So long, 2020

 

2020 didn't start off from such a bad place for me. I was managing to see about one piece of theater each month, something that had become very important to me. I was traveling a bit more for work again, and felt I had some exciting prospects there. Like all of us, I thought a few weeks at home would be nice - so many naps! But it changed quickly for me, when my mother unexpectedly passed away on March 22, and the worst economic scenario since 2008 hit on March 23, followed by a few months of struggle before my 18 year marriage dissolved over the summer. My kids faced their own adolescent challenges, missing friends and summer at camp and so many lost opportunities for independence and growth. The three organizations I work with all struggled in different ways. While I am very grateful to be able to work from home, my job felt reduced to all the least fun bits as clients retreated to safety. 

I am not grateful for this year. There have been lessons learned, and I know I'm even stronger than I thought. But I won't pretend to be grateful for how I had to learn them.

I am, however, very grateful for my friends. So many of you have stepped up in deep and meaningful ways (while some have noticeably retreated), and I hope you know how appreciated you are. 

Instead of the usual photo card, this year I went with this tiny little sprout. Attributed to Christine Caine, an Australian activist and evangelist, "Sometimes when you think you're in a dark place, you think you've been buried, but you've actually been planted." 

May we all grow in health, strength and happiness in the coming year. 

Framing

 "You can't see the picture if you're inside the frame."

The above was said by a junior boy in my AP US History class, or as Hannah and her friends now call it, "A-PUSH." I'm sure Erik would be shocked that I remember it, as I'm sure he doesn't. I can't remember the context, but we had the best discussions in that class, and it could have been about anything. But that football player with the twinkling eyes said it, and I wrote it down, and remember and think of it often.

Because how often are we too close to the problem to be able to see it clearly? 

I work with three different organizations outside of my full-time job and parenting responsibilities. I have high-ranking positions in each, and I'm proud of the work I do to support them. But it is volunteer work, and is often outside of what I'm professionally experienced in doing. I have to leave my comfort zones to give input and support, and the time I have is often limited, but I do the best I can. Sometimes, that doesn't live up to what others expectations may be, and that's tough to hear and accept. But sometimes, I may be too close to the issues at hand, and getting feedback from someone more on the outside can be really helpful. It's hard not to be defensive and even overprotective of the group, and to take the comments in. That balance can be a difficult one to strike, but it's worth it. 

Deep breaths. Listen and absorb before responding. Dive in again. 

Adulting

 I've been noting on Facebook lately that I've been doing so. much. adulting.

Maybe it's because life has, frankly, not been so enjoyable with this virus raging and not much to look forward to doing. It feels like life is an endless list of responsibilities and very little pay off right now. I'm not saying that to be depressing, just honest. By focusing on the things I'm getting done, especially those little things without much of a reward for having done them, seems like a way to still feel accomplished and like life is moving forward. 

So this week started with paying to have two dead trees removed before they became threats, and it ended with me ordering a new lightbulb for the refrigerator. I also changed the batteries in our door lock, ordered more compost bags, and refilled the JetDry in the dishwasher. I picked up groceries for our local pantry donation, and the supplies for Max's at home science experiment next week. I registered Hannah for an online event that required an absurd amount of forms. I made incremental progress on details for Max's bar mitzvah. I held my office hours at work and checked in on my teammates. 

The other day I was driving Max to Hebrew school, one of his only in-person activities, and he admitted that if I hadn't told him it was time to go, he wouldn't have had any idea he was missing it. We talked about how people can use tools to help them stay organized, or they can try to design a life where there are few time-sensitive tasks. Or maybe you rent an apartment instead of owning a house, so you don't have to coordinate tree trimming services. But no one can really get out of growing up. 

And sometimes, when you're a grown up, you get to decide that you're just having candy. Because candy is good. So there are some perks. 

Okay with Okay

It's November, and in the past for me, that's meant "NaBloPoMo," or National Blog Post Month, where people attempted to blog every day for the month. I've done it a few times, and each time, I found it to be a fulfilling experience. I liked the challenge of making time to show up for myself each day. And it really was a challenge to figure out something worth saying EVERYDAY, or even a picture worth posting. I never continued to post daily after it ended, as the end always seemed to come through with a limp at Thanksgiving and such. I managed to do it from 2014 to 2016, and again in 2019.

This year, my blogging friend Melisa astutely recognized the challenge that is 2020 all on its own, without things like manufactured blogging challenges to keep us on our toes. But she offered to aggregate links and send them out to people, and so I signed up again for this exercise, and told myself that I'd aim for once a week. If I hit publish today, that will be two for two. 

But dear lord I am dragging today, and showing up is hard. And The Bachelorette used the phrase "show up" so much in the last few weeks that it's basically lost all meaning for me. 

I made it to another Friday. Hannah had her wisdom teeth out this week and while it wasn't fun, she's made it through the worst of it. Max is going back to some in person school on Monday and enjoyed some extra time off this week. We're all okay.

For now, that's really all I've got. A lot of telling myself that we're all okay, that I'm okay. I'm learning to be okay with okay.

The Land of Overwhelm

 Today is the first day in a while where I haven't felt completely overwhelmed. 

I know a lot of that is self-imposed. But keeping all of the plates spinning these last few months has taken so much effort, and we all know that I'm already a so much effort kind of person. And it's funny, because it's the day before Election Day, and I can see the spinning out of so many others as their worry crescendos in a palpable way. I've had to shut out so much of that for myself, because as much as I'd like to have been right there with them, I just can't. Kids, dog, job, home, board work (times three), planning a bar mitzvah, and trying to figure out a separation and divorce. I toggle from email to video meetings to reminders to voicemails to lists and notes. I write emails to a friend that include the phrase "and and and and and" often. Basically daily. 

I am okay, and I'm really not complaining. It is a lot, but I am better than I was, and I know that. I am zoning out in my favorite way, watching TV (which is a totally legit form of self care, thank you very much), and I am going to be fine. 

There are going to be more days like this one ahead, when the work is manageable and the kids are quiet and the dog is napping and the house is clean and the dinner is made. It's good to know those days are still ahead, even if their frequency is limited right now. And someday, I'll probably look back on my time in the Land of Overwhelm and know that I'd give anything to be back there again. So I should probably try a little harder to be grateful for all of it right now.

43

It's my birthday, and I often feel compelled to mark it here on ye old blog. I remember writing for my 33rd birthday so clearly, actually sitting right where I'm sitting right now. I'm glad to know that some things don't change.

Because this year has been so, so much change. Losing my mother and ending my marriage in a six month period during a global pandemic. I mean, that has to be a sub-definition of "A LOT."

But today I feel so, so lucky. I've gotten lovely flowers and a lawn sign from my friends. Hannah draw a picture of the two of us on a happy evening, and Max gave me a lovely cookbook to probably not ever make anything from, but I'll enjoy reading it. 

Forty-three (gratefully, thankfully) feels like so much time left. I've been waiting to feel the peace I've heard about from my friends, and honestly, I'm not sure I'm there yet, but I think I'm closer. I know I'm closer.

So I Had Surgery, Again

About three weeks ago, I had surgery to remove a large lipoma from the back of my neck. As I've detailed the first surgery I had, to treat herniated disks in 2010, and the second, LASIK in 2015, here on the blog, I thought I'd write about this experience once again.

The journey to this third surgical experience was a long one. I can't remember for certain, but I think I first noticed the lump forming in 2016, but it may have been earlier. I know that when I saw the photos from Hannah's bat mitzvah in 2017 that I felt like I was holding my head in a funny way. I'd kept bringing it up to my doctor, but she said it wasn't anything to be concerned about. In the summer of 2018, I met with a plastic surgeon about it, and he agreed, just leave it be. I asked my doctor again in 2019, and she scheduled an ultrasound that fall to get a look at it. The results were what she expected, just a blob of fat. But by then I was having more and more trouble with pain in my shoulders, arms and hands. I saw a dermatologist last December, who I hoped might be able to help me out (as I had seen many helped by Dr. Pimple Popper by then - and I won't post a link - you can Google that yourself if you'd like). But she took one look at me and quickly sent me on my way, saying I needed a plastic surgeon for sure, as the lump was now quite large. I found someone to do the surgery, who didn't second guess me one bit, saw him in February, and was scheduled for May 1.

I'd chosen the date carefully, trying to make sure the surgery and the healing process wouldn't conflict with any important work or family things that I wanted to be sure to attend, like a work trip to Minneapolis (the last trip I took) and show tickets Hannah and I had for April in NYC (which of course didn't happen). So much for planning. But one Monday in June they called and asked if I could come in that Friday. I was a bit shocked, and said no, but rescheduled for June 29.

And then the anxiety really escalated. While I wanted the surgery, and knew how happy I was with the results of my two prior surgeries, I was FREAKED OUT. Reading back on it now, the experience I had in recovery after my back surgery was really downplayed on the blog, and I was terrified to have a similar experience. Plus, now it was surgery in a pandemic. I had to get a COVID test, and I was really worried about that too. I didn't think I'd get the virus while in the hospital for such a short time, but it was an extra layer of stress. I spent a lot of time crying. I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, because I could have just left it all alone too.

The morning of surgery was a fretful one for me. My emotions were right at the surface. When we walked into Beth Israel, I was suddenly overcome with memories of when I'd last been there, December 2007, when I was told I was miscarrying. I cried in the lobby remembering that day.

I met with the surgical team in pre-op, and I told them all of my fears regarding the procedure and recovery. They were great about talking me through everything (one anesthesiologist gave me a little too much detail, which I assured her I did NOT need to know), and they even took my iPhone with them so they could easily check my blood sugar through my continuous glucose monitor. They walked me in to the operating room, and I was given a tube to suck on to start the anesthesia, and then I woke up in recovery. Or at least, that's how I remember it.

I came to and kept tugging at my surgical mask. I couldn't understand at first what was on my face, and I wanted it off. But I quickly calmed down and realized I was alive and okay. I was scared, but not in that much pain. I had to have a surgical drain left in place to prevent excess fluid from building up, and it was gross but manageable. I didn't see anyone from my surgical team again, and Marc hadn't been permitted to stay in the building, so he was called and then picked me up at the curb. That afternoon, in my anesthesia haze, I told the kids I felt like I'd been hit by a bus and then somehow robbed a bank, and Marc was driving the getaway car. I think they liked the version of mom on heavy meds.

The rest of the week was basically lost. I was fortunate to not have to work, and we were closed on Friday for the fourth of July. The pain wasn't too bad after 48 hours or so, but it was hard to hold my head up the whole day. I was just exhausted, and I'm sure a lot of it was mental as well.

I had the drain removed at my follow up appointment a week and a half later. The doctor told me they removed almost 20 centimeters of tissue from my neck and shoulders. It was a lot.

I'm healing well and can definitely feel a difference, but it will take time for some parts of my shoulders to settle down after being pushed around for so long. It's hard for me to see it because I can't really see my own back, but Hannah says it looks a lot better. I've usually hidden it from the world by keeping my hair down in public almost all the time, but seeing as the pandemic has basically obliterated the need for blow drying, maybe now I'll feel better about putting my hair up when in the outside world. We'll see.

The one continuing downside to this is that it could happen again. If it does, hopefully now I know more and can speak to better doctors and not go through a years-long process again.

I'm glad I did it. I'm glad it's over. And I'm wondering what surgery I'll be having in five years time, assuming the pattern holds.

Oh, and wear a mask.