Flashback Blues
"Fear is an emotion indispensible to survival."~ Hannah Arendt
Stop! This material may be triggering. Please proceed with caution.
When I was taking Wolf for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday, I smelled some kind of flower that must have been in one of the many backyards in which I tried to hide when I was a child. I couldn't see it; it was probably behind someone's privacy fence. The scent brought me to a moment of stark, naked terror. The way I used to feel all the time when I was a little girl. It's been a long time since I've had a flashback of such intensity. It only lasted a few moments, but a few moments like those go on for an eternity. It all came back. I could see the way my father's eyes looked when he was working up to being violent. It usually didn't arise quickly; it was almost premeditated.
I could sense it when I was a little girl, this building up to the great climax of intimidating rage. He always had such a good time. I would start to stay outside more...a lot more. I never knew whether it was going to be okay to look at him or if looking would cause him to identify me as a target. I tired to pick up clues. At the same time, I tried to protect my mom if it looked like she might be the preferred recipient. She had a bad habit of saying things I knew would be inflammatory. I tried hard to distract him when I knew she'd gone too far. Sometimes I was successful, sometimes not.
When he asked me a question, I never knew how to answer. Asking me what I learned at school that day could either go well or the kick-off of a fun session of terror. I never knew which answer would provoke his rage. It didn't really matter, though. None of it did. He was just going to hurt someone sometimes; it didn't matter what you did. Sometimes that someone was me.
It was much easier for me to be the recipient of his attention than to see my mom being hurt. Of course, once he moved the 13 year old in, he used her as a punching bag. This was okay with me. It stopped the violence inflicted on my mom, but I was still fair game until I was around 13. I made a decision that year. He would never physically hurt me again. I wasn't sure what I would do if he did, but it would be the last time it would ever happen.a Maybe I would run away. Maybe I would kill him. Luckily, I never had to find out.
It makes me so sad to remember. It makes me shiver with fear. It was a beautiful day yesterday, cool and sunny. It's so easily spoiled--the fragrance of a flower, the quality of light, sticks on the ground--and such a good day becomes such a nightmare.
We're a little over a month away from the anniversary of his suicide. Just writing the word makes me anxious. It's clearly time to stop.
America held hostage day 1699
Bushism of the day:
"[B]y the way, we rank 10th amongst the industrialized world in broadband technology and its availability. That's not good enough for America. Tenth is 10 spots too low as far as I'm concerned." - Minneapolis, Minn., April 26, 2004
Thermostat Wars
Sometimes Rage is Just Too Close
"But reason has no power against feeling, and feeling older than history is no light matter." ~ Charlotte Perkins Gilman
The new puppy is settling in now. That's both good and bad. He's calmed down a bit because he's not as anxious as when he came home with me. Now that he feels safe, though, he's all about pushing limits. Pushing my limits. Pushing Sheba's limits. He doesn't get to push Hubby's limits much because I always intervene before he has the chance. It's a full time and a half job, keeping up with him. I will never have a dog this young again. I actually thought he was 10 months old, instead of 5. By the time I found out, it was too late for me to back out. I'd already made myself feel resposible for him.
Hubby's passive-aggressive behavior towards Wolf has stopped. When you look into his little face, you can't help but love him. That was excellent timing because Hubby and I were getting ready to have a come to Jesus meeting. When that happens, everything's on the table. The similarities between my husband and my father have been abundantly evident.
He hasn't moved in any other woman and he's not violent, but in some other respects he's very similar to my father. Hubby just doesn't participate in the relationship. If he wants to do something, he does it, despite how I might feel about it. He doesn't help around the house, doesn't cook, doesn't work. Then he has the nerve to be grumpy. Yep. That's my dad.
I used to always check things out with Hubby, just as a matter of courtesy. Not any more. If I wish to do something, I do it. Fuck him if he can't take a joke, you know? I stopped doing his dishes. I always do my own dishes as soon as I get through with them, so when there's a sinkful of dirty dishes at the end of the day, we know whose they are. That's the problem with ignoring the wishes of your spouse. Sooner or later, inequities will right themselves.
My dad never did a fucking thing in his life around the house. He created problems, blamed someone else and had the added pleasure of being violent about it. I can't talk about this today. Rage is too close to the surface. If I stop talking about this, I won't have to dissociate. It's nice to have a bit of control over that. I used to just automatically numb out and lose my train of thought. Excellent coping mechanism, even though it was a little strange for the people around me. If you don't dissociate, it's really hard to explain how it feels. It's one of the many wonderful things about child abuse--you learn not to feel.
America held hostage day 1698
Bushism of the day:
"This has been tough weeks in that country." - Washington, D.C., April 13, 2004
The End of Michael
"One thing I've learned in all these years is not to make love when you really don't feel it; there's probably nothing worse you can do to yourself than that." ~ Norman Mailer
After we started dating, he sent me erudite letters and books he thought I might like (or should like). I always liked guys who loved me for my brain. It seemed like a positive sign at first. As the relationship wore on, whenever he was in town our dates were always the same. Movies (always something like "Richard the Lionheart" or "The Lion in Winter") then a place to make out. Making out, making out.
I remember the first time, wondering if I was going to be able to empty my mind of the sexual abuse by my uncle and the other kind of sexual abuse that went on with my parents. We went to a church parking lot and I remember thinking that being there was maybe going to help me focus on the sanctity of human contact. I shut my brain down altogether. I didn't think, I didn't emote. I was present physically and it seemed to protect me from my demons.
It didn't take long before he started asking every time, "Are you on the pill?" No. No. No again. I wasn't sure exactly how he thought I was going to get them. Tell my mom to make an appointment for me? I don't think so. That would be my ticket to even more hell than the one in which I was currently living. At the same time, I felt guilty that I couldn't figure out how to accomplish it. Deep down, though, I was afraid that, no matter how shut down I was, having sex would be opening Pandora's Box. I wasn't sure what would come out, but I was certain that it wasn't going to be good.
As time wore on, I started seeing other people. They knew that my heart belonged to Michael and that they were just diversions. I'm ashamed that I treated people that way. I began to wonder if Michael thought I needed some more intellectual molding to be worthy of his enormous brain power. That pissed me off. I thought I was doing just fine by myself. I didn't need a boyfriend who thought it was his mission to educate me. Let's see now...who does that remind me of? Right. My dad.
Finally one night, I just couldn't do it anymore. It was summer and the thought of spending all of my summer weekends that way made me feel imprisoned. I waited until he showed up for our regular Friday night date. I had some friends with me for moral support. We stood by his car and I told him I didn't want to see him anymore. To this day, I regret breaking up that way. I require compassion from myself. Even when I was struggling to just get through another day of living in hell. I should have been able to find a more graceful way to deal with the situation. (Oh wait...that's the voice of the Fascist in my head, who thinks I should be perfect.)
Michael didn't make any effort to talk me out of it. We didn't speak again until about a year later, when I let him exact his revenge. I even told my best friend, when she asked, that she could date him if she wished. I move on. No hanging on to people; when I'm done with them, I'm really done. For me, there was always someone waiting in the wings. I made certain of that.
America held hostage day 1694
Bushism of the day:
"Will the highways on the internet become more few?"
Surgery Date Set and Puppy Update
I spent the morning doing number-related stuff, which I hate, so I decided to indulge myself and spent the last part of my day here. I just got off the phone with my plastic surgeon's nurse and she scheduled my surgery for January 8! I'm excited and terrified. I'll be spending five days in the hospital. The last time I was in the hospital (for my mastectomy), they had these beds that made me sea sick. The inflate and deflate periodically. I'm sure the goal is to prevent bedsores for people who are hospitalized for long periods. I was nauseated from the surgery and the bed just made it worse. Furthermore, it was noisy.
It's going to be painful and there will be a substantial period of time when I'm pretty limited in terms of my physical activity. On the other hand, it can't possibly be any worse than chemo. It won't last as long, for one thing. Here's the other weird thing: nipple and aureola won't be constructed for a year after my surgery. I'm not sure why that's so, but I think it's because there's a lot of adjusting that goes on in an effort to make sure everything is symmetrical and looks like an actual breast. I'm sure I'll be complaining about it all here.
As for Wolf, he's doing great! What a smart little guy! He's pretty much figured out the whole potty training thing and he's learned to sit already. He's heavily into biting stuff, though, including me. I look like I've been in a bar fight or something. I've got a couple of bite marks on my face and several scratches and bite marks on my arms. I've managed to prevent him from tearing up anything important by just giving him as many things to chew on as possible. He just chews on me because he gets over excited. He's just a baby, so his emotional control is kind of limited.
Hubby has been more attentive to him since we had a little chat about it. Wolf adores Hubby, probably because the attention from him is more limited than from me. We're constantly together to ensure he's not tearing up something or peeing somewhere. My mom has been coming over every day to babysit, because Hubby is lacking in patience. She thinks he's adorable. I hope to get some photos over the weekend. If I manage, I'll post some here, assuming I can figure out how to do that.
America held hostage day 1893
Bushism of the day:
"I want to thank my friend, Sen. Bill Frist, for joining us today. … He married a Texas girl, I want you to know. (Laughter.) Karyn is with us. A West Texas girl, just like me." - Nashville, Tenn., May 27, 2004
The Audacity!
I have a new project at work, so I won't be around quite so much for a while. I can't believe they expect me to actually work! How outrageous! Actually, it's work I enjoy doing and it won't require a lot of interaction with my co-workers (which completely exhausts me).
It's a beautiful day here, with those portents of doom that always come with fall. My mom is puppysitting her new granddog today. When I got home yesterday, she'd made him play so much that he was just an exhausted rowdy boy. Things are improving every day. He's already learned to sit, but we're still working on potty training. That takes longer, but he's anxious to please (when he's not running around like a little crazy dog).
New Family Member
The meet and greet with the new puppy went well, so they neutered him on Friday and I picked him up Friday afternoon. Saturday went great. He (Wolf) was very well behaved. That was just to trick me into a false sense of security. On Sunday, he relaxed enough to be a royal pain in the ass. He's just a baby--five months old--so he needs lots of training. Miss Sheba lets him go too far before she puts him in his place. I'm trying to support her status as alpha dog, but she needs to be a little more foreceful, I think. I'd love to talk to her about it, but she is a dog, after all.
Hubby is driving me way more crazy than the dog. He's not mature enough for a puppy. I've been monitoring Wolf all weekend. When I couldn't monitor him, he was in his crate. Somehow he managed to get away long enough to chew through the phone cord. When hubby got up this morning and I got back from walking Wolf in the rain, he holds up the chewed through cord and says, "Do you have any idea what happened here?" I don't know. I chewed through it, butthead.
It's a rainy, breezy day here that reminds me fall is coming. Fall is my least favorite time of the year. So many bad things happened in the fall. Well, so many bad things happened all year round when I was a kid, but things were particularly worse in the fall. My good friend, Cutter has a tough time getting through November. I know how it goes.
So there you have it. Another day.
America held hostage day 1690 (sometimes I'm just too depressed to read through another moronic Bush quote--make up your own and insert here)
Modesty in Photo Panties
"Modesty is the conscience of the body." ~ Honore de Balzac
Yesterday, after I got home from my visit with the dog I'm hoping to adopt, I got another call from my oncologist's nurse. She had called Tuesday to find out if I'd had a mammogram done. (She's the one who ultimately confirmed I didn't need one when I was there last week. Shirley drives me crazy.) The minute I heard her say her name, I panicked. She told me before that the mammogram was fine, but the white blood count was a little off. No reason to worry, she said on Tuesday. So when she called yesterday, I thought maybe he'd changed his mind about the blood work. After telling me her name, she could have at least told me immediately that everything is okay. The less I hear from my cancer doctors (all of them, even my beloved Dr. Ross), the happier I am.
I was looking for something in my suitcase last night and I came across my photo panties. I'm not sure I shared any info about that. The first time I saw my plastic surgeon, they made me take everything off and put on the teeny, tiny little panties. Now I don't mind people looking at my mastectomy. I've had so many strangers looking and touching that the whole breast thing is no big deal. (I've even threatened to make people look at it if they give me any trouble about anything.) The doctor made me drop my gown and stand in front of him (on a little platform). He made me turn around so he could look at my backside. Okay. This is difficult for anyone, I think, who doesn't undress for a living, but for a survivor of sexual abuse, it's pretty harrowing.
The only way I could get through it was to dissociate. Dissociation has caused problems for me all of my life, but sometimes it's a huge help. This was definitely one of those times. I know the man had no interest in me other than as a surgeon, but that didn't make it any easier. With any luck, I'll never have to do that again. He's very sweet and tries to make it less uncomfortable for me, but it has been a very very long time since any man, other than my hubby, looked at me without clothes. Standing on a pedestal makes it even more fun.
The point was that he was trying to figure out where to take the skin and tissue for reconstruction. There are three places they normally use: the tummy, the back or the butt. I don't have much to spare in any of those places, but we're going with the tummy. I'm still trying to get over the fact that, because my bra size is 36D, I probably won't be able to have it reconstructed to that size. It has to do with the weight of the breast potentially tearing the veins that will be sutured together. I'll probably need to have a breast reduction on the other side so I'll match. As anyone would tell you, my breasts used to be one of my best anatomical features. Have I mentioned lately that I really hate having breast cancer? The good news is that the tummy tuck will return me to that fabulous pre-50 flat stomach. Of course, I'll have a scar that runs all the way across my stomach, but as I said, no one ever sees me other than Hubby. At this point in our relationship, a scar isn't even going to faze him...I've looked pretty wretched for most of the past year. Virtually anything would be an improvement.
Yesterday I went to see the dog I chose to consider adopting at the animal shelter. Oh my goodness, he was so exuberant! He was so excited to have human contact and to be out of that wretched kennel that I had trouble calming him down. I'm generally able to calm virtually anyone or anything down just a little bit, anyway. He started to hunch my head as I knelt down to put his leash on. That's got to stop immediately. For a number of reasons. First of all, it's gross. It's also humiliating for other people to see. Most importantly, it's a dominance thing. The dog should give up any hope of dominating me, as soon as possible. We started working on it yesterday. I cupped my hand over the bridge of his nose several times (that's also a dominance thing) and he responded immediately.
Later today I'm having a "meet and greet" with him and Miss Woo. I'm tired just thinking about it.
America held hostage day 1686
Bushism of the day:
"And I am an optimistic person. I guess if you want to try to find something to be pessimistic about, you can find it, no matter how hard you look, you know?" - Washington, D.C., June 15, 2004
Oncologists, Plastic Surgeons and Huskies
"You can say any fool thing to a dog and the dog will give you this look that says, 'My god, you're RIGHT! I NEVER would have thought of that.'" ~ Dave Barry
I got back from M.D. Anderson late Friday afternoon. What a debacle! I had a mammogram check-in scheduled for 7:00 a.m. (Have I mentioned that I'm not a morning person?) I drug my butt out of bed at some barbaric time of day only to find that I didn't need a mammogram. My oncologist just hadn't seen the mammogram I did the last time I was there. I had blood work scheduled and that went fine...they're virtually always on time. My next appointment was at 1:15 with my plastic surgeon, followed by an appointment with my oncologist at 1:30.
They led me back to the little exam room at around 1:20, made me put on "photo panties" and a gown. The doctor didn't show up until around 3:45. I'm very claustrophobic, so by then, I needed several tranquilizers. My mom kept suggesting that maybe we should let someone know about my appointment with the oncologist. "Oh no. That's okay," I kept saying, "They always know where you are." Right. That worked before, but not this time. I ended up missing my oncologist appointment altogether. I really wished to see the plastic surgeon, but even I would admit that the oncologist visit was more important. I got a call from his nurse this morning, telling me that the mammogram was fine and my white count was a little low, but not enough to worry about. I'm currently trying to be okay with that statement. (I tend to panic a little after the experience with the mammogram radiologist here.)
The good news is that I can have reconstruction surgery as soon as I can schedule it. That may be as early as January and as late as March. The plastic surgeons are really busy there. I can't call his scheduler until Friday to give the paperwork a chance to catch up with me. On the one hand, I really look forward to getting this over with. On the other hand, I'm aware that it's not going to be fun in a very big way. I'm working hard to get back in good physical condition so that my recovery will be easier. I've managed to do yoga three nights a week at this point and I'm going to add stationery bicycle this evening. I'm just going to do 15 minutes at a slow pace with no resistance. I'll just have to see how that goes. If I'm not exhausted tomorrow, I'll continue to use the bike once or twice a week.
The other news is that I'm in the process of getting another huskie. I had contacted a rescue organization and met this wonderful boy named Sebastian, but he's big and wildly enthusidastic about everything. I thought about adopting from the Humane Society, but when I went to the city's animal shelter, I knew what I had to do. Those dogs will die if someone doesn't adopt them; they're a euthanizing facility. It's been emotionally difficult to go there, but doing the right thing is usually not the easy path.
I met a 10 month old huskie mix when I went by this weekend. He's white and doesn't have a mask, but I'm good with that. He's in the process of being evaluated by the animal behariorists to ensure that he's not aggessive. They told me that they should have that finished by this afternoon. I'm so excited!
As soon as they finish the evaluation process, we can have a "meet and greet" with Sheba. I think they'll get along fine, if her experience with Sebastian was any indication. I've been doing a little reading about how to introduce a new dog into the household. I was right; it's best to have a male and female. The worst combination is two females. Very interesting. I would have thought that two males would be the most aggressive. I think that we probably need to do a couple of get togethers with Miss Sheba Woo.
They won't be open until 11:30, so I'll have to contain my excitement. This makes me very, very happy.
America held hostage day 1684
Bushism of the day:
"I mean, if you've ever been a governor of a state, you understand the vast potential of broadband technology, you understand how hard it is to make sure that physics, for example, is taught in every classroom in the state. It's difficult to do. It's, like, cost-prohibitive." - Washington, D.C., June 24, 2004
Character Friendly
"Life is a series of experiences, each of which makes us bigger, even though it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and grievances which we endure help us in our marching onward." ~ Henry Ford
I just wrote this long post about forgiveness and...poof!....it disappeared. This must be a sign or something. I'll wait until another day to start over.
I've been working on getting a new Husky this morning. My old friend, Bill, from whom I got my original two huskies, is out of the rescue business. I thought he might be, because when I was in touch with him last, around ten years ago, he was fairly elderly. There are a couple of dogs who are being fostered here and I'm trying to get in touch with the foster parents to set up a meeting. If all else fails, there are a couple of huskies at the animal shelter.
I'm seriously contemplating giving up on the foster dogs so that maybe I could save one of the shelter huskies from death. I've always thought going to the animal shelter would be a terrible idea for me. I'm so much more connected to animals than to humans and I'm not sure I could bear leaving the shelter without taking all of the dogs who seem to be in the most danger. I may go by there over the weekend.
I saw my psychiatrist yesterday. She was seeing an elderly patient when I got there and I ultimately ended up waiting about an hour past my appointment time. To make up for that, I suppose, I got extra time and a slight discount on her exorbitant rate. We talked about breast cancer a lot. She did her residency with M.D. Anderson, so she knows more about treatment than your average psychiatrists.
She told me that everything I've been experiencing is not unusual. She gave me some Ambien samples because I've been waking up five or six times a night for the past several weeks. The doctor asked me why; I have no idea why. She thought perhaps I'm afraid I won't wake up. Well, that's possible. Like most people, I can be pretty good at keeping secrets from myself. The important thing is that the Ambien worked and I slept all night for the first time in a long time.
Other than that, she thinks I'm pretty mentally healthy. She asked me if I've been having an existential crisis, wondering why I'm here and whether my life has any purpose. No. What I have been wondering is why the universe keeps screwing up my life.
I talked about my belief that we choose what happens to us here. She resisted the idea, thinking that I believe my life to be some kind of punishment. That's not it at all. I think we get to choose which lessons we need to learn. It turns out I'm just very ambitious. I apparently want to learn a lot. If that's the case, then so far, so good.
America held hostage day 1674
Bushism of the day:
"I mean, if you've ever been a governor of a state, you understand the vast potential of broadband technology, you understand how hard it is to make sure that physics, for example, is taught in every classroom in the state. It's difficult to do. It's, like, cost-prohibitive." - Washington, D.C., June 24, 2004
