Day six of laying on the coach is coming to an end. My surgery happened Monday, and by the time I got to the hospital I was excited and hopeful the procedure would result in an immediate end to my pain. Rose, however, wasn't as excited about it, which I alluded to in the previous post.
I tried to reassure and calm her fears all day Sunday into the night. For some reason, I was surprised Monday morning didn't go well for Rose. In fact, it went horribly. Poor Mike. I was stuck upstairs bed ridden due to the pain, and she was running so late for her bus, all she could do was holler goodbye to me from the main floor. When I realized she wasn't planning on coming up to say goodbye. I was angry. I was hurt. I was overly tired from weeks of interrupted sleep.
How could someone who claimed to have been so worried about me not want to give me a hug goodbye, I wondered. I felt sad, I was worried something would happen to me during surgery and I never would have gotten to give Rose a hug. Yet the day progressed, I came out fine, and I even made it home the same day. The hurt feeling of the morning was long gone, replaced by ease as I settled into the couch.
Tuesday was another rough morning for Rose (and also Mike), and that's when it hit me. Rose's two rough mornings were tell tale signs of anxiety caused by my surgery and the changes to our family dynamic. My realization was confirmed when by Wednesday the mornings got easier as we all fell into the new rhythm. Repetition is our friend, and we have up to five more weeks to practice.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Liar
I am learning that when the tough gets going, parenthood gets filled with small exaggeration. Not lies, per say, but small betrayals of my instinct intended to keep Rose calm in heightened emotional times. Or maybe they are lies and I'm deluding myself?
Here's my distinction. Lies have the goal of deception. Even if a lie is told with the best intent, I don't ever intend to come clean. The lie is a betrayal of fact, for me it is usually intended to spare someone's feelings so being honest later would be counterintuitive. A betrayal of instinct isn't an outright lie but a small denial of the unknown, possibly sad, future.
For example, this week our poor little kitty, Princess, suddenly became very ill and had to be put down. Princess was up all night meowing in pain, she was cold, and her breathing labored. So in the morning as I got Rose ready for school I instinctually knew what the vet would tell me and hubby later. Yet, all I told Rose was she needed to go say hi to Princess since Princess was sick.
I hinted at Princess' age and the possibility of her dying. I didn't say, "Princess is dying. Go say goodbye." I feared the latter would cause too much trauma for Rose. I still wanted Rise to say goodbye and have some awareness of the situation because we couldn't hide Princesses death.
Another example of the instinct minimizer is my surgery to remove Herny. It's scheduled for Monday, and Rose is not happy about it. I asked what she was worried about, and she said she was worried I would die.
Truth be told, I've never had major surgery before and have much the same concern. I am just as scared! I just knew I couldn't say that to her, I have to make her feel secure. So I said I won't die. Then, realizing I couldn't promise that, followed up with even if I did, Dad and grandmas, aunts and uncles would all be here to care for her. Then I joked, but no moms because I wouldn't let Dad marry again. The she joked, but couldn't he marry someone you know, like a friend of yours? That totally cracked us both up.
In both cases I was dancing with a lie, I guess. Although in both cases, I didn't know what the outcome would be. Unlike lies told in dressing rooms to friends who have on a dress that's too small. I know the truth but choose not to tell it. I might just encourage they keep looking and avoid the awkward, that looks bad. It's different. Right?
I think in the face of distressing news I'm becoming good at hiding how I feel for Rose's sake in hopes everything ends happy. I wonder how that skill will translate elsewhere?
I'll take this last bit of cyber space to post a pic of out beloved Princess. We loved our 12 years with her. She was our first pet, and the cat who was able to make hubby a cat fan. We miss her greatly.
Here's my distinction. Lies have the goal of deception. Even if a lie is told with the best intent, I don't ever intend to come clean. The lie is a betrayal of fact, for me it is usually intended to spare someone's feelings so being honest later would be counterintuitive. A betrayal of instinct isn't an outright lie but a small denial of the unknown, possibly sad, future.
For example, this week our poor little kitty, Princess, suddenly became very ill and had to be put down. Princess was up all night meowing in pain, she was cold, and her breathing labored. So in the morning as I got Rose ready for school I instinctually knew what the vet would tell me and hubby later. Yet, all I told Rose was she needed to go say hi to Princess since Princess was sick.
I hinted at Princess' age and the possibility of her dying. I didn't say, "Princess is dying. Go say goodbye." I feared the latter would cause too much trauma for Rose. I still wanted Rise to say goodbye and have some awareness of the situation because we couldn't hide Princesses death.
Another example of the instinct minimizer is my surgery to remove Herny. It's scheduled for Monday, and Rose is not happy about it. I asked what she was worried about, and she said she was worried I would die.
Truth be told, I've never had major surgery before and have much the same concern. I am just as scared! I just knew I couldn't say that to her, I have to make her feel secure. So I said I won't die. Then, realizing I couldn't promise that, followed up with even if I did, Dad and grandmas, aunts and uncles would all be here to care for her. Then I joked, but no moms because I wouldn't let Dad marry again. The she joked, but couldn't he marry someone you know, like a friend of yours? That totally cracked us both up.
In both cases I was dancing with a lie, I guess. Although in both cases, I didn't know what the outcome would be. Unlike lies told in dressing rooms to friends who have on a dress that's too small. I know the truth but choose not to tell it. I might just encourage they keep looking and avoid the awkward, that looks bad. It's different. Right?
I think in the face of distressing news I'm becoming good at hiding how I feel for Rose's sake in hopes everything ends happy. I wonder how that skill will translate elsewhere?
I'll take this last bit of cyber space to post a pic of out beloved Princess. We loved our 12 years with her. She was our first pet, and the cat who was able to make hubby a cat fan. We miss her greatly.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
I like to keep my issues drawn
Per my usual, it's 5 a.m. and I'm awake, griped by pain. Last week I thought I'd be tough. I would reduce the amount of Advil I was taking to one dose in the morning. Then take my nerve numbing med at night.
I was resolute: I would get off all these meds and grow accustomed to the pain. Turns out my back is just as stubborn and ultimately more determined than me.
Thursday morning, after a day of successfully following my "toughen up" plan, Herny got angry around 1 a.m. And I mean angry. All I could do to console her was wander the house. Even then, I had to stay close to furniture for support when the nerve spasms washed over me.
Operation Toughen Up turned into Mission Holy Shit. At 6 am, when the hubby woke up I told him he'd need to get Rose ready, and then we'd need to go to the ER. I was so over being tough. I needed help.
When we made it to the ER, the doctor called the neuro surgeon immediately after seeing my MRI. I don't want to brag, but turns out I have a pretty big herniated disc. Little Herny is really a baby Huey!
The Neurosurgeon came in and in two seconds of talking to me said he thought the doc jumped the gun. I was talking, sitting and clearly, from his vantage point, not in too much pain.
I immediately started weeping, as I pleaded for his help. i am not here for surgery, i said, i just want more than three hours of sleep a night.
At that moment, his demeanor changed. Although he had been ready to bolt, he took pity on me and completed an exam. Then he prescribed Vicodin and a muscle relaxer.
I think he was amused I had rejected offers of Vicodin before, especially when my only reason was my desire to be tough. He looked sternly at me and said, "that won't work."
Then he shared news about how big Herny is and said I have a 50% shot of needing surgery despite the success of PT. I was instructed to stop being tough: I needed to submit to this injury. He repeated the message to mike (aka hubby) saying I seem like someone who is a tad stubborn.
So submit I have. I take three strong prescriptions nightly, which ware off at 5 am but I do seem to get solid sleep for six hours. I take Advil regularly during the day, despite the worry of ulcers. I am always on something. I left work early to get a nap in yesterday when the pain was low.
The lesson I learned is I can't just plow through this chanting I'm tough and expect a good result. Yet that internal resolve is definitely what has pulled me through the hard times with Rose. So I'm glad it's there.
The next entry will focus a lot more on dear Rose and much less on Herny. For now, my dose of Advil is kicking in, and I am going to conk out.
I was resolute: I would get off all these meds and grow accustomed to the pain. Turns out my back is just as stubborn and ultimately more determined than me.
Thursday morning, after a day of successfully following my "toughen up" plan, Herny got angry around 1 a.m. And I mean angry. All I could do to console her was wander the house. Even then, I had to stay close to furniture for support when the nerve spasms washed over me.
Operation Toughen Up turned into Mission Holy Shit. At 6 am, when the hubby woke up I told him he'd need to get Rose ready, and then we'd need to go to the ER. I was so over being tough. I needed help.
When we made it to the ER, the doctor called the neuro surgeon immediately after seeing my MRI. I don't want to brag, but turns out I have a pretty big herniated disc. Little Herny is really a baby Huey!
The Neurosurgeon came in and in two seconds of talking to me said he thought the doc jumped the gun. I was talking, sitting and clearly, from his vantage point, not in too much pain.
I immediately started weeping, as I pleaded for his help. i am not here for surgery, i said, i just want more than three hours of sleep a night.
At that moment, his demeanor changed. Although he had been ready to bolt, he took pity on me and completed an exam. Then he prescribed Vicodin and a muscle relaxer.
I think he was amused I had rejected offers of Vicodin before, especially when my only reason was my desire to be tough. He looked sternly at me and said, "that won't work."
Then he shared news about how big Herny is and said I have a 50% shot of needing surgery despite the success of PT. I was instructed to stop being tough: I needed to submit to this injury. He repeated the message to mike (aka hubby) saying I seem like someone who is a tad stubborn.
So submit I have. I take three strong prescriptions nightly, which ware off at 5 am but I do seem to get solid sleep for six hours. I take Advil regularly during the day, despite the worry of ulcers. I am always on something. I left work early to get a nap in yesterday when the pain was low.
The lesson I learned is I can't just plow through this chanting I'm tough and expect a good result. Yet that internal resolve is definitely what has pulled me through the hard times with Rose. So I'm glad it's there.
The next entry will focus a lot more on dear Rose and much less on Herny. For now, my dose of Advil is kicking in, and I am going to conk out.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
I'm going off the rails on this crazy train
It's five a.m. and little Herny has woken me up. Right on schedule, too. In fact, last night, husband and I joked I have a five a.m. wake-up call from pain. And pain doesn't have a snooze button. (ha! I think I need a Clint Eastwood voice over.)
The upside to this reliable pain train is I have time to write while I let whatever self soothing experiment take its course. Today it is three Advil and a heating pad on the spasm filled thigh.
As I lay in bed, pillow under my knees, feeling somewhat soothed by the warmth of the heating pad, Rosie's emergency visit springs to mind.
Specifically, my arrival to the hospital. I came straight from bowling wearing bowling shoes, a bowling shirt with "beastie bowlers" printed in graffiti font across the front and beastie boy song titles altered with bowling themes in the back. For example, "you gotta fight, for your right to bowl."
In top of that, the sweatshirt I had was bright green, and says "Get Lucky" across the front. Even worse, I had beer on my breath.
None of this dawned on me until a doctor looked at me with confusion. Then he looked at mike, and again me. After thirty seconds of deliberation, he spoke only to mike, and implied I was an aunt, perhaps. A Pca?
Mike immediately clarified my role as the mom. The doctor's eyes showed he struggled to believe it. As did other hospital staff.
I looked down at my attire and totally understood why. I was pretty sure I'd wind up on a worst mom list for coming to a hospital smelling of beer and looking like a college student. In my mind, I could see a wall of shame with my mug shot on it, giving the "rock on" gesture, of course.
I didn't let my paranoia stop me from standing up for and demanding what I felt Rose needed. When I found that voice the confusion amongst the hospital staff disappeared.
I was calm, concise, passionate, and articulate. I didn't ask for what I wanted, I politely demanded it. The staff responded well to my demeanor, and suddenly my clothes weren't an issue. I was her mom.
As I drove home exhausted the next morning, I smiled imagining the janitor. played by the Breakfast Club janitor, taking my picture off the imaginary wall of shame and handing it to me.
I'd ask he keep it there to help other new adoptive moms remember to keep speaking up, keep advocating, no matter how many strange looks they encounter.
The upside to this reliable pain train is I have time to write while I let whatever self soothing experiment take its course. Today it is three Advil and a heating pad on the spasm filled thigh.
As I lay in bed, pillow under my knees, feeling somewhat soothed by the warmth of the heating pad, Rosie's emergency visit springs to mind.
Specifically, my arrival to the hospital. I came straight from bowling wearing bowling shoes, a bowling shirt with "beastie bowlers" printed in graffiti font across the front and beastie boy song titles altered with bowling themes in the back. For example, "you gotta fight, for your right to bowl."
In top of that, the sweatshirt I had was bright green, and says "Get Lucky" across the front. Even worse, I had beer on my breath.
None of this dawned on me until a doctor looked at me with confusion. Then he looked at mike, and again me. After thirty seconds of deliberation, he spoke only to mike, and implied I was an aunt, perhaps. A Pca?
Mike immediately clarified my role as the mom. The doctor's eyes showed he struggled to believe it. As did other hospital staff.
I looked down at my attire and totally understood why. I was pretty sure I'd wind up on a worst mom list for coming to a hospital smelling of beer and looking like a college student. In my mind, I could see a wall of shame with my mug shot on it, giving the "rock on" gesture, of course.
I didn't let my paranoia stop me from standing up for and demanding what I felt Rose needed. When I found that voice the confusion amongst the hospital staff disappeared.
I was calm, concise, passionate, and articulate. I didn't ask for what I wanted, I politely demanded it. The staff responded well to my demeanor, and suddenly my clothes weren't an issue. I was her mom.
As I drove home exhausted the next morning, I smiled imagining the janitor. played by the Breakfast Club janitor, taking my picture off the imaginary wall of shame and handing it to me.
I'd ask he keep it there to help other new adoptive moms remember to keep speaking up, keep advocating, no matter how many strange looks they encounter.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Some get to have a baby, I get to have a herniated disc
Not to belabor my injury on a blog focused on Rose, but today I realized this herniated disc has some similarities to pregnancy.
First, I had no control over it happening. Sure a lady can choose to want to be pregnant but she really has no control over when or if it happens.
Second, I get a cool cd with pictures of my injured spine and crushed nerves. Wicked, right? I'm gonna call it Herny.
Third, well meaning people with no clue offer me pain management advice.
I try to stay patient but with the utter lack of sleep I'm getting, that's no easy task. And I recall friends of mine in late stages of pregnancy lacking sleep. Some even due to sciatic nerve pain.
Lastly, I have a funny walk, can't drink, and have to see a doctor once weekly.
Of course the difference is my weekly visits consist of a lady pulling at my legs and massaging my spine. And the most stark difference is we are hoping my appts will not require a trip to the hospital because little Herny will have gone back where she came from.
Wish it with me...
First, I had no control over it happening. Sure a lady can choose to want to be pregnant but she really has no control over when or if it happens.
Second, I get a cool cd with pictures of my injured spine and crushed nerves. Wicked, right? I'm gonna call it Herny.
Third, well meaning people with no clue offer me pain management advice.
I try to stay patient but with the utter lack of sleep I'm getting, that's no easy task. And I recall friends of mine in late stages of pregnancy lacking sleep. Some even due to sciatic nerve pain.
Lastly, I have a funny walk, can't drink, and have to see a doctor once weekly.
Of course the difference is my weekly visits consist of a lady pulling at my legs and massaging my spine. And the most stark difference is we are hoping my appts will not require a trip to the hospital because little Herny will have gone back where she came from.
Wish it with me...
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