Taking Care of Myself

The last few days have been particularly rough for me. The realization that Thanksgiving, a holiday my mom loved, will also fall on the six month anniversary of her death has hit me like a ton of bricks. I’ve allowed the grief to take the reins for now and haven’t been able to do too much more than recover from the endless crying I’ve been experiencing. I’m not posting this for sympathy, it’s just the reality of my life right now. It’s important to allow my grief to take its course and be patient with myself during this healing process. I’m not sure if I’m going to be posting much over the next little while and I wanted to let you all know why. It’s time to focus on myself and being careful with my feelings and not pushing myself past what it’s able to do during this time.

Detached from Time

As some of you know, last Wednesday I underwent carpal tunnel surgery on my left wrist. My recovery has gone quite smoothly, and my pain is pretty minimal unless I’m not thinking and do something stupid like turn a doorknob. The surgery itself went very well, I’m still not used to anesthesia though and closing my eyes and waking up an hour later still unnerves me. This time though it totally discombobulated me from the passage of time. I was able to listen to music during my procedure and when I went under I was listening to a specific song. When I woke up afterward, you guessed it, the same song was playing again; given the fact that my brain was still loopy from the drugs I had a hard time realizing the procedure was over. Not even the reality that I was no longer in the operating room and back in recovery could make me believe my surgery, was in fact, done. The very patient post-op nurse finally had me look at my hand and upon seeing my mummified Oompa Loompa hand (thanks Betadine) did my brain de-fog enough for me to realize that it was in fact over. Lying there in recovery, I found myself thinking about how being unconscious whether during normal sleep or during surgery, we become detached from time itself. Minutes and hours become meaningless, we just exist in a stream of time where nameless moments pass without our knowing. These deep thoughts were soon replaced with the gnawing in my stomach reminding me that I hadn’t eaten in 12 hours. I ate something, they monitored me for a while longer and then sent me home to recuperate.

Tomorrow’s the Big Day

Well, ladies and gents, tomorrow is the day I undergo carpal tunnel surgery on my left wrist. Less than a day away and my nerves and anxiety are through the roof. But I am so ready to find relief from the constant numbness, tingling, and pain that shoot through my entire hand and arm if I move it the wrong way. I had my right wrist done in August of 2016 and had instant relief, and even though my left wrist is in worse shape, I’m hoping that this procedure will be just as successful. Please keep me in your thoughts and send good vibes in my direction.  I’ll try to post again, later on, this week with an update on how things went.

Update on “The Rise of Self-Doubt”

On September 26, 2018, I published a post about a poetry contest I was interested in entering. I expressed feeling a great deal of self-doubt about my talent and ability to produce an entry worthy of submitting into the contest. After receiving several messages of encouragement, I decided to throw my hat into the ring, and I entered my poem into the competition. Now, as with all contests, the waiting begins. I will find out either way by the end of December whether or not I placed or not. Fingers crossed.

Prepping for Surgery

Greetings Morning Glories,

You may have noticed I haven’t been posting on a regular basis during the past week or so. I’m getting ready to have carpal tunnel surgery on my left wrist, so I’ve been busy getting last minute projects done in anticipation of only having one good hand for several weeks. I had my right wrist operated on in 2016, it was an instant success, but taking care of my mother with one hand proved to be very difficult, so I’ve been putting off having the left one done. As a result, now my left hand is always numb and tingling, and even though my anxiety over having surgery (even minor such as this) is through the roof, I am looking forward to finding relief from these symptoms. I’ll try to post a few more times before the big day next week and then take some time off to recover.

Have Faith

“Have faith.” She tells me

But how can you have

Faith in the faithless?

How can you have faith

In someone who has

Let you down

More than they have

Raised you up?

How can you trust

Your heart with

Someone who never

Sees your feelings

As valid.

Who builds herself up

By tearing you down

Over and over again.

“Have faith.” She suggests.

Never again.

A Question of Dreams

I had a bizarre dream last night that I can’t stop thinking about. I’m hoping someone out there can give me some kind of meaning behind it. I was in the backyard of my childhood home. There was a gateway to a side part of the yard where a little frog pond was. In the dream, the gate was open, and there were three of four large white dogs lying in a semi-circle opposite my cat Patches, who was also lying down. They didn’t do anything. They didn’t move, they were just peacefully in each other’s space. For some reason, I’ve fixated on the dogs being white. Usually, dogs of that size are black and ominous, the dogs in my dream weren’t threatening at all. It was almost like a scenic painting. If anyone out in the blogoverse could help me, I’d appreciate it. This one has me really stumped.

Primal Grief

This week has been difficult for me, regarding my grief process. My mom loved certain television shows and one in particular, “The Good Doctor” had become one of her favorites. I have been a fan of Freddie Highmore for years, my mom became a fan when we watched “Bates Motel.” This week was the second season premiere of “The Good Doctor,” and I knew it would be hard to watch, but once again I underestimated the power of grief. About halfway through the episode, I turned to ask my mom what she thought and froze. The room felt so empty, and I felt so alone in that instant that I started to cry, and then I just couldn’t stop. I tapped into the primal side of grief and just sobbed and wailed and begged whoever could hear me to allow my mom to come back again.  Afterward, when I was a gasping blob on the sofa, I felt more drained than I ever have before. It wasn’t just the television show that brought this on, last weekend was the 4-month mark since my mom passed. Having it be one-third of a year since she died felt like a substantial milestone. Now I am looking forward, with dread, to the upcoming months which will have her birthday, the first holiday season since she passed, and my birthday in January. I wish I could just crawl under the covers in November and not come out until next February. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to get through it, it’s going to be the hardest time of my life. There are a lot of dark days ahead, but at the same time I know I’m going to get through it because even though my mom isn’t with me in person anymore, I know she’s still around. She’s still with me, watching over me, and that helps.

The Post-It Woven Patchwork

Slowly…slowly… I am losing my mind

I can feel it happening, one thing at a time

Like the sands in an hourglass

Slowly slipping through.

Falling into some dark abyss.

I don’t want to bid adieu.

To all the times in days gone by

Whether good or bad.

They are still my memories

And losing them is sad.

So now I’m obsessively writing

Jotting everything down

Every thought and memory

Scraps of paper now surround

This little spot I sit in

With my paper and pen

So when memories are no more

I’ll be covered in them.

Like a post-it woven patchwork

A wondrous little covering

I’ll be wrapped up in them

And old memories I’ll be discovering.