Ready

Yesterday I noticed small raised bumps on my ankles and I am thinking it must be fleas, so I spend my last minutes at home before checking in to surgery in Durham, cleaning blankets, vacuuming carpets and this morning before leaving for the hospital, kidnapping my unsuspecting cat, Weenie, zipping her quickly into a small cat carrier and dropping her off at the vet. Two things happened. The vet called-no fleas- and the bumps on my body are slowly but surely taking over. I have hives. It is amazing the utter lack of control one can have over ones body when it comes to stress. I am a person who usually can maintain a semblance of calm and fortitude even during the worst of times, but for some reason this time, my body has its own plan. It started having anxiety attacks a few weeks ago, commanding my attention just enough to procure a prescription for Zanax, my very first, and after becoming completely catatonic after taking just one, it is my last.
I wanted so bad to blame this current outbreak on fleas, spiders or even bed bugs. The thought of having a rogue body acting on its own accord frightens me. Anxiety ruled my day today. My husband Dan encouraged me to breathe through my stress and to try to avoid taking any drugs. I complied, wanting to have a last night of fun, connection and clarity. So we roamed around Durham eating and drinking in some amazing local establishments, eating local food, talking to local folk, counting down the hours to when we had to surrender to the “system”. The time is now. It is after midnight and I can no longer eat, drink or even swallow water when I brush my teeth. Tomorrow at 10:00 am I will have a re-called hip device removed from my body and in its place; a safe, hopefully functional replacement will be installed. As for now, Dan is dozing beside me, I am itching like crazy and almost ready to have this all behind me no matter what it entails. The support and love I feel from all of my friends and family is palpable and I am grateful. And ready.

Loose Ends

I woke up before the sun feeling wide awake, but not ready to face the day, I forced myself to fall back asleep re-entering the world of dreams and mystery. My dreams have been fraught with intrigue, dysfunction, insanity and all kinds of craziness and no wonder! My life is a bit crazy these days. As crazy as my dreams can be, they are never too crazy for me to say. “Hey, wake up, this has gone too far!” I relish in the scenarios, the unconscious connections between everything that is happening in my life being played out in random dream dramas. It’s better than soaps. I had planned to travel to Durham today to settle in and enjoy some time before checking in to the hospital before my surgery on Thursday, but after sleeping until 11:00 am and working on things on the home front, we decided to head out tomorrow and instead spent the afternoon working out, Dan running on the treadmill and me swimming a mile in the pool of our local YMCA. Swimming for me is an old friend. My father introduced me to the water at a very young age-it was in fact in a pool. Being landlocked in rural Wisconsin, my father, an avid swimmer himself, took his children- at that time five girls- to any public pool in the winter months that he could find. Summer in Wisconsin, of course, afforded days of fresh water swimming in a multitude of lakes and that is where we could be found, coolers full of drinks and sandwiches camped out for the day. I was a competitive swimmer in high school, but not very dedicated. I think I was voted the least likely to succeed in the sport or something along those lines, but the swimming, the style of it, the finesse of breathing and reaching out for the stroke, always stayed with me. To this day I have great form and probably good potential as a distance swimmer. Today, I was happy knocking out a mile, but I am also integrating swimming as something important to my future physical well being and it feels good to conquer! The rest of the evening was spent finding the best oysters on the Outer Banks, and why not? I am facing at least five days of no eating and no drinking so Dan and I set out to eat as many steamed local crab slough oysters as we could, all washed down with copious amounts of beer and wine. All I can say is I hope those post surgery days of not eating balances out my present over indulgences! It’s hard to resist eastern North Carolina oysters in season.

Letting Go

Today was my last day at work before embarking on a two month medical leave to have my left hip re-replaced due to a device “re-call”. I left work feeling almost completely satisfied that I could face the impending circumstances with almost no work-related stress or unfinished business. In fact the only thing that was left on my plate was creating a Christmas card list of the past year’s donors and supporters of the small non-profit that I work for. I quickly recited a list of worthy recipients to any co-workers who may have been listening as I breezed out of my office into the snowy afternoon. They may or may not get out; I just have to let it go. I’m finding that I am letting go of a lot of things these days. I will no longer be able to run after my bionic-titanium parts are replaced with those more fragile. Ceramic, plastic and metal will probably not invoke words from my surgeon like, “Do whatever you want as long as it does not cause you pain.” Not that pain has ever stopped me before. No pain, no gain, right? I will miss running though, and I’ll have to face any other limitations head on as they come. Since I am returning home from the hospital mere days before Christmas, I am letting that go too. My family, my husband Dan and our two children, have been trying to create a family holiday experience as far from the consumer, commercial version as we can, spending our time making gifts, cooking food, playing games and music- and if we are not on a traveling adventure- staying home and just having fun. Two years ago our kids, they are twenty six and twenty one now, squirreled away and wrapped random objects from our home so when we woke on Christmas morning, Dan and I really thought Santa had come. The gifts were spilling out from under the tree, until I looked closer at the bicycle with the big red ribbon tied around it, noticing the rust and dirty tires-who's bike was that? In the days leading up to this week I have amassed a stack of books to read while recovering. I have selected various tomes for friends and family as gifts this season and that is all I am doing. Cooking, traveling, creating, taking care of family and friends, I’m letting it go. The first time I had total hip replacement surgery was four years and four months ago and three days after finding out my husband was having an affair. It’s amazing how the trauma of that disclosure and the corresponding emotions completely trumped the trauma of surgery. Dan and I are amazed that we have almost no recollection of what happened the first time I had surgery. We are trying to put the pieces together in order to prepare ourselves this time around, but we have hardly any memory of the experience. It really puts in to perspective the depth of pain one suffers from an affair in a relationship. It’s hard for me not to remember those times now as I get ready to go through this once again, but this time I have the full support and care of a loving man-my husband of almost twenty seven years. And it’s funny because this second surgery, this “do-over” is like another chance to make all my stories right, to let go of those stories and parts that “no longer serve me” as one of my wise friends noted. And so here it is, another chance to let go, another chance to continue creating my story.

Falling

I have been home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina from my two month sabbatical in Costa Rica for almost four months now. The memories of my time there, the simple routines, new friendships and the feeling that I would return home and make significant changes in my life after “re-entry” have faded into the urgency of daily demands from work, family, relationships and most urgently-my body. Anytime I am away from home I look forward to the pile of mail waiting for me when I return, most of it is junk, I know, but I still get excited by post that is addressed to me personally. I had pen pals as a girl for this reason alone. I remember one in particular, a dark haired, mysterious young girl of eight, my age, living somewhere out west. She sent me a photograph of herself dressed in white jeans and a white shirt, cowboy hat perched on her small head, looking straight at the camera, unsmiling, seated on her horse. I think I loved her, but not enough to maintain the relationship via pen and paper. Now after two months away from home my stack of mail was significant and I settled into the comfort of my screened in porch in anticipation of what I had missed. After separating the junk from the catalogues, the catalogues from the bills, the personal emerged and that is where I started. What was waiting for me on that September afternoon among the pile of letters that were a combination of known and unknown, was a curious letter from Duke Diagnostic Clinic. I read it twice to make sure that what I was reading was true and then with an unsettling feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, I looked for my husband Dan. “Dan, you are never going to believe what I am reading here in this letter from Duke University. It seems that the artificial hip I received four years ago at Duke Hospital that was manufactured by Johnson and Johnson, has been re-called." The letter went on to say that only a small percentage of recipients would have complications, but I didn’t need to read any further to know that these were going to be my complications-my life- starting now. Since then I have been traveling the two hundred plus miles back and forth to Durham, the home of Duke University and the Duke medical complex to find that every test that I have taken indicates my device has not only failed, but has been poisoning my blood, damaging surrounding tissue, and quite possibly-we will not know for certain until the surgeons are inside-infecting me. In a past post not so long ago, I spoke of bold action and with trust, falling into the arms of the universe. Now, faced with major surgery in four days and all of the unanswered questions surrounding this endeavor, I feel like I am falling, but I’m not sure where.

Feel For You

I saw my first V of geese today. They stopped me in my tracks while I was running this morning in my neighborhood in Southern Shores, North Carolina. As I looked up tears welled in my eyes... I’m not sure if it was because they looked so beautiful flying in formation in the clear blue fall sky or if it was my longing for the promise of warmth further south. I remember last year around this time my husband Dan and I were headed to Hatteras to transport visiting Israeli musicians performing in the schools down there and as we were crossing the Oregon Inlet Bridge, a long and controversial span that connects us to the southern most part of our county, we witnessed thousands of birds making their way south. The sky was almost blackened by them. Today was different though, because it was only a single formation and because I cried. I stood there looking until they were out of sight then I picked up the pace of my run and tried to let the sounds of Chaka Kahn motivate me. Running for me can be as meditative as yoga sometimes. I run listening to music, but my mind has no problem wandering as I go. I often come back from a run with insights about my work, life and creativity. Today, as Chaka’s song “I Feel for You” was streaming into my ears, my mind began to turn the words around- I feel for you- and I thought about how much more I “feel” these days. There is so much sadness and beauty in the world. I know it has always existed, but I don’t think I was really awake to it all until my heart was broken. When you’re heart is broken and you are looking at the possibility of losing everything you believe in, everything becomes so much more important -so dear. I can feel the pain of a friend who just lost her mother. I feel the sadness and extreme gratitude of a friend whose child’s life hangs in balance. I feel the pain of people suffering far from here and I cry tears of joy looking at the face of my husband across the table from me. Music brings me to tears, and so will geese flying south. Sometimes I just cry and wonder if I’m shedding tears for someone who may not be able to-someone who has not had a broken heart or suffered a loss in their life- someone who has yet to plunge the depths of their emotions out of unknowing or perhaps fear. I cry sometimes and wonder, in this crazy world full of so much madness, beauty and pain, how can I not?

Home with More Questions

Ever since I returned from my two month retreat, sabbatical, escape in Nosara, Costa Rica, I have been engaged in an inward battle to balance the elements of my life. It almost seems like a dream, another time and place those two months of solitude, of simplicity and wonder. Coming home, all of the patterns and habits of daily life here on the Outer Banks of North Carolina continue on like they’ve never stopped- almost as if my old habits and patterns conspired to faithfully carry on without me, reserving my place on this wheel of dysfunction so I could easily jump back on to it upon my return. Right now I am on the beach, lying on my belly, a thin blanket between me and the sand, feeling the cool dampness beneath me as the sun warms my back. What I see are rows of steely gray waves capped in white crashing continuously on the beach, the northeast breezes from hurricane Igor meeting the waves in an explosion of white spray and foam. Seagulls, their gray and white feathers almost the same colors as the sea, sit facing the wind occasionally pecking the sand for something to eat. There are people, walking, mostly clothed, but not many. I can feel the end of summer. It is one of the most beautiful times of the year here, but at the same time I take in this beauty surrounding me, I am acutely aware of the emptiness I feel. I left here to take time to answer questions I was asking myself and now I find myself, back here at home asking the same questions and them some! I started reading a book called, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning" by Chris Hedges. He is a war correspondent writing about his experiences covering wars throughout the world for the last decade. In his introduction he writes, “The enduring attraction of war is this: Even with its destruction and carnage it can give us what we long for in life. It can give us purpose, meaning and a reason for living. Only when we are in the midst of conflict does the shallowness and vapidness of our lives become apparent.” When I read these words I immediately related them to the chaos of the past several years of my life as I was desperately fighting to put my marriage back together after my husband’s affair. Although peace has been in my house for almost three years and my husband has done everything in his power to make things right, I feel a void. The passionate fight for what I wanted, for what I believed in is over, but I remember the feelings invoked when I was faced with the possibility of losing everything I built my life upon- they were intense, painful, and bewildering but at the same time exciting, powerful, dramatic and urgent. This "fight" gave my life a purpose at the time, it gave it meaning. Looking back I can see why so many are addicted to “drama”. It’s a perfect diversion from the emptiness of our lives. So I question myself. Am I clinging to the past in order to escape the triviality of my life today? What is my purpose, my reason for living? Obviously these questions were not answered in the tropical paradise of Nosara.

The Day I Learned To Swim

I remember at a very young age, my father taking us in the winter to an indoor swimming pool at a local high school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin so we could learn how to swim. I have vague recollections of jumping off of starting platforms into the water and swimming in the lane back to the platform. I was six and by summer I was swimming like a fish. My father was a swimmer, a water lover. I’ve seen photographs of him as a young man, lean and happy posing with friends and at family gatherings held on the lakes so abundant in my home state. He was also a merchant marine and relished his time on the great lakes. I lived in Milwaukee until I was nine years old. In the winter we would frequent indoor pools at nearby schools, jumping off the diving boards, flying out of our dads arms as he tossed us in the water, swimming back to him for more. In the summer we swam in lakes and fresh water quarries with crystal clear waters surrounded by rocky cliffs that we could leap off of into the crisp cold water. Soon there was a pool in our back yard that could barely hold our family of seven (my brother wasn't born yet), much less all of the neighbors and cousins who clamored to join us. “Just put your foot down child, the water is only waist high. I’ll let go of you gently, so you can swim to me.” These words from a Kate Bush song remind me of those times. I never feared for my safety in the water, my father’s strong presence and encouragement emboldened all of us. We became expert divers, back flippers, strong and capable swimmers who never tired and who swam outside even in the cold until our lips were bright blue. When we moved from the city to the country we scoured the vast landscape surrounding our humble farmhouse looking for bodies of water. It was a different time and place and though we were quite young we would explore our pristine surroundings unsupervised for hours emerging from rivers and hidden ponds glorious and dripping wet sometimes with leeches between our toes from the muddy bottoms. In high school I swam competitively on the school team. Although I was not a much of a disciplined athlete I loved the water and can remember my dad coming to my local meets after work smiling as I stepped out of the water following a race-never winning, but not losing either. “I’ll let go gently, so you can swim to me...” Learning to swim brings to mind that scary moment, that place between the fear of letting go and letting go, that moment before jumping into the water for the first time or off of a high dive, those choices that involve the risk of facing the unknown as opposed to the safety and comfort of what is known. Contemplating my time away, my “space” I am now faced with the challenge of integrating the lessons of my journey into my reality. I feel it is time for bold action, time for me to pursue my dreams and goals and I pray for the strength to take the first steps trusting that the universe will provide everything I need.