The Monkey’s A Butt

I suppose life is a series of ups and downs.  The worst part is, that when I am down, it FEELS like everyone else is up.  I now understand that this is just my perception and often very far from the truth.  

I am in Tucson, Arizona with a friend who had a bone marrow/stem cell transplant.  Watching her for the past 14 days go through the after effects of treatment has been difficult.  Because of the trauma her body has experienced she is limited to what she can eat, how it must be prepared, and how much or how fast she can have it.  

She has fought tooth and nail to eat foods that she wants but make her vomit because her body can’t handle them right now.  She told people I was being mean by not letting her have them.  She snuck around while I was sleep and ate things she knew she was not supposed to and I awakened to the violent retching that this caused.  

Worst of all, it made me confront what my sister went through after my brain surgery.  It made me look at myself and how my own feelings of being trapped in a painful body that allows me no joy caused me to lash out and act childish and obstinate.  After being subjected to this treatment by another, one who I am not even related to, I wished more and more that I had never made it off of that table because I am ashamed that I acted that way.  

And I am angry with myself because I don’t have the mental fortitude of my sister to continue caring for this person they way they should be cared for.  At this his point, my goal is to make sure she stays alive long enough to make it back it Las Vegas so I can find something better to do with myself.  

I feel like a failure.  I came 400 miles to Arizona to take care of someone and in the end, she didn’t listen, she talked about me to other people, she pouted like a child, and I was basically just her driver and the person who went grocery shopping so she could have food to vomit.  

Luckily, she is doing better.  I have given her over to herself and whatever it is she feels like eating.  I will not fix it, eat it, or listen to it come back up.  I want her to be healthy, she wants to do what she feels.  I pray that her body gets healthier everyday and that she is able to keep more and more food down and feel normal and happy again.  She will probably do this with a lot less Michelle in her life.  

Part of this is my lack of deep feelings for things.  I just want to accomplish stuff.  I just wanted to take care of her.  Not so much because we are friends, but because she needed it.  At least, that is what I was told.  She did apologize for something, but I also am not one who accept applogies as anything other than trying to get back into my good graces.  I apologize to others because it is socially expected of me.  Rarely do I feel remorse for any action I have committed.  So, I suppose I expect that from others.  

This experience has taught me so much about other people, but mostly about myself.  About my motives. About what drives me.  About what I think I can tolerate vs what I actually can tolerate vs what I will tolerate.

I will go back and people will probably tell me how good of a job I did or that I was such a blessing, but really, their empty words will fall on deaf ears because I know that I am not who they think I am.  I am a deeply flawed person who wishes that I could just be what people think I am.  Or what people want.

I hope that if there is a next time for me that I can follow instructions and be a good patient. I hope I can remember that the person caring for me probably isn’t being paid in anything but my kindness or wrath, and I pray it is kindness and humility.  I can’t repay my sister or any of the people who have taken care of me.  I only wish I could have done as good a job.

Get The Monkey Out!!

Christmas is over.  This year it felt very hollow.  Not the family or anything like that.  Usually at this time of year I feel differently.  I am outwardly focused.  Trying to finish finals, go shopping, decorate, help whoever I can.  Cooking huge meals and delicious desserts while singing my favorite traditional carols at full volume.

This year, November and December were all about myself.  Visiting doctors, taking pain medications, MRIs, sleeping, lots of sleeping.  Then the surgery.  Everything changed.  I needed help sitting up.  Someone was feeding me.  Walking me to the restroom.

Today, 27 days from the table, I can fix really easy food for for myself.  I don’t use the walker.  I clean myself up.  I can spend a few hours out of the house, though it is exhausting.

People want to come visit, but it is difficult because I never know how I will feel or if my body will try something new.  A good friend came to visit.  Luckily, not much happened but she is a nurse and knows how to handle the unexpected body quirk.

For the past 2 days I have been sleeping a lot.  Not sure why, but when my body says “sleep” I make sure to listen.  My days blur together; I don’t always know if something happened today or yesterday.

My healing is my main focus.  I want to get better so I can actively help and love others.  That’s why the season feels so empty.  It been all about me.  Even for my family, it has been all about my recovery.  No trees or lights, no listening to Handle’s Messiah.  They have been getting prescriptions, taking me to post-op appointments, doing my laundry, buying all the crazy little things I need.  Sitting with me so my sister can rest.

I feel like I swallowed the holiday season.  I know I didn’t, and I would be there for any one of them, no matter the time of year.  We still enjoyed our small Christmas gathering.  We had a big breakfast with pancakes, eggs, Applewood bacon, maple sausage, grits, creamed corn, cheddar biscuits.  It was all good.  I now understand love on a deeper level.  Not a single person in my family has complained about how my condition has affected their lives.  No one has made me feel bad.  They have let me know that they are tired.  That is to be expected.  They put a lot of effort into seeing that I am comfortable and in good spirits every day.

Look, if people are willing to care for you, know that they are working very hard and long hours to see to your care.  They are good folks if they don’t make it your business to know a lot of how they feel.  So you have to be kind to your caretaker.  Thank you.  Say it.  All the time.  Please.  It’s very much in fashion to be polite as a sign of your gratitude.  And if they come to you with a grievance, listen and find a way to deal with it that satisfies both parties.

After getting surgery on my sinuses, I asked my sister to make me Macon and eggs.  Multiple times a day.  Multiple days in a row.  In top of the other things she had to do to care for me, like clean out my nose (where she coined the phrase “bloodmucous”), follow my 3 hour med cycle, and everything else.  On day 3 she looked terrible, like she had been locked in a dungeon for a few months without light.  No sleep.  Kinda in a daze.  Following preset alarms with instructions on the phone.  On day 4, she came in the room and announced that she cooked the bacon.  ALL the bacon.  And the ends and pieces too.  There would be no more bacon and eggs.  NO MORE!!

See, I didn’t consider that she needed time to rest and there is peanut butter and jelly.  Now, I am better about that.  Sometimes we order in.  Sometimes Mom brings food.  Sometimes she cooks.  It’s easier on her this way so, this time she looked a lot better on day 3.  This time, she just looked like she spent the weekend partying.  It’s been a journey and it isn’t over yet.  I can’t even pour a gallon of milk yet.  But I did put peanut butter on bread, so, yeah!

Now, I am really wanting to get out and see the world I miss so much.  Focus on something besides myself.

Soon.

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