Unexpected Trigger and (Upcoming) Birthday Blues

 

Dear Grandma,

If August had a theme, it would be a toss-up between #AllTheAudacity and #AllTheAwfulness. I know it may be weird for a pound sign on a telephone keypad to also symbolize key phrases (or tags) for people on Social Media to view. Hey, it's a changing of the times.

This was a hard month for my best friend Jazz ... mostly physically.

A harder time for me, emotionally.

On the afternoon of Thursday, August 8th, Jazz injured herself while at work. The Urgent Care doctor concluded that she suffered a left knee strain and was given crutches and instructions to R.I.C.E.

No, Grandma, not the kind you eat. It's an acronym for Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation.

In addition, it was recommended that she be placed on light duty for the following week until her follow-up appointment. When her follow-up appointment took place, she was moving somewhat well, so they recommended she wear a knee brace. The downside was that the knee brace kept slipping.

Fast forward to Sunday (August 18th).

I opted not to go to the gym that morning because of soreness from more than usual activity the week prior. Even though I had taken Tylenol, it failed to take the edge off. Grandma, you know that is all Tylenol does for me (in the realm of pain management).

Jazz was more mobile. We had even done some errands.

Sunday afternoon, Jazz complained about pain in her abdomen which was spreading.

I kid you not, the first thing I asked her was, "Do you think it's kidney stones?".

She did not think it was that ... she was leaning toward other causes.

As the day went on, my back pain intensified, so I caved in and took my prescription medication ... all that has the warning label to not drive. I called it a night pretty early.

I am not sure exactly what time, but it was probably before 8:00 because the sun had not set, Jazz told me she had to go to the hospital. The pain had gotten worse and was impacting her mobility. Since I was feeling the effects of the pain medication, the decision was made to call 9-1-1. Luckily, there wasn't a huge wait before they arrived, and the nearest hospital was five minutes from the house.

I texted her to give me a list of people to contact. I didn't think she would have the energy to reach out to others with the amount of pain she was in. I tried to stay coherent but kept drifting in and out of sleep.

Sure enough, the diagnosis was that Jazz had a kidney stone that was too big to pass on its own. However, the emergency room didn't keep her (although later, it was revealed that they should have ... more to come later). Instead, they gave her a script for pain medication (nothing to help the stone pass) and for her to make an appointment with urology to have the stone surgically removed by their office.

By the time Jazz met with the urologist, it was Wednesday. Jazz had been nauseated and vomiting since being released from the ER Sunday. The urologist studied the ER report and concluded that the ER would have to do the surgery.

She was admitted immediately.

During Jazz's second time in the ER, many things happened:

(1) The kidney stone was bigger than what was told to Jazz. Jazz was told that the kidney stone was between five and six millimeters. The CT scan revealed it was 8.6mm. Hence, Jazz was not even supposed to go home Sunday night/early Monday morning.

(2) The (Sunday) ER was supposed to prescribe medication to assist with the kidney stone passing but did not.

(3) The blood work revealed that Jazz had a kidney infection and a UTI.

(4) Jazz's glucose numbers plummeted.

(5) For most of Wednesday, Jazz was on a stretcher in a hallway (similar to how it was on Sunday) due to the ER being short of rooms. She was not placed in a room until visiting hours were over.

(6) The operating team was unable to get the kidney stone out in one shot ... the urethra being too small.

Grandma, it really leans into your overall anxiety about hospitals. It also reminded me of my own medical mishandling.

I carried on with life as best I could.

I continued to work (except for the 20th) because it muted my overall anxiety temporarily.

I contacted Jazz's family and work colleagues to provide updates.

As much as I wanted to get to the gym, I had to be on call in case something happened.

Some days blurred into each other. There were moments when I had to remind myself of which day it was.

Grandma, apart from Jazz, you were that person who would always say, "Everything is going to be alright."

Yet, Jazz was in the ER.

Sure, there were a handful of others I confided in, but none said the phrase that would give me some ease.

I was praised for my strength, dedication to the friendship, how well I cared for Gino, and how well I maintained the home.

Little did people know that emotionally, I was barely breathing.

I know they were just trying to give me comfort and appreciation. They did not realize those statements would provide none.

Grandma, on Wednesday night, I pressed the speed dial for your number before stopping myself. Yeah, the line was disconnected. Hearing that automated message conveyed made your loss fresh ... all over again.

I just needed to hear your voice.

I searched my voicemails to see if your voice was saved. Yet, I couldn't find one voice clip.

I spent part of the night crying. I had not wept with such fervor since I thought your heating pad was lost.

The time before that, it was before my trip to see you, because I knew innately it would be the last time.

It's not that I didn't know you had passed away. I was there. I saw you physically.

It was just for the first time, you felt dead.

"Passed over", "no longer here", "returned home" ... these are gentle ways of conveying the final state of one's physical form.

"Dead" is a sledgehammer. It knocks the wind out of you and rattles you to the core.

How can I find joy nearing the next year of life when you were one of the components of my joy?

When I looked forward to your calls ... when you would sing "Happy Birthday"? When you would send me cards, regardless of whether they were on time or not.

Grandma, it's a struggle. You would not want me to sit in this, but it's tough.

You and Grandpa were two of the people in my family who truly celebrated me. It's foolish and unrealistic of me to expect anyone to step in and continue the care you had for my heart (no one has since your passing), but there are those blips when I wish someone would.

I'm doing the best I can, and that's all I can do.

❤

Feeling One And The Same

 

Dear Grandma,

For a while, especially in these past three months, I started questioning which is the biggest challenge: moving through each day with the mask affixed or being in the moment and accepting that when grief (and the complexities therein) appears, to make space for being human.

I have had my share of challenges medically.

I sustained a strain near my right shoulder blade that required an urgent care visit and physical therapy. 

One of my bottom teeth cracked, and I had an infection. The tooth couldn't be saved, so they had to extract it. I opted for the bone graft due to the location of the missing tooth to get an implant early next year. Being on antibiotics twice and pain medication did no favors to my diabetes management. Neither did increasing perimenopausal symptoms or working through my grief.

After the breakdown in my communication with my endocrinologist, it has become obvious that he is unable to provide grace or compassionate care. Even as I'm researching to seek care elsewhere, the wall I'm hitting is that I don't meet the metrics (aka I'm not sick enough). Until I encounter an individual who cares less about the numbers and more about seeing me as a human being still battling my setbacks, I'll have to stay put for the time being.

I know that is disturbing because he's in the medical field where one should have those qualities toward their patients. It sucks that my optimistic view of humanity in the medical field is slowly dwindling.

I almost want to say, "These doctors don't know what they're talking about" (taking a line from your own book), and just do my own treatments. The profession is so overwhelmed that people are nothing but numbers and the doctors just want to get people in and out as soon as possible. 

I may dabble into doing just that.

All of this is just filler for what I really want to talk about.

I want to let you know that I understand now.

I understand the sadness in your eyes and the weight in your soul.  You hoped after Grandpa's passing that people would continue to show up for you like they showed up for him. It was sobering to discover that it wasn't the case, and this made Grandpa's passing more real. More unbearable. Brought home the loneliness.

Now that you and Grandpa are gone, I am experiencing these same emotions. The sadness upon reflection. The weight of the silence when the pain is great. The lack of reciprocity to check in with me, to see how I'm faring.

I didn't expect this from the extended family, but for those who always knew that you and Grandpa functioned as my parents ... if any of them wanted to step in to be that anchor or listening ear.

Perhaps they didn't want the responsibility.

Perhaps their own grief has consumed them.

Or, because of my own appearance of "strength and endurance", they didn't think I required additional support.

Grandma, I wanted someone to prove me wrong.

To prove to me that they wouldn't go back to business as usual. For one person, in particular, to show me that she could change and not make everything about her. This is her opportunity to step up and shine.

Be that person she always told me she could be.

I even opened up my accessibility. I made the way clear. I even reached out.

And yet ... little to no effort.

Same thing with some of my siblings. Too caught up with their own agendas and biases.

They have my contact information too.

You know me. I've never been one to chase connection. I'm not about to start doing it now.

I just pray there won't come a time when they are near the end of their lives to call for reconciliation.

Treat people right when you're alive, and you won't have to worry about where your soul goes once your body gives out.

That's the lesson I hold on to ... the lesson you and Grandpa instilled in me. To reserve movement based on observation does not indicate anger or resentment.

It's just what it is.

No more, no less.

❤