Encouraging Improvement

"Don't call it complaining" I said " Call it encouraging improvement" ..I trailed off.

Goodness did I JUST say that?

What type of a person justifies complaining...

I am THE biggest complainer. My balloon is blown up so tight that it often only takes a small prick for a massive release of gushing air. The balloon swinging wildly around the room until it settles in a miserable shrivelled mess on the floor.

And one gush, inevitably, leads to another.

My sisters favourite phrase for me in my late teens was " do you want some cheese with that whine?"

I would hope that I am considerably improved since then. Hope. But doubt it.

The many late nights I have sat crying and gushing over my poor Hunna who (mostly sighs and asks if we can do it at a more appropriate hour ) which inevitably sets me off on complaining about something else. Probably about him. Poor soul.

It's funny how people have admired how long it took to go to hospital when my appendix burst and swallowed some of my intestines with it. How painful it would've been.. but to me. Physical pain. Is not what I complain about the most.

Sure in the last week I've heaved an exasperated half sob ( half because I can't show any emotion without hurting my abdomen ) and wailed " why me Hunna .. And now I have a cold too.. Is there NO end? "

But mostly the complaining is of the emotional kind.

Pinch me, kick me and bruise me. OK that will hurt but betray me, poke fun at me or withdraw love and I will be a heap on the bedroom floor for weeks. I'll mull that sentence over and over in my head. Roll it around on my tongue trying to make sense of it.

Deconstructing every syllable until exhausted I fall asleep.

Apparently it's called "emotional sensitivity"

Yes, I am sensitive. I know this.

But does the sensitivity have to come with very cringe worthy complaining. I think not.

The other week in sacrament while listening to the Devonport Stake Patriarchs talk I was struck with something he said.

" time does not heal all wounds, love heals all wounds"

After Dad died I treated my grief like I would a cut or a bruise. Expecting it would leave over time. That it would heal itself and one day I would wake up and the gnawing of my tiny teenage heart would be gone.

I've treated most emotionally sensitive issues since with the same, patience is key, attitude.

Sometimes, time does heal emotional hurt, but not because I have dealt with it.. Simply because I have seemingly forgotten about it. Like it wasn't that important to begin with.

But some things. They don't leave with time, they are always with me. More painful than any burst appendix or any bowel resection.

These are the things I tend to complain about.

These are the things, I now find ( after a fantastic sacrament talk) I should fill with love. Smother with charity and dollop with forgiveness.

Love is all you need .... right?

Trials and blessings

Last February Hunna and I decided that we felt it was time to begin the journey of adding to our family.

As we saw a future where we lived independently arriving soon and one with him also completing his apprenticeship.

We also felt that it was about time to give Boy a little brother or sister.

We prayerfully considered our circumstances and began the necessary process of beginning again.

By mid April I was beginning to get excited about the prospect of adding to our brood.

By May I felt that it was truly our month. That was until I unexpectedly got my period two weeks in to my usual cycle. I felt an overwhelming sense of grief and loss. I don't know if I miscarried. I will never know. It is unusual for me to have irregular periods but either way I was devastated another month had gone.

By August comments from people assuming I was morning sick when I often had IBS symptoms felt more like blows to the stomach than jovial banter.

I was confused as it only took one cycle to conceive Boy. I wondered what fate Heavenly Father had for me.

I ached to hold life in my belly again. To feel the first butterflies of kicking. And connect with a new little being.

I blamed Hunna for not wanting a baby enough. Convinced Heavenly Father was punishing me for waiting too long between children, or being a less than fit mother to Boy or even not appreciating him enough.

But all through the year, month after month. I knew. I always knew it hasn't been time. That season is still ahead of us.

And so really I was avoiding the big neon sign in my face that said " be patient, the time will be right soon "

When I got sick. Not just a little bit sick but a lot sick. When I needed surgery. When I probably could call that my third near death experience.

I was upset that, on doctors recommendation, it would be at least another three months to allow my body time to heal.

But then, over this past week. I have realised. From the very beginning. My Heavenly Father has not been punishing me. He has blessed me. As he always does. As he always will.

How silly of me to forget the house experience so quickly.

If I had been pregnant or had a new baby. The trial of sickness would've been much greater. Much more of a burden. Much more than I could have handled.

There would've been so many more complications.

How blessed I am that everything happens in the Lords time. Because only he can see when things are best for me. When trials will become blessings.

And even when he sends me trials of pain and scars and recovery. He allows me little rays of hope. Home for Christmas Eve. Home for Christmas morning, I could see the smile on Boys face and the joy he experienced in the flesh.

I could tentatively sit and laugh and eat with my family through the day.

I could heal. I could recover. I could be blessed, even through pain.

 

Hospital Smoshpital

On Tuesday. After my abdominal scan. Things took a turn for the worst.

I went in. They scanned .. I waited for the results. I took myself off to the doctors. Everything was clear. Clear and healthy. So why was I having the worst pain in my abdominal area?

My blood test showed my infection markers where up. My white blood cell count was up.

The Doctor suggested I very swiftly take myself to accident and emergency.

I dropped Boy off at my sisters. I was in accident and emergency for 15 minutes. My heart rate was up. I was clammy. Pale and I had lost 5 kg in the two weeks since I felt sick.

They put me on a drip.

They took bloods and a CT scan.

There was a mass in my abdomen near my appendix. I am so skinny they can't tell specifically what is inflamed or infected.

They started me on antibiotics.

They send me to the ward.

The surgeon came. Surgery. She couldn't say what would happen during the surgery. The had to look to see what was up.

I might come out with a bag if things were worse than expected. I might have Chron's disease. I might have cancer.

On Wednesday I was booked in for Thursday afternoon. I needed time for the antibiotics to reduce the infection/inflammation.

I last ate on Tuesday at lunch time.

No food and only sips of water until surgery.

At 1.30 pm on Thursday I went in for surgery. When I woke up I was in incredible pain.

My appendix was gone, the right side of some of my large bowl and 20cm of my small bowel.

I had had a Bowel Resection.

I spent almost 5 hours in recovery.

I didn't have a bag. But I did have a drain and a catheter. That night my blood pressure was very low. I was monitored constantly.

I have a 10cm scar up the middle of my belly that even goes past my belly button.

Apparently my appendix burst about two weeks ago. It had made things stick together and formed a mass in my abdomen.

So I really was very sick.

I really have been very sick.

So now, I am in hospital. Recovering, waiting for things to start working again. The pain is almost gone. I was allowed to eat for the first time, last night, in 5 days.

Food is amazing.

And I am waiting for the biopsy of my abdo mass. Just to make sure.

In sickness and health #2

When I am sick.

I am frightfully frightfully sick.

For the last three years I have battled with crippling abdominal cramping, on and off. It often makes me vomit. It hurts. It is tiring.

12 months ago. Fed up with my health I went to seek medical advice. After some nasty tests and a scope down my throat I was diagnosed with IBS.

Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I was given a plan for management but ( as it seemed ) was basically told nothing could be done and I was figuratively sent home to die.

I became vegetarian in an attempt to focus more on what I was consuming. I read every possible article on IBS I could and did everything I thought I should.

But it has persisted.

Then I came to Tas.. a little over a week ago I started feeling the same ole abdominal cramping. Which inevitably left me vomiting and once again wondering what I was doing that was so horribly wrong.

The abdominal pain, instead of being relieved by a night over a bucket, which is usually the case. Has persisted. It has been with me for over a week. Last week after hardly eating for 5 days I took myself off to the doctor.

Who suspects I have been misdiagnosed.

On Tuesday, I will go for my first abdominal scan.

Here's hoping that its as simple as removing some nasty stones or a malfunctioning gall bladder. And it will all go away.

 

Because that would be the lesser of two evils.

 

 

 

Mistletoe & Me

 

All I want for Christmas is you.

Jiminy Cricket

Sometimes when I speak I imagine my tongue is made of silver.

Other times it lashes out like a toads tongue, frightfully fast and deadly accurate, with a loud thwack

Then I have a third tongue. The tongue of a serpent. The deadliest of the three.

My tongue can be the cause of great joy in my life and my relationship but also of great contention.

I both love and loathe it.

For instance: My silver tongue has served me well for communicating, talking and giving speeches with clear concise language.

My toad tongue once proclaimed, at the end of a glorious silver tongued talk to the congregation " So Brothers and Sisters, Are you on high ground?" Thwack

But my serpent tongue. My serpent tongue is a weapon. It sniffs the air with a threatening hiss as it slides back and forth between my lips.

It can do insurmountable damage. It can snatch joy from the air and choke it with flames.

I promise. I do try to hold my serpent tongue.

Sometimes I am more successful than others.

Since meeting Hunna I have made a conscious effort to soften and calm my sometimes raging, often unpredictable and always emotional tongue.

He is my Jiminy Cricket conscience, calmly directing me to choose the right.

There is  another thing that has been helping me.

Writing.

I can write and write and everything I have felt flows onto the page, released through my fingers and not through my lips I can refine my thoughts.

Writing about when Hunna and I met has reminded me of great memories which I want to cherish and can now peruse and connect with whenever I like.

So, I've decided to continue with our journey... Because I had stalled somewhat because I am a romanticist.

Because the next chapter is raw and sometimes not romantic at all.

But I need to tell it.

From like to loke. from loke to love. From love and beyond.

It all needs to be said.

So.

The wedding approaches.

Shape Up or Ship out

"Shup Up Millie" and I suddenly realised how, now - more than ever, I need to be vigilant with what and how I say things.

 

I will admit to the occasional cuss. Apparently, cussing has even been proven to help with pain management and reduction. I know this because I watched an episode of embarrassing bodies late, one night, last week; and they tested it and said so. So it is so.

 

It definitely helps me to vent my frustration at times and/or feel empowered through being defiant.

 

But this isn't about the occasional cuss ( although it is) its more about the every day level four cusses.

See- Hunna and I have a rating system for cussing:

 

Level #1

Cuss words you would NEVER ever say - not even in your head.

 

Level #2

Cuss words you say when in extremely painful or sticky situations ( my kind of anger cuss ) that can be justified but are still most definitely rude and are mostly said in private or in your head on occasion.

 

Level #3

Cuss words that put in context aren't swear words but used in a derogatory sense are rude. And so -- they are only to be used in an anatomical or contextual sense by doctors and vets and the like..

 

Level #4

These swear words are low level words which we'd rather not say but are often used because we love to think we have at least a small part of our language which can be confronting or disgusting or reasonably defiant without being too close to the naughty line.

We decided not to make a big deal outta level four swear words. Maybe a little correction if someone shouts " who farted?" And the next person corrects " who passed wind? ".

But no consequences anyway.

 

So, here's the story.

Since we got to Tas I have been enduring one of the pet hates of my life.

 

A small yappy dog. I don't mind that dogs bark. Like big dogs that look like they will bite a robber in half. Because that's a serious alarm/ robber prevention system you got going on.

 

Like our Cocoa, who - yes barks at random people. Props for her. But also Rabbits which she will happily break in half if she was fast enough to catch them -- see what I mean? Useful Barking. "Listen the dogs barking down that rabbit hole" .. . " well lets go get us some rabbit meat"

 

Anyhow, back to snappy yappy Hairy Maclary dogs.

Hate em. Can't stand em. Excited barking, hate it. Want to go outside barking, hate it. Barking because barking is what they do barking. The pits.

 

So it is with regret that I have been saying "Shut Up Millie" continuously to a dog that is living at Mums but isn't Mums. It is infact my sisters - and I think since she got married she should re-home it to a family of deaf people and move away just in case they miraculously get partial hearing back and start contemplating returning her..

 

I think the first bout was " Millie if you bark in the car I will throw you off the sidling" on the way into Launceston and of course, predictably she started barking and I snapped " Shut Up Millie" and since then it hasn't stopped.

 

Until tonight when she was outside and Boy was de-poding peas with Mum and She started to bark at something and Boy yelled out "Shup Up Millie".

 

And I jerked my head up from instagramming in surprise.

 

And it was so cute and sincere that we had a little giggle and I redirected and said " Yes, shoosh Millie" and Boy copied " Shoosh Millie" and I patted my self on the back for a good cover up.

 

Because even just a level four word coming from my pure, innocent 2 year old ripped my heart to shreds.

 

So I'm never cussing again.

 

Cuss out.

 

 

Dear Hunna

Today I miss you. Tomorrow I'll miss you more. It aches so much I think my heart might be too heavy for my chest to hold up anymore.

I am in denial. About how much I truly truly love you.

I pretend that it doesn't matter you work so much. That its nice just to see you when you sneak into bed next to me late at night after a big day at work.

And that since we don't see each other much these days anyway-- that being away for four whole weeks would be easy.

It's not.

I miss your cuddles.

How the weight of your body makes a dip in the mattress that I fall into when we sleep next to each other and consequently waking up all hot and sweaty even in the middle of winter because your body is always set on toastier than black toast.

I miss your constant and even deep breathing lulling me to sleep.

I even miss your alarm going off ten times at 4am cause you reset it to snooze every 8 minutes.

How you bump into things while getting dressed cause you keep the light off to let me sleep.

I don't miss hearing the truck start up and idle down the drive, but I do miss the excitement I feel when I hear it idling back into its spot at the end of the day.

So here's to us and our forever. I can't wait to hear the sound of your truck idling up Mums drive soon.

I'll see you in 2.5 weeks dearest.

A holiday by the sea.

We are relaxing. Getting rid of our Victorian Tans and turning into crispy golden fried Tasmanians.

I LOVE to laze about in the sun and sleep off the sleep debt I have accrued from all the nasty late night cleans leading up to coming down.

Boy has been IPading away on our play school app and really getting into making pictures.

He grows and learns and surprises me everyday.

He really is amazing and wonderful and every other similar descriptive word that I can't think of right now.

It is good to fill up the tank.

It is good to be far away from all the stresses that were the move and winter and everything before that.

I feel like we are finally feeling the rewards of our hard work and patience.

It has been a long time with a small flicker of light for hope at the end of a very long tunnel.

But I can finally see the light is coming closer and that our family will be better off for the long hard journey of apprenticeships and long hours and no pay.

And I imagine the tunnel will open onto a glorious field with sun and flowers and light.

And rabbits and stuff...

In the meantime. I'm enjoying the time off before returning to the grind.