moving, forward

If I were in closer contact with more people, if just a few people who knew me well actually got to see me, they'd know something was up. But in this virtual reality, things often boil down to presence and absence, and I have been decidedly absent for quite a while. Some of it is my self-imposed internet weaning. I spend less time online, mainly as a way to try to be more present in real-time, real-life. And the quest for presence has been a quest to try to feel again, because at some point, likely this summer, I drifted away and I haven't made it back.

Unearthing and stirring the murk has been, for the most part, an unpleasant experience for me. Yes, I am engaged in and committed to the process, but it's opened a can of Whoopass Deluxe, and rendered me not-so-fun(ctional). There are, no doubt, a multitude of DSM-III codes that could be pinned to me at this point in time, covering my eyes like post-its made of duct-tape. And maybe those namings give me some breathing room, some understanding as to why I've put on weight and can't seem to care (other than in a self-flagellating fashion), why I've become so isolated, why I've lost interest in most of what I once loved, why there isn't much that can rouse me these days.

It's my hope that 3 weeks out of context, in a country where I (for the most part) don't speak the language(s), will give me a little more room to breathe.

It's a giant exhale I'm looking for- one that can't really be complete until mid-January, after I get my 6-month follow-up MRI, after I feel like I can let go of this job that hurts.

And then I hope for the breath in, the great stepping off into some unknown, not with fear, but curiosity and maybe a shred of confidence, wonder, joy, even...

this skin

I got tired of seeing the word MOTHER on the blog, so I'm gonna write something to
p-u-s-h it down the page.

But first the report: Mom is doing fine, there's no "new" news, only that she has to watch her BP (which has always been low) and get lots of rest. She seems frustrated that there are no specifics that shed some light on what happened to her, but she's now seen her MD of 35 years and he seemed to make her feel a little more...calm. So that's good.

Barring anything else (bad/scary/life-shattering) happening, I am not driving 22 hours to Ohio anytime soon.

I wasn't at work on Monday because I felt like shit. My body seems to be on a continual rollercoaster and I want to GET OFF. Besides fighting another sinus infection, I've been battling a bad flare up of my hyrendiatis supperativa and this time its in the crack of my ass.

I don't mean to sound glib here...this condition is extremely painful and inhibits movement like nobody's business. And I don't really have a wound in the crack of my ass...I actually have it in the crease where the leg and ass come together. These wounds (more like boils that can range from pea sized to marbles to golf balls to--I do not exaggerate--softballs) are progeny of the Staphylococcus bacteria, and for them there is no cure. I treat them topically (with antibiotics), internally (with antibiotics) and use Hibiclens to keep my skin as free of bacteria as possible, but the outbreaks persist. They are worse around my menses and exacerbated by heat, excess weight, non-cotton fabrics (like I have a bunch of 100% cotton work clothes lying around) and stress.

I could barely sit down for two days. Everytime I moved I winced. I felt like a walking gauze bandage. Thankfully I have a dear friend who also suffers from this condition, so I don't feel so alone in it...and when I say "it makes me feel ugly and disgusting" she counters with "I know, but you're not ugly...you're beautiful," which may sound obvious and simplistic, but in those moments it's like I'm in 40 foot swells and someone just threw me a life raft.

Exercise was out of the question until my wounds healed. The problem with these nasties, however, is that the body's natural tendency to stem the bleeding by closing the wound doesn't allow for the infection to drain completely, so the infection never really goes away. Surgery is the only option for the areas where the wounds keep coming back...and they do, relentlessly..because you have to remove the entire gland. When a gland is removed, the wound is packed so that the skin won't come back together before complete healing--from the inside out--can occur. It may be time for me to go under the knife -- there are spots in my groin area that flare up, drain, flare up, drain...and never truly heal. I have active infection in my body 24/7, and have for 18 years.

We all have our burdens, right? My mom has a ticking time bomb in her head, and she knows it, but what's the woman to do? Stop living her life? My father has two fake knees and more of a relationship with food & booze than he does with his youngest daughter. Cry me a river, right?

This is one of the biggest problems I have. Right here. Allowing myself to just BE--sick, vulnerable, pissed off. I always feel like I'm faking something, like I'm being inauthentic, or I should just pipe down and count my blessings. It's far too easy for me to retreat to a place of "I have nothing to whine about...at least I don't have (insert potentially deadly disease here)" because then I don't have to VALIDATE the REALITIES of my EXISTENCE. Embedded deep in that "at least I'm not..." rationale, hidden from view, is the kid who was never believed, the one who was never protected. And that kid grew into a woman who mistrusts her emotional states and tolerates high levels of pain and isn't convinced, to be honest, that all these maladies and all this emotional upheaval isn't the result of past mistakes come calling for justice. But that's bullshit too. See how it spins? See how it catches the light in just the right way, deflecting attention elsewhere? When what should really happen is I should give myself a break--LEARN this skill--for once and for all. Anyone have the manual that explains, in great detail, how such a thing is done?

Mother

My mom had a transient ischemic attack (TIA) early Sunday morning. After a battery of tests, they released her from the hospital today. She seems fine, though tired, and a little frustrated that they can't point to an x-ray and say "here, this is what happened to you." Apparently, what happened to her is related to her thalamus, which rests deep in the forebrain. No tests can measure changes in the thalamus, other than tests for blood irregularities and the like. She's resting comfortably now on a mattress that is not covered with plastic -- she didn't really sleep in the hospital because she can't sleep on plastic ("it makes me so HOT") and she can't stand to have a messy bed--she couldn't get up to fix it because of various tubes that were connected to her arm and went up her nose, and my mother is notorious for remaking the bed in the middle of the night when the covers get "out of whack." Perhaps it's not the covers that are out of whack...but that's another story.

TIA's most often precede a full-blown stroke. My mother had one more than a decade ago, which caused her to slow down and learn to take naps, and to pay attention to similar symptoms should they reappear, which they did on Sunday, waking her from a dead sleep at 5:00 a.m. Her entire left side was tingling and her head was pounding. She felt, as my mother is apt to say "queer." Without hesitation, my father took her to the ER. They admitted her immediately.

I found out about the episode around 1 pm on Sunday, after (ironically), S. and I had gone to brunch with some friends of my parents who were in Denver for the Thanksgiving holiday. My sister texted me that mom was in the hospital-- you can't use cell phones in hospitals so...the text. I called the room and got my Mom, who sounded groggy. It was good to hear her voice, and to hear it clearly, without any slurring of speech. It also catapluted me into this space of "What the hell am I thinking? I HAVE to go back east for the holiday. What if..."

Ah, the What If Monster. Ugly fucker. He likes to mess with my head at all the wrong times. Like here we were, S. and I, running errands as a light snow fell on Denver, the first real snow fall of the season, and we were aglow with Christmas cheer and shopping for little randoms to give to those we love. We were both so relieved to be staying put for Christmas, with no huge plans on the horizon and no planes to board (meaning no valium darts for Meege, thank the Lord). We were talking about when we would get our tree, and where we would put it, and I was looking at ornaments because S. and I always buy each other a special one every year and have for a decade now. That's 20 ornaments! Yowza.

And then the call, and the ensuing worry, which still hangs over me like a heavy fog. My mom is okay now, but what about next month? In three months? What would I do if something happened to her and I had to live with the fact that I didn't go to Ohio for Christmas? As if seeing her again would soften the blow of her loss, permanently. I don't like to think about it. I am not ready to be in this world without my mother. As much as she makes me crazy sometimes, I love her beyond reason, beyond words.

I am finding myself depleted by this close call, and full of questions that no one but me can answer. I want to eat the side of a cow, with turkey gravy and a side of spiral sliced ham. Bring it on.

No. Don't.