I don't believe anyone can get through life without one - and most of us carry the scars of multiple heartbreaks with us forever. It never gets easier, it is never forgotten, but in time memories mellow, hurt becomes bittersweet, our faith is restored, and we hope.
Hope. Hope the last one was the only one. Hope the next one never comes.
And we swear we would never break a heart. Until we do.
I have broken more than one. I cannot bear it. When I look into their eyes,I remember my first heartbreak as a child, an adolescent, as an adult. The physical ache, the disappointment, the mental anguish. The feeling that you want to scream but you're down to your last breath. I remember wondering *how* someone who loved me could hurt me so badly. I cried *why* a million times.
Why? That's what I wanted to know. Why me? What had I done? Why would they leave me? Why would they build me up to tear me down? Why would anyone want to break my heart? I never understood.
So why would I?
I wish I knew.
Showing posts with label what does not kill us makes us stronger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label what does not kill us makes us stronger. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Fierceness
Fierce... My new fav word. (Entoned like Christian from Project Runway)
I feel fierce. I AM fierce. Being a hot mess was so... 2009. Thank God that's over. The past few months have taken me to Hades and back, and yet here I am, still.
To get everyone up to speed, I had a double mastectomy in November. At the same time, tissue expanders were placed, in anticipation of the breast reconstruction I had planned. Nothing had prepared me for the pain I experienced, however - a few hours after surgery, my IV was discontinued, and I was started on oral pain meds. ARE YOU FRICKEN KIDDING me? I was 10/10 on the pain scale and on the 3rd day when I finally broke down into a bawling, sniveling mess and rang my nurse, I was told I could have a Motrin to supplement. WTF?
Anyway, those first 2 weeks are a blur of horrific and unpleasant moments best left alone. I lived. Surprise! The pain didn't kill me. What almost did, was far more insidious and menacing: staph infection.
Week 3: surgery again. More debridement for the infection. One night in the hospital, sent home with more JPs (drain tubes) and bandages. Tried to go to work the next day, felt too fatigued. Got up on Friday, determined, and drove in to work. Walking down the hall to my office, I saw my coworkers at the nurses station glance my way, heard a collective gasp, and the next thing I know, I'm in a wheelchair being whisked away to the ER. I'm having trouble taking a deep breath. The room is swimming a little. Dr B hovers.
I come back from x-ray with a terrible chill. I hear "can't rule out the PE" and I am shaking. My husband looks down on me, his face a stoic mask. Why won't anyone tell me what the hell is going on?.
My father-in-law, who is also my boss, and J, my fellow EMT, show up with the ambulance cot. I don't want to go by ambulance, but nobody will listen to me. I am shaking uncontrollably now.
Somehow I survived the 2 hour ambulance ride - the memory is sketchy. When I arrived at SMMC, my fever had skyrocketed to 104.9. I was admitted to the floor but within 3 hours was moved to ICU, where I would remain for the next 3 days, spiking fevers and hovering somewhere between delirium and moments of painful lucidity.
Week 4: more surgery. Implants must come out. Two large abcesses discovered and cleaned out. But this time I woke up and thought, hey, I can breathe...
My recovery was slow and painful. I still don't like to talk about it much. I couldn't lie down without at least 6 pillows to prop everything up, and just showering and redressing my wounds exausted me so much I had no energy to do anything else. The day after my release from the hosptial this time, it was my daughter's final night of her Cinderella play. My husband had to work (he went and cheered her on her first two nights), so I took my two-year-old and we sat in the front row. She was so adorable, and I was so proud. I almost missed that.
It took me a while, but I realized something, after going through it all. I am much more resilient than I thought. Mentally, I mean. Because physically I was a puddle there for awhile - even after the infection was under control I was hospitalized two more times for complications like nausea and vomitting so severe I lost 37 lbs.
But emotionally? I'm in a better place then I've been in years. Is it really true, what does not kill us makes us stronger? I don't know. Maybe I always was this fierce.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
I feel fierce. I AM fierce. Being a hot mess was so... 2009. Thank God that's over. The past few months have taken me to Hades and back, and yet here I am, still.
To get everyone up to speed, I had a double mastectomy in November. At the same time, tissue expanders were placed, in anticipation of the breast reconstruction I had planned. Nothing had prepared me for the pain I experienced, however - a few hours after surgery, my IV was discontinued, and I was started on oral pain meds. ARE YOU FRICKEN KIDDING me? I was 10/10 on the pain scale and on the 3rd day when I finally broke down into a bawling, sniveling mess and rang my nurse, I was told I could have a Motrin to supplement. WTF?
Anyway, those first 2 weeks are a blur of horrific and unpleasant moments best left alone. I lived. Surprise! The pain didn't kill me. What almost did, was far more insidious and menacing: staph infection.
Week 3: surgery again. More debridement for the infection. One night in the hospital, sent home with more JPs (drain tubes) and bandages. Tried to go to work the next day, felt too fatigued. Got up on Friday, determined, and drove in to work. Walking down the hall to my office, I saw my coworkers at the nurses station glance my way, heard a collective gasp, and the next thing I know, I'm in a wheelchair being whisked away to the ER. I'm having trouble taking a deep breath. The room is swimming a little. Dr B hovers.
I come back from x-ray with a terrible chill. I hear "can't rule out the PE" and I am shaking. My husband looks down on me, his face a stoic mask. Why won't anyone tell me what the hell is going on?.
My father-in-law, who is also my boss, and J, my fellow EMT, show up with the ambulance cot. I don't want to go by ambulance, but nobody will listen to me. I am shaking uncontrollably now.
Somehow I survived the 2 hour ambulance ride - the memory is sketchy. When I arrived at SMMC, my fever had skyrocketed to 104.9. I was admitted to the floor but within 3 hours was moved to ICU, where I would remain for the next 3 days, spiking fevers and hovering somewhere between delirium and moments of painful lucidity.
Week 4: more surgery. Implants must come out. Two large abcesses discovered and cleaned out. But this time I woke up and thought, hey, I can breathe...
My recovery was slow and painful. I still don't like to talk about it much. I couldn't lie down without at least 6 pillows to prop everything up, and just showering and redressing my wounds exausted me so much I had no energy to do anything else. The day after my release from the hosptial this time, it was my daughter's final night of her Cinderella play. My husband had to work (he went and cheered her on her first two nights), so I took my two-year-old and we sat in the front row. She was so adorable, and I was so proud. I almost missed that.
It took me a while, but I realized something, after going through it all. I am much more resilient than I thought. Mentally, I mean. Because physically I was a puddle there for awhile - even after the infection was under control I was hospitalized two more times for complications like nausea and vomitting so severe I lost 37 lbs.
But emotionally? I'm in a better place then I've been in years. Is it really true, what does not kill us makes us stronger? I don't know. Maybe I always was this fierce.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Sunday, September 20, 2009
did I mention this week sucked
So it is Saturday, and I have never been so happy to see the end of a work week. Every day this past week I had thought I wasn't going to make it - I was exausted from overtime and really having a lot of pain issues - even more than usual. I had thought, however irrational it may seem, that once I was done with chemo my pain would go away. This has not been the case. In fact, *this* week, it felt worse.
Before cancer, I prided myself on having a high tolerance for pain. I recovered from a broken back in my early twenties which resulted in chronic back pain that I have always managed well. I bore two children naturally, for heaven's sake. So it came as quite a surprise to me that chemo could reduce me to such a sniveling, pathetic hot mess.
Pain can make me kind of snarky, too. Yesterday I told my husband I had made plans for us today which involved a picnic on the Shore in my hometown, and of course the first thing that came to his mind was our last attempt at picnicking there years ago.
"Oh, you just want me to get stung by hornets again," he groused.
"We can only hope," I said.
Did I mention I am glad Thursday is over? I was dreading it all week. After a long 10 hours at work fit-testing my colleagues for respirator masks, I had to rush over to the school and set up a booth for open house. After carting all my boxes of shit in, I realized I had forgotten the one thing I usually always have on my person - tape. The nice young man setting up a Boy Scouts table next to mine offered me his.
"Thank you," I said. "By the way, how old do you have to be to join Boy Scouts?"
"First grade," he replied.
"Really? What about two-year-olds?"
He laughed, a little nervously.
"No seriously. Can't you make an exception?"
Well it's finally over (I know I said that already) and, it wasn't really that bad, looking back. If you don't count the brutal back-to-back ambulance transfers I almost fell asleep at the wheel on and the two mini-breakdowns midweek. Or the emotional conversation with my plastic surgeon. But that's another story.
Honestly? It *was* that bad. Until my sister called. Somehow, after an hour and a half sitting in the late afternoon sun while bawling my eyes out over the phone, I am better. Now I can calmly take next week.
I love you, sis.
Before cancer, I prided myself on having a high tolerance for pain. I recovered from a broken back in my early twenties which resulted in chronic back pain that I have always managed well. I bore two children naturally, for heaven's sake. So it came as quite a surprise to me that chemo could reduce me to such a sniveling, pathetic hot mess.
Pain can make me kind of snarky, too. Yesterday I told my husband I had made plans for us today which involved a picnic on the Shore in my hometown, and of course the first thing that came to his mind was our last attempt at picnicking there years ago.
"Oh, you just want me to get stung by hornets again," he groused.
"We can only hope," I said.
Did I mention I am glad Thursday is over? I was dreading it all week. After a long 10 hours at work fit-testing my colleagues for respirator masks, I had to rush over to the school and set up a booth for open house. After carting all my boxes of shit in, I realized I had forgotten the one thing I usually always have on my person - tape. The nice young man setting up a Boy Scouts table next to mine offered me his.
"Thank you," I said. "By the way, how old do you have to be to join Boy Scouts?"
"First grade," he replied.
"Really? What about two-year-olds?"
He laughed, a little nervously.
"No seriously. Can't you make an exception?"
Well it's finally over (I know I said that already) and, it wasn't really that bad, looking back. If you don't count the brutal back-to-back ambulance transfers I almost fell asleep at the wheel on and the two mini-breakdowns midweek. Or the emotional conversation with my plastic surgeon. But that's another story.
Honestly? It *was* that bad. Until my sister called. Somehow, after an hour and a half sitting in the late afternoon sun while bawling my eyes out over the phone, I am better. Now I can calmly take next week.
I love you, sis.
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