Somewhere Around the Rainbow

 I am a master of being fake.

 Not a fake friend. Not even a fake person. I mean, I usually tell it like it is. But, I faked so much when I was recovering - mentally, spiritually and physically - from my miscarriage. 

 I've written a bit on it and how it made me feel. I had a lot to process. I was so depressed. So angry. I was writing to let it out. And then, I stopped. Not because I was healed. Not because anyone told me to stop. I just wanted the thoughts to stop. I was turning into a different person, someone I didn't ever want to be.

You could say that I have rage issues. As a child, I was bullied and tormented in school. No, really tormented. Things happened that would shape my psyche forever. As a result of what I went through, I lost my ability to trust other people. I became insecure and unable to have confidence in anything about myself. I felt rage. I was never able to feel like I got any justice for what was done to me in school. I wanted so badly to hurt the people who hurt me, but I kept it in. I didn't want to worry my parents and I didn't want my friends to know the truth about what I was going through. My rage has always been on the back burner, just waiting. If you watch Dexter, he talks about his "dark passenger." That's rage for me ... a dark passenger, riding along in my cerebral depths, waiting for just the right time to stop the car, get out and make a grand entrance. I was able to suppress it for years. I acknowledged it, knew it was there and told myself it would always stay buried. In my heart of hearts, I'm a pacifist. I don't believe in wishing harm. I believe our thoughts eventually lead to reality and I didn't want to open that box. Until my miscarriage. Every restraint I had placed upon my rage just snapped. Broken. Unleashed. It was here and it wasn't leaving.

  Losing a child - there are no words to describe the pain. No one can understand what you are going through. Our society has made it a stigma, keeping grieving parents quietly tucked away in a corner lest our grief cause anyone to become uncomfortable. I have a wonderful family and wonderful friends who were my rock during that time. They read my woeful status updates, they talked to me, they acknowledged me. My friend Lauren heard the brunt of it. She took frantic phone calls from my husband, who was worried I was going to harm myself. She listened to me ramble psychotically. She stayed on that rocking boat with me in my sea of fear and wild emotions, dropping her anchor and steadying me when I needed it. Who knows where I'd be without my hubby, my little boy, Lauren and my other friends and family. It wouldn't be a good place.

I had never felt anger like that before. As I've written before, anything would set me off. Work was especially hard on me. Things were said that really hurt me, even if it wasn't meant to be that way. I felt so caged up, like I was going to crack at any moment. I raged on in status updates, on this blog and on online forums. That was only the tip. No one saw the real me. The once gentle mother who screamed at her little boy every hour of every day. The mother who believed so much in gentle discipline spanking her little boy. The mother who believed too much TV was bad for her child's brain letting that little boy watch TV for 4 or 5 hours straight while she lay catatonic on the couch. The mother who was gung-ho about a natural and organic diet for her family giving in to buying fast food and allowing more junk food in the home. The mother who would go outside and play and hike and run with her little boy just laying on the couch while he watched TV and destroyed the house. The wife who would listen to her husband and support him now cut him down. The wife who used to be loving and playful became verbally abusive and hateful. The wife who wanted to keep a happy and semi-neat home just letting the house go to shit. The woman who loved peace and non-violence punching and denting the car of a stranger. The employee who cared about her job and her co-workers would violently snap at them at random moments. I was nothing. I became so absorbed in my hatred of this world and all the happy things in it. Friends were announcing pregnancies and I wanted to punch them. How dare they have what was taken from me. I was more apt to spew venom at cashiers with attitude or strangers who looked at me the wrong way. My fuse was short and ablaze with all of my sorrowful anger. I wanted people to hurt. I wanted people to feel my pain. I was suffering and I needed the world to suffer, too. I didn't care who or what I hurt. I didn't care if I hurt myself. I need to feel that rage and let it burn.

  Is this the part where I tell you that the clouds parted, the sun shone through and the angels sang? Not exactly. There is a little sunlight, but it's a mostly cloudy day and the only angel singing is tone deaf - worse, he only knows one Justin Bieber song. Yes, the rage subsided somewhat, but allowing it to come out has made it harder to stuff back in. Kinda like those old gag "snakes in a can." You'll eventually get that bastard back into the can, but it takes a lot of pushing and shoving and the snake springs back out at you from time to time before you finally stuff it back in. I'm working on it. I became pregnant in November of 2010, 7 months after River died. Pregnancy kept the anxiety flowing. I never had a moment where I relaxed. Loss was always in the back of my mind. I had a few moments where I snapped. I had a health issue here and there and the fear of loss would slap me in the face and I'd flip out. And then I would get anxious about flipping out, worrying that I would hurt my little baby girl. It was a viscous cycle. I didn't relax until the moment she slipped out of my womb and into my arms.

  Why am I writing this? I've been reading comments here and there on Facebook. I won't get into specifics, but they involve judging a mother for the angry way she has been dealing with the loss of her baby. I understand  that the anger must eventually subside for the sanity and health of the mother and all involved. You don't want to use hate and anger for your baby's legacy. I get that. But, I get the pain. I get the rage. I get needing to lash out at people and make them feel as bad as you. Not everyone grieves that way, but I certainly understand those that do. My heart breaks for mothers who lose their sweet babies. It breaks when I see them judged in their grief. While their emotional outpourings may be hurtful towards others, it's still no excuse to berate them. These mamas need support so they can make through the rage and work on putting their peace puzzle back together. If we feed into their hate - and there are those who do - then we don't do the mama or her sweet baby's memory justice. I know I needed to feel that anger, but I didn't want it to become River's legacy forever.

  I'm trying to climb my way out of this fog. The sun is beginning to shine through the rain and I can make out the faint colors of my own symbolic prism. I am ashamed that I lost myself so badly in the last year and a half. I am ashamed that I disrupted my son's happy childhood because I could not adequately deal with my emotions around him. I'm trying to pick up all of those broken little pieces and put them back together again and I can only pray that the damage isn't permanent. I need myself back. I know I'm out there and I'm getting closer to finding me again. I'm waiting for myself.

Gratitude is About More Than Turkey

Thanksgiving week is upon us. Time for stuffing our faces with...well...stuffing, turkey, veggies of all sorts and an endless assortment of pies and pastries. Of course we're thankful for the opportunity to gorge ourselves, right? Of course we're thankful for the ability to gather with our families on this holiday. There are so many out there who don't get the same perks and we must not forget them. There are some other things to be thankful for besides the local high school football game, food galore and the anticipation of your Black Friday assault. We forget that there are people out there who serve us and who don't get the luxury of always staying at home on Turkey Day or perusing Black Friday ads for the best deals. Their professions involve situations that don't care if some European folk hit a rock onto the East Coast and supposedly had some corn fritters with the Indigenous peoples. So...let's give them some love.

Midwives - don't forget these women who will be on-call throughout the holiday season in order to bring babies into this world. Babies don't care about turkey or sales. Countless midwives will be paged/called just as they are about to stuff that turkey or sit down at the table. They'll grab their supplies and head to the house, birth center or hospital where they are called to deliver a baby.

Doulas - they will be on call, too. Cellphones will ring with calls from mothers/families needing labor support right now. Rather than hold drumsticks, they will be holding a mother during her birth sway or holding a hand as she bears down.

Obstetricians - sure, a good many of them already induced their patients early in the week or scheduled non-emergent c-sections in order to avoid having their feasts interupted. Yet, babies still come on their own schedule and many OBs, regular doctors and anesthesiologists will be called into work.

Nurses - on the maternity floor, in the ER, at a desk in the CRICU...many nurses are required to work this holiday as illness, birth and death don't take a break. Placing IVs, running EKGs and ridding a drunk homeless man of fleas...

Veterinary Technicians - what? You still think all we do is cuddle puppies and clean cages? We're working this holiday season, too. Just like human medicine, the veterinary medical world doesn't stop for turkey. In fact, it gets worse because of it. Many of us will already be at the hospital that day because IV pumps need monitoring, blood will need transfusing, c-sections will be happening and someone will need to administer treatments to a variety of the non-human folk. Some of will be called in to help with emergencies like the dog who began vomiting blood after eating half a turkey carcass that afternoon. Or for the cat who got a piece of wishbone lodged in his esophagus. Pancreatitis is THE WORD of the Thanksgiving weekend as many of us in the veterinary field will work extra hours pouring over lipase and amylase results, placing feeding tubes, monitoring vomiting and diarrhea and thinking healthy pancreas thoughts. Some of us will be monitoring anesthesia and passing instruments as our veterinarians dig turkey tibias from terriers.

Veterinarians - will awake from that tryptophan slumber as their cellphone goes off with a call about a labrador who may or may not have drank a gallon of gravy with a side of eggnog. They be in the clinic ordering radiographs, bloodwork and reviving someone's precious pet. They'll be out in the field treating a farmer's cow who wandered off and came back with a furiously bleeding wound. They will be in someone's barn inserting a naso-gastric tube in order to reflux the stomach contents of a horse whose intestines decided to twist.

Lactation Consultants - babies need to eat, too. Even on Thanksgiving. Many of us will take calls from frantic mothers who can't get the baby to latch because he is too overwhelmed with the 50 new people who invaded his home that day. They will guide new moms who are worried about a decrease in supply because they were up since 3am fixing that damn turkey and baking those damn pies, not taking the time out for themselves to eat or drink enough water. Troubleshooting latches, supply issues, nursing strikes, SNS systems, letdowns galore and more requires someone 24/7/365.

Kennnel Attendants - well, you did have to drop off Fluffy and Scratch because you are visiting your beloved Mother-in-Law for the next 4 days. Who do you think will be there to walk them 6 times a day, feed them, give them medicine, change the litter box, pet them and love them? They won't be visiting family in a far off place that weekend because they will be taking care of your fur family.

Home Health Aides/Hospice Care Workers/Certified Nurse's Aides - hey. Grandma has the dementia. She doesn't even know it's Thanksgiving. We'll stop by the home in the morning for a quick visit to alleviate our guilt before joining the rest of the family for a feast at Aunt Jane's house. Besides, the home serves up a lovely mashed combo of strained turkey 'n' gravey, watered down mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, a side of "pumpkin-flavored dessert" and a healthy dose of 18 medications. The Aides will take care of giving her a sponge bath in bed, checking for bed sores, putting on a new adult diaper, dressing her, brushing her teeth and hair, change the already soiled diaper and wipe her butt with dignity, change her clothes again, slide her out of bed into her wheelchair and get her to the table for some grub and conversation. It's all good.

Priests/Pastors/Nuns/Rabbis/Priestesses/Religious Folk - you may need an emergency confession session at St. Joey the Carpenter's RCC because you may have intentionally beat your stepbrother with a drumstick after he ate the last stuffing ball. There's a priest for that. The dying don't keep calendars and some families need the comfort of a spiritual leader at the time of death, even on Thanksgiving. Last Rites don't wait until after Father McIrishskinelli has finished his mashed sweet potatoes.

Retail Workers - for some reason Americans have decided that they cannot bear the thought of all the stores being closed for one day. So, many retail stores have decided to open their doors just so you can buy a new labelmaker or Shake Weight. Millions of hardworking Americans will spend their day at their job assisting customers with carry outs, ringing them up at the cash registers and listening to them bitch that the OTHER store offers a 15% discount on all Thanksgiving Day pruchases and that you NEED to accept their expired coupons. Then, these workers will go home, jam some fowl leftovers down their throat and hit the hay early. No, not because they plan to rise early to take advantage of sales. Because their boss said all personnel MUST report to work at 2am in anticipation of greeting loud, rude and sweaty customers who will line up at 2:30 am so they can be first in the store to buy a new Wii just because it's fucking red or get a Dyson vacuum that they don't need but it's 12% off and they have a coupon for a $5.00 giftcard with purchase. And, no, just because they came in at 2am doesn't mean they get to leave by 10am. No. They are "allowed" to work overtime that day...many pulling in 12 to 18 hours during the Black Friday madness with a lunch break that was (illegally, but big boss just DARES you to report it) cut back to 1/2 hour. All to watch people squash each other in line and fight over who gets the last Deported from Arizona Dora the Explorer doll.

Rescue Workers - Cops, firefighters and paramedics are patrolling and on the ready for fights that break out between family members because your father-in-law thought it was funny to tell your sister that she needs to back off the cranberry sauce since her ass is getting wider by the minute. They will be there for Uncle Larry who downed 7 pieces of pumpkin pie before you can say, "green bean casserole," and then mistakes his resulting indigestion for a heart attack. Or to pull over the jackass who thought it was just fine to drive after drinking 14 glasses of Aunt Mary's "special" spiced eggnog. And to put out the fire that engulfs half of the patio furniture after your cousin Eddie learns that perhaps the turkey fryer wasn't the best idea.

Mom. Grandma. Aunt Bee. Uncle Floyd. Cousin Janet. Your friend, Georgia. Your husband. Your wife. Your daughter. Your son-in-law - somebody was at the helm early in the morning thawing out that "motherfucking turkey that they put in the fridge 10 days ago to thaw and they swore it was fucking thawed out yesterday" turkey, cranning the berries, pie-ing the pumkpin, snapping the peas, beaning the casserole, mashing the damn potatoes that over-boiled, candying the yams, baking the fucking cookies that burned because I just went upstairs for 10 seconds to pee and downing most of the cooking wine. After spending the last 7 hours slaving over a stove so you can stuff your mug they either pass out at the table or don't even feel like eating. Give them some love.

The Turkey - he's just chillin', killin' and practicing his gobble when BAM, next thing he knows he's on the other side watching you and your family slice his cooked body with a black and decker electric knife. Give him (or her) respect for that sacrifice. All life is sacred.

Members of our Armed Forces - Air Force, Army, Marines, Navy, National Guard - all have service men and women, gay and straight or both, of all colors and backgrounds who are missing their families....waiting on a care package, hoping the 6ABC camera man will notice them so they can send a video greeting back home, sitting in a tent with sand blowing in their faces while keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. And keeping your American ass safe so that you can enjoy your American right to the freedom to eat your turkey 'n' trimmings and go shopping.


So let's not forget. Let's respect. I know I missed a lot of professions, but this was just a sample. Much love.