Someday we'll know...

     Four years and a little over a month ago, I was in the hospital in Newark, NJ. Awaking from my eighth surgery since October 2005 - a fifteen hour long pelvic reconstruction - I could hazily see my mom and dad standing over me. Vaguely, I realized that there was still an anesthesia tube down my throat, and as I came to, I became distressed at not being able to communicate. I tried to talk, choking on my tube, to ask for apple juice or an ice chip or anything to run down my tongue and throat so that my thirst would be satisfied. However, the nurses couldn't give me anything because it was so soon after my surgery, and I would certainly throw it up. Yet as I tried to pull the tube out of my mouth, I became so aggressive in trying to sit up and be able to talk (I felt fine, even if I wasn't.) that I threw up anyway. My mom pleaded with nurses to take the tube out of my mouth and gave me a pad of paper and a pencil to communicate with. At last, I was relieved of the tube and able to talk (hoarsely) and sip on juice. I remember my doctor coming out to talk to my family and showing me my new x-ray. I was whole again; my hips were even and the damage done from that original surgery righted. I sank into a daze and finally an uneasy sleep as my family watched over me, and I was transferred to my own room in a special wing of the hospital for recovery.
     Several days later, I was still swollen from surgery. I looked down at my fingers the size of sausages and laughed at that fact with the man who came to beat on my chest, maintaining circulation. But my hospital stay was far from filled with lots of laughter. My hips, although not in pain, constantly felt as though there were hundred-pound sandbags atop them; the pressure weighing on me felt unreal at times. I was in a daze most of the day, missing my friends at home, and crying that I even had to go through all of this. I remember my mom staying with me - buying a fan when my room's AC unit didn't work in the middle of June and making sure I was always comfortable. Eventually, I was forced to try and move from the bed to a wheelchair and get into the hallway so that my sheets could be changed and my back aired out so as not to get bedsores. I remember groaning as the nurses tied a belt around my waist and lifted under my arms, instructing me on how best to put my weight so as to cause minimal pain. My knee on the side where the surgery had been most intrusive refused to bend and became awkwardly positioned once I was seated in the wheelchair, causing me to shriek and sob with my inability to move my own leg until the nurses could move my limbs into better positions. I was expecting to stay out of my bed for an hour, at most, but they never came back to help me again until four hours later. I was exhausted and furious at myself for being weak and pitiful. I began to cry.
     My mom reached into the bag by my bed and pulled out a mix CD I had made prior to my surgery: "Hospital Mix #1." Knowing exactly which song I needed at that moment, I switched to the fourth track, a song I had fallen in love with in 5th grade, from the A Walk to Remember soundtrack. It was called "Someday We'll Know," performed by Mandy Moore and Jonathan Foreman. As I laid in my bed, feeling exhausted and depressed and alone and more pitiful than I had ever before felt, my mom reached for my hand and began to cry with me. This song has touched my heart for many years and has been, for a long period, a song I called my "favorite." It brought me peace in the month I was in the hospital and rehab in NJ. Mostly, it just made me cry. But sometimes, I needed that. Sometimes, I felt so much at once, and my body needed to be drained...so I could fill up with good things - cards from home, visits from family friends, and phone calls to my best friend...even a cute boy who got my number in rehab. With such a heavy heart, I couldn't appreciate everything around me - the love flowing from every person connected to me, a giant web of fibers flowing through me and from me and to me; I couldn't see that when I was so weighted down. And I needed that support system. This song, in its own different way, reminded me of that love. It made me cry...and away with all my tears flowed all the despair laying atop my soul.
     Tonight, again, I sit with a heavy heart. Tonight, again, the pressure makes it hard to breathe, hard to move, hard to foresee a brighter future. Tonight, again, I cry out in despair. Tonight, again, I recognize that I can't make it alone. Tonight, again...I am healed.

"Ninety miles outside Chicago,
Can't stop driving, I don't know why.
So many questions - I need an answer.
Two years later, you're still on my mind.


Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart?
Who holds the stars up in the sky?
Is true love just once in a lifetime? 


Did the captain of the Titanic cry?
Ohhh...


Someday we'll know if love can move a mountain.
Someday we'll know why the sky is blue. 
Someday we'll know why I wasn't meant for you..."


   

First off...

     I stole this idea from Macy Dennis, but I'm glad I creeped & saw her blog, because this is perfect for me, a born writer. :) I know the idea of reading a blog about someone else's daily life may seem a tad ridiculous to some (I am not yet accustomed to the idea, myself.), but I hope this will turn into a way for friends and family to stay posted on what I'm up to as well as an outlet for my thoughts and feelings and beliefs and a way to record my growth as a person. Who knows? I may even record poetry and songs I write from time to time. I kept a journal from first grade through the end of my junior year, and I still randomly record thoughts or fleeting glimpses into my brain into a notebook where I can go to release. So, I think I like the idea of a blog, and I think it may help me to just "say what I need to say."

     I guess I'll start with sharing a bit of what's been on my mind lately. As many of you know, I am currently putting in long hours lifeguarding at a really nice pool just a few exits down I-20. I love the kids - which is strange for me, a girl who usually shies away from voluntary interaction with children. However, these kids - a little girl named Caroline in particular - have stolen my heart and it really makes me anticipate being a mom in the future and possibly even some kind of career with children...MAYBE. Regardless, I am so excited and proud to have put in over 63 hours this week, 23 of which will be overtime pay (heck yeah!). Alas, good things do not last, though, so following this week, the pool will switch to weekends only, and I will begin picking up shifts waitressing at Ruby Tuesday, which I also enjoy. In addition, I took a Paraprofessional Assessment several weeks ago and have just recently applied to be a substitute teacher for Douglas County during the fall semester. Hopefully, I will hear back to register for a training workshop soon!
     As far as college goes, I am fully applied to UGA for entry as a new student spring semester - awaiting only my transcript, which is en route. Meanwhile, I am excited for my friends who are headed off to new places and can't wait to roadtrip around the state and visit the different schools they attend. I miss my senior year more than I can put into words; the memories will always be dear to me. It's no piece of cake seeing all of the Facebook posts about starting school and moving into dorms and beginning a new chapter when I am still here. It seems so unfair that I don't get that this semester as well. But I'm not one to give up at the base of an obstacle, and I see any obstruction as something put in my way to make me stronger. So I guess it's just keep truckin' until I get my chance to shine and then I'll make sure I'm the brightest of them all, eh?

     As far as relationships, my mother and I are on better terms than we have been in a while, and I do love her dearly, despite our differences. Patrick is Patrick and he will never be anything but - I can depend on it. My friends are amazing, though I still feel behind from being grounded all summer. And romantically? I'm not looking for anything, never am. I am happy being me, and that's really all I need to know until I decide to be me + one.

     In the future, I plan to continue saving for my red Jeep Wrangler, perhaps take a week-long hiatus "into the wild" through the Outward Bound program, and read as much as possible. I want to go dancing at the Irish Pub, go to my first club, hit up some concerts, and make time for those I've been missing. I want to sign up for every Study Abroad opportunity I can find, and I want to make the most of every second I have. I want to venture into the nightlife I miss so dearly. Being grounded, more than anything, has just made me want to fly higher.