Survival

Can only admit now was overcome with fear at the last post, about to undergo a second spine surgery toward the end of the month: last week.  I behaved alternately on a daily basis for weeks as if I would not survive, and as if I would. 


As the days before grew shorter, revising the healthcare proxy was in order.  It was only downloaded and completed along with a living will the night before the procedure, at the hotel where my sister had flown in to stay and assist during the surgery and immediate recovery period.  It included funeral arrangements, songs that were to be played during a memorial service, and the division of assets that would remain available.


The day of pre-ops, something happened in the evening where I felt a snap in the back left pelvis, where rods had been extended for stability during the first procedure.  By the following week, an additional or subsequent part gave way and I was barely able to walk the weekend prior to the scheduled time.
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Something had popped in the back right months before another test had been administered with images and showed no signs of deterioration, so when the left began my concerns were minor, as the other had healed.  What happened a week later was of more concern.  I was grateful the date was approaching so that it could be seen and addressed.


Was still walking very slowly when Sis arrived and in less pain.  She noticed the change, however.  We were an hour late for the scheduled arrival time for pre-admission.  Traffic had been unprecedented on the way.  The procedure before ours had complications. It would be another couple of hours or more before I would go in. 


The most recent events were explained to the surgeon, along with having communicated by email following the weekend.  He didn't seem to take it seriously at the time, also stating there would be images taken during the procedure to check the area where new pain had been felt for days.


My sister asserted the anesthesia be administered so that I would be unconscious upon entering the operating room.  I thought it was standard after not being given the option three years before during the first surgery.  I didn't really have an opportunity to give a second opinion before the needle went into the IV.  The thought of seeing power tools for bones wasn't something I had been looking forward to.


I awakened in a recovery room that was very dark.  It was late.  The surgery had taken over seven hours, more than half the planned time for an upper spine correction.  A rod at waist level had broken.  My sister explained so I would understand while heavily medicated.  Then she was immediately gone. 


I finally found a comfortable position to sleep with an attentive nurse until monitoring approved moving into a room.  It had been a late night for the surgeon, yet he was there at 8:00 a.m. when I awoke to give his version.  Two incisions, two draining units attached with tubes, an extra two days in the hospital, still shorter than the first extensive procedure that had me testing the limits of what it could do as well as hunching forward another eight degrees at past two and a half years.  One draining unit then. 


Inflating 'blood clot prevention' on both legs.  Adhesive covering bandages from the top of my neck to the tail bone that would soon begin to itch.  A bed that set off an alarm if you got up on your own, and I would later discover cameras overhead as well, as you don't have a choice if males or females are attending you during any particular shift.  Before leaving the bed, most everything that was attached had to be mounted on a walker just to go to the bathroom, which could not be done without assistance. 


Medications and vitals every two hours on average.  Additional monitoring for low blood pressure.  The same questions repeated every time.  A world class hospital.  Expertly trained staff.  The best hospital experience at a global destination for its expertise, still one did not want to stay any longer than necessary.


I went back to church thinking I may not have survived the last one.  Went into the second thinking maybe I was only wrong the first time.  There was lots of prayer for me to come back, by a lot of people who didn't know me three years ago.  I assert prayer works. 


I drove myself back from the airport after Sis got us there to catch her return flight, a day after discharge.  The first night's short sleep before checkout at the hotel was blissful in contrast to nights just before.  The apartment and pets are not back to normal, nor am I, as I move slowly, testing limits less.  Pain meds only twice today, not three as on the label.  When it comes to bones, knowing where limits are may be best unmedicated, until it becomes necessary. 


My gait is better, I'm standing taller, and the waist is back: an additional bonus.  Had given away lots of figure flattering clothing with waistlines, assuming not having one was permanent.  No regrets.  I'm still walking; still wanted and needed on the planet.  Prayers continue, to fulfill the mission according to a Will that isn't my own alone.

Animals

Every morning and evening.  I'm cleaning up after small animals: my son's pets.  Hands are washed many times before all is done or leaving the house.  I never really thought of it as humbling, any more than a farmer would for shoveling up after horses or cows.  It's just what has to be done, no different than changing the diaper of a baby, as many times as necessary.  You don't think about it when they're your own.  You just do it.

It can be done in an hour if there's a need to leave to get somewhere, though I'm not comfortable being out for more than 12 hours; it's not good for them to either have too much waste around or without fresh food or water, not to mention time out of spaces where they sleep or stay during the day when no one is here to pay more attention or let them out.

There's no smell, even when coming back after a long day, so long as the routine is maintained.  I hope they live long enough to be able to enjoy a full fledged sanctuary for rescue animals, where they can come and go as they please in bigger living quarters and plenty of grass to run in outside.  They've experience it before, on vacation; they have to go along.  Not nearly often enough; it should be part of 'life at home'.

They're important, not just for the 'therapy' of having them and interacting with them daily, though for expanding the purpose of why they're here.  When doing the cleaning routine, it's almost impossible to worry or think about anything else than the task at hand, thus the therapeutic or meditative quality of the care process that takes place at least twice daily.

They know they are loved: what makes being in limited quarters bearable when the openings are closed and no one is around for hours.  They are the first and last things checked upon waking and before retiring to sleep.   All of that said, it's clearly not a lifestyle many would envy, though even with abundance and prosperity and the ability to have someone else do the maintenance, I would still want to do as much as one person can, just like now.   When more have a home on a bigger property, their friends will increase, with two legs, and more.

Technology

It was inevitable.  Sooner or later, it would only be a matter of time before the dogged late adopter that I am would be the recipient of the update that replaces what the system will no longer support.

It could no longer be avoided.  I am now tethered to email via phone.  I look differently now at others who once were annoying by constantly looking at their devices.

It's no longer necessary to take the tablet everywhere when the phone will do the job most of the time now.  Anyone else with a computer in Starbucks now looks as though they are working on important projects.

It can save money with apps, where I used to download coupons and schlep the computer into the store and up to the cash register.  Now the barcode is on the phone.

This is probably amusing to read for anyone on a smartphone for years now.  I still am painfully aware how many on the planet struggle to get to school, and, as it was when I was growing up, no access to a phone until returning home, if then.  Landlines in impoverished areas are not likely in every home.   We don't think about how they communicate where they are.  Television in public places provide news.  Parents have no communication until they are home again from school, provided there's a real home.

We still take too much for granted, when all we have for sure is the present.  What we do today paves the way for tomorrow, almost always.  Our minds go from thought to material manifestation in minutes, or years, if we have the inspiration and tenacity to follow through.  Technology, when used wisely, can also help us help others to get to their next 'upgrade', as well.  One way or another, that might just be the purpose behind the purpose.

This post is being written on a phone for the first time.  The computer has timed out, and has to be restarted, again...

Alive, And Well

The day has come, and passed, and I can not only walk: it's almost the same as before, with a corrected spine and no risk of damage for walking further or beyond the point of pain.  It was not easy; it was terrifying, and I had to prepare for the worst.  It was almost a surprise to wake up in ICU from an incomplete blood transfusion with low blood pressure; there was no memory from the time I was first injected with sedation until waking in ICU/recovery.  I didn't know I was in ICU at the time; I only knew it was over, and that I could feel my legs, and everything else.

The next few days into the next week were rough; I was out of ICU two days later, on Wednesday from Monday.  We had taken a 3:30 a.m. train to arrive at 6:30, an hour late; the ferry only ran hourly at that time, as if I didn't know.  It was too hard to remember everything.

My son had called the night before and I didn't get the message until days later, when I checked messages.  Phone reception where we've been has been less than ideal, though only one of a few drawbacks from being in a better place.  It's still a blur, and I'll be taking pills for awhile yet.  The new 'normal' is yet to be known: will I have to keep taking pills for pain, even if only over the counter?  Only time will tell.

Today, it was hard to take one medication that prevented taking anything for pain until a bit later, though I had slept the longest yet, to wake up to the reminder it was past time for 'help' with pain.  Now, I'm pushing time as long as possible until taking a pill or sleep is necessary: quite the spectrum.

It would not have been bearable without family.  I was impressed with their endurance, enthusiasm, good spirits, energy, and cooperation.  It was so much more than I could imagine.  There were multiple miracles over a two week period.

Missing was my son, though close in our hearts, as he was staying in touch more than usual from an unnatural distance.  That was the most painful, even more than the pain that set in at the peak time following the procedure.

I'm 'regrouping' now, as able as I wanted to be, happy that it became a reality from living scared and in the unknown on top of everything else for many months until what had to be done was finally finished, successfully.  'Grateful' does not capture it; it's much more than that.  A life was spared to continue a particular purpose, not least of all to keep a family together, and perhaps help others to do the same, for starters.

Asking..."the secret"

...gotten so much more by asking, and taking risks, especially since feeling like life may either end from abuse or cancer, which have both happened at different times. Realizing you have been spared for a reason is powerful, though at the same time we witness things every day that make no sense, like children suffering needlessly so that others can profit, and God help the 'whisteblowers'.

In a nutshell, the journey is far from over, though pride and shame is lost when you've felt so close to death, or you're fighting for the life of a child or children. After such experiences, you're much less afraid to look silly or do things others may criticize. Just find more [who prosper], and do what they do, whenever possible: easier said than done.

...would agree with all of this, with the exception of many trying to come out of poverty or abusive relationships caught in systemic webs that all but completely sabotaged them in their last resort efforts in seeking 'help'.

‘Older’

“Life begins at 40.” Not anymore. According to recent media proliferation, “50 is the new 30”. A life began at 40, for the first time: a child. No previous pregnancies (that I’m aware of); had ‘given up’ on the prospect of becoming a mother and was beginning to look into ‘alternative parenting options’.

Then it happened, or something started that would forever change identity and perspective. In many ways profound and significant, in others, disillusioning regarding relationships and the scope of ‘human nature’.

Purpose took shape, in a way that will define the other perhaps half century to follow. The legacy at work is merely a continuation of the examples of role models that inspired and created the most positive experiences that existed in childhood.

It remains difficult to grasp, now that taking care of one’s health has moved to the forefront after not shadowing the threshold of a doctor’s domain for nearly ten years. Most of the people administering medical maintenance are younger, doctors included. Some look older; others are obviously not. This is where not feeling my age begins to all but scream.

I feel just over 30; my body speaks otherwise. I’ve the energy to keep up with my child when fully ambulatory. By the same token the energy also comes from a young life that looks to me for inspiration, validation, and explanations of things he can’t understand. Most of the time, the answers are to his satisfaction. Most of the time, our relationship is deepened on what matters most.

The most frustrating part about personal ‘health care’ is the time consumption. In offices where you don’t want to be takes up days of valuable time that would otherwise be spent on further advancing one’s life, and the lives of all others affected, especially my child, for whom the quest was entirely created.

Those in ‘retirement’ don’t have this concern. I’m close to the age where going to a doctor has become part of a monthly routine for some, as if it were some lifestyle activity. I look forward so much to when it tapers down to what might be ‘normal’ for who I consider myself to be at this point in life: very active and someone who doesn’t look or feel their age.

When I was as vibrant as a few of the women I’ve observed sticking needles in, taking them out, or some other related function, it wasn’t on my radar that those I serviced would one day be someone like me: someone who was once like them at an earlier point in life. We don’t typically think that way. What we become when we’re ‘older’ is a transformation that is either an extension of an earlier life, someone completely unrecognizable from their ‘youth’, or something in between.

The unsettling thing is how quickly it happens. I can remember when my child was an infant as if it were yesterday. The joy was so overwhelming, and so fleeting, as what would not be wished on even an ‘enemy’ began to transpire, and it was all I could do in simply remaining active in protecting the precious and special life that had been brought into the world for a reason.

It became the protection of a life and a purpose: his. It is ongoing. He is not the same child before the negative forces of human nature ‘out there’ left an indelible mark. To dwell on it would be too devastating. Moving on daily is all that can be done, until the lights are brighter and the road ahead is clearer.

It’s easier to accept that those administering my ‘health care’ or ‘maintenance’ are years my junior than my child losing sight of his purpose from influences that have their own interests as ‘priorities’. He has responsibility imposed upon him that is not his, thus taking responsibility for things that are not about him, affecting his emotions, actions, and choices. It has become ingrained to the point of being reflexive: everything I took action to prevent what he could be exposed to, a broken system only exposed him more. He has become a commodity, an acquisition, a showpiece, motivated by pleasing those he must to survive on many levels when away from what was created during his earlier years.

He has not lost sight of that, though the longer or more he is elsewhere, the impressions fade. Who he is fades under the glare of ‘surviving’ at an age when he is most vulnerable. He is alone with unanswered questions and thoughts no one can explain to his satisfaction, so he doesn’t bother asking most of the time. His responses are signature, though no one sees or listens when it’s actually happening.

Exceptional children are reinforced consistently of both their abilities, what they can do in the world and when. In the absence of the former, confusion and internal conflicts arise; long term implications are not realized. All kinds of signature symptoms appear, that seem to be only obvious to competent professionals: those obscured from true protection of those they’re trained to represent.

The spinning is all for profit and status, and a young innocent life is the means. He’s not the only one. He didn’t come into the world for this. What’s done cannot be undone, though there is still hope. “What goes around comes around” has meaning for a reason. It can’t go on forever.

Those my age are established, having created empires that will long support their heirs. Most had lots of help in some form or another. Being everything to one person is not profitable unless a team is also in place. An example of healthy relationships exists, though they’re so rare. A glimpse and reference point is to remain constant, or another life could be sacrificed from others’ needs, that either come with a price, or can be bought.

The cause of true aging? Negativity is one, which isn’t me. Wasted time is another, also not me. Stereotyping on a systemic level doesn’t help. Apathy clouded by profit incentives doesn’t either. Being too affected by others contributes (not me again).

Which leaves what? The ‘forties’ in some ways were an oblivious blur, mixed with joy and unmatched anguish, all because of a child coming into the world, defining a purpose of his own and shaping yet another: keeping the former, among other things inextricably connected.

I’m not envious of those who had the kind of support where they could move ahead much earlier, like those who now stick needles and other things into me on occasion. I embraced the term ‘late bloomer’ long ago, yet didn’t imagine that it could only be beginning now. I’m now and forever a mom first, and all that follows is merely an extension of that identity, for a reason.

You may be reading this at an age a couple of decades prior to midlife. Know this: it will be here sooner than you expected. Procrastination is a luxury no one can afford because time is the ultimate commodity. A child to a certain kind of parent puts into razor focus the value of time. To others, it creates resentment imposed upon children for which they can neither escape nor take away the permanent effects. No ‘damages’ can compensate for what has been taken away, if or when identified.

Single or without children doesn’t mean actions do not affect. Everyone you come into contact with is either a parent or someone whose life influences the next generation, thus your legacy as well. That ‘wings of a butterfly’ ripple effect concept? Believe it. And that’s just on a ‘regular’ day, as if there really was such a thing.

Frogs/blog, ghost/writer; perspective: yipes!

Signs and symbols; now you see them, now you don't. Some would say they're always there; others simply don't notice, or insist they see nothing. Both points of view are true, in the 'eye of the beholder'; it's all relative.

I must confess this entry was composed on its designated day, automatically saved as a draft, accessed to post and when the check-box was assigned to publish only two lines 'survived'. No copy of the draft was saved to post the full text, which was lost somewhere in the process. I had been pleased with what had been created, mourned its loss, began again later, joking with one nearby that if it were the worst thing in life at that moment, it was 'okay'. Now to the re-creation, not to be the same:

My favorite mentor re-told a story that included two frogs recently, about others' misinterpreting responses to circumstances as one viewpoint: a particular reaction brings on a different result, depending upon the motivations of those directly affected. The same could be said for many things; the analogy in the story was results being 'rewarded', though not in the way that had been envisioned by one participant. In order to meet someone 'where they are', it can help to know what their 'where' is, to them. Sometimes, this can only be discovered in hindsight.

So what's the lesson? The 'golden rule' has been re-illustrated as what 'others' would want. What makes for challenges is not only do we not know what they want, neither do they, more often than not. It's for all practical purposes simple to treat others as we would wish or expect to be treated; the truth is that 'others' are not us. Sometimes, even the best 'people skills' do not apply. Just like animals, different species have different needs, though it's usually much easier to understand the needs of species other than humans.

So that part's covered, not much like the first time, though we accept with gratitude the 'now'.

As for the latter, there are those that are called 'kindred spirits' for whom we can finish sentences across continents, or lifetimes, where the Golden Rule is predictable, and equally gratifying. We know our efforts have not gone in vain; many would say no effort is lost. We are simply unaware of the results or outcome.

This is not for me; sometimes, as has happened many times in the past, as satisfying as it can be to be 'validated', the real meaning or result is what has occurred through others, because we chose to 'be there', to show they were important, to let them know their strength was unique in guiding others to recognize their own gifts and act on them. Many times the effort was very small; the blessing was the arrangement of place and time to allow for another 'everyday miracle' to occur. The most priceless has been when such moments occur with children, when one moment in time is remembered for a lifetime, shaping purpose and destiny.

The opposite can also be true. We are taught that to appreciate joy we must understand pain, that without contrast there is nothing to compare to. Is this the circle of life? We can still experience 'pain' and 'suffering' without the 'unspeakable', without atrocities, without the destruction of our own. They are all ours. For every tear that's shed, there could have been fewer. Those who survive have been grateful for the experience; others have erased the memory from their consciousness, thought not without consequence. Still others go on only a spirit shadow of what might have been, the candle all but extinguished.

We cannot help what we can't see, or can we? Those who may need us most are not even visible. They live in fear, unable to think beyond getting through the day. Our 'luxury of thought' is for what they cannot entertain beyond hunger and shelter. In contrast, we have unlimited wealth, enough abundance for all. Through communication and collaboration we can construct and extend the ropes to hope and the possibility of freedom, as the latter must be their own thought. It can be facilitated by others, though only claimed by those who choose to, once provided with the tools, as easily passed on as the lighting of one candle to another, undiminished by having done so.

I only remember the ending of what was 'lost' as something like 'the path you walk upon is there from who was before you, for you'.