Friday, February 6, 2009

The situation...

This evening, at around 7:45, Wolf started seizing.
"Should I call an ambulance?"
I called 911 about ten minutes later. (There was a ten minute delay because if he doesn't respond with something other than 'No,' he'll fight anyone who tries to help him. He's a big boy. By 8:00, the ambulance had arrived. The arrival of three fire and rescue trucks, two squad cars and a half hour later, they finally earned his co-operation in getting onto the cot. They even managed to get him strapped in before he got antsy again.

Then, I lost it a little. Then I got it together and went into the spare room where Kitten was watching TV.

Now, I've managed to get some food into me and I've called his friend.

I can't seem to bring myself to call any of my supports, though. I'm feeling like I'm in limbo. I feel the fear begin to rise... then it just stops. It totally dissipates.

Is this what shock is? If not, what is it? It's very clear and calm. Which is odd. I don't know.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

It's all big stuff...

I've had a lot to think about, lately. The best way for me to break it down would be chronologically, I think.

First, as you may have been able to glean from my last post, I went out and got a touch blotto... for the first time in over a year. It took all of 4 drinks.

I had been invited to attend 'Girls' night out' by a couple of my co-workers and though I didn't want to go, I had already blown off several invites and thought it prudent to make an appearance, if nothing more. So, it was just us, the ladies. For the first time in over a year I was out, on my weekend, without Wolf. I had already decided I wasn't going to drink but my friend handed me her vodka/lime to sip and my thirst was on.
  • Back-story: I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. For the last year and a half of my drinking years I would get the nastiest gut pains starting about a half hour from ingesting the first sip of whatever I was imbibing. I took this as a sign that it was time for me to back off a little. It took the 1.5 years to confirm my suspicions... and to let go of my favourite vice.
I think the first thing I noticed was that my gut didn't hurt. That was definitely a pleasant surprise which, obviously, precipitated another drink. By the end of the night, I still had no pain. I did, however, have the dawning of an ugly realization. I am a self-righteous bitch. But only when I'm not looking.

Wolf has always been a drinker. He never had a problem with it. As long as I was binging, I didn't mind either. But there came a time when alcohol became an issue for me and at the point that I could no longer deny that, it began hurting me. Well, with me no longer drinking I was better able to judge his drinking. How very convenient. This very judgement was fed and nurtured within me until last Monday. Eww.

Being who I am, I analyzed this to it's smallest detail and, once home, told Wolf all about it. I apologized for my self indulgent behaviour to which I was treated to the most relieved, sweet smile from my love. It really was amazing. The whole thing was amazing. I mean, I don't have the urge to spend my weekends plastered, thank God, and my feelings have changed regarding Wolf's occasional night with the boys. I know there will likely still be work to do to prevent me from slipping back into my old habit, but I'm up for that.

Next, Wolf had his neurologist appointment. The good doctor confirmed epilepsy, probably caused by Wolf's massive head injury. The back of his skull, travelling just below 60 km/h (about 37 m/h), met a curb. The doctor said that within two weeks Wolf would be called in for a cerebral angiogram. Hopefully the test will reveal the scar tissue on his brain and that the removal of said tissue is possible. They will also look at his aneurysm to see about taking care of that, too. Cleansing breath...

The 'third' thing that I'm working on is a new life. I have always been an 'artist.' I've know what I can do with a pencil, given the time and patience, and that I would love to make it a living. I know that my potential has not really showed in the bits and pieces of art that I have put on display. For the past week or so, I've been working on a portrait of one of my co-workers. Did I say that already? Well, If so, sorry about the repetition. My point is, I've shown the incomplete drawing to several people and each of them has asked what I will charge for my service. I've never had a clue. How does one put a price on something like this? What if the price is too much, or too little. How would I correct that, after the fact, for others without being totally unfair?!

Well, I was told, based on the info I had to date (it's taken me about 6-8 hours so far, I'm about half done...) that a picture this size, with this amount of detail, I could/should be charging about $450. It throws me and I think, "Really?" I'm timid about the whole thing, looking at the possibilities and daring to wonder - no, to dream that it might be possible. Wow. Really?

I guess I'm daring to dream... Now, I just need to finish the thing and get it 'out there.'

And, finally, my most recent lesson came today. I have linked my despair directly and irrefutably to anxiety. I awoke with a headache and immediately thought about this being the last day of my weekend. My mind took me to work tomorrow morning, and I was standing behind my till. I shook it off pretty quickly but my chest was a bit tight and I was instantly antsy. I managed to 'forget' the whole thing is pretty short order but I did become quiet. Wolf kept asking me what was wrong, and nothing was wrong. I was just quiet. And not hungry. And withdrawn.

Kitten was trying to tell us about her dream and one of Wolf's favourite things to do is pester the hell out of people. Every few words that Kitten would get out, Wolf would ask a question or link her words to a quote... whatever. Well, I was trying to re-engage with my family when Kitten said, "and there were these mountains and a river was winding between them..." when I smiled at her and said, "A river runs through it, which is the name of a movie." Well, my timing was off because I guess that was her breaking point. She just looked at me, eyes widened like I was the biggest betrayer, ever. Then her lips pinched shut and she turned to her breakfast without a word. I said I was sorry, and Wolf poked a little more. Well, I was done. I screwed up (which, when I'm at my best is a hard pill to swallow. At my worst, I shouldn't be permitted the care of a goldfish, let alone a child!) and had to leave the room.

As we all know, kids are far more resilient that we often give them credit for. Within minutes, she was knocking on my door, asking if she could finish the telling of her dream. I said yes and all was well. Except me. I crashed. Hard.

I realized that I wasn't trying to engage with my family for my sake. I know that when the ocean is turbulent, I need to just ride the wave. The less I fight, the quicker I reach solid ground. I know my limitations when I'm in that place. I know damned well that to deny my feeling is dangerous. And now I know that to deny my feelings, even when I think I'm helping others, is to hurt them as well as myself.

Biggies, all. Whoo-ee. And, as usual, the universe throws stuff at me when it's most pertinent. This morning, just before the emotional shit hit the fan, I saw this picture:

strong enough

Thank you...