It’s Not Okay

No. No big girl pants. No brave face. No confident words or bright sides. This is Lulu – crumpled in a ball.

Maybe the prospective consequence of this surgery I wrote about yesterday in Taking the Bullet didn’t have time to sink. Or maybe there was some kind of mental safety barrier I built around the subject. In any case, everything collapsed into a pile of rubble with a giant plume of dust and a flood behind it.

C.S. and I were going to make breakfast – a common occurrence on Saturday morning. But, in order to cook, some cleaning was required first. I offered to do it. I am painfully aware that I have been a little neglectful of domestics. But, C.S. insisted, and didn’t hesitate to be incredibly nasty while pointing it out.

“I’ve had a bad week.”
“You’ve had one bad day!”

I felt it building, like a swirling, chaotic ball inside my solar plexus. All of the emotions I’ve dampened and thrust inward boiled, as if a roaring fire was now ablaze under their container. Flashbacks flooded my mind. I was trapped in my head, still and gazing with an empty stare across a crowded classroom. I was lying on stomach, underneath three blankets, with a pillow wrapped around my head. I was intently watching the noon news report and cringing each time I heard a door open.

These are absolute truths from the very back, of the very bottom shelves, where the most volatile substances are stored.

“I am in no shape. Back off.”
“You know there’s nothing that irritates me worse than…”

I stopped listening. There is nothing more combustible to a situation than his deaf ear, narrow mind, and dug in heels. A major irritation paled in comparison to the tumultuous storm of explosive materials about to emerge. His complaints were a slow, low string of murmurs only punctuated by breaths to gain more steam. I stood at the counter, shaking so badly that I could no longer handle a knife.

And it rang as clear as a bell, “This is a routine procedure. They do thousands of them a day. It’s no big deal.”

“It IS a BIG DEAL!”, I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “If I hemorrhage, I could die! If my blood pressure tanks again and they can’t get it under control, I could die! And even if I don’t die, what happens if one of my adjacent organs gets a slice? I end up with a colostomy bag?!”

“It’s okay if you get a poop bag,” he joked.

“No! It’s not okay if I have to have a poop bag! It’s not okay if I lose a kidney or liver function! And it’s especially not okay if I lose my ability to have a baby! Nothing about this is okay!!! It’s NOT okay!!!”

My hands were flat against the counter with my arms outstretched. I heaved and violently sobbed. I squeezed my eyes shut and trembled. The tears poured down my cheeks and onto my chest.

Two strong, warm arms closed around me. He brought me against his chest in a firm embrace. I turned to throw my arms around his neck and bury my face into his shoulder. In that moment, I was secure. I was safe, at least from myself.

“Whatever happens, we’ll take care of it.”

I’m not okay. And, I can’t even attempt to pretend anymore. The integrity of the whole farce has disintegrated past salvageable. There is no footing along that path anymore. All I can to is come to terms with this.

November 10th or 11th, S-Day. Only 11 or 12 more days.

9 thoughts on “It’s Not Okay

  1. Pingback: Books Speak Louder than Words « As the Pendulum Swings

  2. I think that you’re right about things taking time to sink in – yesterday you were still in shock and today it wore off.

    It’s amazing how the big things can put the little things in their place, in this case C.S.’ b****ing (excuse me). And for his sake it was probably good you weren’t able to handle a knife. Sorry. Pathetic, misplaced attempt at levity – not unlike C.S.’, although hopefully less triggering to you. But he made up for it and I’ll try to also, by wrapping my arms around you from miles away.

    You’ll make it through, Lulu. I’m not trying to be dismissive of the seriousness of this, but I know for certain that you will. You are an incredibly strong woman with people who love and adore you. We’ll get through this together, step by step, inch by inch if need be.

    • LMAO! He was! I won’t try to defend him for sure. And hence, I don’t keep any firearms in the house. I know better. But I did say to him the other night, as I’m staring at him from across the dinner table, “We’re going to purchase Nerf bats to make this work.”

      (Add a Georgia accent), I’m going to tell you the same thing that my Daddy’s always told me, “I’ve never accidentally cut someone.”.

      He listened. And he tried. I know it’s not an easy business to console me, so I will give credit where credit is due. He may not always hit the mark, but that time, he did. That’s what I needed, something to ground me physically and some words, any words, that recognize my emotions and attend to them.

      I’ve received the long distance hugs, and I definitely have a head on your shoulder. I have a big sigh to let out, but not yet.

      I ran into the most inspirational phrase I’ve ever seen yesterday. I’ve always believed that things happen for a reason and God doesn’t give you more than you can handle (pick a God, any God). Someone wrote, “God gave me this life because he knew I could live it.” It made me stop dead in my tracks and just stare at it. I’ve never thought of it it that way. I’ve had a dozen people confirm my suspicions that I’m not crazy, I’m not overdramatic, and it is always something that seems to pop up in my life. It’s more turbulent than an average life. Why? Because, apparently, my soul is hardy enough to take it.

      I guess someone had to!

    • Thank you for your confirmation. Sometimes, I really, really need that. I feel like I need a referee in my life to make the calls – acceptable, unacceptable. Of course, I’m the loose-cannon coach that runs onto the field to harass the ref! But it would probably help.

  3. LOVE your blog, you’re one brave lady, who also happens to have an amazing talent for writing. So glad to have found this site, thank you for sharing your story with the online world, I love reading your posts. Take Care x

    • I meant to reply to this a long time ago, but my Blackberry ate it. I guess that’s better than telling you that my dog ate it. First, it’s the internet. And second, I don’t even have a dog.

      I wanted to thank you for your praise. I am a little awkward at taking compliments. So I will pass one on to you. You are wonderful and thoughtful.

      I’ve said this in other posts and comments, and I’ll say it again here. If I can help one person who is going through a difficult journey by just existing here in the capacity to say, “You are not alone.”, then I’ve done my job.

      Thanks for reading Hannah!

  4. You were so supportive in a comment to me left on another blog, I thought I would check out your blog. I’d give the usual platitudes and apologies for what you are going through, but I don’t think you need them. I read your 11/11/11 post and you seem like one tough lady with a lot of perspective,so as freaked out as you are, I do not doubt for a second with all the love and support you have in your life, you are going to do just fine.
    But ya know,it’s okay to be scared and say “this is NOT okay.”
    Just because we are tough,brave women does not mean we can’t also have our moments of simply being human.

    • I am completely guilty of the “brave face”. I don this mask and hide behind it. I wanted so much to show people through this post that it’s okay to fall apart when things aren’t okay. It happens. That’s why we have friends and loved ones to support us in these times.

      I would consider each person in this community to be a friend to me, no matter how far away they are. WordPress, Pendulum, and Canvas are probably the best things that have ever happened to me!

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