tough it out

i read this quote last night and found it to be very fitting:

 

Tough Times Never Last, But Tough People Do!  --Dr. Robert H. Schuller

 

it's actually the title of his book, which has now been added to my list.  nevermind that the book is almost as old as i am.  the uncomplicated truth in the title alone is enough to grab my attention.

 

i woke up this morning reinvigorated, giving myself a pep talk, ready to take on whatever came my way.  and boy, was it waiting for me right outside my front door!  so i passed the quote on to someone that seemed to need it just as much as i did, if not more, and witnessed the transformation that took place after i'd shared those 8 simple words.  funny (and amazing) how powerful a few words can be.

game changer

i'm watching the opening ceremony of the olympics in all its london-esque grandeur.  i still remember the excitement of the olympics as a kid, plopping myself in front of the tube (sitting only a few feet away as it was much smaller then).  it's funny, up until a couple of weeks ago i still thought the olympics lasted the whole summer, asking my husband why the games hadn't started yet.  he told me they were just 16 days, going on to say, "that's why they call it '16 days of glory.'"  what, sixteen days?  two weeks??  they had seemed to be much, much longer as a child, probably because i actually watched parts of the games (gymnastics!) instead of seeing updates trending via social media.

ah, how the world has changed.  the ceremony even featured a segment about changing technology and our digital age finished off by an appearance by the inventor of the world wide web, tim berners-lee, who typed in a message that was lit up by the audience and seen by the world: "this is for everyone."

a simple statement, but it really captured the essence of what the games are about.  it's a time of countries around the world to set aside their differences and come together for a moment.  i think that is what is so monumental about the games -- nevermind the pomp and circumstance of the lighting of the torch or the medal count or the backstories -- it's a time of camaraderie and sportsmanship; worldwide team spirit.

let the games begin!

the dark side

i've always had somewhat of a fascination with the dark side of things -- what people normally don't openly talk about or particularly like to talk about.  but it's there, underneath it all, lurking and murky, below the surface.

in my eighth grade health class, out of all the topics we were free to pick from, i chose suicide for my class project.  i can even vividly remember the cover photo i had illustrated for my folder, a black and white sketch done in pencil entitled, "... and her eyes saw... suicide."  i drew an anime-like face of a young girl, her eyes as the center of attention, her pupils telling the story.  i often wonder what my teacher must have thought of me at the time, this shy, quiet girl interested in researching such a deep, dark topic.  but that is what it was; an interest, an allure for the unknown, an unmistakable desire to peek, like the pandora's box-effect.  i wanted to see, despite the stigma, no matter how ugly, how frightening.  i had to see.

in middle school i'd also written a play that my classmates voted on to perform, but this was quickly nixed because the administration deemed it too dark (and i suppose disturbing) to present in front of the student body.  i hadn't understood what the big deal was.  the story (what i remember of it) was about a girl who was frequently visited by a strange, dark man.  i played on the usual good vs. evil theme, so i'll let you guess who represented what.  the girl didn't realize until the last scene who she had been conversing with the entire time, that she'd been secretly battling temptation, and ultimately the magnitude of her decisions at the time she had made them.

i can't say that in adulthood this curiosity has subsided.  i have sometimes thought, is there something wrong with me?  does this make me abnormal? crazy?  it's not like i had exceptional hardship in my life; if anything, i grew up more or less sheltered, fairly well-cushioned.  so perhaps that's what drew me to want to catch a glimpse of what i knew was somewhere in the shadows, ironically what i was being shielded from.  i found it hard to process feelings like love, joy, and peace, without heartbreak, despair, and scarrage.  i needed to understand pain before i could truly cherish liveliness.  i needed to understand life when it wasn't so pretty.  because that's what life is... not always so darn pretty.

when i want a taste of unpretty, i turn to novels of the twisted variety.  anything by augusten burroughs, for example.  recently, i discovered an author by the name of gillian flynn.  the first book i'd read of hers was sharp objects, which my coworker passed on to me.  i wasn't sure how i'd felt about it; it was quite unexpected and shocking to say the least, but it was a story that stayed with me long after i'd finished and passed the book along.  there was a grit and rawness to the storytelling that i'd enjoyed.

a couple of weeks ago, when i was desperate for something good to read, and i mean not-wanting-to-put-down-for-a-minute good, staying-up-til-all-hours-of-the-night good, i stumbled upon gillian flynn's new book, gone girl, as it was one of the top kindle downloads.  i downloaded a sample and started reading.  i was immediately hooked.  it had the same sharp, abrasive writing as her first book.  and from the very first page, it had the psychological mind-screwing suspense i was craving for.  i mean, check out the opening quote:

"Love is the world's infinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood."  -Tony Kushner, The Illusion

my kind of book.

the story is unbelievable yet believable, a bit unnerving, bone-chilling.  there are twists and turns until the very end, and even then it doesn't end.  it seeps into your subconscious, begging you to think: do we really know the people closest to us?  and if we found out who they really were, what would that knowledge make us do?

it keeps me up at night, wondering in the dark.

homefree

word of my aunt's passing spread like wildfire through my mom's family as news generally does, across miles, across countries, across the pacific.  but this time it was different.  it wasn't another wedding, or baby, or successful business venture.  it wasn't anything to congratulate anyone about.  it wasn't even anything to smile about.  it was simply very sad.

i called my mom, and she was her usual pragmatic self when it comes to these situations, plans to fly back to taiwan already set in motion.  i found myself listening to her reflect upon the last 30 hours of my aunt's life, and the last time she spoke to her sister which actually was while she was in the recovery room with me.  i hadn't realized at the time that the phonecall she had received was from her brother who was with my aunt in the hospital.  i was grateful that my mom had had that precious, precious time with her, even though my aunt had been unable to cognitively respond.

though news of her diagnosis only came a week ago and the prognosis was not good, i was still surprised by how quickly the disease had progressed.  how quickly she was gone.  it was like before i had the chance to even fully understand the magnitude of the situation, it was already too late.

unfortunately, with me growing up in the u.s. and my aunt living overseas, i never really had the chance to know her.  the last time i saw her, thankfully, was my visit to taiwan a couple of years ago, and she embraced my husband and me, using the little bit of english she knew.  though she has been unwell most of my life and sadly most of hers, she found a way to make us smile, just happy we were there and happy she could see us.  and that is how i'll remember her.

i also hold another memory close, not of mine, but of my mom's.  she spoke fondly of my aunt, saying that when they were growing up that she was so carefree, uncaring of what others thought of her, always going with the flow.  and so, my dear aunt, i'm happy you are free again, no longer suffering, and smiling down upon our family where you are.

may you rest in peace always.

third time's the charm?

how does that expression go? third time's the charm? let's hope so.

i'll be honest, i wasn't expecting to go back for outpatient surgery for at least another 6 months, let alone 6 weeks. but that was what the doctor ordered, literally, at my post-op follow-up appointment after we returned from ireland. another procedure in 6 weeks.

this time, it was again at the same facility, and my arrival time was much earlier than the previous times since i was the first patient. although i'm not a morning person, i was grateful for this because it took out alot of the waiting that makes me nervous. the staff noticed in my chart that i had been there not long ago, so would preface with, "like last time.." or "you know the drill." yup, i sure knew the drill.

prep flew by, as after i met my nurse, was examined by my anesthesiologist, was set up with my IV (apparently i have "really tough skin" in my hand, and i'd be lying if it didn't hurt a bit) and shared a word with my doctor, i was up out of my chair again and walking down the hall towards the OR. i was in OR #4 this time, same bright light, different staff. i was directed to scoot my butt along the crease on the table, looked up at the screens and overhead light as my arms were being worked on. i was told i would have a warming blanket, which was nice, and felt it inflating. then the sedation was started, and the warmth spread through me quickly. i focused on blinking like i was trying to stay awake, even heard my heartrate rise incrementally as i struggled (irrationally) to fight the urge to doze. but before long, i felt the enveloping sensation, the ringing in my ears, the fuzzy feeling, as the darkness closed upon me.

then all too quickly, my name was called and i was being wheeled into recovery. "wonderwall" by oasis was playing, one of my favorite songs. my recovery nurse was actually the same nurse i had for prep the last time, and i told her so. she remarked that no wonder my husband and i looked familiar. then there was my mom, my sister, and my dad. "gang's all here!" i felt like saying. after i had something to drink and eat, i was up again and redressed. one of the other nurses recognized me, as she was the one i had for recovery twice before. as i was being wheeled out, she exclaimed, "thanks for keeping us in business!" and gave me a high five. it's crazy how the surgicenter has become such a familiar place, that i'm not the only one who remembers.

no matter how many times i go through this, it doesn't get much easier; the process maybe, because i've gone through it before, but emotionally, i don't think i am ever truly prepared. it's hard, i'll admit that. it's tough when so much is out of your control. and i, for one, have issues learning to trust.

but there is alittle hope in me still. hope that someday, i can look back on all this, all this wanting and waiting, all this physical... crap as being worth it.

third time's the charm? fingers crossed.

memorializing

after i left work today and was crossing the street behind the hospital, i caught the familiar and welcome scent of a barbecue permeating the thick, but somewhat cool, evening air.  is there anything more synonymous with memorial day weekend (besides the actual meaning of the holiday) than a grill?  and barbecues and memorial day always feel like the "kick off" to summer for me, although technically the first day of summer is still a month away.

now that we've finally hit a couple 80-degree days and the threat of one last chill have quickly been forgotten (at least until next year), everyone seems to be in higher spirits (and in alot less clothing).  the transitions between seasons are interesting to witness, especially in a city like the one i work in where it is usually a bit cooler than where i live; on one side of the street are women still donning their leggings and boots while on the other there are some too eager to break out the tanks and flip flops.  i, on the other hand, often feel more comfortable easing from one season into the other, self-conscious about showing some skin (despite my aversion of heat and humidity), especially when that requires exposing my pale, been-hidden-all-winter-and-most-of-spring legs.  the first time is always alittle awkward (as most firsts are), but come memorial day i usually feel ready to let loose.

so here's to a weekend of uninterrupted sun, barbecues, and worst (ahem, most) of all, to pastey-white legs. 

second surge

the title of this post may be misleading, but the scheduling of my second surgery came rather quickly.  i went to my 6-week check-up and my doctor expressed that he wanted to get me in as soon as he could instead of waiting, and his only opening was april 18th.  i was brought in to meet with the surgical counselor right away, where the paperwork was reviewed with me, labwork was ordered, consents were signed, pre-op prescription was called in, and that was that.

although this would be my second surgery and at the same facility which i had a wonderful experience with the first time around, i was still terrified.  who wants to have surgery, ever?  surely not me.  and a few days later i would find out that the date of my surgery coincided with my husband's business trip to CA, so the thought of him not being there only compounded my fears.

once i told my mom the situation, she, being her normal self, took control and stated that she'd be the responsible party before and after surgery.  to my surprise, my dad even took off work to make the drive over (and i found out later that he'd rescheduled a presentation to do this, which touched me very much).  and luckily, my arrival time ended up being scheduled for 11 a.m. and since the hubbie's flight was later that afternoon, he would be able to be there for the pre-op part, which was good.  things were looking up, despite the circumstances.

on the day of, my parents arrived shortly after 9 a.m., armed with food and luggage.  i was in bed, but awake, and hubbie was downstairs on a conference call.  i tried to calm myself like i had the first time by taking my time in the shower and dressing, and not going downstairs until my dad called me down at 10:30.  he asked me why i hadn't blowdried my hair (which i don't do anymore, now that my hair is short :)).  a few minutes later, my mom remaked about the same thing so i went upstairs to appease them both.  five minutes later we were out the door, hubbie leading the way.

my experience this time at the surgicenter was very much the same and also different at some points.  for one thing, my wait time in the waiting room was shorter, and i was called in much sooner than expected.  this time my set-up was in area #5 and i had a different nurse (i actually saw the nurse i had the first time who was working with the patient next door, and she brought me a warm blanket later on.  it was comforting to see a familiar face).  hubbie helped me dress into my gown (where i lost a bet about whether it should be open to the back or front - back won) and robe and socks.  my dad noted that my maiden name was in my medical record, discovering that i hadn't changed my name.. yet, which is like a running joke between my husband and me.  we're going on 5 years and i'd never changed my name out of pure laziness; not because i have a stance about this sort of thing, but simply because i had no desire to deal with all the paperwork.  anyway, my nurse then remarked that she was going on 29 years of never changing her name, so we all had a good laugh.  the IV was set up in my hand this time, which i'll admit was kind of freaky watching it go in, and needles generally don't bother me.  (the good thing is it left me with nothing but a red prick mark and no bruising).  i think i had a natural reaction to cough after watching the IV being inserted, and i had the same salt-watery taste that my previous nurse had described.  we reviewed my paperwork and i had a chat with one of the anesthesiologists who described the sedation i would be getting.  then we were left to wait.

hubbie had to catch his flight while we were waiting, so then it was just me and my parents.  i tried to read, but my mind kept floating elsewhere, so my dad kept me talking about my new job.  i think we waited 45 minutes and my dad said a prayer for me.  then another anesthesiologist came and introduced herself, explained what would happen next, put the cap over my head, and draped a blanket over my shoulders.  we walked down the corridor to the split, which was still the hardest part for me, but my mom looked me in the eye and said she'd see me later.  the hallway was chilly and the anesthesiologist said the OR would be too.  we went into OR #2 which felt smaller than the one i'd been in before, but still just as white and bright.  my blanket and robe were stripped and i was positioned on the table (butt in the groove, head on the pillow).  this time i didn't feel the urgency i'd felt with the other prep team.  i was covered with blankets to keep me warm, then strapped in with a large seat belt and my arms were pulled from my sides.  there were 2 gigantic lights overhead, one larger than the other, and 2 TV screens right above me that were only showing colorful blocks at the time.  oxygen was inserted into my nose which felt odd breathing in.  my doctor came by to say hello (and all i could make out was that he had a mask and visor on since my glasses had been removed) and that he'd see me soon.  electrodes were placed on either side by my shoulders and the third in the middle of my torso, the last one especially cold to my skin.  fun. was playing on the radio and the anesthesiologist started singing the words: "tonight... we are young..."  i had the urge to sing along with her.  she told me the medicine would be inserted in my IV, but she didn't have to tell me for me to feel the burning.  it started in my wrist and shot all the way up my arm.  i was told one of the nurses was going to reposition my legs but that nothing would be started until i was fully asleep.  my eyes didn't feel heavy, and i was struck by the same thought that this wasn't going to work.  i felt the nurse move my legs and prayed that i'd fall asleep soon.  and i did.

next thing i knew, i heard voices calling my name and the blackness disappeared.  i woke up much quicker this time with no discomfort.  i was wheeled into recovery and joined in a conversation the nurses were having about ponds facial cream.  one of them asked me if i'd been here recently, and after i said yes, she said she remembered me.  she asked me if i wanted my family, and i did, and since i couldn't see her, i asked for my glasses.  i heard one of my favorite lady antebellum songs playing.  my parents came in and said my procedure was fast.  so fast, that we called my husband and he hadn't made it to the airport yet so we had the chance to talk for a bit.  then i asked again for apple juice and graham crackers.  this time my dad fed me the apple juice.

my mom got me dressed and i was transferred to a comfy chair to wait for my doctor.  he came armed with pictures of the surgery so we could see more clearly what had been done.  he answered our questions, mostly my mom's, and then i was into a wheelchair and rolled down to the car.

again, i have to thank everyone i encountered at the surgicenter who treated me with dignity and professionalism all the way through.  and special thanks to my loving parents, who support me through everything, especially the most difficult times.  they lift me up.

... and feed me and put me on bed rest.  it's nice to be pampered once in awhile.