When Life Changed in a Heartbeat

 8.14.19

Over the last month and a half, Mike started acting out of the ordinary. (Fortunately, Mike never had a heart attack and technically, has no heart damage. There was a bread trail of symptoms instead. I'm glad we paid attention to them.)  I can’t remember the date of the first incident, but I know it started with something as simple as a walk.  When we go to Rockin’ Robbins, we like to park on the back side (since we live right off Country Road 41) and walk to the front.  Normally, this is no big deal, but twice - two weeks in a row, we had to slow our pace and stop because Mike was short of breath and experiencing chest pain.  The first time, I even carried his chair for him and asked him in all seriousness, if we needed to go to the ambulance parked on site. After that, I just made an appointment for him with Dr. Mulder.  (Even though he protested, I just made the appointment anyway. Usually, I don't do that - go against his wishes, but God had given us enough bread crumbs to follow). Even though Mike was “on-the-fence” about the necessity of the appointment, I knew that he would just drag it out and not make one.  Fortunately, he didn’t argue with me.  I think he just felt that crappy.

At our lake place, about 50-75 feet from the shoreline, is a “table” - a flat area that breaks the walk uphill. Mike and I decided to relocate some of the rocks on the shoreline, which meant loading up the bottom of the wheelbarrow with rocks and walking up a fairly steep hill to dump them.  Last weekend, Mike hauled up some rocks from the shoreline to the “table.”  I was in the water chucking rocks onto shore, and when I turned around, I saw him sitting on the steps.  Again, like the incidents at Robbin’s Island, that was so out of character for him, and it scared me.  I knew something was definitely wrong. 

The time between the making the doctor’s appointment and actually going to the doctor was about two weeks.  During that time, I put a moratorium on activities requiring physical exertion, which meant that we also quit our routine of walking after dinner.  Yeah, it was that bad.  

We had our appointment with Dr. Mulder on August 1.  After hearing Mike’s symptoms, he ordered an EKG in the office, which revealed abnormal heart functioning. He didn’t like what he saw, and  he immediately prescribed a stress test in order to acquire more data.

The next day, an appointment for the stress test was scheduled with Rice Rehab.  Unfortunately, the appointment was over a week away.  That week and a half was a little sketchy and worrisome.  Although we didn’t have enough information, we just knew that something wasn’t quite right. I will admit that I held my breath a little when Mike left the house each morning. It was hard not to worry. I’m sure it was on his mind too. 

Yesterday morning (8.13), Mike had his stress test at Rice Rehab.  Ordinarily, a stress test lasts something like 15 minutes.  Mike made it for three minutes.  His EKG recordings were significantly abnormal. Prior to the test, Randy Kobienia had explained what they would be looking for and what “normal” should look like on the screen.  As I watched, I could see that we were far away from normal, but I didn’t say anything. Both Randy Kobienia and Aimee TeBrake were wonderful, they calmly and kindly explained what they saw and their concerns (Thank you, God, for such kind, patient, and encouraging medical professionals), and she promised that she would personally make sure that there was an appointment scheduled at St. Cloud (Cardiac) that day. (Aimee and I went to high school together - no, I/we did not get special treatment because of that fact, but I was very much at peace to know that someone I knew was helping us.) 

After the test, Mike and I decided that since he had the day off anyway, we would go to St. Cloud to Munsinger Gardens, something we enjoy doing every year.  We stopped at home to change clothes and then stopped over at Matheson (Mike’s work) to keep Jay Magnuson in the loop. 

We were about  to Cold Spring when the call came through.  Could we meet with Dr. Sander at CentraCare at 1:15 today? I was expected to be able to secure an appointment within the week, but same day? Heck, yeah! We were both relieved to get that appointment right away.  (No explanation necessary here).

We went to the Gardens as planned, taking it slow and steady, since even a little bit of exertion was taxing for Mike.  Then, at 1:15, we met with Dr. Sander, who, after looking at all the data, recommended that Mike have an angiogram.  Due to Mike’s epically-failed stress test, he also said that he wanted to admit Mike overnight.  Even though Mike was not “emergent,” Dr. Sander  didn’t consider him to be stable either.  (I'm thankful that Dr. Sander admitted him; I would have been a nervous wreck to take him home. Thank you, God!)

The rest of the day was boring - getting admitted and sitting around.  Harold and Amy came up to visit, which was nice.  They prayed with us.  (We are so thankful for their friendship and the help they gave us before, during, and after surgery.)

This morning (8.14), Mom and Dad showed up, which was very kind of them, and in considering how the day went, I was very glad that they came.  They didn’t want me to be alone while Mike was getting the angiogram done. (At first, I felt bad for interrupting their schedules and screwing up their day - they had to be to the hospital EARLY in order to be there during the angiogram. However, I am very thankful that God placed this on their hearts. It would have been very difficult to receive the news and process iton my own. The plan was that if, during the angiogram, the doctor saw areas that needed fixing, he would apply the stents right away.  

Right before the procedure, a lady came to talk to Mike about possibly participating in a study.  The gist of the conversation was that researchers are exploring a new stent technology. If needed, doctors in the study will “rotor-rooter” a diamond-tipped drill inside the artery to file away the deposits. The particles will then be small enough for the body to reabsorb. After asking a few more questions, Mike agreed to be a part of the study, which would yield a whopping $50 for participation.  

The angiogram started at 9. I called Mike’s mom and dad to let them know it had begun and that it was anticipated that the test would take an hour. 

At 9:35, I was directed to Conference Room 2 to meet with the doc - they were done already.  Thinking positively, I told myself and believed that they had not found any problems ( which explained the short time it took to complete the procedure), so we would probably be on our way home tonight.

Unfortunately, Doctor Dahle told me that Mike had blockage in all three major arteries of the heart.  He told me that the “widow maker” was about 95% blocked.  That’s when I lost it.  I had lost a favorite uncle in 2013 to a widow maker. Doctor Dahle said that bypass surgery would be required, and I asked how many - a triple?  He said quadruple, but he also said that once a patient has a bypass, it really doesn’t matter how many.  He was very kind and patient with me because I will admit I was kind of a sloppy, hysterical mess for a bit.  (I swear we had all of the best doctors at the hospital to guide us through this procedure. They were ALL compassionate, patient, and encouraging.)

I went out and told Mom and Dad.  That wasn’t pretty because I fell apart all over again. It was a lot to process all at once, especially since I wasn’t ready for such news.  Once we got back to Mike’s  room, I wanted to see that he was ok.  Then, I called his mom and dad to give them the news.  

It took Mike a while to wake up.  He wasn’t really too coherent until 10:15.  He took the news hard.  He wasn’t allowed to move until 11.  They wanted to make sure that the incision in his thigh was no longer bleeding.  

He had a rough rest of the day - lots of chest pain and nausea.  Nurses Dani and Nate problem-solved all day to try to help him. (These nurses were exceptionally patient and compassionate - thank you, God, again for putting the right people in the right place at the right time to care for Mike.)   He ended up having nitro (under the tongue and intravenously) as well as morphine, but he was just unsettled.  Finally, by the end of the night, he had settled down.  Dani gave him some anti-nausea meds, and he was finally able to keep down a piece of peanut butter toast.  

Mom and Dad stayed most of the day - brought me a salad from the cafeteria.  Mike’s mom and dad came in the early afternoon and stayed until after Dr. Castro left.  Nick came.  Erika came.  Rick and Rhonda came.  Rhonda had been so kind as to bring me a care package - changes of clothing, including underwear and pj pants, and a phone charger. (This was so very thoughtful - she included all sort of things that I might need.)  

All day, we waited to hear from the docs - what was the plan and when? Due to Mike’s difficulties throughout the day, he had several EKGs.  His heart rates would slow down.  Dr. Sander stopped by twice.  Dr. Castro came, as did Dr. Dahle. They were all remarkable - just the right mix of compassion and professionalism.   

There was some discussion as to the game plan.  All along we knew there would be bypass surgery.  Dr. Sander drew a diagram and gave precise measurements, locations, and descriptions. The “widow maker” had 90% blockage at the end of the artery.  There were three other blockages of 80%.  Since there were multiple blockages, and since the blockages were in awkward/exceptional positions, Mike was not a candidate for stents.  BUT because he was so agitated and complaining of heart pain, there was a concern that he might become emergent, which would mean that the whole bypass plan would be scrapped to apply a band-aid approach of stents (which would not be long-lasting). In other words, Mike had to settle down so that we wouldn’t be forced into emergency surgery. 

Bypass surgery was tentatively scheduled for Friday morning.  Mike was to be the first case on the docket. (Thank you, God! If all went as planned, there would be no waiting around - Mike would be first!) So unless there was an emergency, which would throw off the schedule, he would be Dr. Castro’s first case of the day.  

We are all overwhelmed.  It’s too much too fast.  But we don’t have a choice but to deal and move forward.  This is like my worst nightmare - literally, I have had nightmares about this - losing my husband.  

But as I look back on it all, I am so very thankful for God’s guiding hand all along.  He has been busy opening doors and opening doors.  He has seen us this far; He will continue to see us through Friday and beyond.  

I’ve been asked several times how I am. It doesn’t matter.  I had my moment to fall apart.  Now, I have put on my brass panties and game face.  I need to be the rock for my husband and for my children, if needed.  This is the “for worse” part.  Thank you, Lord, for so many things - for medical technology, for kind people, for opening doors and opportunities.  

8.15. 19

Mike had a very rough night.  His stomach was still off, so he puked a couple more times - maybe three or four?  I lost count.  Obviously, sleep was elusive, and he has to be exhausted.  It didn’t help that the nursing staff kept bugging him about vitals and such, but that’s another story. I’m not going to complain.  His nurses have been great.  

First thing, he was wheeled down to X-Ray for a chest x-ray.  

He was able to eat and keep down breakfast.  I honestly think that he is allergic, or at least, had a strong reaction to the sedation they gave him for the angiogram.  His mom is particularly sensitive to sedation, so I would agree that this is part of the problem as well.  They gave him Vestral and Phentenol.  I asked her to mark in his chart, which she did.  

After breakfast, we went to the Family Lounge.  Mike pulled up a chair in the sunshine, sat down, and said, “Now, I feel human again.”  We sat in there for a while, just soaking up the view, saying nothing.  Then, we went back to the room.  He stretched out in the chair, and I stretched out on the sofa.  We both fell asleep.  

About lunch time, I got a text that Rhonda, Rick, David and Ardis were all coming after 12:00, so I decided to leave (with ambivalence) to go home to shower, get clothes, etc.  

I had a KILLER headache all morning.  I’m pretty sure it was because I was on the second day of skipping my own medications. In previous weeks, I had acquired a nasty case of poison ivy, which had necessitated Prednisone. Skipping a couple of doses was clearly not ok.  It hurt so bad that I almost threw up.  As soon as I got in the car, I chugged a Diet Coke with two Aleve.  That probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve done - it made it worse until about New London.  Plus, I bawled all the way home - the car is the only private place I have had thus far to really unleash.  I’m not mad at God or anything.  I’m just sad and scared about the whole situation.  I’m also mad at myself for not being more vigilant about his health. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  

I showered, watered a couple plants, washed a load of clothes, transferred the kombucha, gathered up stuff and stuff and stuff.  I can’t believe it took me almost two hours to do all that.  As soon as I could get it done, I was out the door.  I left our house at 2:40, and was back in Mike’s room at 3:55.  

The kids came.  The Aakers and Kleins left.  Nick and Candace bought Qdoba for supper, and Erika joined us.  We prayed in a circle over Mike.  That was precious and special. (This was so special; I can't even adequately describe the peace I felt - and I hope they did too - in being able to gather as a family, lift up our concerns, and support and encourage each other. The Holy Spirit was definitely there.) Afterward, Mike had an ultrasound of his carotid arteries.  A guy (from Mended Hearts) who had had surgery came to talk to Mike about his experience.  He was 49 when he had an arterial valve replaced.  That was a well-timed visit because Mike was grieving the fact that he is only 51 - feeling guilty.  We both were crying, so Bill Rosendahl’s visit was definitely a God-intervention. (No, people, there are NO coincidences. God is purposeful about everything that happens and everyone who enters our lives at the precise moment they enter).

After the kids left, I helped Mike shower.  He needed to shower in an antiseptic lotion. I think the shower felt good.  He was given an Ativan to calm him. I used the massager that Rhonda brought on his back, which also seemed to help.  

All toll, he had a decent day - decent appetite - and everything stayed down.  He is clean, he is as relaxed as he can get, and he is loved.  Tomorrow is the big show.  I don’t know how the heck I will ever get to sleep.  

8.16.19

Mike had a good night’s sleep.  They had given him an Ativan, which helped to relax him.  Plus, he was just unbelievably tired after the activity of the last two days.  At about 3:30, the nurse came in to change the lines, do vitals, etc.  I slept all right, really.  The fewer interruptions helped, as did the fact that Mike slept better.  

I was up at 4:30 to get ready for the day.  I wasn’t sure exactly what time they would come in to get started.  After I got ready, Mike got up at 5, and we walked around for about 15 minutes.  The first round of prep started at about 5:30-5:40.  The nursing assistant started the tedious process of shaving him.  They shaved his chest, left arm, and legs.  She said that she hadn’t had anyone that hairy before.  Ha.  

While that was going on, David, Ardis and Rhonda arrived, followed shortly thereafter by Mom and Dad, Erika and Nick and Candace.  They hung out in the Family Lounge.  

After the shaving, Mike had to shower in antiseptic again.  We had to use up the bottle, so he was super-sudsy.  Then, he was in a new gown and back in bed for the final, initial preparations, which included a pad attached to his rear since he will be on his back/butt so much for the long haul.  At 6:30, we all gathered in his room and had a family prayer. (Of course, there was apprehension, but also so much peace. Thank you, God, for being there and blanketing us all with your peace.)  Then, we walked him down to the surgical area, where everybody, except me and Erika, said our “see you laters.”  Erika stayed with me while Mike had a new line put in on his right arm (since they are using his left arm to harvest the arteries needed for by-pass).  He was in good spirits when we left him, joking with the nurses when they asked him what was going to happen: “Well, first, I am going to have coffee with Dr. Castro, and then, I am going to have bypass surgery.”  Every time he had to describe what was going to happen, he choked on the procedural words.  It’s tough to face that reality.  Anyway, the nurses joked that that should become a podcast - Coffee with Castro or Coffee with your Cardiac docs.  They also joked with Mike about the gauge that the floor nurses had used for an IV - apparently, it was a 22 gauge and he could easily accommodate a 16.  Alicia, the nurse, said he had “garden hoses” for arteries, which Erika thought was hilarious.

At about 7:30ish, Erika and I were escorted to the Surgical Family Lounge area to join the rest. Ross and Melissa had arrived as well. Mike would be moved to a different area where he would be sedated while they finished prepping (putting in all the necessary tubes and hoses).  

We got the call that Dr. Castro was “hands-on” Mike at 9:00 a.m.  At 10, the nurse came out to talk to us/give us an update.  Everything was going well so far.  They had harvested two arteries from his left arm (a longer and a shorter one) to be used in one of the bypasses.  They were in the process of harvesting veins from the legs.  (Due to Mike's age and the fact that this surgery was not emergent, they were able to harvest arteries from the arm, which, again, was a huge blessing.)

The procedure to be completed was as follows:  The Lima artery will be re-routed to accommodate the “widow maker”-ish area blockages.  Then, the leg arteries would be used for either the other “widow maker” blockage and/or the longer blockage on the left side, and the leg veins would accommodate the right side blockage.  The nurse said they would call when Mike went on the heart/lung machine.  

At 11:20, we got the call (Again, I felt so blessed to be surrounded by our entire family - kids, parents, brothers and sisters).  I was getting antsy because it was taking so long.  Apparently, it took a little longer because they had harvested some extra veins from his legs.  When I heard he was on the machine, I got a little emotional.  As of that moment, he was no longer in control of the beating of his heart; a machine and a surgical team was the connection between life and death.  There was a wild storm going on inside me at that moment, but there was no way I was going to let my kids see it.  If Mom falls apart, then, everybody falls apart. 

At 1:25, the phone call came that he was off the heart-lung machine; his heart was ticking on its own. (Praise God!)  I cried - something that I had worked hard not to do in front of anybody.  But that was such a sweet relief that I couldn’t help myself.  

At 2:10, the phone call let us know that they were closing him up, and at 2:40, they were finished, and he was being put into recovery.  Shortly thereafter, Dr. Castro came in to tell us everything had gone well.  It was a relief. (Although all the doctors are excellent, we felt especially blessed to have Dr. Castro as the surgeon.)

At 3:45, we made our way to the fourth floor where Mike had already been put into ICU, room S448.  As I anticipated, it was very sobering for the kids to see Mike with all of the tubes coming out of him, especially the ventilator.  We took turns going in to see him.  

Around six or so, the parents all went home.  It had been an exhausting day for all of them since they had been up around 4 to be here by 6 am.  Dave and Ardis will come tomorrow, and Mom and Dad will come back on Sunday.  

At that point, they started lowering Mike’s sedation.  Unfortunately, he was extremely restless- moving arms and legs, which was a no-no due to the procedure and incision. So Rick and Rhonda, the kids and I all took positions around him to try to calm him down. (Again, I'm thankful for God's intervention in having them all there. We needed all hands on deck, and God made sure we had the necessary hands). Everybody had a hold of a limb and tried to keep it immobile. I basically bent over by his ear and just talked about whatever came to mind. . .the lake, sitting on the deck, etc. . .to try to calm him down. All of us kept switching positions, trying our best to keep him from moving and thrashing. 

Of the many concerns I had about the day, one was being on the heart/lung machine - particularly when they re-started his heart.  The other was that he would have a reaction to the anesthesia - that it would make him nauseous.  I worried that all the thrashing and restlessness were attributed to that.  One moment, he was shivering and thrashing.  In the next, he complained of being hot.  So, the nurse gave him the anti-nausea meds that he had been taking after the angiogram, and we dug the fan out.  Candace and Erika took control of the fan and took turns blowing cool air all over him.  

Due to the fact that his numbers were terrible - pulse was high and blood pressure was screwy - they sedated him again and decided to wait until later to give it a go.  They wanted him more stabilized, and they wanted the anti-nausea meds to kick in before they attempted to bring him out of sedation.  

The kids decided to go get food, but Rhonda stayed by my side. (Again, I was thankful to have her there when the process began again. I know it was tough on her to watch her brother struggle, but her support and encouragement was God-ordained for that moment). At 7:00 pm, they started the process again. The nurse shut the ventilator off and made him breathe on his own with the tube still in for 30 minutes.  After that, they pulled it out.  By this time, he was also conscious.

Mike was so swollen.  His eyes, lips, throat, etc, were puffy.  He kept begging for ice chips, but his nurse told him he had to go slow so that he didn’t get sick to his stomach.  Mike was irritated by that idea, but he had no choice in the matter.  Likewise, even though he was conscious, he was definitely NOT coherent.  He was very agitated about his body placement.

At that time, Nick and Candace and Rick and Rhonda left.  Erika decided to stay with me for a bit, just to try to get Mike settled. First, he wanted to be on his left side.  After they repositioned him, he then wanted to be on his right side.  When Erika confirmed with Mike that he wanted to be moved again, Mike said, “Then, he (nurse) better get his ass over here.”  We both laughed out loud since that was so out of character for him to say.  

After Erika left, I continued to try to help Mike get settled.  He was either asking me for ice chips or water, which I told him the nurse was in charge of, not me.  He also was asking me to help him find relief with regard to his back/hips.  I put my hands under his rear in an effort to try to find his sciatic nerve.  In order to give me directions, he tried to explain where I should go with clock placement (1, 2, 3, etc).  THAT was hilarious.  “7. . .now 8. . .now 9. . .now 10. . .now 11. . .now 11 and a half.  11 AND A HALF!”  Oh my Lord, it was hilarious.  So yeah, he was awake for a bit, but definitely not with it. 

About 10 o’clock, he fell back to sleep, and I tried to settle into the chair in the room.  There was no way I was going to sleep on the couch because the vent over the couch was blowing cold air; it was cold enough to hang beef in there! So I basically slept upright in the chair with a blanket over my head to try to keep warm.  What a long night.

August 17, 2019

Mike had a decent night.  Of course, they woke him up several times.  I was aware, but I was so tired that I just decided to let the nurse do his thing.  I knew he was in good hands, and my presence might just be an irritant to him, and he probably wouldn’t remember.  His biggest complaints have been two things:  WATER (throat is so dry from the ventilator tube) and repositioning.  I’m sure his back and butt are killing him from being in one position for so long. I know that would be bugging me as well.

He drank about a liter of water overnight.  When they weighed him, he was up about 13 lbs from yesterday, pre-surgery.  It was all fluids, which they said he will pee off today when they give him a diuretic.  

Lucky for me, I have an extraordinary view of the sunrise and river this morning.  It is here that I have been sending gratitude - up and via text.  I know that I have not necessarily been flagging them each time, but I have recognized a God-intervention when I have seen it. He just keeps pacing the way throughout this whole process.  He has definitely been coming alongside me.  I have been able to remain strong - physically and emotionally - throughout this endurance run.  It’s all Him, not me.  (This was all written in real time - as I/we experienced it. The peace I felt was real, as was the gratitude. God came alongside me and never left my side.)

By 9:58, the jugular, ARC lines, and chest tubes had been removed.  He had sat and stood for a bit.  He ate Jello and kept it down.  We are on our way. It seems crazy to me how much he is able to do only 24 hours later.

After napping for a while, the nurse got him up in a chair to sit.  He had lunch in the chair.  He drank most of his broth, a scoop of jello, and about half of his raspberry ice. . .and kept it down.  The nursing assistant brought in a wheelchair and a cart for transfer; we were already leaving ICU.  Since he was getting tired, I suggested we transfer right away so that he didn’t have to get up and down twice, and they agreed.  So, by 1 or so, we were walking to the new room - S258.

We were barely settled and already we had visitors: Kris Samuelson and Abby. They happened to be in St. Cloud, so they popped in, which was very thoughtful.  They stayed for a few minutes; it was so kind of them to stop by.  After they left, I went out to the car to get a couple of Diet Cokes; it was gorgeous outside.  I made myself a PB sandwich and settled into the chair while Mike snoozed.  They gave him Oxy to come alongside his Tylenol, and he had his last antibiotic via IV. 

At around 4ish, Nick and Candace came.  They were followed by David and Ardis and Rick and Rhonda.  Mike was alternately out of it and with it.  I think the Oxy makes him goofy.  For whatever reason, he seems especially concerned about getting his pills - for pain and for sleeping.  He did sit up in the chair for most of the visit with everybody - so maybe from 5:00/5:30ish until close to 8.  That was a long time. Mike and Tammy Reimler also came for a visit. 

During that time, they did a couple of ultrasounds on his bladder.  He was not passing urine to their satisfaction.  A urology technician came and flushed the line.  He said that the temperature catheters tend to plug, which is what the case was, but he also said, there wasn’t a whole lot of sediment.  

After everybody left, Mike got into bed, mostly by himself.  I assisted, but we didn’t need any nurses.  He coughed and spit up junk, which is good.  The digestive system has also kicked in.  We are on our way.

I washed my hair in the sink and did a little washing up.  I’m tired.  They are currently giving him another oxy, which means that boy should sleep well.  They “promised” not to wake him up tonight.  Fingers crossed.  

8.18.19 (As you continue to read, Mike hit "milestones" quickly - it's incredible to consider this marvelous machine that God created - the body - and how well all the parts and pieces work together and heal.)

Ok, well that didn’t work out so well.  He had a terrible night.  On the plus side, he sat up most of it, but on the negative side, he said he watched the clock all night.  

At 5, he started complaining about his catheter, so the nursing assistant just took it out.  She said they were going to remove today anyway, so let’s just do it now.  He went to x-ray right away.  

When he came back, he had breakfast and then went for a walk - from one side of the bed to the other.  He also got cleaned up a bit.  Then he had another walk - from the bed to the door and back.  With each walk, the distance will increase. 

Mom and Dad and Harold and Amy came for a visit. After that, he had lunch.  Then, he had his first post-catheter pee and went for another walk - from one nurses station to another and back.  Progress! Brian and Linda Friedlein and Bob and Bernadette Fuchs came for a visit on their way back home from Nisswa.

His chief pain complaint is the incision, which is to be expected, and if that’s the only one, that’s awesome.  He keeps vacillating between Oxycodone and Tylenol for pain meds.  They also gave him some intravenous ibuprofen.  I hate the Oxycodone. It just makes him weird.  He talks in a weird, falls asleep in the middle of conversation, and is unemotional - like slow processing.  The faster we can get rid of that crap, the better.  When he isn’t under the influence of that garbage, he is alert.  His eyes are bright, and he cracks jokes.  

So far he has been on a full liquid diet and has progressively improved with regard to eating more and more. In ordering his lunch, I went a little lighter  - just soup, ice cream, and drinks, and he ate pretty much all of it.  The nurse said that after his digestive system makes itself known, he can have regular food.

He just had an oxycodone at 1-ish, so now, he is in bed, snoring away.  He has done his jobs so far: Sitting, Standing, Walking, etc, and completing breathing exercises.  It makes him sound like a baby, and he kind of is right now. . .baby steps to progress.

He got up for another walk - back and forth to the nurses station + a few steps more.  Erika came to visit for a while; she was able to watch him take a walk.  He decided to take a mini nap right before supper.

He managed to eat about 75% of a pancake, grape juice, and a couple bites of an English muffin.  This was his first foray into “normal” food since the other day.  Unfortunately, it kind of made him nauseous, so he ended up having to have another dose of anti-nausea meds.  He did get up to pee again, which is good.  He still complains about being alternately hot and cold.  

Mike was getting restless, so he decided that he wanted to lie on the couch for a while.  I thought for sure we would get chewed out by the nurses for doing that, but they didn’t say anything (it was a shift change).  The new nursing assistant came in and wanted to check vitals, so we got him up again and over to the side of the bed.  As long as he was up, I suggested that he go for a walk, which he did.  All toll, Mike did six walks today.  The last one kind of did him in.  When he got back, his whole body was shivering, and his teeth were chattering.  His legs were also quivering.  It was probably a little too much for one day.  I hope, though, that it poops him out, so he sleeps tonight.

After a pee and night cares, he got into bed and continued watching the Vikings.  He was so particular tonight again about body placement of pillows, limbs, towels, etc. 

8.19.19

It was another rough night with little sleep. He was fairly restless again.  Our night nurses were kind of disappointing, but of course, that statement is coming from a place of sleep deprivation. Mike finally settled down and fell asleep around 5, and the nursing assistant thought it would be a good idea to wake him up for a weight “because we have to get it done before the shift change,” which was at 7 am.  Then, the RN came in to do something, I’m not even sure what, and woke him up again 10 minutes later.  Let the guy get some rest already.  

Today has been a great day all the way around - so many pieces of great news.  First, the new nurse removed his pacer wires right away this morning, which was fabulous.  He had to lie still for 30 minutes and have the compression/air socks pulse, and he also had to have his blood pressure monitored continuously.  

From there, he went for an x-ray.  Then, he had breakfast and went for a walk.  He used the walker to go all the way around the unit (square).  

I absolutely would not go get breakfast or leave the room until after Dr. Castro’s PA had come in for an assessment.  She checked Mike over; she was especially curious about his arm because she had been the one to harvest the arteries from his arm.  Once she deemed everything A-OK, she gave us the good news that he would most likely be going home tomorrow. 

The dietician came to tell us all about food.  Basically, salt is now the devil; we must limit it as well as red meat.  We need to add more veggies, fruit and whole grains.  There will be no more butter; now, we have to switch to margarine.  Ick.  Oh well.  We’ll do what we have to do. The funny part is that we don’t really use any salt, and we already eat fruit, vegetables and whole grains.  The only significant change will be the no butter deal.  It sounds as though we will be educated as part of the rehabilitation process as to what to eat.  She recommended going to the American Heart Association website for more dos and don’ts and recipes.  

Later, Miss Rehab came in to tell us all about movement.  Basically, Mike has to get consistent exercise.  She also explained what he could expect in going to rehab.  I asked if insurance pays for it; she said check, but most of the time, they do.  

Mike went for a walk with Miss Rehab, this time without the walker. 

He had lunch, rested, went for a walk.  By this time, his mom and dad had showed up.  I went to visit with the cardiac people about getting a note from the doctor for Mike so that he can get paid from his short-term disability account.  

At about 2:30, he FINALLY got the last chest tube out. He instantly perked up.  He laid down for his obligatory 30 minutes.  His mom and dad left when he went down for a nap. Then, all of the sudden, he opened his eyes and said, “I want to go for a walk.”

So we got up and walked.  No walker.  Went to the area with the big windows and sat in the sun. Dr. Sander walked by randomly, greeted us and chatted with us for two seconds.  I like him so much. So thankful for him.  Mike obviously feels better because he has been chattering and walking - he looks perkier. 

He ate fairly well for supper, and so we went for a longer walk - to the end of the ward and around the unit.  He walked down to the family lounge with me to get a magazine.  Generally, we chilled.  He has been keeping up with his breathing exercisers.  He is motivated to get out of here. 

8.20.19

He had a decent night.  Getting the tube out made a world of difference.  He had a chest x-ray again and breakfast.  While he was getting the x-ray, I ran a load out to the car and reloaded the cooler with ice.  When I got back he was about halfway through his breakfast.  I ate mine with him.

We went for a walk right after breakfast.  As we were headed to the foyer, Mom and Dad arrived.  She had had an appointment in St. Cloud as well.  We chatted for a while until Eric, the nurse, came out to tell us that they were getting discharge papers ready, and we should head back to talk to the doctor.

As we were walking back, we ran into Dr. Castro, randomly, in the hallway.  We thanked him. He gave Mike a quick once over, and that was that.  

When we got back, Mike showered, and gathered up the rest of the stuff.  Becca, the PA, came in to talk to us - all good, blah,blah blah. When I asked about the work release paper, she said she had it on her desk and after we got that, we could leave.  

Eric went through the paperwork - dos and don’ts, meds, appointments, etc.  By 10:30, we were in the parking lot and loading into the car.  We were FINALLY on the way home - faster than I expected.

We stopped at Walmart to get Mike’s meds.  We had to hand-deliver the Oxy prescription because they won’t do that over the phone.  That slowed us down a bit.  Mike wanted to go into Walmart with me. I wasn’t a fan of that idea due to all the germs and the potential to see people, but he insisted. I saw my friend, Sheila, and we saw Marion, and then we got the heck out of there. 

Nick and Candace came.  Erika stopped by briefly.  Harold and Amy brought supper.  We were shot. 

What Will They See?

I have news.  I am a grandma! My grandson, Asher Nicholas, was born on March 22, 2020, at 3:40 a.m.  I will admit that I was apprehensive about his entrance into this world; this COVID-19 crap is a nightmare.  Actually, it's not the virus that is the nightmare; it's all of the unknowns and the subsequent reactions of the people of the world that have made it a nightmare.

Anyway, he is here, and we are thrilled!

As I awoke this morning, I attempted to clear the fog in my brain by considering the date:  March 25.  Today would have been my grandma's 95th birthday.  Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my grandma.

There's this "thing" that we all know to be true, but don't want to admit, and that is the fact that there is always a "favorite" set of grandparents.  Yes, you love them both (or not, in some cases), but you are just naturally drawn to one set over the other, or based on the circumstances of life, you just spent more time with one set versus the other.  Well, that was the case with my grandpa and grandma B. (my mom's parents).  We just spent a lot of time with them on the farm.

After my grandpa died (he was only 56), I spent even more time with my grandma.  Since I was the oldest grandchild, and a girl, it seemed like a no-brainer for me to be the extra person around on the farm.

That said, Grandma B. was probably my next-to-favorite relative (my uncle, Steven (my mom's brother), was my favorite). She was definitely a top influencer with regard to the person I ultimately became in life.

There were a lot of people who didn't really like her very much, including her own children at times.  They thought she was rigid and very opinionated. She could have a sharp tongue, and she most definitely had a "face" and a "tone."  Sound familiar?  Yeah, me too.  I'm basically a clone of my grandma.

I haven't patterned my life after her in that regard.  Truly.  That is just who I am.  Maybe it's genetic?  I don't know.  Of the things I have patterned my life after, one is her sense of discipline, as well as her distinct sense of right and wrong.  Grandma was a very scheduled person.  She generally went to bed and got up at the same time each day.  She followed the same routine, almost without exception.  Her spiritual habits, in particular, are those I have applied to my own life.  I watched carefully her habits of devotions and spiritual learning.  She always had a Bible and a variety of spiritual books by her chair, and she read them usually in the morning (around coffee time).  She also had a devotional book by her bed, which she would read each night before lights out.  I know this to be true because for a while, after Grandpa died, I stayed over at her house, sharing the bed with her.  I listened to her read the short devotion and prayer aloud to me.

I have applied these spiritual habits to my own life.  I have a chair, and my Bible, three devotional books, and two notebooks are nearby.  Each morning around 6 am, I am in the chair, reading and praying.  These aren't there for show.  These are all there and used because they set the pace for the day, for my life, for my actions and words.  They are as necessary as a good breakfast to start the day.  Watching Grandma at an early age set the pace for me.  She has been such a influence that it's hard to describe.

This, of course, makes me wonder about my own new role as Grandma.  Will I by worth paying attention to?  What will my grandchildren see when they watch me?  What habits, if any, if anything positive, will they pick up by hanging around me?  Will there be anything worthwhile for them to pick up?

Grandma is not here, but she is.  In choosing to be a teacher by profession, I have lived my life in such a way with the hopes that my presence and influence will be felt, long after my students have left the classroom and I am out of the daily fabric of their lives.  Will this now be true of my grandchildren?

As I think about it, I remind myself that this is nothing for me to fret about.  Forward into the eye of the storm, Grandma forged a path for me to follow, which I have no doubt was done for her as well.  I have followed her tracks, and now, it's my turn to do the same for those who follow me.  As I look up, I see the light in the distance, I know I'm moving in the right direction.  As long as I keep my eye on that light, I can't go wrong, and neither will those who follow behind me.

What Humans Want

I came to a realization today, and it wasn't very pleasant.  It happened at the end of a day of training.  We were supposed to reflect with a partner. In my case, the partner was my principal.  We generally have a similar philosophy in life, so our conversation centered on school-related issues (shocker). Through the course of our conversation, I revealed my angst over leaving the coaching position for the classroom.  I was baring my soul, which is what people like me do. By that, I'm referring to people who say exactly what they mean all the time.  In considering what happened next, I feel like such an ass for doing that.

Anyway, at the end of our conversation, I knew that I was going back to the classroom next year.  Period.  There has been only one applicant for the posted opening.  Granted, it closes on the 15th, but still.  And according to my principal, the applicant is a poor one (apparently, he must know the person).  Likewise, he received a text at the tail end of the reflective exercise.  Apparently, it was from the husband (a Social Studies teacher) of the new Assistant Principal.  He had applied for the FACS position. Paul made the comment that he can be a coach until someone retires or leaves in the Social department, and the guy can do a horizontal slide when that happens.

Although you couldn't see it by looking at me, I was experiencing an internal landslide.  I don't even know why. I think it was a convergence of a number of factors:

1. Throughout the training, I realized that I could have done so much better as a coach, which made me want to go back and do it right this time. I couldn't bring my A game because I didn't even know what the game was.
2. Learning of the "maybe" plan reminded me of the old boys club that I often feel as though I have been fighting against throughout my teaching career.  The supposed action of making a place for this guy just lit me up - one more example of it.
3. I feel like a failure (see number 1).  I also feel as though I am being demoted, which is technically not true.
4. I feel powerless.  My principal is perfectly within his bounds to re-assign me.  I am not being treated unfairly or disrespectfully, and yet, I feel as though I am being dismissed.

Of course, I left, sat in my car in the city parking lot, and had myself a good, hard cry.  I bawl to let off steam, which is what I did.  After a few minutes, I was pulled together again.

Now, I am resigned.  I know what will happen, and I am readjusting my thinking, preparing for what needs to happen next.

Even so, as I sit here in my chair and reflect on the day, I am digging in, trying to figure out why I am so bothered by all this.  I did not fail, but I didn't accomplish what I wanted to either.  I have a good heart, I have the expertise, and I have the emotional intelligence to do this job well.  My persona is a problem, though.  I think that people are scared of me.  I am blunt.  I have a scary face.  Yeah, I'm just not quite cut out to be a coach.  I KNOW ALL THIS, so what's my problem?

I think that all people have basic unifying desires.  One of these desires is significance.  We all have a set number of years on this earth, and after they're done, what will remain of us?  That's a pretty hefty question.  It's even more poignant for someone like me, whose kids are grown, who is pushing 50, and who is closer to the end vs. the beginning of her career.  That whole child-rearing thing didn't work out for me so well.  So that leaves my career.  What sort of a permanent mark will I leave on history?

We all crave significance.  Even the most abhorrent of misanthropes want to be noticed.  We want to be seen, appreciated, and remembered.  We need a sense of place, belonging and purpose.  Why am I here, and will you remember me?

I think this is a part of my struggle right now.  Coaching was a chance for significance, and I blew it, or at least, it's gone.  Now, I'm going back to the classroom to finish out my teaching career.  I have proven to everyone, including myself, that I am not significant, nor am I especially talented.  I am utterly forgettable, and that's a bitter pill to swallow.

Another thing that I think all humans crave is physical touch, and I'm not talking about sex - although, that's one form of physical touch.  I'm talking about the innocent way in which we connect with each other through touch.  The reassurance of a palm as it passes lightly over a shoulder, the electricity between two people as fingers, hands, or feet connect, the confident steadiness of one as the other falters, a strong hug when it's needed. . .when physical touch is pure and innocent, it is one of the most powerful aspects of humanity.  It is a connection that gives strength to the weak, hope to the hopeless, and life to the dying, whether body or soul.

Society has turned physical touch into something base and dirty, but the fact is it's one of the best things about being a human.  Touch provides deep, inexplicable layers of compassion and love that no words could ever convey.  We all crave it, and thrive in its presence, but sadly, we are sorely deprived of it.

Beauty is also something that all humans crave.  It is where we find peace and joy.  Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. . .the rolling waves crashing into shore, the delicate fingernails of a newborn, the gleaming finish of a freshly-waxed car, a gangling foal running alongside its mother.  If it's beautiful to you, it's beautiful. Humans are surrounded by the ugly facts of life every day.  Natural disasters, deliberate meanness of one human to another, illness and death . . these suck our energy, leaving us devoid of hope and optimism.  Beauty is the antidote, and we search it our everyday, several times a day in order to re-focus on what's important.

Lastly, humans crave challenge.  The human mind spends its entire lifetime in trying to make order out of chaos.  This explains the existence of school, the inspiration for innovations and inventions, the struggle in all our relationships.  Problems need solutions, causes have effects, actions have motivations.  We thrive on trying to untangle the myriad complexities of life.  We may complain about these challenges, mostly when we are in the midst of them.  It is exasperating and yet exhilarating to work the process. We never feel more alive than when all of our senses, knowledge and skills are working in perfect symbiosis. Balancing a checkbook to the penny, examining the finish on a complex woodworking or sewing project, or simply helping someone resolve a complicated personal issue is inexplicably satisfying.

So what do we do with all this?  I don't really know.  I think there is power in simply knowing and recognizing it.

I'm tired, Lord.

This hasn't been a great week thus far, and it's only Tuesday.  That's because last week has already spilled over into this one.  Things are super-stressful at work and straight-up depressing at home. 

Let's start with work.  For the last two years, I have been trying to be an instructional coach.  It's been fairly miserable.  There have been bright spots - times when I help a teacher or student, and it feels as though all is right with the world.  Most of the time, it's not fun at all.  Lots of PD planning, lots of trying to drum up business among the teachers, lots of meetings.  Let's face it.  It's just not been my thing.  I've tried.  If I'm honest, I tried last year more than this.  I was a lot more optimistic last year.  This year, if I'm honest, I have been just getting through.

On the plus side, I have had more freedom. I have had my evening open and free to do what I want.  I have been consulted - like really consulted - on many things.  I have known and kept many secrets.  I have really worked on my leadership skills.  Even so, it's all pretty much been for naught.  I certainly haven't gotten anywhere with my department.

Although it's been the works for a while, a colleague in my department told me last week that she is resigning to go work for another district.  It's May.  While happy for her, I secretly experienced mild panic.  Where are we going to find a qualified candidate so late in the game?  Naturally, I contacted my principal so we could talk it out. 

Through the course of the conversation, he came to the conclusion that I will be going back to the classroom, and they will just hire another coach - that person will be easy to train.  Oy. Did you feel the wind from the knife being sunk into my chest? If you did, imagine the pain I felt as it was going in.  I'll tell you why in a minute. 

Equally concerned as I that there may not be quality candidates to interview/hire, it makes the most sense for me to go back to the classroom.  Likewise, my principal is not a fan of another (non-tenured) teacher in our department, so he is planning to ax her as well.  Now we would need to fill two positions.  We could hired sub-standard teachers to fill the positions for a year, but I would spend my time in their classrooms, trying to get them up to par.  So back to the original point, it makes the most sense for me to just go back to the classroom.  Half the problem is solved.

Now, back to the knife.  In his haste to move me back into the classroom, he is considering the possibility of hiring a 6th grade MATH teacher (who is also the head football coach) to come to our building to become the LITERACY coach.  Do you see the problem here?  For my principal to basically say, Uh, no problem.  We will just train him to be a literacy coach, it feels like the ultimate slap in the face.  Like anyone, particularly someone with NO literacy experience, can just step in to tackle the reading and writing issues among students.

While I'm just fine with the concept of going back into the classroom and closing the door to do my thing, I can't help but grieve the fact that the last two years of my life have been a waste - that all my work is just going to dissolve into thin air.  Of course that's being completely negative, but still. 

I'm struggling.  While I thought that what I was doing and the person whom I was had been an asset, the truth is I haven't been exceptional at all.  Joke's on me.  Likewise, the position is already posted, so now, the tongues are wagging in the building.  Who's leaving and why? Ugh. Garbage.  It just makes me sad, sick, and stressed at the same time.

All right, that's work.  Now to address the issues that stare me in the face as soon as I get out of my car and into the house. 

My daughter has this new boyfriend, whom she likes A LOT.  Things have been going well for something like three months.  He's not a believer, but I justified that as ok because a) I'll just keep praying for him, and b) he treats my daughter with respect. 

Yeah, well.

About a week ago, my daughter decided to visit him (he recently bought a house and lives about an hour away).  She and he as well as his friends were going to go to a movie.  Then, casually, she slipped in the fact that the movie didn't start until 9 p.m. It's a three-hour movie, so she would be staying overnight. 

Right next to the knife hole from my principal is a new one, courtesy of my daughter.  Equally, if not more painful, than the first.  I didn't cry or fall apart. I told that I recognized the fact that she is an adult and makes her own decisions.  However, I also told her that I would be remiss as a parent if I didn't address the lapse in morality with regard to her decision.  I thought maybe she would come to her senses and realize the error of her ways.

She didn't.  She stayed overnight.  My heart cracked. 

Then, she did it again.  This past weekend, she stayed over at his house (with other friends, supposedly) to help him with his house.  My heart broke in two.

We had a discussion about it last night at the table.  It was calm for a while.  Basically, she sees no problem with what she is doing.  No matter what I say, she is not changing her mind.  I told her (without malice) that she needs to move out because her values and our values are no longer aligning, and we cannot condone her behavior. 

And so we are now living in a sort of uneasy detente. 

Every morning, I look forward to my quiet time with God.  I look forward to it, but I'm not always disciplined about it.  Even so, when I sit down and get into the zone with Him, I pray earnestly for all sorts of people, mostly students, but especially my family.  I pray for my daughter to be transformed, to become a strong woman of God, and I pray for her husband, wherever he is, to grow in faith to be a strong and courageous man of God - that the two of them will love God first and each other next.  That has been my prayer for a very long time.  I also pray for my son, with whom I basically have had no relationship since he married.  You see why life is such a bummer?

This morning, as I sat in the chair, I just bawled.  You know, the chest-choking, snorty, I-can't-breathe bawling.  All of my sorrow, disappointment, dashed hopes and expectations, and general sadness gushed out of my eyes and the gaping holes in my chest.  I didn't have a single word to offer to God.  Prayer feel so hollow in light of all that has happened.  I know that God is a God of His own timeline, and that He answers prayers - just not in a way that we might expect.  I KNOW all that, but still. 

How did we get here?  How, how, how has this all turned out so badly?? How, in the world, am I such a sucky failure of a parent??

Comparison is a devil.  When I see friends who have such successful, Godly, loving children, I am jealous and sad at the same time.  I honestly feel as though I put forth a solid effort.  SOLID.  I was ever-available to my kids.  For Pete's sake, that's why I chose to become a teacher in the first place - so I would be able to work and be a mom.  We put them in a private, Christian elementary school.  We made sure they were in church on Sunday, youth group on Wednesday, camps in the summer, mission trips, etc.  We took them places. We made sure that all of their basic needs were covered. We gave them experiences we were unable to have. 

AND THIS IS MY REWARD FOR ALL THAT?!

It's not fair.  In fact, it's a friggin' rip-off.  It's more than unfair. It's too much.  And it stares me in the face every waking moment of every day.  This is not a dream from which I get to wake up. This is my reality.  Every minute of every day, I have to DEAL with it.  Of all the things to fail at in life, why did I have to fail the only thing that really mattered?

Well, that's it.  I'm spent.  We're finally to my favorite part of the day, which is going to bed.  For a few blessed hours, I will be allowed to escape.  Yeah, I will wake up in the middle of the night and fret.  That's just to be expected now.  But just for a bit, I can get away and forget about it.  All of it. 

Like I said, life is stressful and depressing at the moment.  Yeah, I'm continuing to pray and read my Bible.  I haven't given up, but it's rough going. 

Midnight Misery

I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.

I have tried exercising and fresh air.  I have tried no screens.  I have tried baths.  I have tried mild sleeping supplements. I read almost every night.  I follow just about every textbook remedy to enhance sleep, to no avail.

The problem is not falling asleep.  It’s staying asleep.

Every night, somewhere between midnight and four, I am awake.  Usually, it’s 3 a.m.  Sometimes, it’s every hour on the hour.

As annoying as this habit is, the worst part about it is that the insomnia is usually accompanied by mild to moderate anxiety and/or irrational thought.

With regard to the latter, my middle-of-the-night irrationality will usually involve my kids in some way - some preposterous, detrimental scenario that I have created in my head, which when examined in the daylight will prove to be ridiculous.

Most of the time, however, my middle-of-the-night machinations are a turntable of the day’s events. Just as a vinyl record will spin continuously, so do the conversations of the previous day spin in my head.

While annoying, that, in itself, does not seem that bad.  The hell of the situation is that every seemingly stupid thing I said or did is on the highlight reel.  It’s my own personal Groundhog’s Day every night of my life.  Every over-the-top action or gesture is replayed.  This could include all the times I laughed just a little too loud.  All the quips that seemed so important to say at the time, but later proved to be extraneous and awkward.  Swear words that materialized out of nowhere and carelessly tossed into conversation. You get the idea.  Any and every time that I made myself look or sound stupid winds its way through the ticker-tape in my brain.

Yeah, I know how crazy that sounds.  I do.  But on the flip side, I do not know how to shut it off.  I wish I did.

The middle-of-the-night seems to be the time when I come face-to-face with every fear, insecurity, failure that I have successfully tucked away during the daylight hours.  It’s a Pandora’s Box of misery that I unleash on myself.

When I’m with it enough to recognize what’s happening, I pray.  I know that Satan has found my weak spot, my vulnerability, and is wreaking havoc. My go-to prayers have been Bible verses in those moments.  Psalm 23 was on repeat for a while, and Philippians 4:4-8 has also become a middle-of-the-night mantra to chase the demons away.

But I admit that I’m worn.  I don’t know why I’m such a basket case. Is it some unresolved sin? Is that why I’m plagued by myself? Is there something I haven’t confessed? Is there some soul business that I haven’t resolved? I don’t know.  I definitely don’t think it’s “Samuel Syndrome,” a case of me being awakened by God in the middle of the night, to which I am to respond, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

I do think that I have unresolved business.  I just can’t put a finger on what it is, exactly.  I suppose the most logical thing to do is ask.  God and I have plenty of opportunity to talk it over in the middle of the night.  That is as good a time as any to ask God to reveal whatever it is that I need to see/know.

He is truly the only One to whom I wish to give my midnight thoughts.  Even though there are a lot of people who show up in the middle of the night, crowding my thoughts, participating in my macabre tableau, I need to clear the room. At my core, I always try to do the right thing. I mean well. I try to put others first, and most importantly, I try to live my life in a way that makes Him proud to call me child.  The midnight pistol-whipping that I endure each night is not what He has in mind for me.  The question is why do I seem to think it’s what I deserve? There is work to be done.

Exposed

Writing is such a personal act.  When a person blogs, it’s a little like undressing in front of window with the shades open.  A blog has the guise of privacy, a 50/50 change of anonymity.  It doesn’t become public until someone looks, much like undressing in front of the window.  One doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing, unless s/he turns his/her head at just the right moment.  But when s/he does, the act of being exposed is embarrassing, blush-worthy.  We have allowed someone to see that which we have so fiercely protected up to that moment.  So why take the risk?

Why, indeed?  I can speak only for myself, and I blog because there is so much swirling inside - thoughts, emotions, memories, but mostly thoughts.  What I think can only be expressed like this.  I don’t feel comfortable sharing my thoughts, face-to-face with others.  Their non-verbals present the ultimate risk.  I don’t even care if they agree or disagree with me.  What I can’t tolerate is being mocked, feeling marginalized.  And so, I just put it all out here.

But what is “it”? Mostly, these are the big ideas on life that I have to work out.  Eleanor Roosevelt apparently said, “Great people discuss ideas, mediocre people discuss events, and small people discuss people.”  I try to spend most of my time on the first.  Commentary on the second usually leads to conflict, and third, well, that’s just a recipe for disaster.  It’s not really relevant anyway because people are works in progress.  They never stay the same.  What could be said one day about a particular person could be completely obsolete and irrelevant the next.  Why bother?

Once physiological and safety needs are satisfied, Maslow says that we all crave love/belonging, self-esteem, and self-actualization in that order.  I feel as though I am a member of the C team, since I have spent most of my life trying to get past number three on the list.  But haven’t we all?  Let’s be real.  Even before the digital age widened the gap in the search for love and belonging, I was clawing for it.

I have spent most of my life on the outside looking in.  At least, that’s the way it’s felt.  I suppose to the average observer, it seems as though I am comfortably inside the fence, and maybe I am, but certainly not comfortably.

I just want to belong, like really belong.  To me, that means I want someone to be looking for ME.  Waiting for me to arrive.  I want someone to find me intriguing, mysterious, captivating in a way that causes another to hang on my every word, breathless and surprised by what I will say next.  I want to be first, to be chosen first.  I want to be invited, and not because it’s obligatory to do so.  I want to come to someone’s mind first - like it can’t happen unless I am there, and I want to see joy and relief when I arrive.

Likewise, I want to be loved.  Oh, I know I am loved.  It’s a love that’s like a worn-in shoe, comfortable, predictable, consistent.  I’m not complaining about it; I want something deeper, more intense.  I want to be cherished, like I’m something special, unique, valuable.  There is something to be said for physical touch as well.  I’m not talking about touch that is a prelude to sex.  I’m not talking about the obligatory hug, expected between family members and friends.  I’m talking about organic physical touch, the touch that is frequent and follows the overflow of the heart - a touch that is at once protective in its fragility.

What would it be like to be treasured, much like the discovery of a surprising, fragile piece of sea glass from an ocean shore?

These are thoughts. They aren’t worth much, but I certainly would never share them with anyone in conversation.  I have removed a couple of layers, exposing what lies within.  As I pull the shade, I raise my eyes for one last glimpse, and I see you staring back at me.