That there, is my 3yr old, Firecracker, at the ripe age of 1 in this shot, covered in chocolate ice cream, a total mess, but thrilled in this moment of her glory! She is
my payback for everything I ever did in my life my passionate, energetic free spirit, that (if channeled properly) could take over the world do amazing things one day. She’s hilarious. She’s fun. She is a stinker. She is a total mess…. She is totally and completely… her mother. Yup. That’s my girl, no mistaking her. My only blondie in the group of my little Italians over here. I struggle to just let go of the reins and let her have more moments like this where she can just be free to be messy. Why shouldn’t I? Just look at that face. No need to stop her. She is happy. She is dirty as all get out, but happy.
After a full week of infusions and daily fluids with anti-nausea meds in the IV, I still ended up back in the hospital this a.m. needing more IV meds. From 4:00 yesterday afternoon and all through the night and into today, it was sloppy over here. I found myself in the bathroom with my bald head in a trash can. There I sat on the throne – head in the trash all night, practically sleeping there. No fun. Messy. How’s that for real, raw and honest? I complained at “Mrs.Peabody” (that’s the name I’ve given my port which was placed under my skin on the left side of my chest, about the size of a 2 liter bottle cap) for being in the way when I want to sleep on my left side, or just because she’s gross and annoying. Sometimes I’ve just needed somebody to fuss at, so “Mrs.Peabody the Port” is taking the heat for me. Crazy? Yes, I know. I never promised I was conventional, I’m a mess. A hot mess.
Isn’t that what this is all about? I’m ok with a mess. Sometimes. Actually, I have to admit, I struggle with messes the older I get. I’m a laid back kinda gal for the most part, but my house is my little sanctuary. It’s where I like everything to be in its place. Like an ADD child, I literally cannot focus when my house is in shambles. I get sensory overload and kinda freak out like a big weirdo. Major freakshow. When I’m stressed, I put on some good music and just start cleaning. Right now, I have no energy, so I just have to sit back and try to be ok with the way everyone else runs my home (which they are doing an uber amazing job, it’s just different). So, when I find myself this week, pretty incapacitated as a wife and mother to “do” all things I normally would, it’s a real struggle. I’m normally the helper, the fixer, the “do-er”.
When I was on bedrest, preggers with my son, for a solid 20 weeks, I found it to be far more of an emotional feat than a physical one. I learned that in the midst of my inner hippie, free -spirit, chase butterflies in a field kinda self, there’s a whole other side of me that is quite the contrary. If you ever watched Sally Fields in Sybil, then you may get a better glimpse at such moments of the many personalities that make “me”. My main true self wants to enjoy a life where we all live by the golden rule, we love one another for who they are and see the best in everyone without judgement, and I never need a watch because I can just soak up every moment as they come with my family. I can just stop to smell the roses a little longer and not worry about any kind of schedule, meetings, dr. appointments, etc.. But, then the Sybil side of me returns. (cue scary music… DUN DUN DUUUNNNNNN) Another part of me is afraid I’m going to forget every appointment, or at this point of incapacitation this week, that everyone else will forget or do it all wrong. How terrible am I !?! That other “ego” within me wants to get my sick self off the couch to go scrub the counters, pick the random toys up and do another load of laundry, sorting it the way I like it best. But, I physically can’t. And I have got to be ok with that. Sometimes, its just gonna be a little messy.
We went to the hospital today after hours of tossing my cookies and having just an overall yucky stomch. Its similar to the hyperemesis gravaderiun that I had in all my pregnancies, yet yuckier…simply because this time I’m literally puking poison. ( As Jimmy Fallon would say, “EW!” ) They did all they could at the hospital and now at this point, I just need to be home and try to keep fluids going here as much as I can to stay hydrated, knowing that its just gonna be a little messy. Yes, I have an arsenal of oils, ginger, crackers, cantelope, and every med under the sun under my belt. Thanks for all your tips, but i think we’ve tried EVERYTHING that’s available to us. I am playing the game as best as I can, I’m following every order. Can’t say I didn’t come into this round swingin’, givin it my best shot. But, I’m up against quite a beast. Me coming home to sleep off the rest of the weekend may actually be my best plan of attack. I may not look like a kick butt Marvel Hero right now, but I’m using special forces to heal, rest, and recover. Cancer may think it’s winning today, but I disagree. It ain’t pretty, and I may look like I’m down, but we’re still fighting. It’s just more of a mud wrestle right now. We’re gettin’ down and dirty!
We all have our beasts to take on; whether they be a major illness, a death in the family, a big change including new job or unemployment, moving, new teachers/schools for your kids, etc. We can’t compare our beasts. Cancer patients can’t even compare their cancer stories. It’s all different. We can share, but there’s no need to compare. Every one of them, each if us has our own story. God allows the beasts for you to grapple with and even mud wrestle with because He knows just the amount of grace that He will give you for those battles at just the right moment in the fight. Today, I’m slopped down in the mud and funk, can’t get out of my mess, but can’t stop battling with prayer either. Through that, God has got my back and is kicking tail for me. That God of ours, He’s a pretty hard core dude. He doesn’t play around. He’s armed and ready for battle. With your prayers juicin’ Him up, He’s ready.
To quote a personal fave, Tommy Boy, “It’s Go time!”