Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
The Intruder
Every time I start a new project, usually something I have waited a very long time to try and do I inevitably get hit with something unexpected. You would think I would be used to it by now, this disruption that ceases my current activity. It really happens every time. I am never prepared, never aware enough of my surroundings to see it coming, never prepared enough to know how to stop it. It comes, it comes not sneaking in or with trepidation, but rather stomping, hard, loud, invasive intrusive pounding leaps and bounds as if it were announcing, "Hey, Asshole! I'm here!"
I have pneumonia, not just any pneumonia but a great body wracking, strength sapping illness that causes me to hack up great gobs of thickened bright red blood. I have fought this new intrusion differently than I have before when something tries to steal from me. I will tell you that I can tolerate most anything, being of a mind to not pay attention to uninteresting signs of failing health. I HATE BEING STOLEN FROM! I will tackle you to the ground and break everything my hands can get a hold of, if you steal from me. It's my thing, the act that makes me crazy, the idea that turns my face red, head pounding filling with a bloody rage, this stealing thing. I will give you the shirt off my back if you ask for it, but if you try ad take it without permission, well, my friend, I will warn you at that precise moment you are no longer human to me.
This illness, this intrusion that has caused me such great grief in the last few weeks, and has stolen a few things from me and now I am pissed. It stole my ability to think for several days, it stole all of my energy, leaving me crippled and laying in a heap on our couch. It began to steal my confidence and competence, when a sudden surge of anger, welled up in me and I decided that the sneaky little bastard was going to have to go. I had had enough of this thing taking over my somewhat small, somewhat insignificant life and I was going to kick it's ass if I had to , but nobody or nothing was going to take me out without a fight.
The blood, the great splatter paintings I was producing was freaking my ass out! I had never thought I would bleed publicly, out in the open like that with no control or ability to contain it. This undermined my personality making me feel afraid and anxious. I was terrified to cough. I was afraid to sneeze or burp or move my head or chest in a way that might anger the beast, encouraging it's wrath to push up more blood. I felt feeble, weak and taken. Then I felt pissed!
"You can die from pneumonia..." one well wisher told me. "Yes, thanks for the heads up, I am aware," I thought in my head. It can be a killer, there is no doubt. My childhood hero Jim Henson died of pneumonia. I have never forgotten it. I had thought him invincible, driven and maybe even a little mad. I thought his genius would protect him from something so common. I was not at all that surprised at my diagnosis, but I was shocked as hell at his. I am common, living my small life in the biggest way I can. My only bigness comes because I am inclusive, but the truth be told if I died tomorrow very few people would even know let alone feel it. Where some might rely on others to determine their legacy, define their life, I got over that the first time I died. My full arrest, ceasing to exist at 28 taught me that indeed you are born alone and that is the way you go out. I have not carried any delusion about that for a very long time.
I will tell you that this time, my illness, my intrusion, my all out pain in the assness, came at a time when it would have been easier to quit my outside activities than try and mend around them. It would have been easier to give in to it than fight my way out of it. Nothing I have going on is so very important, so very imperative so very life changing that if I quit and no longer showed up anyone else's life would change...but mine.
Today I did my hair. Don't judge me, it's the first day I haven't wanted to wear my pajamas out in public or just stay home curled in the fetal position feeling sorry for myself. I put on makeup, splashed on some perfume and flipped my lungs the bird.
I could have quit things, spent my time recovering, allowed the intruder to take control. This time my anger at the utter inconvenience of the intruder is keeping me on my feet. I am allowing myself to feel the gamut of emotions that comes from having another close call. This time I'm allowing myself to be a little pissed off that I am being bothered. This freedom of emotion, this loose flowing of feeling is liberating. It has caused me to be more buoyant, than begrudgingly slogging through like I would have done and have done many, many times. I haven't quit or cut back on a single thing, and I have no intention to do so. If any more intrusions come along, I will be sure to tell them that I am very busy and can't be bothered with them. Oh and they can kiss my big fat stretched marked ass.
I have pneumonia, not just any pneumonia but a great body wracking, strength sapping illness that causes me to hack up great gobs of thickened bright red blood. I have fought this new intrusion differently than I have before when something tries to steal from me. I will tell you that I can tolerate most anything, being of a mind to not pay attention to uninteresting signs of failing health. I HATE BEING STOLEN FROM! I will tackle you to the ground and break everything my hands can get a hold of, if you steal from me. It's my thing, the act that makes me crazy, the idea that turns my face red, head pounding filling with a bloody rage, this stealing thing. I will give you the shirt off my back if you ask for it, but if you try ad take it without permission, well, my friend, I will warn you at that precise moment you are no longer human to me.
This illness, this intrusion that has caused me such great grief in the last few weeks, and has stolen a few things from me and now I am pissed. It stole my ability to think for several days, it stole all of my energy, leaving me crippled and laying in a heap on our couch. It began to steal my confidence and competence, when a sudden surge of anger, welled up in me and I decided that the sneaky little bastard was going to have to go. I had had enough of this thing taking over my somewhat small, somewhat insignificant life and I was going to kick it's ass if I had to , but nobody or nothing was going to take me out without a fight.
The blood, the great splatter paintings I was producing was freaking my ass out! I had never thought I would bleed publicly, out in the open like that with no control or ability to contain it. This undermined my personality making me feel afraid and anxious. I was terrified to cough. I was afraid to sneeze or burp or move my head or chest in a way that might anger the beast, encouraging it's wrath to push up more blood. I felt feeble, weak and taken. Then I felt pissed!
"You can die from pneumonia..." one well wisher told me. "Yes, thanks for the heads up, I am aware," I thought in my head. It can be a killer, there is no doubt. My childhood hero Jim Henson died of pneumonia. I have never forgotten it. I had thought him invincible, driven and maybe even a little mad. I thought his genius would protect him from something so common. I was not at all that surprised at my diagnosis, but I was shocked as hell at his. I am common, living my small life in the biggest way I can. My only bigness comes because I am inclusive, but the truth be told if I died tomorrow very few people would even know let alone feel it. Where some might rely on others to determine their legacy, define their life, I got over that the first time I died. My full arrest, ceasing to exist at 28 taught me that indeed you are born alone and that is the way you go out. I have not carried any delusion about that for a very long time.
I will tell you that this time, my illness, my intrusion, my all out pain in the assness, came at a time when it would have been easier to quit my outside activities than try and mend around them. It would have been easier to give in to it than fight my way out of it. Nothing I have going on is so very important, so very imperative so very life changing that if I quit and no longer showed up anyone else's life would change...but mine.
Today I did my hair. Don't judge me, it's the first day I haven't wanted to wear my pajamas out in public or just stay home curled in the fetal position feeling sorry for myself. I put on makeup, splashed on some perfume and flipped my lungs the bird.
I could have quit things, spent my time recovering, allowed the intruder to take control. This time my anger at the utter inconvenience of the intruder is keeping me on my feet. I am allowing myself to feel the gamut of emotions that comes from having another close call. This time I'm allowing myself to be a little pissed off that I am being bothered. This freedom of emotion, this loose flowing of feeling is liberating. It has caused me to be more buoyant, than begrudgingly slogging through like I would have done and have done many, many times. I haven't quit or cut back on a single thing, and I have no intention to do so. If any more intrusions come along, I will be sure to tell them that I am very busy and can't be bothered with them. Oh and they can kiss my big fat stretched marked ass.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Silent But Deadly
I was not writing, so I could live more so I could have something to write about, rather than just about my past. Don't get me wrong, I think my past is fascinating...but, I was feeling tied to it in the now. Sometimes I would rather live life, rather than just write about it.
I started to notice a few minor aches and pains in the last few months. Being a retired nurse and someone who was able to ignore even the most obvious symptoms, I did what I was good at and ignored all of the tiny, infinitesimal signs that I might be ill. I had a rather annoying pain in my chest. It was on the right side and I only felt it occasionally. "No big deal", I thought. It would hurt more if it were really something to worry about. I had a nagging cough, but it only happened at night and only woke me up a few times a week, so I didn't think too much about it. If it were truly important, it would wake me up all the time. I had noticed the taste of blood in my mouth. I became obsessive about my gums. I must be grinding my teeth, due to the increased stress of all that is happening in our household. I noticed I only tasted it at night, so it must be me grinding my teeth into dust.
I personally hate the sight of blood, especially my own. If I saw your blood, I would not get so nearly worked up over it, because I would look at you like a science experiment I needed to figure out. What color is the blood, what is the consistency, what are the predisposing conditions, are you on aspirin or blood thinner therapy. I would start doing the calculations of what the blood meant and where it was coming from. I tend to ignore me, my bleeding, little pains that seem temporary, so if I were to say bleed copious amounts, I would be more than a little concerned.
You see, I am an asshole about my health. I had major surgery where they ripped out my ovaries and a large tumor and I went back to work in 2 weeks. I don't get sick. If I do get sick, I don't stay sick. If I stay sick I sure as hell don't acknowledge it. I am an arrogant ass, when it comes to my body. I have no respect for the near death experiences I have had, when it comes to what it should mean to me. I am grateful for still being here, but I am human so I am by sheer nature arrogant, and I am forgetful. So here I was ignoring signs that something was wrong...until my body got sick and tired of waiting for me to take care of it and did something drastic.
My first blog back into my world of writing was going to be all about how I got a new job, got cast in a play and all the hearts flowers, rainbows and kittens I was feeling while continuing to prepare for my beloved's departure to the other side of the country. I was going to take this weekend and talk about being an American, 9/11 and the fact it has been 29 years since I met my beloved. 29 years this very day. I was going to write about what I did on my summer vacation so to speak. But then something terrible happened that freaked my sorry ass so bad, I lost all of my words.
Last Wednesday night, my nagging cough came back and decided to become stronger, show me who was boss so I might pay attention. I ignored it until I saw the spray of blood in my hands. I coughed again and this time blood gushed out of my throat and mouth. I ran to the kitchen sink and started spitting as fast as I could to rid my mouth of the vile tasting thick bright red liquid. I got water and rinsed my mouth out. The cough and the bleeding stopped. Being an asshole and a retired nurse, I didn't panic, I assumed I had broken a blood vessel from coughing so hard. I told Mike I was going into work in the morning and if it happened again I would seek medical attention. I coughed with white paper towels up to my mouth so I could see if any more blood was there. It was not, so I went back to work and tried to forget about how gross it was and how very much it reminded me of Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge.
Thursday came and went and I was sitting on the couch when I began to cough, this time I could not catch my breath, this time the blood just kept coming, I could not contain it in a towel or my hands and I bolted for the sink. I kept trying to clear my own airway as the blood just kept coming. I thought about how Mike would find me dead on the floor from aspirating my own blood if I didn't do something. I rinsed and gagged and spit. More blood gushed up after cough. I heard a hoarse wheeze escape from own mouth. I just kept thinking I would be so pissed if I died before I got to do some things I had waited for my kids to be grown to do. The coughing slowed and bleeding slowed as well. I told Mike I needed to go the hospital, and off we went to find out if I was dying or if I just had the most dramatic common cold ever seen by humans.
The hospital was full at 11:30 PM with the usual suspects, elderly people who fell, a few drug addicts, small children, coughing and whining and me, Shecky, the joking blood bath. I will cut to the chase since I found the hospital part boring I can assure you, you would too. The bottom line was a chest x-ray and some blood work. The doc told me if they saw anything I would have to do a contrast CAT scan. In walked the CAT scan guy so I assumed they saw something. I was less than thrilled and decided to ask the Big Guy one more time if He could see clear to giving me another shot. The diagnosis was bacterial pneumonia. I am on meds and bed rest sitting up, which is the most uncomfortable short of standing to sleep.
I have tried desperately not to cough. I don't want to see what I saw Thursday. It was like a bad "B" horror movie and I felt completely freaked out about it. I have coughed some, and yes the bad blood remains between me and my lungs, though it is considerably less and waning.
Here's the lesson, the symptoms prior to my hemorrhage were nothing to speak of. While I freely admit to being an asshole about most of my health, I take my lungs pretty seriously. Should I have gone to the doc the first time I coughed? Maybe, but I am sure I would have been encouraged to take over the counter meds first, which I had done anyway. I probably should have gone to see someone the first time I saw blood. That was not my best move, however, I did go the second time without hesitation just like I said I would, so I see that as real improvement.
I am not currently out of the woods, just yet. I still have to monitor what my body is doing and if it remotely looks like I am getting worse I have to go back in immediately. So far I am no worse. The weird thing was other than being tired, a little pale and irritable, I had remarkably few symptoms, so I didn't really feel sick to begin with. That is how pneumonia rolls, more often than not you have no idea you are sick.
I am exhausted and I promised my family and myself I would do better at resting and being more careful with me, so this is it for now. I will write about what I did on my summer vacation, that was actually a new job, and how I met some Steep Canyon Rangers, and a guy who went to jail for capital murder on the same night. I will tell you about the single mom who is bravely going back to college on a wing and prayer. I will write about getting cast in a play in an incredible fluke after having not auditioned for anything in 30 years. There has been a lot that has happened. I will tell you about how stunned I was that my body keeps me alive even when I may not deserve it, and even though I talk smack about it all the time, my body does amazing, scary shit to keep me going. For now I will rest...so I can have the strength to tell all the new stories I have gained since I have been gone.
I started to notice a few minor aches and pains in the last few months. Being a retired nurse and someone who was able to ignore even the most obvious symptoms, I did what I was good at and ignored all of the tiny, infinitesimal signs that I might be ill. I had a rather annoying pain in my chest. It was on the right side and I only felt it occasionally. "No big deal", I thought. It would hurt more if it were really something to worry about. I had a nagging cough, but it only happened at night and only woke me up a few times a week, so I didn't think too much about it. If it were truly important, it would wake me up all the time. I had noticed the taste of blood in my mouth. I became obsessive about my gums. I must be grinding my teeth, due to the increased stress of all that is happening in our household. I noticed I only tasted it at night, so it must be me grinding my teeth into dust.
I personally hate the sight of blood, especially my own. If I saw your blood, I would not get so nearly worked up over it, because I would look at you like a science experiment I needed to figure out. What color is the blood, what is the consistency, what are the predisposing conditions, are you on aspirin or blood thinner therapy. I would start doing the calculations of what the blood meant and where it was coming from. I tend to ignore me, my bleeding, little pains that seem temporary, so if I were to say bleed copious amounts, I would be more than a little concerned.
You see, I am an asshole about my health. I had major surgery where they ripped out my ovaries and a large tumor and I went back to work in 2 weeks. I don't get sick. If I do get sick, I don't stay sick. If I stay sick I sure as hell don't acknowledge it. I am an arrogant ass, when it comes to my body. I have no respect for the near death experiences I have had, when it comes to what it should mean to me. I am grateful for still being here, but I am human so I am by sheer nature arrogant, and I am forgetful. So here I was ignoring signs that something was wrong...until my body got sick and tired of waiting for me to take care of it and did something drastic.
My first blog back into my world of writing was going to be all about how I got a new job, got cast in a play and all the hearts flowers, rainbows and kittens I was feeling while continuing to prepare for my beloved's departure to the other side of the country. I was going to take this weekend and talk about being an American, 9/11 and the fact it has been 29 years since I met my beloved. 29 years this very day. I was going to write about what I did on my summer vacation so to speak. But then something terrible happened that freaked my sorry ass so bad, I lost all of my words.
Last Wednesday night, my nagging cough came back and decided to become stronger, show me who was boss so I might pay attention. I ignored it until I saw the spray of blood in my hands. I coughed again and this time blood gushed out of my throat and mouth. I ran to the kitchen sink and started spitting as fast as I could to rid my mouth of the vile tasting thick bright red liquid. I got water and rinsed my mouth out. The cough and the bleeding stopped. Being an asshole and a retired nurse, I didn't panic, I assumed I had broken a blood vessel from coughing so hard. I told Mike I was going into work in the morning and if it happened again I would seek medical attention. I coughed with white paper towels up to my mouth so I could see if any more blood was there. It was not, so I went back to work and tried to forget about how gross it was and how very much it reminded me of Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge.
Thursday came and went and I was sitting on the couch when I began to cough, this time I could not catch my breath, this time the blood just kept coming, I could not contain it in a towel or my hands and I bolted for the sink. I kept trying to clear my own airway as the blood just kept coming. I thought about how Mike would find me dead on the floor from aspirating my own blood if I didn't do something. I rinsed and gagged and spit. More blood gushed up after cough. I heard a hoarse wheeze escape from own mouth. I just kept thinking I would be so pissed if I died before I got to do some things I had waited for my kids to be grown to do. The coughing slowed and bleeding slowed as well. I told Mike I needed to go the hospital, and off we went to find out if I was dying or if I just had the most dramatic common cold ever seen by humans.
The hospital was full at 11:30 PM with the usual suspects, elderly people who fell, a few drug addicts, small children, coughing and whining and me, Shecky, the joking blood bath. I will cut to the chase since I found the hospital part boring I can assure you, you would too. The bottom line was a chest x-ray and some blood work. The doc told me if they saw anything I would have to do a contrast CAT scan. In walked the CAT scan guy so I assumed they saw something. I was less than thrilled and decided to ask the Big Guy one more time if He could see clear to giving me another shot. The diagnosis was bacterial pneumonia. I am on meds and bed rest sitting up, which is the most uncomfortable short of standing to sleep.
I have tried desperately not to cough. I don't want to see what I saw Thursday. It was like a bad "B" horror movie and I felt completely freaked out about it. I have coughed some, and yes the bad blood remains between me and my lungs, though it is considerably less and waning.
Here's the lesson, the symptoms prior to my hemorrhage were nothing to speak of. While I freely admit to being an asshole about most of my health, I take my lungs pretty seriously. Should I have gone to the doc the first time I coughed? Maybe, but I am sure I would have been encouraged to take over the counter meds first, which I had done anyway. I probably should have gone to see someone the first time I saw blood. That was not my best move, however, I did go the second time without hesitation just like I said I would, so I see that as real improvement.
I am not currently out of the woods, just yet. I still have to monitor what my body is doing and if it remotely looks like I am getting worse I have to go back in immediately. So far I am no worse. The weird thing was other than being tired, a little pale and irritable, I had remarkably few symptoms, so I didn't really feel sick to begin with. That is how pneumonia rolls, more often than not you have no idea you are sick.
I am exhausted and I promised my family and myself I would do better at resting and being more careful with me, so this is it for now. I will write about what I did on my summer vacation, that was actually a new job, and how I met some Steep Canyon Rangers, and a guy who went to jail for capital murder on the same night. I will tell you about the single mom who is bravely going back to college on a wing and prayer. I will write about getting cast in a play in an incredible fluke after having not auditioned for anything in 30 years. There has been a lot that has happened. I will tell you about how stunned I was that my body keeps me alive even when I may not deserve it, and even though I talk smack about it all the time, my body does amazing, scary shit to keep me going. For now I will rest...so I can have the strength to tell all the new stories I have gained since I have been gone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
