Letter to Chauncey

Dear Uterus, 

It’s almost time for surgery. Dr. Machado is going to cut you out of me, and I won’t lie to you, it’s a separation that I’ve been looking forward to a long time now. I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you, or am eager to see you go. Truly, how could I hate you, when you’ve been a part of me since birth? And I don’t hate anything about myself. The truth, however, is that there are definitely things about myself that hinder my development as a person, and right now, you’re my number one offender. It’s not your fault, at all. Truly, I think this inability to function properly in, essentially, a small way is what is required for me to reach my higher spiritual self. You see, love, you’re a living embodiment of the female ego. Part of what women have used as leverage against men in patriarchial societies is that WE have the ability to bear children, and WE can endure labor, and WE are therefore worthy of respect. While I’ve never felt those sentiments too strongly, in weaker ways, it’s been thrust upon me since I was old enough to conceive. I would go to a doctor’s office and they would ask me if I’d ever been pregnant and how many children I had, stunned into speechlessness when I said no to both. You, uterus, have been an unspoken expectation placed upon me by society; that even if I was unmarried, I would bear fruit in the form of a child from you, and would take my place among the ranks of single mothers, like my own, struggling perpetually to build something better solely for said child’s benefit. 

This, love, is the truth of it. I have never felt the fundamental urge at the core of myself to be a biological parent. For awhile I wanted to be a surrogate for a nice gay couple, because I thought (and still do) that pregnancy is such an absolute miracle. When I was told I couldn’t have children, I mourned for a short time, naturally. It’s good to acknowledge the end of a possibility. But truly, I have always known that I am meant to parent other people’s children, to try and mend what others have tried to break, to love what others have thrown away. I always wondered: could I do those things with my own children to care for? Truly? Could I emotionally commit at the same level to kids I may not have in my home longer than a year as I could to my own? And the answer, always, was no. I knew, whenever that situation was posed, that it was more important for me to foster than make more children for an already overpopulated planet. Not having a partner, doing so was just an effort of self-absorbed vanity, wanting a baby that was half my genetic makeup to show off to strangers and family. I wanted no part. 

Uterus, this is why that this extraction has no blame and is definitely not your fault. It was the powers that be cementing what was already known in my innermost cells, that I wasn’t meant to carry children. You are freeing me from the societal ties of convention that bind, hinder, chafe against my life as it has been lived and will forge onward, away from their beaten paths. You’re helping weed out potentially hundreds of unfit partners, that couldn’t imagine life with someone who couldn’t bear their offspring or wanted to parent other people’s children. You’re enabling the removal of three likely cancer sites that could have ended this glorious life I intend to live much too soon. Most of all, taking you out is the only permanent solution to the pain that you’re causing me on a daily basis, that has at times taken away my will to live and endure, and has sapped all of my strength, financial solvency, and creative drive. You, without malice, have held me back, and it’s time to let you go. 

I’m 28. I’ll be on hormone supplements for the rest of my life. I’m thankful that you allowed me the time to come to these realizations on my own before you gave out completely, so that I wouldn’t feel deprived of a future not meant for me. A woman’s value, in our society, is still closely tied to the number of children you have, how you financially support them, and how you parent them, and now those criteria will no longer be applied to be. Not only do I feel like I’m looking forward to a future with significantly less pain, I feel like I’m looking at unlimited possibilities, freed from the constructed paradigms of mother-culture that keep up tethered so tightly. 

I’ll see adieu. And that I love you, have mourned you, and will flourish for your sacrifice. 

Truly,

Erin.

On love.

I’ve had a tumultuous couple of months, friends. I couldn’t tell you everything even if I wanted to. As youknow, on my birthday I fell and severely damaged my ankle…two weeks later, Liam and I broke up. In that break-up conversation, some nasty things were said; he resented me for my extensive pain issues, didn’t see a future with me because I wouldn’t “get along” with his mom (which I did, I just didn’t let her walk all over me when she got rude, and apparently that wasn’t good enough). The guilt and manipulation that surrounded our time together, sex, guh…everything, really did a number on me, and it has required months of processing to understand the scope of it all. At the end of the day, I think he was playing a charade that he wasn’t even fully aware of; he wasn’t being himself, he was being “the boyfriend” he thought I deserved, making most of his sentiments and promises invalid. That’s why it seemed so ideal, because he was working hard at making it so, but it was equally untrue. 

Two weeks ago, I left to go to St. Louis for Jessica. Her father was suddenly diagnosed with stage 4 small cell lung cancer that had metastasized to the rest of his body, and he didn’t have long. I was delivering two of his sons and his granddaughters for a final farewell, as well as being there for her as I’ve been for every major event since we met, and to say my own goodbye. It was fraught with issues; her parents didn’t leave and free up space when they said they would, we all got a terrible stomach flu, I got a cold before I had to drive solo back with her youngest brother, etc. But it was worth it, to be there for my family. I’ll always do whatever it takes to fulfill that most fundamental promise I make to whoever I pledge my love to. 

While I was gone, a flirtation developed with a friend of mine. I think it was fueled by my absence, and moved things faster than they would’ve gone if I hadn’t left. It’s already over, and the finality of it hurts, because of how much I truly enjoy him. He’s one of those people that makes any conceivable situation better, and really embraced my rowdiness, which was always frowned on by other people I’ve dated. The unfortunate part is that he is extremely stressed with work, his business, and family, and I felt like a burden on top of all that; one more person wanting a piece of him, and even though I tried hard to be essentially low maintenance, I felt like I wanted more than he could give and it would lead to resentment quickly. There’s nothing worse than someone you care about resenting you, and as I type that, Liam’s words are cutting through me and I know I won’t be dropping those bags soon. He fed on a very specific insecurity of mine; since I was 12 and had to live with my aunt, I’ve been told to do everything in my power not to be a burden, and I work so hard at it constantly. I clean up after myself, especially if I’m visiting someone, I bus my own tables…it just never ends. So, being resented for being the burdensome half of a relationship due to something completely out of my control has, to say the least, severely bruised me. Those same feelings arising so quickly into this flirtation, and the wincing pain I felt at the thought of being a burden and consequently resented by someone I enjoyed so much, made me backpedal quickly. Maybe in the future he'll have more time and I won't feel like I'm in chick warfare with other girls for a piece of his attention. I don’t think I’ll be able to help wanting him, but it’s not fair to ask him to give more than what he’s told me he can manage. 

Besides, I’m getting a hysterectomy in 19 days. That’s a lot for anyone to try and handle, and I know my Liam couldn’t have. I don’t feel right asking anyone to go through it with me, emotionally or physically, which is why I’m going alone. It feels right that way. 

I wonder sometimes if I’m so obsessed with not being a burden that I’ll end up so low on a totem pole that no one will notice if I go missing. And who would be to blame?! No one but my own damn self. 

Why can’t my extremely hot and sweet Anatomy professor suddenly realize I’m his life mate and ask me out? Although, even as I joke about it, I know he’d be yet another person that would be embarrassed by my loudass mouth and rowdy nature, and I’m sick of it. I’d rather be single than be shushed. 

On that note, I’m going to have a drink. I’ve cried enough for a week. Toodles noodles.

Carpe hope.

As I was sitting in bed, harvesting a pomegranate tonight, I was slammed with memories.

I'm nineteen and sitting in a dark living room with Jeff, my mentor at the time. We were looking through a book about the Sacred Feminine, and discussing symbology associated with it at the time. The most prominent were pomegranates...they were tucked away all over the place in art throughout his house and found constantly in myth. Persephone much? But here we are. Now. And my sacred feminine is due to be harvested in two months and I can't help but wonder if I'll feel different.

I know I'll be significantly happier from the lack of pain. As it is now, I'm constantly fighting just to get out of bed, get to work, get to school, study...stay motivated to do anything at all. The heavens opened up and gave me the Cataldos and their friend Melanie who are paying for the surgery in its entirety. If I didn't have them, I'd be driven to something desperate that I don't even want to think about. Knowing that there's an end in sight...Thanksgiving to be exact...is a huge relief. Making it through nursing school is less daunting, as well as possibly trying to do a relationship again.

When Liam and I broke up, part of the discussion of factors that led us to that point was that he resented me: notably my pain and what it took away from "us". I knew it, of course, throughout our relationship, and was constantly apologizing for having to decline coming over to watch a movie or whatnot because the thought of trying to stay vertical AND deal with his vicious, passive-aggressive mother were overwhelming. I had more panic attacks while dating him than I did in the five years before. The guilt was oppressive, and I let a lot go that, in retrospect, I should've addressed because I knew that being in a relationship with someone dealing with chronic pain is a burden in and of itself. So, while it's painful to know that someone I loved resented me for something I couldn't control, it's more painful to think of it happening again because technically, it's valid. I don't feel right trying to date someone while dealing with this pain and the implied depression that goes along with it. What a shitty partner I'd be.

A friend brought up that post-hysterectomy I might not be as "desirable" to the normal guy anymore, either. I hadn't thought of it, and for the record, I'd like to say that I don't give a flying fuck. I'm not a goddamn breeding machine, and if that was truly ever part of the fucking criteria used to judge my feasibility as a partner, I'm glad I couldn't deliver (PUN TOTALLY INTENDED).

Truly, getting this procedure is saving my life. My ten-day hospitalization, during which I came close to dying from complications, were ones that arose solely from my endometriosis. I don't want a broken piece of biologic machinery taking up space just to maintain the status quo of what my gender was ideally supposed to be capable of. I love children. I love my godchildren, I love my foster youths I've had the joy of mentoring, I love all of my cousin's children, and I fully anticipate loving the future children I'll parent via adoption/fostering/stepchildren just as much as I'd love anyone that came from my womb.

I bought dinner for a guy that looked kinda down on his luck tonight at the diner. Sharky and I had the joy of sitting next to this amazing foursome of two elderly couples who spoke animatedly in some european language I didn't recognize. They spoke perfect english to the waitress and called her sweetheart. They ordered warm apple pie. I don't have enough to get my car washed now (HA!), but I feel like sharing a smile with those couples and getting a thank you from the guy I helped feed was a little way of paying forward what is given to me daily.

I'm so amazingly lucky, and I know it. My family is amazing, biologic and otherwise. My friends are a gift. And I know that whatever happens, that love is a constant. And it bursts like pomegranate seeds on my tongue.

Never retreat. Never surrender.

Hi friends.

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written. Honestly, it because I'm trying to stay positive and don't want to immortalize this overwhelming sense of insecurity/unhappiness/stress/anxiety in this space, where I try to develop and grow. But I really need to vent and put it all on down in one place, and maybe that'll help me lay it to rest and move on.

1) Physical erosion. You all know I've had a terribly epic couple of years in the medical realm, and it's frankly only gotten worse. Since I moved home, I've started gaining weight (an average of 5 lbs a month), and I attribute it mainly to the fact that my caloric intake up north was less than 1000/day, and now it's around 1500/day. That level of change, along with the fact that I used to walk around a hospital all day and am now rotting in front of a computer doing LITTLE TO NOTHING with my brain instead has had a very detrimental effect. A few months ago, I went to the ER because I suspected ovarian torsion or another divertics flare. There had been persistent pain in my upper abdomen for 3 days and my OB/GYN gave me implicit instructions to go to the ER if I suspected my ovarian cysts for that long, because it could be my ovaries twisting (and dying). They didn't find anything, but after being dismissed for the umpeenth time by some retarded-glorified-medical-assistant PA, I spoke to a doctor, who said I met all the criteria for endometriosis. I'd never considered that as a possibility, and called my OB up north right away to get his opinion on it. After reviewing my chart, my extremely rare medical complication after surgery last July, and my symptoms, he believes I likely have stage 3/4 endometriosis. The main implication is infertility.

The infertility hit me a lot harder than I thought it would. I love Liam, and we've talked about marriage and kids; he has determined that he's the carrier of the genetic mutation that caused his daughter's developmental disability and doesn't want to have any more children for fear they'd also get it, and I agreed. I've never been one that desired a whole brood of children, and whenever I got baby fever, I'd go spend some time with my goddaughters or watch a mother try to go shopping at the grocery store with an infant or toddler and the urge would dissipate. Now, suddenly, it's made apparent that I'm never allowed to change my mind. Part of why I never stressed about children is because I'm only in my late 20s. If I wanted to suddenly have a mini me to call my own, I have up to another decade to make that plunge. And now I don't. That's gone. I mourn the loss of a choice more than anything, and the possibility of seeing my father's eyes looking back at me from someone I grew inside of me and loved so monumentally that it changed the center of gravity in my universe.  I keep thinking about one of the world's "shortest stories" (which is attributed to Ernest Hemingway but shown in research he didn't actually write it): "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." I feel the need to honor this loss, and my friend Grace has offered to photograph me whenever I get the gumption to do it.

So, this endometriosis pain can hit me on some level sometimes three out of four weeks of the month. Then, 12 days ago on the morning of my birthday, I rolled my ankle in the parking lot of my job and slammed (I literally mean SLAMMED) into the asphalt. Messed up my already bad knee, jolted my arm and thus strained my back. Yadda yadda. My ankle gradually swelled throughout the day and by that afternoon it was twice it's normal size. I was worried it could be fractured, so I went to the worker's comp doctor and got some xrays. Nothing was broken, and we wrote it off to a strain. Naturally, my birthday dinner that I'd worked hard to plan was cancelled, and I didn't end up doing anything special for it. Another year passed without celebration (that's my only moment of self-pity, and is mainly mourned because last year I spent my birthday in the ER and wanted something GOOD this year). Then, a week later, I had a six-hour panic attack as soon as I got to work. I couldn't stop crying, and even though it was quiet and went mostly unnoticed, I'm so eternally thankful to my friend T for driving all the way down from the high desert to give me a xanax so I could make it through the day til I could go to my doctor that night. When I did, she wrote me a prescription for it and looked at my ankle. Immediately, she said that it was a ruptured peroneus brevis tendon in my foot and that I needed a MRI asap and would almost definitely require surgery. After doing tons of research on my own, it became apparent that there isn't any real conservative/non-surgical treatment for such a rupture and that, if the MRI confirmed her suspicion, I would definitely have to move forward with surgery if I ever wanted to feel secure on my foot again. My worker's comp MD tried to be a dismissive douche when I gave him her note two days later, but after watching me walk, he ordered me a stat MRI, fiberglass half cast, and immediate physical therapy. So here I am. Laid up, ankle elevated, constant pain, this ever-expanding and morphing bruise, and the inability to do things I enjoy. Like be at my booski's birthday in LA tonight that I'm missing because I don't feel safe driving that far with my foot swelling like it does. 

2) School. I've applied to the MSN program at Azusa Pacific for their Inland Empire campus. It's more expensive than Cal State, but I'd be able to start earlier, get to avoid taking the TEAS test, and not have to travel to Fullerton/Long Beach/Northridge/Dominguez Hills. Just what I'd save in stress/time/wear on my car from commuting makes it worthwhile, but the fact that it's a great program, I'll get my BSN in the first 15 months and be able to start working as an RN as soon as I pass my boards, and can get an educator focus makes the whole thing extremely promising. After meeting with the Program Admissions Adviser, she gave me extremely high marks and has essentially guaranteed I'll be accepted, as soon as I finish the rest of my pre-reqs. Unfortunately, they're not accepting the Anatomy and Physiology I that I took up north because I and II have to be from the same school, so I have to retake I at Valley. They also (oddly) require Bio/Organic Chemistry, so I have to take that and a Behavioral Science Research class. They'll only consider me when I have the 12 units of science COMPLETED, so even though I applied in July to start next May, but it was delayed until November for September consideration, but now I'll have to put it off another quarter because the classes won't be done by November 1 and therefore can't be considered as completed. Classes start tomorrow, and I'm hoping I'll be able to be added to the Chem class I need. Who knows. Right now I can't stress too  much about it, or I'm worried I'll have a breakdown. 

3) Work. I really hate my job. I feel like it's rotting away my brain and job skills, but I like most of the people I work with, so I'm going to stay with it until I find something better. I got extensively jerked around by Riverside Community Hospital and, after their conduct, and am really happy I didn't get it. I've applied to two jobs for San Bernardino County that I hope I get called to test for, but if not, I'll be stable at my current placement until the end of the year. Once again, I can't stress too much about it. I have enough money coming in to pay my bills, and who knows what's going to happen if I need foot surgery. 

So, yeah. Now I feel better. Ultimately, at the end of the day, I have really phenomenal people I can call to cry my eyes out or scream or whatever I need. I hold it in because I know that everyone has problems and I shouldn't be selfish about dumping my burdens on other people, including my boyfriend. But amazingly, during the time I spent writing this blog, I got an amazing message from my friend's boyfriend that I met once at her birthday a few months ago that said "You know what? You're a strong, positive person. That is very respectable." I got teary. And my foster dad told me to keep my chin up. And my love Kathleen told me how lucky they are to have my part of their lives. It's all of this remarkable and transcendentally perfect support that makes me get out of bed everyday and keep moving forward. 

In a very real way, you all help me live everyday. And I'm so beyond grateful, that I'm trying to repay you by getting better and staying better. 

I'm going to make it. Because I never retreat. And I never surrender, despite what life throws at me. 

Stay strong, my loves.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

This has been one crazy fucking month.

I feel like the three months since I've been with Liam have been full of craziness, BUT REALLY, let's be honest. My life is always pretty hectic. TO DE MAX. And I'm okay with that. I have learned, wisely, to function in that chaos and try to make the best out of it. I'm pretty much a crazy-fucking-times-obi-one-mahsta now.

His daughter was hospitalized for a week. Hard for both of us, but undeniably more so for him. The fear of a parent having to watch your child lose all neurological control is a whole new level of terror, and he's had to do it solo for so long. Naturally, I kicked up a well-spoken fuss and did my best to get her the treatment she needed, which was belittled and degraded by his bitch mother (I'd call her a cunt, but that implies a depth and warmth that she just doesn't have). It was just another experience that, I firmly believe, helps illuminate our devotion to each other and the family/future we want to construct together. We just have to wade through a lot of shit to get there.

Unfortunately, my knee has been killer since climbing his stairs and crouching down with Michelle. I really don't have the knees for parenthood. Five days ago, I was overcome with pain in my uteuran/ovary area, and just chocked it up to cysts, which I have a prevalent history of. After day 3, which was the cutoff point for "typical" cyst pain according to my OB/GYN, I went to the ER as he had directed and they concluded my pain and intensity was consistent with endometriosis.

According to the National Library of Medicine, endometriosis is a female health disorder that occurs when cells from the lining of the womb (uterus) grow in other areas of the body. This can lead to pain, irregular bleeding, and problems getting pregnant (infertility). The amount of pain a woman feels correlates poorly with the extent or stage (1 through 4) of endometriosis, with some women having little or no pain despite having extensive endometriosis or endometriosis with scarring, while other women may have severe pain even though they have only a few small areas of endometriosis. Symptoms of endometriosis-related pain may include: *my main symptom* dysmenorrhea  – painful, sometimes disabling cramps during menses; pain may get worse over time (progressive pain), also lower back pains linked to the pelvis.

Most women would be the most panicked about the infertility, but I have always been heavily conflicted on whether I actually wanted children. When Liam and I talked about it, he hadn't planned on having any more, and I was very okay with that. This, I feel, is a biological confirmation of what I have always been inclined to practice: NO CHILLEN. However, it does mean that I'll probably have to undergo yet another large, planned surgery (hysterectomy) at some point, and I'm not too thrilled about that. This pain is so immense though, I can't wait to get that shit out if that's what's causing this. Considering that my lady parts are all that's really left down there, I think it's a pretty logical conclusion that it's the culprit.

I'm so unbelievably thankful that I have a man like Liam at my side. He is simply magnificent, and I never dreamed I'd have such a well-suited partner to walk through life with me.

So, despite all the insanity, I'm a pretty happy Pokey.

Toodles <3 br="">

Loveliness.

There's been a post making the rounds on Facebook, and it made me think some deep thoughts. Really, that's pretty impressive in a social networking site full of useless memes, so GOOD JOB DOVE.

I'm sure most of you have seen it (if not, I'll post the vid at the end of this).  In it, women are asked to make friends with a random person in a room, then go into another room and describe what they look like to a sketch artist. Then, the person they talked to later comes in and describes them, and the two sketches are compared. It's a pretty graphic example of how flawed we as people tend to see ourselves, and conversely how gently those around us do instead.

In all honesty, my lack of giving two fucks about how the world, on a superficial level, views me has been a marked aspect of my character. People literally describe me as someone WHO DOESN'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU THINK, which, ironically, has helped develop the foundation for the best relationships in my life. I always loved my foster mom's grey hair that she's had since her 30s, my aunt's smile lines, my grandmother's soft cheeks that I remember being pressed against my temple when she hugged me. These are all marked signs of aging, and some of my favorite features, which consequently never made me fear aging.

But now, I'm actually at an age where, hey-o, society tells me I need to invest in those fancy anti-aging creams. Worry about free-radicals. Destroy my body fat to a trim level because lord knows if I go into my 30s/40s carrying extra weight I'll never get rid of it. And yet, I still can't really care. My wonderful boyfriend/partner/future husband will look me deep in the eyes and smile into them, and I know he sees me as lovely. That's what he calls me, actually: lovely. Not sexy (which I hate). Not beautiful (which has always smacked of honeycoated bullshit). L o v e l y. And it feels completely genuine. I could care less about free radicals, or uneven tone. I've made peace with my acne and scars long ago...they're just another part of my body, which is the only one I'll ever own, and it's taken me down an impressive path that I'm still in the beginning of. I'm going to the gym because I want to be stronger, more limber, and better equipped to help my knees manage.

And honestly, I never knew love could be such an inspiration. Liam doesn't see my flaws, he sees someone he cares deeply for. I've always looked at healthy living like a chore, honestly. I'd say I'm 60% compliant or so because I like myself enough to care about my overall health, but now I want to be 98% compliant. I want to take every supplement and juice so I can have a long and happy life with my family, specifically the person I plan on spending it with. I never knew that was a byproduct of happiness.

So, while the underlying meaning of this blog may have been lost, I can simply say with confidence that I think, if I had to describe myself to a sketch artist, I could easily recall all the sweet comments my beloveds make to me. Big eyes. Curly hair. Freckles. Honest and open smile. I have a dear friend who is constantly pushing her body to new extremes in an effort to have this imagined perfection, and it horrifies me. I have another dear friend, from years ago, who was one of the first to point out my natural beauty who still lifts me up out of the clear blue almost daily on FB.

I'm lucky. I'm loved. I'm in love. And living in loveliness.

A new delicious, wonderful, amazing chapter.

A lot has happened since my frenzied flight home, and it's been absolutely remarkable. A series of events that I've witnessed in other people and didn't truly believe would ever happen to me...did.

I fell in love. With an exceptionally good man who, bless my stars, loves me back.

Let's rewind a bit, shall we?

So, I'm driving home with all of my worldly possessions loaded up in the back of my rented truck. I'm somewhere past the cow death camp but still short of the grapevine. A Mumford and Sons song I hadn't heard before starts on the radio, and it's called "Lover of the Light". I'm listening to these lyrics, and floored by how sincerely I hope I can someday find someone that would inspire those feelings in me.

Incidentally, T is e-mailing me and I'm confused by my feelings. Quickly enough though, I realize that there is nothing worth saving in our relationship, that it was overwhelmed with negative emotions and I definitely don't deserve to go back to those feelings of insecurity and unworthiness.

As a countermeasure to this, I decide to restart my OKCupid account. Just to see if, now that I was back in civilization, there was someone worth dating. It had been so long since I had a normal date. Within an hour, two people messaged me. One, I immediately went on a few dates with and was a complete loser. The second was Liam, and we went out a little over a week after first talking.

Immediately, I knew something was special about us. We sat outside Augies and didn't run out of things to talk about, and our topics were far ranging. We went to lunch, and what was supposed to be a one-hour date turned into three and a half, and we only parted ways because he had to pick up his daughter. My heart literally yearned for him as he walked away, and I missed him, acutely. I went to Phoenix the next day, but not before meeting him in Banning for lunch, and my hopeful suspicions were confirmed. It was HIM. My one. My only.

Throughout the next weeks, my early sentiments just became more steady. I have never felt so valued, cherished, beloved, by anyone in my entire life. Everything with Liam is as easy as breathing, and I don't have any insecurities or fears. He's a phenomenal person that I respect and love, in his entirety. I only hope I can spend the rest of my life with him. Since we talk in spans of fifty years, I think he's amenable to the idea :) 

Some of my friends have asked if we're rushing. There's no ring on my finger. There's no wedding date. It's simply that I've found the person that, if I'm lucky, I can grow old loving. Even better is that he feels the same. I could write about this all day; these feelings, this overwhelming joy, the sense of completeness. Suffice to say, I hope you're happy for me and reveling in this discovery with me.



I'd be yours
If you'd be mine
So love the one you hold
And I'll be your gold
To have and to hold
A lover of the light. 

Lovingly,
yours.

Home.

My father had a triple bypass surgery. I knew something bad was coming, so I put in my resignation after I got home from my new years vacation home, and lo and behold, 10 days later he's in the OR.

The drama that unfolded was...immense. And overwhelming. My brother saw me in the hallway and couldn't talk to me, and I didn't see him. I still have no idea what my own brother looks like, and it kills me. I didn't get a chance to meet him, or hear his voice, or see if we laughed the same, before he and his son had to fly back across the country.

My eldest sister couldn't look me in the eye. Every time I walked into a room, she walked out. She feels that I'm a walking, living betrayal and won't be party to knowing me and keeping my identity a secret.

The weight of all these things, amidst hiding behind posts when other family dropped in, avoiding certain people by waiting in the cafeteria, etc., was hard, especially in addition to the normal pressures of my papa undergoing open heart surgery.

I love my father. There wasn't a doubt in my mind what I'd have to do. So after he was safely home, I drove back to the Crescent on a Saturday, worked Sunday and Monday while packing up the house, and I drove back on Tuesday. Exhausting, trying, and emotionally draining, but I made it.

I'm nervous and scared about what my life holds for me now. My timetable has been thrown off, so I have to re-evaluate things and find my footing again.

T and I have been e-mailing, and this just makes everything else even more heavy. The lyric from the Black Keys, "I don't need to get steady, I know just how I feel", is something I desperately want to apply to me.

If only.

Things will get better. They always do.

Thoughts on souls.

Today was one INTENSE, hellish Monday. Of course, everything that needed to get done DID, and I felt powerful and phenomenal at my job, but there were moments I could cry while simultaneously bludgeon someone to DEATH. That someone being a nurse.

My most notable act of the day was transferring a late-80s giant redwood of an old man to a nursing home. His wife has alzheimer's and is in a dementia unit, and his only reliable son lives in rural Alaska. We were talking about all the normal stuff regarding his discharge, when he would get overwhelmed, or couldn't move his arm, or couldn't find a word, and he would get teary. A large, wet tear tracked down his cheek, and I reached out to hold his hand tightly. I just kept saying, "It's okay. You're going to be fine." He would just nod and close his eyes as more tears would slowly roll down his cheeks on his weathered face that had seen his wife grow up from the time she was 7 and he was 9 to not remembering his name, 40 Alaskan winters, only eating the fish he caught with Inuits for many of those years, two of his three sons failing in life and blaming his harsh hand for it. I looked down at my hand in his, hoping my own tears wouldn't come, that I could act as his surrogate daughter in the absence of his children, and he squeezed my hand tight.

"You're a good girl. If I had a daughter, she'd of been like you."

I smiled, my eyes definitely glistening at this point, and told him thank you. Told him I was moving home myself because my papa was sick and I wanted to be there for him, and he grinned really big. "I called it. You're a good girl to a T."

I did everything I could for him to make his life easier. Got him a solo room at the nursing home with an ocean view, etc, and when I later spoke to his daughter-in-law, she thanked me so profusely that I could hear her own tears of gratitude. "I don't know what it is about that community, but you all sure look out for your own. Everyone at his assisted living and now you at this hospital; I can't imagine anyone could take better care of Dad. Thank God for you."

And that's a profound moment, you know? When someone says that they are thanking God for YOU, for the work YOU do, for the effort you put out without expecting any thanks at all, is a big thing. And I'm blessed. People tell me they thank God for me pretty often, which makes me want to work all the harder for them.

Later, a nurse complained that a female patient was so "whiny and demanding" while thumbing through a magazine at the nurses station. I looked at her and asked for confirmation: was it the young lady who just had a bilateral mastectomy because of her stage 4 breast cancer and was going home on hospice to die? She looked up, irritated that I gave her patient a name, a history, a valid reason to complain, and sneered a yes. Everyone else at the station then looked away with their eyebrows raised, embarrassed that this nurse, a "shining star" of the floor, could say such a thing about that poor woman. AND THEY SHOULD BE. They should be horrified and disgusted that someone who should be devoted to her care and empathetic to her situation could only complain that she actually warranted this nurse's time. I was so angry I could spit. And she knew it.

When did that get lost? When did treating a patient as a person, with a story and a heart and a soul, and not just a room number fade from healthcare? Why is it me, clinical support staff, that is sitting and listening to someone for 20 minutes? Almost everyone I spend significant time with tells me I'm the first person to listen to them, the first person to validate their fears and try to find resolutions for them, and I am ONLY ACTIVE AT THEIR DISCHARGE. It's so frustrating, and I know my hospital is one of the better facilities in regards to this.

It's times like this that I feel like it would be slapping the Universe in the face if I didn't go in to healthcare. My friend posted this on a photo I shared today, and it's PERFECT because of the last part, which is exactly what I believe. "I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And what I can do, I ought to do, and by the grace of God I will do it." If I am capable of being strong for my patients, and empathetic to them, and seeing them as a soul and not just a body, then if I DIDN'T become a nurse, I would feel like I was throwing away the best abilities I have. 

Because I see you. And I know you're a soul, and not just a body. And I'll listen. And I'll hold your hand. And I'll love you like you were a member of my own family, because in the grand scheme of things, you are.

"You do not have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." -C.S. Lewis