Silent Heroes

Silence. All around me right now, I hear the quiet of my dog stretched out on the rug. The breaths in and out as my husband sleeps in the chair. The fake fire flames quietly dancing in the light. The sun filling the space behind me.  

It is a comfort, this silence. 

In our world filled with chants and gun fire, this silence feels blessed. Like a pause before the next shocking burst of evil. Evil that must be stopped at all costs. I have marched many times in my life for peace and equal rights. I thought we’d all won. I am so mad and sad to see other’s fears kill innocent loving people. 

It is grace, this life.

I sit here heartbroken and hopeful. Terrified and tenderly listening to life with gratefulness. My husband is alive and recovering. A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the floor, begging him to open his eyes. Tapping his face in desperation while I dialed 911. 

He was just making breakfast. I was pouring juice when I felt a nudge, a tingling, an alarm. I looked up and his face was losing color as he stirred the eggs. I went over, put my hands on his upper arms and guided him down. Down to the floor, where he slumped. 

It is strength, this breath. 

They came in with calm strength and went straight to work. Oxygen brought breath back. Monitors checked the beating heart. A woman in uniform asked what happened while others revived him and asked him questions. 

Soon, we were on our way to the hospital. They talked to him in the back. I could hear him respond. They took him to emergency. I was told to go to the waiting room. Soon we were together again in a small room with beeping machines. 

It is relief, this help. 

Of course, there were tests and waiting. But he was awake, talking and getting fluids. He tested positive for RSV, this year’s flu. They found a ‘blip’ on his heart monitor and they wanted to keep him and check it out. So he stayed overnight.

I went home alone. But we texted. He had a good salmon dinner. I managed terrible microwaved eggs and cheese. I cried tears of relief. 

It is still scary, this recovery. 

But we are ok. He eats and reads and walks around the house. Each day picking up the pace and doing stairs. I take his blood pressure and he has sent in his heart monitor. He’s been to his PCP and all is going as expected when you have this flu. 

I am the one who cooks now. We’ve traded off on this task over the years due to work schedules. He’s a much better breakfast cook than I am, but I’m learning. Last year, he had to do it all for me and now, I do it all for him. We’ve always shared the home turf equally.  

It is horrible, this violence all around us. 

But it is it also wonderful, this help from strangers. 

These dedicated men and women who save lives everyday. They are the true heroes. They are true Americans. They are the ones who show us who we truly are with their compassion, courage and strength. 

Branching Out

 

All around me are signs of new life. The branches on my Camellia are filling with bright red flowers. There are new buds on my hydrangeas. And walking with my grandson, he pointed out daffodils, hyacinth and crocus blooms around the neighborhood. 

Inside, my Lily vases are filled with pussy willows and pink tulips. I love making my Lily vases but I also love seeing them bloom with all the different colors of the seasons from fall leaves to summer roses. 

Signs of Life. 

Since my major surgery, I’ve had a lot of difficult days. I expected the physical pain but what I didn’t expect was emotional pain. As my body healed, I got stronger and my mind cleared. But the emotions that bubbled to the surface were unexpected and upsetting. What I’ve come to find out, thanks to helpful friends who have gone through difficult surgeries, is that this is another phase of healing. 

As one new friend put it, “I just kept saying to myself, I’m alive. I didn’t die.”

So now, when the trauma hits me, I tell myself, “I’m alive.” And I look around me for other signs of life. Little leaves on my rose bushes and buds on the hydrangeas and daffodils. 

My clay is growing too. 

In the last few weeks, new growth is happening in my studio. Sparked by an idea I saw on Substack about growth patterns, I got out my clay. The words, branching out kept coming back to me. As I wedged and slapped and rolled the clay, I just let my hands lead me to form a circle. 

I pressed my favorite textures in and around it. Rolled out some coils and added them to the circle. Some fit and some didn’t but I know that’s ok, it’s all part of the process. The first one didn’t turn out exactly how I thought it would. But, again, that’s ok. 

The second one, I thought I had more of a plan based on a picture I saw. But again, my fingers lead the way and another circle appeared with what looked to me like flowers and limbs but then morphed into something like a Celtic knot motif. 

Another day, I looked around me studio and saw a watercolor painting of flowers I did whenI couldn’t do clay because I was recovering from surgery. I wondered. What would it look like in clay? Could I even do it? And why would I? Well, again, my hands got busy and something new did emerge from the clay. 

I guess my hands knew what my head didn’t, yet. 

I’m not dead. 

I’m alive. 

And like everything else around me, I’m branching out. 

Ever heard of PFD PT?

 

I hadn’t either. I’ve hesitated writing about it because it deals with a part of the body most of us don’t talk about. And the symptoms can be tricky to figure out. But it’s very common in women and some men. Ok. Here you go: PFD stands for Pelvic Floor Disfunction. 

According to Wikipedia:  “Pelvic floor dysfunction is a term used for a variety of disorders that occur when pelvic floor muscles and ligaments are impaired. The condition affects up to 50 percent of women who have given birth. Although this condition predominantly affects women, up to 16 percent of men are affected as well. Pelvic floor muscles can be too tight or too loose.” 

I never knew about it until after my surgery in December. After struggling with pain for many months, afraid something was really, really wrong with me, I was sent to get physical therapy. 

How weird is that?

I couldn’t even understand the situation much less the process. It was intense. There were many things I had to keep track of: fluid intake, fluid output, sitting and standing positions. I had exercises to do during the day. 

Luckily, I’ve been doing yoga for decades so many of the exercises were close to yoga poses I’ve done before. And just like any exercise program, consistency is key. I happen to like doing yoga, so it was easier for me to adapt to the routine. Instead of just of doing yoga moves before I walk in the morning, I’ve added yoga moves to do three times a day. 

There’s a FB group for that.

Yup. In case, like me,  you’ve never heard of it, google it. There’s a huge FB group called Pelvic Sanity sponsored by a Physical Therapy group in California. It helped me to understand the pain I was going through and most of all, that I was not alone. But warning: TMI, some of it is a little too much info. 

It took time to get into a physical therapist, but it really helped me. I learned so much and made a lot of progress. I have days without pain now. And I’m very aware of the signals that my body needs a break. I learned that listening and doing my yoga moves make all the difference in the world. 

I was a little uncomfortable about sharing this publicly in a blog, but I spent months and months in the dark, in pain. And if this helps someone else find help sooner, I’m glad.  

Fun Moves

 

My word of the year is Move. I picked it because with all the physical and emotional challenges thrown my way last year, I really felt the need to move on. Maybe the truth is I was desperate to move away from all the pain, shock, and fear that dominated my life last year. 

I’ve learned it takes more time to heal than I thought. I’m not a patient person. But looking back, I can see I am moving forward and healing is happening. 

Making is fun. 

I love to make things. Working with my hands is calming and centering and, well fun too. I’m grateful for the chance to create almost everyday. It doesn’t have to be a work of art, either. Baking cookies. Crocheting hats or blankets or pillows. Even making a flower arrangement is fun. 

My husband found his fun this week, too. He’s been building a radio controlled plane! I’m so happy to see him having fun putting together this complicated working plane. 

This week, I had a new idea I wanted to make out of clay. Don’t ask me exactly what they are because I’m not sure what to call them. I just saw it in my mind’s eye and let my hands do the work. I started out just making one but before the week was out, I’d make three. 

Moving from pain to play. 

I’ve still got some health issues to resolve but it’s moving along. At last, I see a bright, sunny light at the end of this difficult tunnel. And I think one of the most important factors in getting well is finding something to do that’s fun. 

Clay is play for me. It’s soothing and quiet and soft. And creating something new from a slab of cool clay is, well, just fun. 

Moving through change is a challenge

It takes time, day by day

To find a way to play

To discover some new fun moves. 

May Days

 

Where did May go? As they say, time flys while you’re having fun, I’d say yes and sometimes time just flys. After a year of shocking life changes and health challenges, I’ve been having some fun which is a lovely surprise. 

Although it’s a lot of work, potting and planting my yard and patio is always fun. Going to the garden store is a delightful field trip. I love wandering through the isles of bright flowers and colorful hanging baskets. I couldn’t wait to get them home and planted. 

Grandchildren are grand indeed. 

This month also found my husband and I taking care of 2 of our 3 little ones. We had 3 year old, Cieran for four days. He is such a sweet and smart little boy. We went to the park one day and watched his pre-school fun run. He did art in my studio, cars of course, since that’s his favorite movie right now. 

On Thursdays, we get to have 16 month old Madden here. It’s so much fun to see him grow and learn and develop from little baby to toddler. We always take him on a walk to the park. He’s walking with confidence now and one of the best things is his desire to explore. 

Health and art. 

Finally, this month I had my appointment with my new PCP which if you don’t know(and I didn’t until recently) is my Primary Care Physician. In my new ‘healthcare’ world, this is the person who oversees all of my healthcare needs. I looked forward to this appointment and the chance to talk to one person about all my recent health care issues. I hoping this will make my experiences with this new healthcare system much easier. 

The studio is always my happy place. I’m so glad when I’m in there working with colors and clay. This week, I’m making new birds and playing with new ideas for little sculptures. And wondering about more paintings in a watercolor technique on clay. 

May Days fly by

Like the birds in the sky

Perhaps it’s time to sit and savor

The colors of the season

And let it all bloom, including me. 

A Quiet Christmas

I didn’t plan it. I didn’t expect it. But sometimes life just takes over whether you want it to or not. And sometimes, it saves your life. 

Ok, here’s the story. I woke up and felt sick. The kind of sick you can’t ignore anymore and believe me, I had become an expert in ignoring it for months. But on this morning, it was not going to let me ignore it anymore. It scared me enough to make me head to the local urgent care. 

Luckily, I was seen right away. The nurse, doctor and tech staff were all patient, good listeners and soon had a diagnosis. I had diverticulitis. Which, I have found out is very common in adults over the age of 40. A prescription for antibiotics was phoned in, a CT scan was scheduled asap and I was sent home. 

Two days later, I went in for a CT scan and the diagnosis was the same: diverticulitis. I was relieved. A course of antibiotics and I would be fine. Right? 

Emergency Hell.

At 5pm that same day, I got a call from the urgent care doctor telling me to go to the Emergency Room ASAP. I was shocked. Stunned. I tried to talk him out of it. He said, “NO, you have to go to the hospital. NOW.”

So, in a panic, my husband drove to St. Vincent’s. We checked into the emergency room. We found a bench and waited for two hours. Just as we were getting up to leave, they called us into an emergency room.

Next thing I knew, I was admitted and taken to the surgical floor. I was told I needed a procedure to drain an abscess in my colon. I was set up with several antibiotic IV. I was terrified. But I had great nurses, who helped me understand what was going on. A young doctor came in and explained what they were going to do. The next day I had a procedure to drain the abscess. By the following day, I was allowed to go home with many instructions.

Cancelling Christmas. 

It was a very hard decision. We had all the presents, food arranged but it was decided with my condition and little  grandchildren with colds that we had to cancel our Christmas Day celebration. I was upset, but I knew it was for the best. 

Instead, my husband and I just hunkered down by the fire. I read, sipped tea and looked at the lovely lighted tree. I talked and video chatted with my kids. Nibbled on holiday cookies brought by a friend. And tried hard to see the bigger picture. 

Goodness and gratefulness.                                                                                                                                                                               

Thank goodness for my husband for doing the heavy lifting: wound care, medicines, groceries, cooking, cleaning and moral support. I’m so grateful for my great kids who took care of the dog and ran grocery errands. I’m grateful for the kind nurses, doctors and imaging staff. I’m grateful so, so grateful to the doctor who insisted I go to the hospital, he probably saved my life. 

Sometimes life throws you a big curve.

Listen to your body. 

Be brave. 

Don’t fight it out of fear. 

Trust it.  And help it heal.