I have suffered from claustrophobia ever since my assault. It was like a switch going on - I never felt claustrophobic, and then I did. But I learned to adjust to it. I live and work in wide, uncrowded spaces. I am healthy enough to take stairs instead of elevators. I always get theater tickets on an aisle. I always sit on the outside of a booth. Most of these things have just become second nature to me.
Work has sometimes been a dilemma. I usually show up at meetings very early to insure a seat by the door. Occasionally I would show up too late, and the only seating left would be in the back. And I would actually leave (even if it was required that I be there) - so strong was the fear of being closed in. One day my therapist asked why I didn’t just ask a person sitting near the door to move. My answer was that I couldn’t go into the reasons for my claustrophobia. And she asked why I thought I needed to. Umm, I don’t know.
So the next time I went to a meeting where there was no comfortable seating left for me, I went to up to this woman and simply said, "I have wicked claustrophobia, would you mind letting me have your seat by the door?" She was sweet as could be, and said of course, and moved. And that has worked for me every single time. Once a gentleman looked at me kind of sad and said that he was claustrophobic too. But then he got up, brought an empty chair up, and skooched around so that we could both sit near the door.
People can be incredibly kind when given the opportunity.
Today I went for my final breast biopsy. Stereotactic. I was told that this would be the hard one, where I would be lying down, with my breast in compression, for about 45 minutes. I had been in a slowly ascending state of anxiety all week. Laying face down, not being able to move, I knew would be a major trigger for me. But then a friend suggested I let them know what the problem was. Again, I knew that I would never be able to come out with the real words, but maybe could say something.
When I arrived, I had myself in a near panic mode. A technician who was getting things ready asked me how I was doing. And I said that I was very nervous about the set up and blurted out that I had some trauma issues. She came over to me, put her hand on my arm and said "I will get someone to help." She came back with a woman who pulled up a chair in front of me, took my hands in hers, and said "we will get through this together." Okay, which was really more of a question than a statement.
I was laid out on a table, one breast hanging down through a hole, and clamped into place. (Really, there has got to be a better way.) I was told I could not move, which again started the panic rising. This woman got warm blankets and asked if it was okay to put them over me. She then held my hand and asked if she could put her hand on my back. (I suspect this woman had once had some issues of her own) Through the whole procedure, which took almost an hour) she rubbed my back and asked me questions about my family and work If I started to fade out she would snap her fingers and say "stay with me here in the present" and kept me talking.
I have always felt that there are angels who show up when I need them. She was definitely one.
I am slowly coming to recognize and trust the therapeutic benefits of speaking about trauma, more of which I hope to discuss in a later post. For now I am basking in the delight that there are so many people who are amazingly kind and willing to help without needing to know the details. Angels who are worthy of trust and will not let me go.
And for all you other angels who were saying prayers and sending calming energy, I thank you. They worked!!! This was a huge, huge hurdle for me. All the tests are now over and I am waiting for the results to determine the next step.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Full of Grace
1. "You have great pecs" That is what a doctor (who looked like the love child of Hillary Swank and Natasha Richardson) said to me during one of my biopsies. That’s what she said. But I heard sooooo much more . . .
2. Peachie coming home for an impromptu weekend - shopping, chatting, baking cookies, snuggling. I do miss that little one.
3. A friend dropping by with a basket of banana muffins. Yum
Friday, November 4, 2011
Finding My Shadow
In her memoir "Before the World Intruded" Michele Rosenthal writes:
When you survive a life-threatening experience you become another person justlikethat. It happens in an instant. If it's happened to you, you know exactly what I mean. One minute you're minding your own business, aware of who you are and what it means to be you - and then, Wham!, all of a sudden that self is gone.
I spent a lot of time trying to get my old self back. Then a lot of time in mourning when I finally accepted that I could never get her back. And then more time trying to become a new person. Yet always knowing I was not whole. It is a very strange life, the life after your soul dies.
When I last met with Daphne’s mother, she had asked me about that day. And she said that all she knew came from the police report. A police report? I had never seen the police report and I asked her, if she still had it, to send me a copy. Which she did. Which again sent me reeling into that void between then and now.
One of the hardest parts of my recent therapy was the trying to remember and process what happened to me. I can vividly remember what happened to Daphne, that plays in my head constantly. But, as the mind will do when it is flooded with more than it can handle, it dissociates from the event. So while my body was suffering, my mind kindly checked out. Most of my therapyy work was centered on trying to get back those memories because although they are not consciously remembered, they constantly reek havoc underneath the surface. Through the immersion therapy, revisiting the site, and particularly the hypnosis, I was able to recall some of those details. Yet I have always seen those memories as if I’m an outside observer watching them happen. I have yet to be able to place myself back in that body as the attack occurred. And perhaps that’s for the best. Yet I still have this overwhelming need to reconnect to that body, to that person I left bound and gagged and raped and broken.
Reading the police report was shattering. There is a statement by the officer summarizing the events. Sadly, the emphasis is on us being two lesbians, and the difference in our races, and that unwritten but very clear suggestion that ‘we got what we deserved.’ Unfortunately, I don’t think much has changed in that regard in the intervening years.
I am getting so close. Each puzzle piece that falls into place, each memory that comes back, no matter how disturbing, gets me closer. I feel like I have now found my shadow. I just need to catch it and sew it back on.
When you survive a life-threatening experience you become another person justlikethat. It happens in an instant. If it's happened to you, you know exactly what I mean. One minute you're minding your own business, aware of who you are and what it means to be you - and then, Wham!, all of a sudden that self is gone.
I spent a lot of time trying to get my old self back. Then a lot of time in mourning when I finally accepted that I could never get her back. And then more time trying to become a new person. Yet always knowing I was not whole. It is a very strange life, the life after your soul dies.
When I last met with Daphne’s mother, she had asked me about that day. And she said that all she knew came from the police report. A police report? I had never seen the police report and I asked her, if she still had it, to send me a copy. Which she did. Which again sent me reeling into that void between then and now.
One of the hardest parts of my recent therapy was the trying to remember and process what happened to me. I can vividly remember what happened to Daphne, that plays in my head constantly. But, as the mind will do when it is flooded with more than it can handle, it dissociates from the event. So while my body was suffering, my mind kindly checked out. Most of my therapyy work was centered on trying to get back those memories because although they are not consciously remembered, they constantly reek havoc underneath the surface. Through the immersion therapy, revisiting the site, and particularly the hypnosis, I was able to recall some of those details. Yet I have always seen those memories as if I’m an outside observer watching them happen. I have yet to be able to place myself back in that body as the attack occurred. And perhaps that’s for the best. Yet I still have this overwhelming need to reconnect to that body, to that person I left bound and gagged and raped and broken.
Reading the police report was shattering. There is a statement by the officer summarizing the events. Sadly, the emphasis is on us being two lesbians, and the difference in our races, and that unwritten but very clear suggestion that ‘we got what we deserved.’ Unfortunately, I don’t think much has changed in that regard in the intervening years.
Then there is a statement that I made. I have a vague recollection of speaking with an officer at the scene, but oh so freakish to now see my words written there above what is my signature. I barely remember who that person was. And then there is a statement that Daphne gave, days later in the hospital. Reading about the attack through her eyes was quite the mind fuck, seeing it all from her point of view..
So much I did not remember. Details that sent me to bed for a few days, rocking in my fetal position. Bruising flashbacks. So much that happened to me that I struggle to remember on a conscious level but I know I feel on some level. They lurk in my peripheral vision or just under my skin, waiting. I am beginning to confront them and make peace with them. It's a good thing.
For years I have felt like Peter Pan searching for his shadow. I know that to be healthy and whole again I somehow need to integrate those memories with the feelings associated with them and to reconnect to that person. Not to go back and be that person. I know that is impossible. But those memories are like my shadow. I know that in order for a shadow to exist, light and darkness must both exist. For me to be whole, I have to have my shadow back - it is all a part of me.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Full of Grace
Last week I was once again diagnosed with breast cancer, which was not great news to hear. Yet still there is much to be grateful for:
1. 11 years of remission which made me ultra aware and grateful for every single healthy day I’ve had.
2. Early detection has hopefully caught it the early stages. The next two weeks are a blur of medical appointments and tests to determine exactly what I’m dealing with and formulating a plan.
3. Having a job that not only covers all my medical expenses, but also allows me the freedom to go to all these appointments with very little hassle.
4. Because I’ve had so many breast issues, I already have a wonderful medical team in place. I have full confidence in them and know that I’ll get the most compassionate and best medical care available.
5. Martha, who was my rock last time I went through this. There is so much comfort in knowing I do not have to do any of this alone.
I often give rides to women for their chemo or radiation treatments and I know how difficult it is for some - lousy insurance, jobs with little flexibility, few family or friends to help with the daily transportation needs. Cancer is never a welcome diagnosis, but I do appreciate the amount of support I have to get through it. I can't imagine having all that additional stress.
________________
Also, during the past few weeks I have purposefully been avoiding the internet as I have been experiencing a wave of PTSD symptoms and the internet is just riddled with triggers for me - every day another story of corrective rape, gay teen suicide, another gay person bashed, etc. I needed to escape it for awhile. However, I have also been ignoring the advise I give most other sufferers when they are down - keep talking/writing about it. It’s very therapeutic. And so I will try. I will also try to catch up on favorite blogs and email. Soon. I hope. Very soon.
_____________________
And please go check out this wonderful website - www.Wish11Eleven.com - a community art project where wishes will be posted much like PostSecret. Go on, you know you have some wonderful things to wish for . . .
1. 11 years of remission which made me ultra aware and grateful for every single healthy day I’ve had.
2. Early detection has hopefully caught it the early stages. The next two weeks are a blur of medical appointments and tests to determine exactly what I’m dealing with and formulating a plan.
3. Having a job that not only covers all my medical expenses, but also allows me the freedom to go to all these appointments with very little hassle.
4. Because I’ve had so many breast issues, I already have a wonderful medical team in place. I have full confidence in them and know that I’ll get the most compassionate and best medical care available.
5. Martha, who was my rock last time I went through this. There is so much comfort in knowing I do not have to do any of this alone.
I often give rides to women for their chemo or radiation treatments and I know how difficult it is for some - lousy insurance, jobs with little flexibility, few family or friends to help with the daily transportation needs. Cancer is never a welcome diagnosis, but I do appreciate the amount of support I have to get through it. I can't imagine having all that additional stress.
________________
Also, during the past few weeks I have purposefully been avoiding the internet as I have been experiencing a wave of PTSD symptoms and the internet is just riddled with triggers for me - every day another story of corrective rape, gay teen suicide, another gay person bashed, etc. I needed to escape it for awhile. However, I have also been ignoring the advise I give most other sufferers when they are down - keep talking/writing about it. It’s very therapeutic. And so I will try. I will also try to catch up on favorite blogs and email. Soon. I hope. Very soon.
_____________________
And please go check out this wonderful website - www.Wish11Eleven.com - a community art project where wishes will be posted much like PostSecret. Go on, you know you have some wonderful things to wish for . . .
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Full of Grace
Finishing all my acts of atonement (I hope I didn’t leave anyone out) and having every apology accepted.
Receiving fun packages in the mail
The doctor who stitched up my finger after an unfortunate carpentry accident.
Clean crisp sheets.
An absolutely stunning weekend at the lake.
Receiving fun packages in the mail
The doctor who stitched up my finger after an unfortunate carpentry accident.
Clean crisp sheets.
An absolutely stunning weekend at the lake.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Anniversary 22
Tomorrow Martha and I will celebrate our 22nd anniversary together. It seems impossible that we are old enough to be celebrating a number that big.
Of course, I use the word "celebrate" rather loosely. Martha does not have a romantic bone in her body. I doubt she’ll even remember, unless she gets the mail when my mother’s card arrives. My mother always remembers.
We are expecting phenomenal weather here this holiday weekend, sunny in the 80s. We have not yet closed our lake cabin and we are planning to go there and enjoy the mountain fall foliage. I will remind her of the anniversary and we will go to a nice restaurant in town and toast each other with our water glasses.
We will sit in our Adirondack chairs overlooking the now quiet lake like two old friends and reminisce about our years together. We will remember my father who died on the same date, six years ago. I’ll cry. She’ll hold my hand until I stop. And we will snuggle up together and comment on how fucking lucky we have been.
We have had some very good years. We have also had some very trying times. We have argued and fought and made up. We almost broke up but instead did the work to heal the wounds. We have raised two amazing daughters, or more accurately, they raised us. We have survived some serious health crises and suffered a few difficult family situations. We have shared profound intimacies, enjoyed friends, travelled and grown. We have taken care of each other and supported our separate and joint dreams. We have loved each other and kept each other warm through it all.
I am sometimes sad when I acknowledge that she is not the love of my life. Not my soul mate. Not the person I had planned on spending my life with. Yet she is the one who I have shared my life with. And I have enjoyed all that she has brought to my life and everything she has made possible for me.
She still makes me laugh.
She is still my best friend.
And her kiss still makes me swoon.
The universe has been very generous to me and I am exceedingly grateful .
Of course, I use the word "celebrate" rather loosely. Martha does not have a romantic bone in her body. I doubt she’ll even remember, unless she gets the mail when my mother’s card arrives. My mother always remembers.
We are expecting phenomenal weather here this holiday weekend, sunny in the 80s. We have not yet closed our lake cabin and we are planning to go there and enjoy the mountain fall foliage. I will remind her of the anniversary and we will go to a nice restaurant in town and toast each other with our water glasses.
We will sit in our Adirondack chairs overlooking the now quiet lake like two old friends and reminisce about our years together. We will remember my father who died on the same date, six years ago. I’ll cry. She’ll hold my hand until I stop. And we will snuggle up together and comment on how fucking lucky we have been.
We have had some very good years. We have also had some very trying times. We have argued and fought and made up. We almost broke up but instead did the work to heal the wounds. We have raised two amazing daughters, or more accurately, they raised us. We have survived some serious health crises and suffered a few difficult family situations. We have shared profound intimacies, enjoyed friends, travelled and grown. We have taken care of each other and supported our separate and joint dreams. We have loved each other and kept each other warm through it all.
I am sometimes sad when I acknowledge that she is not the love of my life. Not my soul mate. Not the person I had planned on spending my life with. Yet she is the one who I have shared my life with. And I have enjoyed all that she has brought to my life and everything she has made possible for me.
She still makes me laugh.
She is still my best friend.
And her kiss still makes me swoon.
The universe has been very generous to me and I am exceedingly grateful .
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Full of Grace - texts
Gratitude for some of this week’s texts:
- sending hugs and kisses (Peachie)
- miss and love you (Peachie)
- if you are home for dinner tonight I will make shrimp scampi (Martha)
- miss you like crazy (Peachie)
-can you send me extra money this week? (Beanie)
- sending hugs and kisses (Peachie)
- miss and love you (Peachie)
- if you are home for dinner tonight I will make shrimp scampi (Martha)
- miss you like crazy (Peachie)
-can you send me extra money this week? (Beanie)
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