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hazelwindows's journal
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It's snowing beautifully outside. I had thought today would be just another rainy day and had consoled myself with that point when thinking of my ruined plans. Instead, I must try to get out of bed and down the stairs long enough to at least go out in it for a little bit. I can find enjoyment of the white weather even without it being my wedding day. Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone. |
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I was in the hospital for eleven days due to pancreatitis, then bradycardia, and then gallbladder removal surgery (which I can't remember how to spell the name for.) Because I went to a teaching hospital, I think, they had shared rooms and A LOT of people coming in to play doctor or nurse at all hours with the patients. Since leaving the hospital, I have seen that the likely reason my pulse was so low there (it was in the 40's and 50's) was sheer sleep deprivation. Even while I was in severe, blanket-clawing pain, my blood pressure and pulse stayed alarmingly low. This caused faintness and weakness and it also caused me to maintain a pretty steady conviction that I was going to die in that fifth floor room. I'm home now and though I seem to have some lasting pain and weakness, I am able to sleep finally. It was kind of shameful. By my 4th or 5th night, I remember begging the nurse for a corner in a hall or closet to try and sleep in because my latest roommate had a bad cough as well as an endless stream of specialists and students visiting her night and day. They tried putting me in a chair in the hallway but it was just as busy there for someone with home invasion PTSD to conceivably fall asleep for more than a couple minutes before being horribly startled awake again. I faced daily so many fears and traumas from my past and phobias. The list is tremendous. Also at issue, I was a difficult patient. I didn't react well to any of their oral pain medication nor could I take sleep meds. To make matters worse, when a obnoxious, sadistic surgical student was sent in to talk to me of the surgery he would perform, I took the well meant advice of the nurse and requested a patient advocate and a different surgeon. Needless to say, the surgeons banded together to hate me en masse from that point on and the patient advocate was never heard from again after her initial interview with me. So much has happened. I have bad dreams every night that are quite convincing, that people are taking me or I've already been readmitted to the hospital. I also have a sense that my life is new or different-- like I've changed or the world has since this experience. I try not to ruminate over the pain and loss of normal eating that the surgery has caused me, and I try to imagine I'll be okay just to survive. I feel courage when I think of how even a three legged dog adjusts in time. It tears me up to see what they did to my belly button, and another incision site they sewed up like a poorly done hem so it has puckered. It hurts to eat and I dare not eat anything with fat or sharp edges or spice. But it won't kill me. And if it were able to kill me I'd take comfort in being at home when it did. When I first got home, I slept seventeen hours in a row. Then most of the next couple of days after that. I still must spend much of my days in bed. Thank God for Tony. He has proven himself through all of it to me in ways I will always feel honor and gratitude for. Today is the seven year anniversary of the day Tony and I met. It was also supposed to be our wedding day. It's the best I can do to stay in the present and keep searching out perspectives of acceptance. Otherwise, my sadness is insupportable. It's a change not a loss... That's how I aim my mind, but my heart keeps wondering over what all has happened. Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone. |
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What matters to me is that there is Good. It exists. There is beauty, innocence, and wonderful sweet things that continue living and happening and I get to love them, to be in awe of them, to help them whenever I see a way. I get to throw my lot in with them in spirit and in actions, thereby feeling the kinship between me and the neat things I am given the honor to witness and know of. However, I frequently get too caught up in the details and implications of what happens to me... I fear the negative outcomes, the pains, the likelihood of further suffering or the idea that what I care about is ultimately cared about in vain somehow. I fear I will not thrive and survive as long as I was meant to, that I'm somehow failing at what I was created to do here, and I associate death with loss of the goodness and loveliness I have come in contact with. I guess I count my own unique brand of appreciation of the Good Things I love as a Good Thing of its own, and so my mind fears for and tries to protect me against the possible loss of that, so, I fear the unknown... which is a lot to fear. The unknown is everywhere. My fear interferes with and cuts in on my time and personal availability for appreciating and loving the things I would otherwise be using my time here to know and love. These moments of happiness get put on hold as my stress and pain rise and lower, and my attention becomes attuned to predicting that rhythm instead... my fear gradually rocking me out and away onto a stormy sea. The sea is not evil, it is not Bad, but it is a hardship, a trial. It is far from home. It reminds me that I have no control over creation. It makes me seasick and homesick for all the Good things going on inside and out that I got distracted from by worrying I would lose them. It reminds me that I have just one choice in front of me-- how will I spend the time I have? Where will I place my attention? Is my suffering more important to me than what Good and happiness I can connect with and possibly even strengthen while I am here? Is attuning to and reacting against the ebbs and flows of my pain the most important thing? I have no power to save myself or spare myself from suffering caused by fear or hardship or loss. I have no power to know the unknown-- what was, what could have been, what might be, what will be. What I do have is the choice to focus my belief on beautiful things and it is the right choice because I need them and they need me. I think cherishing that connection matters to me no matter what else happens. I have the choice to find peace in the Good. I can know and connect with it. I can make choices to let go of my fear over not knowing what will happen to this vessel and its contents when I am beyond holding them anymore in this life. My suffering is not going to be in vain. Worrying over the things I cannot change is not as important as working to see, nurture, and protect the worthwhile things with my time here. I would fill myself with harmony and peace if I get to decide what I do with myself. And, lastly, even if there is nothing else out there (which I highly doubt is the case-- look at the synchronicities!-- but again, it is unknown,) I know my purpose is still to stand as long as I can as a vessel for the Good because what I want most is for the Good to be kept safe and well. |
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A Cherokee grandfather teaching Tribal ways and philosophies on life to his grandson, spoke: "A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One wolf is evil. He is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego. The other wolf is good. He is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith." Looking straight into his grandson's eyes, the old man continues: "This same fight is going on inside you and I and every person in the world." His grandson, thinking about this phenomenon for a moment, asks his wise old grandfather: "Which one will win?" The Cherokee grandfather replies: "The one you feed!" |
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Make sure your sound is turned way up. I cannot stop viewing this...
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Casey Anthony was found not guilty of all the charges related to murder against her after a short jury deliberation. I was very shocked since it is absolutely clear that the girl suffers from serious sociopathy. I guess the jurors felt the state did not prove it's case, but damn... I am still very shocked. Phone call of Casey Anthony from jail to her parents while Caylee was still missing. Remember, Casey later admits that "Zanny" the nanny who supposedly kidnapped Caylee, is a made up person who had never existed, and Casey's attorney also acknowledged that Casey knew at the time of this call that her daughter was dead. Regardless of how sure I had been that she would be found guilty, I still could not help but sympathize with her intense (for her) tears of relief at hearing the words, "not guilty" despite the odds and the incredible amount of public hatred towards her. I do not believe in "an eye for an eye" mentality, and I do not believe in the death penalty. The reasons I would have had for hoping she was convicted of murder centered more around the idea that someone *this* out of touch (pathological) with the laws and morals of human society would be hard to trust not to do some other atrocious act if let loose on the world. I hope I'm wrong since she's likely to be released this Thursday. Casey Anthony at the moment of verdict: click here to view youtube video Even as I feel hesitant, guilty relief that she is not going to be executed, I can only hope weakly that if she cannot feel actual remorse for her daughter, she will at least have learned the lesson that it is not worth the risk of 3 years in jail, a stressful trial, and the demolition of every friend and family system she ever had to attempt any other nefarious feats of violent criminal activity in the future. Her daughter, Caylee, is tragically dead no matter what is done to Casey now. A conviction would have done nothing for that. At least now, Casey's mother will have the small comfort of knowing her daughter isnt sentenced to die, even as she looks on and wonders why justice and real closure over the fate of her granddaughter, Caylee, was not actually achieved. The reaction of the defense team after the not guilty verdict. At least somebody's happy: |
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Tony and I were driving down Foster Road near the junkyard yesterday and I saw a little grey thing on the side of the road. I knew something was wrong so we drove around the block and I walked up and found a little 8 week old kitten huddled on the ground. It was clearly not doing well lying on a busy street with it's eyes so crusted over and infected that it couldnt even open them. It also wasnt responsive to the cars or to people right next to it and it's face was very angular from lack of nourishment. I wrapped it in some laundry in the car (a pair of Tony's jeans) and we set off for the vet hospital.  --- --- --- --- ( I put a cut for pics and a YouTube link ) |
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I have caught the crud from hell via Tony. I thought you couldnt catch the same virus more than once!!! Evidently, that is an old wive's tale. To begin with, I have had an intense sore throat for five days. Part of the time I have no voice at all (usually mornings), and the rest of the time the register my voice hits is the same as a grown man attempting to mimic the croak of a frog. When I try to gasp in air fast, I get a bit claustrophobic because my swollen throat feels like the tight waist on an hourglass for the air to have to pass through. As of last night, the virus has finally blown into a full headache-stuffynose-sneezing-bleary-eyed-c Tony had this pox for most of last month when he gave me a light case of it, then he recaught it after a few scant days symptom-free, then gave it back to me this month but full on this time, and while I have yet to hear his voice return fully to pre-sickness timbre, here I am still on my first week of this full on CRUD! Oh, plus it gave me cold sores, head ache, mild ear ache, complete laryngitis and sapped all my energy. With Tony's battle against it, he had it develop into bronchitis last month and now he's worrying that it has led to a sinus infection this time around. WTF IS THIS THING?! It's also damp and chilly outside providing the perfect backdrop for laying in bed and moaning about my fate between nose blows, coughs, and croaks except I feel smothered when I lay down so Tony's sleeping through today while I blearily write self-pity tirades online. People with this virus should be quarrantined for public safety. God help us if Tony brings this hot mess of a virus back from the pharmacy for a third round. On the plus side? Everything tastes like that one weird flavor that you get when sick. I know, that's not intrinsically fun. I used to hate that flavor, but over the years it's become nostalgic somehow so I'm okay with it. When I get that taste in my mouth, I know that this is indeed one of the handful of times in my life where I am being hijacked by a truly atrocious, all powerful flu bug. So at this point, the sick taste to everything has become kind of validating. |
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I'm digging on listening to their speech as I watch this Austrian TV Channel... |
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happy