My Cousin, the Gentle Giant

 Sunday evening I received news that my cousin, Corey had passed away. 

After a long battle with cancer he had let us know he was in palliative care only 10 days before he was gone. Although logically I knew that meant there wasn’t a lot of time left, the finality hit hard.

We weren’t overly close. We sent each other messages on social media every now and again, about books, nerdy things & my favourite was always the Happy Birthday messages that took place one day after the other. He’d message me on the 21st & I’d reply that I’d chat to him tomorrow & I would, on the 22nd when I wished him his own Happy Birthday.

After finding out Corey was in palliative care I reached out & we had a short chat & I’m so, so glad we did. Despite the distance there was always adoration & love.

What I found was the series of feelings and thoughts following the news of Corey’s passing were so much more confusing than I had anticipated. Sadness is obvious but guilt & anger were right up there. I was actually unsure any of the feelings were valid considering the lack of contact. As I worked through these things over the next few days I also read post after post & comment after comment from all of the people in Corey’s life. From old high school friends & current colleagues, to a beautiful daughter-in-law & the love of his life.

While the sadness persists, the guilt & anger have disappeared, leaving joy and most of all pride. To see so many people honour and love this mountain of a man who was so, so gentle. There have been many joyous anecdotes, loving memories & just a genuine outpouring of love that can only come from being a beautiful human, which Corey was. And I could not be more proud of my big cousin & happy that his strength, positivity, generosity & kindness is still being shared amongst all of us that are still earth side.

I hope, my cousin, that you are with your Dad, that there are heavenly MMA matches & plenty or nerdiness for you to enjoy while you watch over you beautiful family until you’re all together again.

Love & adoration for you always, your littlest cousin x

A Short Season of Grief

It's the loneliest feeling in the world to have a severe anxiety episode when surrounded by others. It is worse still when that feeling becomes completely overwhelming, when all of the public anxiety recovery tactics, that have worked for years, go down the toilet. That anxiety then breeds. Becomes uncontrollable. If I can't stop it, how do I leave the house? So I don't. I feel trapped. This makes me sad. I get blue and that feeling grows. I never want to do anything anymore. I feel worthless. I feel incapable. The fear of anxiety becomes an anxiety of its own. The sadness surrounding that anxiety quickly turns into depression.

This was where I ended up in April. My rescue remedy spray was a joke. My anxiety blanket, that had been helping most of the time, was only slightly taking the edge off. I wanted to sleep a lot, wanted to eat constantly. I was defeated. 

I've had this condition all of my adult life. My mental and emotional health has been through so may different seasons. It's been a rollercoaster of epic proportions. There were so many valleys and peaks, so many wins and losses. Some seasons were triggered by life events, some were, as my psychologist tells me, because that's just how I'm wired. Mostly, I've learnt to live with it. 

I share my story whenever I feel I can - if you've read any of my previous blogs, you'll know that. I share for myself. To let it go. But also for the messages I receive. The ones that say, "Thank you, I thought I was alone", "Thank you for putting into words how this feels".

Today I share from a place of extraordinary recovery. A place I don't fully trust. But a place that exists for me and is too hopeful, too important to keep to myself. I'm sharing my very short season of grief, about 5 weeks. A grief that has now dissipated.

This part of my story starts on Easter Sunday 2022. My family had gathered at my brothers house. We all pitched in helping to landscape the front yard. We watched on TV as my nephew swam his heart out at nationals, smashed his PB and earned an incredible national rank for his age group race. It was a fucking good day. After showers, we had nibblies and sat around together. As usual, my anxiety had hovered in the background throughout the day, but it the late afternoon, I felt my chest starting to tighten, felt my legs start to ache. My breathing started to come up short and I couldn't think. I escaped to the bathroom, as I have done countless times before. I went through my breathing exercises, I splashed water on my face. Jake had noticed. Of course he had. He brought me my rescue remedy & I all but swigged directly from the bottle. I breathed, I splashed my face, I took more remedy. It wouldn't let up. I started to shake, started to cry. Why wouldn't it just stop. Why couldn't I breathe. I needed to leave the bathroom, the house was full, someone would eventually come knocking.

I escaped the bathroom to find that almost everyone had gone down the back yard. Thank Christ. Charli was watching a movie on TV & I clung to that shit like a fucking life raft. Jake wanted to stay with me but I told him to piss off down the back, don't make it obvious something is wrong. Anyone who came in asked if I was heading down, to which I made the very poor excuse of staying upstairs with Char - my kid, who relishes family gatherings at her Uncle Lenny's and had already asked multiple times to go down the back. I told her to just watch a little more of her movie while I tried to get my shit together. My brother came in, made small talk about the movie that was on. I tried to chat. I could barely string a few words together. My whole concentration given to keeping my breathing even, and for heavens sake do not cry. Do not unravel. My emotions felt like they were being kept at bay by the most brittle of dams. One crack and it would just rush out with no hope of being able to staunch the flow. I'm not really sure whether my brother knew how not okay I was, or whether he just thought I was being a rude bitch. I did send him a message apologising for having such a bad day at his house, I hope he understood.

It was Charli, the delightful little beast, who fully gave me away. Begging to join the fun downstairs, I finally said okay. I gave her my phone - take some photos, be careful down the stairs and Mummy will be down in a few minutes. Little did I know the tiny rat went down and announced to everyone that I was crying, sad but I wouldn't tell her why. Fucking kids.

Upstairs, I am trying desperately to pull myself together. I was making small but steady headway. Breathe, rescue remedy, breathe, pick a muscle - relax it. Repeat. I was doing okay, still a bit shaky, but not yet calm enough to fit my usual mask, when my Step Dad from years gone by came up to help. After a battle of his own over the past 18 months, he was well in tune with my anxiety, that indescribable feeling, unless you know it. "Ashleigh Kate, what is it, hey?" He bundled me up in his arms and hugged me while the dam shattered, while I cried. He cried with me. Letting it out felt so much better. That wall, built to put a hold on my own anxiety, trapped me inside as well. The dam needed to break. It's just that usually, I can wait until I'm home. We chatted, I felt more human. And also so exhausted. An hour - maybe less? And I felt like I had run a marathon.

I went downstairs, played it as cool as I could now knowing my shithead kid had ratted me out. We had dinner, we played board games. It was lovely. It was then that another family member pulled me aside, told me they were going to buy me something from Amazon, get it shipped to my home. A something that would help me feel better. Give it a week, they said. I thanked them. I appreciated it. But I also internally scoffed. Years. Years of medications, hormones, blankets, remedies, psychologists, a psychiatrist that shouldn't be practicing, grounding exercises, breathing exercises, journaling, action lists. All of them worth their weight in gold (apart from that psychiatrist prick). All of them at one time another, worked. And all of them at one time or another, didn't.

The supplement that I was ordered arrived 2 weeks later. 200mg capsules of L-Theanine. I started taking 2 every night before bed. A week went by. Nothing had changed. 2 weeks, still nothing of note. I kept taking them, they had been bought for me, after all. I would see the bottle out. I would say thanks, I tried it but it just didn't work. 

Week 3, Jake noticed I wasn't asking for my anxiety blanket as much. I started sleeping properly at night. 

Week 4 - I am doing things for myself. Things that for the longest time I have relied on Jake to do or to support me while I do. The simplest things. Day-to-day things. Showering. Taking out the bins. Feeding the dogs. Cooking a meal. Running out for a couple of extra groceries. I start to worry - I feel good... too good. It never lasts very long. I wait for the stumble, the inevitable fall.

Week 5. I'm well-slept, calm. I notice I'm not crying so much. I'm having a bath for the bubbles, for the joy - not to ground myself in scaldingly hot water. Music re-enters my life regularly. I'm not overwhelmed by each small thing in my day. I want to go out. I want to do so many things. I contact that family member and thank them from the bottom of my heart for saving my from the absolute void I had come to live in. To accept.

Week 6. It hits. The grief. The realisation that I have spent so, so much of my adult life restricted, anxious, depressed, struggling. A version of happy that was enough for then, but it was nothing. Nothing compared to this.

Weeks 7-10 are spent rejoicing. Enjoying the freedom. Enjoying a re-found capability to live my life fully. Don't get me wrong - I've been anxious. I've been sad. I've been hella stressed. But it's been a PART of my day, not something consuming my day. I've had a handful of bad days in a sea of happiness, of rightness. A contrast to the handful of good days in a sea of struggle. And that joy perpetuates the grief. My god, I have missed out on so much. I have avoided joy out of fear. I have walled myself off from people and experiences because of worry I might be anxious. I have struggled through these years more than I ever knew and the realisation of that loss was acute. It hurt. It felt wasted.

I'm in week 11. Jake notice I have lost weight, something I have not been able to shift for years. I called bullshit. Until I noticed he was right. I wondered out loud how, I haven't done anything different. Then he tells me: I haven't been eating myself into oblivion every night. I have not been emotionally eating for weeks. I tell a lie - I emotionally ate after some work stress this week. But I stressed, talked, ate a fucking pie & let it go. Jake tells me that's how people usually deal with stuff, and welcomed me to a little normalcy. I'm here for it.

The fall has not come. The grief has given way to gratefulness. To living. It's made me appreciate what I now have and I will not waste a second of it. 

I'm very aware that my seasons can always change again, and that although I am feeling the best I have felt in more than a decade, things happen. There may be slips and tumbles. But I am confident there won't be a fall. I don't think I will be brought to my knees by an anxiety attack in the middle of a family gathering again & that is so powerful, it fills me with so much hope, something I can hardly remember daring to have. 

But the most beautiful part of this past almost 3 months is the realisation that my Husband, who has been with me through most of this, has never begrudged me my mental health. Has always supported me by being there, by taking the load where I could not. He has never once asked me to do better than I was, he always knew I was trying. Even when that trying looked like sobbing on the couch into a bowl of ice-cream. I am overwhelmed by his love, that it has been unwavering. He let this half-life be his, too. And I am so incredibly happy that I can bring more joy to our home, to him. That when, instead of wanting to stay home, stay safe, I want to find new adventures. I can see the excitement in his face.

I implore anyone, on whatever journey yours might be, don't ever give up - take the offered hand of those around you. It is so worth trying.

Turning 33 with a Wife like Me...

I have always tried very hard to organise fun activities for Jake - be it on his birthday or otherwise. Since our interests are a little different sometimes, I have also tried my hardest not to avoid things I don't like. My main hold up, as anyone who knows me, knows - is heights. But, I made sure to take Jake to Dreamworld on his first trip up to Queensland. I booked a Q1 climb for him and shook in my boots the entire time. 

Despite my best efforts, my anxiety and fear has always cropped up along the way - hotel stays that were a few floors too high, an Eye of Brisbane experience that went downhill very fast, a couple of drives that were insanely steep. The wedding gift we received for the Sydney Sky Tower I had to skip because between the revolving and the height, I was not in a good place. Jake stayed and very happily ate both meals and desserts himself while I found a place to eat closer to the ground.

The level of fear I have about this is illogical. I get that. But I have also never felt so physically & mentally debilitated by anything else like that in my life. I might get a bit of anxiety or get upset here or there about this or that. But heights seem to create a whole body shut down. Aaaannnd, it seems to be getting worse the older I get.

Today is Jake's 33rd Birthday and I decided that since he'd never been to O'Reilly's, he definitely needed to go. He would love the treetop walk, the flying fox, seeing the stunning views and animals. Charli would be just as stoked, I couldn't wait for her to experience the bird feeding.

We hit the road at 8am, the day was absolutely perfect. Not a single cloud in the sky, no wind, delightful temperature in the sun. The drive out was stunning, Charli chatted about going to the "bird island", Jake and I fantasised about having enough money to buy ANY of the gorgeous properties along the way. I had mentioned to Jake that if we got up there and the treetop walk was too high, I'd just chill on the ground while he and Charli went up. I'd been up there before twice. As a kid, which I could barely remember and once about 13 years ago with my boyfriend at the time. I remembered hating the drive, especially the drive back down but I also remember being in a pretty consuming amount of pain on that return drive and also that my boyfriend wasn't exactly the best driver.

So I had no fear, no anxiety about our trip. I was aware that I would probably have moments where I was uncomfortable and anxious but that happens driving to Tamborine Mountain, it happens on the 4th floor of our favourite Sunshine Coast resort.

I was not prepared in any way for the shitshow that was about to unfold. 

Once we hit the Vineyards at the base of the mountain, I knew the climb wasn't far. It was beautiful from the start, the initial incline had us looking over immaculate properties - the greenery was stunning - winter rain has been very kind to our often dry and brown countryside. We were about 4 switch-backs up when I felt the first trickle of unease. I shook it off, kept driving, holding my breath when a few cars driven by either very seasoned mountain drivers or bloody morons, forced us toward the edge or to hug the wall. As we got higher the switchbacks got tighter and steeper - the road had more narrow as shit one-way lengths and every time I caught a glimpse of our new elevation I became more and more distressed. At first it was quiet, I'd check with Jake how far we had left to travel & mention my discomfort. I remember trying to laugh it off, saying I might have made an error in choice of activity. After constant narrow, winding roads with sheer drop offs on one side and a wall of rock and earth on the other, I had the thought that sent everything spiralling. My thoughts had been so concentrated on telling myself to: 'just keep driving, take it easy, it didn't matter how fast or slow we went, we would get there eventually and it would be amazing, we would just bask & enjoy, I would get such gorgeous photos up there and it was only just past 9am, we had hours before we had to be at Jaspa's birthday party, we'd come back down around...' and there it was. I could barely feel my body, barely catch my breath driving UP this beast of a mountain. How in the holy hell was I going to drive down, into the sheer drop offs not beside or away from them. In mere seconds, I was in a full-blown panic attack. Sobbing, shaking, heaving, not at all in control of my breathing we continued to inch our way up that mountain at about a rate of about 10 kilometres an hour. Jake, as ever, was patient, reassuring & of course offered to drive either the rest of the way or back down. Whatever I needed. I needed off that mountain. My thoughts began to spiral very quickly: 'What a stupid idea. I didn't think it would be this bad. I brought Charli up here, she's not safe.' I kept repeating these things to Jake between tears, hitched breaths and mini mouth vomits. I manged to gasp out a request for how long we had left to go. 11 kilometers. That was the last straw. We weren't even half way up from the base of the mountain. 

Suddenly there was a small plateau where I could pull off. I stumbled out of the car and heaved up the contents of my stomach. Shaking like a leaf with not an iota of logic to spare, I turned to Jake, who had been rubbing my back and told him that I was sorry but I could not go on. I could not drive what I had already driven again at this height and higher. Jake offered to drive again. I love Jake with all my heart and trust him completely. He is also very confident and I knew I would be mortified at the speed in which he would drive either way on this road. I refused and told him the only way I would be getting off this mountain was by walking. He refused and told me that was too dangerous, he wouldn't let me do that - the road was so narrow, I'd be hit by a car. I started to feel not only overcome with fear and anxiety but also trapped and unheard. With that, a screaming match ensued. In that serene little spot Jake and my shouts echoed out as we faced off over a pile of fresh vomit. Finally, angry and frustrated, Jake gave in. He turned the car around and drove back down while I started walking. I was a good kilometer in when I started to calm down. I realised I had to pee pretty bad and remembered there was a nursery on one of the turns, I'd stop there. I rang my Mum - I just wanted to talk while I walked, I cried as I told her what had happened - that I was fine but I wasn't able to get back in the car. That I was upset I'd ruined Jake's birthday trip. Logic slowly returned as I walked. I thanked goodness it wasn't summer as I stepped through shin-high grasses that could have easily been a snake pit. I listened for cars, jogged around blind corners and down narrow strips to stay out of the way of the cars coming up and down. 3 lovely people stopped and checked to see if I was okay. I smiled, thanked them and said I was fine with puffy eyes that I'm sure gave me away. The need to pee became more urgent, the nursery was a hell of a lot further away than I'd thought. Mum convinced me on one of our many calls to get Jake turn back and pick me up. I reminded her that there was not a lot of places to turn around and although I wished I had just got in the car and gotten out of there so we could have continued our day elsewhere, I wasn't sure I could convince myself to get past my mental and physical reaction to the situation. Eventually I was starting to become level with the mountains around the one I was on. I jogged here, thanked a concerned passer by there, talked to Mum some more and suddenly I was well below the height of the surrounding mountains and thought I could probably do the car the rest of the way. Jake, who had been fretting at the bottom of the mountain, all anger gone and nothing but concern for my safety in mind, came straight away. We managed to meet on a hairpin with a space for Jake to turn around. I was thankful but just as terrified as I'd expected to be and Jake was just as chill and confident as I'd imagined going down that road. I had to tell him to slow down many times as I clutched my seat and door handle, my heart in my throat. We passed the nursery as we went down.

Clear of the mountain. Jake was completely unfazed by the events, only thanking me for the entertainment. I was still mortified - by the experience and the way I felt but also be cause it felt like I'd ruined and wasted not only a day out together, but Jake's birthday. Charli was upset that I'd been upset and considering that by this point she'd been in the car over 3 hours, she was otherwise very chill and well behaved. We tried to find another venue for our day out - it's the last day of school holidays and every man, woman, feral child and their dog were apparently spending the day out in the Gold Coast Hinterland. Alpaca Farm, couldn't get a park. Canungra, couldn't find the markets. The Outpost Cafe,  teeming with people. Rivermill Cafe, also teeming but at this point the toilet issue needed to be addressed. The menu there left a lot to be desired, the pony rides were just finishing up, there was no access the deer enclosure because it was a mud pit from all the rain. Even the turtles in the river were hiding. We assumed Tamborine would be just as busy so we opted to just head home - back to somewhere not so fancy but reliable with good food.

If you've ever had a panic attack you'll know that it can take a long time to come completely right. So this entire time I am still sporadically crying, shaking & having to calm myself with deep breathing. The anger hit as we got on the highway. I was furious with myself that I hadn't just kept going. That not only did Jake and Charli miss out on an awesome experience, so did I. That Jake's birthday had become nothing but a long arse drive. I was angry that I'd let my anxiety get the better of me & hadn't been able to calm myself down. At the same time I knew there wasn't a force on earth that could have gotten me back into that car on that plateau. I was still pissed.

Once we finally sat down to eat, we talked about what had happend. Jake commented that I'd actually made it pretty damn far back down on foot. My maps app had kept the location of where the car had stopped and from there we were able to pinpoint where  Jake picked me up - I had made it 6 out of 9 kilometers back down. Looking at the map prompted me to see what would have been ahead had we just continued on, which brought me very quickly to the funny side of the situation.... But for one more turn, the rest of the drive was pretty well as straight shot through. I actually could not stop laughing at the ridiculousness of that. 

As always, Charli's questions come after she has processed for a few hours and they came through thick and fast. Why had I been so upset?  Why was I so scared? Wasn't there a way to make the mountain come down or maybe if I wore high heels and was taller, I wouldn't be so scared of heights? Then she started with - "It was scary driving up there" to which I replied: "It was a little bit scary but Mummy needed to be a little more brave." And so, because my 4 year old is watching me deal with fear, I will be again driving up that mountain in the not too distant future. Whether I be the driver myself or blindfolded, drugged, laying down in the back seat or if I can somehow convince my very busy brother to come along and drive; I am getting to the top of that fucking mountain.

Thanks to my Mum for taking my call and calling back as I stubbornly trudged my arse down that mountain.

Thanks to my bestie for genuinely laughing instead of judging when I told her what had happened, who told me we'd find a way to get me up there and shared that she also had fears that she sometimes found hard to manage.

But mostly thanks to my amazing Husband who was patient, thoughtful and still super happy with his shitstorm of a birthday.

The Raw Parts

I’ve written a lot about my mental health struggles. The response has ranged from thank yous from people who are dealing with their own struggles and feel less alone. The “power to you” messages from those who support me. The “you over share, some things aren't meant for public knowledge” from people who seem to think there aren’t dark unbearable things in me I have only shared sparingly with only my closest people. And the flat out “don’t want to hear it” responses. To which I wave goodbye. But through it all I don’t feel I’ve even ever shared the truly raw parts of Mental Health struggles. I have run out of breath sharing some of the hardest times I’ve been though, but only after it’s overcome.

Today I share in the middle of the bad, from my couch, where my face is numb, my chest is heavy and empty all at once and I see no point in participating in life, which only feels like an endless shuffle through molasses. I am in sensory overload. I cannot stand most sounds or touches. I am in pieces.

After a good 4 months of not feeling so great mentally and going about all of my normal coping mechanisms to no avail, about 3 weeks ago I experienced a pretty severe depressive episode that required my husband to stay home with me. I got through it and have been wading on ever since, mask on. A new doctor gave me a good overview of why I have been feeling this way & I felt much better knowing why my psychologist, grounding baths, emotional eating habits had all done absolutely nothing for me. A few vitamin deficiencies & a lot of hormonal unrest seems to be the main culprits of my body & minds betrayal. 

But, none of that stops the waves. None of that stopped me getting home last night from my brothers house, tired but fine, happy to be home to rest, in bed & intent on sleep when another episode came from nowhere. It’s the emptiness that I can’t stand, the nothingness, the not wanting to do or see or feel or taste anything. The thought of doing things that normally bring joy & comfort comes with a weight, a “why bother”. 

My legs ache. Every episode I’ve had with my mental health, be it depressive or an anxiety attack, my legs ache beyond belief. I usually need multiple heat packs on them to make it stop. Last night my legs were pounding and my chest felt like a black pit. My husband came into the room & knew instantly. “You’re not feeling okay, are you?” And this is the part I hate the most. I cease to be able to communicate. I cannot find the words to express how I feel. I am suddenly reduced to gestures & single words.

I managed to ask if he would sit in the bathroom with me. A bath is another grounding thing for me. I have the water hot enough to make my skin red, it helps immeasurably. But it wasn’t enough. It was a battle between me trying to bring myself out of this void and my body doing the thing it naturally does, making the void wider, deeper and harder to climb out of. The panic comes with it then. Anxiety is something I live with daily. It’s a part of me that is almost a friend. A part of me that I knows I deeply, that I work with to get through life.But this is different. It’s panic associated with depression; a deep fear that the depression won’t pass. That I’ll be stuck this way, unable to function.

I couldn’t climb out. It took a relaxant that induced sleep for that feeling to abate. I had to ride out the feelings until the pill took hold and I couldn’t keep my eyes properly open and Jake had to help me out of the bath, get me dry & clothed. He had put on Gilmore Girls, heated heat packs for my legs and stroked my hair as I lay on the lounge. It took no time then for the drugs to take me off to sleep.

Today the abyss is still wide, still bottomless but I’m on a ledge. Close to the top but not quite high enough to get out. I’ve tried reading, another bath, food I usually love, & now a TV show. The heat packs are still on my legs, I have nothing to give to myself let alone anyone else. 

Through it all Charli is ever watchful. Jake amuses her away from me on days like this but she can see it. I used to be so worried about her seeing me this way. Used to worry about being a terrible parent. After I finally made my way to the lounge this afternoon she took my face in her hands, “Mum why are you crying?” I shrugged. “You just feel sad?” I nodded. “Okay, breath with me, ready? In. And out. In. And out.” She done that for about a minute until “That’s, better, huh?”

It’s now 3:30pm. My Sunday is not what I hoped it would be and tomorrow morning I have to wake up and make life keep happening. I’m scared of the struggle ahead because I’ve been here before and the hopelessness feels insurmountable. My masks are handy for those days.

Just be mindful of this. This reality that it not only mine but Jake’s. That is terrifying and hard. Peoples hard days are no joke and it’s not their choice or their fault. And kudos to me. Because be it tomorrow or next week I’ll be okay again at some point and it will have been nothing but sheer will to push through the bad days.

Please be kind.

Ahhh, New Years...

 Another New Year approaches. Mostly I've seen "Woohoo, 2021! Seeya later 2020" but I've also seen "No one should get their hopes up, 2021 is just going to be 2020's sequel."

Honestly, after a year that was dominated by a global pandemic, Trump running the most powerful country in the world, and the train-wreck that was Tiger King - I'm inclined to agree with both. Thank fuck that's over, but also - where are we headed?

Short answer is - we control that.

I don't think I realised what an insane year our little trio has had until today. I wanted to make a little "2020" photo album for Facebook, and going through the photos was mind-blowing. "That was this year!?"

For us, 2020 started with some shattered relationships that were barely holding form.

We booked our first overseas trip as a family - to New Zealand in August.

Charli began swimming and dancing lessons, an exciting prospect for both her and us as parents, watching her grow and enjoy.

Half of Australia was on fire and our for-shit Prime Minister needed a good clip around the ear.

We spent most of our weekends helping my brother renovate his new house. 

By February Covid was hitting the news and we were wary. 

Family members left for New Zealand and America. 

Shit hit the fan in March, starting with a trip to hospital for Charli which resulted in a foreign object being roughly gouged from her ear, kicking off an anxiety of medical offices for the poor kid (came in to play for the remainder of the year).

Relatives came to visit which was an experience in itself, leaving Jake & myself fuming for a good time afterward. 

Charli got a rash that lasted days and resulted in another hospital trip. After being such an anti-phenergan Mum, I found myself wondering where the fuck it had been all my life as my child slept soundly and didn't scratch an inch of skin overnight.

By this time Covid was well and truly knocking Australia around - borders were closing, toilet paper was non-existent, the Karen's were out in force. Char had been diagnosed with a small heart defect mid 2019 and I was not quite a year post open heart surgery myself, which gave us pause and ended in the decision to self-isolate with just Jake attending work and the grocery store. Charli and I didn't leave the house (apart from walking around the block) for 57 days. It was great and horrible all at the same time - I had plenty of time to enjoy being with Charli - I also had zero space, which I crave. We lost touch with friends simply because we couldn't see them. We got closer to others - because the time and space to call them was there. 

We bought a puppy. A Great Dane x Australian Cattle Dog. We have been repairing destruction to out back yard ever since

Charli had her echocardiogram follow-up and was cleared. Her heart had outgrown the defect which there was a 50% chance of. I can't even begin to tell you how much of a relief that was. This was the cue to head back out into the world. Covid numbers were going down and the Queensland Premier (who I think is a bit of a champ), was setting tough restrictions; So we felt a little more comfortable on the whole.

Jake decided he would like to try for another baby. I agreed and so our IVF journey began. After one round we had only one egg, which successfully transferred. We fell pregnant and just as with Charli the signs came though hella early. We then miscarried and my body did not respond well - I bled for 23 days. The hormones and general shittiness of the situation carried on making hell for my health for a good long while after.

A childhood friend was diagnosed with Breast Cancer and although it wasn't mine to carry something about one of the brightest lights from my life being diagnosed, having to go through the chemotherapy and not knowing how that would all turn out, hit me square in the guts. I should've known better. Bad bitch that she is she has overcome chemo, allergies to chemo, a double mastectomy and is currently on the arse end of radiation, cruising through like a boss.

My sister & niece returned from the US (a relief as we watched Covid grow over there and the BLM riots going off). They stayed with us for 6 weeks. It was a fun experience, some deep chats were had, board & card games played, and there was the general excitement of Charli who was happy to have more than boring old Jake and I in the house. Home felt a little bit empty for a while when they moved to their own place.

Charli participated in her first MS Read-a-thon which is something we will now do each year. 

I had surgery on my toe (do not recommend) and had a very thorough breast examination done after the reappearance of a very large lump. Thankfully it is just hormonal and was likely a result of the IVF drugs. 

Spunky Husband bought a new car which he can actually sit in without having to hunch. It's a sexy beast, diesel, too big for the garage. Adieu to the Yaris that was literally falling apart. (The clutch had gone the week before).

November seen the remnants of one those shaky relationships from the start of the year begin to crumble and become more and more difficult. I took some leave from work to get my head on straight.

Jake and I concentrated on the house - getting some small projects finished, doing a deep clean and getting everything nice for Christmas.

The last of the family members that were overseas made it home safe & something about that made a distant part of me feel a little more right.

December feels like its very own year. Nelson turned 8. My best mate is getting older and although he is healthy and happy (other than when Reggie is annoying the shit out of him), I know he's starting to slow down and that his years are getting shorter.

That crumbling relationship fell completely to pieces and I followed suit.

Our little trio went up the coast for a week - our first proper solo holiday as a family (since we had to cancel our NZ trip - cheers Covid.) It was lovely - sunshine, no commitments, friends visiting. It was also one of the worst emotional and mental weeks I have had in the past decade and I was not in a good place for majority of it. I read Matt Haig's ' The Midnight Library', which I had been saving for the occasion. I loved it. For those who have read it though you will understand when I say I was at a point where Nora's character resonated a little too deeply with me at that moment and I could barely breathe for those first chapters.

We came home from the coast and I celebrated my 30th birthday feeling the loneliest I think I have ever felt in my life. A birthday I had been looking forward to for such a long time.

Christmas came and went, we tried to enjoy it as a trio and we kinda did. But it wasn't right. The relationship break-down was too close to the event for us to attend without lots of tension. So we stayed away and it was certainly the worst Christmas I've ever had and something I hope we don't have to do every year.

And here we are, the last day of the year. Now, after such a massive dip, I feel mentally & emotionally probably stronger than I have ever felt before. Charli is excited as can be about tomorrow for our traditional New Years Day Beach Trip! Jake is, as always, simply happy he doesn't have to work tomorrow.

There's a lot there. It was a HUGE year. But before I looked at the photos this morning, that wasn't what was sitting with me.

We lost no one. Everyone we are close to is still alive and in good health.

My cousin, after a horrible couple of years medically, is back to life as normal.

My heart is back to it's normal size, which the doctors told me it probably never would be.

Charli's heart is has also gone completely normal and she doesn't face any surgeries for defects. 

My little cousin got married and she looked so beautiful and happy.

Multiple friends got engaged, married and had babies. So much love to see on social media.

Charli sung the Frozen lullaby to put Nelson to sleep.

I started collecting breadtags for an charity that makes wheelchairs for South African people who can't afford them. So many people got on the bandwagon and are still on, handing in their tags whenever they can.

When Charli and I were both sick earlier in the year, my girlfriend and her boys dropped in a care packages of yummy food and fun activities. 

In the height of self isolation, talking movies with a very old work friend who needs so much education on the subject. 

The cleaning lady at my work caught me having a cry in the tea room before work started. She gave me a hug at the time and bought a box of chocolates to my desk later that day.

Reggie. Reggie is an arsehole and I love him to absolute bits. Despite eating my plants, destroying  the electrical wiring and sprinkler system in the garden, destroying the veggie patch, pulling the wiring out of the air conditioning unit, chewing on the outdoor table, etc, etc. He is actually the sweetest pup in the world and I have to make myself remember he is only 9 months old despite his size.

Charli overcoming many, many fears - swings, swimming, bugs, doctors (after the ear thing.)

My sister in law giving Charli hugs and stickers at the hospital after said ear episode.

Having a giggle with my eldest sister when she told me about catching her almost teenage sons talking smack about her in the car. 

The music, shows and movies that made me laugh, cry & feel. I'll make a list. Trust me.

My second eldest sister for being the one I call when I need an ear.

The work mates that you see walk in and think "thank christ they're here today."

My third eldest sister for being the one I call when we are in a spot. Who has Charli when I'm in the hospital (multiple times now).

Watching the Mum in the car behind me at KFC realise I'd paid for her family's meal and losing her shit with excitement.

To my childhood friend for dropping by not only for a chat when I wasn't in a good place but bearing gifts of crystals and plants as well as a happy meal for Charli.

The multiple stangers and celebrities on Instagram that light up my feed with their inspiration, funny moments & day-to-day life. I've got a list guys, I'll add them to my post.

The one lovely stanger on instagram who shares the same name, I met during IVF who, after miscarrying, I wished all of my baby dust to. She is now expecting a baby in August.

Where the Crawdads Sing. The Six of Crows duology,,. And many other books but these stood out for me and have a little bit of my heart.

Re-connecting with my niece who is now old enough to have social media.

Nelson, for knowing when I'm down or anxious and pawing at me until he finally settles down with (usually on) me.

My big brothers hugs whenever we leave his house after a big day of work. He always means the hugs he gives and you can feel it.

I fell in love with Camomile Tea and started collection funny mugs (mostly with expletives).

My family playing spoons at a family get-together this year. There was so much laughter.

Being organised and making Charli's Easter Bonnet Parade hat long before Covid hit and the parade never happening... She wore that thing around the house for months.

Eating too much food and rolling ourselves around Mount Tamorine on a family day out with Charli in the back of the car looking for "The Elephant to begin the climb" because she had just watched Jumanji the day before.

The giant grasshopper debacle where I would not get Charli or I out of the car until Jake got home from work and shooed it away. The prick then stalked the front of the house for hours.

Making Apple Pie from scratch. Never gets old.

At Halloween enjoying seeing a friend who had a hard year be back to themselves and genuinely happy for the first time in so long.

Being thought of by so many people for hand-me-downs for Charli. Appreciated, every single time.

My new tatt which I was worried about getting in such an obvious place that I am absolutely in love with.

 The girls group chat I have with 2 other book loving Mummas that often gives me such a laugh.

Charli's reaction to - everything. She is full of joy and I hope that stays true for as long as possible. 

A friend who Charli calls Uncle for being the most thoughtful prick in the world. 

Charli singing. I can't even put into words the feeling in my gut and heart when she breaks out in song with such zeal. 

But mostly what stuck with me was Jake. My Husband who through every single thing that I've loved, hated, laughed at or cried through has been there. Steadfast. Unwavering. Completely immovable. The expression "My Rock" has never made so much sense.

I suppose my whole point is I'm grateful. For the small and the big things. That I don't really see the world in terms of a pandemic or a shit president. That despite the many overwhelming things we had happening this year, our world, my world is made up of all these amazing moments, memories & people who make it worthwhile, happy & special. So let 2021 bring what it's gonna bring and make it the year you want it to be. x

8 Months of Illumination

This is how I go to sleep now, guys.

That’s right, this 29 year old woman needs a night light.

It all started with my open heart surgery last May. Pre-op, I was terrified; in the 4 months prior to surgery I had happened upon another 2 drug allergies (just add 'em to the list), so I was in the frame of mind to be prepared for anything. I made sure my Will was done, that Jake had a diary done for the year ahead with birthdays, appointments, reminders, that the bank accounts were full enough to cover funeral costs and keep my small family afloat until they re-adjusted their living. Obviously, I was under the impression I could very well die. So, the evening prior to and morning of my surgery I had to use every ounce of willpower to stay in that hospital. If you’ve read any of my blogs from back then you’ll know that if Steve the anesthetic guy hadn’t been man-handling whichever limb of mine was closest to him at the time and talking to me constantly, my ass might not have been wheeled into the theater that day. Obviously the last thing I recall is voices fading out and darkness coming in.

I remember waking up in ICU a few times that first night. After gesturing for my breathing tube to be removed, I started having a reaction to the pain relief which involved violently vomiting bile. I couldn’t move much with my freshly cracked chest, so I was forced to ride it out each time by hugging a thick towel, and bring up what I could, where I could. Sometimes I had the presence of mind to buzz a nurse before it started coming up but a few times they didn’t make it to me before the thick hot liver-made goodness landed on my pillow, bed, chin and neck It was a pretty bleak experience. The most memorable thing for me was the fear. In and out of consciousness, not able to sit up on my own or lay on my side, vomiting, sometimes with no assistance... What if I choked? All of this happened in very dim, far-off lighting, so it was all just shapes in shades of black and white. A memory I hated for the longest time.

Finally out of ICU I stayed on the ward for 4 nights. As everyone knows, in hospital there is no such thing as the dark. There is always a light on somewhere. And between being woken up for obs, fellow patients being dicks with their TV’s up loud or simply getting up to the bathroom - there no such thing as silence.

Once home from hospital I was confined to the recliner for sleep. Jake, good human that he is, slept on the couch next to me and every night my anxiety grew, until night 4 at home when I lost my shit entirely. I fell into a pit of deep depression and ended up on the toilet (still having trouble balancing my pain meds vs bowel movements), sobbing my heart out to my best friend, who I’m sure had entirely no idea what the hell to do. Then my Mum came over and basically just held me on the couch until I stopped crying. It was the pits. This whole time the lamp next to me was always on overnight, just in case I needed anything (It was hard for me to reach out & turn it on & off from my chair at this point). But as the next week came and the pain lessened, there were fewer night-time wake ups and no real need for the lamp. So, one night, Jake turned it off. I was instantly overcome with panic and demanded he turn it back on. I didn't really understand why, I thought it was probably just because of the bad mental & emotional days. But as time went on, I realised there was possibly a lot more to it.

My fear of dying and all of the preparations I had made for the possible eventuality had consumed me in the 5 months from diagnosis to my surgery. Now that I had made it to the other side, I think subconsciously I was still in that mind frame. So, I clung to all of the things that felt comfortable and safe and let me know I was still alive - including light. I think the dark reminded me of going under, which I associated with dying and I felt out of control when I was in complete darkness - almost devoured by it. I'm past all of that mind fuckery now but it seems like my body is not - the immediate reactions it has certainly attest to that.

Jake has trouble falling to sleep and staying asleep with the light on... so of course we have tried many times in the 8 months since to overcome this anxiety of mine. We've tried turning the light off after I've fallen asleep but each time I'd wake up soon after, panicking before I was even fully aware of what was going on. We've gone cold turkey - that was fun. For now we've made it outside the bedroom to the hall light - far enough away that Jake's sleep isn't so interrupted but so that I get some sleep myself. The goal at the moment is to find a way to get the light further away bit by bit until my body learns to sleep in the dark again.

But this is more of a shout out to say hey to anyone dealing with weird shit that they probably don't really think to talk about or may be a little embarrassed by. It's cool guys - my 3 and a half year old is cooler than me so, you know. Do what works and love the shit out of yourself and your journey.

The Bovine Patch Chronicles Part V: 3 Steps Forward, 2 Steps Back

It's like a dance, this recovery thing; and for me, that doesn't mean a graceful flow of movement...

I may have gotten a little over excited about life last week - getting my licence (freedom) back & feeling well enough to start doing more things. Ask anyone who knows me well - I don't do anything by halves - it's either at 120% or not at all. So on Saturday, I went full throttle, it was a great day but I was absolutely shattered by the time I got home. The trend continued though & I decided I really needed to start doing a lot more for myself so I hung out clothes, cleaned the kitchen & bathrooms, dusted, vacuumed. Mum had a lot to say about all of that but I was sick of feeling dependent. But, I found myself extremely sore most days, some days by very early afternoon.

On Monday night, I woke up with a choking sensation - I managed to get back to sleep but woke up again in excruciating pain down my left arm, across the left side of my chest & back. We called an ambulance & away I went. Thankfully Charli, who had had temperatures all night, stayed sound asleep during the whole thing & Nelson assisted in that by not fussing over the ambulance officers. It turned out that my left lung had re-collapsed & had fluid at the bottom of it which they informed me could well have caused that amount of pain. I was thankful it was nothing to do with my heart but frustrated to hear about my lung.
The hospital trip & CT scan I had there led to some extra information which I talked about with the GP. A CT is NOT the mode of examination used to confirm the presence or absence of the defect in my heart, I will have another echocardiogram to do that BUT my CT showed no signs at all of the defect which previously could be seen. I'm trying not to get too excited about that but also feeling hopeful! The CT results also stated that the sternum fusion was incomplete... I casually mentioned that to the doctor, just checking it was okay at this point. She looked almost sorry for me as she explained the bone there wouldn't fuse back together until the 6-9 month mark. THAT news certainly made me want to slow down. I went to meet a friend for lunch & do some painting at the hobby store after that which made me feel a lot better & it was nice to be out of the house.

Friday's plans had been on the cards since last week. I told Jake I was desperate to go to the BookFest in Brisbane. So, Jake asked for a days leave & we planned to go into the convention center & nerd out, maybe have some lunch... We got there, picked our first section & split up to cover more ground. I probably should have hired a trolley because I was stuffing books in my bag - then that was full, so I just started holding them. I very quickly got faint & felt so nauseous. I called Jake, who ran across the section to my rescue. We headed for the check-out then, satisfied that we'd done enough in that particular spot. I told Jake I might just have a seat outside while he paid, I was feeling worse by the second. The good people from Lifeline had really done a great job this year with a "revive" area full of couches. I plonked down on one, breathing deep to stave off the nausea. The lightheaded feeling only increased & I ended up slithering onto the floor, much to the dismay of some of the other book buyers. Jake came from the check-outs & I asked him to find me a sick bag because I didn't feel I could make a trek to the toilet. That caused a flurry & I ended up with a beautiful security guard, Cheryl, sitting with me while Jake went to get my something sugary from the cafe. I'd simply overdone it - with a bit of pain, not enough energy in general & low-blood sugar I ended up crumpled on the floor, leaning against a couch eating mouse sized portions of a blueberry muffin. Jake had taken the day off & we had driven all the way in here for this, there was no way in hell I was just heading home. So while I slowly & quietly regained some strength, Jake hit up another section for the both of us. By the time he returned I was well enough to very slowly go through the last section with him. We hired a trolley this time & things were a lot easier that way. Another stupid thing we done was park under South Bank. In the spirit of wanting to get lunch & planning for it to be the last place we were at, it seemed logical at the time. So, Jake carried 4 bags FULL of books (56 to be exact) the two block walk back to the car. Ladies, if this isn't your man, get rid of him...
We did end up stopping off for lunch (late lunch thanks to my episode) & running a couple of errands while we were at the shopping center. We then grabbed Charli from daycare early & took her to the park. Needless to say, last night I felt like I'd been hit by a Mack Truck.

Today I took things much easier & even uncharacteristically asked Mum to come by this morning while Jake worked to help do some washing & vacuuming. Thanks Mum! I'm still feeling extra sore tonight & it's a bit of a sign to say slow down, I think. As much as I want to do things, going too hard, too fast is only going to make recovery slower & more painful.

There have been a lot of peaks & valleys this week but here's to a slower, more restful week ahead. No bookfests to be crazy at, only
light house duties & fingers crossed no hospital visits!