Just a Smile

Here I sit in my quiet house with a lovely wine at the end of an busy evening of cleaning.  Throughout the evening as I circled my home approximately fifteen times picking up and dropping off things in their rightful places, a twenty-three year old memory, of a once-encountered, seventy year old man chased my thoughts through the house.

It was at my first job ever.   I worked at "Caramel Corn", a candy/ice cream shop in the mall.  It was a quiet mall and it was my first job ever.  I sat on my stool behind my counter of candy, swimming in the wafty, freshly-popped popcorn smell, as the soft-serve icecream machines turned with a loud hum behind me.  I was part bored, part terrified, part hypoglycemic sitting behind the counter of a buffet of treats I would not indulge myself in for fear of shaming my new position.   I could use this all as an excuse for what unfolded, but the truth is, I was simply a serious, introverted kid.  "Really? You?"  ha ha...yes.

So, one fine evening, as I counted the minutes till I closed the doors to the shop and began my dismemberment and cleaning of the soft-serve ice-cream machines, a man in his seventies approached and purchased something that I do not recollect.  He came and went.

Then came back again.

At that moment, I was unaware he had been watching me for a while.  Uncomfortably, I addressed him, nervous that he wanted to return something - I hadn't learned refunds at that point.  Or perhaps he was one of the malls' notorious eclectics.

He approached me gently. "Smile" he said.

I looked at him with confusion.  He held my eyes with his look.  ...I lifted my eyebrows and clenched my teeth together with lips parted while wondering if he was a little 'off'.

His eyes settled in on me and he stated, "You should smile".

At that age, I passed it off defensively.   "Whatever." my early adult mind muttered, "I am not the type who walks around bubbly and sweet.  I am an introvert.  If, and when I do smile, it is because I am truly happy because of something.  I am a deliberate smiler.  That was my justification.

Now, two and a half decades have passed and I have a four-year-old in her second year of preschool.  I am writing this entry to scratch a pet-peeve.

My pet-peeve is this:  bubbles.  People are stuck in their own bubbles.  The West Coast is notorious for what comes across as snobbery.   Internationally, the women of the West Coast of Canada are known for this.  I am one of those.  But now, I get it.

I take my daughter to activities.  It is not just she who is entering a new social circle.  I, myself, enter new circles and events alongside her.  How myself and others come to these situations and react intrigues me.  "Am I nervous?" - most often times, a little.  "Am I flustered?" - highly likely, as I seem to come to events with the force of a tornado, and a dusting of farm hay on me.  "Am I oblivious?"  -I try my best not to be.  Some days take more than others.  But as a mother, who is a role-model to her child for behaviours in social situations, I tend to watch myself more than I did before Little M.

I was such a shy, introverted kid.  It was painful for me to look at people. Some people (i.e. hubby) express themselves more, they beam.  I retreated inward to my bubble.  It was when I became a mom, I innately opened as a person.  The primal instinct to connect was just deeper, not just with my family and friends, but with my community and to build a community.  I am an example to Little M.  I do my best to prepare her for these new social situations.  No matter how much I talk to her, or talk about scenarios, I know that the way I handle situations, the energy I take in to these situations with her, are her most significant point of learning.  She will watch me to see how I engage.

So now I have that seventy year old man chasing me around the house tonight.  "Smile...", he says.

Our society today is so fragmented.  We are in our own little bubbles, just trying to survive the myriad of activities, tasks etc.  Those bubbles fragment our sense and hope of community.  Do we not need community?  No, we don't all need community.  But as an adult now, I do believe that community that is positive, supportive and equal are one of the world's/family's/person's/child's' greatest strengths.  I hope to build that because it is important.  

So if we do see community as beneficial, how do we create it?  The first step is openness.  "Smile".  It takes a smile, a "hello" to just open a door and say "I'm here".  It is a gesture that welcomes potential for positive.  Sometimes it even says, "I need help", "I'm really messing up here, but I'm doing my best".  It just says you are there, and open to the possibility to connect.  I see now, the power of a genuine smile, and the challenges of remaining in ones bubble.

Some days suck.  Some days I feel like crap and have very little to give out.  Some days, I falter and get upset with Little M in the car and I feel like a shit and question myself as a mother.  But I'll tell ya, when I see a genuine smile from someone else for me, it shifts me.  In the smallest way, it says, "just hang in there".   I can smile back as a "Thank you".  Maybe Little M was seeing how I open social circles and seeing me smile will encourage her to do the same - when it is tough, when she is a little scared, if she just has the courage to smile, perhaps the world will respond with bringing her back a friend, another smile, a gust of further courage.

I used to say I was not one of those smiley people.  If you saw me smiling, I was smiling very deliberately.  I am still completely that way - I am smiling deliberately because I am in a place that is more open, I am wanting to give these situations the best shot possible, because who we surround ourselves with has a tremendous affect on our lives and theirs.

Carrying light, whether it is inspired by appreciation, empathy, knowing the truth of the hard things, is deliberate and it is often times, translated in just a smile.  It's all it takes to burst the bubble.

One man, over twenty years ago comes to mind.  He brought a light to me that has remained.  One smile, one connection can mean that much.

"Smile".

True enough...

The Mark of Enlightenment

Well, you know it's been a while when you can't remember how to log in.  Apologies folks!  The past couple of months, I have been in a swirl of writing conferences, workshops etc.

There are some updates to the Nicaragua diaries that I will offer in a post to come.  Only one of which is "Frankie, my Nicaraguan scar".  Chica said it would be a great story to tell with that preface.  Interestingly enough, Frankie is now doing well.  After returning, it became infected internally and I had to go on yet another round of antibiotics as the outer stitches started opening from the bottom up like a zipper.  Due to concerns that the inside ones would also not heal, I was put on a restricted activity program for a month.  No work, not jumping, lifting, running etc.  Now all that remains is a large blotchy scar which strangely enough is now growing a thick patch of hair only within the affected area.  I have never had thick hair on my limbs - but now I do.  Hubby is quite unsettled and confused by this.  I will have to shave my Frankie patch now.

So this Spring/Summer has been amazing.  I have had the opportunity to do two writing retreats and one writing conference.  One of the retreats was a meditation and writing retreat with Ruth Ozeki, award-winning author of "My Year of Meats" and "All Over Creation".  The piece below is something I wrote during my time at that workshop. 

Each day, we sat in the round room, on the floor with our back-jacks and meditation pillows.  In the centre of the room sits a lovely flower arrangement on the floor surrounded with candles.  I sit at the 9 o'clock position.  Ruth sits at the 12 o'clock position (in the beginning there actually were twelve participants including Ruth).   I hope you enjoy and don't forget to see enlightenment in the unlikely corners of your day!

 -----------------------

In the deepest part of my throat remained a pit of phlegm that could not be removed.  Knowing we would be in a meditation soon, I discretely removed a lozenge from its crunchy, waxy wrapper and slipped it in to my mouth.  “Cherry Mint”,  I rolled it over my tongue. “ Not bad.”

Ruth introduced the meditation exercise we were about to submerge ourselves within, when it occurred to me, that I should not be sucking on a cough drop when the meditation was taking place.  “What would I do?”

I summoned as much spit as a mouth humanly could and began rolling it around in my mouth, attempting to dissolve it speedily, carefully keeping it from clattering against my teeth.  My spit became syrupy and sticky sweet - surely now, I would not cough through the meditation. 

Ruth’s closed her summation and people began to adjust and settle in to their noble posture of choice.  A large portion of my cough-drop remained, so I began taking harder pulls on the oval mass.  It simply couldn’t be crunched, “Those around me would know.”  I should not have been eating anything in this sacred space as it was.  I couldn’t spit it out.  It was too big to swallow whole.  “What would I do?”

I would not allow the Ricola to take me from my inner-space, my opportunity for enlightenment by continuing to process it within my mouth.  I’d done this many times before as a child in school - there was no way my novice meditation level could navigate around the stimulating lump in my mouth.  I was wild-eyed as I did my best to disintegrate it.  My cheeks puckered inwards as I continued working away at the lozenge at which point Ruth looked over and caught my looks of unknowingness… and then it happened… the drop lurched to the back of my mouth and in a split second, it slipped over the hill of my tongue in to the posterior of my throat and, beyond a wave of peristalsis, right in to the door of my trachea.  My lungs locked.
 
“R e m a i n   c a l m… ”  my inner being stated.  One cough and I could get it out - I was sure.  I figured it would take every ounce of force within my half inflated lungs to       shoot   that    sucker    out.  From my abdomen, I expelled every ounce of power upward through my chest cavity, launching the oval burgundy mass up and out of my body, half way across the circular room, where it struck the belly of the vase containing the salal and lilly arrangement with a heavy clank, and then, redirected outward. 

It sailed in an arc angling upward, over the grey, checker striped carpet, far above the hopeless, forever wandering armadillo bug (who, if he had a neck, would be straining his head like a satellite dish tracking this foreign object across his skyscape - but he didn’t, so he just used his beady eyes).  It drifted atop the tea light candles, … and then landed… right upon the middle forehead, in third eye position, of Ruth.  In utter stillness she sat.  Her eyes pushed her brow upward towards the unlikely mark of enlightenment that had perched itself in it’s called upon place. 

There was complete silence.  All eyes were upon Ruth; some wincing, some frozen in disbelief.    And in her own noble position with a small smile that relaxed her gracious and wise face, she stated, “Not knowing is most intimate…”



*An end note,  the final quote given here was a quote that I asked Ruth for out of the blue.  In writing this piece, I thought it would be nice to finish it on a quote that she enjoyed, so I asked her (unknowing in what it would be used for) what her top three favourite quotes were.  The last quote, which is quoted from an unknown source, is one of her favourites.

Home

Our day of travel home was an absolute blur.  We were awake from 7:30am, until 3:30am the next morning.  All I recall of it was keeping tabs on the closest washrooms for Little M, making a run for the washrooms at the back of the plane upon take off with Little M in arms, and hobbling incredibly long distances on a throbbing leg.

The bright, modern airport of Houston was a jolt of modernization and accessibility of so much 'stuff' and food.  But it wasn't comforting.  It was overwhelming and over-processed - from one extreme to another.  I just wanted our plot of land - home. 

We arrived through our front door this morning at 2:30am.  Before I landed my first step, my lungs deeply filled with the familiar smell of our house -  clay plaster, timber beams, and a tomato seedling grow-op...   My body begins to decompress.  Our 80lb dog climbed up on the huge beanbag sac Little M and Hubby collapsed on, with the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face.

We slept until around 11am the next day.  No groceries in the house (thank goodness for my sister coming by to clean our refrigerator while we were gone!) , so we went for brunch and then shopped for all our familiar foods.  Ahhhh... produce!  I missed fresh produce so much, but it was funny to see the tiny papaya's stacked up and so incredibly expensive.  They were bigger than footballs in Nicaragua and so common.

We examined our garden on the way out to brunch.  Only one variety of spinach survived in my greens (lettuce, spinach) rainbow.  Peas are fantastic, carrots are kicking butt alongside daikon radish.  Kale, eaten to the stem again, even under the row cover.  I'm hunting down whatever is doing this and getting revenge.  Jerks.  The garden looks great!  My tomatoes indoors are so tall, I have to take them one by one to the greenhouse while holding their stems.  Very tall and lanky due to reaching for the sunlit window.  Not ideal, but I'm so very proud and thankful they survived.   LOVE OUR GARDEN!  LOVE.  IT.

Little M took out my stitches after dinner (I cut, she pulled, hubby held the light).  hmmm... most of the skin closed to itself, and some... not so much.  We named my new scar "Frankie" (Frankenstein).  Hubby's face says it all and then he adds, "after a couple days you better start on the Vitamin E".  uh, yeah.  I can feel the lump under the skin where the facia stitches are still, or where the wound is still healing.  part of the shin is numb, must have cut nerves.

There is such a lovely feeling of "Ahhhhh" - a shoulder relaxing, deep breath release of being where you call "home".  It is a place where you carve out your place in the world that is most connected with your own style, energy, preferences, knowledge.  Being away is adventurous and it offers so very much to learn of the world we live in and the world inside of us.  But there is that state of being on alert, learning new things about your environment, striving to understand the language, traffic, customs etc., that takes a level of energy too.  It is a great thing about travel that it pushes ones' normal; to bring back new things to ones' own life.  But it is equally lovely to just be home - the one place in the world I rest my head with those I love in peace.  I know there are deer and coyotes that cross our fields.   I know whatever is in our home, is by our selection.  It is where I have the right to rest, to grow, to love and be loved.  It is the place we know we are safe, at peace, where we allow ourselves to be most vulnerable and most silly.  There is nothing like "Home" 

*follow up note: As it turns out "Frankie" grew an internal infection which is why it did not close completely.  That lead to another round of antibiotics and doctor's orders for no running, jumping, lifting of heavy things for 3- 4 weeks.  At the end of that time, all healed up well and Frankie is now just another scar on "The Great Skinless Wonder" (my nickname as a kid).  

Nicaragua - The Long Road Home

The day previous was divided from today by a couple hours of sleep I got with Little M, while hubby went for his last surf.  We were all a little groggy, but Little M slept well in the hours she had, her fever stayed down, as did her fluids.  Huge relief!

Buck and the boys were not able to return the night before, so we said our 'goodbyes' amidst heartfelt 'thank you's with Chica, Ali & Kate, who were also a little groggy.  We will see them on the other side, back home.  Good times and challenges brought us closer indeed.  They are all incredibly kind and lovely women.

Chica.  Oh how I wish we had more time on the water together!  So many waves to catch, my friend!  "la vez próxima"

We returned to the Roberto Clemente Clinic to settle our balance with them - the tiny clinic we have become intertwined with, under less than ideal circumstances.  To build such a place, to have such amazing people working so hard with such heart is very unique. It has a special place in my heart for which I am thankful for.  I have a good sized row of stitches up my shin, but like the rest of my scars, and my unlady-like beliefs, they all proudly carry a story.  This one will carry the remembrance of people with heart - both friends and the clinic.

Off we went, chasing Managua down the dusty, red roads - a three hour drive through the Nicaraguan countryside.  We didn't have a map, just a screen shot of a Lonely Planet section of map and directions from our new friends, "Turn right after you go over the speedbumps.... you'll pass by the brightly coloured toadstools... right at the 'Papa Johns'..."  I was a little uneasy, raising my eyebrows at hubby when they were saying it, but the directions couldn't have been better in the landscape we were in.  We loved our drive and team work.

Little M slept on and off in the back, her tum holding off, but still not 100%.  She was chipper and on the mend, studying a vile which contained a little Africanized bee that had met its demise.  It is pretty cool when you can say your own child is one of the best people you have ever met.  She is resilient, kind, intelligent, positive, goofy, compassionate and just of love.  I am so incredibly thankful and proud to be her momma.

We passed through the "colourful toadstool" craftsmarket in Masaya.  I'd love to visit that place one day with more time.  Very cool.  My eyeballs stayed behind at a roadside antique store... "oohhhhhhh..."

Finally we arrived at our hotel in Managua.  We went for a lovely dinner together, then settled in for sleep for our final leg home...

Nicaragua - Day 19 Little M's Scare

(I think I am missing a day or two...)

Today we had our final full day here, and what a day it was...  Hubby went for a morning surf.  Little M and I ate yogurt and granola for breakfast and began to clean up our apartment.

We went down and visited with Chica and the kids, and Ali and Kate for a while, and then hubby took Little M on a fantastic bike ride hunting for howler monkeys, swimming in two different pools, spotting termite nests in trees, checking the surf breaks...  Those two have such incredible adventures together.  I also had some really nice time just hanging with the girls, as their hubbies had gone on a day trip to get groceries and take BamBam back.  I wish I could stay longer, they are a great pack.

In the evening, the gals held down the homefront as their hubbies were having some auto difficulties and could not return home.  We had no more dinner supplies, so Hubby, Little M and myself decided to go out for dinner one last time.  Little M seemed tired, but still wanted to go.

We arrived at the little sports bar, outdoor restaurant.  We ordered pizza and a fish entre.  Little M had a tummy issue, and then fell asleep, curled up on my lap before the food arrived.  Hubby and I ate our dinner, having a nice chat about the close of our trip.  Then when it was time to go and I went to pick her up, I noticed that she was burning up.  No sweat, just burning up and her heart was racing.  We got her to the car in to the air-conditioning. We made it back home, fully undressed her, put her in to an air-conditioned room, in bed and began packing up.

As we continued to check in on her, her temp continued to rise.  Around 9pm, it just seemed not right.  With Little M having had a febrile seizure in the past, I went to Chica to see if she had any fever meds to head it off at the pass.  She gave me Children's Acetaminophen. I went back and administered it to Little M.  Within minutes, she wanted to go to the bathroom.  She threw up and continued throwing up.  She broke down saying her arm and leg hurt, her head was so sore.  We'd never seen her like that.  Even when she was sick in the past, she was always such a trooper and so resilient, at worst, just falling asleep, even directly preceding her seizure and when she had pneumonia.  Her strength has the ability to fool us in to thinking she is better than we find out she is and we've been mindful of that when issues come up with her.  This time, what she was expressing was beyond what we'd seen of her before.  

She was keeping nothing down.  I knew I needed to lower her temperature.  She and I climbed in the coolest shower a tropical shower will offer, and did my best to cool her head, neck, back.  She cried inconsolably, saying she was too cold.  "I just want my momma!  I want to go home now.  Can we go home now please? I want my momma!"...   My heart leapt.  Was she delusional?  I was right there with her with her eyes open, but seeming to just look beyond.  I just kept reassuring her.


The hours passed, with vomiting, diarrhea, fever diminishing, then going back up to 38.8'C armpit (internal temp of 39.3'C). Our concern was because the day was so incredibly hot and she had been out and about quite a bit.  Did she get enough hydration?   Everyone was feeling the affects of the sun that day, but no one seemed to have any gastro issues etc..  She was incredibly hot, but still not sweating.  Her temperature was measuring just below the 40'C mark, after her temp began to drop (heat stroke is defined by a body temperature of 40'C or higher).  All of her symptoms were symptoms of Heat Stroke, which is beyond heat exhaustion.  Unlike heat exhaustion, heat stroke includes damage to the nervous system function and can cause organ damage, or be fatal if untreated. 

At around 3:30am, her fever started going back up quickly and she began vomiting again.  She couldn't keep anything down.  When I gave her the showers, or put cool cloths on her burning skin, she cried out "I'm too cold momma! Please stop! Please stop!".  To that point in her life, I'd never heard her wail like that.  My heart was in my throat.  I told her to look at me.  I asked her to trust me, and she did.  Fighting back tears and horrible discomfort on the cold shower floor, wrapped in icy towels being drenched with cold water, she just trembled and whimpered. 

When her temperature hit 39'C again, I asked Hubby to talk to the property manager about where to go for help.  He woke him as well as Chica, Kate and Ali.  I think he woke everyone, but the kids.  I was kind of miffed with him.  Amidst my storm of thoughts, I didn't want to wake them again too.  He responded that Chica would kick my ass if I didn't ask for help.  She affirmed that when she came up.  The three of them rallied around us and our little girl.  Kate, the pharmacist, was checking meds and potential issues if it were heatstroke.  Chica was just there reassuring, supporting.  They brought Gatorade to replenish her electrolytes.  Ali stayed with Chica's sleeping little ones. 

Things were not getting better.  Every time she drank sips of gatorade, she threw it up.  Considering the potential for things to go really wrong if it were heat stroke, we decided it was time to go.  We packed up, drenched Little M in cool water, brought a bag of ice to keep icing her, wet towels, gatorade, and we flew down the dirt roads in the 4am darkness, to the Roberto Clemente Health Clinic - the same small, local clinic I'd been to days before to stitch up my leg.  We had also, coincidentally been there earlier in the day, to drop off school supplies to donate to the children.  Hubby had chatted with the ambulance driver while we were there.  We knew if things were really bad, we would be seeing him again to take us to Managua, hours away to the country's main hospital.  We were becoming very familiar with this clinic.  In between those moments that keep a mother doing what needs to be done in situations like this, I ached to just be home, but having this clinic here meant the world. 

We pulled up and the glass door to darkened clinic opened as we unloaded from the car.  The man went to get Dr. Flores, the same doctor who attended me.  He came in to the florescent lit room shaking the heavy sleep from his mind.  He looked and spoke to me as her momma, but I couldn't understand enough Spanish to get the technical stuff.  Hubby took the reigns and Kate inserted concise questions including some meds she had brought with her.

Dr. Flores examined Little M.  She seemingly began to perk up a bit.  Dr. Flores deciphered it to be a gastrointestinal bug, rather than heatstroke.  At the time, I really wished I could get more clarity as to why he thought it was a gastro bug, rather than heat stroke, so I could erase the urgency from my mind.  He did not have a readable thermometer (only an old glass mercury thermometer, that he couldn't find the reading mark on), so that chunk of info was not apparent to him.  He prescribed a suppository to help bring her fever down, and one other med.  Very quickly she began to respond.  We went to pay, but he insisted we just leave it, and to come back in the morning when things were a bit better to check in.  He was incredibly kind.

The four of us returned as the new day found its light.  As the sun rose, so too did Little M's spirit.  We pulled up one last time, to the complex weary and exhausted.  Hubby walked Kate back to Chica's and gave our huge thanks.  I took Little M back up to our apartment.  She was already feeling better though incredibly tired.  She had just been through a relentless storm.

It is 7am now.  Hubby is sleeping with Little M, keeping an eye on her and trying to get much needed sleep for our navigation back to Managua to start our journey home.  I am packing up all our things, eager to just be in the comforts of our own home.  I checked in with www.justanswer.com Pediatrics and got a 'second opinion' that validated the course of action we were put on.  One symptom that did not fit with heat stroke was her diarrhea.  Who knew diarrhea was so fantastic?...

We are so incredibly thankful Chica, Kate and Ali, for being right there with us getting no sleep to rally around our little girl, and us.  They were a force of maternal strength that meant the world in those moments.  We are also thankful (again) to the Roberto Clemente Clinica for their wonderful care and for being there 24/7 for all those who need it.  It is a tiny clinic with a huge heart. Most of all, of course, we are thankful Little M is safe, and on the mend. 

This trip has not been everything I was expecting (ha ha...).  It's had some great ups and some bummers.  But the bummers, in the days to come, will show their silver-lining.  Five hours till we begin our journey home...  "home..." 

Nicaragua - Day 'I can't remember' (18) "Cranky Hag"

I think I'm keeping pretty positive considering almost a third of my trip has been compromised.  Today was a blue day.  I had a short fuse today, cranky hag.  REALLY nice people around.  They are making it really difficult to be such a "cranky hag", as a matter of fact.  Chica, and Buck being so hospitable and giving hugs (Chica) and beer (Buck).  Ali and Kate, radiating that primal glow.  Kate offering me wonderful waterproof tape so I can at least go in the pool - bless her.  Bam Bam with his dry humour and good food. 

And then Buck starts rattling off his observations of idiosyncrasies Nicaraguans do.  One of which, I think I nearly popped my stitches and peed myself at the same time when he showed us (and apparently BamBam is the one who 'does it' really good).  As far as these two go, Nicaraguans have a way of pointing with their lips.  Like stuttery, kissy-lips, with head still, but lips going in the direction of the subject the person is wanting to point at.   I haven't laughed so hard at a person in a very long time.  Probably as hard as Buck and BamBam, and the gang here laughed at me as they sat beneath "The Tree of Death" at the beach one afternoon.

I was coming in from a session of surfing - can't remember which day at this point (thanks Buck).  The swell was beginning to build a bit.  As I was paddling in, tired already.  I timed my 'arrival landing' between the waves, but because, from my perspective, all i could see what the back of the rolling wave, I didn't see that the tide was right at the point on the beach where the it began to sharply incline.  When I did catch one in that would take me just to where I could dismount my board and cooly come out of the water with my board pinched under my arm nonchalantly, my leash tidily coiled up, all with an air of confidence and style  ... oh jeez...  (deep breath)  Instead of that,  I caught one wave and was on top of it when I saw that it was shore-dumping.  I put the brakes on, as well as you can in the water, and navigated around being pitched over the falls and cracked in to the shallow sand.  I saved face there, but continued beyond that, until my skegs dug in to the incline of sand, and stopped my surfboard dead in it's tracks, tossing me off like a pancake shucked off a flipper spatula.  I'm not a pancake though - I'm a person.  So rather than landing like a pancake on a plate, I was thrown in the wash of the broken wave, collided with the sandy incline and tumbled and rolled like a breaded raw chicken across the sand in front of them, to which Chica tells me later, my husband motioned the umpire spread of arms as yelled, "SAFE!!!"

Anyways.  We stayed central at the apartments today, but by later afternoon, me and Little M went to the beach.  The surf was picking up.  Guys were coming out of the water with 'that' look in their eyes of being in a state of adrenaline.  The only way I can describe it is an electrically charged clarity.  My heart sank.  Missing that challenge of just putting your body against the elements, digging, paddling, pushing.  "Electrically charged clarity" that comes with being completely in the moment - hyperdrive meditation combined with survival and ability.   I'm sitting on the beach.

grumble, grumble, grumble....

Hubby helped me psychologically lick my wounds.  He gave me an ice massage to help the swelling, and just empathized.  Sometimes to make things not so blue, it just takes someone understanding how you feel, ya know?   Even though he mocked me, I love him.

Nicaragua - Day 17

ow.

If I slept with a pillow under my knee and my calf dangling over the bed with my ankle turned a certain way, there was actually very little pain  ...which also means I was not raising my leg and swelling went to my foot.  Not too bad.  Injuries with stitches hurt more when there are stitches in. Especially Day 2-3 when the swelling is at it's worst.  Everything is just swollen, stinging, and achy pulled by those tight stitches whenever I move the skin/muscle and the bone just throbs.  wah wah wah....

This morning I had beer for brunch!  Go Tona (Nicaraguan beer)!  The entire gang, 11 people just hung out in the pool for most of the morning and early afternoon.  It was really nice to just have them around - it didn't suck so badly not being out for a surf.  I just lay in the kiddie pool with my leg on the side.  Kate gave me some Tegaderm patches, which are waterproof dressings.  I'm saving them like they are GOLD!  "Maybe..." 

Ali and Kate are in their second trimester of pregnancy.  They look radiant.  I wasn't a great pregnant woman.  I didn't glow.  In retrospect, I recall it being such a primal and deep time in my life.  The transition of being your own person up until pregnancy, and then being responsible for building a life inside your body and subsequently becoming a mother...   HUGE TRANSITION.  It amazes me women are sane sometimes and it is just expected, like it's nothing to become a mom.  I'd say it is pretty huge and women don't get enough credit, even from each other sometimes. 

Kate is, as mentioned, a pharmacist.  She has a very calm and caring energy.  I think a lot would be needed to rattle her.  She's going to be a very powerful momma.

Ali is an artist. http://www.alisonhodson.com/ The work I have seen on her website has me hooked.  We'll be heading up to Whistler, B.C. soon to see her work in person.  I am hoping for an ocean influenced piece in the next while... hee hee!  Little M loved playing with her and Ali just dove right in.  She is going to be an incredibly sweet and loving mom - they both will be.  

Me and hubby played Nertz afterwards and then I asked if he'd go for an early surf session so we could go watch (the bugs at sunset can be kinda crazy).  Down we went the three of us.  He was picking off waves like a sniper out there.  Not the best conditions, but he was just carvin' it up.  So great to see.  Nothing better than surfing than seeing those you love catch waves.  It feels like your heart is riding along with them.

Chica and Buck went out too - awww!  When was the last time they surfed together?  She caught a fantastic left, zipping along the face at the end of the session.  Me and Little M jumped up and down cheering!  Ah, the smile of someone who catches a great wave...  Elation.  YAHOOO!!!

A gorgeous sunset.  Making "Cherry soup" on the beach with Little M.  She is my magic.  Jumping in to her world of play, or any preschoolers, is like being at the Mad Haters' tea party.  Sometimes I have no idea what we are trying to do.  I don't think she knows what she is trying to do, but anything goes.  When time is short, following along can be a challenge, but it's times like this on the beach, where we have all the time in the world, where it is just funky, complete and utter spontaneous imagination. As adults, I think most of us are deficient in that.  She teaches me so very much and I am thankful. 

Nicaragua - Day 16 - Ouch.

Feeling a little helpless these days with regards to K and Billie.  Moments throughout the day, I wonder how Billie is responding to treatments, and how K is carrying the weight of everything on her shoulders, so I send love and strength and prayers for rest and healing...  (big breath)

It feels insignificant to post, but I will, because these were already written, and there is a greater cause for these posts as well.  As silly as this days' post is relative to what is going on in life now, it eventually led to an inspiration that hopefully will come to fruition.  So I will continue:

 

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After two days of avoiding the sun, I hunkered down, whited up "Herbie" and my face, and out me and Chica Boom went in the golf-cart.  We were chargin' it!  Yihooo!

Got to the beach, paddled out to the break.  Put our wave hunter eyes on and started chasing waves.  It felt so good to be back in the water - things were really positive. We jockied around for a bit, shifting with the occasional big ol' sets that came in and the more frequent inside sets.

The session started out great.  There we were - good vibes, just doing our thing.  Caught a good 'left'...

Then came an 'outside' set - a bigger set of waves.  I went through the wave, but lost hold of my board.  I was fine as I knew no one was around.  I relaxed underwater, and when I came out the other side of the wave, I surfaced 'ready' to protect myself from the potential of my board coming back at me with the bigger winds.  I couldn't see it beyond the backside curl of the broken wave.  Then "CRACK!" my left upper shin exploded with a white cold pain that stole my breath.  My board had submerged about three feet, and like a gigantic elastic band via my leash on my ankle, it shot back at me when the wave that took it passed.  I took a big breath of air and breathed it out.  I didn't have time to look at my leg and I didn't really want to either which is always funny when I do that - like a little kid "if I don't see it, it didn't happen!".  I hopped back on my board and tried to build enough speed to get through the next on-coming wave to just get somewhere I could asses things (I couldn't accurately feel my lower leg through the searing pain), but my body was telling me I was heading the wrong way. 


Back right in the impact zone, under I went again.  Leg was not so good, the bone was just throbbing, but I could still kick my leg, which meant it probably wasn't broken.  Popped up and finally took a look at it.  Blood pooled out of my shin, about two inches below the head of the tibia.  I could see the white of my tibia shifting around inside the gash in my leg.   I swore a bit, and my heart sunk - a cut like this means stitches which means I would be out of the water the rest of the trip.  I was RIGHT where the waves were breaking so it was time to move and paddle in.

Chica was a ways away, "I gotta go in" I yelled out to her.  She kept paddling out encouraging me to get back out there - she didn't know what had happened.  "no, I gotta go in, I cut my leg".  To the beach Chica paddled with me.

We got to the beach, blood running down my leg, a round hole where you know it is cut deep enough that it's not just skin.  SO choked.  I don't even know for sure if it was the skeg/fin, or if it was just blunt force from the tail of my board.  It moved so fast and hard, hitting my shin dead on stopped the board from moving further and bounced it back enough to surface about a foot away from me.

Chica's friends, Ali and Kate were walking the beach and saw what was going on.  We got up to Chica's golf cart and headed back to the boys.  Kate is a pharmacist.  She is awesome.  She and Chica were STOCKED with supplies!  Kate supplied us with iodine to rinse and some gauze to wrap it up with.  I took a shower and got ready to head to the clinic.  Not amused, but it looked pretty tidy under her dressing.

Hubby drove me in to the local clinic 15-20 minutes away.  It reminded me of when I was in labour - he drove a lot faster than normal.  There are people along the dirt roads, a herd of cows.  "Uh, slow down, Hon".  My leg wasn't that bad, not like an emergency or anything.  Kinda makes me chuckle.

The Roberto Clemente Health Clinic is approximately 1,200 square feet, about 5 exam rooms (one room most likely taken up by Dr Flores who stays there over night, on-call), a waiting room and a small "pharmacy" in the back.  The waiting room was PACKED.  A knot grew in my stomach thinking the wait would be a few hours.   A lovely woman and her daughter gave me their seat. oi.  Not used to being the one to take others' seats - much appreciated.  A man with a white coat and glasses, Dr. Flores, opened the door from an exam room, saw us and scooped us in.  ?? 

Dr. Flores and Nurse Martha, were my team.  They undid the dressing and took a look at my gash.  "ohh-hh!" Dr. Flores said in that two-toned way that says he was intrigued, but needing a closer look.  They froze it up, hubby snapping photos, wincing at the needle going deep under the skin.   After feeling around inside the gash, he determined my muscle was in tact, but the facia was torn.  Dr. Flores was showing hubby what was what, until Hub let the doc know he was all good ('I trust you...').  He took a peek, but then I told him to sit down. 

Dislike that feeling of hard tugging on numb tissue, but it is a much better feeling than being stitched where the numbing meds haven't reached ...which is still easier than giving birth for the first time naturally and tearing (not to say giving birth naturally is a negative experience at all - if there were a choice, I'd do it the same again and again, but it does put "pain" in to perspective, and makes it easier to manage pain down the line).

There are about 5-7 stitches internally.  Then they moved on to the skin itself.  When they finished, I sat up and took a look.  "Huh..." I thought.  There it was, my new huge Frankenstein stitches along the ridge of my shin.  ha ha!  My mom's name for me growing up was "The Great Skinless Wonder", so this shin hack is just one of many, though the biggest of all I've collected.  Perhaps it is like a shin-lift, and blending of all the prior scars I had.  Hubby notes, I never was aspiring to be a shin model.

Both Martha and Dr. Flores were so gracious and kind.  They tried their best to chat with me, but thank goodness hubby has studied the Spanish he has.  sigh.  My knight in shining board shorts. Very grateful to Dr. Flores and Nurse Martha. 

Hubby went and collected the prescriptions of antibiotics, topical anti-inflammatory, painkiller and something else while I sat alone in the room.   Marta and Dr. Flores shared that they have seen many surfers here, with gashes to the face, sending them off to Rivas a few hours away, flying home on airplanes.  I am fine.  I can't surf or swim for the rest of our days here, and glad it wasn't at the start of the trip.


I think of what to tell my Little M when I get back because I know she is worried.  "I get to play on the beach all the time now!".  ...telling little ones the sunnier side is a part of being a parent.  But I also can't help but feel my heart break a bit too - "suck it up buttercup.  It could have been a lot worse".

I could have caught the board with my face.  Oh, I already did that last week.  ok.  If I just had my leg over 7" maybe it'd have sat me right back on it... or gotten me somewhere else... GULP!   It is what it is.  [As Life has a way of putting things in check, this now means nothing more than the drive to do more]

Our friends back at the casbah kept watch of Little M.  She seemed a little shy of seeing me, but we chatted about it later.  She just gave me tender kisses and told me "It's ok mom, we'll have another surf trip soon!".   She is my little sunshine.   Plus, so many good people around it just makes stuff like this not so bad.

ouch.  Power is out.  I'd like put some ice on Frankie, but also can't risk warming up all of this week's groceries in the fridge.  Throbbing, puffy.  wah, wah...    bummed.

It's just been such an odd trip.  Kinda feeling like something is keeping me out of the water.  I wait all year to do this - our family pays a lot (in a number of ways) to do trips such as this one.  You come and chase that reprieve, that 'undoing' that vacations seem to do that brings you closer to your centre and your loved ones even.  Not sure I get 'it'...

For Little Billie and My Friend, K

Taking today off of "Nicaragua" to ask for some help everyone... I write this with K's blessing.

The day before yesterday, I received a phone call from a dear friend.  'K' is the kind of friend who, when we met in 2007, we just clicked right from the start.  We had so many similarities - career, beliefs, lifestyles, personal style, aspirations.  She herself is a woman who spreads light, lives well, is a fighter, and an intuitive, heart-driven woman.  We live about 5,000km apart, but in the big life moments since we worked together and became friends five years ago, we remain close.

As friends, we have gone through the end of relationships, the death of a parent.  I had my daughter.  A year later, she had her daughter Billie (and a second daughter since).  When I went through my issues this February, she was there for me.  She coincidentally had a similar surgery as me in April and I hope I was there for her too.  'K' is one of those friends that is special in my heart; even though we are separated by distance and time, she is just a closer friend than many.  How many times I have wished for her to be just down the street.
When the phone rang and I said "Hello",  she said my name and then paused.  Instead of her usual vibrant voice, when she spoke, she was quiet and deep.  Those kind of moments in life make the world slow...  I went to my office alone.  "It is Billie..." Her voice broke and then went silent.  I sat down, and tears filled my eyes, I took a breath and waited.  She struggled a while, and all I could offer was "What's happened?...".
Over the next moments, as painfully as she was given the same words, she struggled to relay them back to me.  Her two and a half year old daughter was diagnosed with a more rare form of leukemia.  The next moments, we cried together, she told me how things had lead up, and a bit of what was to come.  Before long, she had to go.  She was at the hospital, about to go in to see more doctors, get more tests.

I hung up the phone and sat in my office a while, getting my own self together.  I went back to my husband and daughter, my sister-in-law and two year old nephew.  I watched those two kiddos and my heart just broke.

I want to understand, I want to be able to wrap my head around what she is going through so I can do whatever I can to be of help or support.  ...To look at my daughter and think "what if?"...  That alone takes my breath away. What a horrible nightmare K must be going through.  I am so at a loss that my friend has to go through this, to see her daughter fight such an unimaginable battle so incredibly young.  The helplessness she must feel, just wanting to trade places.   How does a mother go through this?  Why does a mother have to go through this?

At the drop of a hat, I will go if and when she needs me.  I am hoping, without hounding her, that she knows I will be there for her, even if it is just to get her a cup of tea and give her a hug.  I'll be there.

In the time until then, my mind and heart seem to spin.  My reaction is for empathy, for sadness and even anger.  But if what energy is manifested by me, does go back out there, and is perpetuated, then I need to be mindful and make a decision about what I put back out there to be of help to those who are affected or life in general.

I believe in prayers.  I believe in meditations, intentions, positive thoughts.  I believe fundamentally, that what we exude goes somewhere, especially our subconscious thought.  

Horrible things in life happen, but we, as human beings, are made to be compassionate, to be there for those we love.  There is a level of helplessness people around those who need support feel, and due to not knowing where to put their energy,  people can sometimes get stuck in that.  What else can you do?   

I don't believe horrible things in life happen to create more pain.  The horrible things are horrible enough.   I believe pain is meant to instigate love and healing.  I hope if horrible things happen, they will at least bring people together.   If we invest our thoughts in love, love will grow.  If we invest our thoughts in how unfair life is, that is what will grow.

My friend, her daughter and family are brilliant.  They are gorgeous and good from the inside, out.  Who knows why things like this happen, but I do know they deserve to be surrounded by love and healing energy right now. 

When I see my daughter and think of Billie, my heart breaks for her and her family, but for every inkling of sadness, helplessness, fear etc., I will send out many more prayers and intentions of strength, wellness, and love.

I am writing this because I am asking you to please send thoughts of healing, wellness, love, strength and faith to their whole family and especially little Billie.  If your heart as a parent is moved, please send thoughts for strength and love for K and her partner, so when maybe they feel they can't go on anymore, or aren't sure how they will have the strength to continue, they will feel that love and perhaps can rest for just a little while or find an inspiration of peace.  If when you look at your little ones, or recall a fight of your own, please send positive thoughts of wellness, healing, strength and love to little Billie.  It is all I can think of to do to help.  If there is anything I've posted, I hope that this matters. 

Just posting this video again in the hopes that it may inspire and realize the power of thoughts.

Get well little Billie!! 

Nicaragua - Day 15

Another day out of the sun.  My body is talking and I'm going to listen.  Today off, then kickin' it tomorrow...