My recovery

so, i like to think that i could always sing better than this but this is a song to document my recovery.

i used to sing this particular song to each of the babies. Because i do long to be close to them. everyday.

love you all.

Battle Scars

Mom said that maybe i should write out the truama of being in the ICU. frankly, i want to think about it as little as possible but i keep finding myself thinking about it. I think going through something that serious has a way of impacting you, beyond physically i mean. Sometimes when i sleep, i have these dreams that i'm still there and that recovering and going home was all some dream i was having. that really i'm back in that bed, beeping and whirring machines around me, my hands tied motionless at my sides.

THE ICU INCIDENT

first and foremost: The doctors, mom, the surgeons, and me are all clueless as to why this happened. No understandable reasons for my respiratory failure.

all my life, i've prided myself on the fact that i'm the strong one. I'm the rock in a changing sea of sara's illnesses, heather's many states of mind, and even in life as a general. But this recent, i want to say accident but that's not right, this whatever it was scared me. I'm breakable.

I remember being nervous before the surgery but still joking around. I did my part bravely, and got those pesky toncils out. when we cam home i ate some jello and some pudding and i was going to watch a movie but i got tired. And when i say tired, i mean i blinked and fatigue was pressed in on me like a blanket. So i went to sleep.

when i woke up, my hands were tied to my sides. Something beeped and ticked over me and hands prodded me in every direction. I saw mom's face and i couldn't understand what was happening. i couldn't understand why i couldn't break free or speak or do anything but blink up at everyone blurrily. The room dipped and floated around me. It was painful and bright and it hurt to breathe and my wrists were tied down.

when they finally trusted me enough to give me control over my arms, i was too weak to do anything but cough and gag and try not to drown in my own mucus. i watched Tv constantly because the alternative was listening to the other rooms were other machines beeped and other respirators whirred out other dying people's air. If you have never felt mortal fear, then you can't understand anything i'm saying here. i truly thought that that was the end of my life. I thought i was dying.

but i didn't die. But after about two-three days, i started to wish i had. i have never been particularly active but lying in that bed, unable to even go to the bathroom or raise my bed, i thought that not dying would be almost a crueler fate. because not only were they not taking out the tubes already in me, but they kept adding more. Like a feeding tube that they pushed down my nose and through my throat, WHILE I WAS AWAKE. I got so scared that i told mom, or maybe wrote, that i didn't want to go to japan anymore. i had been shaken so much that i truly only wanted to stay with mom for the next 6 months like sara had. i wanted to curl up into a ball and have her protect me for the rest of my life.

she did something better. She helped me be brave enough to keep my decision to go. She believed that not only would i recover but that i would be strong like i was before, brave like i used to be. It was exactly what i needed.

After that my every thought was about getting the doctors to let me out. This part may not be admirable but i lied to those every chance i got. i told them that i could do anything they asked me to do. i pushed to get out of that respirator. by the time they started talking about the next step, i was already plotting to beat them there. But seeing as everything ended all right, it couldn't have been that bad of me to lie.

On Saturday, i got the respirator out but i still had to keep the feeding tube, in case i couldn't swallow, and they gave me an oxygen nose thing to replace my tube. And in case i didn't mention it, i had the one jello cup and the one pudding cup on wednesday but nothing from that point until saturday night. Not even ice chips, not even water. My stomach felt like it wanted to rip a hole through me. and on saturday night, after being off the tube for about 2-4 hours, i got broth and some jello. Mom had to watch me so i didn't shove them down my throat and rip something, or eat too fast and puke it all up.

on sunday, i was transferred to a private room. I had not slept in blocks greater than ten minutes at a time and all of them nightmares. But the quiet room with mom sitting beside my new bed, i finally got to sleep a little and actually rest. If mom wasn't near me, i didn't sleep. i didn't feel safe unless she was there.

on monday, i was released. so i went home but even with my mom by my side the whole time, i still felt like a little bird waiting to be caught. it's been almost four days of being at home and i still have fears that i'll wake up and never have left.





Now, all i have to remember the struggle (aside from meds and a cough), is one arm that is painful to even touch, more so to move, big thick bruises up and down my arms, a swollen hand -that is a little less swollen now, a non existant appitite, a newfound fear of the dark, and not enough stamina to even go to the store with mom without one of those riding carts.

The war is not won, my voice still sucks, but other than that i'm enjoying my time out of lockdown. there are some things that i've learned from this experience, things i think other people should think about too.

Things I now know

1. Loving mommies can make life in hell, seem like nothing worse than a long line at the DMV. They can also vanquish bad dreams and pain.

2. Always say i love you to your friends and family, and thank you to the people changing your IV's. If i really had died, at least i wouldn't have left anything unsaid.

3. One day can change your life, your sense of security, your voice, your dreams, and even the way you think. And not neccessarily for the better.

4. Always be grateful for the moments that you feel well, you never know when or how long they'll stay with you. Good Health is as much a gift as Love.

5. Experiences can break you, they can make you want a half-life of nothing more than being curled up into a ball. But if you're lucky someone will remind you, or you'll remember, that big dreams don't give you too many chances. and if you're going to get one of those opportunities you'll have no time to curl into a ball.

6. Lastly, TV has too many movies about death, dying, blood, gore, shooting, murder. and not enough stupid funny happy movies.

Short update

Mom and Sara and me are sitting around talking about where to go out today and i have the feelings we'll be going soon. but this is a short post to tell everyone that i don't see everyday, i love you. I miss you. i think about you all the time, i just seem to keep having other things to do. but i will post a good post later. I Promise!

Remember, i love you.

My magazine

So i think that every woman deserves a magazine devoted to them. One where they are in every picture, looking super fine and every article is about how they can possibly maintain their perfect lives and gorgeousness.

So here are the glamour shots that i took, of me. SANS Makeup!

Sports Section!

The next picture is when i woke up after having slept walked into a wall. I know, i'm talented. But i took a pic of it anyways. Blood....Ooooooohh...

Then more glamour shots!

I think this one makes my nose look a little big though...

Jane Austin and love

I’ve come to a decision to tonight as to why I can’t seem to write about love. And it’s not because I’ve never been in love. My imagination, on it’s own, would be fueled enough by my own romantic notions. But lately, and after much watching of Jane Austin novels, I’ve come to realize that I’ve never had a friend.

And I’m sorry but family doesn’t count for this.

I have never had a friend that was dear to me. Never had someone there that I felt comfortable enough around to let my heart experience exactly all of the things that love requires on the resume. I realize now what I need most, the thing I’m truly lacking, is a friend. I don’t need a boyfriend or a romance because half of romances are all imaginings and fantasy anyways and boyfriends come after romance. What I want is a friend.

When I picture myself in five years, ten years, twenty years I don’t see wedding rings or his and hers towels. I see myself happy. That’s all I’m really planning for. I see laughter and off key singing and jokes that no one gets but me and one other person. I know from personal experience that I can make myself happy and I can even make other people happy on occasion but I haven’t had the luck to find someone that makes me happy. I think I’d settle for someone that lets me make us both happy.

I want a friend to laugh with, share experiences, play, talk, live, and most importantly someone to fight with. I think that’s how you know when the real love is there. When you know that after a fight you will still be there together, that after teasing and mocking the other person will still come to you because you are first friends and secondly opposing debaters. I know it sounds romantic but it isn’t always like that.

My family is the one rock that I’ve always leaned on. They are there for me, they accept me, love me, and support my dreams. Somehow I can’t persuade myself that it’s selfish to want someone new to do all those things. I want a friend. Even if it’s a girl and there are no romantic strings attached to it, I want a friend.

I think I’m getting close to that with the friends I have now. Elizabeth never lets me push her away, no matter how I may try, and Jessy accepts me for exactly everything I am. I can tell her about anything, even if we haven’t talked for days or weeks or months we can just fall right back into talking like we’d never been apart. And Renee and Shannon support me and they never tell me that I can’t do things or that it’s impossible, they encourage me to try. Even if I fail, they help me realize my strengths and brace me up for the next challenge. And for some reason that I can’t begin to fathom. They love me and I love them.

So maybe I have friends. Maybe this is simply a blog of missing them. I never thought that growing up would require so much of my time (and money). I started this blog feeling so alone and now I’m happy to remember that I’m not. I love my friends. They’re all girls, but I think loving them will put me into the practice of being a better friend to whatever sentimental boy God decides to throw my way.

Too much alone time

I think that there are two types of people: people that need people, and the ones that don’t. I need people. As much as I can, I pretend to not need people. I pretend that I’m fine alone and sometimes I can even convince myself of it, but it’s not true. I need, I want, I fear people being in my life. I need someone to hold me up when things get hard. I want someone to be with me and love exactly everything I am. And I fear all those things that I need and want because they’re not permanent. People have legs and the ability to walk out of your life as easily as they fell into it.

Sometimes I feel like I’m sitting at the bottom of a well. It’s dry and narrow and dirty and there is only enough room for me to sit, alone. All of the friends and family I have are in the process of climbing back up the walls of the well. The people I feel closest to are near me, near the bottom. There are people I love that have one leg over the top of the wall. They shout down to me about how beautiful it is on the surface. How there is room for all of my friends and family to hold hands and sit together. How the sun shines and flowers bloom and life is good on the surface. I listen to them. I want to go to the surface and I want sun and sitting with people I love. Then I cry because I know that I will never leave my well. Because leaving would meaning climbing up those walls. I could cut my hand. I could fall. I could break my leg and it’d hurt. I’ve seen people get hurt so often that I can’t seem to move without those thoughts in my head.

Heather has had great loves. I don’t mean great people or loves that were sublimely perfect. I mean that she let herself love people and put herself out there. She trusted, she hoped for things, and I could see the passion in her eyes. And even when she got hurt, she got back up and tried again. She never quit just because of the chance that things might not be great. Her love was what was great. She uses her whole heart and I don’t know why I can’t.

But it’s more than love. I feel like I push people away. I know I do. I think I know what I’m trying to do. I’m pushing and pushing because I want someone to push back. I want someone to love me enough to be with me whether I tell them I need it or not. I just want someone to want to be with me. Someone that will fight me to keep me. I don’t want to be someone’s friend, someone’s girlfriend because I want it. I want to be wanted in the way that I want people. I need someone to be beside me when things get hard, to run their fingers through my hair, to whisper softly, to hug me, to stay even through the crying, the fat days, the crazy, the cheerfulness, my obsessions, the good days and the bad.

I feel like I’m standing and looking at the wall but I can’t lift my arm. I can’t grab it and climb. Everyone else figured out how to get out and I’m looking at the rocks around not knowing where to start. I want out but I need someone to reach their hand down. I need someone to help me out. But I can’t ask for help. All I can do is stand at the bottom and wait for someone to realize that I want up too. I want out.

The most beautiful song, NEW

This is so beautiful. Ignore the anime, just listen to the song.