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  • Nanworimo 2009

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  • August Blues

    I’ve been waiting for things to take a wonderful turn for the better so I can report something lovely. Hasn’t happened, so here’s the boring, difficult truth.

    The June uterectomy/ooferectomy surgery was a success (seems I had debilitating endometriosis), and I still have one healthy ovary intact. Also survived a July, fully of birthdays and anniversaries with my soon-to-be-ex-spouse (we had a good time together).

    But now I am slogging through August trying to continue to recover from surgery while adjusting to new Lyme meds, restarting physical therapy and non-aerobic walking while finishing legal paperwork for the divorce and taxes.

    It is all hard, all painful, and from day-to-day seems overwhelming if not downright impossible. I am better in some ways, but am so extremely fatigued that I have the energy for maybe one task per day. On a remarkable day, two. Simply scheduling an energy audit seems undoable, and I really must do it. My electric bill is off the charts — way too large for my small place. And I must also find out what has happened to my application for Medicare B. And apply for some other state services I may be eligible for now. I am still not unpacked — haven’t been strong enough. Haven’t been able to think clearly enough to organize. One of the reasons I put off the energy audit is that I’d like to have a few more things put away and have easier access to all things electric. Hasn’t happened yet.

    On top of it all, I am grieving that the life I planned for is completely gone, forever. This takes far more energy that I would have guessed. Small wonder I find moving forward near impossible.

    In spite of all this, I think I am a little better, post surgery, although it is nearly impossible to tell only seven weeks out what with all the fatigue. I still need pain meds, although not very much, mostly for Lyme pain. But I’m not writing (reflected in lack of blog entries) or creating any art. A very bad sign.

    I read a meditation last night that asked me what gifts I would ask from the Universe to help me through this difficult time. It has never occurred to me to ask for gifts, and I found it impossible to think of anything to ask for since every good thing I have wanted seems to be taken away from me.

    So, I guess if you read this, send good thoughts my way, and wish me the energy I need to do what needs to be done. That would seem like a miracle at this point.

    Blessings to you all.

    Love Request

    One of my sisters, the one who lives close and has been helping me physically and emotionally through a rough time, got awful news this morning.

    One of her dearest friends lost a daughter and grandson in a terrible car crash last night.

    If you read this, would you please take a moment from your busy day to hold everyone grieving this loss in love and light?

    Such a small thing can make an enormous difference. Thank you.

    Serena

    Not Much Cheer This Year

    Gee, I’d sure love to write something uplifting during the holidays. Not likely this year.

    On the other hand, I am managing to remember that I am not yet bed-bound, not yet so disabled that I can’t walk at all — I need the power chair only for distances of more than a block or two. I can still breathe on my own, and my heart still beats (even if it does so with a nasty, though harmless, arrhythmia that can scare the hell out of me). Pain, while constant, is unbearable only for spurts. And I seem to be getting used to it (good thing since I seem to be allergic to most pain medications).

    For this holiday season, this dark time of the cycle of our planet, I guess I’m giving up the façade of acting happy, OK, or pretending that I’m getting by. At least here in my blog. I am (some would say finally) taking stock of what I have lost. Here’s a bit of what goes through my mind.

    If I had not become infected when I was so young (30-40 years ago is one guess, probably in my teens), perhaps I would have been more resilient when family, lovers, and friends failed or betrayed me. I would have been less devastated, more outgoing, perhaps made better decisions. I believe I would have been able to bounce back more fully than I did when horrible things happened.

    But I didn’t bounce back. And as the years wore on, bacterial infections started taking my life piece by piece. Continuing with that all important ability to cope with disaster.

    I actually showed considerable ability to cope early on. But I believe that neuroborreliosis (and the other tick born illnesses I’ve got) slowed — and then halted — my ability to rebound. It wore me away over time.

    If I had not become infected, I’d have a body of artwork by now. I know I’d have an art studio and be producing (and selling) wearable art. I would be spinning and knitting and felting. Weaving. Sketching. Creating polymer clay creations. I would be designing and sewing clothing. Pursuing all those creative passions that give me so much joy.

    My career with them was halting in the first place (due to illness, resiliency, etc.). Now, because I can no longer use my hands all that much, I’ve given away or sold most of my art supplies. The rest are in storage, which is silly. It would cost less to get rid of them and rebuy them (if I ever got well again) than to pay for storage each month. But I don’t have the energy to go through them. So there they sit.

    I would have been writing seriously for decades. I would have published articles regularly. I might have written a book. Or two.

    I wouldn’t have sold my piano ten years ago, when my hands stopped working. I would still be playing classical and jazz and who knows what. My heart still breaks when I remember I no longer have a piano. And that if I had one, I couldn’t play.

    And this fall, I found out that I can no longer sing. I took a vocal performance class, and found that my body is too frail. Singing, I remembered with a shock, is physically demanding. Don’t know what I was thinking. But it’s still a shock.

    And let’s not forget my inability to work. Generate income. Bring home the bacon. Since becoming disabled, my income has been cut down to about a quarter of what I used to make. And the cost of insurance takes about a quarter of that. If I were able to work, well, let’s just say things would be a whole lot more financially secure. And I’d have the joy of going out into the world, which I miss terribly.

    I would have friends. I know what it feels like to have had them. At the moment, I know what it means to be very, very lonely. Which is infuriating because I know how to make friends, good friends. But one must be well to do that work. And it is work. It requires creativity, commitment, and reciprocity. Energy. None of which I’ve got.

    Finally, worst of all, is my inability to volunteer (a great way to make good friends, by the way). For a while, when I became so sick that I could not work any more, I dreamed of being able to volunteer in meaningful programs locally with all my new “free time”. What a dope!

    First of all, I was (am) in such denial that I didn’t (don’t) realize that I’d become (I am) one of the “less fortunate” who need volunteers to help them out.

    Second, a chronically ill person has no free time Or energy. It all goes toward treatment management, symptom management, recording symptoms and medications, doctor’s appointments, and everyone’s personal favorite, sparring with one’s medical insurance company. All other normal chores (paying bills, cleaning house, doing laundry, cooking, marketing, family engagements), fall to the bottom of the priority pile. They often don’t get done at all. (Thank god I have a partner who pays bills, or I’d be in jail.)

    There. It’s not a complete list, and I reserve the right to add to it later. It’s just what’s on my mind at the moment.

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