Images

Movin’ On Up

“Be the change that you wish to see in the world.” Mahatma Gandhi

“Sometimes the things that we can’t change end up changing us. -Hope for Widows Foundation.

IMG_20190608_130902

MVIMG_20190318_184804IMG_20190728_153636

Where did Jessica gooooo?

 

Maybe you noticed I’ve become scarce on social media in general, maybe you didn’t; either way, no worries. Social media is our friend and our foe. It has been to me at least. I once loved it for how I could look back on my memories and engage with others. Social media gave me a way to connect with others–or so I thought. After Paul, it became almost ritualistic to me where each morning I’d check my memories. In the beginning there were many tears but they subsided and were replaced with nostalgia and happiness. Isn’t that interesting? How could it be that nearly every single memory on Facebook is a happy one? I sure as hell don’t see my life through that lens. I felt like I had a community of supporters but something wasn’t congruent within myself. I started to lean into experiences, people, habits that served me better. This was most notable in my social connections. I have set an intention and expectation for all of my relationships: for each relationship to be mutually respectful, beneficial and fulfilling. I want to live an authentic life and free myself from guilt and negative feelings which don’t serve me, don’t further me in a positive direction. We all know that we can’t change others but what about ourselves? I mean we say we can but do we actually? Complacency is easy and is, usually, unintentional. I changed that for me by becoming aware: I paid attention to how I felt and what I thought after scrolling Facebook, posting blogs, texting ‘nicely’ with those whose thoughts don’t align with mine, etc. I paid attention to how I felt after phone conversations or physical interactions with loved ones. Slowly, I shifted my attention away from the ones that made me feel anxious, angry and bad about myself. Seems easy, right? Nope. One way I shifted my attention was to do a social media fast in 2018. And, well, after I got off of social media…I didn’t waste my time on it anymore. I’m intentional about it now. What I realized about myself and others on social media is much like what death can do to the memory of a life: it erases all the perceived {or rather could be perceived} negative events. I’m sure there’s some psychological reason for this but I’m not versed in that, so I’ll define it with my experiences, my anecdotal widow evidence. 

I radically reduced my social media in pursuit of happiness, generally speaking. I did so to experience my life more authentically. I have lived the majority of my life trying to live up to the expectations of others by achieving or behaving in a socially accepted/preferred manner prioritizing others over self, giving more of myself than I had when no one really asked me to; and worse, I never spoke up about it. Those qualities and behaviors shaped me into the person that I am. Becoming a widow during a bariatric journey, sparked a transformation of the shape of that person. Social media and how I showed up in it wasn’t fulfilling to me anymore because it all seemed to be fueled with nonsense, anger and facades of lives lived in a beautiful filter. I was no different. The widow survivor guilt felt is unlike anything I could ever put to words because it seeps into literally every single facet of your life, your relationships, your work, your thoughts, your behaviors, your good times, your bad times. There are dates and family expectations TO unique, empowered love and personal strength that equally send you t o tears racked with crippling sorrow, grief and guilt. That stuff is ugly. It is, also, deeply personal and a vulnerable place in my being that I couldn’t put through some perfect media filter. Honestly, who’d want to hear about it anyways and I surely didn’t have the energy or patience to figure it out.

IMG_20191222_132814
2019 McCartney Christmas
IMG_20190105_175205
Shellie get married to Sean; Paul shaves his beard for his mom, Shellie.
FB_IMG_1584456599859
Siblings at our wedding reception-March 2012 Lauren, Jonathan, Me, Jennifer, Jamie, Paul
FB_IMG_1571518130635
Emily BIG surprise: Tasha and Connor jump out of a box!!! October 2019 Jacob, Emily, Taylor, Eli, Cody, Tasha, Lisa, lady, Me, Connor
IMG_20191128_123705 (1)
Lisa and I enjoy time with my dad. November 2020

I am a person who is loved and has loved immensely. I have many people, experiences and material things to express gratitude for in daily life. I can say that I have always known this; but, I now feel it. My life has given me experiences that have shaped my process of thinking about nearly everything that surrounds me and that is within me. I continue to apply the nursing process to my life through evaluation of my changes and my personal assessment by questioning myself. I am the least social that I’ve ever been but feel the most aligned within myself and I have to question that. My socialization has changed. I no longer surround myself with people who use me or make me feel less than. That was a hard one to reconcile–I’m still working on it. It was like “wow”. I had to take this further to look at myself about relationships in current times that have shifted and I realized…It’s me that has changed. 

“I know you have to move on…” -Loved one expresses to me sorrow for my life

“We lost him too but you’re the only one who’s gotten to process…” -Loved one’s reaction to me sharing a personal grief.

“How does that work..Paul then Lisa” -A loved one’s comment about my relationship.

“Losing Paul was traumatic, I think you’re going through a stage.” -A loved one comments on my relationship with Lisa

“I love her but I still hate homosexuality…” -Love one ‘accepting’ Lisa as my partner.

“Yes, we know; It’s all about Jessica.” -A loved one’s response about a grief/upset I felt about Paul.

“Aren’t you ready to move on..” -Loved one’s reaction to my Paul reflections

“Doesn’t living in the past keep you in the past.” – A close friend responds to a reflection of an anniversary I shared.

“How long is this supposed to last” -A loved one in response to my complicated grief & PTSD

“But I thought you were getting therapy” -A loved one’s response to my feelings about Paul

“I’ll come to terms with this because I love you” -A loved one’s comment about Lisa & I moving in together

“[s i l e n c e]” -A non-response from a couple close loved ones about mine & Lisa’s Movin On Up announcement.

FB_IMG_1489725192949
Our wedding day, March 17, 2012 Me, Paul at Lake Hefner Just Married.
20170316_225007_HDR
Would be 5 year wedding anniversary Me in my wedding dress-March 17, 2017

Transformation is defined as “a thorough or dramatic change in form or appearance”. See, the thing that is lost on most is that transformation is most often not simultaneous, it’s fluid. That’s how my life has been since 2014. I have had many console and advise me about the impending result and need for change. It was a mute point. Change didn’t occur at a set date or time but as an accumulation of experiences acquired and mixed in with the previous one. It’s constantly shifting and if you pay attention, you can mold your life into one that you actually want. That’s what I’ve done simultaneously as I work alongside my grief. 

00100sPORTRAIT_00100_BURST20200524164650662_COVER
Lisa and I create a photo announcement for us moving in together!!! June 2020

Lisa and I moved in together last month. It was an unplanned cohabitation necessitated by Hertz Corporation for being among the first to abandon their people as a result of plummets in profits first broke with COVID. It was a weighted and partnered decision that we equally made but to say it was easy wouldn’t be representative; to say it was celebrated across the board wouldn’t be accurate; to say that there weren’t anxieties just isn’t true; but, what is true is that Lisa and I have a relationship that is incredibly adaptive and, simultaneously, transformative with a foundation of compassion, sincerity, passion, honesty, and curiosity. It is a complex thing–not necessarily our relationship but, rather, the reaction or feelings of others about our relationship. After 6 weeks of living together, we experienced my worst fear about her being here full time. Walking my talk about authenticity and living my motto “What WE accept; WE promote”, I 5-4-3-2-1 (Mel Robbins 5 Second Rule) decided it was a great opportunity to come back to blogging — the beginning of our cohabitation during the 2020 chaos is a wonderful starting point to share the continuation of my Transformation Through Loss. Our decision to move in together, the journey we have walked individually and together, the reaction and lack of reactions from loved ones, widow struggles, and developing new routines over the last month have been quite the roller-coaster and one worth sharing. 

MVIMG_20190816_142548
I met my great-nephew, Jayden Paul Ashworth the day he enters the world. August 19, 2019
IMG_20190907_093535
Lisa meets Jayden Paul September 7, 2019
IMG_20191201_181330
Lisica becomes Nana & Gigi Our grandson, Liam Ray Conway Cook

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

During a therapy session, I shared that my worst fear of Lisa moving in with me is the impact on my relationship with Paul. And not because she wouldn’t understand but rather the fact that the energy in my home will be different. I will no longer have moments of silence where my head wonders and happens upon Paul—where I get to have a moment with myself and it takes me wherever I allow it to be. Lisa will always grant me whatever space I need—that is who she is and that’s one way that she loves me. It isn’t anything that she nor I can or can’t prevent; I will no longer have the space of solitude. I worry that this is yet another Paul loss. This is another moment that I move on. What if I get so busy living that I forget an anniversary: how would I feel about that? Would it tap me on the shoulder and sucker punch me? Would it be that vicious grief trap the emotional size of a bear trap that I have unknowingly stepped upon many times over these last 5+ years. And my therapist reaffirmed me, “Jessica, you are allowed to be happy. It is okay to be happy. It is okay to live your life.” I hadn’t really given it a thought like this–I was almost punishing myself by preventing the potential of happiness found in a new look on life; so, I resolved to just allow it to be. Afterall, it is all that I, any of us, can do anyways:just to figure it out as we go. And with my Type-A-Eclectically-Emotional-Big-Thought-I-Get-Alot-Said self, I’ve set out to utilize a few of the vital parts of the nursing process: Assessment, Implementation, Evaluation.

 

Since 2014, my life has all been about transformation and nearly just as long in my journey, Lisa has been with me. Sometimes she was behind me as I led haphazardly; oftentimes in front of me inspiring me; but, most of the time, she was right there next to me as together we have evolved. It is with her constant love and support that I’ve been able to face, overcome and transform in ways I never knew possible. She actually inspired me to listen to a personal development podcast The Overwhelmed Brain which led me to the book Atomic Habits which introduced me to Matthew Bivens which led me to listening to his podcast called Having It A.L.L. (Abundant Loving Life) and that gets us to May 4, 2020. 

 

But let’s pause here for a contextual story:

 

I remember this so vividly that if I close my eyes, I can literally feel how I did the morning of Mother’s Day. I was sad that morning. I went to make eggs and in normal for me fashion, I wanted to listen to a podcast but I needed JUUUUUUST the right one. Ya know, just like Goldie Locks style—I needed something for just right mood that I wanted (feel goods, positive), juuuuust the right length (takes about 20 minutes start to finish to make breakfast & clean up). I scroll my list coming to Having It A.L.L which is always an uplifting time. I scroll to recent episode that I hadn’t listened to—Ah! Yes! Perfect—24 minutes and cherry on this sundae, it was titled “Breathe”; SOLD! I hit play, cracked my eggs and sauteed my garlic. The intro plays. He shares a Magical Moment and challenges you to share one. I’ve listened to enough to know the order and next up is some Listener Love at 7:02 “… I want to give a shout out to Jessica.”…and I stir my garlic and smile to myself thinking “my mom gave me such a popular name”. And he continues on, “Jessica, first of all I just have to say is ‘WOW’ “ …and I stir in my spinach and think “Matthew is speechless that’s cool”. He goes on “Your email to me was incredible and to say it was thorough is for me to put it very lightly”, he chuckles and I think to myself “man, sounds like me. Nah, couldn’t be”. He chuckles. I had to tell Sarah, I have a long email here so I’m gonna be in the office for awhile and process this email. I imagine you got some hand cramps as you were typing that all up. And I thank you for it. There was such beauty, such amazing things you shared..I’m just stumped for words right now.” And I screamed. I had my eggs in the bowl, pouring them in and I said out loud “OH MY GOD, he IS talking to me. Say whaaaaat” Then he said, “I just am so grateful to you for sharing all of that with me and putting it out there the way that you did making the request the way that you did, it was just so tremendous for me to receive that, hear how the show has impacted you and your family. It was just awesome. And for you to share that little piece of magic about the Honey Do List at the end…that was so cool. Sp jessica thank you so much.” I was stirring my eggs, a huge smile on my face and tears streaming. And then panic because I was so excited and moved by his words, I just realized….OMG OMG that means he must have responded but, ya know, I couldn’t ruin the eggs so I finished those eagerly before bolting to my email to check for his response–Short, sweet and offer not just accepted but elevated as he offered us BOTH the opportunity to have a consultation with him with a subscription to Balance Chart. I had zero idea what that would look like but no thoughts needed—I was ALL IN!

 

So what happened on the 4th of May when I acted on my instinct to put action towards my thoughts. Well, on that day I elevated my idea of Charity [More to come on this topic in another post] when I reached out to Matthew Bivens directly to ask him to join me in some “MAGIC”–his term for anytime You influence Self, Life, or Others in an Empowering Way. The following is an excerpt from that email:

 

Charity. Think about it. It’s a fantastic word that evokes mixed emotions. I became reminded of this as my girlfriend and I were brainstorming last night when I mentioned how my brother and I often talk about doing for others. He is one of the most generous humans I’ve even known and he was telling me about how he is looking out for opportunities to give to others to better their situation. He thinks about it as charity and as a way to give back during these uncertain times. He takes the perspective that he has extra income (result from not going out), he can work from home as a programmer (not job requirement like others to go out) and so he tries to help others by buying their groceries or hooking them up with wifi or paying their phone bill for 6 months. When I referenced him as a resource in her business start up, although my gf agrees in the goodness of charity, her initial reaction was “I don’t want to be some one’s charity” stating there people out there “far worse off” than her and that are in far more need of charity. 

 

This got me thinking about the problematic reasoning in this kind of logic which is, I believe, a contributor to the psychological epidemics in America: how homelessness is a result of trauma, addiction, mental illness, disparities in health care; how if we altered the perception of charity towards what it truly is, what an enormous impact that would have on these epidemics. If giving to others could essentially become just like another ADL (activity of daily living) and humans could accept charity without implied or perceived shame, oh goodness imagine the impact on all I’ve referenced above?? If in this moment that I have $100 extra (honestly because I haven’t been eating out the last 6+ weeks really) and I can see in my neighbor, peer, girlfriend that she is trying to get from Point A to Point B to achieve a better quality of life and I use that money to purchase education or pay a bill or prepay counseling, what impact could that have on that person’s trajectory, to that person’s mental heath? And at BARE MINIMUM, you’ve communicated to another human: YOU are NOT alone; WE are in this together. 

 

So with all that said (okay so I didn’t make a long story short but I did shortened a longer story ), I have want to offer my $100 and my plea of heart to invite you to help improve the life of Lisa Cook. She has all the potential and now the time; she just needs tools, motivation and coaching to achieve all she has and has not actually envisioned yet. How do we hook this up???  

 

Last week we had that call with Matthew. Neither of us knew what to expect; both slightly anxious; and both of us ready for what we’ve termed as Lisica Shenanigans where we tackle obstacles, better ourselves, have fun adventures, and live our best lives. 

00100srPORTRAIT_00100_BURST20200613190703844_COVER

I want to engage with others as my authentic self and to be vulnerable. I want to experience self-confidence, kindness, love and innovation within myself. If that so happens to inspire others to question their own selves, well that’d be pretty magical. Transformation through loss has taught me through experience and observation that one’s self, mind and energy is powerful; that one thought put into action can start a ripple of change, within yourself and, as a byproduct, how you show up in the world.

Experiences that taught me that I CAN choose to thrive:

  1. My journey of becoming a nurse which started by choosing to leave banking.
  2. Bariatric journey that started by losing 25lbs by just walking and not eating crap.
  3. A phone call “Jess, can I talk to your mom” and feeling my husband was dead.
  4. Lisa telling me “Tell me about your husband” that posed the living question “what if…”
  5. “What We ACCEPT; WE promote” became my personal motto leading to a change in work culture.
  6. Setting a firm boundary with my bigot father that resulted in his transformation into feminism. He doesn’t just tolerate Lisa [our relationship] but accepts it and loves her for her..

This past weekend, it happened, my worst case scenario as stated to my therapist. I was sitting at the bar. Lisa was cooking breakfast. I opened our Magical Moments Journal. I’d been joking/giving her a hard time that Iiiiiii’m the one who allllllways writes in it. We were laughing. And I wrote the date: June 1….3….. And I felt this immediate flip in my stomach and I couldn’t identify it. I said aloud, something to the effect of…”Oh my goodness. Ten years ago, Paul and I met for the first time on our first date” and I mentioned how it slipped my mind. And I had this rush of all kinds of feelings but nothing that I wanted to deal with in that moment. I did a quick check in with myself and I wasn’t sad. I felt different; it wasn’t a good feeling.

How I Cope with Being Dumped

Betrayal. Hurt. Loss. Relationships. Sisters. These are all terms that come to mind when I think of two significant people in my life. I’ve been silent about it thinking that I didn’t want to put into forever ink what I couldn’t take back and what might hurt the possible future I might have with these two wonderful women. Although, now I think that this is a blog I need to write as it weighs heavily on my mind and my heart. I am certain that there are other widows out there who have experienced these same things, unfortunately.

I wrote recently about a renewed hope that I had in a lost friendship. I was vague about the details as I don’t know who, if anyone, in her circle reads my blogs. I didn’t want to add pressure to a very new beginning and weak foundation. I feel now though that I want to disclose what has transpired, how I’ve been impacted and how I’m coping. I think the loss of a friendship of our calibur is significant. I have had to grieve a long side grieving for my husband. It has been unimaginably difficult and there is not a clear cut way of how to handle it.

Those who are closest to me know that my best friend of more than 20 years broke up with me less than 2 months after my Paul took his last breath. To add insult to injury, she did not give me any reason other than she didn’t want to speak to me. To say I was devastated is a gross understatement. I do not have the vocabulary to accurately describe the amount of pain this brought me. I can not begin to tell you what it does to a person to lose two of the most solid pillars of their life in the matter of 2 months. The only way I can begin to explain is to first tell you how important she was to me and how close she was to my husband. Paullium is what she called him; Ab-zilla is what he called her. He considered her his sister and his mother was thankful that her only child got to experience the love of a sibling as he had found it in her. When her parents turned their back on her and she was leaving her toxic marriage, Paul did not question me for a second when I asked if she could move in with us. Her and her two young girls lived with us for months in our mediocre 1100 square foot home. There were many evenings that we shared as a ‘family’. Those girls were like our children. They loved their Paulie. And when they got their own apartment, we enjoyed times together there as well. We liked to Jingle Jammie shop at Old Navy and have pj evenings. The girls loved to have ice cream just like Paulie. The marshmallow gun fight we had just that one evening is a memory I won’t ever forget. That last year Paul was here, we had a lot going on in our lives as did she. She wasn’t around as much. She worked a lot. Paul constantly invited her over and asked me if I thought he did anything wrong. He missed our times together. So did I. He still loved her dearly.

The night he died. She was my first call. The night was a blur but I remember her arriving promptly at our newly built home (we’d only owned it for 4 months). I remember her face as she looked at me, as  she stayed strong for me and she comforted me. And when the funeral home people arrived, she took me in her car and drove around while they took his lifeless body. She slept with me that night and for I don’t know how many nights after that. She went to the funeral home the next day to make arrangements and sat in that room with me with my mom, his mom and his grandmother as we made arrangements that I wasn’t prepared to make. She was there as I made the decision to cremate him against his family’s wishes. And as I cried copious amounts of tears that night, she stroked my hair. She wrote his obituary. She stood by my side. She was everything I didn’t even know that I needed. Paul and I were supposed to go on this family trip around New Year’s that year. The tickets were already bought. And she took his place and we went to Florida to meet up with his family. I’ll never forget that trip. She was deathly afraid of rollercoasters but she got on them with me. We met up with a friend at Cocoa Beach, we all drank wine and spread some of his ashes. We were planning to get tattoos in his honor on her birthday (NYE) but in a terrible turn of events I wasn’t able to go–my car blew up, Mollie ate a bag of Dove chocolate which landed her in the puppy ICU. I spent that first NYE without my Paul, by myself, in our house and I cried all night. She got that tattoo. I was so upset with her. But I had already started to develop this new life’s motto to live as if it’s your last…and I texted her the next day to tell her I was upset about that night but I wanted to let it go.

My life, again, was never the same. I’ll never forget being at I-240 & S Sante Fe at a red stop light. It was January 3, 2015. I had called her twice. She never answered. I told her I wanted to see her, to bring the girls their Christmas gifts, to bring her birthday gifts and to show her my brand new car. She told me she was busy. I told her I’d come to wherever she was. She told me that she didn’t want to talk to me. I asked her for how long. She told me that she didn’t know. In true dramatic girl fashion, I asked ‘ever?’ and she responded ‘maybe’. That was the longest red light ever. And I could have sworn I felt my heart literally break all over again. I would go months before she gave me any inkling as to why she never spoke to me again.

After 20 years of friendship, we have seen our fair share of fights, ups/downs, good times, better times and everything that lies between so I just KNEW that this would blow over. No way my best friend was no longer my bff. I can’t even tell you how many hours I spent analyzing what went wrong, what I did and trying to figure how to fix it. I was going to counseling twice a week at this time and I’m thankful for that. Had I not already been in grief counseling, I swear that my mom would have had to commit me. My therapist assured me that it would pass and to focus on what I could control–and those were my actions and reactions. I tried really hard not to hound her. I tried not to be my typical self. I’m the person who will work at something, rearrange it over and over until it’s unrecognizable. You know the type. So I just sent her periodic messages. Funny memes. Sweet texts. No response.

It wasn’t until months later when she would text me to ask about a blow up mattress that I would get a response as to what happened. In short, she didn’t feel that she could be the friend I needed, that she couldn’t be a friend to me. She told me that she would never be able to talk about a break up with a boyfriend or such…because any ‘bad’ thing that would happen to her would never compare to my loss. She told me that she was resentful of me…that she thought I lied about my dog being in the hospital and that something I said upset her. I said something to the extent of ‘this is the worst day ever’ and that that wasn’t true because Paul died. I tried to reason with her. To tell her that I loved her. To tell her that I would never compare losses. That I don’t think that way. That I was better now and that she didn’t have to hold me up like she did within that first month that he died. That I was in therapy and I was doing better. She ultimately told me that we grieve in different ways…that basically I bathe in his memory and she wants to push it out and forget it.

I have reached out to her since periodically. I’ve tried many different ways of ‘getting over’ this. I’ve tried letting her go, cold turkey. Tried to just not think of her. That just didn’t work for me. I tried to ‘get it right’ in my mind. To try to accept ‘it is what it is’. I tried to be calm and let it just be. Never to text her. Okay…maybe just a couple texts. Share just a picture.Nothing has really ‘worked’ for me. Well intentioned friends and family have given me their wisdom “you’re better off without her” “just focus on your positive relationships” “she’ll come around” “it’ll blow over”. I try to put her out of my mind but I just feel like there’s this missing piece. Like it’s incomplete. I’ve gotten better though. I’d say for about the first 9+ months, I literally had to tell myself ‘no, Jessica. She doesn’t care’ every time something happened that I wanted to tell her. It was like unlearning a habit. It’s gotten better. I still feel compelled to reach out to her but most often stop myself. Such wasn’t the case of the 4th of July this year when I reached out to her with a memory. That day was amazing. I had hope for the first time within a year and a half. And she told me she wanted to talk. And we did, text, for the next few days and it was so great. We planned to meet but that day came and she cancelled at the last minute. The messages stopped. I felt like a girl that belonged in that movie ‘He’s Just Not that in to You”. I tried to resist but after several days, I texted her. She just told me that she hadn’t intended to ignore me and life was busy.

I was crushed. Again. Lisa and I had a long talk that evening. She told me I had to stop. I had to stop reaching out to her. That I needed to see what she was saying…and all her actions are saying that she just doesn’t care..at least not right now. And she said those words “she just doesn’t want or can’t be your friend”. And I was overwhelmed with emotion…I was heart-broken. I was embarrassed. I was sad. And the next day I downloaded self-help books trying to reach at something to help me find myself some peace.

That was almost 3 weeks ago. And still, I didn’t get it. Not until last week. When I had a terrible accident. I don’t even know why I did it; maybe I was trying to tug at some type of heart string…look for some glimmer of love…but I texted her a photo of my wreck. She texted back and did ask if I was okay. And the next day, I got it. Exactly what Lisa said “she just doesn’t want to be your friend”. She isn’t a bad person. I hope I haven’t painted her in a negative light. She’s just a person. And I can only speculate as to what exactly happened. I don’t know. I probably never will and I’m learning to be okay with that. My dearest friend Kati, my calm sense of reason, gave me the best analogy about wounds and experiences. I wouldn’t do it justice by trying to reiterate her words but the jist of it is that she was a huge part of my life and who I am. We had some AMAZING memories and times together that have forever changed my life. And I’m going to get to that point when I think of her or of a memory and I feel that pull at my heart that I will think ‘yep, it hurts because it was that good’. I’m trying to think of her kinda like when I think of Paul…like when I cry and my heart quite literally aches; I KNOW that it is because our love was something special, something truly great and that it made my heart bigger. It’s amazing to me but I am not bitter. Not even a little bit. My therapist asked me earlier last year to think about how I would feel if she came back a year later and if I’d be bitter. And I’m not. I’m happy I experienced a love like ours; a friendship like ours. I’m a better person for having had her in my life. And I think to myself, I’ll always keep my same cell number. Ya know, just in case she ever wants to reach out to me. I’ll still be here. And I want to get to that point. Like those friends you don’t see or talk to ever but then you do and you catch up a little and it makes you smile. That’s what I’d love to have one day.

headoncollision16
I had a rear tire blow out on the highway going 78mph. I lost complete control and crash HEAD ON into the center cement barrier. Luckily, I was okay and no one else was involved.

Just recently I experienced another unexpected blow. My baby sister unfriended me on Facebook. No blow up; no reasoning. She merely responded to my voicemail “I do not wish to speak to you. I need space from this family.” Enraged. Crushed. Perplexed. All of the above. I still am pretty clueless as to what is and has happened. She has been one of those that haven’t had the best outcome from Paul’s death. Not that there’s a great one but I’d say she hasn’t probably coped in the most healthy and effective manners. She, too, was by my side when Paul passed. She was stern and tight lipped. I knew what he meant to her. Our Papa was her everything. He was her idol and her beacon as to what a good man is. We lost him in 2009 and Jamie was understandably crushed. When Paul entered our lives in 2010, they were instant buddies. Paul had that way about him and he accepted her completely. She was his family. She looked up to him and they had a wonderful, quirky banter between them. It delighted my soul to see my sister happy and to love this man that I loved so dearly. I’d say my sister comes by many of her mannerisms quite honestly from our grandmother. She keeps it in and holds her head tall. She is unbelievably stubborn but has a heart of gold. I didn’t see her shed many tears for Paul; although, I knew that on the inside that she was shattered. In the midst of my grief, I was not able to be a big sister to her and to try to console her and encourage her to seek help and that the stuff you build inside eats at you until it finds its way out. She has said a couple times over the last year or so that I didn’t understand what she lost and while I did offer my ear to her, she never took me up on that. I have felt her pull away and I have given her her space thinking that she would find her way in time. And I was crushed on a recent sister date that I thought was going swimmingly, when she told me I was a shitty sister. Basically that I wasn’t there. I tried to explain to her that I was always there even if I wasn’t up her butt. My words didn’t hold much meaning with her and I sat there and listened as she expressed her discontent with our family. I tried to tell her what family meant to me and that her family loved her dearly but it fell on deaf ears. After I received the response from her that she didn’t want to speak to me, I reached out to her fiance. I pleaded with him to help my sister…to guide her…to help her find happiness. I was not accusatory. I felt like I was really at his mercy but I was not greeted with kindness in return as his reply was as follows:

 

You still don't get it after all this time. When Paul died he left very big shoes to be filled in everyone's lives. He didn't text once a week asking how are you, he texted saying come over or im coming to get you twice a week at least. When he said im here for you, he listened, he didn't put in his opinion or judge or say how it should have been done. When he said his door was open he made sure it was physically open when we got there. He never said maybe we should see a therapist. he never said she's not the same girl, he just learned how to love the new one. He never said she wasnt ok, he just showed up to lend a ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on. And he DEFINITELY never said this is not my sister. Im not saying your a terrible sister, but you have not even come close to what she lost when she lost Paul.Sorry to be so blunt but if you deny any of this just know, that's why you two aren't close anymore

I didn’t say anything; although, my first reaction was ‘SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH’. I held my tongue. I love her. I want the best for her. Even if it’s sitting on the sidelines until she tags me in. Saving my patience for when she comes back. I hope she comes back. I’ll still be here. And when that time comes, we will sit down and have a conversation about Paul. About what he meant to both of us. That his death is not some type of competition. His death is a reason to pull closer and not a reason to cause any type of rift between anyone; especially, not between us. It is never acceptable to use Paul’s death as a reason to shun me. His life is not one to put against mine. His integrity, actions, heart are not ones to place head to head and toe to toe next to my own. He was my partner. He was my husband. He was her brother. He was her friend. They are not to be compared. I have not made that abundantly clear to her in past times because I’ve walked on eggshells trying not to upset her. I have done her a disservice by allowing these actions/thoughts/behaviors to continue. This is a situation where I should have stood strong and voiced my thoughts even if it meant she got angry with me and cut me out of her life. Because now I see that she has done that regardless. Nevertheless, family is family. Our family is amazing. I have seen them pull through some difficult times together. I’ve seen us support each other. Cry with one another. Laugh with one another. I have faith in my family. I’m proud of my family. I’m confident that she will pull through whatever it is that she is going through and find her way back. We will be here when she does because THAT is the kind of family that we are.

What has been amazing to me since the loss of Paul is the reaction of others. You never really realize the impact that one life has on so very many until you lose them. I knew the very night that I lost him that many would be saddened by this, devastated even. What I didn’t realize was that history would be rewritten in the minds of some loved ones left behind, relationships would be destroyed and lives would be changed for the seemingly worse. It was naive of me to think that everyone would walk away with this realization that life is fucking short–that you should seize this day–that you should never let a loved one know anything contrary to how you  truly feel about them–to love more and hate less. Sure I know about grief–as a nurse, as a grandparent-less grandchild, as a widow–that it is personal and that it is different for each of us. I know that rationally. And this is the main reason that I have given slack and understanding to those who have given me less than love and empathy throughout my loss–when others looking in have said “what the fuck is wrong with them? How can they treat you this way?” I’ve tried my best to respond with kindness and understanding. I’ve tried to remain peaceful and of the right mind. To hope that they will move past this and find peace of their own. I have kept hope that time heals all wounds and surely when that occurs they will come back to me, we will embrace and all will be forgiven. That is what has been transpiring in my mind, the rational side. In my heart though, on the inside where all is raw–I’m a bundle of nerves. Constantly on high alert.  I constantly think 3-5 steps ahead. I’m conscientious of what I may say and how that may impact others. Just as with this blog. I started it on the premise that I would be honest and truthful. And I have been. But I’ve also filtered. Not because what I think and feel is wrong but because of how others might feel. Because of how it may impact them. Because maybe 5 years from now my former bff will change her mind and decide she loves me and wants to be in my life so I must guard what I say as to not hurt the chance of the slim possibility. I was describing how it feels to be on guard of a ‘what could be’ relationship to Lisa’s 16 year old. And as the words just fumbled out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. She was not confused by what I was trying to say though. She got it because she, too, unfortunately, battles with extreme anxiety. She very calmly and plainly said ‘that is hard. But sometimes, even though it’s hard, you have to just put yourself first. To do what’s best for you. And you know what? We will be there for you. Because we love you”. Wow, right? Wow. I love that kid. She is 100% right. And that is exactly what I am working on doing. Practicing what I preach

crazytrio emilylovesme

 

3yrRN
On the left: my FIRST day as an RN 2013 On the right: 2016

 

As always, guys: live for today. Love everyday. Hug those you love. And be sure to tell them exactly what they mean to you.

 

Boobies on the Mend: 3 Week Post Op & Reflection

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

3WeeksPostOp (1)

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!

3WeeksPostOp (3)

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.

3WeeksPostOp (5) 3WeeksPostOp (6)

Who’s That Girl In the Mirror? *Graphic Images*

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.

Batwing-less {One Week Post Op} *Graphic Images*

ArmProgress (2)

I had my one week post op follow up with my surgeon today. I discussed with him all of my concerns which included that my right nipple is slightly to the right and the underside is slightly red. He assured me that it will take weeks to heal and for the swelling to decrease but when it does all that will subside. He is very happy with my progress. Next week I see him again and he will be removing my surgical tape.

Healing status: my left nipple does not have much feeling. My right does. They are starting to actually look like nipples instead of weird cones. I still have numbness on the underside of both breasts. And the places with feeling alternate itching and pain. How obnoxious. As for my arms, they are mostly numb around the incision site. The source of the height of pain is at the axillary. No surprise there. Every bend of the arm I feel it. Ugh.

ArmProgress (1)
Can you believe this is just 1 week apart? I know it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around!!! I am just ecstatic about the results. I feel like a different person. A batwing-less person :)

ArmProgress (1)

The best part was that he let me put on my compression vest/bra in place of my ace wrap and hospital bra. It was amazing! It feels soooo much better. The pressure is even. It’s difficult to explain but it’s amazing. But it’s also hot. It’s satin and it doesn’t breathe as well as I’d like it to be.

Overall, I feel great about my surgery. I feel fat. And don’t even one of you discount that feeling. I’m bloated. First off, I gained 14 lbs from surgery. Then I didn’t use my nurse knowledge and add docusate to my mountain of daily meds until day 6 when I felt my belly and was like ‘ooo that’s not squishy skin’. Ugh. I won’t regal you with all the lovely details. (Although, I, of course, can have casual poo talk like most woman casually talk about jewelry.) I’m fairly certain I scarred Lisa’s daughter when we went to the store and I loaded up the cart with my plan for success. Anyways, I ended my seven days of constipation.

I still feel extremely bloated. My abdomen/belly is round and it’s usually just lumpy (from excess skin). I rationally know that when I get back to my regular activity level and shed this water weight that all will be well again. But since I’m thoroughly aware of my alter-ego— ya know that psychopathic weight obsessive irrational eternal fat girl—I asked Lisa to hide my scale so that I don’t torture myself. This has been a great thing for me. I feel bloated/fat but at least I don’t have to obsess over the number.

Running around today totally wore me out and when I got home I pretty much passed out for 2 hours unintentionally. I’m thankful to have one more day. Back to work Wednesday.

Lastly, I just wanna say a quick thank you to all of you that read my thoughts on here and all the amazing support that I have received. It’s truly overwhelming and wonderful.

Hope your day was great. If it wasn’t, make tomorrow one. :)

Post Op Day 5 **Graphic images**

These last few days have gone by quickly. I’m healing slowly. I’m thankful to have Lisa by my side. She’s like the best ‘tucker-inner’ ever. haha. She caters to my neuroses: picks up the messes through out the house (no matter how small), cups lined up the way I do, lights my candles throughout the house, hangs my laundry, knows how I like my coffee, knows all the veggies I like in my eggs, knows that even though I’m hot my feet never are, doesn’t  sugar coat things, just judge my anxiety-helps to calm me until it passes.

The majority of my pain in above my right breast where there’s a lump that I’ve been assured is not a hematoma and will resolve. The other is my armpit. It’s difficult to get comfortable. I’m retaining water like no other.

Also, I’m constipated. Shame on me, I know better. With being out of it the first couple days, I didn’t tell anyone about my probiotics so I was off those and I hadn’t added a stool softener. Yesterday, I was putting on real pants and realized my stomach wasn’t all squishy–it was distended and firm. And I counted…holy fuck 6 days. I’m literally full of shit. So I load up on bowel meds. I’m wicked bloated and uncomfortable.

PostOpDay5 (7)

On a positive note, I undressed myself solo today (lisa stood by to help). I was pleased to see that my nipples are starting to look like actual nipples instead of purple cones. I might have literally ‘eeked ‘.The left one is starting to shape nicely. I have no sensation in my left nipple but I do in my right, I’m a bit concerned about the right one that has so much pain. It’s slightly red, still has the lump and lightly warm to touch. I have been keeping up with my temp and I’ve been running a low grade fever but nothing to be concerned about. I have my post op appointment tomorrow so I’ll be discussing all of this tomorrow.

PostOpDay5 (1) - Copy
Still swollen. Right one is a bit off center and is red and tender. Nipples now have a bit of shape. The itching in my cleavage is way annoying!

On an emotional note, I looked at myself in the mirror and reflected. All my life I’ve wanted these boobs. I’ve always had sad boobs. Never was there a time where Paul disapproved of my boobs. He always thought I was gorgeous and sexy and he never wanted me to alter myself. And so I look in the mirror…over a 180lbs smaller; all types of piercings; another tattoo; short hair; lost my double chin; no glassess; small perky boobs; slender arms. And I think…I’m totally different. My dad had said the other day ‘geez Jessie. Had I passed you on the street…I wouldn’t have recognized you’. I can’t help but wonder, would it be the same way for Paul. But then I take a step back and I reflect on the man Paul was…’I want you to be happy, baby. I’ll do anything to make you happy.’ I can’t tell you how many times he said that to me. I love that man. And, man, I sure to miss him.

PostOpDay5 (3)
The upper bra area is already smooth which I am so pleased with. No bat wings!

Displaying 20160124_102056.jpgDisplaying 20160124_102056.jpgPostOpDay5 (6)

 

PostOpDay5 (2)
These incisions are by far the worst. You probably are having some empathetic pain for me but, really, the most pain is right in the crease of the arm pit. Thankfully, the majority of it is numb. I’ll have wicked scares but, man, my arms are normal size even with all of the swelling!

PostOpDay5 (4) PostOpDay5 (5)