moving boulders

As a parent you try really hard to be strong for your little one. But today was so damn hard that I wasn't successful at that. I had to go to school to do some requisite paperwork for graduation...and despite my very best planning...the former girlfriend was there.

Ahhhhhh and she was beautiful with her hair all fixed and her clothes all perfect and she did NOT look like she had just been crying at Publix (as I had been) just because a damn Indigo Girls song had been playing. It was devastating to be so close to her and be so unwanted. So I returned home and sat in front of my house trying to stop crying before I came back to my little man. But I couldn't.

I came inside and he wanted to know what had happened. So I told him I had seen our recently lost friend and that I missed her very much. I told him that I thought she probably didn't want to talk to me anymore...that she and I had hurt each others feelings really bad and she didn't want to be friends with me.

He was really quiet for a long time and then told me I should learn to be better at letting things go. He said that he pictures himself sitting at a really pretty table. And sometimes people throw things on his table that he doesn't want there. Some of the things are easy to knock off, like scraps of paper, but other things are big and heavy like rocks or rare earth magnets. You can't move those things off your table by yourself, that's when you ask for help. So my 11-year old son explains that you can ask God to help, or a good friend you trust, and sometimes it takes a long time to get your table clean again. He says the tricky part is not adding your own garbage to the table...because that makes cleaning it off way harder.

So he gives me a hug and laughs and says "I guess that's a metaphor!"

Holy shit my boy is brilliant.

Tonight I will that are cluttering up my table. And I honestly hope my former lover is doing as well as she seems...because there is absolutely no need for both of us to be hurting this badly.

Here's to the next 24 hours...may it pass more quickly than the last.

and it goes something like this

bad first dates...

I have been on LOTS of dates. Especially first dates ;)

Once upon a time I was trolling match.com and I struck up an email connection with a young lovely lady. After a few correspondences we decided to meet.

At the time I was VERY physically active (this is before nursing school had worn me down to a pale weakling) so we decided to go off-road biking for our first date. She picked me up in her sporty little car and we were off.

Now this woman had been a competitive athlete of sorts in her time, and she was gliding through the bike trails like her bike had an electric motor. I was doing my best to keep up, look cool, and still maintain enough oxygen in my bloodstream to have witty banter.

It wasn't working.

The miles stretched on and I as I furiously tried to keep pace I veered just a bit off track and a wayward branch reached out and jammed itself into my spokes! My bike and I flipped in midair and I landed squarely on the frame...catching the full force of the metal with the most delicate part of my womanly self.

Owie.

She was so far ahead she didn't even NOTICE (which I thought was a bad sign in a future wife to be honest) and I tried my best to get back on the bike and continue on. But wow was I hurting.

After our ride she wanted to have some lunch...and I was torn between the excitement of continuing the date and the fear that I had split my pelvic girdle into fragments. I mean, she was cute and smart and fun to be with...but I was pretty sure I was going to need major surgery to fix my hoohaa. Of course I continued on to lunch and never mentioned the little accident.

It is so hard trying to be cool.

I spent the next two days with ice in my nether regions and wondering why they don't make women's mountain bikes...but at least I got a second date out of it ;)

sometimes spared...

today.

driving around feeling like a woman who hasn't slept or eaten or had ANY CAFFEINE for days and days and days...

A poor, pitiful woman in the horrible limbo after discovering it is time for a referral to a specialist but before the cardiologist has an opening...

going through the motions and being pretty proud of myself for doing that. Being brave for my kid and my family and my friends.

so basically today was a lot like yesterday :)

I pulled up to a stop light and waited patiently for my turn. I closed my eyes just for a second - really just a blink - and saw (in my mind) a little Honda rush across the cross street and nearly run off the road in front of me. It was as clear as if it had been real.

But when I opened my eyes I was alone at the stop light.

So when the light turned green I was scared to go. I slowly edged into the intersection as I saw a little Honda barreling up the road. I stopped immediately as the careless dude nearly smashed into my car, screeching his tires and swerving up onto the sidewalk.

I pulled into a nearby parking lot, kind of overcome by what had just happened.

Honestly my first thought was "God saved me!!". And my second thought was "just to make sure I stay good and heartbroken". I laughed to myself thinking that all the evangelical Christians were right and God was keeping the gays and lesbians around just to make them miserable. Which I admit is an absurd thought...right?

Mellow-dramatic? hyperbole? Same difference.

Tomorrow I will work on being grateful for the warning today. I will pick up my son from school and hug him mighty tight and then get a kitten. Or a tattoo. Or both.

ready for fun?

Alrighty folks - cardiac telemetry is on! The doc wants me to recreate a typical "bad" day. Which is not going to be hard at all...

Step one - get the holter:





Step two - have some diet coke (obviously the best step):







Step three - dip into some memories and take a good stiff drink:





Then I'll go out and take a long bike ride - get my heart rate up! I've been scared to work out at all these days until I figure out what is going on. There have been a few moments recently when I have had to go down on my knees to keep from passing out - so I have been worried that popping in a P90X DVD might not be conducive to staying conscious ;)

Wish me luck my friends...here's hoping the monitor gets a clear record of my precious little busted up heart and I start to get some answers.

tomorrow...

Tomorrow I get to strap on some electrodes and hopefully get a little closer to figuring out what in the ever-loving-heck is happening with my heart. Physiologically speaking of course. It seems I am having some funky heart rhythms of late.

Interesting enough - my spiritual heart has also recently been torn up. Is it possible that all this cardiac trouble is rooted in love lost? I am the first to admit that your mind is mighty. Mighty enough to cause physical symptoms, and mighty enough help with healing.

The dysrhythmia started before I even knew my girlfriend was planning on leaving town, leaving me. Did my intuition pick up on her secret plans days before she told me? Because I would put money on the timing. I think she moment she gave up on us is the moment everything went to shit with my myocardium.

My doctor says things like "premature ventricular contractions" and "dysrhythmia" and "ectopic beats"...he says give up caffeine and get back on the treadmill. He throws meds at me and I dutifully give them a try. And it is getting incrementally better. Teeny, tiny little increments. But hey, I have been feeling so crappy I will take even teeny, tiny little bits of better.

The other day in the hospital I had a combative, confused, elderly woman as a patient. She punched me, bit me, and fought with every single staff member. I was tasked with keeping her in bed and trying my best to keep her safe. You'd be surprised how strong a demented 80-year old can be. Just a few hours into her care I was already exhausted. She couldn't communicate her needs at all, prior strokes had jumbled her brain. She spoke in angry, nonsensical phrases...words thrown together in ways only she understood.

I kept trying to reassure her. I spoke softly. Then was quiet. I even tried singing old songs she might remember from her childhood...nothing calmed her down. Then out of my mouth I started calling her "nanna". I have no idea why, it just seemed like the thing to do. She made eye contact with me for the first time all day and responded by calling me "grandpa". She became a different person from that moment on - calm, at peace, and a pleasure to be around. The nurses and support staff were shocked by the transition and I was very very very very happy we could remove the restraints.

Her daughter arrived from out-of-town much later that evening and when I retold the story she explained that all the grandchildren had always called her Nanna, and the patient's husband had been Grandpa. The daughter was overjoyed that I had made a connection with her mom...and didn't seem creeped out even though her mom continued to talk to me as if I was her long-dead husband ;)

So was I intuitive enough to find the one word that could pull my patient out of her panic? Or was "nanna" just a lucky guess? I don't know...but either way the result was the same. My patient was finally able to rest.

So maybe I am that sensitive. Because my suspicion about the cardiac monitor is that the physician will discover that I have lost the love of my life. And just as a first kiss will give your chest that wonderful flutter of hope - a broken heart can cause it to beat irregularly, without rhythm, and without purpose. If you are lucky enough to be as sensitive as me.

Which honestly I don't recommend.

On the plus side, if you tune in tomorrow I might just include a picture of my sexy self all wired up and transmitting live ;)