The Ebbs and Flows of Grief

[Disclaimer: Originally written more than a few weeks ago, and then updated before posting today]


Today is exactly 7 months since my Dad left.

Yesterday, catching the the end of a movie I had seen many times, made me cry. Annie. It has nothing to do with my Dad, and everything to do with my Dad. My Dad basically hated musicals, I think he handled Grease because my first love was in it, Olivia Newton-John. Watching the end of Annie, I started to cry because she got to go back to her Daddy. I don’t have that luxury, as least not yet.

This morning, flipping channels again, I ran past Rocky Two and am currently watching Rocky Three. Instead of being upset (at least at this moment), I’m comforted because I could picture us watching these together, him in the recliner chair, and me on the couch, as I played with the phone, and him yelling at me that I had to “catch up on my gossip!” ... this was our life, up to the time the real struggles began. I took it for granted. Who wouldn’t?

Now, as my Mom and I grieve together...
After the guilt I put myself through about taking tomorrow for granted when it came to my Dad, I absolutely refuse to make those same mistakes when it comes to my Mother.
We consciously make new memories that I hold close. 
 

We went to an old west casino night recently and dressed up.
Probably the first and only time I will ever be able to pull off "Cowboy"

We have gone to see musicals like “A Chorus Line” or spent a fun day at the Aquarium. 

We are Elite (Gold) with AMC because of how often we go to the movies. 

Normal, everyday type stuff like how we (she) make some things for dinner that both of us like but my Dad didn’t like. 

We have seen the Boston Pops, and next month we will see "The Diary of Anne Frank" performed live as well as the Phoenix Symphony performing John Williams' soundtracks. We both hope they play the Superman theme for us.

Or even the fact that we sit down at the table and eat a meal together - something that suffered last year as my Dad suffered, and that I really, really missed.

Sometimes, you just can't help it.
You try to find the new normal. You hate it.

There's times I have complete acceptance of what is, is...whatever will be, will be.
And there are times when you still fight the change and all you want is what used to be.

The grief can hit you at the most random times with a random trigger.
On the way to meet some friends for dinner recently, the Meatloaf song "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" came on. The more I tried to contain myself, the more my grief was determined to make its way out.  The tears came streaming down my face as I listened to the lyrics:

But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you
Now don't be sad
'Cause two out of three ain't bad

My brain was trying to play some tricks on me and what I kept hearing:
 But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna leave you
Now don't be sad
'Cause two out of three ain't bad
(and the two out of the three were my Mom and myself)


Just as Annie made me cry a few weeks ago, a Meatloaf song made me cry, listening to the lyrics.

In some ways, it is unfathomable to me that it has been 7 months exactly since I have seen my Dad, hugged him, been able to tell him I love him, or hear in his voice that he loves me. Even though I know this in my heart.

My Mother and I are in what is probably going to be, one of the most difficult periods we are going through since the death and funeral. Next Friday, May 4th, we honor my Dad for the first time as an "In Memory Of" Cancer Survivor instead of "In Honor Of" at the Chandler Relay for Life. Unfortunately, at times, I am not really looking forward to it this year.
It is a huge slap in the face making me acknowledge the missing piece of my life.

Every time we have Relayed, it has been with my Dad.
His missing physical presence will be intimately and acutely felt by all of us.

The Sunday after, we will again honor him by following the guidelines of Judaism, while many of our family and friends are here, and unveil his headstone. Because I felt like such a mess and in a fog, in the time of the death, funeral, and aftermath, I hope to truly make my Dad proud by designing and conducting the entire Unveiling service myself.

Welcome once again, to the ebbs and flows of my grief.

Minute by Minute, Hour By Hour, Day By Day

One piece of advice I have routinely heard since my Dad died last September:
"Take it Day By Day."

Actually, I heard it before then. Many have told me it to me in efforts to help assist me in managing my stress. Probably, even my Father.

Although I understood the words, I think its only recently that I truly began to understand their meaning. 

You can feel fine and upbeat in the morning, and your sadness/depression/loss can build throughout the day, week, or weekend. Then what?

You take it day by day, or at the beginning - you have to take it hour by hour, and sometimes even minute by minute.

I called the day after my Dad died, and I have seen a therapist since then regularly.

I searched for, and found, a Grief Support Group where my Mom and we can discuss how our grief impacts us how the loss of our loved one impacts our lives. 

I found an online support group that supplements the in person one, and is equally as helpful.

They are a place for us to be around others who understand and get it, without having to explain a thing.

I have freely provided encouragement and support to friends who have lost a parent after I lost one of mine, just as some did for me. I will never forget that, because of how much it helped. I I hate that others have to go thru this same living hell that I do. I vowed to help others as I was helped.

My friends and I call it the club, and although none of us want to be in it, we are all there to help support each other through our grief. 

All you can do is take it by day.
Just like before my Dad died, and when he was struggling:
"Cherish the good days and make it through the bad ones"

When my Mom is having a bad day which can sometimes impact me having a good day, because I am an Empath and I can pick up on her emotions. I feel bad that she isn't feeling her best - take it day by day, or hour by hour.

As I said earlier, I don't think I really understood what that meant until very recently.
Everything is temporary, I read once.
But it didn't really sink it until just now.

I was sitting on the couch, missing my Dad.
But Everything is temporary - my grief and the extreme loss I feel may be permanent, but memories do not always make me so sad.

I have progressed from where I was 6 months ago, where I have been able at times to listen to my Dad's voice and watch videos of him; something I was not able to do for many months because it devastated me emotionally.

Very recently, I ran across something on Facebook I have searched for from the very beginning of my grief journey:  an online grief support to supplement the other ways I seek assistance and help. The group has been a wonderful addition to my support system, and is everything I had been looking for.  Yesterday, as I struggled with my grief, I saw this post:

I am bouncing forward everyday!
I still have moments, but I continue to press on and bounce fearlessly forward with each day.

This morning I [details removed] made a mental note of that precious memory. These moments don’t take me spiraling down the rabbit hole anymore. They are sweet moments of remembering and honoring those memories. I put on my workout clothes and got ready for a dose of self-care.

Our lives did not end on that awful day. They just started over. Keep bouncing forward! Your story is still being written.

This is something I agree with, and try to do, but I was in awe of this author and their comments. My jaw dropped on the floor when they further noted that they were only 6 months out from grief! Almost timewise where I am at.

It was this post that dropped the "Day by Day" idea in my head.

At work earlier this week, I saw this occur almost in front of my eyes. There was a few minutes where I was overwhelmed with something, and I felt my grief literally rise up through my head, like a rising level of flooding water of emotion. And just that quickly, within a few minutes, the water level had receded to an acceptable and manageable level. I have learned not only what my triggers are (stress at work is a big one) but also how to recognize when the storm or tidal wave (which is how I think of grief) is approaching. Not sure how to explain it really, but I can sense something oncoming, even if I can't put my finger on it at the time.

I feel like I am entering a new phase - one where the grief is not all the time, everyday, but rises and drops - minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day - more than I have noticed it before. I can still manage to have a good day with an emotional hour or breakdown during the day.

It is ALL you can do. Take things day by day.
It is futile to stress over things you can't do anything about or control - 
even though I have a very rough time with that.

So, take it day by day, and enjoy each day as it comes - the good and bad.
It is exactly how my Dad chose to live.

What Do You Miss Most?

Recently, my cousin pointed out that of the 9 cousins (4 families), only my cousin and his siblings have an intact parent unit: Mom and Dad. The rest of us, have all lost out our Dads. It was a sobering, yet unrecognized fact, I hadn't paid attention to.

Must have been a pensive day. At the Grief Support Group we attend, the focus question was "What do you miss the most about your Dad?"

Clearly, It is impossible to pick one thing when you love and miss someone so much.

The first thought that popped into my head was "he didn't take my shit, and he dished that shit right back to me."  This was the epitome of our relationship - We were Father and Son, by birth;  but by life we became near Brothers, and definite Best Friends.  

We teased, tormented, and taunted each other. We EACH knew how to push each other's buttons, say that one thing that would instantly set the other person off, and we kept doing it even after we knew how much it irritated the other person.

I would call him Al and ask him what was the name on his birth certificate. 
Just to be the little shit that I was and that he called me affectionately.

The taunting started early. I remember listening to the Grease Soundtrack in 1979, when I had this enormous (to this day) crush on Olivia Newton-John. He would torment me by referring to my first girlfriend, Olivia, as Olivia Fig Newton. It would irritate me to no end and I would constantly correct him in as exasperated tone as a 6 year old could do.

Both of us were equally as guilty because there were always water fights, Ice Attacks as you were showering, there was even a baby powder surprise attack one night, when I'm surprised neither of us was killed by my mother after that one. We were lucky.

Driving was a whole other story.
I loved to scream as he backed up the car to make him panic and scream back, as he slammed on the breaks, yelled back at me, called me "you sonnnnnnnofabitch"

No matter what he screwed up on while driving, we never let him live it down or forget it.
He missed a turn once, my Mom and I got excited (you could say we freaked out), and his retort was the classic and infamous "SO I MISSED THE FUCKING TURN, ITS NOT THE END OF THE FUCKING WORLD!!" -- This from the Man who refused to curse in front of his impressionanable young son, who would correct "oh shit" to "oh sugar" when I was really young - which made me dissolve into giggles and made me really laugh the rare times when an "oh shit" really did slip out. It was so infrequent, that he once called and left a voicemail on my phone which ended with an "oh shit" that I have still kept it some 20 years later because I found it so hilarious.

My Dad was the typical Alpha Male, who, even if he had never driven some place before, automatically knew how to get there without asking for directions, even after he got lost and turned around. We were driving in New Mexico somewhere once, and after checking the map, he decided he had found a shortcut back to the highway. 40 minutes later, we were at a dead end and had to turn around and trace our steps back to the original route.  That was the trip where Dad's shortcuts became known as "shortcuts that don't exist to highways that don't instersect" 

Even after he and Mom moved and retired to Arizona, driving one Saturday morning or afternoon, we found ourselves in another of Dad's infamous shortcuts. Before I could even open my mouth, this "roar" of "NOT A WORD. NOT ONE WORD, JEFF" came out of the front seat. I knew better than to press my luck at this time (one of the few), but a few minutes later after he calmed down, I made a very pointed remark to Mom about how sometimes you have to let them make their own mistakes or they will never learn. I'm suprised I lived after that one too, but by that time we all were laughing.

These are just a few of the incidents that made my childhood as awesome as it was - by having a Dad who was as much of prankster as I was.  

After I moved to Arizona, My Dad (and my Mom as well) was always the first one to say no matter what time I flew in or left - they were more than happy to take me, even if we had to get up at 4a to get me to the airport for a 7a flight; or picking me up in Philly or JFK instead of EWR. It never mattered to them; it only mattered that their little boy was coming home. Everytime I did, they had waiting in the car, either White Castles, fries and a coke, or my favorite sandwich - turkey bologna on an onion bagel. I miss that.

After I had moved to Arizona, and before my parents had retired, I made a quick trip back to NJ, getting in late - probably around 10p or 11p, ,and because I was catching the first flight back in the morning - 7a, I slept on the couch with the lights on. By this time, I had been used to living and sleeping alone in my apartment.  I fell into a deep sleep, and my Dad came into the living room to wake me. He tried to gently wake me by whispering my name, and gently rubbing my arm. Unfortunately, it had the reverse effect. I was in such a deep sleep stupor, He scared the shit out of me. He said I rose up like a King Cobra and groaned and started to coil back like I was going to attack him. He said I terrified him. I told him he had some nerve scaring me like that. From that night on, he called me King Cobra.

It was what I thought was a one time incident, until one day recently at work, someone came up quietly behind me and scared the daylights out of me, and I turned around and gave them what I came to realize was the King Cobra look! They told me they got scared and thought I was going to punch them out! 

For as much as teased and taunted each other, we never wanted to see each other hurt. When I hurt, he hurt. and When he hurt, I hurt. 

This was never more evident one night in my apartment...2am....there was a loud crash.
We were both passed out asleep in our respective bedrooms. He heard the crash first and started yelling my name:  "JEFF, ARE YOU OK? JEFF??"

I heard him yelling, in my sleep, and I woke up..in my sleep stupor, my brain played a trick on me, and I thought he was calling me because he had fallen down. I flew out of the bed, so fast the blanket never had a chance to fall down and remained around me like a robe. As I turned to tear down the hallway and rescue my Father, the blanket caught on my all glass corner unit and the glass shelves went flying. Just as I was about to run down the hall to rescue him, he was at that same point in the hallway coming out of his room, and we both ran into each other headfirst and then held each other up for dear life. 
Words do not even do this story justice, but it shows how deep of a connection we had in life. The last thing each of us wanted was for the other to feel any kind of pain. I miss that.

As an adult and as I fine tuned and embraced my sarcasm, my Dad took my sarcasm and would fling it right back in my face. One of his favorite things was when he would say something random, I would take it and run with it, and he would shake his head ever so slightly, sigh, and say "why G-d? Why Me? Why do I always give him the g-ddamn rope"

I miss having my Dad here to bounce my ideas off of, to call when I am overwhelmed at work, to ask when I don't know the answer to something. When I didn't know how to do something on my taxes - I asked my Dad. When I didn't know how to confront someone or bring it up when it was a difficult topic - I asked my Dad. I never seemed to phase him with what I asked. At work years ago, I was nicknamed "Answer Man" but that's who my Dad was to me. I miss him.

I miss the person who would get as much joy out of the Ostrich Festival (Chandler's answer to the state fair) as I did, who enjoyed blowing the calories on turkey legs, swirly potato chip things, corn dogs and cookies as much as I do. Today, Mom and I will establish new memories of the Ostrich Festival, but his lack of physical presence is definitely felt.

I miss having someone who knew how to check the air in the tires (thank you Discount Tire) and having someone who knew how to calm me down when there was car drama.

I miss taking him to the doctors, and the bonding we shared because many of his appointments where I drove him were early mornings, so that was our "Dad and Jeff" time. Grief is so funny because a song that reminds me of him can bring me great comfort one day, and the same song can bring me great sadness the next.

I miss spending the time with him at Chemo, those 5 years of 2-3 hours for a week once a month, that we wouldn't have otherwise had. Time that, especially in hindsight, was an enormous gift of time. I appreciated it then, but I cherish it even more now.

Deja Vue Donation

Last May, 2017, I donated Bone Marrow (a process called Peripheral Blood Stem Cell Donation).
It was, and remains, one of my proudest moments; that I was lucky enough to be a match for someone anonymously and save their life. I had said since I registered with Be The Match, since I wasn’t a bone marrow match for my Dad, and couldn’t save him, I wanted to help save someone else.

Fast forward almost a year later.
My Bone Marrow Donationversary will be May the 15th.

For a while, I wanted to donate blood.
I had donated once before, randomly;
There happened to be a blood drive at my Gym, a few years ago.

I signed up with United Blood Services there on the spot.
A few questions later, and I was on my way.
One of the bonuses of donating was for the first time, finding out my Blood Type.
For whatever reason, I had always believed I was Type B.

My Father could eat a 72oz steak and still have low cholesterol. Bitch.
I look at a McDonalds hamburger, and instantly my cholesterol skyrockets.
My Mother has always had high cholesterol, too.
She also has a thing for Firefighters,
so our running joke has been I get my cholesterol from my “Fireman Father”

Because I remember everything and never let it go, with my Dad in the car, if a fire truck passed us, I would wave and say “Hi, Dad!” to my Fireman Father.

At any rate, I donated that one time, found out I was A+, and then promptly flashed back to Mrs. Tuliszewski’s 10th Grade Biology Class, when I remembered a chart showing the possible blood type combinations since I knew what Blood Type my parents were (I was sneaky like that!). So I googled the chart, and WHEW! My Parents were actually my parents! It was logistically possible for my Dad to be my Dad. I sighed out of relief.

I called UBS and signed up to donate a couple of months ago, but I ended up cancelling the appointment when I couldn’t kick the cold/strep throat I had been battling.

After a friend posted he had donated a few days before, I decided to sign up again and called last Saturday. They had an opening on Sat, but I chose an appointment after work on Tuesday, yesterday.
I’m a firm believer in things happen the way they are meant to, and this was no different.

Pulling into the parking lot, a single purple flower flew across my windshield. This has historically been my Grandmother or my Dad telltale sign of saying hello, and so I smiled.

After I signed in and answered a bunch of questions, they took a blood test to ensure I was healthy enough to donate. My Iron needed to be at 13 or Higher. The finger they tested on my right hand registered a 12.8. UGH! They asked if I would like to test my other hand, which I did, and my left hand knocked it out of the park. WHAT?! That’s my non-dominant hand.

When they saw my Blood Type was A+, the staff said they were in need of platelets and would I mind donating those instead? WOULD I MIND? Of course not! I was excited. My Dad’s platelet levels constantly suffered as he dealt with the Myelodysplastic Syndrome, and in some way, this was like the Bone Marrow Donation, from my perspective. I could help my Dad, by helping someone else, who needed platelets. I could help someone who needed it, like the person close to me currently struggling with their platelets, or someone’s mother, someone’s father. Someone who loves, Someone who IS loved, who could benefit.

The procedure itself was quite similar to the Bone Marrow Donation.
They asked which arm, and it didn’t matter to me.
Interestingly, they too, chose my left arm.
My Dad was a lefty which is why I find the left arm references that have been occurring, mysterious...and interesting

The Donation took about 1.5 hours. Dracula sucked the blood out, and then they kept the platelets and then returned the rest of the blood back to my arm via a different tube.

When the procedure was finished and they removed the tube, I felt nauseous, but I blew the feeling off. I thought it was temporary.  When I first stood up, I felt the room start spinning, I got dizzy, and as I started to sit back down in the chair, i fell back into the chair. Guess I wasn’t as ready to stand up as I thought! An orange soda and bag of pretzels later, and I felt good enough to stand up again.

I imagine that feeling was what my Dad experienced when his blood sugar dropped,
I had never experienced it before.
Lesson Learned: Have a HUGE Lunch before donating next time.

It was my honor to do this, and I would do it again.
You can donate platelets again after 7 days, but I decided to re-donate in a month.
I’m already looking forward to my next already scheduled appointment!

To paraphrase Matt Damon in “Good Will Hunting,”
Let the saving begin!

Expanded Thankful Post

I started doing a Thankfulness challenge on Jan 1 to try and get me out of the funk I was in. This is an expanded version for today, Feb 11.

I am Thankful my Dad is only about 40 minutes drive away when I want or need to visit with him. 

I am also Thankful for inheriting my Dad’s sense of humor, and unfortunately, or fortunately, his sense of direction and his ability to get lost and turned around.

Driving up to the cemetery in North Phoenix, I decided not to use the GPS as we’ve gone enough, I thought I would remember where to turn and Plus, there are directional signs for the VA cemetery on the route.

My Dad, too, was famous (infamous) for not asking directions and being the typical Alpha Male who knew exactly how to go, even if he had never been there. He famously missed a turn that we never let him forget. His retort that became a legend and a running joke was “So I missed the fucking turn; it’s not the end of the fucking world.” And yes, he was very frustrated when he said it. He never cursed except for a very rare “oh shit” when it managed to slip out.

So, I became even moreso my Father’s son when I decided I knew better than the GPS. I missed the exit off the highway. OOPS!

It gets better. So then I put the cemetery into Google Maps, but on the road where you enter the cemetery grounds, I turned too soon onto a wrong alleyway. Foiled again!

When Google Maps screeched “you have arrived at your destination” We were actually outside another cemetery right next to the VA. Still wrong!

We just had to laugh.

Like Father, Like Son.

I was upset this morning and on the drive up. As we pulled into the cemetery, “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan started playing on the radio. Had I not missed the exit and made the wrong turns, we would not have heard that song. Another sign? 

Even though I was upset, after we were at Dad’s gravesite, I felt an unexplained peace and serenity that calmed me down some and stopped me from a full blown ugly cry. 

I thanked him for the signs he has provided us thus far, and so I am extremely thankful for the ones he decided to throw our way on the drive back home. 

Black Birds have been one of his telltale signs. When I stopped at QT for lunch, a black bird was next to the car. It remained still as I backed up, stared right at me and then flew away. 

Additionally, We passed a car with a NY Giants sticker, and then passed a 2nd NY Giants fan in their car as we entered Chandler on the 101.

Our original plan was to see a movie, but we missed the movie time, and decided to do the food shopping instead. Sometimes, things just occur the way they are meant to play out, so that you are exactly where the universe needs or wants you to be, to either help someone or be helped yourself.

My opinion, anyway. I had a lovely conversation with the cashier at Winco, and at Fry’s, I spotted the Oreo candy bars Dad liked that I also love (think chopped up Oreos covered in milk chocolate), marked down, so I replenished my supply. We went to a different grocery store than we normally do.

It was a pleasant surprise to find them in the checkout line we chose (or that was chosen for us!)

Thanks for everything, Dad.

I love you.

The Good Days and the Bad Days

I wrote this while struggling over the weekend, and decided to leave it intact, without editing.
Writing it out instead of keeping it in my brain, was helpful.

On the Bad Days:

You just can’t see a way out of your pain.
You wonder if it will ever get better, even though you know and have seen it get better before.
You don’t want to see anything or be seen.
Eating a meal is a necessity, a chore.
You hate your life and what life has dealt you.
If you are suffering from something medically, you don’t give a fuck if it gets better.
Nothing matters.
You are alone, you are inconsolable, and nothing anyone can say will make it better.
The only thing to make it better is to make things how they were.
Crying helps, and yet it doesn’t.
It is what it is.
Fuck this, Fuck that, Fuck it all, Fuck Everything.
The Ugly, Scrunching Up Your Face kind of cry.
Stop Changing everything!
Distractions are good.
Reliving the past, is not necessarily good.
Memories you hold close are all you have left, and can make you cry.
So can any song about loss, or that evokes emotion or a memory.

The Good Days:
You have acceptance that it is what is, and that you were put on this path for a reason.
You will change as a result, but you will become who you were meant to be all along.
You can find the collateral beauty.
You find a way to move forward to a different future.
You realize you need to fight against isolating on your Bad Days.
Because it doesn’t really help, it just makes you feel worse.
You can get chances or opportunities the past didn’t allow you.
You relax and give up control that you really aren’t in control.
Things DO get better, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.
Memories you  hold close can warm your heart and make you laugh.

Insight Into Another World

So for the past week or so, I feel like I am getting some major insight into what my Dad, as well as others struggling with cancer or other illnesses deal with.

Last Saturday, my Mom and I took a day trip to Las Vegas.

My feet were hurting – but we went. We didn’t want to disappoint my best friend and his Mom who we had lunch plans with.

So, off we went – and had a really good visit together.

I was sore when we got home, even though I only walked around 10,000 steps – more than I have recently, but, not an out of the ordinary number for me.

Sunday, I woke up and my left ankle was quite swollen, along with a good sized bump on the back of my heel.

Knowing my history with Gout and foot issues – I attributed this to the Gout Attack from hell.

After years without an attack, I had one recently on my right foot.

I figured this was my left foot playing catch up, and the bump was due to too much walking (overuse).

I iced and the swelling went down enough to enable me to walk, but the bump remained.

Thursday, the bump was still there, and my insurance covers something called “Doctor on Demand” where you can talk to a doctor on your phone or ipad.

They told me they suspected a possible Achilles tendon issue and I needed to get it checked out.

Friday, I called and made an appointment with the podiatrist for Monday morning.

Monday Morning came, I saw the doctor, showed him my foot to which he exclaimed “That Achilles is NOT happy!”

Xrays showed a patch of inflammation around the heel where my bump is.

He mentioned possible surgery and said the Achilles Tendon might be, torn, or ruptured.

I wasn’t sure how this was even possible – I had definitely NOT overdone activity – I barely worked out with the holiday funk I was in, and I was able to walk, and put pressure on my foot (as I walked)..as well, the pain and swelling seemed to decrease as each day went on.

So much for my  hope of draining fluid from this bump and going on with my life, after a few more days of pain.

He wanted more complete pictures than the xray showed, so with one fell swoop, I most likely met my deductible for the year and had an MRI done late Monday night.

Then, it became wait for the results.

Surgery?

Physical Therapy?  (or Physical Torture) as Dad always called it?

The waiting sucks!

It gave me a huge glimpse into what Dad and others must have, and continue to go through.

You stay strong for those immediately around you, but inside you are just melting and worrying and your brain is running on overdrive.

How are Mom and I are going to manage

But I’m the only driver in the family

What if I lose my job after being out of work for however long it takes

We will have to load up the fridge and both freezers before I go out

There goes the savings

We’ll have to take uber everywhere once I can get around

Until you can’t hold it in anymore, and then you let it out.

You try not to let it bother you, you try to stay strong because losing it really isn’t going to change anything, whether there is surgery or illness or pain in the cards.

It is what is – we can’t change it, we can only change how we react to it.

Somehow or another – it will get resolved, and I will end up getting my feet fixed.

One way or another.

Reading up on Achilles Tendon ruptures – for many people, it happens unexpectedly and through no fault of their own. I didn't fall, trip, knock my leg on anything -  there was no catastrophic event I could tie to what happened. The Doctor even said, it just happens over years of use on your legs.

As I always did with Dad when he was diagnosed with something new, I searched the internet for an herbal supplement to help with the inflammation because popping ibuprofen every 6 hours around the clock can’t go on forever. I found that Turmeric has antinflammatory properties and so I bought a bottle.

Being the consummate planner – I planned for surgery.

Talked to work as a heads up for now.

Starting gathering info as far as taking a medical leave, sick time, etc.

Tuesday (yesterday), now a week later – My Mom had an appointment at the same foot doctor’s office. He spotted me and said “I have your results.  Make an appointment with me”

The assertive side I’ve developed over the past few months came out – oh no, we’re not. I want to know – surgery or not?

So, I asked him if he was able to tell me if he was leaning towards surgery or not, but he said he needed to show me the images and discuss the options in person

(as opposed to over the phone).

I understood, and setup the appointment for the following day, and prayed.

I was thankful for work keeping me distracted for the most part. It makes me wonder, how often did my Dad use the computer and his work, to distract himself.  My appointment was at 1pm, and as the day inched closer to that appointment, the emotions began to hit.

I felt the butterflies, the pins and needles and most of all my anxiety rise. More of what what I imagine my Dad and what nearly everyone must go thru when they aren't sure what the results will be from a test. More of what my Dad must have felt as well, I'm sure, but for the most part never vocalized but kept inside - He stayed strong for my Mom, for me, for us all.
 

As I have done recently, when I have had enough of whatever is stressing me – I attempt to give up control and I pray to my Dad to help me and give me strength.

So I did just that.

We will see what happens at 1pm.

I saw the doctor, and although I was really worried - surgery is not in the plans at this time.
I relaxed so much, I could practically hear the angels and their harps, and "Hallelujah" playing on repeat in my head. I didn't care what kind of treatment I had to go through - as long as surgery wasn't involved. I was ecstatic.

I will be in a boot on my left foot for at least the next month. (To me, the saving grace is my left foot is the one involved, so I can still drive, get to work,etc) The issue is my ankles and heels are inflamed (that's where I have carried my pain for years is in my feet) because thats where I put all my pressure in feet, so the boot is to force me to put the pressure on the front part of the foot, taking the pressure off the heel and allow the inflammation and bump on my heel to relax.  I told the Doctor I certainly hadn't had anything to stress over in the past 6 months! Interestingly, the doctor also said he could see how I carry the stress in my legs and how tight the muscles were. Curiously, and I have written about this before:  I am severely right side dominant and yet these issues are on my left leg.  Guess who was a lefty?  (Not me).

Whatever happened last weekend, I think my foot just had had enough and let me know it. 

Time to get healthy.