Living As All of Me

[NarcKiddo]

Why do we think it is all our fault? I don't think your activities popped the stitch, and even if they did it's probably because it was already part dissolved. The body doesn't always fully dissolve stitches - sometimes it treats them as a foreign body and shoves them out. For sure it would probably have been wiser not to pull on it, especially now it has ended up hurting, but to my mind that is as far as your liability goes. And I don't think it is unreasonable for you to have wanted it out if your body was already actively trying to push it out. If it were me, I would be concentrating on thinking about any reluctance to contact the medics for advice before pulling on the stitch. (FYI I would likely not have contacted them for advice either. I'd probably have been too chicken to pull the stitch and would have wandered around with it snagging on my clothing while stressing massively and imagining that my whole insides were now unravelling!)

I'm sorry you can't plan. That totally sucks. I'd rather be given bad news fast than hang around waiting for good news.

I hope the meeting goes better than you fear. I hope you can channel your inner Frank.

[HannahOne]

Armee, thank you for sharing your experience with IEP meetings! It's such a weird world, the SPED world of rules, meetings, evals etc. That's a lot of it, yes, I feel shame, like exposed, because my child isn't perfect and I feel blamed, or like their struggles shows something's wrong with me. But my child isn't a representation of me, they're their own person. I can't take credit for their good qualities so I can't take repsonsibility for their struggles either, it's not about my parenting it's about what the school is going to provide to help. It's tough as you know when the district says, about lifelong independently validated learning disabilities and neurodivergence, "Have you tried talking to them, Ms. HannahOne?" LOL. If I could talk them out of it, we wouldn't have a problem!

I wish you good luck at yours next week! Thankfully mine went well, the lawyer did all the talking, and we got enough of what we needed. I think I have a little mini PTSD reaction just to the idea of n IEP meeting. But in the present, it's ok.

Yeah Chart, why do I think it's my fault? I think it must be a habit, to have a sense of control. If it's my fault, somehow I could change it or control it, but I can't, my body's gonna do what it does.  I did learn it's not unusual to have stitches push out. And yes it's easy to imagine insides unraveling! I have to reel myself in!

[SenseOrgan]

Hi HannahOne, how are you?
What you wrote touches on something I've been pondering lately. That is the line between being a responsible adult and stealthy shame/guilt. The line between being honest with ourselves so we can grow and make healthy choices, and pushing the one we actually are right now out of our sphere of compassion. I don't have the answers. What I do know, is that none of use chose our coping strategies. We adapted to adverse circumstances to the best of our abilities. Some of us end up pulling out a stitch many years later because of patterns that are tied to how we learned to survive. I guess my question is, if you can hold that person, every action included, in compassion?

And, for reasons I don't understand, knowing that your rabbit is called Frank puts a big smile on my face. I'm totally nuts for saying this, but it's like that image puts things in perspective. Like he's saying, yeah, so what, what do you mean by wrong and wright? He just is. Just Frank.

Much metta

[HannahOne]

SenseOrgan, your comment made me smile. Yeah, Frank just is   And yes, I need to hold in compassion the little stitch-puller. One who erases and undoes what was done. Good plan, kid. Just not so useful right now.

Thank you.

[HannahOne]

My stitch-uation continues. The part of me that pulled the stitches out wanted to erase, undo what happened. I stopped pulling, but it turns out my body doesn't like the stitches and is actively spitting them out. I feel like Frankenstein, every day another one pokes through. Should I just cut them all? But under the skin they're still there....I cut the end of one and by the next day, it's sticking out again, like I'm growing wiry thread. This is ridiculous.

I called the doctor every other day for a week asking for a callback. None came. Part of me thought no answer was an answer, but part of me was not happy with the stitch-uation. Finally I called and asked for an appointment. That worked. Sometimes it's a matter of finding the right words. Not, "I'm concerned about something," or "I have a question," but "I'm calling to make an urgent appointment." Ok.

Today I went in. Apparently the mass was near the chest wall so I am a many-layered cake at the moment with layers of stitching. The doctor said the top layers were healed enough, and given my body is rejecting the stitches, she said we should pull out the ones that were coming out on their own. Cue surprise. She looked at me over her glasses and mask and clarified, "_I_ will pull them out, you don't touch!" "Is this going to hurt?" "Yes." But the troublesome ones are out and hopefully no more will come through. Being more stitch-less, I have to be a bit more careful for a few more weeks so that my layers don't separate.

I am trying to be careful. Mindful. Mindfully cautious. Appropriately concerned. I also have a torn ligament in my knee and we don't want it to totally tear or my kneecap will float up to my thigh, so I'm told by the PT. Ok. So I go down the stairs sideways, not using the right knee, not carrying laundry with the right arm. I go up the stairs using only the left leg, not carrying groceries. Trying to be mindful, dont' carry, don't carry. Be mindful, don't pick up that water jug. Be mindful, walk past the trash bag. Mindful, mindful. Habit still takes over, and I want to go back, go back to "normal." But I'm staying here, not going back. There's nothing back there. Go forward. Mindfully.

Franklin D Roosevelt the Rabbit had surgery this week himself. From time to time he must get his teeth filed down. Otherwise they grow into the flesh of his mouth and he can't eat. He's a prey animal, so he hides his pain. To show pain or weakness would attract predators. It took me way too long to realize when I got him why he was drooling, hunched, and underweight despite piles of green hay. He didn't want me to see his suffering for fear I might turn him into stew. "Why didn't you tell me?!" I chastise him. He just blinks at me. Survival of the fittest, dummy.

I still have to monitor him regularly to see the signs that his teeth have overgrown again. I have to be mindful that he's got a stitch-uation going on that's not his fault, he was born with a smashed-in skull, overbred for generations by cruel and stupid people, he was born to a stray mother and born into a February blizzard and half-frozen, thawed in a farmer's pocket, then had to fight for his life in a hutch too small for so many. He had a rough start. I have to be mindful. He'll never be the bunny he could have been. "You're a wonderful bunny," I tell him. He's been drowsy all day, and eating only bunny oatmeal, a mash of water and hay bits. He wants to chow down on fresh hay, but he can't. "You're in recovery!" I tell him. "Oatmeal only for you today!"

The root of recovery is Capere, to take. In recovery, we don't receive something back. There's no way to regain what was lost. The book of my life was scribbled in before I got to even pick up a pencil. Despite my attempts to undo, erase, there is no eraser for life. I want to go back, back to normal, back to Before, but I can't, there is no there there. I can only be in recovery.

Is this going to hurt? yes. I have to take it. Tolerate it. I can pull out the stitches, but that doesn't mean I'm healed. Healing takes the time it takes. Frank stares mournfully at his pile of green hay, and flops on his side in despair. "We have to be satisfied with our bunny oatmeal for now," I tell him. "You're still healing."

I want to recover, but I can't receive anything back. There's nothing back there. Whatever I get back of myself I have to take, wrestle, struggle for, now, in the present. Take delivery of it. Take account. Take it into account. I have to take into account that I'm in recovery. I have to take into account that I can't lift, carry, or move without being mindful that I'm in a stitch-uation not of my making. Not of my own making, but one I alone can carry, mindfully, lightly, with as much grace and compassion as I can, up the stairs keeping the right leg straight, compensating at the hip, leaning only on the LEFT arm, not the right... a rather awkward janky journey for sure. Frank hops over to look at me, moves his head up and down to get two images to put together and see me in three dimensions. Why am I hopping in such a janky manner? Don't I know I might attract a wolf if I'm so obviously compromised, a literal wounded animal? "There's no wolf here and now, Frank." I say. "Go eat your oatmeal."