Evaporate

It’s been twenty-seven days. Twenty-seven. Days. Since you passed, somehow, twenty-seven days have passed. I still don’t believe it. Not possible. No way. As backwards as this sounds for the way life typically unfolds, I would’ve bet money you’d outlive me.

Me? Don’t ask about me. It’s been one thing after the next. It started with my eyes. Wait no. It started back in early December 2022 with the early signs of a flare. My first in almost two years– the longest I’ve gone without a flare since diagnosis twelve and a half years ago. Success in my medical history book. But it snuck up as it always does with stress. You know, right? You’ve seen – witnessed – up close and personal alongside me – for six and a half years how this beast operates. Fire up that stove, Mama. Break out the stock pot. It’s time to stew.

Yes, for me, everything now, started then. Fast forward. The eyes. Wait. No again. It was the occasional joint pain. I tried to keep up the physical well being, and the mental health, with the exercise. Fell in love with my body and feeling fit again. Strong. But as my fortune would have it, that was made hard to accomplish. Go ahead and throw that in the pot too. It all matters.

Now the eye. Yes, the eye. The right one. A day or two before you left, it began. Not certain yet what’s happening there…

But WHAM! Hit by the freight train hurdling down the track towards us that we didn’t even know was on the track to leave the station that fateful January day. You were here and then in a moment, a tiny instance, you weren’t. You were gone. Gone. Just plain gone. Like a dream. Fleeting. You were real but you weren’t. Evaporated into thin air. Not possible. I say again. Not possible. Glue doesn’t just stop sticking one day. …Or does it? When does the glue stop sticking? It must stop at some point, one day, too, …right?

How do we throw you in the pot? You’re too big. You don’t fit. It’s too big. It’s wrong. You’re the backbone. The BACKBONE. The backbone doesn’t belong in there. We need that. Plus we can’t possibly cut you into bitesize pieces, can we?

Funeral home. Decisions. No answers. None. We get to live in confusion. With questions. Questions. And more questions. Zero answers. And it will stay that way. Because you are supposed to be here. Not there.

Wait! Stop! No. Turn the heat down. Starting to boil over. Blisters. The eye. It’s blisters. And it’s now two eyes. What is this? And why was it added? The body. The pain— the muscles, the joints, the bones, the headaches— what is happening? It all hurts and yet, is added anyway.

What exactly are we making? I don’t want it. 

And there it is. That flare that was already real is now really real. Infection. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Doctors. Medicines. More doctors. More medicines. Must. Keep. Going. Why? No break. No rest. There’s too much. Why did we use this monstrous stock pot?  It holds too many things.

OH! And the things. All the things. Stuff on top of stuff. All. The. Stuff. It’s caving in on top. It’s too much. Overwhelming. It must get out. Go. It has to go. How did you do it? How did you live with all of the things on top of things. On top of you. So much to do. Piles. 

Savory. There has to be some savory. Flowers. Cards. Words. Tears. Salty tears. Pouring. Not one received card, even twenty-seven days later, has gone read without salty tears. Careful though. No crying— what about the eye meds? I want to cry though. How am I to get through this with no tears?

There’s been an alter to this –recipe? Is that what we call it? It’s going in a pot, soup? I guess? I’m in SO MUCH PAIN. My eyes, my gut, my bones, my entire being. This recipe. This disastrous recipe. It’s awful. But it’s all I have. And I don’t have enough spoons or a big enough spoon to consume it. I’m trying. So hard. Crawling, no grasping, at anything I’m able to lap up. Morsels. I’ll devour it if I have to. I’m starving. It all hurts. Crippling pain beyond anything I’ve experienced before. I no longer care how disgusting it is. Just give it to me —I’ll ingest it. Somehow. I need to. For so many reasons. Filling. Relief. Acceptance.

The physical pain must stop. For you. So I can grieve you. All I want to do is cry and my own eyes refuse me because they need their medicine to heal. There’s no time to cry right now.

I don’t know, Mom. Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Can I eat it all? I really don’t want to. It’s a massive pot. Overwhelming. It’s a lot thrown in. I think we haphazardly ran into the kitchen and dumped everything from the cupboards and pantry in. I’ll never know why. It’s bitter enough alone, without all the things. With them, it’s almost inedible. Which now reminds me of a quote I heard on a show recently that is the same quote a friend also gave me in a frame after being hospitalized in 2019: How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. So that’s what I’m trying to do one-tough-fucking-piece at a time.

But it’s not about me. It’s not supposed to be. It’s supposed to be about you. It’s supposed to be sadness, memories, crying, grieving, laughter, new moments, coping. All the things death brings. And yet, here it is — my body — being extra. Being so much more. The disabilities are out. And now I do it all without the one who knew me best. The one who helped me best. My backbone is gone. I’m fully exposed.

I don’t know what’s next. I’ll find out soon I suppose. There’s more to come. There always is. Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? Time keeps moving regardless of what’s going on. It doesn’t care. Time’s single purpose is to keep propelling forward. We are the ones that work around it and have to “just figure it out” “make it work” even when it doesn’t. Life. Hard. Bittersweet. Beautiful. Brutal. Brutiful. A one shot kind of deal.

It’s been twenty-seven days. Twenty-seven days. The measuring cup and spoon you ate your last oatmeal breakfast from still sit dirty by the sink along with your last morning coffee in your mug on the Keurig. We’ve moved so many things. So. Many. Things. But without moving those. We keeping moving around those. The last moments of you. We keep moving around the last moments of you. Oh, but that coffee inside the mug. Did you know coffee evaporates, too?

*written 2.7.2023

Meanwhile…

I’m not sure how ‘religious’ I consider myself…but I am spiritual. I enjoy reading about God and self discovery. After all, isn’t evolving what propels us forward? This morning, while listening to a video on the story of Joseph a phrase struck me: With God, there is always a meanwhile.

This was being said in the sense that as Joseph endured thirteen years of hardship, God was still as work. The years of hardship is ultimately what places Joseph in his more fruitful place in the future, but surely his life took turns and looked nothing like he’d originally thought.

I started thinking about my own life and how the last bit of it, I’ve caught myself saying – even as recently as yesterday – that I’m ready for a break. I need a little peace for a while in my life where it doesn’t feel like life is constantly blowing up in my face. The last almost eleven years have endured: disease, death, disease, divorce, disease, doubt, disease, disgruntled-ness, disease, decisions, disease and grief…an endless cycle of grieving. It’s easy to lose the sight of the meanwhile in all of that.

I haven’t been living solely in the world of cynicism and most days I see the silver lining. In all of those damned D words I’ve learned to really take in the ‘good’ days as well as really ‘learn’ from the bad. I know I can do hard things. I know how to love hard and experience cherished moments with a little extra appreciation. I also know how to laugh, even in the dark moments- that dark humor really gets you through sometimes. I’ve learned that joy and grief live on the same coin, and both are necessary to fully experience and understand life.

But even in all of that, I can still lose sight of the meanwhile…

That probably comes from the uncertainty of the outcome. The once this is all said and done. Simply because we don’t know where we’ll end up once the storm clears. I believe it’s what makes that final stage of grief sometimes the hardest to get to: acceptance.

I’ve accepted quite a bit in my life and most of the twists and turns it’s taken, I find I’m really okay with. I see the valuable lessons learned. I see the benefit of the change. I feel and know I’m better for most of them. One I consistently struggle with and find myself cycling and recycling through the grief process with is my chronic illness. It’s no fun unpredictability going from up to down and it interferes with so much.

It makes it hard to see the meanwhile, the lesson, the purpose.

The verse that went with this video that provoked my thoughts was, Psalm 119:45 “I will walk in freedom”. If we live in the truth that there is always a meanwhile, then we can walk in freedom. The entire chapter of 119 mentions knowing God’s precepts, meditating on truths, and because of those things, we can live free trusting the meanwhile.

At the end of the day, that is where life is lived…for the moment, for the present, for the time being…meanwhile. So, when shit’s about to go down (or all ready is going down), remember the best is yet to be and work is being done in the meanwhile.

Song: Graham Nash – Wounded Bird

I’ve watched you go through changes
That no man should face alone
Take to heel or tame the horse
The choice is still your own
But arm yourself against the pain
A wounded bird can give
And in the end remember
It’s with you you have to live
And in the end remember
It’s with you you have to live
Stand your ground I think you’ve got
The guts it takes to win
But you must learn to turn the keys
Before she’ll let you in
And understand the problems of the girl you want
So near or you’ll wear the coat of questions `til the
Answer hat is here
You’ll wear the coat of questions `til the
Answer hat is here
Serenade your angel with a love song from your eyes
Grow a little taller even though your age defies
Feel a little smaller
And in stature you will rise
A hobo or a poet must kill dragons for a bride;
And humble pie is always hard to swallow
With your pride

Little Umbrellas

“Mushrooms grow in damp places. That’s why they are shaped like umbrellas.” 

If I were to give 2020 a symbol, it’d be the mushroom. 

-grows in the dark 

-a fungus

-seems to manifest overnight and doesn’t stop

-no one wants them in their yard

-can prove fatal

We now sit on the cusp of decisions and change. It’s time. Perhaps that’s where the mushroom also comes in handy. Mushrooms decompose the matter below the earth that could become a problem if it continues to pile up. We won’t thrive how we’ve always been. 

What if this year is for more? A lesson of all lessons, yes, but more. It’s the year that wants to decompose what’s beneath- to decay and clear out.

Decisions will have to be made. A new way must be accepted. An awakening. There has to be the realization that much is learned in the damp and the dark. It’s usually where the deepest and hardest work happens and where the most magical things come from. 

Personally, my life has felt like one long transformation for the last 10 years. And I have more to do. It’s blatantly apparent here at the end of this wild year. There is a more magnificent way to live. We just have to allow it. We have to dig into the damp and decompose. #carrieblessons #wecandohardthings

Capture by #pugmanjrw

#carriebcaptures

And That’s Not All, My Friend

Recently, I posted this on Facebook.

Scarily, it sums up the last few years perfectly. And the words for 2018 are exact (for me). 2018 was a big year for me – I feel like I’ve been through a lot. I definitely went through more in 2016 and 2017 that was physical and life altering, but for some reason 2018 has felt big. Perhaps it’s because there was a lot going on internally this year. The other years felt very external – a lot happening to me. This year was a lot of me happening to myself. Is that…growth? I feel more me than I have ever felt. I feel comfortable with me. I like me. Hope you do too 😉

There is a song I wanted to share that feels extremely appropriate to close out this particular year. Their songs are amazing, but it’s always their words that always hit me. Mixed with their music, well, that just makes it so much more. I could sit an analyze the words for you because I feel like I emotionally lived every inch of this entire song this year, but it’s not really necessary. It simply sums up 2018 for me. And I’m sure there are others out there who need the same encouragement. Please take this as a big ole hug from me to you.

We’ve got this. We can do all the hard things. And still find joy and peace. She believed she could, so she did. 2019 is sure to be one hell of a new year because that’s not all, my friend ❤

Let It Fall – Over the Rhine (song)

LYRICS:

Have you been trying too hard
Have you been holding too tight
Have you been worrying too much lately
All night
Whatever we’ve lost
I think we’re gonna let it go
Let it fall
Like snow

‘Cause rain and leaves
And snow and tears and stars
And that’s not all my friend
They all fall with confidence and grace
So let it fall, let it fall

Have you been carin’ too much
How this one ends
Y’know it’s not the kind of fight
That you lose or win
When you’re down so low
You feel the imprint of the ground
On skin
Look around
Breathe in

 

The Cliff

There is a moment. I don’t really know how long this moment is. I’m in this place I’ve never been before. It feels peaceful, but it doesn’t at the same time. I feel the wet sand between my toes as I’m sitting at the edge of the sea on a beach. I scrunch my toes up letting the grit mush between my toes. It feels nice. I close my eyes and listen to the water lap the shore. It sounds nice.

I look around and take it all in. There is expanse. If I glance to the right the view is breathtaking. The deep gray-blue sea meets the horizon. It looks like twilight. The sea is calm, bay-like. The sky is amazing filled with purple, orange and pink. The purple is deep and turns deeper as I run the panoramic image with my eyes. The space feels large, but it also doesn’t. There is a cliff across the sea from where I sit. I could stand and walk around the beach to it. It wouldn’t be a far walk. But I don’t want to. It look ominous. It’s dark gray and has lots of sharpness to it. The juts in and out of the cliff almost appear scale-like. It is not overly inviting.

It’s then I feel another presence. I look to my side and there he sits. Tears spring to my eyes. It’s been a while. He doesn’t visit often. In fact, I can only recall a handful of times over the last seven years I’ve received a visit. He puts his long arm around me and I lean into him. My head rests on his shoulder. The sobs pour out of me suddenly, uncontrollably. A needed release. I let go.

Time passes, I’m not sure how much. We are simply together. Sitting. Quietly. I begin to hear a low rumble in the distance. I look out above the cliff and understand why the sky was a deep purple. Another storm is coming. Another. That is my realization. Another. Not a storm is coming, but another. I turn and look at my father tears still spilling down the sides of my face. I’m scared. He knows. I see all the understanding of the world in his eyes. His eyes ache for me, yet are filled with an understanding of peace I am not yet privileged to know.

I feel the hand of his arm around me tighten on my shoulder. A sense of dread begins to swell in the pit of my stomach. Without a word, he raises his other arm and points to the cliff. My eyes follow his hand. I bow my head shaking it at the same time. No, I try to communicate to him. He keeps is gaze forward. I feel his grip loosen on my shoulder as his hand drops. I inhale closing my eyes. I want to stay. Here. With him. I want to continue to feel his big arms around me engulfing me as they always did when I was a little girl. It is safe there.

I am angry. I can’t look back over at him. His message saddens me. I feel my heartbreak all over again. I’m not done. This battle isn’t over yet. I stand. The water rushes at my feet covering my ankles. I sink a little into the sand. If I stay in that position too long, my feet won’t be able to move the deeper they sink into the wet sand. I take a moment to look down at my dad still seated in the sand. He nods. I sigh.

I begin walking along the shore to the cliff. The cliff seems to grow before me. It’s going to be one hell of a climb. And with a storm brewing no less. You can feel the electricity in the air. The dread in my stomach grows into a dull ache. Halfway, I stop and glance back at my father. His cheeks are glistening, but his eyes are so certain. I mouth I love you to him. He smiles. He knows this already.

I continue forward. I reach the cliff. Taking in a deep breath, I place my hands on its rocky surface and begin to climb…

 

Secondary Grace

As I wrap up this season of giving & receiving, I find myself contemplating my favorite little ‘P’ word, Perspective. It wasn’t but a couple of years ago that word never passed my lips without my infamous eye roll (I was told quite recently ago, I’d perfected the eye roll. I snidely responded it was good to know your strengths, finishing with a smirk and my roll; I’m sure leaving a lasting impression). Perspective…’a particular attitude’…I remember in college learning that perception is reality, though reality is rarely perception. That’s a scary thought. Does anyone have a grasp on what’s real then?

I know what’s real to me and you know what’s real to you. How can two people experience the exact same thing having two completely different perspectives. Therefore creating two different realities. What, in all of that, is actually real? I’ve experienced this firsthand: living same life experiences with someone and having two completely different realities. Our perspectives were devastatingly opposite. Not an easy feat, and we lost.

I thought Christmas might be hard this year, considering the loss. Surprisingly, I’ve had a good season. Quite the opposite of hard actually, I’ve been told (a couple of times) I have a glow about me. I was also asked “How did you get so strong?” the other day. Crazy, it’s all a matter of perspective. Truth is, my life is an utter mess right now. And don’t you dare ask about my future plans. You’re likely to get an eye roll (I have no damn idea). Future = murky, so don’t ask. But in all this ugly mess, I realized the other day what it is I feel, joy. Yes, in all that chaos you just read, while living the epitome of ‘I don’t have a damn clue what’s happening in my life’ and in the midst of experiencing a huge life disappointment, I feel joy.

In all of this, there is gratefulness in my heart. Each day I notice things, usually little things. It’s those little things that make me smile. They keep me grateful. And I’ve found as long as I keep grateful in my heart, it’s hard not to feel joy. Even in dark, difficult, nasty moments (and I have plenty of those too) because I keep grateful & joy close by, dark, difficult & nasty find it hard to stay around for very long. Perspective. It’s the light switch in life. There are really only two choices with perspective. On or off.

One of my favorite gifts this year is a mantra bracelet given to me by the one who is the right to my left. This woman brings sincerity and sarcasm to my tribe. And I adore every ounce of her compassionate soul. After all life has decided to throw my way over the last 6 years, she nailed it. My perspective: She believed she could, so she did ❤

And I do. Everyday. It’s a choice. And Dark still visits. I welcome him. Invite him in for a spell, sit with him, embrace him, but then I tell him when he’s overstayed his welcome. There is no easy in any of this. It’s all very, very tough.

After finishing Christmas with my most favorite human to ever exist, I went and saw Collateral Beauty. Let me tell you now, if you haven’t seen it yet (believe it only opened a week ago so not sure why you haven’t seen it yet), but you absolutely MUST see it as soon as you can get your rear end in a movie theater seat. There are so many layers to the story. And without ruining much, three of the most important characters play roles in our everyday lives: Love, Time & Death. Life is the most exquisite tragedy of all time. We will all experience joys and sorrows along the way. The ultimate definition of bittersweet. And how you feel it, experience it, and live it is all a matter of your perspective.

So…are you on or are you off? It usually doesn’t happen in a grand, defining moment. It’s after-the-fact, like a slow awakening. It’s in the little things. The collateral beauty, many times the less obvious, a secondary grace. The things that are undoubtedly harder to see in the tragic moments, but they’re also undeniably difficult to un-see once you begin to realize them…

Grace was given for us and to us. Secondary grace is what we choose to give ourselves. And you’re worth it. Know it. Believe it. Do it. And ‘Keep Pounding’ doesn’t hurt either 😉

Glowing Great+Full

As I opened my blinds this Thanksgiving morning, the freshly-wet-from-rain, brown-orange-golden view made me pause. Millions of leaves lay disarray covering the ground in their final resting place. A few still clung to their branches, the trees almost appeared to be aching for them to finally let go. Each piece prepping for dark and stillness. Until next year…

The scape was simply stunning. The leaves going out with a bang. The scene made me recall a quote I had come across recently: “What are you going to do with all that dark?” “Find a way to glow in it.”

This year has been a life altering year. Having been put in situations I would have never dreamed of, there have been some dark moments. It’s been a time of crumbling, a time of changing, a time of letting go of a tree I was so deeply rooted in. Much of this year I have felt like a withered fall leaf floating, bouncing around controlled by a strong wind, trying desperately to find the ground – someplace firm to land – to finally rest.

Sipping my morning tea while trying to enjoy my favorite coffee cake and the view, I feel a sigh escape my body. In no way do things remotely resemble how I imagined them to be. It saddens my heart. I feel full. Full as in ‘that’s enough, please no more’. I need a breather. Can someone else tag in for a bit?

As those feelings are toying with me, I glance down. My wrist reminder pulls me back. ‘Athas’ the Irish word for ‘Joy’. A token from a trip I took this year. A reminder. A saving grace. A word I fell in love with years ago. That word makes me crack a smile. I love when I see it pop up in life. It always makes me pause and take another look.

So I look again and when I look this time, instead of full I see great. My beautiful view. My little boy. My favorite coffee cake. A beautiful fall. The smell of a turkey smoking. My family. Pictures I adore that make my heart smile. A sweet four-legged little girl. The amazing ladies I work with. Trips with fun and fabulous people. Laughing. On point memes. The sun shining. My favorite tea in a mug that warms my heart. The massive amounts of texts of love and support I receive daily. My tribe. My fierce tribe. I am greatly full.

The year has been a harder one. Autumn is not an easy season as it is for my family. And where I am ‘full’ things are still ‘great’. My current state may be floating aimlessly through the dark in an uncontrollable wind, but there is still spark and color. I see it. I feel it. And I will find a way to glow in it. So many ‘great+full’ moments still ❤

Tantrum

I laugh now (which I love that I can still find humor in spite of…), but a couple of nights ago I pitched a tantrum. A legit ten year old girl but with adult words (or sentence enhancers as I’ve grown to adore calling them) tantrum. Pretty certain I was even on the floor kicking and screaming at one point (that may be more along the age of three). Technology got the better of me and it broke me down. C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E-L-Y down. It went on for two hours. I was utterly hysterical convinced the world was out to get me. I couldn’t get even the simplest of things to go right. I was on stage in my own one woman drama delivering the performance of a lifetime. Of course I realize my wounds are deep. My tantrum had little to do with technology and everything to do with where I am in my oh so fabulous journey of life.

My life looks so vastly different than it did a year ago, even six-seven months ago. In fact, if you had told me I’d be in the situation I was in now, I would have said no way without a single doubt in any corner of my mind – I’d stand up and punch them out (Who Knew). Never say never…

There is nothing, hear me when I say nothing, absolutely nothing on this side of heaven guaranteed – except death. We are all promised an end. There will be a last breath. But the details of that last inhale/exhale remain a mystery until the precise moment arrives. I wholeheartedly believe in living to the fullest every single minute you’re given. Everything could change faster than the blink of an eye.

When my current ‘dark place’ began I didn’t know whether to look up, down, left or right. All I knew was I had a little one to look after. That meant putting on a brave face when on the inside I was in a thousand tiny little pieces and had no clue where to begin picking them up to put them back together. So, I simply proceed with one foot in front of the other. One inhale after an exhale. One second in time to the next. Looking too far in advance is murky. Perhaps some of the fog has lifted, but I cannot even glance into the future for I have no earthly idea what it could possibly look like.

More days, more moments than not, this picture depicts me internally. It’s hard to have a chronic illness that people don’t see on the outside. Many times it’s hard to understand when I don’t feel good. That coupled with my current ‘dark place’ most minutes of the day I feel like I’m drowning, constantly gasping for breath. Help always just out of reach.

Therefore, enter my ten year old tantrum the other night stage right. It really was quite comical, made for Broadway. I’ll take my Tony now, thank you. As the tears turned into laughter, I thanked Truvy Jones for reminding me that laughter through tears is my favorite emotion too. Glennon Doyle Melton said something that has struck me in all of my mess, “I cry so often for the same reason I laugh so often. Because I’m paying attention.” I do pay close attention too. I see how hard and cold the world can feel. I see how it has made me feel. I also see humor in more situations than not. Even if it starts with irony. And I am constantly reminded and redeemed by those in my tribe how important love is. So I still choose to love. In spite of it all, I choose love.

I told you, my tribe is fierce. Their love is what helps me remember that this ‘dark place’ too shall pass. There will be something more for me after this. They give me strength and support while I’m piecing my thousands of tiny pieces back together.

Cue friend’s message. In the midst of my tantrum, the timing was perfect and with the perfect quote. I needed to remember I’m just down, but not out. I am a warrior – fierce and tender all rolled into one. I may be in a ‘dark place’, but while I’m here I may as well roll over and look at the stars. There is something to be seen here too…

Too Much

I’ve always been told I have high expectations. I’m too honest. Too loyal. Too strong-willed. My mama always told me to treat other people the way I want to be treated. So I love fiercely, I defend loyally, and I protect with everything that I am. In return, I expect: honesty, loyalty, compassion, empathy, kindness, love. I’m tired of feeling less than and not good enough because of what I expect. How are any of those expectations wrong?

Perhaps that’s the problem with the world. Not enough people expect those things – especially women. We walk around constantly lowering the bar for others. Silly cliches exist because of those low bars, “You’re not the only one.” “It happens all the time.” When will we live in a world where integrity, morals and character matter?

God forbid we be good to each other. Amazing how a simple concept appears to be an impossible task. I am not perfect – I am human which naturally makes me flawed. I fall short every day of the person I really want to be. I make mistakes, but I have a conscience that won’t let me move on without learning from them.

It’s amazing what people will let you think about yourself – especially as a woman. People who say they’re there for you and understand you. Yet when it comes to standing up and making a morally conscious decision, they flake or disappear altogether. What is good is not always right and what is right is not always easy. All of a sudden you’re made to feel worthless and less than, rejected and unloveable.

Well guess what? I’m NONE of those things. I’ve compromised and removed pieces of me for others. THAT is where I went wrong. I choose to take a stand now. Casting shame aside, I choose to make a difference. I have a little boy who WILL see the better way. He may see me fall, but he will see me rise. He will hear me say I’m sorry and take accountability when I’m wrong. He will see me do right by others when I mess up. He will see me love all kinds of people and show compassion when they’re hurting.

We’re here to love. That’s the sole purpose. There’s no big mysterious meaning to this life. It’s all about love. It’s time we get our heads out of our ass and really show up for each other. I may be too much for some, but that just means those in my tribe are fierce as hell. We don’t hide behind false pretenses. We’re real and ugly and silly and beautiful all wrapped in one and we accept that. And if that’s just too much for some to take in, I’m okay with that. I’ll take my ‘too much’ any day over ‘not enough’.

A Good Dump

Definition Dump:

noun
1. a site for depositing garbage; a place where a particular kind of waste, especially dangerous waste, is left; a place where weapons and other military equipment is stored; a heap of garbage left at a dump; an unpleasant or dreary place; an act of defecation
2. a copying of stored data to a different location, performed typically as a protection against loss; a printout or list of the contents of a computer’s memory, occurring typically after a system failure

verb
1. deposit or dispose of (garbage, waste, or unwanted material), typically in a careless or hurried way; abandon or desert (someone); sell off (assets) rapidly
2. copy (stored data) to a different location, especially so as to protect against loss; print out or list the contents of (a store), especially after a system failure.
3. tackle (a quarterback) before he can throw a pass

Let me preface this piece by saying I’m going to spill some guts here. If you can’t handle a little of life’s sliminess, this read isn’t for you. If you are okay with some unbridled truth mixed with a tad of crass humor then I will do what my body does best by urging you to read on…

Sometimes we all need a good dump. Emotionally or physically, it can help release something internally or externally that just needs to be purged from our body.

Hi, my name is Carrie, and I’m addicted to my toilet. Well, I’m not, but my rear end is. To me, it’s the best seat in the house.

I have been fighting a battle I have kept publicly quiet about for over 5 years. I will share about it one on one with folks, but to voice it and put it out there like this – is hard (much like I wish my bowel movements were). The bathroom is a private place and that’s where most of my story on a daily basis takes place. To say I’m emotionally spent doesn’t begin to cover it. My IBD yearns to remain active enough to keep causing me daily grief, but not ‘bad’ enough to warrant surgery (not that I want the kind of surgery ‘bad enough’ would offer at my ripe young age of almost 33). I live in limbo of, What should I do next?  My body gives a whole new meaning to “Don’t beat yourself up.” And it’s completely out of my control. Per my autoimmune disease, I’m the only one bad enough to kick my a$$.

Previously, I touched on the outskirts of the emotional journey of having an IBD. The words Alone, Isolation and Misunderstood were at the center. Also, checking in on those ‘blessings in disguise’ they are not always easy to find because they’re coming in a pretty nasty, debilitating and frankly sh*@#y disguise…

So much in and of life gets taken for granted, and most of time you don’t even realize you take it for granted. It is only when something is taken away do we truly realize its value.

A toilet. I love a freaking toilet. Period. I often wonder how long IBD has been around and cannot imagine living with this in the days of an outhouse or less. Plumbing is such a wonderful thing. Heck, our internet was down for a few days recently and all it taught me was a good pioneer, I would not make. How did they survive without social updates…especially if or when they were under the weather and isolated? Can we say first world problems?

Flushable wipes. Oh. My. Goodness. Toilet paper is easily my very own version of the Goldilocks and the Three Bears story. Don’t get me started on crappy, cheap toilet paper. On the other hand, too soft tears too easily creating a ‘fun’ (and I use the word fun about as loosely as my stools like to stay) mess. Flushable wet wipes are ‘juuussst right’ and my hiney’s personal BFF. They’re even more lovable when you’re super irritable down there with an agitated hemorrhoid or two.

A good night’s sleep. Who doesn’t love a good night’s sleep? I get it. And there are many out there with sleeping problems. Having an IBD is like living with a newborn every night except you’re the one you’re constantly changing. It leaves room for little rest.

A good meal. I have always loved food. Eating is such a social function too. Food can be an IBD patient’s worst enemy and many times unpredictably. There are many moments I am forced to choose to not eat because it’s just not worth the pain and disruption (and sometimes eruption) afterwards. It’s hard to sit around and watch everyone else indulge wishing you were delectably indulging with them.

A quick carpool line. Now, I’m fully aware most any parent enduring a carpool line at school enjoys when it moves along efficiently, but on carpool’s swift days, my butt is eternally grateful. The anxiety of crapping myself in carpool line (or any traffic for that matter) is always a fear. Urges are unpredictable and when they hit I can give the game of hot potato a run for its money. You may think, Okay. At least you’re in your car and you can get home and change…but what about the smell when someone is assisting your child into the car? Can’t exactly hide that wonderful stench. How embarrassing.

The sunshine. IBD takes an emotional toll. Days of no sun makes it harder. When that sun shines, soaking it in (as long as a bathroom is nearby) is beyond refreshing. Something going in rather than coming out…ahhhhhh 😀

A coca-cola. I finally caved and gave up alcohol a while ago (won’t deny, I was in denial about no longer enjoying an adult beverage especially after a long day, and it’s another social activity others enjoy that gives me a run for the toilet), but to have to give up my favorite little red labeled drink – I may have shed a tear or two. It’s become a celebratory drink. Maybe that makes it even more special.

Healthy food. I was also in denial about what our foods do to us. It is still something I am exploring and learning about, but when I eat as green and clean and as organically as I possibly can, my explosions are not quite so explosive, and I LOVE that.

Meditation. Oh, what peace. Yoga, body stretching, mind relaxing, I love it all. The feeling of being centered again gives you somewhat of a feeling of ‘control’ even if it’s just mentally. You can’t be too modest though…if we are in a class together and you hear a noise that makes you want to giggle – it was probably me 😉

The compassion of someone who gives a damn and shows you they do. It’s easy to feel judged, misunderstood, and forgotten when you have an IBD. I fiercely cherish those who have remained close to me despite my shortcomings. We all need to know we are thought of once in a while. Human connection is imperative to a joyful soul. My gratitude to those still centered in my life comes from the deepest parts within ❤

A good poot. I cannot even begin to describe how delightful it feels to expel gas and not be afraid of needing to be inches from a toilet or worrying if you’ll need to change your underwear. I absolutely relish when I’m able to let it rip (and usually am grinning when I get to do so).

Energy. Fatigue is part of having a chronic illness. You are naturally just ‘give out’. When you are having a good day you want to bottle it up and run with it. You get to take your kid to school without freaking out about how long the carpool line is. You get to make plans and not break them. You get to indulge a little more than you would normally allow yourself. You shine a little brighter that day with big smiles at your significant other.

A good dump. I take great pleasure in a nice firm movement. They feel SO GOOD. Consider yourself beyond blessed if you are regular, firm and healthy in the pooping department. I envy you!

Our digestive system is so intricate. It baffles me. The fact digestive disorders are on the rise is concerning. What makes them even scarier is they’re different and affect everyone differently. No IBD patient is exactly the same. Some medicines work for some while they don’t for others. Some foods send some people into severe pain while those same foods don’t affect others. It almost makes an actual cure seem impossible.

If I can heed you any advice – take care of your body. It is your daily life temple. When your health is taken away it affects your life in just about every aspect possible. I pray steadily for a cure or remission – to regain some regularity to my life. And I will always savor those ‘good’ days. I hope you remember to do so as well.

If you’re still here, I thank you kindly for the dump. It felt really good. And if I see you and it’s a good day, let’s share a coke. Just put a splash of rum in mine. After all, the fact we’re simply ‘feeling good today’ is cause for celebration 🙂