Whew I breathe

I'm still recovering it seems, still tired, still frayed a bit, edges worn. Not from the birthday day and night, but from the next day, the next night. The work on the "old house" is getting to me, to us, much more and we may crack. Almost done, I keep saying and re-saying. Mental tricks to keep me going, rattle and repeat. One job to the next, always moving, always more to do. Last time I will do this, and this, and this. Do it right and never again, I shout between my ears. The next phase will be fun, I just know it, I just know it. We grin and bare it for now, cautious with expression, not wanting to taint my parent's move, or good days during the week, or my little birthday. Soon it will be fun, soon. Just a little bit more, I tell myself, my hubby, my little bean. Until then I swallow a million times a second, we swallow and keep moving. Mental chatter best kept silent, released safely into the ground, buried, absorbed, muffled, whew I breathe, whew I breathe, whew I breathe.

Birthday

Well, I've tried several times today, to write about my birthday weekend, but it just keeps coming out all blah, blah, blah.... first we did this, then went there, blah, blah..... but it wasn't like that. There were moments of wonder. Moments I'll remember, like my hubby getting me a present, picked out and purchased a head of time, and gorgeous too. The bean singing happy birthday to me, while still in bed, still half asleep. My friend from London sending me Royal Mail Harry Potter Stamps and a perfect card and cut out. Friends and family calling with wishes, singing songs on my message machine. Lots of smiling I remember on my birthday. Even my morning coffee was worth savoring, lasting longer than my morning run, just as easy, just as peaceful, like they could just go on forever. The AC blowing ice cold while we read HP #7 aloud, for hours and hours, jumping to the excitement, at the edge of our seats. Then my mom in a beautiful skirt, with my dad smiling at the new shade of gold in their future living room. My bean in her new green dragon fly dress, dancing, dancing. A card with my mother's hand writing, saying she's proud of me and even more presents before dinner. My sushi, texture, taste explosions, so succulent, so perfect. French dessert later, chocolate mouse melting lusciously, heavenly, against my tongue. Felt "about town" going from one spot to the next, laughing with my hubby, important words, serious plans. Late night people watching, from the bar, familiar faces, older in the eyes. Windows down for the drive home, moon looking full. I had to pause in the front yard, say thank you to the stars, five months free I am, at 37 years. Wow. That's the moment I guess I should write about. That moment when everything was done, and the sky was bright, and I felt real. Huh... took writing this to comprehend that. I felt real....solid for a moment.

tired

so tired....
safely back home....
will recount tomorrow....
37.....
whoo..... hooo....

whoa....
am I full....

Somber service

In solemn preparation for tomorrow's event, I have tasted the dark chocolate covered blueberries, the dark chocolate covered bits of ginger, and the dark chocolate covered coffee beans. Several times, in fact, just to be sure. I have also prepared the cheeses. Sad to report, all brie is not created equal, ah well. The harvarti however, is delicious.

do doo doo. do doo doo.

my birthday's... tomorrow. my birthday's ...tomorrow. no more to fear. from hep C dear. you know you've kicked it in the rear. my birthday's... tomorrow. my birthday's... tomorrow. life is not done. go have some fun. will start the day off with a run. my birthday's... tomorrow. my birthday's... tomorrow. ba ba ba ba... ba ba ba ba... babababa. babababa.

Prime*

No more a mime,
I feel sublime,
saving some dime,
forgiven my grime,
not yet the slime,
quick pass the lime,
is that the chime,
so surprised it's time,
here comes my prime.


*changed again, and again, and again

Counting for two

Got a new year coming up... the 28th, this Saturday, will begin my 37th year of life. Wild. Working on some resolutions, don't have any plans yet, just know I want some good food, some dark chocolate, and some quiet time to reflect. Ahhh.... sounds perfect. I don't remember much of my 36th birthday, so this one will have to count for two.

Finding my nook

Took most of Saturday to scrape, haul, and dig my way back to the lonely little cramped corner I call my own. My table, my shelves full of paint, my brushes, hand stamps, magnifying glass, and glues, still there waiting for me. Ah.... I love this little corner, decorated with lights, pictures, bowls, and jars full of all sorts of things, ideas mostly, and dreams, lots of those. I had to fight for this little nook two years ago. Stood tall against my hubby, demanded my space, my honor, my presence in the workroom, until I won my rightly due. That's what it felt like anyway and I was proud. Took great care to spruce it up, make it right, accessorize. Got one big collage project out before the Hep C revolution hit, then nothing since. I used it a few times as a hiding place before treatment, but once the meds started all visitation stopped. That's when my space became the abandoned dumping ground, a storage unit for broken excess, a deserted pleasure palace overgrown with dust, dead bugs, and beastly clutter. But no more. Two large bags of trash later, three bundles of magazines to the trunk for future recycling and loads and loads of sweeping, dusting, coughing and sputtering and my lovely little corner is back, relieved, renewed, reborn, a year and a half in hiding. Spent the rest of the afternoon (bean was at my parents and the hubby was out of town) working and reworking an idea that may never come to light. Felt great even without product, just because I could lean, stand, reach, and create, clear in mind, strong in strength, and then just leave my stuff out where it will remain, untouched, until I return. Which I have many times already, if only just to peek at the perfection, my little corner of bliss, all mine.

Expressing my inner Tonks

at the Harry Potter Party.

On the run again

up with the sun
out for a run
1 and 1/2 miles
all full of smiles
and serious concentration....

following some great advice from a marathoner friend, reworking my running stride, shorter, more toe, back taller, full of flow..... big difference (ie: no pain hallelujah). Turns out my bod's weakened state just couldn't handle the inefficient, wonky running style I had developed by default over the years. ....ah, the good 'ol days of "just getting by", off you go by the way side, no time to loose, got new moves to groove, hold me back and I'll give you the sack, quick as that, it's a fact, I'm off to fly, on to hill sides, long stretches I'll glide, to find my new stride, more fun tomorrow, deep strength no need to borrow.

Oh well, still fun

I painted a wood paneled wall behind the framed bowl of fruit that's supposed to be hanging in a castle.... crap.... oh well, no time to change it. Looks cool enough... more of a "hunter's lodge" type theme going on though.... oh well, still fun.

Well, here it is, hanging off the back deck with a bored looking bean:

No, no

No, no fabuloso here..... had chores, too many, to do first: groceries to get, laundry to load, blah, blah, yuck, yuck, and now it's raining and I'm cranky and I don't feel like cooking dinner, humph. Maybe tomorrow, huh? Yeah maybe.

Weekend work

Was gone all weekend, working on the "old house", almost ready, parents excited, my arms hurt, legs tired, swear that drill weighs 15 pounds, much more of this and I'm getting a new one, small, cute, hope it's pink. Now back to that mural (adding a painted wall), fabuloso!

Counting steps

I count my steps several times a day, when doing chores, climbing the stairs, back and forth, back and forth. I always lose count, over and over, but each step is noticed, so able, so quick, so safe. So different from treatment steps, full of fear, pain, dread, so unsurmountable. I remember the year of checking my distance from chair to chair, could I make it? Being unable to cross the yard, unable to leave the car, the bathroom just having to wait. I remember the earth that held me, the weight that pressed me, the stillness that kept me sane. Now back and forth, back and forth, the pantry, the fridge, the kitchen sink, step, step, step, step, so light, so easy. I watch my feet press, push, pull and reach, so mesmerizing. How can it be... so full of magic.

Jigging and jagging

Danced like my daughter,
out in the front yard,
moving and grooving,
flip flapping my arms.
hopped along gracefully,
soared with a twist,
jigging and jagging
it's all in the wrist.

Let it hang

It is ze masterpiece! Big, huge, crazy that I did it. Laughingly said "speak to me", and let the pair choose it's colors. The bananas sit either as a bunch of 4 or possibly 6, depending on how you look at them, an unintended surprise. Extra grapes had to be added to connect the floating orange (this was the bean's idea). So the lines aren't straight and the painted frame sags down towards the left, I love it's awkward appearance. A perfect party prop, glossy sweet, such fun relief. Imperfection I can proudly do.

Closet decor

Got a sheet hanging in the back yard with a big gigantic bowl of fruit painted upon it, by me and the bean. It's not done yet. The basics, the similarities are clear, it's the details that are still missing. It's for an upcoming Harry Potter Party we're attending. This will be the secret entrance into the kitchen. Got a sky to paint later on for a ceiling. I'm excited and I've got to say, yesterday's paint mixing sure stirred up some new inner desires for me. Well, not new, actually well known to me, part of my closet decor, the urge to paint. Collages have been my thing so far. Have my favorite glues, still learning the paper, and love my sleek, little brown pair of scissors, light, sharp, exact. Stamp carving, I've dabbled in that too.... but painting has alluded me so far (it's hard!). But this mural is easy. No biggy, just primed the old sheet and had at it. My kind of thing, for sure. When it's done will I be able to ditch it? The bean says no, says it's perfect, will save it forever, which is what she says about everything, my little virgo collector, hmmm.

Well, I think I'll poor me some coffee and go have a look. Damn life is good.

Post treatment stress disorder (PTrSD)

Was walking briskly (as I can now do), between one store to the next, with my little bean, when it happened: a short, small, tiny shadow flickered in my peripheral. I stopped cold, near panic sweat beaded on my brow, the hint of a dizzy swoon, too familiar, remained, but slight. No way. I kept walking, slower now, defiant. Into the store, empty cart heavy, more shadows, so faint, still unbelievable. Was I hungry? Kind of, well yes I think so, is this happening? My bean asks if this means the virus is back. No, I chuckle, ha ha ha, residues of the meds maybe, I mumble. I'm wondering wildly, can there be any left? Sensation is gaining, soon this feels real. Wha, wha, wha, what do I do? Swirling swirling, I'm gripping gripping, losing my grip. Whoa! Hey. No, I say sternly, you know what to do: get out of this freakin store, go, leave the cart, get some damn lunch you putz, no need for this! And so we did. And all was fine. My bean fluttery, animated, a bit clingy, but ok. No more shadows, no more panic, no more, thank goodness.

System analysis: Was this a flash back, stirred by symbolic reminders of hurried shopping? The shadows, the flickers, the slight sensations felt so real. Maybe I'm just more sensitive to sugar levels in my system than I was before treatment, maybe even because of treatment. I don't know. But the near panic head dive was PTrSD for sure. Oh yeah.

The one thing missed

The one and only, the lone perk, the solitary select sweet, the stringy strand of silvery lining that ever so slightly surrounds the dark dismal existence of 48 weeks on treatment, is the impossibility of weight gain. No matter what you ate, mind you nothing ever felt delicious, but still, no matter what, doughnuts noon and night, ice cream all day, nothing could turn into fat, as if it never happened, never absorbed, never swallowed. Yet you did get to swallow, over and over, without concern, completely free. Ahh..... I miss that feeling, not those days (yikes!), just that feeling. It's not there anymore. All gone. The gallon of Death by Chocolate I ate last weekend turned into, can you believe it, 7 pounds and a three day belly ache! Damn it! It just corrupts the whole experience.

Ah well, I bet there is a way to relive that sort of pleasurable ease..... there's just got to be....

Proud talk

Close to seven days with no wolf. Not a pinch, not a peek. Nothing but solid sleep and sweet dispositions. She's even back to playing in her room when I'm in the shower (thank you sweet universe, thank you, thank you, thank you!) Man, things were getting worrisome there for a while. Huh.... maybe it was the crazy impromptu duke-it-out session we had in the kitchen that morning, 2 to one, the wolf didn't stand a chance; or maybe it was all the extra cuddling, warm and cozy on the couch; or maybe the extra dose of patient ears hovering nonchalantly, available, ready, waiting that did the trick; or maybe it was just simply time.... or, of course, she could totally have another one tonight, back slide into fear, start all over in confusion, cause all this proud talk has completely jinxed it now! Damn it!!! Ah well, I'm ready either way.

Signs of trouble at 4 months

Me, I'm just fine physically, building nicely, ready for more, ya ya ya... Hubby's good too, responding well to the new vibrance of post treatment life, still showing frequent signs of relief, surprise at the new meals, laughter, action, speed of me. His eyes linger longer upon mine, happy, safe. These four months have been good for us.

I'm afraid it's my little bean that's showing signs of struggle now. She loves the new non-treatment mommy, says so a lot, which is one indication things were tough on her. But the nightmares are becoming more frequent, not less, since treatment's end. Each one basically the same: there's a wolf in our attic, waiting on the stairs, or hiding around the corner; attacks me viciously, sometimes even dragging me off; she desperately fights him, or can't reach me, or clings to me; always she wakes terrified, crying, we hug, hold, then she falls back to sleep on my chest, or in my arms, sweaty, exhausted. The days following are similarly spent, close to me, clinging, afraid to be alone (very new). Barely the bean, she becomes the bee.

What is going on?!?! Without first understanding why, I've been following my gut desires to cradle her, rock her, cuddle and protect. This brings drastic, but short term relief (like 5 mins). There are clues I'm still missing, I just know it. What? What! What? Then two nights ago, the worst of the worst wolves appears, attacks me violently, wildly, she fights and screams herself awake. In my arms, half asleep, she tells of the dream, and says (for the first time) that the wolf always comes just after I get tired and frustrated.... In the morning she omits this part.

"Tired and frustrated?" So easily it rolled from her tongue. Where has she learned that phrase?......... oh yeah..... from me, practiced daily at unbelievable intensities for 48 weeks plus, poisoned tantrums, crying fits, the tornadoes, oh the tornadoes (Damn, damn, damn). I'm so sorry my little bean. I've got ya now, it's gonna be ok.

So at four months, here we are. I've got a lot left to learn. I'm listening. I'm stopping. I'm pausing to watch, to hold, to love and love and love. I figure it may take a while, or no time at all, or years and years. But with no virus I can live that long. It will all be worth it in the end. I promise, my little bean, we're gonna work this one out.