Friday, May 16, 2014

Around this time of year I get restless

because this is the month that I was diagnosed.  This is the month that doctor's squeezed me in, ran test after test, the news getting worse with every test.  "We are going to fix this for you." turned to "We want to fix this for you."  Stage One quickly went to two and we just skipped three all together.  This is the time of year I look back at my first posts and think, how did I do it?  How did we survive it?  SEVEN years later, two boys finishing up third and first grade, talking about baseball every night, major remodel, PTA, scars all over my body, more medical paperwork than I care to count, two/three cats died, two kitties came, started a business, lost friends, babies were born, babies got married, nephews graduated college, lots of trips to many places.  Sound like a "normal" life.  But I get restless.  I cry in the car sometimes on my way home because I have a way home.  In the morning when I log onto my computer, I brush my fingers down Shelly's obituary.  It is not a sad thing.  It keeps me grounded and make me remember that it really doesn't matter MOST of the time, and what does, we did.  I have gotten mad at God so many times about the pain that the family must be going through.  First, Christmas...really?  Then, Valentines, nice.  Then, her birthday in March and now Mother's Day.  FRICKIN' eh?  If you are God, then change the frickin' dates?!?!?!?  But now Father's Day is coming, whew.  I have been thinking a lot about what I have never really shared when I fainted in chemo.  I think it is all coming up for me because I want to know how she felt when that time came.  So, here goes.....

(Faint)  I woke up, but not my body.  It was dark, so dark and I was calm and aware of where I was.  I was looking for a light, something to guide me to the next place.  It seemed like an eternity and I became curious as to where I was supposed to go.  I turned.  No light.  I turned the other way.  No light.  I looked ahead as far as I could see and then very faintly behind me I heard the many people, confusion, yelling, moving things out of the way, "Is her oxygen always this low?!?!?!?!  NO!  IT IS UPSIDE DOWN! (The monitor)."  I paused and it is like I was defeated because I knew I had to go back.  Crap.  I have to go back.  I slowly turn and I am jolted back in the world.  I feel everything moving and everyone moving me.  The oxygen in my face and the nurse saying, "She is okay.  She opened her eyes.  Hi, sweetheart."  "I am sorry." I reply.  Hank was there.  Everyone calmed down and the crisis was over.  My nurse that day was weeping while she was cleaning everything up.  Elaine was offer a drink and she was hoping for Scotch, but she got tea.  Really needed Scotch.  Hank gave me one phone call (like in prison) and I told him to call Grant and tell him not to come.  I was transferred for observation to the hospital overnight.  Elaine stay most of the day with me.  Grant came late that night.  I was still trying to wrap around what happened and how easy it would have been to go toward the light.  THAT scared me more than anything.  How could I leave my family?  The guilt I felt for having be so, well, easy.  I think that is why "getting back up on the horse" was so hard.  I didn't want to leave, but I knew then that the line between life and death is pretty darn thin.  I believe now that I knew how she felt and I want to make something VERY CLEAR.  When I was there, there was no guilt, no judgement, nothing but peace and direction.  You go one way or the other.  Nothing external has anything to do with it.  It just was not my time.

I just got to the place of tell this all to Grant last night.  It was a beautiful night and we were on the back patio.  The wind had kicked up and we were listening to music and talking which does not happen during baseball much.  I think I told him because I get restless in May.  He said something to the effect of, "I know how close we have come...."

Oh, the places we have been.......and the places we have yet to years AND counting.....




Dawn Finlayson said...

Wow. Really no words. Just Wow. And I love you! Thank you for sharing.

Cheers to you, friend. Seven years - you're a winner, a fighter and conquerer of all things!

P.S. I've got to STOP reading your blog while I am at work because now I'm sitting in my office crying! :)

Anonymous said...

I'm so thankful, proud and happy that you found the light! Rock star!

Love & laughter,

Anonymous said...

Angie Yes 7 years and what an amazing fight . Your strength and determination are great and I knew you would WIN !!!
You are a joy to know and I am so proud of you for keeping on the path to recovery . ( I am sure Grandma is also very proud of you )I know where your strength and determination come from .

Love you my friend Peggy Smith

Peter Kobzar said...

You're amazing, Ang... aways will be.

Love, Peter

Vicki Olafson said...

I don't have any words. Thanks for sharing such a personal experience. A fighter you have/will always be. Love you my dearest friend.