Surgery #8

They came to get me that Friday evening. Transport that is. Two women wearing nets on their heads, chatting the whole time about their lives. As they wheeled me into the elevator on the 12th floor, “bump” one of them called out to me. The pain was so overwhelming, shooting through my lower back. My back that had been cut open two days earlier to stop my leaking spinal fluid. Here I was having to come to terms with another surgery. Was I avoiding reality? In denial. Most probably. 

We get to the large pre-op room and I am placed in a little cubicle. Two men come forward. One steps close to the head of my bed and informs me that he is a graduate student and has to ask me some questions. Ok I think, here we go. And then he stupidly asks me if I have ever had any surgeries. Umm hello? Are you for real? Have you even read my file, I ask him. He steps back as if a wounded puppy and then the next guy steps forward. 

Now this guy looks more seasoned. Not his first time at the rodeo. I ignore him and watch the TV above my head as it silently plays Will & Grace. Alex is his name. He has a faint Russian accent and informs me that he is the anesthesiologist and apologized for his acquaintance. He clearly sensed my frustration. Alex is one of those doctors who emanates bedside manner. He stood there holding my hand and chatting as we waited for my operating room to be ready. He was trying to rile me up, kept telling me to curse if I felt like it. We schmoozed about his family and career and my past surgeries, good experiences and bad. I felt validated and listened to. 

Finally the time had come to head to the operating room. They asked me if I could scoot from my hospital bed onto the operating table. I find that table laughable. How is a person meant to actually lay on that tiny board without falling off? I always ask what a fat person does. The operating room staff snicker at my questions and sarcastic comments. I try to wiggle my way but cannot maneuver or bend my back without screaming in pain. Alex and the grad student grab my arms and lift me onto the table. Holding a mask over my face and reminding me to breathe deep breaths. It’s not working, I am still alert. I feel the needle puncture my hand as they search for a vein for a second IV. I wince and Alex grabs my hand tightly while gently rubbing my forehead and whispering that all will be ok and I am doing great. 

That is the last thing I remember as I drifted off into a silent reality. I woke up less than two hours later as they pulled the tube out of my throat, me vomiting everywhere. Wheeling me directly to postop, it was then that recovery would begin. The last four months would no longer dictate my life. This surgery was going to be a solution. No longer the bandaid approach.

To be continued... 

My Life

While going through old boxes in the back of my closet, I found a lot of shit. Dishes. Clothes. Scrapbooks. Albums. Pictures. Letters. Memories that had been packed away. Mostly forgotten. Not sure what got into me. Why the nostalgia need. Most definitely was a bad idea.

I can be vague here as is my norm. Or I can just be honest. Tell you that seeing those albums was painful. Although I laughed and fake-gagged at the time. I can say that I am over it. It's all the past and doesn't affect me. But that is not the truth. I did flip through those pictures. Glanced at the scrapbooks containing hundreds of letter. Handwritten love letters. Flashing back to another time. A time that was less complicated.

I saw myself. What outsiders saw. Religious. Observant. Following the rules. Whatever you want to call it. I was playing the part. Living the lifestyle.

I know now that it was all a facade. Waiting to crash at my feet. Living in a fantasy land. Surrounded by infatuation. Desire for a future. No understanding of the present. Of the facts in front me. Avoiding reality. All to live in delusion. A dream of what I wanted and not what was.

I gave up myself. I lost who I was. And I did it willingly. I followed a path that I didn't want. To fit in. To please everyone else. But I was not happy. I was controlled. Miserable. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I wasn't authentic.

And that's not who I am. Who I ever wanted to be. All I ever wanted to be. Unique. To be authentic. What you see is what you get. Not two-faced at all. Honest to a fault.

And now, although a lot has changed. It is not a bad thing. Looking at my face in those pictures, I see a lonely and sad girl. Standing at a distance from those around her.

Lost. Alone. Leading a life that is not her own. Trapped in a life she doesn't desire.

Today I am grateful. I feel lucky that I have myself back. That I am living my life. As I want to live it. And I won't take that freedom for granted. And I won't lie and say that it isn't hard. Doesn't get painful. The loneliness is definitely there under the surface. But I  no longer feel hopeless. Because my happiness and my life do not depend on you or anyone else. It's internal. My choice. My goals. My life.

My life.

Organized Chaos

This blog is my diary. I can look back and see the last 5 years documented in ink. Organized chaos. I write when I am angry. Sad. Agitated. Introspective. When there is a big or momentous event coming up. Or passed. It's pretty rare for me to write when things are going ok. Status quo. And there are times like that. When I am managing in this life. Holding shit together. Not sure I would call it happy. Maybe satisfied. Surviving. And that may sound negative. But I (partially) mean it in a positive way.

I write to let things off my chest. Because most of the time I can not share what I really think with others. Choose not to. I write in a blunt manner. Say it how I see it. How I feel. But then there are times I can not be honest. I hide behind the words. Cryptic messages. Beat around the bush. Because even though you don't know me, I am still cautious. Sometimes scared to reveal myself. Rip off that outer layer. For fear of being recognized internally. Apprehensive of the vulnerability.

There are so many unfinished drafts. Of writing. Indicative of real life. The thoughts are there. They come at random times. Driving. In the shower. When I shut off technology for the night. That's when I'll come up with my best thought-processes. Begging to be written down. But somehow, the minute I sit in front of my computer and open the blog option on my phone. The inspiration evaporates. Disappears from my head. As if it was never there. And sometimes, I'll try to write. A sentence here or there. But it's filled with emptiness.

There are topics that I completely avoid writing about. Or I write in code. Sometimes they are places I would rather not dig through. Or situations I cannot analyze. Pretend they don't exist. Harmful or traumatic experiences. You would look at me and feel bad. And I can't bring myself to share.

But in truth I am doing all right. A close friend called me stable the other day. And I realized she was right. I have mainly conquered my demons. Made some smart choices. Leading a good and honest life. My emotions and feelings are under control. And I've realized that loyalty is most important when it is to myself. It's taken me almost thirty years, but I finally put me first. I matter.

It's possible I won't fast on Yom Kippur. I didn't last year. And I feel no guilt. I am doing what's best for me. And not letting religion or guilt dictate my life. Other people no longer control me. Nor does the fear of the unknown. People in the past may have always thought of me as controlling. But in truth, it was me who was controlled. I lived a caged life. Stuck. Hiding. And now I am done. I will live however I choose. In my own comfort zone. With no apologies.

So there.

Happy Nothing Year

Once again I wish you nothing. Not a happy New Year. Not a Sweet New Year. All a total crap. Everyone gets sappy and emotional and starts coming out of the wood work. All to wish a bunch of strangers. Facebook friends. Co-workers. It is all lies. Fake. You didn't really care what the last year was like. So why do you all of the sudden seem to have an outpouring of fake love. I have distanced myself from most. Makes it easier to suffer in silence. Not have to explain myself. Describe what I'm going through. Just experience things on my terms. No one to answer to. So don't call me or bother texting me your message filled false wishes. And by the way, a general Facebook status counts for nothings. No one cares. Don't waste your words.

So Happy Nothing to you and yours. Cheers.

Bring It

The first day of the year 2014. How can I say more? That statement itself is crazy enough.

I honestly never thought I would make it to this year. More like I couldn't picture myself living this long. Or what my life would look like. And here I sit, very much the same. Unchanged. Same location. Same space. Maybe a few (or rather, a lot) more experiences. But I am still the same me. 

It's common to make resolutions on a day like today. People like new beginnings to start fresh. Make wiser decisions. Lose weight. Save money. Be a nicer person. 

But I'll make no such resolutions. Because the minute you set aside a goal, you are destined to quit. To fail. And the things I would like to accomplish are going to happen this year. I will not write them down. Nor will I tell anyone. They will be my secrets. And when I succeed, no one will know. It will be a surprise to us all. Me included. 

So once again, I welcome the new year with open arms. New beginnings will not phase me. I am strong. Bring it on.