerful anti-inflammatory properties.  And it's helping!

I AM GETTING REALLY LONELY.

Yes, I have a large family, so the kids are wonderful at keeping me company.  But, I am not able to drive until the IV meds are done, and Lou works a lot, the kids are in school, and I'm home ALL the time.  Like, I don't leave the house for days sometimes.  (it was nice while it was below zero, but...)  I'm starting to watch funny pet videos to cheer myself up, because I'm getting cabin fever.

http://cheezburger.com/7994247168


I AM TIRED OF TAPING A ZIPLOC SANDWICH BAG TO MY ARM EVERY TIME I TAKE A SHOWER.

Uh, yeah.  I have to keep my PICC line and dressing from getting wet.  I found out if I cut the "zipper" off of a Ziploc bag and then cut the closed end off too, it fits perfectly over my PICC line and I tape it down, so it is waterproof when I shower.  It's annoying.  Then I'm paranoid the whole time I'm in the shower, totally freaked out that I'm going to get water in the PICC and have

OK now cool things about all of this.

I MADE A MEDICAL DEVICE OUT OF A ZIPLOC SANDWICH BAG!! 

Heh, heh...

I AM AN AMAZING HUMAN BEING.

One neat thing about post-operative healing is that there is a natural anesthetic in your body that helps to curb the pain.  I suspect I have A LOT of that natural anesthetic.  My entire incision area was completely numb, like dentist-induced Novacaine numb, until about a week ago.  Now, as the body heals from the inside out, I'm getting feeling back in that area.  (my butt hurts.)  It's not just the incision area that hurts, it's hurting down my left leg all the way to my foot, occasional shooting nerve pains as the tissue and nerves figure out what the hell just happened.  The human body is amaze-balls.  This is going to be ok.  And it's funny to randomly exclaim that my butt hurts.

I AM ALWAYS WEARING ONE OF MY FAVORITE COLORS NOW!

I am now always wearing my favorite shade of periwinkle.  The ceramic "ball" that they put into my hip is a very lovely shade of lavender or periwinkle.  :)  You can't see it in the photo, but I know it's in there, because I saw it at my last appointment with the surgeon. 

I also got to see the old hardware that they took out, and the surgeon showed me where it was damaged, and how I can avoid having that happen again by not "power-walking," avoiding certain yoga poses that extend my leg too far behind me (which I did anyway because they would cause discomfort) and just being aware of movements that hyper-extend my hip joint.  :-/  I still do not have a definitive answer about how/why this infection occurred, but I do know that both bacteria are harmless when found on the skin, but can be (obviously) very serious and/or life-threatening when they enter the bloodstream, especially of people with compromised immune systems and prosthetic devices.  (ahem, moi.)  They like to quietly settle into these prostheses and slowly do their damage.  This surgery was actually a blessing in disguise, because I was actually sick for a really long time, and no one could figure out why, or explain my symptoms.  Now we know.  So a little pop and click pain in my hip actually ended up maybe saving my life.

I'M OVER HALFWAY DONE WITH MY IV ANTIBIOTICS!

I have just under 3 weeks left of IV antibiotics.  Then I will have 6 months of oral antibiotics.  Then they want me to think about staying on antibiotics for life, as a prophylactic measure...which I'm not crazy about, but we'll see.  After 7 years on meds and doing all my doctoring with Western medicine practitioners, I feel a million times better using natural healing methods, and am finally off of all prescription meds.  That was a very long and scary battle.  I don't want to have to be on anything for life.  But, Western medicine does have its place, I am a living, breathing testament to that truth.  So I'm going to do some research and decide on my best option. 

I AM F*CKIN STRONG!

My pain is decreasing, and my strength is increasing, every day.  I am slowly getting my feet under me again!  Today I was out in the yard for a few minutes, talking to the kids, and walking on uneven, snowy surfaces is still not a great idea, without a cane.  Not at all.  But I am getting stronger every day!

I DON'T USE MY CANE AT HOME ANYMORE!

I don't use my cane at home anymore, only when I'm shopping or at an appointment, anywhere that requires a lot of walking.  Yay me!  I know I'm stubborn about it, but I really don't like using a cane again. 

I AM HUNGRY FOR GOOD FOOD, AND TIRED OF SHOUTING!

OK I'm going to go make some chicken stir fry and fried "rice" (quinoa), heavy on the veggies.  FOOD CAN HEAL US!!

I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!  THANKS FOR ROOTING FOR ME!!!  WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!

I love you all, and thanks for always loving me.  xoxo

Healing Scars

Project:  Scars.

This surgery didn't go as perfect as my doctors and I had imagined.  What appeared to be a routine revision and scar tissue removal, turned into a bit of a clustercuss.  When removing the scar tissue, essentially, they "unleashed the bomb,"  setting off a mass septic infection that had no symptoms until 24 hours post-op, had never shown up in my bloodwork, did not appear to the surgeon even as he operated, but that showed up in the cultures from the tumor, scar tissue and hardware they removed from my hip.  This infection has required 3 different antibiotics, oxygen therapy, a 4-day hospital stay and a PICC line insertion, which has allowed me to give myself the necessary daily doses of 2 antibiotics for a 6-10-week period, to be sure that this infection doesn't settle into the new hardware they just put into my hip. Three weeks into this IV antibiotic therapy, I think it's going just fine.  I'm eating to heal my body, I'm staying on top of my physical therapy, and holding down the fort at home with help from a great partner and family, some wonderful nurses, and my amazing kids.

So, along with the expected pain of healing, I've had twice the number of doctor visits, daily IV doses of antibiotics that make me nauseous and exhausted, and I'm still Mommy, Nanny, Consultant, Writer, Illustrator, and all of the other things that I love to be so much.   And I'm managing.  Thanks to wonderful family and supportive friends, I'm managing just fine.

At first it was really scary, and hard not to be angry...but then I realized, I could document this, and maybe use it to speak to people about how drunk drivers don't just affect people during the times they drive drunk, or affect only their own lives when they get caught.  As a result of this drunk driver's actions, I have now had 9 surgeries.  I'll likely have a few more before it's all said and done, but hopefully not for a long time.  I really mourned my scars for awhile, my pain, the changes that have had to take place in my life and my work as I've adjusted to the way my brain and body work now.  A lot of it is invisible to most people who know me, but I know.  I feel it, I notice how I'm different, and sometimes that really makes me sad.  Sometimes, I'm amazed that I'm even alive at all, and I really do try and make the most of my life and all of the beautiful blessings in it.  I love my scars now.  They tell a story.  They tell my story.  They speak of my pain, and they speak of my healing.  Sometimes I wish I could send a letter to the man who is responsible for these scars.  And I wonder, would it make a difference?  It already does, to me.  This is all a part of me, of my life, and I embrace it.  But if you know of anyone who drives drunk, who's driven drunk, or who might have a problem with drugs or alcohol, maybe you can tell them my story, show them my scars, and maybe they'll see just a snapshot of how a drunk driver impacted my life.  I've never posted pictures of my scars before, I've been self-conscious of them for years now, but maybe showing them will make an impression on others and save someone from suffering what I have.

My new hip scar, December 2013, total hip revision and pseudotumor removal.

My daily IV meds.  Thankful for my dialysis and IV experience!!  Piece of cake!  This also makes me sit still for an hour a day.  :)

The scars on my face that, most of the time, only I can see now.  My eyelid was reconstructed, my nose was put back in the center of my face, and my lips and chin were peeled back like a banana until the doctor stitched them back up.  But, amazingly enough, my vital signs were stable, my heart is strong and just kept right on beating.  This allowed a wonderful plastic surgeon to take his time reconstructing my face and removing auto glass.  And I have even learned to love these scars.  They remind me that I am more than what people see on the outside.  

This is what happens after using a cane for 2 weeks as my hip heals. I also lift babies for a living.  And today, I planked for 90 seconds.  Nothing will keep me down for long!!!

The stretchmarks are thanks to my five beautiful children.  I have earned my stripes, people.  The scar that runs from my sternum down to my pubic bone is thanks to a drunk driver, and my need for an emergency splenectomy, which was lacerated and dumping my blood into my gut at a dangerous pace that day.  Four units of blood lost, and thank you to the donors who saved my life by replenishing my lost blood supply!  Without you, I wouldn't be here!  Donate blood, especially if you have a rare type, like me.  You never know whose life you will save!

 My left hand, healed up a long time ago, had stitches up the backside and down through the palm from auto window glass cutting it in half.  Good hand surgeon, salvaged almost all nerve function and rehab has brought back full use. 

My right hand, I had shattered bones suctioned out of my wrist and replaced with metal plates and screws.  It works just fine now.The x-ray looks like a pin cushion is in my wrist, lol.

I don't have any pictures of my neck scar or or an x-ray of the fused bones, or an x-ray of the messed up vertebrae and disks in my neck and back, but they let me know just about every day just where they were hurt.  I've learned to accept it, I don't fight it anymore.  I love my body and how it's  healed, and I am so thankful for being so strong, that I can care for my family, for myself, and for others around me that I love so much.  I don't ever take for granted how precious life is, or how fragile.

I forgive the man who caused me all this pain.  I don't wish him ill, I wish him peace.  I hope he's found healing and forgiveness of his own, and that he's turned his life into one that blesses others instead of causes continuing pain.  It is a daily prayer of mine.  I hope he's never driven drunk again, and I hope he's told people what happened to us that day, so that others can be warned of how devastating alcohol can be when you get behind the wheel.  I'm so glad I'm here to tell my story.  I am so lucky that I'm here to raise my kids, and that as a family, we can warn others against the dangers of driving under the influence. 
Especially as we go into New Year's Eve, which is probably a big night for people who drive when they really shouldn't.  Be safe, everyone, and make sure that the people you love are safe, too.

Just a few of my many reasons for living.  <3>

Surgery

Yep, surgery, again.  I'm a little nervous about it.  It's my 3rd surgery on my hip in 8 years.  I know that each time they have to do it, there's less of my God-given bone in there, and more Bionic Woman.  This means that, much like a car with its mechanical parts, I am going to need a bit more care and upkeep than I used to.  OK.  I can adapt to that.  If I must.  I do enjoy setting off the metal detectors at airports and watching everyone freak out when I show the TSA my awesome scar.  (my ass cheek)
This has been such a lesson in letting go of how I WANT things to be, and accepting how things ARE.  The quiet and loving silence of TRUTH.  It is now my friend.

I have made so much progress in the past year.  I wish I had had more time to post about it but I was too busy 'fixing' me.  I healed by leaps and bounds, would find my limits again and this time listen to them instead of rage against them, and just accept it.  I'm a slow learner.  I'm used to getting my way.  Meh.

I'm afraid to go through rehab again.  To feel I'm getting better, to feel hopeful, and then to hit that brick wall again, the one I've become too familiar with, but I've learned to lie back and love the sky I see over the top of that wall, rather than continue to bash my head against what I can't plow through. I've seen some amazing suns rise and set on this wall.  I am not depending upon an incredible outcome in order for me to be "ok."  I am just deciding to be ok.

I'm afraid of feeling that deep sadness that I felt after the disks in my back got so bad a few years ago.  I have made a slow and incomplete recovery from that, and I've learned to live with it...I've been stubborn about it, stopped all therapies, not wanting meds or injections or P.T. anymore, because it just gave me false hope of feeling better, which never happened, and the crash into that damn wall just got so tiresome after a while.  No more.  I am turning my back on that wall, I am taking a right, I am going around.  It looks like the Great Wall of China sometimes; others, it's just a crack in the sidewalk.  I can stand there, shouting at that wall like a crazy person and hating it for being in my way, or I can just walk beside it, grazing it with my fingertips to remember why it's there, enjoying the scenery along the way, because my life does not exist at the base.  I am my life.  I am not a roadblock. And, what is crazy, anyway?
 I may look at that wall sometimes, I may even paint beautiful pictures on it of me dancing in high heels, smiling and laughing without a trace of pain in my eyes.  That feels like going in reverse, though, and I can't change it, being wistful doesn't help me.  Being grateful does.  So, probably the picture that I'd paint would look more like a sunrise, or a sunset, or whatever picture brings me the most peace at that moment.  I am not my limitations.  I am not my scars, my medical history, or my tears.  I am me.  I am loved.  I am amazing.  I am so strong, even when I feel weakest.

So, it will be ok.  The surgery will free me of some pain in the long run.  I have been through tougher rehab than a simple hip revision.  I can do this.  I am thankful for a road to travel.  I will recover.  I will continue to do what I do, better all the time, and I will love the hell out of every single day and all of the amazing people I am blessed to have in my days.  I will go on.  :)

And, look at this pretty picture of a grapevine that I took while hiking!  Lou almost had to carry me back, because my leg hurt so bad.  Yup, time for some new scar tissue.  LOL