truth Archives - Lessons in Love and Lyme

Warning: A non-numeric value encountered in /home/drjess/public_html/wp-content/themes/Builder-Brooke/lib/builder-core/lib/layout-engine/modules/class-layout-module.php on line 505

Lessons in Love and Lyme

Dr. Jess' Journal

Warning: A non-numeric value encountered in /home/drjess/public_html/wp-content/themes/Builder-Brooke/lib/builder-core/lib/layout-engine/modules/class-layout-module.php on line 505

Archive for truth

Happy Place

· No Comments

11143129_10205790184809948_8141759899949794556_n

I woke up this morning knowing that on the other side of my window was a winter wonderland in full effect. But, it is April 1st. And, a Saturday that I have to work. I am aching for flip flop weather. So, I went to my happy place- St. John USVI. I imagined sitting on the beach with my husband, as our son quietly built sandcastles nearby. To be honest, my happy place is any beach, any place, with my husband and son. But, today- STJ.

Ideally, my happy place would be right where I am. I suppose I am not that enlightened yet. And, that is okay…

I lean into you

The crook of our elbows fit together perfectly

I look over at you

Your eyes are closed

Your lips are pursed into a gentle smile

I take a deep breath before I let my breath join yours in unison

I press my feet deeper into the warmth

Raise my face toward the sun

And allow the soft whooshes to satisfy my soul.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Trailblazing

March 21, 2017

· No Comments

I wrote this poem to my husband in my dream last night. In the dream I wrote the poem between the lines of a book with a purple colored pencil (not sure of the color significance). When I awoke, I couldn’t get the poem out of my mind. It kept repeating in my head until I got up around 5 am and wrote it in my journal. After reading it to my husband, I have decided to share it…

Trailblazing

The leaves crackle under my feet

As I wrestle with the overgrowth

Making my way toward the spot of sun I see in the distance

I have scrapes and wounds to tend to

From broken brush and thorny vines

Oh, but that spot of sun

Pulls me toward her

Promising a clearing ahead

Where possibilities abound.

Will you walk with me?

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Do You Guru?

March 14, 2017

· No Comments

Do you think everyone needs a guru? I’m not talking about merely a teacher or an expert in a particular field. I’m speaking more along the lines of a spiritual guide- an inspirational source.

When speaking of the need for a guru, Ram Dass suggests that “Despair is the necessary prerequisite for the next degree of consciousness.”

Despair?! Well, I’d love to say that, ” I’m all set.” ” No need for a guru over here.” “This girl’s good.” ” Be on your way, now.” But, I would be lying.

Since childhood I have experienced physical and emotional traumas, addiction, and loss. But none of these experiences have brought me to my knees like Lyme Disease has.

Everyone who loves me is effected by this ( which I feel terrible about).

Lyme has held me upside down by the ankles, and shook me- stripping me of all my armor, all my ideas of who I am, all my well laid out future plans.

It has broken me emotionally, physically and financially.

I picture myself standing barefoot in the middle of deserted highway, with my pant pockets turned inside out, hands in the air, screaming- “WTF just happened?!” “Where am I ?” “Who am I?” “Where do I go from here?”

I picture myself standing barefoot in the middle of deserted highway, with my pant pockets turned inside out, hands in the air, screaming- “WTF just happened?!” “Where am I ?” “Who am I?” “Where do I go from here?”

I have always been a fighter. When I was about 5 years old, my father gave me my first boxing lesson in the backyard. After teaching me the proper way to make a fist (thumb on the outside-not the inside Jessica Lynne!), my father told me the best place to punch someone after you pinned them down was between the nose and the upper lip so you could get them bleeding in two spots with one punch. It was kind of a two birds, one stone approach to school yard fighting.

There are days where I really, REALLY want to punch Lyme in between the nose and upper lip. But, I know better these days.

Lyme is teaching me how to find my real inner strength. Not strength that comes from fists and anger. But rather, strength that comes from LOVE, presence and trust.

A strength that comes from remembering that a label, title, award, or occupation is not who I am.

Lyme is my GURU.

So, if despair is the necessary prerequisite for the next degree of consciousness- here I am with fist unfolded.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-

Happy Social Medium

November 4, 2016

· No Comments

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--Ppu2mdkzy0/VIINewAYGzI/AAAAAAAAFAE/GuxnMRK6smE/s1600/620-goldfish-small-bowl-claustrophobia.imgcache.rev1363017034520.jpg

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

· No Comments

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

· No Comments

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-

The Front Door

October 7, 2016

· No Comments

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-

Confession Time

September 30, 2016

· No Comments

Just a few days ago…

Are you kidding me? It’s 2:55 am and I am wide awake again; despite the recent increase in my Ambien prescription. It’s been days of this. I decide to get out of bed at 4:15 am, because somehow that feels like a socially acceptable time to crawl out of bed – if there is such a thing. I don’t know why I think this kind of shit. But, I do.

I go downstairs and begin to organize my herbal tea drawer. Herbal tea is my new obsession, since I’ve stopped drinking. I look at my nice, neat tea drawer (which is also home to Jackson’s snacks) with a sense of accomplishment and pride. I have a quick thought about how organizing one’s herbal tea drawer at 4:15 am may be old lady-like, boring, and a tad bit sad. But, this thought is fleeting; because that drawer looks good, dammit!

I turn on the coffee maker and start my usual morning routine, when the hot wave of nausea washes over me. This hasn’t happened in a few months. But, here we go again. I can feel my throat begin to contract and I run to the bathroom and violently vomit into the toilet. As last night’s undigested food escapes out my nose, I cry out, “I am SO DONE!”

My soul speak to me through my eyes. It says, “Jess, either fix this thing or let’s move on.”

I get up off the floor and go to the sink to wash up. I look at myself in the mirror. My skin is gray, my eyes are dark and desperate. My soul speak to me through my eyes. It says, “Jess, either fix this thing or let’s move on.” The words, ‘move on’ hold meaning for me. I have had days where I actually think I may die- that my heart will give out. I tell myself, “Today is the day you need to get it together and write down all the passwords to the accounts; get your affairs in order for Brian.”

I begin to wonder if I am somehow blocking my ability to heal from Lyme Disease. Perhaps somewhere in the deep confines of my subconscious, I feel I deserve this suffering- that I’m in Lyme purgatory for my perceived sins. And, this is where I will stay until I have earned the right to release my suffering.

Is sin, synonymous with doing anything to escape the darkness? Is years of addiction, self abuse, pushing people away, and keeping secrets considered sins?

I was raised Irish Catholic in a suburb of Boston. I had to attend CCD classes and regular Penance AKA Confession. All the children would have to line up down the center aisle of the church, awaiting a turn to be invited onto the altar to confess our most recent sins to the priest. A little side note: the priest we were confessing our sins to just so happened to be the same priest who was embezzling thousands of dollars from our church and would later be caught. How’s that for hypocrisy?

I would kneel at the pew, say the prayers as fast as I could, and presto – clean slate. “Thanks God!”

Anyways, back to CCD confession time. Each week I would stand in line searching my brain for a sin to confess and would turn up with nothing. So, I started a regular practice of going up and down the line asking the other kids to tell me their sins. I would then choose the sin I thought I could deliver best; and use that as my sin of the week. Sometimes it was, “I lied to my mother.” Other times it was, “I pinched my baby brother.” I would step up onto the altar and confess “my” sin to the priest. He would give me a random number of Hail Marys and Our Fathers to say. I would kneel at the pew, say the prayers as fast as I could, and presto – clean slate. “Thanks God!”

I felt separate, distant and in fear of God . I was told He was always watching and judging me; and that I must have done something each week that God would consider a sin. But no worries, just say a few memorized prayers and all is good- until next week, of course. The whole process seemed so wrong to me.

Nowadays, I know that God Is Love. And, LOVE is the opposite of FEAR. I no longer robotically spout off a prayer. But, rather speak to God- sometimes beg as I hang over the toilet. But, nevertheless – it’s a relationship based on love and grace.

Even though I am no longer a practicing Catholic; I continue to fall into fear based thought patterns and feelings of guilt. I feel like I need to be re-wired. I think that Lyme may be my electrician.

Intellectually I know that I need to forgive myself, and let go of the guilt. It’s holding that belief in my heart that is hardest for me. However, each time I hear my son belly laugh I am reminded that grace has already been bestowed upon me. All is well.

By the way – I never did get around to confessing to the priest that I lied at Confession each week. Perhaps I should say a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers for old times’ sake? Just kidding.

Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude,

Mother Mother Ocean

September 23, 2016

· No Comments

11027470_10206873093081978_1588521757999459195_o (1)

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

· 3 Comments

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-

Warning: count(): Parameter must be an array or an object that implements Countable in /home/drjess/public_html/wp-includes/class-wp-comment-query.php on line 405

Warning: A non-numeric value encountered in /home/drjess/public_html/wp-content/themes/Builder-Brooke/lib/builder-core/lib/layout-engine/modules/class-layout-module.php on line 505

Archive for truth

Happy Place

Trailblazing

Do You Guru?

Happy Social Medium

Sifting Hurt

Responsibility Road

The Front Door

Confession Time

Mother Mother Ocean

Complications and Courage

Subscribe!

About Me

Recent Posts

Recent Comments