Time Machines, Field Trips, and Another Anniversary

This week, my kids had a field trip with their homeschool group, Classical Conversations, to The Rock Ranch. It is just about their favorite place ever. It’s a working farm, with historical tours, reenactments, artifacts, and best of all- plenty of places for free play. They took advantage of a giant bubble in the ground- ok, I know I have phrased that completely incorrectly, but to me that’s what it looks like! They took their shoes off and bounced their heads off. Then, there was Tiny Town- a miniature version of an old west town complete with a jail, courthouse, church, school, and stores. That is the highlight of the trip! They chase each other around, and drag their friends to the jail. Oh- the laughter! I could have listen to it for hours.

rock sheet

 

 

On the way home, Aidan and Rose were talking about how this year compared with other years they had been- the weather, the food, the activities. It hit me that I have no memories of those adventures. None. I don’t even remember the days that they went. I don’t remember them coming home to tell me about it, nor the other experiences they shared with dear friends. While everyone else’s lives moved on, I was in a bubble for almost two years. My bedroom was the bubble most of the time, dark, and I was unable to talk or read or even listen most days. The sustained level of pain separated me from rational thought and conversation. I existed somewhere between reality and a dream world. I do remember it feeling endless- days turned into weeks, into months. One day exactly like the next with no progress for a very, very long time.

I told my children that I felt like I had just stepped out of a time machine. A little over two years ago, I stepped out of this reality, and I just emerged. I’ve been doing more and more with the kids, but this week I noticed the passage of time so much more than before. Here I am, driving the kids hours in the car for a full day of activity. I didn’t drive a car for over a year. It was almost as though the last couple of years were a dream. I went from 2016, to now. They have all of these memories that I am not a part of. I’m not bitter about that, rather I feel an immense gratitude that they were so loved and cared for. I get to wake up every day, like it’s Christmas morning. EVERY DAY. I get to drive! I get to eat! I get to walk around! Never gets old.

I’m by no means perfect- my health is an ongoing challenge. A couple of days ago, James and I had an emergency trip to see a neurologist for me. We used to have those nail-biting, jump in the car, desperate wild goose chase for answers, outings together all of the time. A lot of those long drives and longer appointments were dead ends. This one, however, was not. Another piece of the puzzle is being put back together. It’s amazing just how much can fall apart, like dominoes toppling one after the other. I’m playing catch-up, and most days I feel great about the progress but other days (like this week) I look at where I want to be and I get discouraged. When will I get there? There is no magic time machine to jump in, and fast forward. Getting to the destination sure would be nice, but this journey has made me endlessly grateful for each teeny, tiny blessing.

While my recovery was gradual- almost imperceptible for months, the major events that changed my life are pretty easy to identify. I passed another milestone this week- the two year anniversary of my surgery at Emory. It was on November 9th, a Wednesday morning right after the election. The nurse came in at 4:30am to wake me up and tell me that Donald Trump had won. I was so surprised I almost fell out of the bed. They wheeled me down to pre-op in the still-dark hours of dawn. I was blissfully unaware of how difficult the surgery would be, and I think my surgeon was as well. He estimated 1.5 hours, and it took 7. After waking up, there were some complications in the PACU, and I felt real, raw fear. I was free-wheeling (ok, literally because I had enough ketamine in me to kill a horse), and didn’t know where I would land. For the first time in my life, I considered the real possibility that everything would not be ok. The uncertainty was the worst part- moving forward after that with no clear path or guarantees. I know I’m not alone in that experience. While mine was health related, other people I know have faced total uncertainty with jobs, sick children, marriages crumbling, and finances changing. I think human beings have a natural tendency to seek control and structure of their own destinies. To be forced to let go of all control and realize it is a harsh lesson to learn. Control is, I’ve learned, all an illusion of course! Even when we think we are the navigators of all things in our lives, we really aren’t.

Two years ago, I woke up on November 9th and fully realized that I was not in control at all. The reality had been there all along, I just didn’t see it clearly. Now, I wake up every day and let life happen. Am I still a planner? By nature, yes. Do I cling to ideals, bitterly and relentlessly, not wanting to let go of “my” plans? Nope. Not any more. While I was in my “bubble” I changed, evolved and I’m still growing. A time machine would have saved me so much heartache, but then I wouldn’t see life through rose colored glasses like I do today. La vie en rose.

 

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