November 20, 2009
I get to wondering about her sometimes. It's a wondering without sadness. No tears, no ache, just thoughts, pictures, conversations. We're sitting across from each other at a table. The kind of tables you see people sit across from each other at during visiting hours at the prison in the movies. Strange, I know, but that's what I see. We're outside in the prison yard, only there are no fences. Just us sitting across from each other at the table. Unfamiliar with each other, but still wanting to talk, to visit, to get to know each other.
There are three versions of this scene. In one, she is a young adult body, a spirit, a soul, but there's a blank look on her face. There is no knowing. She just is. And she sits across from me and we take each other in.
In another she is the same body, spirit, soul, but she is able to articulate her experiences. And that's what I'm hungry for. Tell me more. Tell me more. I'll sit and listen until the guards say we have to stop. And this is what she tells me:
Yeah, for a while there were just sensations, you know, energy surges and ebbs, rocking, bouncing, floating. But then there were sounds. Oh sure, I knew your voice, and dad's too. I'd know your voices anywhere. And there was a dog too. He'd bark and it would make me jump and then I'd feel you jiggle with laughter. I knew your voice the best. I could feel it vibrate inside me. I shuddered when you would cry. I heard dad singing to us. I felt the warmth of him through your skin. I knew it was him. I knew something was wrong mom. I knew it. I could feel things slowing down. They slowed down, but they stayed steady, so I tried to stay steady too. I wasn't scared. It's just that things reached a point when I thought, It's not right. Now's not the time. And so I decided to let go.
In the third, she is also the same body, spirit, and soul, but she is all knowing. She understands. She is wise beyond anything this world knows. She does the listening. And she comforts me. And she answers all my questions. She's bright, like the sunshine, and she's strong. But I know her so well, even though we've never consciously met. She has all these mannerisms that I know intimately. Her humor - I know her humor so well. It delights me and mystifies me. And I think that she is more beautiful than anything - she's so unspoiled, untouched. That's her brightness - the shine she would have lost in this world. And so it's okay. You know? It's okay.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I am going to do this
November 18, 2009
"Hello. This is Abby."
"Hi Abby. You had called and left a message asking for information about the Footprints group?"
"Yeah. I just wanted to be sure of the day and time the group meets because I've read a couple of differing schedules on-line."
"Oh sure. The group meets on the first Tuesday of the month at 7:30 p.m. Can I ask if the group is for yourself?"
"Yeah it is."
"Do you mind if I ask about your loss?"
"Of course. We lost our daughter at five months. She was stillborn." I started to get a little choked up here.
She asked if it was due to a certain disease that I had heard of before, but that I couldn't name for you now. I told her it wasn't. I gave her the brief sketch of what happened and the other loss (of my colon) that has complicated the grieving process. She was kind and respectful. She sympathized with me and all we've been through.
"So, are there just women in the group, or who all attends?" I asked.
"Anyone who has been touched by the loss. You can bring any of your support people. We have grandparents that attend, parents, family members. Anyone is welcome."
"How many people do you typically have?"
"Anywhere from three to eight. Of course the holiday season tends to have more people attending. The holidays are hard for people."
"The holidays are hard for me," I said. I wanted to tell her that Harper was conceived at (if not on) Thanksgiving in 2007, but I kept my mouth shut. The tears were starting to well up.
And then she asked the sweetest question. "What is your daughter's name?"
A small smile came across my face. Thank you. Thank you for asking me about my daughter. "Harper Lee Cashman."
"Oh that's cute."
"We named her after Nelle Harper Lee who wrote To Kill A Mockingbird."
She welcomed me again to attend the group. She said she understood how hard it was to start attending a group. I agreed. I told her I was going to plan on attending in December.
And now? Now I have a sense of relief. It's time for me to do this. Not because the grief is unbearable. It isn't anymore. But because I need to be around people who have shared this experience. I need to feel understood. I need to be around people who will normalize what I've been through. I have friends who have been through it and are supporting me through cyber-space, but I need it in person right now. 2000 miles is too far away right now. I need another woman who has been through this to put her arms around me and cry with me.
So this is my commitment to make myself go, no matter how hard it is to drive the almost hour across town by myself and to walk into the room full of strangers. I am going to do this. I am.
"Hello. This is Abby."
"Hi Abby. You had called and left a message asking for information about the Footprints group?"
"Yeah. I just wanted to be sure of the day and time the group meets because I've read a couple of differing schedules on-line."
"Oh sure. The group meets on the first Tuesday of the month at 7:30 p.m. Can I ask if the group is for yourself?"
"Yeah it is."
"Do you mind if I ask about your loss?"
"Of course. We lost our daughter at five months. She was stillborn." I started to get a little choked up here.
She asked if it was due to a certain disease that I had heard of before, but that I couldn't name for you now. I told her it wasn't. I gave her the brief sketch of what happened and the other loss (of my colon) that has complicated the grieving process. She was kind and respectful. She sympathized with me and all we've been through.
"So, are there just women in the group, or who all attends?" I asked.
"Anyone who has been touched by the loss. You can bring any of your support people. We have grandparents that attend, parents, family members. Anyone is welcome."
"How many people do you typically have?"
"Anywhere from three to eight. Of course the holiday season tends to have more people attending. The holidays are hard for people."
"The holidays are hard for me," I said. I wanted to tell her that Harper was conceived at (if not on) Thanksgiving in 2007, but I kept my mouth shut. The tears were starting to well up.
And then she asked the sweetest question. "What is your daughter's name?"
A small smile came across my face. Thank you. Thank you for asking me about my daughter. "Harper Lee Cashman."
"Oh that's cute."
"We named her after Nelle Harper Lee who wrote To Kill A Mockingbird."
She welcomed me again to attend the group. She said she understood how hard it was to start attending a group. I agreed. I told her I was going to plan on attending in December.
And now? Now I have a sense of relief. It's time for me to do this. Not because the grief is unbearable. It isn't anymore. But because I need to be around people who have shared this experience. I need to feel understood. I need to be around people who will normalize what I've been through. I have friends who have been through it and are supporting me through cyber-space, but I need it in person right now. 2000 miles is too far away right now. I need another woman who has been through this to put her arms around me and cry with me.
So this is my commitment to make myself go, no matter how hard it is to drive the almost hour across town by myself and to walk into the room full of strangers. I am going to do this. I am.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
My to-do list
November 15, 2009
Things have been rocky for Jeremy and me lately. I'm going to be honest with you here. You hear me gush about how much I love him and how thankful I am for our marriage, so I figured it's only fair that you also know about the work that goes into getting there.
When we have problems, I so want to be able to pinpoint where they came from, first of all so we can avoid dealing with the same issues again in the future, but I would by lying if I didn't also want to be able to blame someone, particularly Jeremy and not me. That's not so much the case this time though.
I would say the rough patch started almost a month ago now. I think the biggest contributing factor was that I went off my anti-depressants. This time I didn't get all weepy like I did last time I tried to go off them. No, this time I got incredibly irritable. And when I say incredibly irritable, I mean it. The smallest irritation or infraction turned into full blown temper tantrums or telling-off episodes in my mind. It took all the restraint I could muster not to allow what was playing out in my head to become a reality. I noticed it happening right away. This is not who I am. I am normally a pretty patient, calm person. The change was quite apparent to me and it happened in conjunction with going off my anti-depressants.
Of course Jeremy noticed what was happening and we talked about it. If my anti-depressants didn't have certain side effects, I would take them forever. But I reached a point where the side effects were no longer worth the benefits, at least so long as this irritability piece was something that would pass. So we agreed that I would ramp up my exercise routine to help with my biochemistry and see if in a month or so my body could find a balance on its own. Meanwhile, Jeremy agreed to be patient with me and I agreed to seclude myself if the world was irritating me too much. (It wasn't just at home that the irritations happened - it was everywhere.) Things have been improving too. For the most part the short-fuse has passed, though I don't think completely.
Okay. So that's one part of the formula. With the irritability I began to pick, pick, pick at Jeremy. All the little things that irritated me I made known with a vengeance. Of course, it was beginning to wear on him. Add to the irritability piece the grief process. Oh these two do not mix well, let me tell you. There is a big gaping whole in my life right now where I wish there was a child. There was supposed to be a child. There is no child. And so emotionally speaking I'm flailing about the house, dissatisfied with what we've got going on. Nothing is filling the void. And quite frankly, instead of being sad about it, it was pissing me off. With this too Jeremy was on the receiving end of the verbalized dissatisfaction. I've been throwing at him all kinds of things we should be doing, trying to blame him for my dissatisfaction. Oh Abby, it's a wonder he hasn't left you yet.
And the final piece to what has been our bit of hell on earth lately (at least the final piece I've been able to sort out) is fear. I am hypervigilant about how we both have dealt with the tragedies that have come our way. If I'm not always watching how the grief and the fear and the loss is affecting us, I'm afraid it would carry us away to places far apart from each other; to a place where recovering our marriage would not be an option. Have you ever been sideswiped before? Have you ever seen someone be sideswiped in their car? BOOM, out of nowhere impact happens; terrifying, life changing impact. Nothing you saw coming. It takes a long time to recover from that kind of thing happening.
Our sideswipe was major. What was supposed to be the happiest time of our lives turned into loss and life threatening circumstances with what seemed like the flip of a switch. Have you been there? Do you know what I'm talking about? How the fear is there afterwards? Just when you think you've got a handle on the fear and you find yourself not looking over your shoulder so much, something good happens and you remember how quickly you can lose the things you hold dear. You struggle to find a way to control things in a world that is out of control. Well, all of this is still happening for Jeremy and me. I think we're doing well with processing it all, each on our own and also together, but when there are other things (such as the things I've been writing about) that take my attention, I start to panic because I've lost track of where we're at. Are we doing okay? Have we been letting the fear dominate?! I haven't been paying attention! Oh no!! It sounds almost silly, I know. But it's where we're at. What can I say?
We've had quite a few intense conversations lately. Yesterday being one of them. And I realized that I need to take responsibility here. We create our own hell. I have been working pretty diligently on my very own one right here. Enough of the should thinking. That only gets me in trouble. No more I should have a baby; We should be living a different life right now. No more dissatisfaction with what we've got. Gratitude. Yes, gratitude for what we do have. No more FEAR! Or at least no more allowing fear to guide me. We will be able to work through whatever we face, because we are both committed to doing so. So those are all on my to-do list right now. No problem, right (smile)?
Things have been rocky for Jeremy and me lately. I'm going to be honest with you here. You hear me gush about how much I love him and how thankful I am for our marriage, so I figured it's only fair that you also know about the work that goes into getting there.
When we have problems, I so want to be able to pinpoint where they came from, first of all so we can avoid dealing with the same issues again in the future, but I would by lying if I didn't also want to be able to blame someone, particularly Jeremy and not me. That's not so much the case this time though.
I would say the rough patch started almost a month ago now. I think the biggest contributing factor was that I went off my anti-depressants. This time I didn't get all weepy like I did last time I tried to go off them. No, this time I got incredibly irritable. And when I say incredibly irritable, I mean it. The smallest irritation or infraction turned into full blown temper tantrums or telling-off episodes in my mind. It took all the restraint I could muster not to allow what was playing out in my head to become a reality. I noticed it happening right away. This is not who I am. I am normally a pretty patient, calm person. The change was quite apparent to me and it happened in conjunction with going off my anti-depressants.
Of course Jeremy noticed what was happening and we talked about it. If my anti-depressants didn't have certain side effects, I would take them forever. But I reached a point where the side effects were no longer worth the benefits, at least so long as this irritability piece was something that would pass. So we agreed that I would ramp up my exercise routine to help with my biochemistry and see if in a month or so my body could find a balance on its own. Meanwhile, Jeremy agreed to be patient with me and I agreed to seclude myself if the world was irritating me too much. (It wasn't just at home that the irritations happened - it was everywhere.) Things have been improving too. For the most part the short-fuse has passed, though I don't think completely.
Okay. So that's one part of the formula. With the irritability I began to pick, pick, pick at Jeremy. All the little things that irritated me I made known with a vengeance. Of course, it was beginning to wear on him. Add to the irritability piece the grief process. Oh these two do not mix well, let me tell you. There is a big gaping whole in my life right now where I wish there was a child. There was supposed to be a child. There is no child. And so emotionally speaking I'm flailing about the house, dissatisfied with what we've got going on. Nothing is filling the void. And quite frankly, instead of being sad about it, it was pissing me off. With this too Jeremy was on the receiving end of the verbalized dissatisfaction. I've been throwing at him all kinds of things we should be doing, trying to blame him for my dissatisfaction. Oh Abby, it's a wonder he hasn't left you yet.
And the final piece to what has been our bit of hell on earth lately (at least the final piece I've been able to sort out) is fear. I am hypervigilant about how we both have dealt with the tragedies that have come our way. If I'm not always watching how the grief and the fear and the loss is affecting us, I'm afraid it would carry us away to places far apart from each other; to a place where recovering our marriage would not be an option. Have you ever been sideswiped before? Have you ever seen someone be sideswiped in their car? BOOM, out of nowhere impact happens; terrifying, life changing impact. Nothing you saw coming. It takes a long time to recover from that kind of thing happening.
Our sideswipe was major. What was supposed to be the happiest time of our lives turned into loss and life threatening circumstances with what seemed like the flip of a switch. Have you been there? Do you know what I'm talking about? How the fear is there afterwards? Just when you think you've got a handle on the fear and you find yourself not looking over your shoulder so much, something good happens and you remember how quickly you can lose the things you hold dear. You struggle to find a way to control things in a world that is out of control. Well, all of this is still happening for Jeremy and me. I think we're doing well with processing it all, each on our own and also together, but when there are other things (such as the things I've been writing about) that take my attention, I start to panic because I've lost track of where we're at. Are we doing okay? Have we been letting the fear dominate?! I haven't been paying attention! Oh no!! It sounds almost silly, I know. But it's where we're at. What can I say?
We've had quite a few intense conversations lately. Yesterday being one of them. And I realized that I need to take responsibility here. We create our own hell. I have been working pretty diligently on my very own one right here. Enough of the should thinking. That only gets me in trouble. No more I should have a baby; We should be living a different life right now. No more dissatisfaction with what we've got. Gratitude. Yes, gratitude for what we do have. No more FEAR! Or at least no more allowing fear to guide me. We will be able to work through whatever we face, because we are both committed to doing so. So those are all on my to-do list right now. No problem, right (smile)?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Why I run
November 10, 2009
"Oh sweetie, why don't you wait for me to run and we'll go together when I get home from work? I wanna run too," I implored.
"Okay. But it's not gonna be one of those 'I'm too tired to go,' when you get home is it?"
I laughed, "No. I seriously want to go for a run." And so it was that when I walked in the door he was sitting there in his running clothes waiting for me.
We started off walking through the neighborhood until we got to the park that's about a half a mile away. When we got to the park we both began to ran at our individual speeds around the track. I turned on my music, a Los Lobos mix Jeremy had made for me years ago of my favorite LL tunes. I found a nice pace and let my body settle in.
The sun was beginning to set. The colors were brilliant. I didn't want to turn on the path and leave the beauty behind me. Ahh yes, and then Saint Behind the Glass began to play:
"Baby in his arms, baby in his arms, Saint behind the glass has a baby in his arms."
"Watches me sleep, watches me sleep, Saint behind the glass watches me while I sleep."
"Mother don't cry, mother don't cry, Saint behind the glass tells mother not to cry."
I could see it! I could see it there in the stained glass sky in front of me. The saint behind the glass, in the colors of heaven, holding my Harper Lee. The same saint who watches over me while I sleep, telling me not to cry. My heart welled up with relief and joy. And I opened up and flew. I ran as fast and as hard as I probably ever have. I felt as if I were opening my entire being and letting all the ache fall right out of me. Let go Abby. Let go. And I did. I let go.
"Oh sweetie, why don't you wait for me to run and we'll go together when I get home from work? I wanna run too," I implored.
"Okay. But it's not gonna be one of those 'I'm too tired to go,' when you get home is it?"
I laughed, "No. I seriously want to go for a run." And so it was that when I walked in the door he was sitting there in his running clothes waiting for me.
We started off walking through the neighborhood until we got to the park that's about a half a mile away. When we got to the park we both began to ran at our individual speeds around the track. I turned on my music, a Los Lobos mix Jeremy had made for me years ago of my favorite LL tunes. I found a nice pace and let my body settle in.
The sun was beginning to set. The colors were brilliant. I didn't want to turn on the path and leave the beauty behind me. Ahh yes, and then Saint Behind the Glass began to play:
"Baby in his arms, baby in his arms, Saint behind the glass has a baby in his arms."
"Watches me sleep, watches me sleep, Saint behind the glass watches me while I sleep."
"Mother don't cry, mother don't cry, Saint behind the glass tells mother not to cry."
I could see it! I could see it there in the stained glass sky in front of me. The saint behind the glass, in the colors of heaven, holding my Harper Lee. The same saint who watches over me while I sleep, telling me not to cry. My heart welled up with relief and joy. And I opened up and flew. I ran as fast and as hard as I probably ever have. I felt as if I were opening my entire being and letting all the ache fall right out of me. Let go Abby. Let go. And I did. I let go.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Update
November 9, 2009
I have been doing really well physically lately. On the 23rd I have an appointment with Dr. G, my GI doc. I decided to keep track of my bowel movements (frequency and consistency) for a couple of days to get a more objective idea of how I'm doing in preparation for that appointment. They always ask me questions about that, "So how many bowel movements are you having a day now?" And, "What is the consistency?" It's always so hard for me to answer because it depends on so many things. Also, I might have an evening where I've gone once an hour, but the rest of the day I went every four hours, so it's been hard for me to gage because what I remember is that I had gone every hour one evening. Of course what I eat plays a big factor in all this too. I've also been keeping a food journal - writing down everything I've eaten. But I'll tell you, writing down my bowel movements is much, much harder for me mentally than the food journal.
People who were with me when I was in the hospital know why keeping track of my BMs is so difficult. My mom stayed with me overnight in the hospital when I was going to the bathroom sometimes every 20 to 40 minutes. She knew I couldn't bear to write it all down, it was so discouraging, so she would wake up with me (as if she ever fell asleep), and write down the time, all night long. And then it reached the point where my hands were too swollen for me to write, so Jeremy or my dad or whoever else was stuck there in the hospital room with us would write it down for me. We didn't just do this for a day either, mind you. It was basically the entire time I was hospitalized that we had to do this, and there was a lot riding on how frequently I was going. Like whether I was going to need surgery to have my colon removed or not, which also, at one point, meant whether we might have to risk Harper too. We scribbled little notes next to each time entry too: blood, watery, soupy, lots of blood, cramps, etc. Every single day we went over the entries with the GI docs.
So when I track my BMs now, some of those memories come drifting back. But as I was saying before, things are going well. I would say on average I have 8 bowel movements a day, at least one if not two of those is during the night. And what has been surprising to me is that many of my bowel movements are actually pretty solid in consistency. When I had my colon removed, my doctors and surgeons told me not to anticipate having solid bowel movements again. Granted, one serving of salsa or an apple and my next BM will not be solid, but the fact that I can have solid BMs is quite an accomplishment, I'd say! The more solid they are, the less I have to worry about dehydration too.
In addition to all that, for the most part, my body feels normal to me. There is no more pelvic pain (except when I ovulate, which never used to happen to me - so maybe there's some scar tissue there now, but that's okay). It does feel different when I have BMs. Not to go into too much detail (but we're already there now, aren't we?), but when I do have BMs, they are much smaller in shape and come out differently than they did before. I don't really know how to explain it to you, except that it feels different to go too. But even that I'm getting used to now.
I have a couple of concerns to address with Dr. G at my next appointment. I feel pain in the area of one of my surgery scars when I cough or sneeze, and there's a spot on my abdomen that pops out a little when I do those things - so I'm guessing I have a hernia, but it hasn't concerned me too much. I just want to talk with him about that. I haven't been doing my nightly enemas lately and there has been no blood in my stool, so I'm really happy about that. I'm wondering about going on oral medications for that now since it seems like I'm in remission with the remaining UC in my body. I also just want to talk to him about my long term prognosis as far as whether I'll need to have my remaining rectum removed or not. And then both Jeremy and I really want to go over my Cipro use and whether I in fact have chronic pouchitis or not. Finally, I do want to talk to him about what he thinks about my ability to carry a baby. I know, I know - we've started the adoption process, but I still want to have some questions answered. I've had my surgeon and my OB talk with me about it, but realized I had never really talked with Dr. G about it. We're still moving forward with the adoption though - it's just that I need to have some questions answered. Don't worry!
So that's the update on my physical being. I'm grateful that a year post-j-pouch creation I'm doing this well. I honestly did not think I would ever get to this place. And it hasn't even been a year yet since I had my takedown surgery! (Again, for more information on what a j-pouch is, go to http://www.jpouch.org/ and click on the "illustrated pouch" section - you'll learn a lot!)
I have been doing really well physically lately. On the 23rd I have an appointment with Dr. G, my GI doc. I decided to keep track of my bowel movements (frequency and consistency) for a couple of days to get a more objective idea of how I'm doing in preparation for that appointment. They always ask me questions about that, "So how many bowel movements are you having a day now?" And, "What is the consistency?" It's always so hard for me to answer because it depends on so many things. Also, I might have an evening where I've gone once an hour, but the rest of the day I went every four hours, so it's been hard for me to gage because what I remember is that I had gone every hour one evening. Of course what I eat plays a big factor in all this too. I've also been keeping a food journal - writing down everything I've eaten. But I'll tell you, writing down my bowel movements is much, much harder for me mentally than the food journal.
People who were with me when I was in the hospital know why keeping track of my BMs is so difficult. My mom stayed with me overnight in the hospital when I was going to the bathroom sometimes every 20 to 40 minutes. She knew I couldn't bear to write it all down, it was so discouraging, so she would wake up with me (as if she ever fell asleep), and write down the time, all night long. And then it reached the point where my hands were too swollen for me to write, so Jeremy or my dad or whoever else was stuck there in the hospital room with us would write it down for me. We didn't just do this for a day either, mind you. It was basically the entire time I was hospitalized that we had to do this, and there was a lot riding on how frequently I was going. Like whether I was going to need surgery to have my colon removed or not, which also, at one point, meant whether we might have to risk Harper too. We scribbled little notes next to each time entry too: blood, watery, soupy, lots of blood, cramps, etc. Every single day we went over the entries with the GI docs.
So when I track my BMs now, some of those memories come drifting back. But as I was saying before, things are going well. I would say on average I have 8 bowel movements a day, at least one if not two of those is during the night. And what has been surprising to me is that many of my bowel movements are actually pretty solid in consistency. When I had my colon removed, my doctors and surgeons told me not to anticipate having solid bowel movements again. Granted, one serving of salsa or an apple and my next BM will not be solid, but the fact that I can have solid BMs is quite an accomplishment, I'd say! The more solid they are, the less I have to worry about dehydration too.
In addition to all that, for the most part, my body feels normal to me. There is no more pelvic pain (except when I ovulate, which never used to happen to me - so maybe there's some scar tissue there now, but that's okay). It does feel different when I have BMs. Not to go into too much detail (but we're already there now, aren't we?), but when I do have BMs, they are much smaller in shape and come out differently than they did before. I don't really know how to explain it to you, except that it feels different to go too. But even that I'm getting used to now.
I have a couple of concerns to address with Dr. G at my next appointment. I feel pain in the area of one of my surgery scars when I cough or sneeze, and there's a spot on my abdomen that pops out a little when I do those things - so I'm guessing I have a hernia, but it hasn't concerned me too much. I just want to talk with him about that. I haven't been doing my nightly enemas lately and there has been no blood in my stool, so I'm really happy about that. I'm wondering about going on oral medications for that now since it seems like I'm in remission with the remaining UC in my body. I also just want to talk to him about my long term prognosis as far as whether I'll need to have my remaining rectum removed or not. And then both Jeremy and I really want to go over my Cipro use and whether I in fact have chronic pouchitis or not. Finally, I do want to talk to him about what he thinks about my ability to carry a baby. I know, I know - we've started the adoption process, but I still want to have some questions answered. I've had my surgeon and my OB talk with me about it, but realized I had never really talked with Dr. G about it. We're still moving forward with the adoption though - it's just that I need to have some questions answered. Don't worry!
So that's the update on my physical being. I'm grateful that a year post-j-pouch creation I'm doing this well. I honestly did not think I would ever get to this place. And it hasn't even been a year yet since I had my takedown surgery! (Again, for more information on what a j-pouch is, go to http://www.jpouch.org/ and click on the "illustrated pouch" section - you'll learn a lot!)
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