Alive! (...and scared to death)

I had a work meeting this morning. As I've mentioned, things have been on the intense side with my patients. And then my sister in law died. My work rallied behind me in such a special way (I am so blessed to work with them) and really helped hold me up when I needed to take a break. So today, as I was talking with my social worker friend I found myself reliving the story of yesterday, a story of how I came THIS close to death, and as I was speaking the words I suddenly found myself to be very embarrassed; another dramatic story in my life. Why does there seem to be so many of these? I do not like drama, and yet, at least for the past month, it has been sticking to me like glue. It makes me question my own relationship to it, my own cause and effect. It made me want to skip over the story of yesterday entirely and move forward like it didn't exist. Perhaps I should really do this. But I'm not going to. I'll tell it, share, learn and move on.

The whole near death experience lasted for maybe 30-45 minutes. I was hiking a 14,000+ foot mountain with a friend. We got off the path. We got ourselves into a bind and  found ourselves scrambling for the ridge in a small, ravine that was, well nearly 14,000 feet in the air. This was not a good route. There was loose dirt and rocks around us and the rocks that were needed for a stronghold were crumbling beneath my fingers and feet.  Each step took about 5 minutes until I could find another good one that wouldn't cave beneath my feet. I became terrified. In that moment I suddenly became acutely aware of my own mortality. I wanted to cry as I remembered Ellie begging me to go back to bed from our snuggly hotel room in Breckinridge that very morning. I prayed to God. I prayed that I would make it out of that moment and that similarly, I wouldn't kill my friend with an assault of loose scree as he climbed beneath me. I tried my absolute best to withhold a full blown panic attack. I didn't want to die. What the hell was I doing in that situation?

Through some crazy maneuvering we got out of that ravine. I was more scared than my friend who insisted that we wouldn't have died, we would have nearly fallen and scrambled and probably skinned ourselves severely. Fun, too.

I am not proud of the experience that happened yesterday. I do not seek out those fear induced moments. I do not desire them either. But that's the thing about mountains. Mountains are to be reckoned with. You have to be prepared for a slew of "what if" experiences. When you are hiking that high up you are so exposed and you are the visitor. Mountains are fantastic and scary. I stood on top of that mountain and it felt like I was on top of the world; I was so unbelievably high. My body was so tired, emotionally and physically, and I was so grateful for the ground beneath my feet. I was alive!

There are simple lessons in this story: trust your instincts, wear a helmet when hiking so high and never underestimate mama nature.

And then there are life lessons. Sometimes life is hard. Sometimes you find yourself in squirrely situations. Sometimes all you can do is try, as hard as you can, to get out alive. To get out sane. To get out however way you want. Sometimes you don't have control. Sometimes you hope that there are angels helping you.  Sometimes it feels like bringing your body up a mountain, real or metaphorical, is the most difficult task in the world. But still, you do it. Because you can.

I will not stop hiking mountains. But for right now, I'm sticking to the "easier" 14,000 foot mountains. I love my family too much  to even fathom leaving them.

Castle Peak

On the way up.

working!

The ravine we had NO business being in.

My buddy and I at the top.

What a view!

My friend opted to go back down by glissading (aka sliding on your butt). I opted for the more challenging and MUCH more controlled old school mode of transport: my feet!

It takes hard work to stand on top of a mountain, but it feels so good. I think mountains are like goals: achieving them can bring you true joy.


(...and a whole lot of humble pie).

A very summery fashion friday

There's been some sad posts lately, because at this station in life, things got sad. But you stand up, dust yourself off, and walk through whatever emotion is hitting you. They're all temporary. Some more intense than others. Some needing a little more attention. 

But that's the thing about sadness. Without sadness, you simply would have no way to define happiness. 

And sadness, well it makes gratitude, so much sweeter. 

Happy weekend!

          

                   

                

Dress: Genuine Kids

Boots: Circo

Coat: Lavender Alley

Permission to be still

So here's the thing, my house? It's empty. My daughter is at school, my husband is at work, and I have discovered the most beautiful workplace concept that is bereavement leave. No PTO, just taking it off. 

This past week, as you can well imagine, was pretty insane. The memorial service was yesterday and I volunteered to write the eulogy, create the video slideshows, work with the chaplain,create and print the programs, among a few other more minscule obligations. I really didn't mind. I was honored to be able to help in some way. Kelly deserved it. Prior to the service we had a pre-planned party at my house (I turned 35 on Sunday), the subsequent clean up and breakdown, an outdoor concert WAY on the other side of town, mingled into that were the memorial tasks, the family get togethers as a slew of family members arrived from out of town, all of which sent me into the full blown panic mode of holy-shit-it's-tomorrow! 

Well tomorrow came and went. I'm home now. My husband left for work at his usual time. I brought my daughter to preschool and well, here I sit. Part of me feels like there's something that I should go do. I should exercise, I mean what a great opportunity to go for a run or a bike ride. Only, this couch feels so comfortable right now. And the house is so sweetly silent.

I don't do well with NOT doing things. I'm not a lazy person. But right now, on the heels of multiple deaths, planning a memorial service, a birthday party at OUR house, and seeing so many family members (that were a delight to see), not to mention the wedding that we are going to this weekend and my already pretty busy day of work lined up for me tomorrow, well, I just don't want to do anything. Am I terrible?

I've been so busy with so many tasks that sitting still feels...awkward. But I think there's a lot more to this silence, a lot more that I could use for my own good. My heart has had some pretty heavy weights on it. Maybe that's why I found myself with tears brimming to the surface when I dropped off Ellie at preschool.

Sometimes silence is exactly what is needed to do the personal work that you really need to do.

All I know is that today I am giving myself permission to just relax. And I'm sure (and can already attest to) that as the days of last week start to peel off there will be moments of tears. In silence, you have nothing to hide behind.





(ok, except your computer. I'm shutting mine down right....now!)

Eulogy for a sister

"In preparing for this eulogy, I received a lot of input from many different people. People I have never met. People who knew and loved Kelly. People that shared stories and experiences with her. I learned about the sweet Kelly that did so much for so many people. I learned about the “wild child” Kelly who, as I quote a friend of hers, “I will fondly remember my best bud KelBell, curls flowing, in a Go Go’s concert T-shirt, wearing Levi 501's (button fly only!) and pink and purple checked Vans… “. I listened to these stories, I have listened to the words that her husband Rick, her brothers, and her children have used when describing Kelly. And in all of this communication, there is one word that permeates, that seems to clearly embody the sweet light of Kelly Bryant.  

Kind.

I can attest to this kindness. Kelly was my sister in law and from that very first Thanksgiving as her baby brother’s new girlfriend, where I broke her garbage disposal and I’m pretty sure, a glass, she was nothing but open arms. She was inquisitive and when I talked with her she looked right in my eyes, with undivided attention. She exuded warmth and love. She would later announce during a family event that she wished her brother would marry me. I was so taken aback by her bold and sweet words, and in those words I felt so enfolded into that family, a part of the love, a part of the embrace that she gives everyone with that award winning smile.

Kelly was a matriarch; mother of four, sister to two little brothers, and she shined in that role. She was nurturing. She would call you to check in. She would send you updates on the kids. She would give thoughtful gifts at birthdays and milestones.

Kelly would do anything for you. She was strong. If you needed a friend you could call her and she would come to you. If you needed a place to stay her home was always open. She would go out of her way to help people in need. She truly cared about others and her warm smile always made you feel welcome.

My snapshot of Kelly was just that, a snapshot. It was a nearly 6 year relationship as a sister, a friend, a new member of the family.  I stand here fully aware that there was so much more than just my snapshot, but I can tell you that in what I saw, in MY snapshot, I saw a mother who would do anything for her children, a mother who would talk about her children with such fierce pride and love. I saw a sister who would call her brothers and always end the conversation with “I love you”. I saw a friend, a fun loving girl who thought nothing of heading to Denver sunday after sunday in the heat to hang out with her friends and family at Jazz in the Park.

I also saw a woman; a woman who loved her family beyond measure. A woman that was strong, that would fight for the people she loved. A woman that embodied the spirit of motherhood, of warmth, of love.

But there is one more adjective that I feel greatly describes the woman that I was so privileged to know. One adjective that could only begin to describe the experience of suffering from early onset frontotemporal dementia. That word is Brave. The past two years she has been a brave warrior. She has been scared. She has been confused. It has been an extremely hard time, a hard time for all that loved her, and a hard time for her. She was losing control and the woman we all knew and identified with was unraveling. It was enough to break your heart. And yet with Kelly, even at the end, when things got really bad, when she could no longer communicate with her words, she could ALWAYS communicate with her eyes. I’ve witnessed the light that shone on her face when her husband was with her, when her daughter was with her, it was beautiful. It was pure, true love.

I didn’t want to write this eulogy about the recent past. Though it did exist and brought us to be standing here today, the Kelly that is in our hearts, and in our memories, far exceeds her brain that was breaking and her body that has died. Kelly was laughter. She was life. She was, and she is, love.

I’m going to share with you a few adjectives that her friends and family have used to describe Kelly.

Sweet, gentle, Welcoming, kooky, loving, giving, caring, open, mothering, supportive, faithful, accepting,  fun-loving, silly, thoughtful, true, kind, compassionate, genuine, committed, selfless,  gracious, dependable, light hearted, playful, encouraging, warm, kind hearted, generous, smiley, adventurous, real, inviting, creative, awesome, and my personal favorite...completely lovely.

It doesn’t seem fair to be reading the eulogy of my 44 year old sister in law of whom I truly loved. But there are things in this world we can never understand. Kelly relied strongly on her faith in Jesus, more so than ever towards the end of her life, and in that faith she was able to be the brave warrior that she was. That she is.

Beautiful Kelly, thank you for the light that you brought unto this world. As you watch down upon us, as you shine in the sky at night and dance in the breeze that kisses our faces, know in the depth of your soul, that you did real good.

We will carry your love with us always. Your love, our love, ONE love.

Namaste."

Her fight is finally over.

Tonight my sister in law, Kelly, died.
Tonight four beautiful children lost their mom,
a kind husband lost his wife,
Tonight my husband lost his sister,
and the world lost her sweet, gentle light.

We have been losing Kelly for about two years, losing her to the demon of frontotemporal dementia. She was diagnosed at 43. It has been a long hard struggle for her, her husband, her children, her brothers, her dad. She went from highly functioning mother of 4 to, one and a half years later, living in a skilled nursing facility, unable to speak, unable to take care of her own activities of daily living.

It was a cruel way to live. Cruel for someone who deserved none of it.

It was likely a urinary tract infection that spread to her blood stream that ended her battle; sepsis. I watched the telltale signs of near death when I sat at her bedside today, beside myself that this was happening. HOW does a woman so young die from a UTI? It seemed unbelievable.

Tonight she died. We are heart broken, and yet our hearts have been breaking slowly for almost two years.

Life hardly seems fair sometimes. If you have your health, you have SO MUCH. I have seen three people under the age of 50 die in the past week. But this last one, sitting on the OTHER side of hospice, seemed the most unfair of all.

I know I speak for all that knew her, but we will miss you Kelly. What a beautiful soul you were. Are.
And now, sweet sweet Kelly, you are free.

You used to call my husband, your baby brother, all the time and end every conversation with "I love you."
Tonight the conversation ended, but the love,

that will never end.

You are loved. And we are all grateful for the light you shined upon this world.

Ellie, this is your Aunt Kelly holding you when you were just a tiny baby.

Thank you for all that you were.

First crush

We've been hanging out a lot lately with Henry and Milo.

They play together GREAT!

I mean...GREAT.

And it's not that Ellie doesn't like Milo or anything
....but Henry...oh Henry.

I've seen that look before.

Just remember, you're three, kid, and mommy is ALWAYS WATCHING!! (And almost ALWAYS has a camera!)

Henry took this picture of Ellie with his little camera. I mean I can see why he'd be smitten.

I remember the first time I ever showed public affection with a boy. Peter Ogilvie. I was in 8th grade. He had his arm around my waist at the lunch table. Mrs. Soucy came running up to us with, I swear, smoke coming out of her nose. "Oh no you DON'T" and flung his hand off my waist. 

I mean, like it wasn't awkward enough already.

Oh Ellie, I know we're not there yet. I know you are three and just think Henry is super cool. I'm okay with that. But please, pu-leeze, DON'T GROW UP TOO FAST!!

I have 10 more years until I have a teenager. I plan on milking them with over-zealous hugs, kisses in public, hand holding, waving from the front door. I'm the smitten one right now.

And really I expect to be for the rest of my life. But don't worry, I won't be sneaking into your house when you're an adult to rock you like a baby. 

(But I'll probably kind of want to. )

Normal again. For now anyway.

You guys, It's 630am and I got up BEFORE this and the thing is it was GLADLY. Because today, TODAY I do not have to work. My work phone is off. My work laptop is shut down. I can finally breathe.

This week has been brutal. Up every night until the wee hours charting, reliving days that were wrought with sadness and a multitude of tasks. But the most frustrating part of all of this is that in the last four days I allowed absolutely NO time for self care. Skipping breakfast, lunches, not exercising, eating crap as I drove in the car from patient to patient house. My granola bar and diet coke filled body is not pleased with me right now, nor am I. I do not feel good when I don't allow time to care for myself, and I can say quite sincerely that if this job were ALWAYS like that, then I would be looking for a new job this instant. But it's not. I still love it (well the working part, NOT the charting part).

My 45 year old that I referred to earlier this week? She died literally while I was holding her hand. I will NEVER not think that is an amazing honor. I felt relief when she died. The suffering was over. The grief that loomed over that house could now come into true form. She was really gone.

Then I moved on to my 48 year old patient. He's new to me. The cancer is new to him. It moved SO quickly that in the course of a little over a month he went from working, being normal, healthy, to full of cancer, a diagnosis of 2 weeks to live, a multitude of really painful and uncomfortable symptoms to contend with. He and his wife are so great; I just want to go in there and make this NOT hard for them. And I think I do a good job of that, at least of providing some understanding of what is going on. Knowledge is power. And pain control is pain control and THAT, among many other symptom management issues, is something I can help with.

But grief? Well grief comes in many ways, in many different moments. As this lovely young man was telling me his story I found myself getting tears in my eyes. I mean, not dripping, but glistening and he stopped me right there and said, "don't". He can't handle seeing other people grieve his losses. It undoes him.

The harder aspect of this job is that these really intense experiences are happening, and riddled throughout them are so many tasks that are involved in the case management of, for me, 12 home patients. You are always busy. There is never someone that I shouldn't be calling. I have 14 things in my head at one time. I tell people, "look, I talk out loud". Because I do, and some people must think I'm nuts, but I have to sometimes. I'm trying to sift through the gigantic load of responsibility that sits on my shoulders. I'm trying to forget that load as I sit with a patient and give them my undivided attention.

I realized, not long ago, as I was sitting with someone WITH that undivided attention, that THOSE moments are the entire reason why I do the job I do. I feel so much connection in those interactions. I feel privileged to be there at this very real and intense time. And I get a feeling of losing myself in the listening. REALLY hearing what this person is telling me. It's almost always a story of grief and loss and amazement that they have gotten as sick as they have. I can look at someone during these interactions and TRULY CARE. Truly want to do the best job that I can for them. Show them that I feel compassion and love for them. Because I do. When my patient died yesterday and I held herhand I said "I love you, Susan" (not her real name, hippa) and I really meant it. I love her. I love all of my patients, EVEN the ones that are less loveable when I'm not giving them my undivided attention. It is my belief that in the game of death, a game we must all play, that it is an even playing ground. No one is better than the other. No one more deserving of attention. Well (honestly), except maybe the young ones. The young ones always get more attention. Maybe because it's so NOT fair, or maybe because I see myself in them, but they are the ones that make my job the most heart wrenching. They are the ones with lives that are being short changed.

I came home the other day,  tears brimming to the surface, stepped into the door, saw my husband and LOST IT. Cried and cried and cried. Cried like a little baby. Laid on my bed sobbing, my head in the pillow, thinking about each patient and character one by one, letting myself feel the grief of each person. Each person that I was doing my best for yet also being pulled in a million directions at once. Feeling their loss, their suffering. It was the most CATHARTIC cry I've ever had. I got up from that cry, eyes puffy, and hugged my family. I was ready to feel normal again and did much better with that well of emotions outside of my body and laying in a pool of tears on my pillow.

Today it's Saturday and I'm going on a nice, long 10 mile run with my friend Sarah. I'm going to try to forget my patients and my job and focus on myself. On my own body. On the life that is coursing through it.

I know that someday, when I die, I can rest knowing there were so many people that I helped with so much sincerity and love. I live most of my days in service to others, and though this can be filled with challenges, it is what I have been called to do.

But now? I run!

nightswimming

We have this expectation at work that when you see a patient, you then chart it. As they say in nursing, "if you didn't chart it, you didn't do it". The trouble is, with home care, this hardly EVER happens. Usually the day is truly jam packed with a medley of phone calls, patient visits, being onholds, drive time, ordering meds, etc etc etc etc etc etc.

Today was a sad day for me. As I sat at the bedside of my 45 year old patient and explained to the family why she's suddenly breathing like she's gasping for air, why she sounds like she has glass in her throat, why she's hot one second and cold the next, what we are doing for her meds, why she has a mouth full of lesions, why she can't swallow anymore, why, why, what, what , why why. So many explanations. So many changes. When really what I wanted to do was to make her not be dying.

I know this is the nature of my job, but it doesn't make it any less heartbreaking.

I laughed with one of my social worker friends today about why a person would choose such a crazy job. I question it all the time. And though I know the answer I also know that I will probably always be walking the see saw of "this is for me" and "why am I doing this". A true testimony to my personality, challenging myself and questioning myself constantly.

When I came home from work, tired, emotionally, I had planned to go for a nice, cathartic run and listen to Brandi Carlile's new album when I remembered that Ellie's very first parent/toddler swim lesson was starting in 10 minutes! So we scrambled into suits, grabbed towels and I drove like a bat out of hell (in my head anyway) to get to the YMCA which I most certainly had gps-ed the wrong directions for.

Turns out swim lessons weren't so bad, and I did find that once I started getting used to the temperature that not only was my body warming up, but my day was melting off as well. Ellie was so cute, floating around on her little noodle, learning to kick. When the swim teacher, Joe, approached us in the water and asked to take Ellie for a swim I thought for sure she'd say no. But she didn't. She held on to Joe's arms and I watched her travel in the waters like a brave little girl, a fierce determined look on her face, legs kicking, eyes concentrating. And I noticed that I had a smile plastered across my face, a smile laced with a hint of melancholy. I didn't think she'd let go of me so quickly. I didn't think she'd be out there swimming without her mom by her side.

And so here I sit, house is quiet, my work laptop open, my notes in front of me. I have to relive this day. I have to chart it.

So I'm thinking about my patient who could very well die tonight. I'm thinking about her child. I'm thinking about my daughter swimming around in the pool. I'm thinking about when I first learned to swim. I'm thinking about the difference between being a kid and being a grown up. I'm thinking about the things I need to do in order to have the life that I strive for.

I'm thinking that I'm not going to finish this charting tonight.

Adult. Kid. (Psychedelic, dude!)

Why I am clearly such a kick ass blogger.

Writing in this blog, exercising, reading, basically anything that involves ME time is either scheduled, or wrought with inconsiderate interruptions that one may simply ask, "why bother". I (rather painfully) woke up early this morning just to enjoy the quiet light and silence of morning, pour my DELICIOUS first cup of coffee only to immediately hear the scuffles coming from my bedroom of tiny 3 year old feet hitting the floor. MY bedroom you ask? Yes, always my bedroom. Usually between 1 and 3 am my toddler runs to my side of the bed where at this point I lift her up so instinctively to the middle of the bed that I'm now finding myself waking up in the morning and saying "is she here?". Oh yes, she's here, save some RARE sleep invoked accidental stay in her own room.

So yes, I get up early today, still quite tired and unwilling to look at any bright rays of sunshine for several moments, so I curl up on the couch and fall back asleep. Momentarily. This is all a part of my assault on the morning. I may have fallen back asleep, but it was on the COUCH, so therefore CLOSER to the kicking ass part of my day. I slowly pry open my eyes and in Dunkin Donuts-circa-1988-commercial style, I stumble in zombie fashion to the kitchen saying "time to make the coffee". Which I do, and it's delicious. And she gets up immediately.  She sits next to me on the couch in a cuddle and falls back asleep in a cuddle (as the apple clearly does not fall far from the tree), and I try to engage in the chicken pecking typing of one hand while I love on my very cuddly kid who all of the sudden bolts up to run to the bathroom (which is now a very private affair) (yes!). In that rather long moment of absence I feel the creative juices start to flow and open the blank slate of unsculpted literary madness (aka new blog post) only to hear "mommmmmmmy, my tummy hwerts". I'm still engaged in said writing as I mindlessly yell "Sorry your tummy hurts honey, you just have to sit and wait for the poop to come out" as my fingers continue to fly. Soon thereafter she emerges victorious with a wipe in hand and her pants down to the ankles so I'm forced up from my throne to wipe her butt and offer words of encouragment, wanting so badly to go back to my creative writing process but first have to empty the poop out of the kid potty, tell my daughter to wash her hands, figure I may as well use this opportunity to put in my contacts, oh may as well wash my face and just get ready in general. Still, I have my thoughts brimming to the surface and I want to write SO BADLY so I try. I return to the beloved spot. Ellie starts working on decorating her thank you cards from three weeks ago (a record, in a good way!). I'm writing. Wheeeeeeeee!!!

"Can I watch Calliou?" "Can I have popcorn?" "Can I have a lolliopop?" "Can I have a popsicle" "Can I watch Calliou?"

After holding back the words I want to say ("can you please shut up!") I realize that I should probably feed my kid, something I shamefully have to remind myself as personally I'd be fine with a handful of nuts and 3 more cups of coffee. So I get breakfast which is not just "whipping something up" but instead is about providing moments of independence.  I get a cup full of milk for pouring, a huge measuring cup filled with cereal, empty spoon and bowl (by God it better be the purple bowl), bowl of blueberries and have realized through much trial and error that THIS medley of independence making breakfast activities mitigates most breakfast related tantrums (for which there were many). I return to the couch, to the trusty computer to sink my juicy thoughts into whatever very important thing I was working on only to have to jump up with the paper towels at the first milk spillage and try to move the bowl that is literally filled to the brim with cereal laden milk. Area cleaned, clothes removed (from kid), new clothes placed, mild efforts of derision at trying to get her to NOT wear her warm long sleeved shirt on a proposed 90 degree day and we are BACK. She's at the toddler table. I'm at the couch. My work phone starts dinging with emails. I answer emails from said workphone, look up some numbers, tell my daughter that I'm proud of her for eating her breakfast like a big girl (ie NOT dipping her entire fist in her glass of milk). Conscientious of the ever slipping away time slot for my creative freedom I throw on some work clothes, clean up my daughter who already requires a washrag to wipe milk and blueberry stains off of today's outfit and finally get back to the couch. Ready to write. Ready to rock and roll. Phone rings.

Fuck this.

I think it may be the teenage years before I write anything poignant again.
(At least that's my excuse.)

Month in review: May 2012

May showers...

...brings reasons to go to Starbucks for coffee. (Then again so does sunshine, wind, and well, any reason really)

Mommy brought her guitar to Ellie's school for a  singalong. It was so SO cute!

Ellie LOVES her friends at school.

Lala came to visit! Ellie got to stay up WAY LATE and go to the airport in her pajamas.

Ellie was VERY excited to bring Lala to her school.

Mommy ran the Colfax half marathon.

We spent SO much time on the porch.

We strolled on over to the Montview Festival. Coolest kids carnival I ever did see.

We learned that JUMPING is, like, so fun!

For mother's day my very awesome family pretended to have fun with variegated warehouse garage doors and a remote control!

Love her.

Ellie had a birthday party!

Because now she's THREE!

We went camping with the Pearlmans....

...in UTAH

and it was SO AWESOME!

Gratuitous mountain biking shot!

Nature is rocking our world.

And we get to sleep in it camper style.

We had some really great family fun.

But we had to say goodbye to one family member: our little Gabby Goo.

But on May 31 we had a lovely visit from Mike's dad and his wife and Ellie got to know Grandpa and Angie.

Life continues to be very good. Even when it's hard. 

But mostly it's just awesome.