My life has gotten a little too real for me lately. Like, for real real. When you tend to feel a shift coming but not sure which side you’re going to be on. When life-altering decisions need to be made but you can’t make any one of them at all. When one day you’re worried that the end tables you want are too much money, and the next you’re wondering if you’ll ever be able to be lucky enough to have kids of your own in this lifetime. Too many health scares and life changes have turned me into two people – one that is desperately trying to find some regularity in it all and the other one that’s saying “fuck it, life’s too short”. The monotony of my present state needs to be altered, because it is not adding up to a life I want. And when health scares decide to rear their ugly heads, it all but forces you into a perspective you may not be ready to make. And alas, I sit here exhausted at the edge of the fork in the road, and I wonder where the next adventure will lead.
In the year of 2016, I have made a drastic move in my life, leaving the comfort of family and friends behind to pursue the starry lights and further journey down my career path in Hollywood. And to say it has not been life-altering would be an understatement. I can’t say I hate it (I never did like snow or winters), but I can’t say I love it either…however it’s only been 2 months, so I know the ambiguity is premature (plus I haven’t gotten my scuba or surfing license yet, so there are still things to be done…)
But while on this career sojourn, I also found out I required surgery to remove fibroids (benign tumors). “Lady issues” as I like to call them. I didn’t feel the need to tell anyone per say – not sure how that makes for fun brunch fodder – but at the same time, it was hard to explain that I was taking a leave of absence for a few days for a “vacation”. I thought by not talking about it, it would be my secret for a few select people to know and that it would make me feel better not to blab all my personal issues out onto an unsuspecting human, but then again, I am a bad liar and didn’t realize what a relief it would be to just say the words out loud. Once I did finally announce to the world, I HAVE THESE ALIEN BABIES IN ME THAT NEED TO COME OUT SO I CAN ONCE AGAIN BE A NORMAL LADY IN SOCIETY, things changed. Thoughts shifted, and I felt more me again. I found out it’s “completely normal” and, in fact, usual for a woman “of my age” to have fibroids. My 13-year-old self who always just wanted to fit in jumped for joy. Fairly common, completely treatable with modern medicine, and I would feel better instantly. Cue sigh of relief.
The surgery itself – beyond the pre-registration, walking into a hospital and having a panic attack – seemed relatively painless. The nerves and thoughts of mortality come naturally when surrounded by medical personnel, and I made a mental note to not only put “advance directive” on my to-do list, but also to never watch another medical show again (since everything in the OR prep of Cedar-Sinai looked and felt like Grey’s Anatomy!). By the time I was getting Lidocaine (a poke and a burn) and dressed up with fancy IV drips and calf muscle relaxers, there’s not much you can do but pray for the “happy juice” that’s coming your way.
I was extremely grateful and lucky to have my mom be retired at a time when I was without family close during such an ordeal, even though, anyone in the know will tell you, she had seen too many interiors of various hospitals in the month of February. Recovery seemed manageable. I emerged with a little more pep to my step, feeling lighter knowing 80% of those benign alien babies were out of me and it was once again able to breathe. I probably lost about 3 pounds too.
But like the pessimist in me will always say, wait for the other shoe.
Fast-forward to this past week, where, post-recovery, I go into my specialist office to discover “the surgery was beautiful and went great” BUT….cue that damn shoe falling. Turns out not only do I need to have another surgery, but there’s also an abnormality to my lady parts that could alter my ability to ever have kids. “High risk pregnancy” and “miscarriages (plural)” were thrown around like candy, as the piñata in my brain burst open. You know when people tell you “you can’t have this” and you suddenly have an urge to punch them in the face and say, “I’ll show you”?! But obviously I didn’t want to do this to my surgeon who has assured me this is all “normal” and “completely manageable”. Fuck normal. I have never wanted to be less normal in all my life.
And while I have no more details for anyone, as I have to have another appointment to figure out what needs to be done and when, just being able to share it, say it out loud makes me feel better. (side note – this is all very manageable, and not at all life-threatening). The burden of this load is too much for me to take on myself, this I am truly aware, so I am grateful for friends and people around me who know my plight and sympathize, or allow me to show emotion (which we all know I love…cue eyeroll) or just let me be.
Yes, the self-analysis will continue – the thoughts of trying to decide what to do with my future will always plague my mind, especially now – but through the process of writing I have always found solace, so hopefully this remains a practice throughout this and future ordeals.
It always takes something dramatic in my life to make me see perspective. And just like those end tables I never ended up buying, there will always be a catalyst that forces me to change. I know now that gratitude is a practice I would like to continue in my life, but beyond that, selflessness and allowing people in and talking about things without the fear that I am burdening them, and just trying desperately to let it go and just let it be and all that fun foofy universe stuff that I love to believe in…all those things that seem frivolous in the grand scheme of things…those are the things I seek now in my life more than ever.
So let’s continue to email and talk and text and facebook and snail mail and do all those things we talk about doing but never have time for. If this health scare has done anything, it has reminded me what is important – you. You matter to me. Life matters. People matter. Believe me, it’s taken a couple days under the covers and a couple of long Ollie walks in the sunshine to remind me what is important. Perhaps the perspective was always there, just buried beneath the monotony of the day-to-day. But being able to say that (and not be ashamed of it) has also made me stronger.
I don’t have my “tribe” here in California with me, and I hate that everyday. But something I learned is, maybe without my squad at arms length, even though I feel weak, I am stronger. Perhaps I was strong all along. But I know now that by sharing my stories of struggle (and triumphs) out loud, I feel stronger than I ever have.
