The Aftershock

November.

It's a word that used to mean cold weather and football. Turkey with gravy and boots.

Now it means darkness and gray. It means every time I write the date on a paper or make my agenda at work I am reminded. Reminded of that month last year and what it brought. The havoc it wreaked on my life and my spirit.

It is funny how the past year has played out. In fact, just reviewing my blog posts I have seen my transitions. Shock. Disbelief. Acceptance. Sadness. Courage. Bouts of recovery. More bumps in the road. More shock. Fear. Compulsion and delusion. Flashes of hope but mostly a numb march through my days.

And now I'm on the eve of November. For most of this summer and early fall I had convinced myself that I could somehow skip over November. Hell I thought I could just skip over all of the holiday season. But as the days become colder and the days shorter it's hitting home that November will come and I will have to FEEL every second of it. There isn't a distraction large enough to wipe away what November will bring.

And to make matters worse, I have been feeling a new "phase" in this process: something I call The Aftershock. For so long I was focused on making it to the "next step." In some cases it was going back to work or seeing friends for the first time after it all happened, in others it was making it through a surgery or a doctor's appointment.

Now all of that is over. The circle has come back around and there is no "next step," to focus on conquering. Now there is just... nothing. Nothing but me, my thoughts and ...November. My normal self would be thinking of ways to distract myself from this horrifying month but I am not my normal self. And I can't find Steelheart- she must be on vacation.

Instead of feeling relief that all the "hoops" have been jumped through, I am left feeling deflated and defeated. I feel almost worse-off now than I did in the couple months following November last year. The irony is not lost on me that I am having some kind of delayed response to it all. Sure, the earthquake that was November 8, 2012 wreaked epic destruction on my life, but the aftershock, the second wave, is hitting right about now. And on my Richter scale, this one's not far off from the original.

Perhaps it is because I thought that all the medical "hoops" I had to jump through would somehow wipe away the hurt in my heart. But last time I checked, no one took a scalpel or stitches and operated on my broken heart. It's not something you can fix with an operation or some R&R. It's a full blown War on Grief and you either man up or die trying.

Every time I think of November approaching I think of the old Wyclef (or was it the Fugees?) song "Gone til November." For some reason the tune to that song is in some way comforting. Except if I could change it, I would change the lyrics to "Gone through November." I'd like to just skip right over it. Take a calendar and snip that month right off.

But I can't. Because although the original earthquake was a full year ago, the aftershock is no joke. And I feel it shaking in my heart.

Breathe, Shake, Let It Go

Yes, I quoted Mase in my title. He may have been a corrupt hip hop artist turned preacher but the words make sense.

You see, since June, when I was given some relieving news, news that allowed me to decompress, to stop worrying, at least temporarily, I also was able to breathe again for the first time in a long time. If we're being honest, I breathed again since this time last summer, before I got pregnant with an ill-fated pregnancy and before my life became out of my own control. Since mid-June of this year I have slowly allowed myself to take deep breaths and relax a little.

Since then I have "pang" moments. Moments when I am somehow reminded of the pain I endured or moments where I allow myself to perseverate briefly. And then there are the moments where someone else gets good news that I am not eligible for and I have to swallow the "pang" of hurt and smile for them. Eventually, I do feel genuine happiness for them but first, before I can get there, I have to work through how their news reminds me of what I've lost and how I have suffered.

When that happens I take such solace now in the good things in my life that I have learned to revel in- my little house, my peaceful evenings with the pups, my job, although stressful is also such a blessing that keeps me connected to the word and makes me feel needed and purposeful. The fact that I have nothing keeping me from enjoying this amazing city on a summer night with my husband- taking in restaurant week and going to the dog park. All of these things bring me true happiness and I use them to battle the "pangs."

And you know what? I have allowed myself to absorb all those good things lately. During the last 6 months I knew that those good things were there but I was so blinded by my pain and fear that I could not truly enjoy them. Now I can. And I do. I don't pretend to, I really actually truly do. I am starting to let go of the fear that if I allow myself to enjoy something, it will somehow come back and bite me. That if I allow myself to be happy, I am not doing service to my loss and my grief. I have realized that it isn't fair to expect myself to waste my life wallowing in my pain. It forever changed me but that doesn't mean I can't still enjoy life's blessings where I can.

There is one other thing that I think made a huge difference in my ability to "shake it off." In one disgusted moment, I deleted my facebook account. I was so sick of constantly comparing myself to others and having Internet access to a parade of "my life is perfect" was hurting me. I also became disenchanted with how people do not post their truths on facebook. I know I am not the only one going through life's port-o-pot, but facebook sure made it seem like it. Everywhere I turned people were salving their wounds by posting pictures of their perfect houses or their perfect bodies or perfect relationships or announcing major milestones, etc. I drank that kool-aid for far too long until it started tasting spoiled. Honestly, I needed to detox myself from the endless stream of fakery and once I did, it was so refreshing!

No longer was I constantly exposing myself to endless self-promotion that ultimately played into my own insecurities. It was as if I had shined a light on one of the monsters in my closet and scared it away. I felt...lighter. My life was so much simpler. I took pictures because I WANTED THE PICTURE not because it would be a "good post" on facebook. I started to see myself in a true way, not  how I would appear on some one's newsfeed. I started to see friends not as an online profile but as a genuine person. Most importantly, I stopped comparing myself to the impossible perfection of what people were posting on facebook. Cue the breathing and the relaxing and the happiness.

If you have even the slightest inkling of simplifying your life, I recommend getting off "fake book." It truly helps.

Needless to say, eliminating facebook and simplifying how I interacted in the world was just one thing that helped me start to breathe again. I am sure that the good news from June also helped me along as well. But I think I had finished a lot of my processing and grieving and was just...ready to live again.

Last week my husband and I went to dinner during restaurant week and on our way out of the restaurant we saw some friends. I happily greeted them and remember thinking how I was genuinely happy in that moment- it was a beautiful night, we ran into good company, and I had just eaten a great meal. I then had a fleeting moment of panic- I wonder if they are thinking about what happened to me? Are they thinking I am acting too happy for what happened? Will anyone ever think of me normally again or will I forever wear the mark of what happened everywhere I go? I am still defined by what happened?...

Immediately my moment of happiness was once again threatened by what happened in November. But then, in the words of Mase, I decided to "breathe, shake, let it go." Who cares if I wear a scarlet letter because I am now the poster girl for miscarriage? I am "shaking it off." I am "letting it go." I am "simplifying." I am becoming...better. So if all they see when they look at me is my failures and my shortcomings, that's fine. Because I am starting to NOT see them anymore. And that's all that matters.

Breathe. Shake. Let it go. Wise words on my path to recovery. All thanks to Mase and Puff Daddy. Fitting;)

Some Pics...Just Cause

Today I just want to post pictures. Because I can and because I am finally feeling...better. More like myself. Less "stuck." I am moving forward. So, let's celebrate, with some randoms pics I want to share...

Benny the one-eyed wonder:)

Obligatory puppy relaxing shot

Snoop copies....

Sign from my favorite place in the world...KEY WEST

This is how I spent my Easter this year...not too shabby. 

THIS is so Key West. 

Our catch on our fishing trip in the Keys. The biggest fish was mine!

"Pelis"

View from Ft. Zachary Taylor State Park in Key West

Is that...my God...is that a ...PECKING HEN?!?!?!

View from 7 Mile Bridge

You Can. You Will.

In the past, when I have had heart to hearts with friends, we have discussed horrible situations we have heard that people are in, and I have heard my friends say, "I can't even imagine. I don't think I could survive something that devastating. I don't know how they are dealing with it."

It is said with such heartfelt empathy and good intentions. In the past I have nodded and agreed. "I know, I think I would just give up. They are so strong, I don't know if I could ever be that strong."

But then everything happened in this past year, and I WAS that strong. Yes, I may have whined and cried and said socially awkward and inappropriate things because I had to externalize my pain and confusion, but I made it. I got out of bed everyday and I faced a world that, in my heart, hurt me constantly. I took care of a body that betrayed me at every turn. I put a smile on a face that did not want to do it.

Basically I WAS that person that people everywhere were saying "I can't even imagine what she's going through. I wonder how strong I could be in that situation?" Well, I am here to tell you, you would make it too. Even though it seems unfathomable, you would wake up each day and walk through the world just the same as I did, even if you think you wouldn't, you would. Because you have no choice. Because you don't know what else to do. Because wallowing in your pain feels worse than functioning. Functioning means distraction and distraction means whole minutes of your life that you can get back.

And while you are walking you will grow. You will surprise yourself. You will change. In my case I surprised myself with my ability to harden my heart while simultaneously allowing myself to be vulnerable. Opening myself up to "whatever comes next" instead of controlling it. I had always craved control and here was a situation that I could not control, as much as I tried. That was perhaps the hardest part of the whole thing. Letting go.

Those of you reading this who have also faced a life challenge can relate. You never would have thought you could survive whatever you went through, but you did. It wasn't perfect and you messed up along the way, but here you stand. Better. Stronger. Smarter.

So, my message to all those people out there, who are in the middle of that conversation, where your heart hurts for someone going through something tough, and you truly fear the moment when you will be tested similarly, worrying that you aren't strong enough or you fear your own pain, is that you CAN and you WILL.

Again, it's not going to be fun. It will hurt. It will stretch you farther than you ever thought you would go. But you will make it.

Along the way you will see things you never saw before. Inside yourself and in others. You will learn who you can count on and see around you people that will avoid you because they are scared of your pain. People will say things to you that they think are the right thing and they are not. It will hurt. Yes, you will answer, it could be worse. But no, that doesn't make it better. Step in my shoes, you will say- but wish they never do. There will be a piece of yourself that wishes they knew pain too, even if it isn't the same pain as yours. Just so they understand when you are not yourself- or when you don't show up to events. And you will be ashamed that you wish they understood, then you will forgive yourself. Misery loves company and you wouldn't be human if you didn't allow a piece of yourself to crave that.

You will forgive those people who want to avoid acknowledging your pain because you know they think it could be contagious. They could "catch it." And, after all, they are still wondering if they are strong enough to weather your kind of storm. Or maybe they are scared of you...scared to push you to return to normalcy before you are "ready." But mostly, they are afraid they'll get your germs. You know that. You accept it.

You lean harder on the people who love you enough to "expose" themselves to your pain. They will try to fix it. They won't be able to and you both know that. You will love them more for trying.

You will start to say "why me" but finish with "It happened to me." You will have conversations with God and the Universe that leave you exhausted and frustrated. Then those conversations will start to make sense and you will accept the hand that God or the Universe dealt you. Healing will start.

Your relationships will be strained. You will work hard not to allow the cracks that have formed in them to get bigger. Outside situations will test that. You will get angry that others affected by your "tragedy" are not "feeling it" the way you do. You will learn to let that go because you will see it affecting them in different ways.

You will feel a punch in the gut every time you are reminded of whatever it is that happened. It will hurt. You will harden yourself so you feel them less. You will start to build armor for the punches. It will hurt less each time.

The healing is still happening- it is just masked in the mundane.

And as time goes on, you take a step back and realize you are surviving it. The thing or things that you thought you weren't strong enough to survive- you DID. You still are. You carry them with you in your heart. Those things never go away. You will always feel the punches. You will never go back to life the way you knew it before. But you have adjusted. You have changed. You are breathing.

So, to those of you who are wondering if you, too could survive, I am here to tell you that you CAN. You will carry a heavier load as you walk, but continuing to walk, you will.

Benjamin

Introducing Benjamin- our little rescue. Helping with the hole in my heart and putting holes in shoes...

The Hope Drug

Hope. It's a very powerful thing. And one that I have had a love/hate relationship with over this past year. In the past hope was something ever-present. Something that waited beneath the surface and could be summoned at will.

After this past year I relegated hope to a different place- a deep, dark, tucked-away place. Because it was dangerous. This past year hope has been a drug with a deadly hangover. Hope was something that I  welcomed like an old friend but later banished like the deceiver it turned out to be. Hope was lethal and highly potent.

In recent months hope brought with it an aftertaste of grief, or fear, of anxiety. With hope came disappointment and heartbreak.

So now, as it surfaces again, I am wary of it.

Recently I received news that was, dare I say it, hopeful. With each word muttered another piece of that old friend hope began to sneak back into my heart, even as I resisted. Even now, as I acknowledge it's presence, I am hesitant and scared. Will it come back to bite me in the end? To allow myself to partake in the elixir of hope? Will I ultimately hate myself for it, regret it, beat myself up for "not learning my lesson?"

I don't know. But it's there...I can't deny that I have at least allowed it to sneak a ray of sunshine back into my heart. The iron door is cracked just a little and instead of straining to shut it immediately I am letting it hang open just the slightest...

Allowing myself to have some hope is like standing on a big cliff. A cliff I know well and have fallen off of before. Like a kid whose mother has repeatedly warned them to back away from that cliff, that it's too dangerous, it's too tempting. I want to see what's below, even for one fleeting instance. To remember what it's like to see possibility again. So I tempt the cliff like that mischievous child, even if I know I can fall.

If I fall I can heal the broken bones later. And I will curse myself for standing near the hope cliff once again, leaving myself vulnerable to the fall. But for now, just to look over and see the possibilities below is a temptation I cannot resist.

I had forgotten what a powerful drug hope can be. If it turns out that it was a bad trip, I can, in the words of a former President, tell myself "I didn't inhale."

A Quote About Life While Grieving

From "Edgar Sawtelle" by David Wroblewski

"Just when normal life felt almost possible- when the world held some kind of order, meaning, even loveliness... Some small thing would go awry and the veil of optimism was torn away, the barren world revealed. They learned somehow, to wait those times out. There was no cure, no answer, no reparation." 

We'll take our raise now...

I will spare you the cliched rant from a disgruntled teacher. But it's true when they say we "don't get no respect." [Insert Rodney Dangerfiled clip here].

But I could write for hours on how we are underpaid and overworked. How we are expected to raise other people's children. How schools have become a dumping ground for negligent parents- a glorified daycare, if you will. How we are expected to teach kids who think they don't have to DO anything. But I digress... it would be a waste of my time and energy to write about all this.

What the real shame is that those of us who are brave enough to work in underprivileged schools- the ones who are storming the educational beaches of Normandy- truly the ones on the front lines, are also the teachers who never get the perks of Teacher Appreciation Week. You see, all across America, in affluent communities, teachers are getting gifts, are getting spoiled, are getting appreciated. They work in schools where parents will send their kids to school with elaborate gift baskets, notes, cards filled with love, even gift cards to fancy spas or retreats. All in the name of National Teacher Appreciation Week.

Yeah...not happening everywhere. For those teachers brave enough- or care enough- to work in a school in an underprivileged community- we are getting....nothing. Teacher Appreciation Week isn't even a blip on the radar. We still do our job, every day, under harder conditions and dealing with kids who are bringing in more "baggage" and we are doing it because we care. We are not receiving expensive gifts or sweet cards. Our gift is that we are truly making a difference (although it doesn't feel like it some days.) But we are, in the long run.

I know this because I was surprised this morning with an email from a former student. In my rush to get to work and get things going this morning, even I, the teacher, had forgotten it was Teacher Appreciation Week. And you know what, after reading what she wrote to me, I didn't care that I wasn't receiving gift cards to get hour-long massages and pedicures from my students. Because what I do each day is worth more than that and can only be expressed in moments like below:

My email read:
"Tomorrow which is probably today when you open it is the first day of teacher appreciation week. Since it is teacher appreciation week I couldn't allow your inbox to be empty of appreciation. I am filled with appreciation for you, you saved my life you changed life. I am forever in debt to you forever and I know the best possible way to repay you is to pay it forward so I do. I greatly  appreciate you and I am here today stronger than ever because of you. You have No idea how much pain I was in when I came to you all the fear inside me but you put me at ease. You told me "Let the pieces fall where they may" and worry about myself and I held that advice all throughout my recovery and treatment. I nearly killed myself I was in a dark place and I was so far gone ending it seemed to be the only answer. That day shoveled out the first big heap of gravel that was covering the light from coming into my tunnel. And in that day I saw the first gorgeous rays of sunlight on the other side past all that was in my way. You were a light in my dark world your class a safe haven and your compassion the thing that got me through. Thank you so much for being there for saving my life. Only a teacher could have done this teachers are a special kind of person that can connect with children and change lives. Thank you so much enjoy your week and keep on keeping on! Keep shining your light and being a role model :)"

So, yeah. You can keep the fancy gift baskets and the chocolate covered strawberries. I have just what I need in moments like that. 

Teaching may have it's downfalls, and it sure could pay more...but sometimes I am reminded that in my line of work, I change lives. And sometimes, even save them. I am right where I am supposed to be and I am not going anywhere. 

I've Got You Now

For those of you that don't know, I am a huge "Glee" fan. Corny, but true. Inside of me, locked deep deep away, is a secret musical theater geek. And if we're being honest, it's more than just musical theater, it's all things performance. I think starting the Marley Middle School Drama Club 3 years ago was the first time I had let this side of me slip out since high school. Watching Glee faithfully, however, has let this side of me resurface in ways I hadn't expected. Usually I secretly savor in the shameless outbursts of song and dance in the show as I secretly wish life was like a Glee episode. Sometimes I even cry as a song or a scene touches a heart string and I wonder why this show has such a huge effect on me.

In a recent episode, I figured it out. The character Santana, takes a ballet class for the first time in a long time in an attempt to reconnect with the part of herself that is an "artist." She admits to having "lost" that part of herself for quite some time. Immediately, I was entranced. Did someone write this episode for me? After all, I spent my entire childhood dancing, singing, performing, and acting and one day it all just stopped. Lacrosse took over. Being cool took over. I mindlessly let the part of me that had brought me so much joy go. Overnight I had replaced her with practice and running and militaristic training for a goal that wasn't even mine. Where had that little performer gone?

In Santana's dance class, a "dream sequence" began, as it so often does on Glee, much to my chagrin, and she sees a tiny little ballerina in the corner. As you can guess, that Ballerina is supposed to be Santana's younger self. Her "artist" self. She walks over to the child and the child says something along the lines of "you forgot about me." At which point I start to bawl uncontrollably on the couch. Santana then embraces her younger self and says something like "never again. I've got you now." More tears.

I related. Perhaps a little too much. My late high school and college years were so focused on pleasing others, a coach, my Dad, the image that the world had of me, that I forgot all about the part of me that truly made me, "me." That little girl who took such joy in performing had been abandoned in my attempt to fit the mold that the world had created for me. I had known this all along throughout my adult life and had verbalized it often. "If I could go back and change one thing..." had often been the sentence starter when I began to reflect on my negligence of that important piece of myself. Yet, I did nothing to change it. I continued to walk down a path that the world had set for me instead of the one that was in my heart.

When Santana admitted to losing that piece of herself I watched and inwardly admitted the same thing. Something had been missing for so long and I just couldn't admit that it was my fault. In my attempt to please others I had stopped pleasing myself. I had stopped doing the things that truly resonated in my heart and therefore, forgotten the little girl who was so in touch with herself. In my attempt to be a "good daughter" and a "good wife" and a "good teacher" I had stopped being good to ME.

Perhaps someone upstairs had been aware of this all along because just last night, a door opened. In the door I could see that little girl standing there, just like Santana saw her "younger self" in that dance studio. I got an offer to reconnect with that little girl again. She was standing on the other side of that door with her hand out to me. I may have forgotten about her but she hadn't forgotten about me. In that moment I was scared to walk towards her but I knew that she wouldn't be ignored anymore. So I took her hand.

In the literal sense this offer may not come to anything in the "real world." But what it will do is remind me that I have neglected myself. I have neglected such an integral part of myself for so long and I have suffered because of it. The MMS Drama Club was my conscience way of awakening the "performer" in my students- a way I had described as "living vicariously through them." But last night, and today, when I watched the Glee episode, I realized I had been living too much through them. Was I dead? Who said that just because I hadn't connected with my inner performer in so long that she wasn't in there anymore? Why live vicariously through others when I can still live through myself?

It is time to stop living to fit a mold...stifling the person that has lain dormant for so long. Perhaps the things in my life that have been denied to me recently were meant to happen so I can reconnect with who I really am and honor the person I have neglected for so long. Perhaps it's time to stop sending my energy into a template that I don't squeeze into at this time in my life and let myself fall easily into the one that I do.

Last night I smiled genuinely for the first time in about a year. It was because I had received an invite from that little girl I had abandoned so long ago. And just like Santana said as she embraced that little Ballerina, I accepted the invitation and said, "I've got you now."

Steel-Heart

I have always been one of those people who wears their heart on their sleeve. Hiding emotions has never been my strong point. You can always tell when I am upset. Until recently.

These past twelve months have changed me. I can honestly say I am not the person I was a year ago. I used to need to talk about everything. Find meaning in everything. I had expectations for what I thought life would serve me. Now? Not so much. Now I know what it means to be broken. What it means to be disappointed and gutted and beaten up. I know pain. I know the feeling of wishing for something so hard it hurts only to find out it won't happen. I know how to cry. I know how to yell and thrash and grieve. My story is unique but I am not alone. There are a lot of people who know those feelings too- they have been disappointed by life and have hurt and seen pain. I realize that it is part of life now.

What I didn't anticipate was how it would change me. To say the least I have taken my heart off my sleeve. When I did so I did it on a day I didn't even anticipate I would do it. Yes, I have had news recently that sent shock waves through my system. And I reacted like the old me at first. Crying, talking the whole thing through, running through scenario after scenario trying to control it. Letting life be consumed by it.

But then I woke up one day and felt numb. That heart that had always had such a starring role on my sleeve was now quiet. When I looked down at it I was shocked to see that it was suddenly covered in steel.

Perhaps I had reached my breaking point. Subconsciously I had realized I was in system self-destruct and my mind had covered my heart in a hard shell overnight in defense. It felt good. For once I felt strong. I felt impervious to myself and my worries. I walked harder. I spoke louder. I felt a different person take over to take care of me. I liked her. She was functional and rational. She stifled pain and rode it out like some bad cough syrup you have to take to get a good night's sleep. Swallowed it down even though it tasted sour and bitter the whole way. Overnight a different person had taken over inside me. I shifted into some sort of auto-pilot, except this auto pilot was a foreign being. I had never met her before. Had she been there all along? Watching and waiting for the almost-tipping-point to take the wheel of my senses?

At first, she scared me a little. Was this just some sort of delirium I would wake up from and suddenly be a blubbering, anxiety-ridden mess all over again? But I let her do her thing for a while. She seemed to be sticking around. Three days turned into a week. A week into two... two is almost a month.

I remember praying when I felt like I had hit a wall that I needed someone to help me. Never had I needed a "substitute Bethany" to step in more and fill in for me more than I did almost a month ago. And a couple days later, when it felt like I was going to lose all control of myself- there she was. The one with the steel heart. She's angry. She's fearless. And she ran out of shits to give a looonnnnggg time ago.

If she were a Native American maybe that'd be her name- Girl with the Steel Heart. Or even better, it could be the name of some novel or even a corny memoir. But it's true. Bethany Blubber-girl with her heart on her sleeve suddenly woke up and her heart was no longer operating- someone or something had covered it in non-corrosive metal.

For now, it works. For now it's nice not to feel. It's nice to walk down the street and know that nothing can hurt me. You can't break me anymore- I am already in pieces. It adds an element of fearlessness to my life. Hate me? Good. Don't care. Disappointing news? Ha! I'm used to it!

Of course I know it can always get worse. And yes, there are things that could happen that would hurt ten times worse than what I am currently dealing with. But I must say, you don't worry about fire when your house has already burned down. And not to worry, for me, it's a freaking relief.

So for the time being I am going to let Steel-Heart ride this wave out for me. If it turns out that my heart is forever covered then so be it. But if life hands me a key to unlock it eventually, I will gladly accept. For now though, don't look on my sleeve anymore to find out how I am. My new substitute self is too busy walking harder and speaking louder to show it.

"Catastrophic Thinking" is Going to Kill my Marathon Time

Let me begin by saying that NO, I am not running a marathon in the literal sense. Those that know me know that I am allergic to long distance running. But I am facing a challenge equally if not more daunting.

Okay so how to be socially tactful about this... How to communicate the news I got without actually revealing too much...

Well, I got some VERY disheartening news the other day in the form of test results. Disheartening is probably not a proper word to describe the news...I got news that basically said my plans for my future will range from somewhat challenging to perhaps impossible. That's a big range but that's where I'm at. Potential surgeries, treatments, the whole works.

I am trying to be lighthearted in my description or you, as the reader, would think I was throwing myself a pity party. Well, I have been but I won't do it here. The fact is this news warrants a good pity party, a complete meltdown if you want the truth, but at this point my whole point of writing this is to express my pure confusion and panic in this situation.

Once again I find myself in a situation where there is no script. By now, you've probably determined that I have a big issue with that. Not just a big issue, a complete complex. If there's no "script" to follow, I start to resemble a dancing circus bear- rotating on a podium in a tutu repeatedly. Wait, what?...
What I mean is, I start to ruminate and fixate on my issues, having no real direction, until I have "flow-mapped" every possible scenario in a fruitless attempt to control it.

And at this point I am still in the tutu. No matter how many flow-map scenarios I come up with I am still left in such an ambiguous and scary situation. I am so uncomfortable with the "unknown" that it makes my already dire situation that much worse. And all my hypothetical analysis has led me to what my friend (hey Louisa) termed "Catastrophic Thinking."

Defined, "catastrophic thinking" is where you take a situation and immediately revert to the "worst case scenario" and determine that it is already in the works. It is the most pessimistic, negative thinking a person can do, and I have been in the thick of it for 3 days. I have already prepared myself for the "let's face it it could happen" result of me being a childless, divorced cat lady living in a card board box down by the river. My only solace is that I would still have my kindle- I can't survive without my kindle.

And like I said, it could happen. But there are other things that could happen too- a comet could hit the earth and destroy Baltimore. I could contract SARS and have to be quarantined in a government hospital. The government could outlaw Outback cheese fries- they're that good. And while all of these situations are examples of inane and ridiculous, or rather, unlikely, situations, my predicament is indeed "bad enough" to warrant ridiculous thinking. What I mean is, my "worst-case scenario" has a better chance of happening than those above.

I used this when trying to defend my ruminations and pity-parties. I was then told that I was making the "in-between" period that much worse by negative thoughts. That I was acting like they were already written in the books, when they weren't. That although, yes, I have had horrible luck so far, it didn't mean for sure it would continue....
Touche...

I am basically at a point where I need to re-train my brain away from the "worst-case scenario." I guess I feel like if I prepare myself for the worst, it won't hurt as much if it happens. There is a part of me that sees value to that. However, I then realize that when the worst-case scenarios did happen in my life, they hurt just as bad. No amount of preparation can ease the pain of life's punches. Building a bunker in my basement full of "end-of-the-world" supplies would not ease the disappointment that the world actually ended, so what was I doing?

I see the error of my ways but it doesn't make it any easier to stop myself when I allow my mind to torture me. I have to remind myself that it isn't often that a person gets news of this nature and that I am warranted worry and grief. I just need to be aware of the damage I am doing to my psyche and my spirit while I wait for events to unfold.

Many people say to "trust God" that things will work out as they are supposed to. And I am trying. It is harder when God's plans don't fall in my "flow map." And I know I shouldn't expect them to. God knows I have heard of many people" having it harder" than I currently do. But heartache is heartache, no matter the circumstances.

I need to prepare my heart for a long haul and build myself up to be ready for what will unfold. It is hard when you think you have reached the last mile of the race and realize you have many, many more still to run. The times when all the stereotypical coaches out there would tell me to "dig deep." Never has that advice meant more. I will have to dig very deeply here. My legs and lungs may be tired from the race so far but if I plan to cross the finish line I need to dig deeper to find my wind to make it. And while I do that I have to realize that the catastrophic thinking I tend to do is only hindering my stride.

At this point I just have to hope that instead of 25 more miles to go in this marathon, I only have a couple more...I can't think of the finish line until I see it. In the meantime I just need to focus on my breathing, my stride and making it that next quarter mile...

"Life Doesn't Care About Streaks"

Before the Superbowl I saw a special on ESPN about a Towson student (TU Represent!) who had multiple health issues throughout his life. After battling disease and heartache as a young man, he went to college and things started going well. He thought his "streak" of bad luck was over. Then his mother, who had raised him alone, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Still, he fought on in pursuit of happiness. An avid Ravens fan, he began to draw parallels between his life and the Ravens season. The Ravens had lost a couple big games in a row...they were in a losing streak. Each week they faced the field again thinking it couldn't happen again, that a streak could break and they were "due for a win." This student wrote to Harbaugh, telling him that he shouldn't count on his "due." That "life doesn't care about streaks." That if they wanted to turn things around they had to do it themselves- they had to fight for their success and their wins. That in life, no one is owed anything.

I remember hearing his letter on ESPN and huge, heavy tears ran down my face as his words sunk in. Here was a person who has faced an entire life of hardship and was dealt another blow when he thought his "streak" was over. And yet, he still stood with his head high and faced life each day living the best life that he could.

For some reason, I felt like he was talking directly to me. And maybe Harbaugh thought he was talking directly to him...maybe the entire squad thought he was talking directly to their season, their losses, their successes. I would wager that most who listened to his words felt a cord struck within them. We all have had times where we have had "streaks" that have bowled us over and knocked us down repeatedly. His message is universal.

Life owes us nothing. We cannot count on life to dole hardship out "fairly." In times of crisis we often say "it's not fair," as if that somehow matters...as if there is someone, somewhere who is keeping a tally on who is "due" for their bad luck and who has already "served their time." Is this not foolish thinking? We are trained to believe that if we suffer a loss in one area of our lives that we are somehow exempt from bad luck elsewhere. But that simply isn't the case. Throughout history we have seen, time and time again, people who have been repeatedly persecuted, repeatedly challenged, repeatedly taxed.And yet, if life was "fair" they would never have had to face hardship again and again since they had already, in theory, gotten their "fair share" of adversity.

But that's the whole point. Life will hand out the lemons whether you decide to make lemonade or not. It is our outlook and our attitude that ultimately determines how we perceive those cards we are dealt. Finding meaning and lessons in our struggles can help, but ultimately happiness and satisfaction with the hand we are dealt all comes down to resiliency and perspective. Once we humble ourselves and realize that we aren't entitled to anything in this life, our struggles fall away and we begin to see the things we have been fortunate enough to blessed with. To realize we aren't owed anything, and that bad luck doesn't care how often it visits is like being given a gift. It helps humble us and makes us more grateful for the good luck we have had in some parts of our lives.

As I move forward from that horrible day in November and face Quinn's "due date" in April, which will now be a day of grief and pain, I sometimes catch myself thinking, "it could never happen again, that's just not fair." It is then that I stop and think about that Towson student who reminded me of the harsh reality that just because I suffered bad luck once does not mean it cannot happen again. It certainly could. And I then have to stop and think to myself, "life doesn't care about streaks."  I put on my brave face in those moments. I reach deep inside and appeal to the only Person who can control what life hands me, God. All I can do is hope that one of these times, it WON'T happen. That I will get my happy ending. But in the mean time I have to arm myself with strength and with faith, in case it does. I have to remind myself that this is a road I mostly walk alone. Sure, there are others out there who have seen the specific type of pain I have felt, but that they are few and far between- that more often, I will see others get their happy ending while I wait silently for mine. Because life isn't fair. And while I wait, I need to just make sure that I am doing my best to make lemonade from each and every lemon I am given.

The In-Between

It's been a while since I have written. I guess that's to be expected considering all I've been through. Basically I am currently finding myself in a state of "in-between." The time between the "ouch that really hurt" and the "oh I feel better." Because I can't say I feel better yet- not 100%. Perhaps I never will. But I suppose I am starting to heal. As test results roll in and my body begins to slowly recuperate from November, I can start to sit back and reflect on what's happened.

Did I ever think I would be here? Are you kidding me!?!?! No. Never would I have seen this as "my story." But it is. And I have to accept it. I have often wondered "why?" Actually "often" is an understatement. I ask myself "why" just about every second of every day. But I am slowly starting to answer it for myself. Why did it happen? Because for some reason out of my grasp, it was supposed to. Because when one door closes, another one opens. Because when you lay something at the feet of God, He responds with His plan. And it might not be in my power to know why I was never supposed to raise Quinn. I just wasn't.

At this point I am still dusting myself off. I am no longer on the ground with the wind knocked out of me, but I still have some dirt on my clothes from my fall and I am still trying to get back on my feet. And sometimes I can feel the wind get knocked out of me a little at a time, all over again. A confusing test result. A repeat surgery. The many people who post their baby happiness all over facebook, not realizing that there are people out there who have lost babies and cannot feel that joy. Because, yes, there's a part of me that's happy for those people but there's another part of me that wants to shake them and say, "do you know who you are hurting? do you know how much your post hurts?!?!?" (Besides the fact that NO ONE wants to see your bare baby bump on Facebook!!!- sorry, vent over).

The "in-between" time is the time I think I have done the most growing- the most soul searching. If I was fully recovered, what reason would I need to grow and try to reflect and be a better person? And if I continually wallowed in my pain and grief, where would I be? So, I guess I am comfortable here at this time. I take comfort in knowing that right now there's no pressure to make any moves...to make decisions or make sense of my life. I am just supposed to heal and take it slow...the pressure is off.

Another part of me hates the In-between time because I am that much farther from what I was trying to do to begin with- be a Mom, have a family. Give my husband a child. And each day in this In-Between time has different ups and downs...it's like a roller coaster. If the controller of the In-between time would just give me an Agenda so I knew where I was then I think it'd be easier...but instead I just have to ride all of these waves out.

But I am hopeful because I am starting to see the "exit" sign to the "I feel better" side. At least as better as I can possibly be after what's happened. I have to just trust that if it's meant to be, it will be.

And that's just....that.