8.31.2014

what this year has taught me. so far.




If you've read my ramblings here for any length of time you probably know that I came close to losing my mom this spring.  sometimes I'm still amazed that the ending of the story was a happy one, considering the odds she was up against at times and the way the doctors were preparing us for the worst.  It has been almost four months since she left the ICU and nearly two since she got home from inpatient rehab.  and still, still, my chest gets tight and I feel my breathing get a bit shallow and restricted when I think much about those terrible months.  I feel like I allowed myself to feel what I needed to during that time- I wrote, a lot, I spoke about it, I sat by her bedside for weeks when you add it all up.  but this suffocating feeling that creeps up as soon as I start to think about it tells me maybe there are things left to deal with.

or maybe not.  maybe it's just the residual effect of months of intense worry and fear.  the physical expression of all of those feelings and anxieties welling up and demanding I acknowledge them.  so what is to be done?  I acknowledge you!  I did then, too.  no doubt I'll carry much of this with me forever.  guess it wouldn't hurt to try to figure out how to welcome the tightness and the fear, figure out how to work with them, breathe past them, morph them into a source of strength and resilience.

the friend who covered my shifts at work many, many times during my mom's hospitalization happens to be married to a man who recovered from ARDS.  funny.  (well, not funny, really- but you know, in a 'what are the odds?' sorta way)  before they were married they were on a ski trip and, if I remember the story correctly, he shattered his pelvis and ended up going into respiratory distress, being intubated, and then getting a tracheotomy and being pretty near death's door (she told me part of his body was basically wide open and packed with ice, awaiting a surgical procedure that couldn't be done until his body could handle it- !!!) and out of it for several weeks.  much like my mom, minus the shattered pelvis and ice-packed insides.  her side dishes came in the way of cardiac events and chest tubes, sepsis and organs going into panic mode.  but back to my friend.  we spoke a lot about her experience as I was going through this with my mom, about the fear and the unknowns, the statistics and preparing yourself for the worst.  I jokingly told her that after it was all over (at the time still just crossing my fingers that there would be *please please please let there be* a happy 'after it is all over' time) we should start a club for family and friends of ARDS survivors.  that it could be kinda like a book club, where we get together under some scholarly guise and end up mostly just talking and crying and drinking. (I've never been in a real book club, and no I don't imagine there's much crying involved, nor do I presume there is never any actual literary discussion, but....)

it was a joke then, but now... well, now I think I may just call her up and show up at her door with a bottle of Malbec (bourbon, maybe?) and my hospital-bedside-vigil journal, ready to hash it out a bit.  maybe that'd relieve a bit of the suffocating feeling.  perhaps.  worth a shot, anyway.

not one to just focus on the negative, or shall we say, more challenging aspects of something, I've also been trying to think about what I've gained from all of this.  what the experience has taught me, gifted me, even.  and while I feel it's a bit trite to say that I've once-and-for-all really and truly learned "we ought to all hold onto our loved ones and tell them how we feel regularly and sincerely, because you just never know....", well dammit, it's true!  we ought to!  but you know that and I know that.  so, aside from that huge and obvious truth, there are other sneakier bits I've learned/am learning.

such as:


*to be thankful for my body, despite the things I've become accustomed to complaining about.  this part is too soft or that part isn't strong enough..... wouldn't it be nice if my hair did this instead of that and I didn't have these dry patches on my face?  well screw all of that.  every last bit of it.  I can breathe.  and walk.  I can see.  my organs work properly and I'm essentially unlimited in what I'm capable of.  good grief, I'm a miracle and I'd be ridiculously shallow to complain about a little jiggle here and a wayward hair there.  I'm breathing, people!  and I'm doing it without a machine or chest tubes or any other such devices.

*not to bother, too much, with censoring what I'm feeling and wish to express, in spoken word or written.  which is not to say I plan to go about doing or saying anything unnecessary or catty or hurtful, not at all.  I'm talking about just letting flow what needs to flow.  'speaking my truth', if you will.  being okay with being vulnerable since (and maybe you've noticed this) we are all vulnerable anyway so let's just let down the shields and be okay with ourselves.  and each other.

*speaking of each other, I've learned that boundaries are good, important things.  there have been times over these last several months when I've had to do my best to politely take my leave from an exchange with someone because it was too painful and hurtful to be a part of it.  and while I can acknowledge the individual's worth and try my best to see the world from their angle, I just can't bear the immense drain and hurt that comes along with the majority of our interactions.  and therefore I will set boundaries and I will honor them.  and I will allow them to shift when it feels right.  because I'm always open to things finding their way back to right and peaceful, and I'm all about learning what exactly it is that these difficult interactions have to teach us.  (I'd like to make a little note that I wholeheartedly believe having been in the middle of reading How Yoga Works during the time that the most difficult of these interactions were taking place helped me enormously to not flip the +*&% out and to somehow be able to look at things with these rosy 'what is this crap teaching me?' glasses.  for real.  read it.)

*part of me wants to write something here about coming to a good place, or an okay place, anyway, in regards to dealing with death.  or perhaps more accurately, in my case, the expectation of it.  but I can't.  not really.  I mean, I thought I was there, dealing with it.  and with my mother, no less.  and looking back, even though I was practically hyperventilating much of the time and could barely see for all the tears streaming down my face, I feel like at times I was doing okay.  in a weird trying-my-best-to-come-to-terms-with-this-bullshit in a respectful (of her, of her life, our bond, all of it) and somewhat peaceful fashion.  I started talking about how, when it happened, we could make it the most comfortable for her, the most respectful.  I thought about those things because they were important.  even though I was sad and snotty and out of my mind, they were extremely important.  so there's that.  I can't really speak to all of that, though, because I didn't have to cross that threshold.  thank goodness for that.  thank everything for that.  but there was a glimpse enough for me to get it, just a bit.  to see what would come up, to see what was important when you get down to the mucky and very elemental core of things.  wherever and whatever they may be.


so there's a bit of the stuff that comes up for me when I think back on this spring and all that went down.  a bit of the stuff I'm working on and learning about.  a bit of what I know now.  I know treating each other right is what matters most.  I know what leaking chest tubes sound like, what an oozing tracheostomy sounds like.  I know the feel of blood-soaked gauze and the smell of hospital elevators, the feel of those damned blue gloves and plastic gowns.  I know that watching the monitors won't make the numbers get to where they need to be, but I also know you just can't help but watch them and will them all the same. I know midnight phone calls with attending physicians and an urge to cut off my mother's hair just in case.  I know where my mind and heart go in times of severe fatigue and fear, and I know that I will hold my mother close, as I will others that I love, as best I can.  for as long as I can.  I know our time here is short and it is a gift.  I want more than anything to do my best to make such great use of that gift that when the time comes I can leave this place with a smile and a lightness in my heart.  I want kindness.  and I guess I want the pain too, some of it anyway, so I can always remember, really feel-it-in-my-bones remember, to honor and be grateful for the kindness and the beauty all around.

24 comments:

  1. Thank you Amanda- I love you. -
    Amanda( from down the road) xo

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    1. 'tis mutual my dear sweet friend! so, so happy to have you girls in our life. xo

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  2. A big hug been sent your way, I have now words that will help.

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  3. this is so beautiful amanda. yes, you should write whatever you feel... it is good medicine. did i tell you that i almost lost my mom once? i was in the fifth grade. she was just a little older than i am now, and she had a series of serious heart attacks. she was not a very heathly eater or exerciser then :( it was terrible. i will never forget lying awake at my grandparents house listening to them talk in the other room about how they didn't think she would make it... and then crying myself to sleep. i got seriously choked up about that time (each time i thought about it) for years and years and years... i'm still affected... only in a different way now.... as i near the age she was when it happened i become more afraid of having the same fate... i realize that i have virtually none of the same risks... but it is still a creeping fear none the less. i do have my sisters to talk to when it really starts to bother me though and wow that helps! talking to someone who's been through it really really helps... and i am so so very glad that you... and i... have our moms.

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    1. No I didn't know that about your mom- how scary that must have been! I should think that your healthy lifestyle greatly diminishes any possible hereditary link, but understand how it could creep into your mind.
      xoxo

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  4. oh the wisdom that you gathered as you sat by your mother. I think the worst part is the unknown the ups and downs and the heart break. Loving your body and your self goes a long way. Those are true words. throughout your experience you showed your girl how to love :)

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  5. Seeing our experiences in life in both a negative, and finally a positive light is such a wonderful opportunity for our growth as individuals. I started following you around the time everything was happening with your mom, and I admired your strength, and was praying all would work out. I am so happy your mom is continuing to make improvements and that you can look back, and see some lessons in the experience. xo

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    1. it is definitely part of how I am dealing with all of it, and now that we are past the hardest parts, it is becoming easier to look at it all in this way. of course. the more I stew on it, the more lessons I am gleaning.
      xo

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  6. Perfectly written and said!! Thank you!

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  7. Oh Amanda, what beautiful sad powerful words. Of course I have not been through trauma like you went through, but the last couple years have been very hard for me in some profound ways, and this exercise - stopping to write what they have taught me - because I do regularly think about who I am becoming because of all our transition, and the ways it is making me stronger - anyway, I think this would be a good exercise for me as well.

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    1. thank you, Lisa~
      though you may not have been through exactly the same thing, I have no doubt that we all have some pretty major stuff going on in our lives, and/or things we've survived, that we could really take some lessons from when and if we are prepared to dig in a bit. and sometimes maybe the digging is the way out of the grimy and gritty bits. it has sure been helping me feel better about things.

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  8. Beautiful thoughts and words. Joy and sorrow of life and how to live fully through them. It can be so very hard to deal with those difficult, terrifying or tragic times in life. But, writing and talking it out is so very helpful. The fast breathing will lessen over time, though the tight chest may not.

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    1. oh the writing and talking is most certainly very, very helpful. I wrote so much during that time- first just in a journal I kept with me at the hospital and then, when I was ready and felt the situation was a bit less scary, here as well.

      I can imagine the tightness hanging on for a good long while, yes. my body's way of remembering and reminding, I suppose.

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  9. I can't believe I am sitting here crying after reading your post Amanda, it's beautiful, you are beautiful and I am so happy that yours [and your mama's] story has a happy ending.

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    1. oh Tracey, you are so, so sweet. I know I've told you before, but your words throughout that difficult time were always so very encouraging and comforting.

      I am incredibly happy about the ending as well~

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  10. yes. thank you amanda. life is so freaking precious! it's been a hard year here too. we acknowledge. we heal. never entirely. we hurt. we process. we surrender. we work some more. and we grow. and love. and notice. and find joy. sending so much love to you and yours, xo, nichole

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    1. do you know how much I wish I could just give you a big fat hug right now? I love the give-and-take description you share here. that really is the way it is, isn't it?
      sending that love right back at ya!
      xo

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  11. wow! What a post! I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes. I'm so glad things turned out okay for you and your Mom. And I'm so glad you wrote this post. I've been thinking similarly about trying hard to complain less, enjoy the challenges these early motherhood years bring and relish in life a little more. Because it is so short. Your post was both beautiful and eloquent and even though I have not experienced what you have with your mother, everything you say here resonates with me so strongly.

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    1. :) thank you, Summer.

      oh it can be ridiculously hard to muster up our whatever-it-takes to enjoy those challenges, can't it? I feel like we're on the cusp of working our way out of the earlier years challenges, with Claire gaining on 5 and all... but I know a new set of challenges awaits. still, it can be so incredibly draining and so hard to stay mindful and in-the-moment.

      all my best~

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  12. What a beautiful post, and what a beautiful girl you are. And woman and mother and daughter. It's people like you who find the deep beauty because you are willing to go deep through those questions that linger, feel unresolved and painful. Bittersweet. I'm with you girl. So much we could chat about over tea one day. Probably laugh about too. Suffice to say...GLAD I've met you and thank you for your inner work because, for me, it makes me feel less alone.
    XO

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    1. oh Cory, thank you.
      tea would be awesome.
      xo

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thanks for taking the time to read and comment~