![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
About four hours from now a year ago, my small intestine pretty much fell apart. I spent a fun two hours in pain so excruciating death seemed like a fantastic option. I am not exaggerating - when they knocked me out for surgery I literally didn't care if I ever woke back up as long as my abdomen stopped screaming. Cause you know, when you're dead, you can't feel anything.
Those were two of the loneliest hours of my waking life in addition to the most literally painful. Even if that night Holly had managed to reach the people we called that night, it's not like they could have come with me to get the CAT scan I barely remember done, or into surgery. Nothing like scary medical proceedures to drive home the idea that in a lot of ways, we're all soldiering through our individual shit alone, and handling it as it comes the best we can. As timarok's email signature used to say: "Learning from life the hard way, stumbling every step." Rather true.
When I got out of the hospital finally, it was as if the world had changed in a week and a half. Fall had hit - It was a lot cooler - it had been kinda hot the day I checked in, it was chilly the day I got out. It had been green when I walked in, it was brown and yellow and red when I left. I remember how the wind felt on my face, remember holding on to the silly little bat balloon Von had gotten me as it bounced at the end of its ribbon... I don't remember how wind felt before or, kinda sadly, since. Hell, that day I was still appreciating the miracle of solid food after being tube fed for six days. I took a lot less for granted - being able to run to the bathroom as opposed to hobble holding my belly, for one example. The cubic assload of friends and family that came from far and wide to see me that week, not to mention the other folk on the nets that left comments I didn't rightly appreciate until I reread them a couple weeks later while not being high on morphine. I still have an instant, violent nauseated reaction to the smell of hand sanitizer and rubbing alcohol. Not to mention a pretty badass 7 inch scar down my belly. And I remember the day I came home, a certain someone telling me I was officially more badass than Houdini because peritonitis killed him, and I survived it. Lord. Should have taken it as a sign of things to come. *shakes head*
I don't know. It's been a year. It's a rather grim anniversary, but at the same time it isn't, because I'm still here. This past year has been full of Rough Shit®, quite possibly emotionally on par with having intestinal splode. And yeah, not all of it's resolved... but I guess I'm coming to terms with the fact that that's okay too, that some of the stuff I'm processing through is gonna haunt me for a while yet. But I think this week, in light of where I was this time last year, I think my goal is to recapture that whole simple joy in being alive vibe... cause yeah, I'm still dealing with adulthood sucking, but overall... my life is pret-ty awesome right now. Ac-ceeeeeeentuate the positive and whatnot. And as many people have tried to tell me... I don't know. Tonight seems a good night to forgive, accept and let go. This is how it is and how it kinda had to be in a lot of ways, and I've seen what years of holding in and on this sort of shit does to people... and I don't want to be that person, even though Maleficent is a fantastic Halloween idea. If anything, it'd be kind of awful being a zombie blue-green shade for the rest of your life. I'd never be able to wear orange ever again! Oh wait, I hate orange...
A peaceful yom kippur to those of you that observe it. To everyone else... take a minute to look at all the good stuff in your life. And if you're grieving over something or other... I'll leave you with something my niece posted in Facebook this morning. "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."
Right. That's enough pseudo profound from me for one evening...
Those were two of the loneliest hours of my waking life in addition to the most literally painful. Even if that night Holly had managed to reach the people we called that night, it's not like they could have come with me to get the CAT scan I barely remember done, or into surgery. Nothing like scary medical proceedures to drive home the idea that in a lot of ways, we're all soldiering through our individual shit alone, and handling it as it comes the best we can. As timarok's email signature used to say: "Learning from life the hard way, stumbling every step." Rather true.
When I got out of the hospital finally, it was as if the world had changed in a week and a half. Fall had hit - It was a lot cooler - it had been kinda hot the day I checked in, it was chilly the day I got out. It had been green when I walked in, it was brown and yellow and red when I left. I remember how the wind felt on my face, remember holding on to the silly little bat balloon Von had gotten me as it bounced at the end of its ribbon... I don't remember how wind felt before or, kinda sadly, since. Hell, that day I was still appreciating the miracle of solid food after being tube fed for six days. I took a lot less for granted - being able to run to the bathroom as opposed to hobble holding my belly, for one example. The cubic assload of friends and family that came from far and wide to see me that week, not to mention the other folk on the nets that left comments I didn't rightly appreciate until I reread them a couple weeks later while not being high on morphine. I still have an instant, violent nauseated reaction to the smell of hand sanitizer and rubbing alcohol. Not to mention a pretty badass 7 inch scar down my belly. And I remember the day I came home, a certain someone telling me I was officially more badass than Houdini because peritonitis killed him, and I survived it. Lord. Should have taken it as a sign of things to come. *shakes head*
I don't know. It's been a year. It's a rather grim anniversary, but at the same time it isn't, because I'm still here. This past year has been full of Rough Shit®, quite possibly emotionally on par with having intestinal splode. And yeah, not all of it's resolved... but I guess I'm coming to terms with the fact that that's okay too, that some of the stuff I'm processing through is gonna haunt me for a while yet. But I think this week, in light of where I was this time last year, I think my goal is to recapture that whole simple joy in being alive vibe... cause yeah, I'm still dealing with adulthood sucking, but overall... my life is pret-ty awesome right now. Ac-ceeeeeeentuate the positive and whatnot. And as many people have tried to tell me... I don't know. Tonight seems a good night to forgive, accept and let go. This is how it is and how it kinda had to be in a lot of ways, and I've seen what years of holding in and on this sort of shit does to people... and I don't want to be that person, even though Maleficent is a fantastic Halloween idea. If anything, it'd be kind of awful being a zombie blue-green shade for the rest of your life. I'd never be able to wear orange ever again! Oh wait, I hate orange...
A peaceful yom kippur to those of you that observe it. To everyone else... take a minute to look at all the good stuff in your life. And if you're grieving over something or other... I'll leave you with something my niece posted in Facebook this morning. "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."
Right. That's enough pseudo profound from me for one evening...
