Tag Archives: grief

Thirty Years Old

March 28, 2016 Jessica Leave a comment

I’m thirty. Holy hell. When did that happen? It seems like moments ago I was 17 and 21 seemed so far away. Now I’m 30. Wow. Am I upset about it? Do I feel old? No and no. I haven’t been emotional about leaving my 20’s behind. I’ve kinda looked forward to my 30’s. I mean that is when you’re supposed to have your shit together, be wiser, more established and hit your sexual peak. So, hell ya. Bring on the 30’s. I made this list when I was 18 of ‘things I want to do by 25 and 30″. I pulled it out and reviewed it. Of the 45 things listed, I’ve completed 30 of 45. Several I’ll probably knock off this year and several that I don’t want to do anymore. I’m feeling pretty good about that.

Lisa and I spent my birthday in the Bahamas! We did a dolphin excursion on my birthday. How many of ya’ll can say that you kissed a dolphin on your 30th? Well, I can and Salvador was a complete gentleman even though he was a little demanding of belly rubs. Luckily, Mollie (my uber adorable and not too spoiled mini schnauzer) trained me well for belly rubs. I’m like an expert. We ended the day at a fancy Japanese restaurant with mediocre food. But, hey, we were in the Bahamas so all was wonderful. The whole week was wonderful. I love that I got to spend all that time with one of my favorite people in this world. We drank too much and ate too much. We laughed til we cried. We danced even when noone else was on the floor. We sported our bikinis and made fun of the seagulls. We spent a number of hours people watching from our balcony and listening to waves crash into the shore. I can say that my birthday celebration was more than I hoped for.

firstbikini — My very first bikini and I rocked it out at the beach in the Bahamas!

There’s only been one sad reflection on turning 30 and I’m sure you can guess what: Paul. He died just a couple weeks after his 30th birthday. In just a couple weeks, I will have lived longer than he did and it’s just not fair. I think about his last birthday. It was so wonderful. It was perfect. I’m so very glad that it worked out as I planned and that so many of our friends and family were able to join. I’m glad that was how his last birthday took place–surrounded by lots of love and goofiness. He got to eat pizza. I got him an awesome ninja turtles cake and decked him out in ninja turtle gear. He got the Armani Black Code that he’d been fantasizing over for months! (I still have it…I won’t lie…sometimes I steal a sniff or two) We bowled. Drank. Danced. He got tied up and received a duck tape wax job. I got to lay on the bar and he did a body shot. We got kicked outta the club because he was just toooo friendly. Thank goodness for our buddy, Bryan. Ended the night with his favorite club sandwich at iHop and salsa danced with the waiter outside afterwards. Sigh. I’m glad his birthday was so epic-ally awesome.

Literally and figuratively, I take Paul everywhere I go. He is, of course, always in heart and on my mind. I always wear my necklace that holds a few of his ashes. I started the tradition of leaving a piece of him every new place I visit. I love to leave him at the beach. He loved to frolick in all types of water so it’s so fitting to leave him there.

Collage 2016-03-25 19_44_18 — Places Paul is now: The Smoky Mountains Coranado Beach U.S.S. Midway (San Diego) Cocoa Beach (Florida) Mt. Rushmore Paradise Island (The Bahamas)

The Bahamas was no different. I took him with me. Lisa and I walked the beach and found a peaceful spot. I grabbed a handful of ash and I sprinkled him into the water and the waves took him away. I love the thought of sharing him with the world.

Collage 2016-03-25 19_47_08 — Leaving some of Paul in the Bahamas

This was the year that Paul and I were suppose to start a family. I’m a little sad about that. My clock isn’t ticking though. For all that know me, they know I never have wanted children. I was going to have one for him. And though I’d trade anything to have him here and to experience parenthood with him; I’m okay saying that I don’t plan to ever have children now.

In thirty years, I’ve managed to accomplish more than what I ever anticipated. I’ve graduated and started my nursing career. I have a wonderful and supportive family. I have my dream home. I met and married the love of my life. I got my boob job (yep, it was on the list). I’ve gotten to start traveling. I sky dived. I’m financially stable and have a diversified portfolio. I’ve done things outside of my comfort zone. I’m at a healthy weight and, physically, am the healthiest I’ve ever been. I’m satisfied with where these thirty years have taken me. I’m excited to see where the next will lead me.

Collage 2016-03-25 19_24_25 — Face to Face. 2012 vs Now.

Second Wedding Anniversary

Video March 18, 2016 Jessica 2 Comments

On a windy, cloudy day I was surrounded by friends and family as I vowed to always cherish Paul. Yesterday marked our four year wedding anniversary. It marked the second of which I “celebrated” it without my husband.

I knew this year would be significantly different from last year. Last year, I was surrounded by so many people. It was as if everyone was trying to protect me. I had lots of friends that were being very supportive and active in my life. This year I felt more alone. Noone asked me what I was doing for our anniversary this year. Noone invited me to do anything this year. Noone gave suggestions on what to do. I wasn’t upset by this; I just knew that this was way different than last year. I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel so I was determined to not make any certain plans. Well yesterday came and I literally had nothing to do. No plans. I hadn’t spoken to anyone about their schedules.

The last two weeks have been so difficult for me. I’ve been extra sad. I haven’t been sleeping well. I have been dreaming about Paul; only to wake to him not being there. It’s traumatic for those first waking moments-for just a moment when I first wake, he’s not gone; he didn’t die. Then it’s realizing that was a dream and that my life without him is the reality. And it’s heart wrenching. It makes me not want to sleep; it makes me fear sleeping. There have been times when I want to sleep just so I can see him but the ‘loss’ in the morning is so hard to bear. It sounds absurd but it’s the best way I know how to explain it.

Yesterday, I woke crying. Lisa was by my side and she tried her best to console me. It’s hard for me in those moments because my instinct is to conceal what I’m feeling. Although, when my feelings are that intense; it’s not possible. After she left, I had myself a good cry. I pulled my hair and I screamed. And it was terrible but necessary. I guess I tired myself out because I drifted back to sleep. I got around to getting a mani/pedi. I got a couple balloons, champagne and drove out to Stars & Stripes Park where we exchanged our vows 4 years ago. To my dismay, there were crowds of people and the champagne bottle was a pop top. Ugh. I struggled with the bottle for a good 20 minutes before popping it with my seat belt. I walked to the spot we stood at that day. I listened to Pandora and my Train station almost always plays Marry Me which was the song I was supposed to walk to but Paul forgot the boom box that day. That song played in my ear, I pictured that look he had on his face as Chris spoke and I let the balloons go. I watched as they disappeared into the sky. I sat on the ledge where our wine box sat, I had a drink and read the homily that Chris spoke that day:

In our culture today we express to each other two conflicting ideals. On one hand commitment is extremely important. We publicly admonish anyone who is unfaithful. Those who go against the ideal of commitment are subversive and are in some ways cast out. On the other hand we support and promote an absolute sense of self. We believe that the individual, their morals, passions, and aspirations are of extreme value and regard.

How can we reconcile this? How can an absolute sense of self and an absolute dedication to commitment co-exist?

That question is how we define marriage for our generation.

The contradiction exists in trying to forge your own path while sharing your life with another.

Yet, that is our strength. The belief in ones self is what ultimately makes us the best that we can be. Our sense of self and our drive to achieve our identity makes us whole. The whole person is the person that achieves loves. Because, love is an achievement, not a given.

Love is not a fleeting connection from across a room when two eyes meet; it’s soup and crackers when your sick. Love is not a first dates kiss; it’s that text message you get at lunch asking how your day is. Love is not roses and chocolates; it’s laughing with each other even though moments ago you were yelling at each other. Love is less about what’s ahead of you and more about what’s behind you. Because loving what you’ve done together before will prepare you for anything ahead.

There is an old cliche. Marriage is hard work. The idea expresses that love, relationships, and especially marriage are not for the feint of heart and not for those who are unwilling to put in the work. The cliche is old but is so true. Marriage is work. Much in the same way that a beautiful garden is work. Some days you can sit and admire the breath taking view. Smell the flowers and relish in the color and comfort. Another day you’re adding to the garden or taking away from. Before you know it, however, you might be knee deep in a pile of dirt, pulling the weeds, and praying for rain. -Chris Munoz

Lisa got me a green wine glasses and a lobster bottle stopper. I’ll share the lobster story another day. Although, many of you already know it’s significance. We went and had green beer. We came home and we watched the wedding video. Oh how I missed his voice. I replayed the ‘I love you baby’ several times. And I was happy to share that moment with Lisa. And this is just one of the things that makes her truly special. She respects and accepts my love. She actively participates. I’m truly lucky.

This anniversary was, by far, the hardest so far. My heart felt as though it was literally breaking. I don’t ever foresee a day when this will be easy or be just another day. I’m okay with that. Every year, I’ll look back on that special day; I’ll celebrate it in some way until the day I die.

And now we are preparing for our trip to the Bahamas. Paul will be joining us. I will be leaving a piece of Paul there because everywhere I go, so shall he.

Could have been a mom; 8 weeks post op; To bikini or to not? Graphic Images

March 14, 2016 Jessica 4 Comments

Collage 2016-03-13 20_20_29 — First time to wear a bikini (as an adult) P.S. These bottoms…$2.52!!!

**insert something profound**

***loading….

I’ve got nothing. Zelch. I don’t even know if that’s how you spell that word but you get what I’m saying. These past couple nights have been really rough. With our upcoming wedding anniversary and my 30th birthday just shortly after, it has just left me feeling…a little empty. Four years we would have been married. This will be my second to “celebrate” without him. So officially I will have “celebrated” as many with him as without him. How sad. Four years of marriage. I think about what we would have done. We never really said. I think we would have gone somewhere tropical. He loved the water. He loved to frolick. I haven’t decided how to spend that day. It’s St Patty’s Day so there’s never a shortage of things to do. I’ve toyed around with the idea of a spa day. I’ll probably have green beer. And I hope my brother sends me the most recent cut of our wedding video but, even if he doesn’t, I’ll watch the one I have. I was going to open our wine box but I’ve decided to stick to the plan of opening it on our 5th anniversary.

I think about what this year once held. This would have been the year that we tried to start a family. Well..to expand our family. I never wanted children. Ever. In fact, if you’re close to me you’ve probably heard the story about our first conversation about children. It was the week of 4th of July in 2010. He took me to meet his mom for the first time. She was so nice and we instantly hit it off. One of the very first conversations that we ever had was her telling me how she couldn’t wait to be a grandma and what a wonderful dad Paul would be. Inside, I was gasping for air–while outside I awkwardly smiled and nodded my head at her. After the visit ended, we climbed into his blue trail blazer and started the drive back to my house and my heart was pounding. It was pounding because I knew I had to say it. I told him that he might should find another girl if he wanted children because I didn’t want to have any. I remember exactly where we were…driving down hefner, making the curve around where the fish ponds are and the hill begins towards Hefner lake right before the stop light…and he turned to me and he said that he guessed he wasn’t having kids because it was too late…he’d rather have me with no children than the alternative. He wasn’t joking. He was matter of the fact. Which if you knew Paul, that was rare and I knew that he was 100% serious. But somewhere along our relationship I began to see him in a different light. Like this was a man that would make a great dad. And I didn’t want to deny him that. And even though I never wanted children, I wouldn’t mind having a child with him. At some point, I envisioned us old; living in a house in the country with a wrap around porch; and grandchildren that always wanted to visit their grandpa. And we talked and we decided that we would have one child; just the one; when I turned 30. And now…I’m turning 30. And Paul…he never got to be a father. And we won’t be old together. And sometimes I close my eyes and I see that country house. And it just lives in my mind now with no chance of ever becoming a reality.

People, jokingly, ask ‘how’s it feel to be turning 30’ or ‘are you feeling old’? And I always chuckled back but in the back of my mind, the number means nothing to me because this birthday isn’t what it was supposed to be. And in a couple months, I will have officially lived longer than Paul got to be on this earth. And that sucks. So I’m not so excited about this birthday. I don’t feel old really. Contrary, I feel like I have so much left to do in my life and my whole life to get it done.

On a happier note, Lisa and I are going to the Bahamas for my 30th birthday! I’m gonna kiss a dolphin on my birthday and I’m pretty wickedly excited about that. After much debating, I bought a bathing suit; actually, two. And they are bikinis. This is a first for me. I am not saying that bigger girls shouldn’t wear bikinis. Girl, if you feel good in it–do it, rock it out. I admire those girls. I, on the other hand, am not one of those girls. I see every imperfection. And where I had these mounds of fat now is lots of jiggly skin and you can’t even see my belly button. I definitely don’t have a bikini body but I am very proud of how far I’ve come. And I do believe in self love. I think of it this way…sometimes you gotta fake it til you make it. I feel this way about the bikini. I’ll probably never have a perfect body. I’ll always be imperfect. I’ll always have jiggly parts and stretch marks. But I’ve done an amazing thing. I’ve lost over 180 lbs and if it were anyone else, I’d tell em to rock it out. So I’m taking my own advice.

On the weight loss front, I received an email from Dietbet.com congratulating me on my weightloss and wanting to feature me and my story on their website. I thought about it and almost didn’t respond because I’m not sure about their position on bariatric surgery but I decided to respond. And, hey, either way…it’s still pretty awesome to get a personal email congratulating me from the Head Referee Manager of Dietbet and asked to be part of the Hall of Fame.

Surgery wise: I’m about 8 weeks post op. I’m officially off weight restrictions and tomorrow will be my first day back at work without restriction. My surgeon has just told me to listen to my body as I continue to heal and if it hurts, don’t do it. I’m physically feeling stronger every day. I’ve stayed consistent in my weight training and continued to do a minimum of 200 crunches daily and each day alternating arm training and squats. I’ve started to form a bicep. Don’t laugh at me. Okay…yes it sounds funny BUT I’ve literally NEVER seen any muscle definition on any part of my body ever. It’s pretty exciting and it’s encouraging me to keep going.

Until next time, stay well ya’ll

Collage 2016-03-13 20_19_50 — I can now fully extend both arms. The bruising is completely resolved on my right boob. Check out that upper right pic…yep, muscles! Eek!!! Feeling good. Feeling stronger.

6 Weeks: Getting Stronger Graphic Images

March 7, 2016 Jessica Leave a comment

6wkjean — These are suppose to be my ‘goal jeans’ but I can button em soooo I wore them out yesterdays. Bam! Holy booty batman. Size 29 low rise bell bottom jeans!

These last two weeks have seemed to drag on and pass too quickly all at the same time. Physically, I’m getting stronger. I feel a little better; a little more like myself each day. I haven’t been sleeping too well lately. I know I have a lot on my mind. Like I said in my previous post, March is an emotionally heightened month for me.

I can’t believe in just a couple weeks, I’ll be 30 and Paul and I would have celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary. It’s rough to think about. And still seems unreal. His picture sits on our mantle and sometimes I just look at it and kinda have a conversation with him. I don’t believe he is here in any sense other than my own memories and the memories of others; but there’s some type of comfort in ‘talking’ to him. I was doing my crunches the other day and I looked up and saw that picture: I was like bet you’d never believe you’d see me doing this so diligently. And I kinda chuckled. Then I was sad. I’m sad now.

Lisa and I just celebrated our 1st anniversary. Wow. Let that sink in. I can’t believe it’s been a year; in so many aspects. She is incredible. We have such a good time together. We don’t fight or argue. We don’t lack passion. She gets me. We just enjoy each other’s company. She makes me want to keep pressing forward and supports my healthier lifestyle (even when I don’t want to). We have already had so many adventures and both ventured outside of our comfort zones and never once regretted it. We are going to the Bahamas in less than 2 weeks and we are beyond thrilled. On the flip side, it’s been a year that I’ve been with someone other than Paul. It’s been 480 days since I saw Paul; since I heard his voice. I think he’d want me to be happy. In fact, I know he would. Despite knowing this, it doesn’t make it any easier. I miss that goofy guy.

I have had several follow ups with my physicians and had my concerns addressed. I spoke to my primary doctor about my weight (number) obsession and where I need/supposed to be. She told me that she thinks it is absolutely reasonable to get to a weight which would allow me to NOT have a diagnosis (i.e. overweight). According to the BMI, she would like to see me at 147lbs. I am currently weighing in at about 158. As per my plastic surgeon, I am ‘allowed’ to lose up to 12lbs without worry of disrupting my plastic surgery. And I have, approximately, 7-10 lbs of skin left to remove. Anyways, those are the numbers. I know a lot of you don’t agree with watching the numbers. But when we completely ignore the numbers, it’s easier to slip. It’s easy to add a lb here, a lb there until we have now packed on 20 lbs or more. I’ve done it so I know first hand. The scale is not a measurement of who you are. It is merely a measurement of how much you LITERALLY weigh. I choose to use it as an accountability tool; not as a means to define me as a person but, rather, as way to keep me on the track I worked so hard to be on. My dietitian and exercise physiologist have agreed that weighing weekly is a good way to stay on track. It works for me. So that’s what I plan to do.

My plastic surgeon told me that the skin at my elbows is normal and allows room for my elbow to bend. I didn’t really believe him so I’ve been checking out EVERYONE’S elbows that I pass. And, more often that not, that skin is there except on the very skinny people. Weird. I’ve never noticed before. He told me to continue to take it easy on my arms, that they are healing still, and to pay close attention to my elbows as to not bump them. That piece of skin under my right arm is a ‘dog ear’ which is a fairly common complication with skin removal. He told me that it’s easily fixed in the office but would like to give my body 8 more weeks to heal. My right boob is so much better. The bruising is gone but it hasn’t completely settled down. It’s still sore and hurts. My t-rex arms are getting better. I can reach things a lot better now. I’m still numb on the lower half of both breasts and the backs of my arms. It makes it difficult to get comfortable. I still am having to sleep on my back and prop my arms on pillows to be comfortable. It’s difficult to explain. It’s not necessarily painful (on my arms; it is on my right boob) to put pressure on it; it’s just weird because it’s numb. Like, I can feel, internally, that pressure is being put on my arms but I can’t actually feel it superficially. It’s not a pleasant sensation.

Arm progression — I’m super pleased with my arm incisions and my range of motion is improving.

6wk — Going out for the first time since surgery. First time EVER to go out without a bra!!

I’ve stayed on track with exercising. I’ve done a minimum of 200 crunches every night for over 2 weeks. I’ve now incorporated arm training and squats (alternating days). It feels pretty good. I’m really hoping to get more consistent on my morning walks but I’ve just been so tired from not sleeping well that it hasn’t been happening like I’d like it to but I do plan on going tomorrow morning.

2 weeks_ 200 crunches — Not noticing much progression but I’m feeling better.

Learning to Dance with a Limp

February 20, 2016 Jessica 4 Comments

What is significant about today? Nothing really. I woke up. Finished a research paper. Did some dishes. Binged on some Netflix.

I woke up in a not so great mood. Not a bad mood. Just an off mood. I felt good about finishing my paper (a whole day ahead of deadline-woot to me). I got a new dishwasher and it is fantastic. Netflix is always good because it comes with Mollie cuddles.

I woke up on this day about 3 times; each time sad. I thought about nursing school. I thought about seeing that dishwasher during the walk through on our house. I thought about other shows I’ve binged on.

Today, I woke up with a heaviness on my chest. I miss the time of nursing school (not ACTUAL nursing school, just to be clear). The old dishwasher used to be new. I thought of Scandal.

On this day, like too many before and so many more to come, I miss Paul. It’s days like these that I literally have to tell myself to breathe. And I literally think through the process of breathing: the air breathed in and my lungs full and the action of exhale. I miss nursing school because that’s the time where Paul and I spent two years of our life. We got married during nursing school. Seems that the peak of many of mine/our friendships were during that time. We had a Friday date every week while this house was being built to visit it and check the progress. It held such promise. Promise of a great future. And so soon, that fucking dishwasher crapped out; much like Paul’s heart crapped out far too soon! And sometimes when I sit on this couch that I love but Paul never knew, I can’t help but miss making him watch Scandal with me. And how on every episode, he would say ‘if Liv cries…one more time…I’m done’. And every night, we’d watch the next and you know, she cries like every episode.

I miss him beyond belief. It’s amazing to me how I live each day and most days I’m happy but I’m always sad to some extent. And, man, days like today, when the house is quiet and I have nothing but the thoughts in my head, the memories to recall, his picture staring at me from the mantle–I have to remind myself to breathe. There was a time that at moments like these that I fought my tears and choked down how I feel. But now, I allow myself to cry and I let myself feel my heart ache. I let myself grieve. But only when I’m alone. I feel like it’s really the only appropriate time.

And somehow in the midst of my blubbering, I stumbled across this quote:

“You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”

― Anne Lamott

And I’ve read it about 10 times. I love it. It’s so very true. So many times people say to me “I don’t know how you survived. I couldn’t have. I would have died or I would have to be committed”. I always think to myself “What a waste if everything we shared were to have died…with him; with me”. So I trudge on. I take him with me. I speak of him often. I think of him daily; sometimes hourly; sometimes the moments consume me completely.

I love you, Paul.

Boobies on the Mend: 3 Week Post Op & Reflection

Image February 14, 2016 Jessica Leave a comment

Oh man. Where to start? It’s a long week or so.

Let’s start with my physical stuff. So, my right boob has been concerning. On February 2, my supervisor went to take her jacket off, turned and accidentally ‘punched’ me in my right boob. If you recall, my right boob required more reconstruction than my left and has been more painful and not exactly aesthetically pleasing. When this happened, it knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t really put 2 and 2 together at my 2 week post op appointment when the medical assistant questioned the new bruising on the 4th. At work the following day is when I realized the two were linked so I called my doc. The bruising progressively worsened and they wanted to see me the following week. I had my 3rd week follow up this past Wednesday day. He squeezed and manipulated my breasts. It was awkward since I don’t have feeling superficially to below my nipple. He told me I had 2 hematomas and that he could feel that an internal suture(s) ripped causing the bleeding. He needed to evacuate it! He stuck a 2 in. 18 gauge needle through my incision around my nipple and moved the needle around, pulled back on a 20 ml syringe trying to find the pocket. He got out 5 mls of dark red blood. Nothing else. He felt again and said he need to try again but would have to go through the breast. Eek. He attempted 3 additional sticks. Ouch. Although I have no feeling on the surface, I do have deep sensation. I started to sweat and turned ghost pale. He wasn’t able to get anything else out, sadly. He told me to just watch it and that it’d hopefully resolve. He was concerned regarding the possibility of infection. Since my appointment, my bruising has significantly reduced and the color is now green so I’m happy about that. His assistant called me yesterday to check on me and my doctor is still concerned so he has started me on a round of antibiotics. Better safe than sorry.

3WeeksPostOp (2) — Current boobies! Bruising is SOOO much better today! The itching has begun! 2/14

Otherwise, my incisions are healing well, I’m sleeping better (no more night sweats), I’m rarely requiring tylenol and the tape residue is ALMOST gone. My incisions are so fine and I’m excited to see the end result. The only source of pain is still under my arms. Constant bending of the incisions and chaffing is sometimes unbearable! My doctor told me it was my compression garment so I’ve tried just sleeves. Nope. I’ve tried gauze. Nope. I’ve tried bandaids which have helped the most buuuut then they chaff my actual armpit. Ugh. The struggle. Now, I’m using zinc oxide (baby butt paste which is helping). My 4 weeks is Tuesday and I no longer have to wear my compression sleeves unless I want to! That’s exciting and no compression garments does feel best on my underarms. Although, I still don’t have feeling to my incision sites to about a quarter inch on both side of it so it’s a weird sensation. And it makes me paranoid that it’ll rub on somethings so I’m now wearing long sleeves and I foresee me wearing compressions at work this week but we will see.

3WeeksPostOp (8) — 3 Week Arm Incisions are faint!!

3WeeksPostOp (7) — The arm crease is the most painful. Still numb on the underside of my arm.

3WeeksPostOp (4) — Exciting! I get to wear a bra!

I had my first therapy session post operatively. It was much needed and very over due. I feel like I word vomited all over her the moment my booty hit the couch. I’ve been struggling. My anxiety has been on high. Feeling a bit depressed. Feeling upset that I’m upset. And isn’t that some shit? Not only to have these feelings but to, also, have feelings about the feelings. It’s a bitch! I’ve been missing Paul more intensely. I feel guilty. I feel alone. It’s all a bit over whelming really. In my session, I said multiple times “I’ve wanted this as long as I can remember and these feelings are absurd. ABSURD!” Her first response to me “how about you give yourself permission to feel the way you feel?” I sat back. Sighed. And thought ‘well isn’t that a novel idea?’ Ha ha. It’s literally never occurred to me. And I let that thought soak in and I said ‘okay’. As she summed up what I said, the series of events is very overwhelming and the thought comes to me ‘well holy fuck dude. That’s kinda like a lot’. And Lisa has told me most of these things but I guess there’s just something about the third party, impartial somebody saying it that makes it stick. She reinforced that my mind, my heart, my body has been through a lot in this past year. She told me that I’m now having to grieve the loss of my ‘body’ while in the midst of grieving over my husband. It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to say I’m not where I want to be. And in the moments of chaos, it’s hard to realize that it won’t always be this way. I won’t ALWAYS feel this way. I won’t ALWAYS feel out of control. Eventually, it will pass. She also brought up the point that I’m not as active as I’m used to being which effects my mind and body. I’m a very independent person that is temporarily at a point where I’m having to ask for help and not in a big way…in the small ways and that has an impact. Man oh man. I needed that reality check.

My mom gave me this little sign over a year ago that says: “You can do ANYTHING. You just can’t do EVERYTHING”. I think I have to realize and accept my limitations. I have to learn to be okay with them as they are a part of me and make me human.

The Best Moments of YOUR Life

February 14, 2016 Jessica 2 Comments

Close your eyes. Imagine all of the best moments of your life. Name the best two. Now, if you had 30 seconds to live or relive what would they look like?

This was the exercise my amazing charge nurse did with the four of us nurses in my department about a week ago. Answers varied from triumph over traumatic violation to children to marriage to the feeling of God. All heart warming. All brought tears to my eyes. Thirty seconds to relish in the hug of a child; 30 seconds to thank a stranger; 30 seconds to sit with your dad.

I sat there with my eyes closed. Floods of images came to mind. At the forefront: my grandparents, Paul, our wedding day, our first date, conversations with my brother, closing on our home, sky diving, day drinking in Austin, the day my brother asked me to be his best man, drinking and dancing with Lisa in my kitchen, graduating nursing school, my mom’s tumor is found to be benign, cards with my family, Tennessee, Vegas with my mom, making out in the McDonald’s freezer, skipping school to hang with my bff, my Papa teaching me to drive in his 89 Chevy, Cruise to Mexico. So many.

The Christmas we spent at the hospital after my brother had grand mal seizures. It was stressful and scary but we were all together. This was the day my brother gave me the sweetest card and asked me to be his best man.

When my turn came to share my 2 best moments, I was so choked up I could barely get the words out of my mouth. The first I picked wasn’t my wedding day; although it was a great moment and truly one of the best. The very best day of my life was a series of moments really…the ones within the two weeks of first meeting Paul. On June 12, 2010, I started talking to this wonderful man that kept me chatting then on the phone until like 3am. We had our first date on the 13th. I remember the butterflies in my stomach as I walked out of Bank of America in my bright pink sun dress. It was a windy day. I walked towards the blue Trail blazer and climbed in. He was buckled in his seat belt. Blue stripped shirt. Goatee. A smile that beamed from ear to ear. “What’s up”. And my world was forever changed. Within two weeks, this girl that was ‘never getting married’ talked to her brother on the phone and told him how she was going to marry him. What a wonderful time.

The next best day of my life came just a couple weeks ago. I’ve told you of the unforeseen panic attack of my first shower post op. I’ve never felt such panic but in those moments came the best moment. Lisa. It’s a blur getting from the shower to the bed, those probably 10 steps. But me lying on the bed. Naked. Panicked. The world spinning. Eyes closed. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.” And then I was calm. Eyes still closed, I thought about the last time she said that to me “you’re not alone”. Those are powerful words to me. They evoke this emotion in me. And stir me up. And make me cry but not in a bad way. Although, I have loads of people that love and support me, I feel alone. And the next best moment of my life is her. My next chapter of happiness. The fact that I’m not going to live out my life alone. Sure I cherish my memories and I always will, but I don’t have to live out my life with just those memories. And, that, that is wonderful.

And the 30 seconds I’d live over? The last moment I saw Paul. In that hospital room. Our last hug. Our last I love you. I’d hold him tight and I’d tell him that he was my world, that I loved him more than imaginable and I’d thank him. I’d not take those 30 seconds for granted. I didn’t know I was at the time but I guess I did because when I look back on that moment, that hug, that I love you–it was an every day I love you. Ya know what I mean?

I loved this exercise even though it made me cry. And lying here, typing this, I’m crying. I think back on the Jillian Michael’s event that I went to recently when she quotes Thoreau’s: The Mass of Men. We lead these lives that we really don’t want. I love my job but not one of my memories is the best day of my life a work day. It’s always an experience, a loved one, a feeling. So I want more of that. More love and laughter; less worry and waste. I hope you work towards that as well.

Early in our relationship. First trip to TN

20150821_192458 — Drinking and dancing in my kitchen

Where’s my satisfaction? Where’s my happiness?

February 6, 2016 Jessica 2 Comments

**Right boob update: so the mystery is solved. I had forgotten that 3 days ago, a co-worker accidentally punched me in the right boob. I was following behind her and she went to take off her jacket and **whack** right in the right boob where all the bruising is! It knocked the wind outta me. I’m thankful that we figured this out. And don’t be hard on my co worker–it was totally an accident, she’s amazing! She even drew on my boob to outline the bruise so I could track it’s progression/regression!

“Wow” “I don’t even recognize you” “You look amazing” “You have done so much”. These are all common compliments I get from a multitude of people. I wanted to take a moment and just thank everyone for all of the support. I truly appreciate it.

IMG_20160204_130442 — Size 7/9 jeans. Low Rise.

Today, I visited my old floor. I transferred about 4 months ago. It always feels like home when I visit even though there are so many new faces. When I visit, I always hope for some juicy trauma drama gossip but my weight loss and surgery usually are the topic. I’m sure that’ll change over time. I enjoy talking about my journey; it’s been a long one. I love talking with these wonderful women who have known me since 2013 and have seen me at my heaviest and they were there when I started my weight loss journey and when Paul died, they were there to pick to me up. They have shown me unconditional love and compassion and support and I’m eternally grateful to these wonderful ladies. So, it should not come at any surprise that they are all just so absolutely supportive and positive towards me and the progress that I’ve made with my health, weight and body transformation.

Today, I was met with all smiling faces and kind words. I have been just a bundle of emotions since the beginning of the year (well, really since November 12, 2014–if I’m totally honest) and it has peaked since having surgery. I’ve touched on it a bit in a previous blog but this plastic surgery has really messed with my head. I was fully prepared for pain and recovery; I wasn’t prepared for exhaustion and mental torture. Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but, at times, that’s exactly what it feels like. I was all ready to knock this plastic surgery out and get to where I want to be but I’ve had a reality check.

I’m struggling with my identity and who I see in the mirror. I will never forget: standing in the shower. Naked. Lisa standing by to help me get my bandages/dressings off. I felt the water run down my body. I look to my left and, in the mirror, there she is; that girl. Frankenstein girl. Incisions. Perky boobs. Thin arms. I can see a her rib cage. And the room spins. I’m dizzy. Disoriented. My hearing is muffled. I’m slightly nauseated. And, for a second, I thought I’d pass out. Lisa helped me to the bed. I can’t remember the steps between the shower and my bed. And I laid on my back, on my bed, eyes shut. And I hear her calm voice, “it’s okay. I’m here”.

I’ve worked so hard and made a lot of sacrifices to get where I am today. I feel like my whole life has built to this point. I loved Paul; I love Paul. I will say it over and over because it is always true and pertinent. Although, as most know, it was never my ‘dream’ to get married or to have a family. Don’t get me wrong, I just want to be clear; I’ve said it many times: he was the dream I never knew I wanted; he was a love I never knew existed and, not for one second, have I ever regretted any moment we had together. That aside, you know what my dreams were? I wanted to be a successful career woman, self-sufficient and THIN. That’s what I wanted. Maybe it seems a bit shallow, but having been the fat girl for as long as I can recall…I wanted that. I wanted to look like the ‘regular girls’. I wanted to feel comfortable in my skin. I wanted to travel and not think about my hips squeezed into an airplane seat. And, now…I have that. Where’s my satisfaction? Where’s my happiness? That’s what was supposed to happen, right? I’ve shed the weight. I’ve met every one of my weight loss goals. I’ve got these perky boobs and slender arms. My god man; it’s, literally, all I’ve ever dreamed it could be.

My former co-worker and I were chatting. She said some things that really shook me. She described her impression of me, of first knowing me. (I’m paraphrasing) ‘To look at you, you were this shy, timid girl and now I see this confident girl that shines’. I was taken aback because I don’t know when that happened. I guess although I have these mounds and mounds of self-doubt that there is something under there. I just gotta dig it out. So, that gives me hope. Maybe I can’t see it quite yet but others do and that gives me hope.

It really is a constant battle; between what you think you want, what you actually want and what actually is. I’m so thankful for all these wonderful people in my life. Without you, I don’t know where I would be.

Who’s That Girl In the Mirror? Graphic Images

Image January 27, 2016 Jessica 2 Comments

Have you ever thought to yourself if I had this or if I accomplished this then I’d be happy? I mean…with whatever…be it weight, money, love. All my life I’ve imagined what my life would be like if I were thin. Surely it’d be better and it’d be different. So many times I’d look at myself in the mirror and say ‘man, if I could just lose {fill in the blank}, I’d be content’.

I’ve always been very unhappy with my boobs and my arms. So extremely self conscious. It impacted everything from what I wore to how I sat to how I had sex. I can remember very vividly when Paul had moved into my house and I was changing clothes and I turned away from him as I took off my bra. He kinda chuckled and said ‘why do you do that’? I instantly felt embarrassed. I told him that he wouldn’t understand and it turned into this huge conversation. In summary, I hated the way my boobs sagged and he loved me just the way I was. He told me so many times throughout our relationship how beautiful and sexy I was and how much he desired me. This is the first time I’ve really said this but I never really believed him.

It was and is so absolutely irrational. My body issues are deep seeded. It wasn’t until probably a year into our relationship that I actually took off my bra during sex. Because I hated how they looked. I hated the sounds that they made.

I’m a bundle of emotions today. I’ve said it a thousand times: grief is a bitch. She’s an evil bitch that I think waits until you’re least expecting it and the she pushes you down and laughs at you. At least that’s how I feel today; how I feel this week.

I can’t tell you how long I’ve imagined having my arms and boobs done. Probably the first time I ever really gave it thought was at 16! That’s a lot of years of fantasizing of what it’d be like to have slender arms and perky boobs. I’ve never had them. And I’ve always had a negative body image about it too. I’ve always thought about how amazing it’d be if they looked a certain way.

As I showered today, I could see myself in the mirror. My boobs are very perky; perfectly rounded. They look they way I’ve imagined they should all of my life. I squeezed the soapy rag against my outreached arms and watched as the suds streamed down my arm, down my body. I washed my stomach and the underneath of my breast. It was foreign to me that I did not have to lift my breast. I bent down to wash my feet and my breast did not hang or sway and neither did my arms. I got out of the shower and dried off. I tried to whip my towel around my back to catch it with my other arm like I always do but I wasn’t able to. My face felt warm and my head was pounding, my nose turned red and my eye began to water.

012616 (1) — Significant bruising to underside of right breast. Minimal pain now.

012616 (2) — I can almost extend my left arm completely now. I only have about half of this range of motion on my right arm. Both arms are tight. I continue to have to ice them.

I stood there and I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked at myself from head to toe. Not intending to critique myself in the least. Just kinda soaking it all in. And I began to cry. Who is this girl?

This face. It’s slender with a defined jaw line, no double chin. Topped with the darkest shade of brown hair, so short that it barely brushes my brow. And my boobs: my nipples are centered and in the correct anatomical position. My bellies are still there but as I put my hand on my hip, I can feel and I can see my bone. I take a deep breath in and I can see my chest rise, my stomach drawn in; I can see the outline of my rib cage. I turn to the side and I look at my arm. Slender. One smooth, semi-even line from my shoulder to wrist. I dry my back and I can see my shoulder blades. My lumbar spine is defined and there is no back roll or rather back ‘shelf’. I stand forward again. My thighs are still thick by not massive and when I look down, I can see my toes.

012616 (1)

I don’t recognize this girl. She’s everything I’ve bargained with myself to be. She’s everything I’ve been working to accomplish but I just don’t recognize her.

I finish drying and I have to put my compression vest on. And the tears come full force as I have my right arm in the sleeve and I can’t quite reach behind my back for the left sleeve. My arms are tight.

And I close my eyes and I see Paul. We are standing in our home on 46th street. He’s holding my shrug as I put my arm in. And he tells me that it’s awfully warm outside and that this jacket isn’t really necessary. And I tell him ‘you know I hate my arms’. He kisses my shoulder and tells me he loves me just as I am.

I struggle but I get the vest on. And I snap it. And I look at myself tears streaming. He loved me just as I was but I didn’t. Now I look the way I want but I don’t recognize myself. And I have this rush…this panic…this feeling I felt for days, weeks, months on end following his death after all my friends and family had to leave my side to get back to their lives…I’m alone.

There’s some days when my house is so quiet and I walk through it and I have flash backs of a moment where he stood in that spot. And I think of the moment we stood there together. And now my memory is not of the girl that I see in the mirror now. And in some morbid way, it’s devastating.

**big sigh**

Being a widow is tough. Being a bariatric surgery patient who lost her husband on the same day is even more tough. In time wounds heal, but big wounds always leave a scar. I’m still healing. I still have days like today where it hurts like it is January 2015. On nights like right now, when my heart is literally aching and it seems that I’ve surely cried every tear a person could possibly produce, I try to tell myself to be thankful. I’m so thankful that I experienced Paul. I’m so thankful that I experienced a love that touched me to my core. I’m thankful that I survived. I’m thankful that I’ve pressed onward. I’m thankful that I’ve experienced new love. I’m thankful that I get to keep his memories with me. I’m thankful for this blog to share them with you. And I know that sooner or later I’ll recognize the girl in the mirror and I’m gonna love her too.

Love after death and bigotry: Love chose me; I said yes. It’s not your place to judge.

January 18, 2016 Jessica 6 Comments

Love chose me; I said yes. It’s not your place to judge.

I’m from a religious family. All my life I’ve heard how homosexuality is wrong. I’ve never agreed. I’ve always believed in love. I’ve always sided with equality. I’ve always been loudly in favor of the freedom of choice. And when I found myself in a relationship with a person who brightened my life on the darkest of my days; who accepted and celebrated my love with Paul; who quickly became my best friend and love interest; when that person was a woman; I tolerated and even walked on eggshells for others’ religious convictions. After a few conversations and encounters over the past couple days…I reject the bigotry of my family and friends. We can agree to disagree. Have your convictions. But have them silently. Because at the end of the day, I still believe…if you can’t say anything nice; don’t say anything at all.

All my teenage and adult life, my father has been absent. My father is an intelligent man and a wise man in many ways. My father has devoted the last 10+ years to ‘Yahweh’. He rejects Christianity but in many ways he is just like those certain Christians that we all have encountered. He has preached time and time again about how wicked homosexuality is and how Yahweh hates it. My sister is homosexual and don’t get me started on the struggles that she has had to endure on her own journey along with those she’s faced with my father. To his credit, he has tried in the best way he can to be tolerant. I have walked on eggshells with him. I try just not to mention it. But in recent events, he has made efforts to give the appearance of acceptance. And at the first opportunity, he is quick to point out his efforts. Today was no exception. He told me today that he has done more for me in terms of accepting my ‘choices’ than he has with anyone else because he loves me and that credit should be paid given his beliefs. While I recognize his efforts, I reject the pedestal he is perched upon! Accept me; don’t accept me. I don’t really care but don’t you put on a show of tolerance and expect me to bow at your feet. It’s not going to happen.

On the flip side, my heart was touched by my mother in law, a very conservative Christian. A wonderful woman. A woman with a huge heart. She of all people is allowed to take pause. I knew that me announcing that I was pursuing a relationship with a woman within the first year of my husband’s, her son’s, death would be a bitter and difficult pill to swallow. I did not push her. I did not say anything directly to her. I allowed her time. I had no expectations of her. I was fully prepared for her to shun me; for her to not accept me. This weekend she left me in awe. She was so very honest with me. She shared with me how she had a difficult time coping with the news last year. She told me she had to unfollow me on Facebook for a period of time. She went on to tell me that she reflected and she realized that I wasn’t disrespecting Paul. She saw what a positive force Lisa was in my life. She saw how Paul’s memory and our love still lived on. She recognize what a wonderful person she must be to accept that in her life and in our life together. I was truly humbled. Here in front of me sits the mother of my late husband. A mother who should have never had to ‘bury’ her son of only 30 years; a conservative Christian mother. She told me that she could never condone my choices but that she accepted me and loved me. She told me she wanted to know her. She told me we would always be family. And I love her more deeply for this conversation. I recognize how hard this was for her to arrive at. I love her more for never making me feel ashamed, for recognizing that she had to step back and do some soul searching. And I love her for being able to have her convictions and to still be able to love and support me without making it feel as though she’s doing me a favor.

Love, life, death and grief are hard to juggle. They are even more difficult to explain. There is not one day that goes by that I don’t think of Paul. I don’t ever foresee a day where he won’t be a part of me. He has forever changed my life and who I am and I will love him forever. Love does not end when death rears it’s ugly head. My life did end the day my husband died but I did not die. I could have but I chose not to. I chose to go on and to make a new life. I have a big heart. And I’m able to love him and love another. I’m able to keep my memories and to make new ones. I’m able to grieve and to laugh. I don’t have to choose between the two. The grief of losing a spouse is never ending. You learn to adapt. I’ve chosen to adapt. You can’t know unless you’ve been here. I feel fortunate to have found someone who accepts all that I am; all that I’ve been through; a person who wants to make my life brighter but allows me my darkness; who wants to celebrate this life with me and to make it better. Who be it to say that it is wrong just because she is a woman? Who be it say that it wrong because I’m a widow?

I hope that everyone finds love like these; a love that changes you-that enhances you. I hope that everyone gets to experience the look in these pictures.

Transformation Through Loss