To live like you were dying

May 22, 2011

    Yesterday (Saturday May 21, 2011)  the world was supposed to end. Clearly, it didn’t. But Friday something rocked my world… more than the idea of the whole world coming to an end was the idea of something awful happening in my own little world. Don’t think I’m so self-absorbed but I the end of the world reports were pretty far fetched, whereas this was very close to me. Like, in my right leg close. I was at my normal doctor’s appointment, a 38 week prenatal check up. And everything was not all right.
    I guess it’s part of human nature, or maybe the height of hubris, to go through life feeling like nothing bad is really going to happen to me or my loved ones. I worry enough about it, of course-- about all the possible car accidents, germy germs, anvils to fall on my head-- but never in a real, fear-gripped way. It’s abstract. It’s out there somewhere. Not here. Not in my world.
    Having a baby-- well that seems like a pretty safe, natural thing to do. Normal. Usual. Somewhat mundane even. No one goes into it thinking about fertility problems, or having a child who isn’t perfect in the traditional sense, or having a miscarriage, or having problems giving birth. If we considered all the risks I think we would probably never do it. I wouldn’t, anyway. It’s riskier than skydiving. Less risky than driving to the supermarket though. Curious how things get compartmentalized and the more dangerous things are shuffled into the necessity category, while things with the adrenaline rush of danger are sometimes statistically safer.
    So while all these dangers are lurking, I walk though life in ignorant bliss, assuming everything is just fine and dandy. Until my doctor looks at my right leg. As anyone who has been pregnant knows, things swell up. A lot. My foot and leg didn’t seem more swollen than would be normal in pregnancy. But I watched my doctor purse her lips, shake her head, and frown a bit. I started breathing harder and felt a stab of fear in that place that feels physical, way deep in your chest, though it’s probably just some kind of emotional response, like blushing or cringing in embarrassment.
    She noticed my look and immediately assumed that calm demeanor so familiar in doctors and nurses and flight attendants. Stay calm, it’s just a bit of turbulence.
    “I don’t like this leg,” she said. It sounded strange but I knew what she meant. “I’d like to have a Dopplar done on it, just to be safe.”
    When medical professionals are worried but they don’t want to show it to the patient, things happen fast. Normally you wait for 45 minutes on a freezing table wearing nothing but a paper napkin while they take their time. That day, I was in radiology within 20 minutes. Shortly after that I was having another calmly smiling ultrasound tech rubbing cold gel on my leg. Again with the lip pursing, the slight frown, the subtle head shake.
    “Right there,” she said, pointing to something indistinguishable to the untrained eye on a screen of wavy gray lines.
    She explained that there was a clot behind my knee, only a partial blockage, and at least two more completely blocked veins in my calf. Being a professional hypochondriac and a dabbler in all things medical, my brain immediately translated: deep vein thrombosis. A diagnosis that can lead to pulmonary embolism (clots in lungs), heart attack (clots in heart) and aneurysm (stroke, clot in brain). And oh yeah… all three potentially fatal. And left untreated, eminently fatal.
    I’m 32. No history of blood clots. Perfectly normal, healthy prior pregnancy. I drink my milk. I eat my five servings of fruits and vegetables. I take vitamins. I try to do what I can to stay healthy.
    And there is a baby boy in there, not quite ready to come out. My medical dabbling left me no idea of the danger to him, though I assumed that me dying wouldn’t be a good thing for his survival-- and no idea of the long term effects of all this. All I knew was something was wrong and I could die. I could die.     That thought wouldn’t leave my head. I could die, he could die, and I could miss out on the rest of my life.
    I’ve always said that I feel okay about my future. I’m prepared-- life or death, I feel like I know the outcome. Not all the details, but I believe there is a heaven, a home, a place for my soul to go when my body is done. I’m not afraid of death. I used to be terrified, but I feel now like it’s something we all have to go through to get to the next step. I believe firmly that I’m headed to heaven someday, to be with God, Jesus, and everyone else who’s gone before.
    But I forgot about how much I love my life, too. I know it’s temporary and I know we all have to leave sometime. But I don’t want to go yet. I will if I have no choice, but I want to have my baby. I want to live to feel his fingers wrapped around mine. I want to see my son Isaiah play baseball and graduate college. I want to see my little Madelyn play soccer and have dance recitals and I want to worry when she goes on her first date. I want to live and love my husband for the next sixty years or so.  Maybe it’s wrong to be so attached to life here. But I can’t help it. And I was terrified.
     I am still in the hospital, having treatments and waiting.  And making promises to myself. Two years ago I made promises to myself when I was diagnosed with a malignant melanoma. I spent six or eight months remembering, reminding myself to do all the things I wanted to do, because you never know when you’re at the end. And here I am again, making vows. I vow to love my husband every day, and make sure he knows he’s loved. I vow to love my children and help them the best way I know how, to grow up to be people of substance, men and women of character and depth and compassion and quality. I vow to help strangers and show kindness instead of spite . To not waste time complaining, but to look for the good side of every situation. I vow to keep my word, to not be wishy washy. I promise. I promise. I promise.
    Maybe it takes a few near death experiences to make a person remember the really important things. I don’t know. I hope for me this does it. As much as I appreciate being alive more than I did on Thursday, I hope to not have to survive many more reminders like this. I will remember how this feels.
    A good friend of mine told me once that the times that she feels down and overwhelmed and in despair, she remembers her brush with death. She remembers the feeling of permanence that accompanied the fear, and she keeps that feeling close to her. Because really, any time could be the last time.
And it’s encouraging.
     I know that sounds weird, but facing death makes you feel like anything goes and experiences are what counts. Because really, why are we here on this earth except to learn? If this is just a holding cell that we have to survive, to get through, to pass the time until we go to our “real” home, then what’s the point?     My theory? We’re supposed to be down here learning, soaking up experiences, living, loving, finding out what it’s like to be human. Isn’t that how Jesus did it? I mean, he had a more specific mission than most of us are aware of, and a little extra help because he actually knew he had said mission, but to me that doesn’t mean that we should all just assume we don’t have a purpose for being here. Until we figure it out I think we need to have that open minded attitude.
    We have to go through our experiences soaking up as much information as we can. I’m treating it like a fact-finding mission-- to boldly go where no man has gone before. Well, not no man, but boldly go where I haven’t been before, anyway. I am Jean-Luc Picard. I am Captain Kirk. I am Ahab, obsessively searching for that white whale. I want to know more, feel more, live more. Not only just in case I die soon. But because I’m alive now.
    We all have an expiration date in mind, and I want to get what I can out of this experience, whether my date reads tomorrow or in fifty years. I want my children and my family to know who I was and what I stood for. I don’t want them to have to guess. A little mystery is good sometimes, but I plan to live like an open book. I will make mistakes. Many, many mistakes. But I will take that information and learn from it. I have to.
    And I may not do it perfectly the first time, or the second, or the seven hundredth time. But my goal is to do my best. Not to try-- “trying” is a set up for possible failure. My plan is to shoot for the best I can do. You only get out of life what you put into it. I plan on putting a whole lot more into it from now on. I will keep this experience close to my heart, and always remember what it felt like. And not in a bad way. I’m not going to walk around being sad and morbid. Or force myself to enjoy things just because it might be the last time I’ll get to. But I will remember this feeling.

Song lyrics so romantic, you'll have a physical reaction to them....

Your Love

Woke up this mornin'
There was a hurricane warnin'
Went to the store to get some supplies
Can goods and wata, but there as not a
Single roll of toilet paper inside
And it made me think that a oooh


Your love is like a good toilet paper (good toilet paper)
It never falls apart when the going gets tough I said uh
Your love is like a good toilet paper (good toilet paper)
When its stormin' outside, I cant get enough
Said uh I can't get enough

Baby when I think about you
Can't think of something that I want to
I know I couldn't live without you in my life ooh-o-o-oh
I gotta have you near me (near me)
Don't want your love to disappear see (see)
Don't know what else I can say for this next line
But it makes me think that uh ooh


Your love is like a good toilet paper (good toilet paper)
It never falls apart when the going gets tough I said uh
Your love is like a good toilet paper (good toilet paper)
When its stormin' outside, I cant get enough
Said uh I can't get enough

Rap

Oh yo oh yoy
Can you hear me now good!
If you ever wonder why I say what I say
Da good toilet paper keep me clean everyday
You stay by my side never ever go away
And never running out is what I hope and I pray
Your lovin' is so fresh and so clean and so strong
Girl like a roll of Charmin girl your lovin' last long
Your love is so good and you girl are so pretty
With your love behind me girl I never feel shhh LORD!

Back to the drawing board...

I had an epiphany today. I am a good photographer. I've won awards for photojounalism. I'm no slouch on any sports photography venue. But I also need to evolve.

I moved back to California after enjoying a lot of success as a photographer in Hawaii. I thought I could pick right up where I left off. The problem is that as a self-taught wedding/portrait photographer, I forgot something really important. I'm not in Hawaii anymore.

Hawaii was beautiful and I never had many issues shooting there. The light and backdrops were always ideal. I seldom had problems finding nice, soft, diffused light. California is different. Not only is it much more competitive for photographers here, there's the challenge of finding just the right shooting location, the difference in light, and all the aforementioned competition to deal with.  Yes, I need to build my portfolio, figure out a new angle. Mostly, I just want to shoot. I miss taking photographs. I want to experiment. And I want to find new ways to take photos and make them art. I've seen a lot more of this lately and I am really excited to try my hand.

I'm a realist and I realized that I need to get back on the training track. There are so many incredible photographers out there doing so many fantastic things. I watch their blogs and progress and I really enjoy their work.

Mariea Rummel Photography is one, and I've recently also discovered Jessie Lee O'Ferrall, of Rustic Barn-- both great. My cousin-in-law Sara has SaraJane Photography also fabulous.

So I'm back to training. I am committing to learning everything I can about studio photography and portraiture and locations and shooting in California. I am inspired. I am rejuvenated. I am ready to build my portfolio and get down to work.

So.... if anyone is looking to have portraits done, I am ready to start the process. Well, give me a few weeks to have a baby and THEN I am ready. I am looking for candidates with newborns, infants, babies, children-- actually, anyone with a face will do. Thank you to my friends who have already volunteered, and anyone else interested, hit me up via email.