Sitting in the Library

I hate this.  I'm sitting in the library watching the seconds tick away.  I'm supposed to be writing a chapter for my book about my ex-husband. 

Groan.

I am writing the chapter that introduces him as a person - before things were terrible.  Before he left.  When I was really happy. 

And that's some of my problem - I was never truly UN-happy.  At least I didn't think I was unhappy.  Maybe I was too sick to pay attention to my marriage, but I didn't think it was so bad until Dan announced he was leaving me. 

In retrospect, of course, there were things that were terrible, and I'm doing much better now. 

I think sometimes I'm still stunned that all this happened, that this is my life. 

Today I ran up the stairs and thought, "Shit.  I have different lungs in me."  Sometimes, I almost forget. 

Today my writing coach said to me, "Well, cripes. You just had your lungs torn out. Then your heart was torn out as well."

 And it's true.  I was shocked at how I was mistreated and abandoned less than three months after my double lung transplant and three months before I would spend any long stretch of time outside of the hospital.  Did that happen to me?  It seems surreal.  

 The absence of my husband and my mother are both very surreal - they were the first voices I heard when I woke up from surgery.  And they're both gone.  

 At times I'm still so angry.  I'm angry because I had wonderful post-transplant plans.  I was going to travel the world with my dad and brother.  I was going to sew my little heart out.  I was going to dance, dance, dance and go to competition weekends and have so much fun with my friends.  And a lot of that isn't possible without the income I had while I was married to Dan.  Dan made these plans with me.  Promised me these things, and now he's gone and sometimes, I'm still very angry at the plans he destroyed.  

 My health has made some of those plans difficult as well, but I feel I was more prepared for that to be my obstacle than a lack of funds.  I'm used to having to give up things because I'm sick.  I do what I can, and make it work.  It's much harder to "make it work" when money is the issue.  

 I don't want to confuse anyone - I LOVE my life now.  In most ways, I'm better off than when I was with Dan.  I love where I live, I love who I live with - Dad and soon, George - and I love the things I'm doing.  I'm working on getting stronger so dancing is easier.  I'm sewing as much as my legs will tolerate.  I have taken up embroidery, which I LOVE.  

 I'm just hating writing about what I had and thinking about that part of my past because it makes living this different present emotionally challenging.  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

CF Contact

Image
Me and Trinity: What a cutie! Chest PT on a baby: The Cystic Fibrosis Foundation discourages any contact among CF patients. Personally, I think this is overreacting at its best. Yes, some precautions need to be taken, but it has been blown totally out of proportion. I am writing this because the other night at Concert on the Square I held Trinity. Her mom handed her over to me, and we were talking and then she told me that Trinity has CF. I asked if I should take precautions and her mom said that it was okay for me to interact with her - and I feel that as long as the parent says it's okay, it's okay with me. And I did her chest pt - and it was a nice break for the parents. They have three children under three and two of them have CF. They have a 3-year-old with CF, an 18-month-old without, and Trinity, 2-months-old, with CF. If any family needs a break it's this one. I have always wanted to work with CF kids - and I know how much the CF Foundation would have nothin
Read more

Abuse

 Abuse. This is going to be long, but it’s important.   If you only read the beginning, I want you to know:   If you are a survivor of abuse, or going through an abusive situation, you are not the abuse.   You don’t have to let it define you, and while it’s hard to move on, you can.   I want to end the stigma for abuse victims – which is why I’m writing this.   I want there to be stigma for the abusers, not the abused.   I need to practice saying, “My mother is abusive.” I don’t know why it still hurts so much so long after it happened.   I know she still hates me.   My dad has to be careful mentioning me to my mom or she’ll flip out.   Why does it bother me so much that someone who could be so awful to me doesn’t like me?               A few days ago – January 10 th , a memory popped up of a note I had typed in 2008.   The gist is, I was sick.   My mom was staying with me and I was doing home IVs.   Keep in mind I was 21 when this happened.   I packed and took my 9pm IV dose w
Read more

Social Media Break

Today, on Facebook I posted, "I want to delete my social media apps for the entire month of October, or until I'm feeling better, but I know I'll never be able to do it.  I rely on photos of friends' kiddos and food and sewing projects to keep my spirits up, and I worry about my CF and Transplant friends, and I want to stay in touch with everyone.  I want to encourage my friends who are also going through tough things and just be there to support anyone who needs a supportive ear.  So I won't delete my social media, but I won't be monitoring it as closely.  I'll be limiting my time spent scrolling, and I'll avoid all the political articles.  Go to my blog for the longer explanation of how I'm doing."  Yesterday was “Mean Girls” Day, October 3 rd , and George suggested we watch it.   I know he wanted to cheer me up and help, but I got sucked into the internet – again – and ended up binging on articles about PTSD.   I read about PTSD and chronic
Read more