Fearless Fridays Archives - Lessons in Love and Lyme

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Lessons in Love and Lyme

Dr. Jess' Journal

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Archive for Fearless Fridays

Happy Social Medium

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While having tea with a good friend yesterday, she told me she felt compelled to share a story with me that was told to her a few years back during a time of transition in her life. The story goes- there was a man who needed to clean his fish tank. It was a small tank with about 10-12 fish in it. He decided to fill up the bath tub and put the fish in there while he cleaned the tank. After scrubbing the tank clean, he returned to the bathroom to retrieve the fish from the tub expecting to see them all spread out, and happily swimming in the large tub. But, what he saw was the exact opposite. All the fish were clustered together in one end of the tub; just like when they are in their small fish tank.

The moral of the story – sometimes when we are presented with the opportunity to explore new ground, grow, or think big; we instead remain comfortable, fear deviating from our original plan, and think small. Why do we do this to ourselves? What are we so afraid of?

Perhaps this fear of expansion is being fed by our consistent judgement of ourselves and others? I ask, “What role does social media play in this loop of judgement?”

Of course I am human, dodos!

Since pulling back the veil, being truthful with myself and putting all my good, bad and ugly parts out there into the world via my blog/social media- I have found a deeper connection begin to form with various people in my life. I have been told by some, that I am more approachable, and seem more human. At first I took a bit of offense to these remarks. Of course I am human, dodos! But, when I got real with myself, I understood that they weren’t saying this to offend me. They were saying this to commend me. Keeping the world at arms length all my life hasn’t served me. In fact, it isolated me. I often felt alone, misunderstood, angry and sad.

A shift has occurred in me. It could have something to do with now being in my forties ( you know that whole wisdom thing starting). It could have something to do with my Lyme journey. It could be for a variety of reasons. What I do know, is that for the longest time I felt like I was 2 different people in 1 body. Since childhood I have been used to being a version of my self outside of the home. In the book Love Warrior, Glennon Doyle Melton describes it as, sending out your representative. For the last decade or so, one part of me was Professional Jess and the other was Personal Jess. I was fearful to mix the two. I also was super hesitant to start my blog and share my truth. I feared what patients and colleagues may think of me. Would they judge me as weak or lesser than?

“My personal self and professional self were at war. It was time to make peace between the two.”

I was recently watching Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday. She had DeVon Franklin on as a guest. DeVon said something that episode that made me go, “YES!” inside- “That is exactly how I feel!” He said something like, “My personal self and professional self were at war. It was time to make peace between the two.”

I am slowly but surely making peace between my two selves. I am spending much less time concerning myself with being judged by others. I am speaking from my heart more, and mind less. It feels good.

Many of us post on social media a very one dimensional view of our lives. Mostly, we post things that make our lives look perfect. Whereas, others post about every paper cut and eye twitch ( BTW you have probably been unfollowed by a few people). Either way, it isn’t the whole truth- which is fine. I just want to kindly remind everyone who is on social media, judging themselves through comparison, or judging others through comparison -that life isn’t all black and white. It’s a big beautiful grey mess my friends.

It would be nice if we could find a happy medium on social media- or what I like to call a Happy Social Medium. But, until then let’s all work on loving who we are; loving others for who they are, trusting the Universe, and making peace with what is. Go on- deviate from that plan, explore that huge tub of life, think big, don’t judge, leave your representative at home, speak your truth. And, as my husband always says, “Just do you.”

Hey JC: Hope I didn’t butcher the fish tank story too much!

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Sifting Hurt

October 28, 2016

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We enter her room. It’s dark and sad. She’s in her wheelchair, back to the door, watching CNN’s election coverage on closed caption. My first thought is, “Why is she watching this?” “Doesn’t she know there is a Bruins game on?” My parents met at a Bruins game back in the early 70’s. They never missed a game on TV.

I smile and gently say, “Hi Mom.” She looks at me with a blank stare, and an awkward smile. My heart dashes to my throat. I have seen that look before. My maternal grandmother had Alzheimer’s. I say to my son, “Jackson, do you want to say hello to Nana Leavey?” He sheepishly says, “Hi Nana Leavey.” Excitedly, my mother says, “Did you say Jackson?” “My grandson’s name is Jackson!” My husband shoots a concerned glance my way. I pull back the hood on my son’s raincoat, brush his hair to the side making his face more visible to her; and say, “Mom, this is your grandson, Jackson.” She is silent. I can see her mind searching to make sense of it all. Then she looks at my husband and says, “So are you Brian?”

I quickly turn the conversation to Jackson. “Jackson, why don’t you tell Nana what you are going to be for Halloween.” He obliges with delight. However, he wants Nana to guess what he is going to be for Halloween. He is 4 and everything is turned into a guessing game these days. He has her guessing his favorite color, animal, and drink, too. At this moment I am thankful for the guessing game- it allows me more time to think of the next thing I am going to say to keep the conversation alive, and the awkwardness at bay.

I can see the end of an era nearing.

As we are leaving, I wonder how much time she has left. I can see the end of an era nearing. My brothers and I no longer have any grandparents alive- we haven’t for years. Our Dad passed on 6 years ago; and our extended family on both sides are busy with their own families and haven’t reached out to any of us in years. I thank my lucky stars for my husband’s family. They have taken me in as one of their own and even invite my brothers for the holidays.

My feelings toward my mother have been mixed for a long time now. I am still having a hard time letting go of the hurt I felt after my son was born. Jackson was born 6 weeks early via emergency c-section while we were on vacation in Arizona ( for the full birth story see: Vortex Baby & Complications and Courage) . My mother never called us to check in and see how we were all doing. For over 2 weeks I sat around with a newborn preemie, waiting for my Mommy to call me like a wounded little girl -as I was figuring out how to do this whole Mommy thing myself.

And, in the end- all that’s left is LOVE.

On the ride home my husband breaks the heavy silence and says, ” After seeing your mom today, all my animosity toward her just melted away and now all I feel is empathy.”

I recently read the memoir, Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton. In the book Glennon mentions that the word crisis is derived from the word that means- to sift. She suggests ( I am paraphrasing here) that when dealing with a crisis, you sift through all the pain and hurt; and whatever is left over- is all that really matters.

I am still working on sifting the hurt. However, after this recent visit I can see more clearly that my sifting is coming to an end.

And, in the end- all that’s left is LOVE.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Responsibility Road

October 22, 2016

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I am standing in my socks with my feet firmly planted in the space she has cleared for me. I am holding about 20 colorful 8.5 X11 foam sheets in my hand. These sheets represent my responsibilities. Well, they represent my perceived responsibilities- both past and present.

I trapped myself in a multicolored spiral of responsibility and guilt.

I inhale deeply. And, as I exhale I am instructed to say the responsibility out loud as I place the sheet on the floor in front of me. Dishes. Laundry. Menu planning. Grocery shopping. Jackson’s school lunches. My family’s social calendar. My Lyme Disease. Returning all emails in a timely fashion. My patients. Whether our business succeeds or fails. The bills. My brothers’ well-being. Being a good mother. Being a good wife. Being a good neighbor. My father’s funeral arrangements. Not upsetting people. The list went on and on. I used every sheet, and probably could have used more if available. My therapist asked me to take a look at what I did with the sheets. I had encircled myself with them. I trapped myself in a multicolored spiral of responsibility and guilt.

She then asked me to step outside the circle and view the sheets from the outside. My heart began to race and I said, “What a mess. What a cluttered mess!”

Is it because I have lived on this street for 40 years and know it all too well?

I then re-entered the circle and my heart beat slowed. For some twisted reason I felt better in the eye of the storm. Why? Is it because I only have an 180 degree view from in here? Is it because I have lived on this street for 40 years and know it all too well? Sometimes there is comfort in the familiar even if it doesn’t serve you any longer.

I understand some of these are in fact, my responsibilities. I am a mother. I am a doctor. I actually find a certain level of joy when performing some of these responsibilities -like putting together my son’s lunch box for school. It truly is one of my favorite things to do in the morning. My primary Love Language is Acts of Service (tasks), after all. But, some of these responsibilities are not mine alone, or mine at all. And, some are just products of my unrealistic expectations of myself and the fear of displeasing people.

Who am I without my illness- my pain- my story?

I am a very visual person. Physically seeing all the sheets on the floor around me was eye opening. However, as I spoke about each one with my therapist, I continued to justify them all and hold on to them like they were a part of me- as if they defined me. Who am I if I am not putting everyone else ahead of me? Who am I if the dishes aren’t all done before I go to bed? Who am I without my illness- my pain- my story?

I feel tired and heavy. I am standing at a metaphorical fork in the road. The next step I take is critical to my well-being. I want to be faithful and grateful. But, I am scared.

I leave you with this…

Autobiography in 5 Short Chapters

By Portia Nelson

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost … I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place
but, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in … it’s a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Rape Guardian Angel

October 14, 2016

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I’ve had some buried memories of my college days come back to life this week in lieu of the Trump/Billy Bush conversation that came out; and all the recent media surrounding rape and campus culture.

I am hesitant to “get political” here. However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that the GOP candidate to be leader of the free world was caught on tape laughing about groping and kissing women without consent. The fact that he has dismissed this conversation as simply, locker room talk is worrisome at best; and brings a much bigger issue to light- the normalizing of rape culture and the idea that women are sexual objects.

So where do our ideas about sex, self-respect and love come from? Mine started at home.

My parents were total opposites. My mother was a goody two-shoes from the suburbs, voted most friendly her senior year of high school. My father was from the city, hanging on the corner with his boys, sporting the leather coat and pack of Winston cigarettes. They really were Sandra Dee and Danny from Grease.

I was a late bloomer. If my parents had it their way, I would have lived under a rock until I was 40. When I was 12 years old, I told my parents that kids were French kissing at recess. This statement freaked my parents out and they immediately sat me down at the kitchen table for the talk. The talk was mostly a fear based lecture with such statements as, ” God is always watching you.” “Men only want to marry good girls – virgins.” “Your mother was a virgin when we got married.” ” You only have sex when you are married and in love, Jessica.” “You are so smart Jessica! If you got pregnant- you would ruin your whole life . You are better than that.”

“So, that means Dad wasn’t a virgin when he married Mom, and that doesn’t seem to bother God?!”

STOP RIGHT THERE.

“So, that means Dad wasn’t a virgin when he married Mom, and that doesn’t seem to bother God?!” ” And, God is okay with guys having sex before marriage, but not girls?” And, “It doesn’t matter what a woman wants, it’s about what the man wants- a pure, virgin, just waiting around for the guy to sow his oats and decide she is marriage material?” “WTF?!” But, I didn’t say any of this.

I took my parents fear mongering tactics and double standard BS to heart. The Irish Catholic brainwashing in my house growing up was something fierce. The message I got consistently was, to be like my mother (Sandra Dee) and not be like my father. Problem was, I had identified with my father’s personality far more. And, as each year passed more and more of my connection with my true authentic self disappeared as I tried to fulfill everyone else’s ideas of who I was.

I always went for the bad boys (The Danny’s), hoping that they would deem me worthy, fall in love with me and wait until marriage. I never did get the bad boy to fall in love with me. My inability to be intimate came across as cold. And, as one boyfriend told me, ” I don’t know how else to say it to you, Jess. There is just something unlovable about you.” So I remained a virgin until the embarrassing age of 26. And, in case you are wondering- my first didn’t love me either. But, he was hot, kind, understanding and didn’t think I was a weirdo. So-done!

Jamie jumped on top of me, and pinned my arms down. I screamed repeatedly for him to get off of me.

My Freshman year of college I was hanging out in one of the dorm rooms with some other residents after a night of drinking. We were all laughing, and listening to music. This guy, Jamie was sitting on the couch next to me. He put his arm over my shoulders. I remember thinking that he was “okay”. I also thought it was no biggie, because there were a bunch of guys and girls hanging out in the room too. So, this was going nowhere. What I didn’t realize was that he and his roommate, Greg had a plan. That plan was to rush everyone else out of the room, shut off all the lights and lock me in the room with Jamie.

It happened so fast. It was pitch black in the room. Jamie jumped on top of me, and pinned my arms down. I screamed repeatedly for him to get off of me. I broke free, tripped over the coffee table fell flat on the floor, crawled quickly to the door and tried to locate the lock. I was scratching at the door yelling for someone to help me, to let me out. I could hear Greg and all the others on the other side of the door, laughing uncontrollably. Jamie grabbed me, pulled me away from the door and tried pushing me to the couch again.

Then, I heard someone yelling out in the hallway, “What the hell is going on? Open that door right now!” The door opened. The lights came on and in walked my Guardian Angel. His name was Mark Wheeler. He also lived in the same dorm. He was a big dude from Jersey who was on the football team. He grabbed my hand, walked me out into the hallway where the group started to scurry back to their own rooms- fearful of what Mark may do when he returned. He walked me back to my room, calmed me down, tucked me in to bed, and locked the door on his way out.

I never did find out what happened when Mark went back to Greg and Jamie’s room. But, the next day in the dining hall I came face to face with Jamie. He started shaking, and his milk fell right off his tray to the floor. The next semester I switched to a different dorm on the other side of campus that was more convenient for me after my winter break hip surgery. I never saw Jamie again.

I just buried it down, deep inside me and was appreciative that I didn’t lose my virginity by rape.

What’s most upsetting to me is- my story is far from uncommon! This happens all the time. I was one of the lucky ones, right? I didn’t get raped that night. I also never went to the authorities about it. I just buried it down, deep inside me and was appreciative that I didn’t lose my virginity by rape. But, that isn’t good enough. Our society needs some serious healing. We need to let go of our ludicrous double standards. We need to teach our young girls and boys, self-respect, self- love and empathy. We need to hold sexual assaulters accountable for their actions and words, regardless of socioeconomic class, athletic abilities, or celebrity status.

College senior Syra Ortiz-Blanes, who is the events chair of Penn V-Day and a co-founder of the We Are Watching campaign, said it perfectly when discussing Trump’s “locker room banter”, “If people cannot see why his words were dangerous, then they are either blind to his misogyny or share it — and in either case, they are complicit in rape culture,” she said.

I am sick to my stomach just thinking this man could be the President of the United States. That this man could be considered a “role model” for all our children- for my son.

We need more men with positive, loving messages who speak up against such lewd and deplorable behavior toward women; like Trevor Noah, John Oliver, and Joe Biden all did this week. We need more Mark Wheeler’s in this world.

Because it is through inaction and silence that we condone.

I want to send out a very special Thank You to Mark Wheeler- wherever you are. Twenty three years ago you saved me. I am forever grateful. You are an angel.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude.

The Front Door

October 7, 2016

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Sometimes I imagine taking the front door from my childhood home off its hinges and setting it ablaze. That door is where my childhood came to an end. That door is where my father stood as he hollered up the street to me, “No B’s Jessica Lynne! Only A’s!” – as I frantically ran for the school bus. That door is where my mother bore holes with her eyes, as she sat seething on the couch devouring a bag of chips waiting for my father to return home late and/or drunk- again. That door is where we were prepped by our parents before leaving the home, ” What happens in this house, stays in this house.”

I am the oldest and only girl in my family. I grew up in a small 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom ranch. Anytime the shit hit the fan, there was nowhere to hide. Whether you liked it or not- you were in the thick of it too. I learned to be a light sleeper at a young age. I was always on high alert. I also learned at a young age that you cannot reason with a drunk person. Unfortunately, my mother never did learn that lesson (or was so consumed with her own agenda); and continued to angrily wait for my dad to return home at night, so she could rip into him.

So, needless to say- she woke me and my 2 brothers up on many nights. On those nights, I would sneak into the bedroom my brothers shared, put them both in the same bed, snuggle one brother up under my right arm pit and the other up under my left arm pit, and rock them gently in an attempt to muffle the battle noises and get them back to sleep. Once the fight fizzled out, I would tuck my brothers back into their beds and return to my room. Some nights my baby brother wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, and would come crawling into bed with me. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that all 3 of us deal with varying levels of insomnia to this day.

I went to the front door; opened it, and there stood my father- shirtless, in a sling, bruised and crying.

When I was 11, my father was assigned to the night shift at the phone company. In the early morning hours I heard a banging at the front door. I looked out my bedroom window and saw a cab parked in front of the house. I went to the front door; opened it, and there stood my father- shirtless, in a sling, bruised and crying. I helped him in; hugged him as he sobbed and then went to wake my mother.

The story goes, that my father was feeling ill and left work at about midnight. As he was driving home on the highway, another car forced him into the Jersey barriers and left him on the side of the road. It was assumed the other driver was under the influence. He was able to climb out the car window and crawl to the other side of the road. A nurse returning home from her shift at Boston City Hospital saw him lying on the side of the road and was able to get him to the closest hospital. My father took a cab home that night. The car was totaled.

My father was out of work for quite some time following the accident. The disagreements between him and my mother only escalated; because now prescription pain pills had been added to the mix. My parents had always been firm believers in family loyalty. This primarily meant- do not under any circumstances, air your dirty laundry! They would never turn to a friend or extended family member to vent or ask for help. So, my mother turned to me. She would come to me crying and venting her frustrations. She began expecting more adult-like responsibilities from me. I sort of became Mom #2, and child zero.

Not everything is all bad. Light can always be found.

Having Lyme Disease has taught me about life’s beautiful contrasts. Not everything is all bad. Light can always be found. Over the years, my brothers and I have had (and still have) some very trying times in our relationships with each other. But, when times get tough, I remember the 3 of us sitting on that bed together- and know that we have a bond that may bend. But, can never be broken.

And, I suppose I will leave that front door on its hinges. Because, that door is also where I would jump up and down in utter delight at the sight of my Papa making his way up our walkway ( I LOVED my Papa). That door is where the boy picking me up for my first date knocked. That door is where my father walked into our home -sober after his first AA meeting and began his recovery.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Mother Mother Ocean

September 23, 2016

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09/09/2016- Dennisport, MA/Cape Cod

My husband, Brian took our son, Jackson to a local playground to give him some time to run and climb after 2 1/2 days of being housebound due to Tropical Storm Hermine. Both post concussive syndrome and Lyme brain has made it very difficult for me to tolerate a lot of noise. I don’t do well filtering. I become clumsy, irritable and unfocused.

Our son is a very creative type. He can play for hours with anything! He played with an empty raisin box for an hour on the ride home from Boston the other day! And, I swear he thinks his life is a musical. He turns everything into a song. It’s so adorable. However, recently he has been incessantly talking. My husband thinks perhaps he lacks an internal dialogue- because everything, and I mean everything comes right out of his mouth. Sometimes my husband and I will say, “Jackson, honey-Mommy and Daddy need just 5 minutes of quiet time please.” And he will respond, ” Quiet? You want me to be quiet? I can be quiet, lalalalala……” He truly cannot help himself. Now, for those of you who know me personally- I am sure you have decided this is just karma biting me in the butt! I may have been told I am a bit chatty (wink wink).

When I look at him, I am looking in a mirror.

For a few weeks now, Jackson and I have been like oil and water together. He’s been indecisive, angry, frustrated, and scattered. I understand that some of this is being a 4 year old. However, he has been directing most of this frustration toward me- not my husband. I’m no fool. I know children are our mirrors. When I look at him, I am looking in a mirror. My husband tells me that he is concerned about how the two of us have been interacting recently; and that we have some healing to do. He is totally right.

So, to say the least- after almost 3 days housebound in our little cottage rental, I was about to lose it. Luckily, I have an amazing husband who can recognize that place right before I hit my boiling point (you may recall the hairy eyeball from an earlier post, Watermelon Patience) and play interference for me. Brian suggested I take some quiet time for myself while they went to the park; maybe go sit at the beach for some alone time before my brother, Danny came to visit us for the day.

For some reason I find it uncomfortable to take quiet time for myself. I think of a million other things (AKA distractions from my mind chatter) I could be doing- like dishes, laundry, writing my blog, prepping dinner for my husband ( he’s the chef in our home), etc. But, today I took my husband’s advice without feeling guilty -which is a huge step for me; and I walked to the beach with my chair and book in tow.

I am currently reading, A Pirate Looks At Fifty by Jimmy Buffett. If you have read the About Me section of my blog, then you know I secretly want to be Jimmy Buffett. I absolutely adore his music, sense of adventure, and how he unabashedly follows his passions. He inspires me. This seemed like the perfect book to bring to the beach. I got all settled in-toes in the sand, chair facing the ocean, and book open. I got about two pages in from where I left off the night before, and realized that I am now reading about Jimmy’s father and his struggle with Alzheimer’s Disease; before his passing. Immediately, tears roll down my face; and I can no longer read the text.

My relationship with my mother has been strained, sad, and disappointing for many many years.

This is a hot topic for me, for a few reasons. First, my maternal grandmother- Nana Morris died from Alzheimer’s when I was in graduate school. Taking care of a loved one with Alzheimer’s can be a huge strain on any family. It is an extremely sad process for all involved. Second, my mother has Multiple Sclerosis. She is wheelchair bound, has nerve deafness, is in the beginning stages of dementia, and living in a specialized MS home in Boston. My relationship with my mother has been strained, sad, and disappointing for many many years. Now that she has dementia, I have been faced with the harsh reality that I have a very limited amount of time to mend our relationship, to practice true forgiveness, and let go of the hurt before she has completely gone within herself. Finally, my dad passed a few years ago. Anytime I read or hear about someone’s father passing; I end up crying. In fact, I still cannot talk about my dad for too long before I start doing that awkward cry talk. It’s this terrible sound that comes from the back of my throat as I choke down tears while still trying to speak. I loved him so much. I had such a connection with him.

So, I put down the book, wipe away my tears, throw on my sunglasses, and just lean back into the beach chair as I breathe in the saltwater air and stare out into the vast ocean. I ask God for guidance. I ask to be more like water. I feel like God answers me through the ocean waves as they break on the shore. They carry messages of healing, hope, and forgiveness before they rejoin the ocean.

Just like the waves- I break. And, just like the waves- I can return to that which I am.

I now understand I am part of something bigger. I am not alone. I am enough. And, my son is my greatest teacher. In order to heal my relationship with my son, I must forgive my mother first.

A few moments later I am joined by my family on the beach. I am so in love with my husband and son. And, in this moment I have a knowing that everything is going to be alright. I have a knowing that so much is about to change in my life.

I send out a silent thank you to the ocean…

“Thank you, Mother Mother Ocean for all your wisdom and love.”

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Complications and Courage

September 2, 2016

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This is a continuation from my last post, Vortex Baby.

There was no time for a stretcher. The nurses escorted me quickly down the hall to the OR. Brian was sitting in scrubs on a bench outside the OR, looking extremely pale. I have never seen him look like that (not even on our wedding day). Apparently, one of the nurses was concerned he may pass out, and sat with him while they administered my anesthesia.

I sat on the OR table as the anesthesiologist continued to prick my leg, asking- “Can you feel that?” “Yes!”, I answered. “Are we going to have enough time for this to kick in before I have this baby?!” I got a real sense they weren’t too sure of that answer.

They eventually laid me back on the table, strapped my arms down, put the curtain up at my waist, and let Brian in. The doctor put on some Rusted Root and Jack Johnson for me to listen to; and started the c-section. I had already started to birth my baby vaginally- which made the c-section quite complicated. As the doctor pulled him back up, my broad ligament snapped and blood came up over the curtain and hit me in the face. My poor husband- still extremely pale, gently wiped the blood from my forehead. I could feel the tension and panic in the room. I did my best to breathe; and continued to pray to both my father and God, to help us all through this.

I could feel that my baby was no longer in me. But, where was the newborn cry?

I could feel that my baby was no longer in me. But, where was the newborn cry? The room was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Brian stayed by my side as we both held our breath waiting to hear our child’s first breath. We couldn’t see anything from behind the curtain. The doctor and nurses had brought our baby to another part of the room. I still am not sure what happened; or how they got him breathing. But, they did! As soon as we heard him let out a little cry, we both let out a huge sigh of relief. I asked Brian to please leave my side and go to our baby.

Jackson Walter Caruso was born at 34 weeks, 6 days at 5:37PM on May 31, 2012- weighing 4lbs, 5oz and was 18 1/2 inches long.

I had really wanted to have some skin to skin time with Jackson right away. But, he was bruised all over, and his left arm was in a sling. They felt it was best I didn’t see him like that right away. So, they had him wrapped snug in a blanket when they brought him over to me.

I well up just thinking about what a courageous soul my son is.

This kid just went through hell. Yet, he looked so peaceful as he lay quietly on my chest. This moment perfectly foreshadows my son’s demeanor. Not only did Jackson spend the next few days in the NICU with IVs and tubes; he would also end up needing surgery at 9 months of age. He handled all of this with such grace. I well up just thinking about what a courageous soul my son is.

So much happened over the next week:

I kept needing to hide from nurses in the maternity ward who were pushing me to take pain meds; even after I explained that I had a history of pain med addiction.
Our car rental company threatened to have Brian arrested if he didn’t bring the car back on the day it was due. We were 3 hours north of the airport where we rented it; submitted a doctor’s note and asked them to charge our credit card for an additional week. They refused. Luckily, the police never came for Brian.
I missed my baby shower. I heard the food was delicious and that my sister in-law did a fabulous job decorating!
We had to learn prior to discharge, how to monitor our baby’s O2 saturation rate without the help of the monitor. In other words, how to tell when he was about to stop breathing.
I learned how to perform the PT necessary for Jackson’s left arm that was injured in-utero.
We shopped for a baby carrier, nursing tanks, preemie diapers and more for our trip from Phoenix to Manchester (which turned out to be a 12 hour travel day).
We had to re-arrange our flight home ( United Airlines was amazing).
We stayed in a hotel overnight by the airport with Jackson sleeping in the car bed between us.
I had to use a hand-held breast pump in an airport bathroom stall several times (horrific experience).
We had to re-book all of our patients with our maternity coverage doctor.
And finally, figure out how in the hell we were going to survive, financially. We just had a premature baby via emergency c-section, on the other side of the country; with a 7 day NICU stay for baby, 4 day stay for me, and NO HEALTH INSURANCE. Yup, that wasn’t scheduled to start until mid June.

Our entire life savings was wiped out.

Our entire life savings was wiped out. Plus, we had to pay someone else to do my job for the next few months. It was terrifying.

We finally arrived in the Manchester Regional Airport a little after midnight. As we descended the escalator to baggage claim, I saw my in-laws standing there with smiles on their faces. They had gotten our car out of the short term parking garage and were there to bring us all home. I have so much love for the two of them. I seriously lucked out in the in-law department.

The next year was a real doozy. Brian had to go back to work a day after we returned home; Jackson ended up having a severe case of colic and reflux; breast feeding was disastrous and we needed to put Jackson on a formula that costed about $400 a month.

In order to make ends meet I returned to work after 8 weeks maternity leave. We couldn’t find a nanny who was comfortable with taking care of a preemie in the beginning. So, I wore Jackson in the Ergo baby carrier as I adjusted. We were so lucky to have very kind and understanding patients.

That first year was one of the most challenging and scary times Brian and I ever experienced. However, with a deep love for each other and for our child; and a knowing in our hearts that everything was going to be alright as long as we had Team Caruso, we persevered.

We had been told by our doctor and midwife that because of the complications of my first birth, we should wait 18 months to get pregnant again. I was diagnosed and began treatment for late stage Lyme Disease when Jackson was 17 months old. He is now 4 . I am now 41. And, I am tired; and a bit defeated if I am being honest.

Every time he asks me if he can have a brother or sister, my heart breaks a little.

Every time he asks me if he can have a brother or sister, my heart breaks a little. So, I stare at the empty bassinet, and infant car seat, and baby swing, and preemie car bed and piles of vacuum-packed baby clothes; and try to forgive myself – to forgive myself for still being sick. I intellectually get that accepting where I am on my journey is a big part of my healing process. It’s getting it in my heart that seems to be the problem. I guess I am just scared to let go of that original idea of how things were suppose to be. And, the funny thing is, I love our family dynamic. We have a really good thing here.

Perhaps, I need a little of Jackson’s courage.

P.S. A huge Thank You to the amazing team of doctors and nurses in both the OR and Special Care Nursery at Flagstaff Medical Center, AZ. You are forever in our hearts.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Watermelon Patience

August 19, 2016

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My Dad died of a heart attack very unexpectedly, six years ago. He was 61. He had a form of Muscular Dystrophy called McArdle’s Disease.

My father worked a labor intensive job as a cable equipment installer for the phone company for 40 years. He chose to retire early to take care of my mom who has Multiple Sclerosis. ( Yes, marrying into a good gene pool was a must for me!)

Growing up, I recall him being in constant pain. He worked long, hard hours to provide for our family. He was a very loving and thoughtful man. But, patient he was not. As a child I couldn’t understand how sometimes he could be so silly and carefree. Yet, other days he was sleeping a lot, angry and impatient. When he was at the end of his rope he would give you a look that we now refer to as- the hairy eyeball.

Nowadays, I have a deeper understanding of his struggle. It’s so challenging to be patient, tolerant and calm when you are suffering with chronic pain. There are some days when you are too spent to deal with anything more than just getting through your day.

“Ahh shit, I just gave my kid the hairy eyeball!“

Just the other day I had hit my threshold with my son. He recently turned 4 and is having a difficult transition with the move from Preschool into Pre-K . So, there has been a lot of regression and acting out behavior at home that I am not used to. As I clenched my teeth to insure I didn’t say something I would regret; my face tightened up and my son said- “Mom! Don’t look at me like that!”. “Ahh shit, I just gave my kid the hairy eyeball!“

I have read many parenting books over the last few years out of sheer fear that I will somehow screw my kid up. When everyone in your family has been in therapy at one point in time, I like to think this fear seems pretty valid.

I read in one of these books ( I honestly cannot remember which one) that comparing your patience to the size of different fruits can help your child understand what your patience level is, at that moment.

These days I feel my patience is the size of a pea. These days I loose my cool and immediately experience guilt, shame and hopelessness. I imagine this is how my Dad often felt.

Being in constant pain, losing your cool, feeling guilty for losing your cool, and ashamed for not handling your pain better, is such an emotional roller coaster ride.

I want off this ride.

The other night, my son asked me when he, my husband and I were going to die.

The other night, my son asked me when he, my husband and I were going to die. I told him that I intend for Team Caruso to be together for a very long time. He then asked me why my Daddy died so young. I went with the easy for a 4 year old to comprehend answer- “Oh honey he had a disease that affected his heart. Papa Leavey worked really hard all his life. His heart couldn’t take it any longer. He is closer to God now; and his soul is at peace.” While this answer is the truth- it’s not the whole truth.

He also carried a heavy weight of guilt, shame, anger, sadness and loss. He was a very proud, loyal, selfless and private man who didn’t complain about anything. Out of an overwhelming amount of respect and love for him- I have chosen to not share specifics in this post. But, his time on this earth was certainly challenging right until the end.

I am so grateful to be Walter’s daughter. Everyone loved Walter.

I am a firm believer that we make soul contracts. I believe we chose our family and that certain pain gets passed on through the generations. Not necessarily physical pain. But, definitely some form of suffering. I have two younger brothers, both of whom do not have children. Since I am the only one with a child, I feel it’s my duty to heal this generational suffering and let it end with me.

Lyme disease has given me the opportunity to look inward. To be kinder to myself; to forgive myself when my patience is the size of a pea; and to heal my physical, spiritual and emotional wounds.

This isn’t just about me. It’s much bigger than that. This is about my family and generations to come.

This isn’t just about me. It’s much bigger than that. This is about my family and generations to come.

So, I ask for help….

Dear God/Universe/Source,

This generational suffering ends with me. Please help my patience grow. I promise to water it every day with love, appreciation, forgiveness and presence. Let this pea-sized patience grow into a big juicy watermelon.

I thank you in advance for your cooperation and handling of this matter.

One Love,

Jess

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Fly Butterfly

August 12, 2016

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I am at war, and losing the battle.

Perhaps, fighting isn’t the answer.

For close to 3 years I have been under several different treatment protocols to kill the Lyme-causing spirochetes that invaded my body many years ago.

Sometimes on my way home from work, while driving a long stretch of highway, I will chant my little Lyme mantra-” I beat, I beat, I beat the spirochetes.” I am fully aware of how corny this sounds. But, I am willing to try anything. I thought perhaps in addition to all the antibiotics and supplements I am taking, a little mind over matter may work by hitting those spirochetes hard with my words.

Since sharing my Lyme diagnosis, I have had many well-meaning people suggest different things I should try for treatment. They have either read about a specific treatment somewhere, have a loved one who benefited from a certain treatment, or even they themselves “beat” Lyme with a certain protocol.

The thing I have learned about my late stage Lyme, is that it isn’t so much about the spirochetes, as it is about me. Maybe, the spirochetes aren’t the enemy after all.

The thing I have learned about my late stage Lyme, is that it isn’t so much about the spirochetes, as it is about me. Maybe, the spirochetes aren’t the enemy after all. Maybe, this obstacle is actually an opportunity- an opportunity for the emotional and spiritual healing my soul so desperately needs.

I do believe that the heavy antibiotic, herbal and supplement protocol I have been doing are necessary and supportive to my healing. But, still – something is missing.

I have met many people over the years that tested positive for Lyme; took a 30 day antibiotic protocol, and are just fine. I have also met many people with a story similar to mine. I know that early diagnosis and treatment is important. Despite that, why do some of us struggle with chronic Lyme symptoms -and for others, Lyme is just a blip?

My therapist suggested I read an article by author Laura Bruno, called Healing Lyme Disease. The author is a medical intuitive who suffered a traumatic brain injury and was married to a man with Lyme Disease. Her book, If I Only Had a Brain Injury: A Survivor and Life Coach’s Guide To Chronic Fatigue, Concussion, Lyme Disease, Migraine, or Other “Medical Mystery”, is an excellent read by the way.

I had a total shift in awareness regarding my illness after reading this article.

The author suggested that there are some common denominators among those with chronic Lyme;

The author suggested that there are some common denominators among those with chronic Lyme; such as “The biggest common denominator seems to be that Lyme arrives when some anger has gone unexpressed and when self-love does not match the degree of love and blessings these folks spread into the world.”

Yea, I can get behind that. For as long as I can remember, I have been carrying this heavy weight of anger, sadness, judgement, control, perfectionism, and fear of letting go.

Deepak Chopra says, “Once one is unbounded and free, healing can begin.” I know releasing my deep-seated idea of how life is suppose to be and just trusting that all is well,could be so freeing. So, why don’t I just LET IT GO? (Queue Frozen’s theme song here)

Lyme has really kicked my ass. But, instead of being at war with it, I need to be at peace with myself.

On my way to work today I looked to my right as I was changing lanes on the highway; and noticed a small black and yellow butterfly holding on to my passenger side window for dear life. Out loud I said,”Aww buddy, you just got to let go and trust that you will be alright.” As the words left my mouth I let out a little humph as I smirked- appreciating the hypocrisy here.

Fifteen minutes later he was still there! I snapped a photo of him on my phone as best I could while driving. As soon as I was done taking the photo, he let go as if to say, ” Good. You got it? Now fly, Jess.”

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

I Just Wanna Dance

August 5, 2016

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My cousins are NOT impressed with my Michael Jackson moves. I danced anyway.

Do you remember the last time you truly felt a consistent connection to your authentic self? I know many of us have moments- mere glimpses of our true self. In today’s fast-paced, high-tech, keep up with the Jones’ world it seems almost impossible to tap into that authentic being.

There are many experts (like monks) that state that it is only in silence and stillness that one can get to that space. Well, I don’t know about you, but I have a 4 year old child – and silence and stillness happens in one place and one place only. No, it’s not while I am in the shower. And it’s definitely not while I am on the toilet. It’s when I am sleeping. Well, even that gets interrupted! So when?!

Right now I am calling “bullshit” on the silence/stillness only theory. Not to say that being silent and still doesn’t work. I am sure it does.

But, maybe that inner connection can also come when we are feeling inspired, passionate, on purpose, or simply by doing something we just love to do with reckless abandon.

Through much reflection and writing I can say with certainty that the last time I felt consistent connection with my internal guide, was when I was a small child. A particular memory comes to mind.

Through much reflection and writing I can say with certainty that the last time I felt consistent connection with my internal guide, was when I was a small child. A particular memory comes to mind.

I was a very energetic, free-spirited 3 year old. I was what you would call a “mover and shaker”.

To harness some of this energy, my mother enrolled me in dance class. I was so excited! On my first day, I wore a light pink leotard, white tights and pink dance slippers. I was ready to get down!

As I entered the studio there were several classes going on at the same time. There was one group practicing their plié squats at the barre; another doing pirouettes across the floor; and another group sitting on a mat singing songs and doing patty cake.

As my mother walked me over to where my age group was, I quickly realized I wouldn’t be joining the girls at the barre or doing pirouettes across the dance floor. I was about to join the patty cake group. ” Oh hell’s no!” My mother kissed me goodbye and left me sitting with a bunch of 3 year old girls singing “Baby Face”. You know how it goes- Baby face, you’ve got the cutest little baby face. There’s not another who can take your place. ..

I was stuck in patty cake hell. I had enough. I stood up and told my teacher ” This is not dancing!”

I gave this a go for a few minutes thinking that perhaps this was just the teacher’s way to warm us up and get used to following instruction. Nope. I was stuck in patty cake hell. I had enough. I stood up and told my teacher ” This is not dancing!” I then proceeded to pirouette across the dance floor toward the barre where I practiced my squats with the older girls.

My teacher retrieved me from the barre and brought me back to my group on the mat. A few more minutes passed before I sneaked off to join the older girls who were dancing. After an hour of this exchange, class ended and my mother came to pick me up. The teacher informed her of my shenanigans.

As we drove home, both feeling disappointed about how “dance” class went, my mother suggested we go to Hanson’s to pick out a tutu for dance class. A tutu?! I never had a tutu before!

A few days later we went to the store. They had a little room where all the tutus were hung high out of the reach of little hands. I picked out the perfect purple tutu. Then my mother dropped the bribe bomb. “Okay Jessica, you can get this tutu if your teacher tells me you behaved in class.”

Now, I could describe what happened during the next two classes I attended; but I am pretty sure you can imagine how those went down. When my mother returned to pick me up after my third class, my teacher met her at the front door holding my hand with a very visible pulsating vein in her forehead. They quietly exchanged words in the corner. I was given the boot! I never did get that tutu. And to this day, that is still one of my proudest moments.

My mother was obviously upset on the ride home. She said, “Jessica Lynne, why couldn’t you just do what you were told like the other kids?” “You cannot take another dance class until you are old enough to follow the rules.” I cried, “But, Mama I just wanna dance!”

So that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t need lessons to dance! So I danced everywhere; even in my roller skates. And let me tell you, I could do a mean moonwalk in my roller skates! Dancing just felt right to me. I felt so happy and in the moment dancing.

I even have had the awesome opportunity to be the chiropractor for the So You Think You Can Dance and Dancing With The Stars tours.

I did eventually return to dance lessons at the age of eleven; and continued to take classes throughout high school. I was an assistant dance instructor at my studio for two years; and was accepted into college as a theater/dance major. I was awarded a small scholarship for a dance routine I choreographed my senior year of high school that covered the cost of all my books freshman year of college. I even have had the awesome opportunity to be the chiropractor for the So You Think You Can Dance and Dancing With The Stars tours.

Unfortunately, the summer before my senior year of high school I sustained a severe avulsion fracture of my right heel that required a bone graft surgery 18 months later. Because I was on crutches periodically for close to two years, I had to drop my theater/dance major. This would be yet another, in a series of Universal nudges toward my future in Chiropractic.

Nowadays, I have 4 year old son who was labeled a “mover and shaker” by his teacher on his very first day of daycare a couple years ago. Just today, we were in the kitchen listening to Bob Marley as our cookies baked in the oven and he just started grooving out. Watching him spontaneously break out dancing is so dear to me, because I know he is so in tune with his authentic self.

I am beyond grateful for these moments. Because these are the moments where my son teaches me to remember. And through remembering and rediscovering- I heal.

I am beyond grateful for these moments. Because these are the moments where my son teaches me to remember. And through remembering and rediscovering- I heal.

So, I know you are probably just dying to know about the picture attached to this post. It is me at the age of 8 at a family party doing my best Michael Jackson moves while my cousins and brother looked on. You can tell by their faces that they were not very amused.

But I was.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

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Archive for Fearless Fridays

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Sifting Hurt

Responsibility Road

Rape Guardian Angel

The Front Door

Mother Mother Ocean

Complications and Courage

Watermelon Patience

Fly Butterfly

I Just Wanna Dance

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