The Burrowing Cry

I keep sitting here, not sure how to start this, so I guess I'll just start.

In the wee hours of the morning (1:00ish?) on September 23rd, my mom, on a houseboat vacation with my two older siblings in Lake Powell, Utah, woke up to discomfort and a voice telling her, "This is a heart attack, you're having a heart attack."  She had already thrown up a couple times before she went to bed (thinking she was just sick but actually was experiencing angina) but, as she woke up more and started to try and rouse my dad and tell him what was going on, she began throwing up again. 

I wasn't there so I can only convey bits and pieces without much timeline accuracy, but I know that she continued throwing up many, many times throughout the night... 30 or so was a guess.  She had intense chest, arm and back pain and it was hard to breathe.

My dad was terrified and felt rather helpless.  You see, they were on this houseboat on a night with just a sliver moon that wouldn't even rise until about 5:30am., no spotlight and a VERY treacherous lake, twenty miles from the closest marina and medical help.  Lake Powell is full of unknowns under the water.  It can be a dangerous lake to navigate in the daylight, much less the darkest of nights with no light on the boat.  My mom relates now that my dad was trembling and he tried to hold her and offer her some sort of comfort.  I can only imagine the anguish that they were both experiencing.  My mom wrote up a summary of events as she remembered them.  I hope she doesn't mind if I put some of that here in my own record of things:

"I was pretty freaked out, panic was rampant for a while. [As time passed,]I got to a point that I saw a really cool mosaic of blues & blue-green looking spots that formed a spiral. It moved ever so gently & beckoned me... I thought with great clarity... "So this is what it's like to die from a heart attack" There was no panic at that point. It was a peaceful, resigned, calm place & feeling."

"I don't know how much time passed but I started feeling & then speaking out loud to Brayt "I CAN'T die on this boat" "I can't do that to these kids, my kids & grandkids."  I knew with certainty, at that point, that they would heap some kind of guilt on themselves about not doing something different... [so] I knew that I couldn't die on the houseboat. I asked Brayt to give me a [priesthood] blessing. He obliged & then later he felt like he should go consecrate some oil & do the full ordinance, so he did. Then when he said his blessing he stated: "I bless you that you will survive this night".  ...[and] something shifted after that. I was in agony for more than 8 hours and I survived the night. I didn't die on the houseboat."

My dad, in the retelling, says that he had so much fear as he tried to do something but felt so helpless.  He gave the first blessing without oil because he forgot to bring it, and later felt commanded by the Spirit do the full ordinance (as mom said).  As he gave her the second blessing, he told me that he felt the powers of heaven pour into my mom and felt the fear that gripped him relax.  He said it felt that it wasn't up to him now.  She was held by the Power of God.

Even still, the night was agony.  My mom said she kept looking at the sky, hoping to see some light, some signal of time passing.  She felt like it would never end.  But, as all hard things do, the night finally did come to an end.  Morning came and they got her on the power boat and to the ramp at Bullfrog Marina. 

Upon arrival, my dad ran up the ramp and found a Ranger sitting in his Jeep.  He asked him if there was a Clinic close by. 

"Why?" the Ranger asked.

"Because I think my wife is having a heart attack." replied my Dad. 

The Ranger asked where she was and my dad pointed to the power boat bobbing at the dock.  The Ranger, who happened to be a Medic, jumped in his Jeep, radioed for an ambulance, drove down the ramp, grabbed his bag and ran to where she was in the boat.  He, on the bobbing boat, started an I.V. of something, and then the ambulance was there and they were loading her onto the gurney.

She was taken to the small clinic at Bullfrog and was given some sort of pain meds and who-knows-what.  In short order, a life-flight helicopter crew arrived and, in Mom's words, "They were the BEST! Light, good energy, competent to the max & the let me joke with them & they seemed to get it! The pilot came in & asked "How do you feel about a helicopter ride?" Me: "That's probably the best part of this whole thing so far!" Pilot (laughing): "Now that's my kind of patient!" Whoosh..... off to the chopper..."

Mom was in a drug induced haze after that.  She remembered snippets of things... being unloaded from the chopper... flashes of the Cardiac Cath-Lab... the Cardiac ICU with no familiar faces around... and then seeing my dad (who had driven the five hours from Lake Powell to Provo, where she was taken).... and then my dad walking in the room again, followed by me.  My Dad had called me Friday afternoon at about 1:00 to tell me what was going on and that Mom was in a helicopter on her way to Provo.  I called Taylor and Lacy, my siblings, and then Dustin.  Dustin could tell I was rather shaken and suggested that I call my friend Rebby.  Rebby offered to watch my baby Brynja and pick up my kids from their bus stop.  I took her up on the offer and was on the road by about 2:30.

My mom was in the Cardiac ICU from Friday until Sunday afternoon.  Sunday they moved her to the regular Cardiac Floor (which was bustling and crowded... and her new room we not-so-lovingly called her "Harry Potter cupboard-under-the-stairs" because it was so small...)  I stayed in Provo the whole time and was at the hospital all day, every day until she was released on Tuesday evening. 

My dad and I took turns being the information liaison for everyone who was calling to inquire and send their prayers and love.  She had many visitors and love and prayers being said for her. 

Because she went so long without any medical intervention, she did suffer some damage to her heart, but it is improving and she is working to get her heart function back.  We learned after her surgery (where two stents were placed) that the problem was in her lateral anterior descending coronary artery.  This is the artery that is also dubbed "the widowmaker" because it has a VERY high mortality rate.  They tell us that it was 100% blocked by a blood clot that had developed on the stent they had placed there last year.  How my mom survived so long with such a thing and how she is currently doing as remarkably well as she is... TRULY a miracle.

As for my own experience and the title of this post... I had NO idea, in the midst of my own hospital "supportive role" experience, how taxing to my own psyche it was.  I thought my mom was doing fairly well on Saturday and Sunday, all things considered.  And she was.  She was not really eating, though, and battling nausea, chest pain (from Pericarditus, they think, but were never sure...) and drug-effects, among other things.  It was rough.  More rough than I realized at the time.  Monday rolled around and she showed such improvements from the weekend that I had a dawning understanding that she had been worse than I knew.  But she improved so much on Monday.  She started eating more, had less nausea and started walking more with her cardiac therapist.  Then Tuesday she was WAY better, even, than Monday.  It was an amazing transformation.  Her spirits were higher on Tuesday and we got word that she was most likely going to be released that day. 

As I, unconsciously for the most part, started to relax about my mom's condition Monday evening and into Tuesday, I began allowing myself to feel my exhaustion.  I felt like I had been a piece of cloth that was spray-starched into rigidity for support and suddenly someone poured water all over me, releasing the starch that was holding me up.  I was "puddley".  I had permission from the universe to be tired and, boy-oh-boy, was I tired.  I also felt like I was made of blown glass.  All my emotions were suddenly right at the surface, and I would shatter at a touch.  I worked at "keeping it together" to some degree for the rest of the day, but all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out in someone's arms.

My dear husband was at home with the kids these five days and trying to work and juggle schedules, etc.  He was anxious for me to come home, so on Tuesday night at about 8:30, I left Provo for my trek home.  It was late to be leaving, tired as I was, but I didn't want to stress D out any more than he was.  As I was driving, my tears, held together most of the day, were bursting to come out.  But to drive safely, I couldn't let them come.

I wanted desperately to stop at a friend's house who was on the way home, but the late hour and other circumstances didn't allow it. 

And so, I swallowed it. 

I know it was a mixed blessing to be able to do that.  I needed to not delay my drive any more since I would be home very late as it was, but I also felt like I really needed to cry.

But I didn't.

And the emotions burrowed.  They went subterranean and I can feel them there, like a splinter in my body. 

Did you ever watch a movie called The Holiday?  Cameron Diaz's character couldn't cry, try as she might.  I've felt like that ever since.  I do cry, just a little bit.  But then those tears just dry up as quickly as they came on. 

I did get some release yesterday.  My mom came over to my house to help me dip pretzels, of all things to do post-heart attack (bless her, but she saved me!).  In my gratitude for her help, I hugged her and said my thanks.  And I started to cry.  She hugged me for a long time.  She said sweet-mommy things to the child in me who needed comfort.  And I 'got it' in a way I hadn't yet.  A new level of settling in.  My mom so nearly lost her life.  She was spared by the power and grace of God and her own will that made the choice to stay.  She was here with me in my kitchen offering me comfort instead of me desperately seeking the slippery peace I would have been had she merged with the blue/green mosaic that was beckoning her on that turbulent night in Lake Powell.

My tears went underground, but my mother stayed, and I will wait patiently and in gratitude until those tears would like to come forth.

I love you more than words can express, Momma.

That Kind

~~~~~~~~~

One of those times when you can't make sense of it.

One of those spots on your heart that's all worn and threadbare.

One of those songs that feels all the feelings for you so you don't have to.

One of those prayers where you scream at God.

One of those afternoons when your shoulder aches because you're carrying the mad world across it like a purse full of all the garbage you've forgotten why you even put in there in the first place.

One of those moments where you explode all over the place and wonder at the people who've told you they can't imagine you losing it.

One of those trips you take down the guilty road of Lost Self Control.

One of those looks that blows right through the threadbare spot like tissue paper.

One of those carefully composed posts that stitches up your heart a little bit.

One of those days....

Bless-ed

The week since I last posted has been one of those weeks that make you say, "Holy Crap-a-Moly!"
(That would be a young Macism phrase...)

We went camping for Labor Day weekend and I spent several days running around, preparing food, making lists and generally freaking out trying to prepare for our excursion. On Thursday, I drove up to where we planned on camping and reserved our spot early thinking it would be packed for the holiday weekend. (which, to my great surprise, it wasn't) That took the majority of the day. My in-laws came into town and we went to dinner with them on Thursday night.

Friday I ran around like a maniac trying to prepare food ahead of time and gather the multitude of things required to camp. We still left later than we hoped... as usual.

In the midst of all of this, I was trying to figure stuff out for Mac's schooling. You see, we've decided to keep Mac home this year and we are using the K-12 program for his school. We still don't have his books and so I've been trying to figure out what we can do and trying to learn all about the program. Holy-crap-a-moly, I'm nuts.

And speaking of nuts... it's pretzel-dipping season again. The seasonal shop where I sell my stuff opened today and I wanted to be all prepared way ahead of time, but somehow that doesn't seem to be how I roll.

Back to camping... we had a great time, leaving Friday night and returning Monday around noon. Upon our return, we unpacked everything, cleaned up, showered and got "the dipping room" ready for chocolate and messes. Then, we went out to eat again with Dustin's parents who were coming back through town from their own camping trip. After we ate, I went home with the intention of dipping the night away, but I was so exhausted that I fell asleep on the couch at about 8:30 and ended up just going to bed about 9:00.

As if that weren't enough to make me say, 'Holy-Crap-a-Moly!'...

After my 9:00 crash, I woke up to the tail end of the phone ringing. I missed the call. It was just after midnight. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was my mom calling from her cell phone. When I called her back she let me know that my dad had just been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. She was on her way over behind him and could Dustin come over to the hospital and give him a priesthood blessing. Something was wrong with his heart, she thought, but she kept saying "I think he's going to be ok."

"Of course Dustin would come over", I assured her.

I got off the phone and relayed her message to Dustin who had also been asleep. He got up out of bed and came straight over and hugged me. Hard. At the time I just wondered why he was wasting time hugging me when he needed to be getting to the hospital. He threw clothes on and left.

After he left, I knew why he was hugging me so hard. I was alone in the dark of my room. I didn't know what was going on and I started imagining all the worst things. What would I do without my dad? He is such a rock, such a foundation for our family. He is so knowledgeable and wise and he is such a comfort to me personally. Those thoughts went on and on and in short order I was an emotional wreck. I wanted to be at the hospital with my mom. I prayed. Hard.

After 45 minutes, Dustin called and asked if I would like his parents to come over and sleep at my house so I could go to the hospital. Yes, I wanted that. More than anything. So, they came over and I left.

By the time I got there (about 1:30 am) my dad was already out of surgery. He had a heart attack and the surgeon had put two stints in his artery. He will have to have one more within the next month or so. We listened to the doctor tell us things and we hugged and cried. My dad was ok.

In just a few minutes we got to go in and see him. He had been awake through the surgery so he was bright-eyed and alert when we walked in. We talked to the doctor some more and he showed us a video of the surgery. Modern medicine can be truly amazing.

I left the hospital at about 4:00 am with a profound sense of relief and gratitude. I cried as I hugged him, feeling so grateful that all my imaginations were unfounded. He is still here. I have an amazing father whom I love more than I can express.

The next day I had to dip pretzels, but all I really wanted to do was go to the hospital and watch my dad breathe.

I am so blessed.

It's No Wonder

Last week my heart metaphor was a washing machine full of water and clothes, but no churning. Still. Silent.

That was last week.

Today, I'm churning. Crying. Aching.

Sometimes there's no visible explanation, but the washing machine load is on heavy and it's churning up crap I don't really want to see.

But it's time.

Time for me to do a rinse cycle. Time for me to pull my head out of the sand and deal with some realities I've been ignoring. Time for me to plan. Time for me to stop being scared of the word "plan".

Time for me to change the load. Dry this one out. Fold it. Put it away.

Moving Through

My heart-state always has a metaphor. Always. My mind conjures them like a washing machine churning clothes and if I watch long enough, the one I want will surface. Except lately the water feels still. I can't think of a fitting metaphor. So, would that mean I'm a blank slate? A vacant lot? An empty chair? Or perhaps a stripped bed? No. I think I just pegged it with the washing machine. Full of water and clothes, but no churning. Still. Silent.

Whatever it is, I can't seem to think of much these days. It could be the allergies that I'm battling, making my head feel as though it's stuffed with cotton. It might be that I'm just too tired to care. It's possible that I'm burying my head in the sand so I don't have to do any digging into my own psyche. It may be just me crawling into dormancy, temporary shut down, laying fallow, awaiting the spring when I feel like growing again.

Whatever it is, I'm up for it. Apparently it's my time to stare off into space or at least feel like I am staring blankly, even when I'm busy. It is my time to avoid looking deep into the recesses of my heart. It is my time to learn the routines of keeping a clean house. It is my time to play the guitar every night. It's my time to allow myself to go to bed if I'm sleepy. It's my time to teach my children that there are cycles in life and we need to listen and love.

It's also my time to love myself even when I don't feel like I'm moving forward.

Clancy Revealed

whim (hwm, wm)
n.
1. A sudden or capricious idea; a fancy.
2. Arbitrary thought or impulse: governed by whim.


Every morning I wake up and know exactly what I'm doing for the whole day and I always get it all done. Oh wait. Nope! That's not me at all. In fact, I'm the perfect opposite of that statement. I roll more like this: I wake up every morning not knowing what I'm doing for the day. Or this: I rarely have a plan when I wake in the morning.

I suppose I do have a few things in my day that are certain. Get kids up. Brush teeth and hair. Feed kids. Put on my slippers to drive kids to school. Come back home. That's pretty much it. Those are the certainties, the definites, the known-factors that make up my day-to-day life. Oh yeah, and there's also the pick up kids from school and the do homework part. And most days I even make some sort of dinner. Go, me.

Enter Whim, stage left.

Today I didn't have a plan, just like every other day. I got the known factors off to school and then it's just me and Whim. Or, Whim and I, if we're being technical. Well, if we're being REALLY technical, it's me, Rohan, and Whim... or Whim, Rohan and I? Suddenly I can't remember what's correct. You get the picture though, right? (Feel free to help me out, Larrie.)

Yes, Whim and I. We settle in to a perfect rhythm of doing whatever we want. Sometimes it's things that we need to get done, sometimes it's things that we want to get done, and, far too often, it's simply getting nothing done. (FYI: Facebook = nothing)

I am not a planner by nature. I don't check things off of lists. That would be because I don't do lists. My day goes more like a grocery sack in a courtyard on a windy afternoon. Have you ever watched a grocery sack in a courtyard in the wind? It's hypnotic. You never know where it's going to go. Just like my day. Every day.

I don't necessarily like this little facet of myself. In fact, there are some days, not all of them, but some days when I HATE it. Yes, I said hate. Strong word. I know. I wouldn't use it for today's blustery day, though. You see, Whim carried me to my bedroom. Whim told me to clean it. My room was in dire, desperate, S.O.S-kind of shape. It needed cleaning and it need it bad. And not only did I clean the floor that was heaped with lots of ___________ (fill in the blank, it was probably there in a pile), but I also made my dresser and nightstand look cute, dusting included. I can't even begin to think of the last time this dresser event occurred. I'm thinking not so much in the "months-ago" category, but the "years-ago". For real.

I will also mention that Whim also had me cleaning out flower beds and picking up bits of garbage strewn throughout my yard. It was 63 degrees today. It was a good thing. But you know what's funny? I only cleaned out the flower beds and the yard because I was taking the garbage from my bedroom (and I grabbed the one in the bathroom and the kitchen while I was at it) out to the cans in the alley. And when I was walking back I saw the garbage here and there, so I picked it up. Then I saw big weeds starting to grow back from last year, so I pulled them. Then I saw last-years dead growth on the perennials so I pulled that. Then I saw this big black garbage bag full of saw-dust (long story) that I wanted to throw away. It was really heavy so I asked my neighbor (who was also outside) to help me move it to the garbage. We moved it and then we talked for a while. I have cleaning ADD. I never got back to the bedroom. It's only mostly clean now. I'll take it though.

So, the point to this... essay? rant? babble? sream of consciousness?... let's go with babble. The point of this babble is to reveal (to whoever cares) a few things about myself. Let's pretend I'm a list maker and I'll tell them to you in list form.

Clancy is babbling to explore the following:

1- I'm human. Yep. Just human. I've got faults. This is a potential one.

2- My word choice in item #1 intentionaly leads us into item #2. I say Whim is a potential fault because it's not always a bad thing to be 'governed by whim'. There are lots of positives. I *don't get bent out of shape very easily if things don't go as planned. That's because "planned" is a very loose word for me. I *go with the flow. I *have fun with whatever I'm doing. I'm *spontaneous.

*I would like to interject that I'm not ENTIRELY this way either, just mostly. There are rare occasions that I do plan something and if it doesn't go 'as planned', I feel disgruntled and have been known to be *gasp* GRUMPY.

3- I want to learn a different way to live. I want to wake up with a plan. I want to have lists that I check off. I want to be systematic rather than always being a grocery sack carried on Whim.

4- I need a teacher. I don't know how to do item #3. I learned a while ago that if you want to learn to do something, you have to find someone who already knows how to do it and have them mentor you. (I recently experienced this phenomenon with a family who mentored me in things that they didn't even know they were mentoring me on until I told them they were... interesting the quiet example someone can be, and how totally unaware they can be of their influence on you.)

Well, that's all I've got for now. Four items. Seems like a measley little list, but for a non-list girl, it'll do.

So, is there anyone out there who wants to teach me how to be less like a grocery sack?

Be Mine, Valentine!

Valentine's Day has come again... and gone!
Speaking of gone... Gone are the days of making Valentine's Boxes? It's looking more and more that way. My kids were so excited to make them and then we got letters from the teachers letting us know that we didn't have to make them. Ella's kindergarten class made "envelopes". While they were cute, they could not match the Barbie doll box I was planning to make her. It was going to be great! Imagine... a Barbie doll atop a large dress with a slit in the side for Valentine delivery! I was even gong to make it out of fabric over the "box" material so it really looked like a dress. (Luckily, Ella was oblivious to these grandiose plans, so her disappointment at making an envelope was not so severe.) Mac was excited to make a robot again. But, alas, he joined with the rest of his class in decorating BROWN PAPER SACKS. Talk about a let down.
Fortunately, we did get to make a box for Mac last year... we made a cool robot that was covered in aluminum foil. It was great! He wanted to do it again, but the darned education system has to go and regulate every last detail of our lives!
(sorry... I'll not get on THAT soapbox! But I couldn't resist putting that little clip on! I discovered Photobucket, if you can't tell...)

Soo..... I never do anything for Valentine's Day. Dustin and I always thought of it as an excuse to go out for dinner, but we got tired of fighting the crowds, not to mention we just don't want to pay a babysitter and all that good stuff. So, this year... I made an effort... a family affair. I had some success.


Notice the pink table cloth, white plates, pink napkins, and little Valentine candy boxes on the table? Yes, it was a big step for Clancy. I even made RED guava raspberry drink (not shown). Now for the big deal......


No, the big deal is not my children sitting at the dinner table in their undies....



OK, I know they are in their undies... I just don't know why. Something about the evening compels my children to run around in their undies! Now, look in the CENTER of the table!!!



Yes. That, my friends, is my very first heart shaped pizza... shaped by hand, by me... no pans or anything! I'm so proud! It was not bad tasting, either! That one (above) is the one the kids picked the toppings for. Here, (below) is the grown-up pizza! Not so pretty as the other as it's not on a stone or sitting on a lovely pink tablecloth. Alas, still a nice 2nd attempt at my own hand molded heart-shaped Valentine Pizza...




I am pleased with my attempts to be "Valentiney". It was a fun, busy day!

I have to throw in this last picture of my baby Valentine... and yes, he, too, is in his underwear!