Is Waiting a form of Loving?

You're either writing or fucking.

So says one of my best mates when I told her how long its been since I last was able to write a post here. She gives me permission to let it go..so I suppose I will too. Because, to be honest, and a not just a bit crude, I have been doing an awful lot of fucking. And it's been just beautiful!

But now the fucking is not happening. Because my Lover and I are apart again, because it's family holiday time...first his, then mine. So, besides a very brief connection between the two family holidays, there are almost 6 long weeks of being apart that need enduring. And it has tested both of our endurance already...much more strongly than we would have imagined, whilst thinking about it in the middle of our connected physical cocoon.

So to finish off my slightly shocking opening writing device, I need to say that I am suddenly moved to write again. Because there can't be any fucking. Naturally.

We are beginning to see a pattern around our finding time to be together. Our togetherness consists of a couple of nights at a time together if we are able to co- ordinate our business trips away. And then a possible once a week overnighter when my Lover commutes into my city. We make the most of these moments. One of us usually draws the other in, gently, and quickly, as we come down from the adrenaline-fueled deadline-packed lives we both lead. There's a quiet sense of urgency between us - get to the calm and connected beautiful cocoon as soon as possible so as not to waste a moment. A massage. A hot tub. A connected couch conversation. A fierce and urgent fuck. Something that makes the world fade away and become only the deep and connected space between us. And that space, however long it lasts, feels really like another world. We do both escape there. Love. Laugh. Talk. Fuck. Sleep. Hold. Paradise for the two introverts that we are.

But the harder pattern to bear is, of course, the separation. The inevitable ending that is brought on by The Next Thing, whatever that is. And we are suddenly packing, showering, leaving, saying goodbye, with never quite enough time to process the separation before The Next Thing begins and real life resumes. There is an ache in parting, but it can't be seen and felt too much because there is life to make happen and the cocoon is supposed to be the restorer of the life force that enables the rest of it to some extent. It's all right in those times when we know it will be a few sleeps until we are together again. But it gets worse when that can't happen. When we know it will be long and distant weeks before we can find each other again.

And so at those times the process of separation takes days. And it is this separating time that I feel my old pain coming to me. I know that I was so very interested in the process of self-revelation I was having with each man I've met. And this actual real connected and happy relationship is no exception. I can see that it will stretch and challenge and grow me more than any relationship ever has... if I manage to stay the painful part of the distance.

For some reason. Co-incidence? My Lover's issues? Universe intervention to teach me things? Every time we separate in anticipation of a longer time apart, his day seems to consume him. He disappears from me, able to be only briefly be in touch. I find myself reaching for him. Longing. Aching. And he is unable to reciprocate. So the separation always seems to begin for me in a suddenly back-footed way. I need too much of him. He can't reciprocate. I feel the deep loss in disconnection and I begin to grieve. And cling. And feel a rejection (unintended) and the pain that comes with that. I begin to spiral into sorrow. And that sorrow feels so intense and painful, not helped, I'm sure, by the cocktail of drugs I'm currently taking to try to quell my most recent Rheumatoid flare. Chemo. Cortisone. Biologics. All messing with my emotional and physical disposition in a way that I can't quite get a handle on. So. On shifting sands. And lost in an ocean of sadness and despair at times. Not an easy way to miss a Lover.

But of course, things aren't a straight line here anyway, are they? That sorrow. Loss. Sense of rejection and abandonment. They are not simply created by my Lover's distance. This isn't something he's 'Doing To Me'. I know now, after years of therapy, that these are ancient feelings, being churned up in response to this place, but not formed by them. Just even being able to see that has to be a black belt in my own journey of self awareness. I can't blame him for them. And it's really good to know that unequivocally inside myself. But that's grownup me. 5-year-old me has a different perspective. She is always sitting in her familiar place, cheek and ear up against the door outside daddy's studio, not allowed in, waiting for that moment when the door may open and he will emerge, and be mine again. Waiting for love. Waiting for love.

In my case, the metaphorical door is my cell phone. My WhatsApp account. Lover messages come in through a special alert that is reserved for him. I carry that phone around obsessively. And drop almost anything I'm busy with when his message comes in. In true Pavlov's dog style, every time that bell rings I get a little surge of adrenaline-fed frission and excitement. It's him. Talking to me. Brilliant! Sometimes it's a very arbitrary something, and I feel a twinge of disappointment. Sometimes it's him telling me he can't talk right now...disappointment deeper. Sometimes he asks me a question...I answer...but by the time I finishing typing my response, I see he has already left the conversation and it may be hours again before he picks up the phone to read my response. Even deeper disappointment. I find myself living my life between messages, and tuning into him deeply the moment he is available to me. His experience of me is, I think, of almost total availability. Access. I know I cannot even tolerate the idea of letting him down by not being available. Unexplained absences. Distance. Never want him to feel that Pain of Absence. Unavailability. Things that I suffer on a daily basis. I love him by being almost obsessively available to him. Because that's what I crave. How I think love is. Protecting the one you love from the pain of separation.

I thought everybody loves like this. At some naive level I think I see loving as doing everything you can to protect your loved ones from the pain that life can bring, and most especially from the pain that you might bring to them, in this case, by 'neglecting' them by your absence. But, I'm starting to be regularly reminded, not everyone has this particular flavour of pain that I carry around inside me. They don't need to be protected from it because THEY DON'T EVEN FEEL IT. Whaaaat?

Last session I spent with shrink she gave me such an important story to work with. Her first boss had the weirdest habit. He was wealthy. Very very wealthy. But every time there was some sort of office function he would send her to the food table to pile him a plate of food. Pile being the operating word. He would stand at a distance and monitor her piling, secretly encouraging her to put more and more onto the plate. Then she would have to go and hide the plate in his office fridge. And then pile a second one. That was the ritual. And then he would snack on those plates of food, well into the following week...where the food was stale and limp. Even though he had money enough to order in fresh gourmet food daily if he so desired. She found it a nauseating and disgusting habit. Until one day he told her the story about the poverty and real starvation he had grown up with as a child. How he would go for days without food and knew real hunger. She joined the dots. Never knew whether he did.

She says that I have the equivalent poverty of emotional connection and care. Brought up with very few of my emotional and connection needs met in an abusive (mom) and neglectful (dad) world. My inner child well knows that pain of waiting and waiting for love. And there is a very strong part of me that suspects that love can be withdrawn at any time. I'm prone to hoarding it in just the same way that boss needed piled plates. Drop everything. Every time. Be present and available for that connection moment. Feel the transitory emotional rush of joy that happens with each connection. Cherish it. Never. Ever. Miss an opportunity to allow it to happen. Anticipate it. Make space for it. Plan for it. Embrace it. This could be the last scrap ever.

The fear in me is about the sense of loss and abandonment in the terrifying potential withdrawal of love that is so normal for me that I don't even notice myself expecting it. And so all-consuming is it, that I can't believe that every human being around me isn't feeling that same fear. So I project it onto everyone I love. Assume they feel it. Work like crazy to reassure, surround and protect them from feeling it. Because it is my deepest pain. And how would I be able to even say to myself that I love someone if I don't work tirelessly to ensure they never experience it because of something I've done. My need. Your need. Satisfied in very present, deeply bonded connection. And the completely incorrect assumption that we both feel the pain. And both crave the connection.

So to my lover. We have both felt the unravelling of us as the days go by into this long separation time. I'm feeling more and more of that ancient pain coming up while he lives his home life, and work life away from me. I get more and more needy and clingy. More and more wounded by what feels like his lack of presence. He feels more and more blamed and at a loss as to how to reasonably and lovingly respond to what must feel to him like an abyss of need in me. He is struggling with his own drug-induced imbalance and shifting sands as he also wrestles a flare. Both of us despairing at some level - this thing is supposed to be enriching and life-giving, and instead we find ourselves drowning in our own and each other's demons, not really sure about how to keep this place safe. My ever-presence is starting to irk him.

Trudy: "Lover, I'm hearing that you're too busy for me. That my need for time with you is a burden. That my disappointment when we can't have time is unacceptable. That my expectations are unreasonable. That this pain we're experiencing is because I'm doing it all wrong."

Rainman: "Trudy, I'm saying that we're not getting it right. That our need vs expectation/hope ratio is out of alignment with what is practical.

"And that our remote connection is not good and it spirals downward 

"And that I find it a huge challenge constantly being or feeling like I'm on the back foot with respect to your needs. And that I seem unable to change that.

" And it is difficult knowing that you are always looking....Hoping...Waiting...Disappointed" 

My guarding my phone. Obsessively carrying it with me. Cheek leaning up against daddy's door. Answering his every text. Being present whenever he has time for me. Organising my life around being with him when he can make the time. It's too much for him. And he will never love me back that way. It's how I love. But it's not a normal way to love. And I need to find a new way. I need to hold the anxiety in my little child and soothe her. And find a more grownup, functional way to love and be loved.

I tried a new practice last night. I left my phone alone in my room and focused completely on feeding my huge family. Chilled with my boys, let them figure out the finer arts of chicken carving and serving dinner hot to hoards. Had to keep soothing my growing anxiety of my phone alone in my room. Telling myself over and over that my lover would survive the distance. That he wasn't craving connection like I was. That he would comfortably take it in his stride. That this separating time wasn't about love, or the lack thereof at all. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was subjecting him to feelings of abandonment because of my lack of presence. Coaching myself through it all was exhausting. By the time dinner was finally done and the dishes washed, I fell into bed, with a deep turmoil inside me. Didn't know how to even tell him what was in my mind. And then did another 'abandoning' thing. I told him I thought I needed to sleep to recover. Which I did.

We said goodnight. He wasn't able to intuit that I needed loving words from him that would calm and reassure me. Maybe he wasn't capable of them either. I know I wasn't.

So Waiting seems to be how I love. One of the ways I love. I think it's time for me to gently let go of that practice. It comes from a dysfunctional place in me. and if I am to heal then here is a good place to work at that. I end this piece, not with a hopeful sense of 'Eureka'. My heart feels heavy and sad, and my body wants to sleep, even though its only 9.30 am. I hope my lover will want to see this through with me. It feels like it won't be an easy path that I can facilitate lightly and make it feel simple. It feels dark and fraught. And I feel tired when I look at it. Growing healthier sometimes takes a very painful path. I'm walking it now.

Cortisone and some Emotional Asprin hits the spot

By Saturday morning I was done. Finished. Sadder than I could bear. My hands were swollen and sore. And my feet. And my heart was in the same place. I was halfway through my Tender with a weekend of work looming ahead of me. And Red had ignored my messages for a full week. Even my husband headed off cycling with his girlfriend without even saying goodbye. Or making me some fruit salad for breakfast...even when he knows I can't cut fruit for myself in the morning because of my rheumatiod flare.

I suddenly hit 'intervention mode'. Showered.  Took my pills. Got my fingers moving again. Cut that darn fruit and had my breakfast and coffee. Then walked up to the pharmacy to collect my new cortisone meds. I thought I might walk from there to my favourite coffee shop 2km away.. but by the time I got to the pharmacy I realised that I was being too ambitious for a post chemo Saturday morning and just stopped right there at the coffee shop next door to write some more of my Tender proposal.

And then I just decided. I'm tired of being this sad, sore girl. Took my new cortisone. And opened up my Ashley Madison profile on my phone. Time for some emotional Asprin too!

'Nooo' all my friends want to yell at this point. 'Step away from the Ashley Madison!!' But I didn't. I walked in there quietly, touched up my profile, and went live.

And this time I decided to do something different. I just usually put up my profile and wait for the deluge of male offers. But post the hack, I was wondering whether, in fact, there were any men still out there. So I started browsing the profiles, looking to see if anyone actually caught my fancy.

Found one. Shot him a quick message...and then realised I had a message in my inbox. From him. He had been typing to me at the same time as I was..interesting timing, I thought.

Almost at the same time I saw another profile I normally would have ignored. Looked like another nice guy. Messaged him too. And after a couple of back and forthing, and a pile of pecker shots that started arriving from other men across the world, I decided to call it a day and exited. I think I had spent a total of about 20 minutes online.

So now suddenly, there are two men. They kept me company through the hard weekend and into this week.  They're both very different men, and I find myself liking them for very different reasons.

I met 'Riverman' for coffee on Monday morning. We're both going to be in different towns for the next two weeks and I needed to be sure we had some sort of connection in real life to justify two weeks of online chatting. I've done this too many times before and suddenly I'm jaded. Don't want to get caught up in some whirlwind online imagination connection only to find that in real life nothing is there at all!

He arrived nervous. Not that he said so, but I felt his body trembling when we hugged hello. And his mouth was dry. It was quite endearing really. Not suave and in control, but rather a little vulnerable and real. This feels important to him.

We had a lovely hour. Interesting conversation. Silences didn't feel awkward. Just nice. A bit of lingering eye contact which felt promising. There is scope for sexy. He can stay.

Then there's The Foreigner. He's in South Africa for a few years' appointment. Has a family in his country, older, and is looking for a connected lover in South Africa. Haven't met him face to face yet - that will happen on Saturday I think. But we met on the phone this morning. I'd have to get used to his accent I think. Not always easy to hear and understand everything he says. He's older, bolder than Riverman. I like him too. But I do have a little bit of a warning feeling about him. Is he for real? Narcish? I felt a bit spooked by yesterday's astrology prediction warning Capricorns to beware of people with hidden agendas. He scares me a little.

So both men are staying in touch enthusiastically. Like Red did. I don't want to play them against each other, or even chat with them both simultaneously. It feels out of integrity, and I wouldn't really want them to be doing that to me. But I suppose it's early days for choosing a path. Maybe neither of them end up being the 'Lover Material' I need. I have no idea really.

I don't want another 'Red' scenario. Someone pursuing me relentlessly and then backing off me once my heart is hooked in. I just can't take another premature heartbreak. I can feel myself backing off when both Riverman and The Foreigner try to get into closer into emotional risky talk. I know I'm afraid to go there now.

I was saying to shrink that I don't know whether I've learned enough to be able to walk carefully through this unscathed. But it does take the fun out of this part a bit. I'm becoming guarded, jaded, cautious in my interactions. That protects me I suppose. But it's not very romantic. She said she was reminded of a saying that says in order to write great Poetry, you have to stay well away from Philosophy and Psychology!

So can I stay in the play with this a bit? Just 'be' in it with these men and enjoy the seduction process? I'm so aware that I don't want to hurt either of them, but, as my shrink was reminding me, they're grown men and are responsible for their own hearts. My job is to protect myself.

OK then. I'll try that. Play. Be in it. Have some fun with these boys. And see where it takes us!

Oh....and the cortisone? Worked like a charm! Monday morning, after 2 days on it, I woke up with almost perfect hands. No paws. Very little pain. It was so exciting!!  I whatsapped ALL my mates the good news.

Unfortunately my good fortune only lasted a day. This morning the paws were back! But I have been SUPER stressed with work over the past few days, so hopefully over the next couple of days, while I chill with my best friend in Cape Town, my body will calm down enough for the meds to kick in properly and I can find a better space.

Can't wait!

Rheumatoid Flare:1, Trudy:0

11 Weeks and counting. My flare was a little better the past few days while I was in Amsterdam. I wonder if the sea level air pressure or moist climate has anything to do with it? Or maybe my meds were finally kicking in? Or maybe the stress was less?

I've only known about this disease inside me for about 18 months. And I have to confess, I don't think I've really got a handle on it yet.

I read a lot about it, and I see that people who manage to live with it with most vitality are the ones who follow a healthy lifestyle. Eat well, exercise well, and manage stress well.  Eating well means, for me I think, being sugar free and dairy free mostly. I notice that if I take in a lot of dairy and sugar together, I wake up the following day with swollen hands and feet - something in this autoimmune body of mine there is a sad resistance to all things delicious!

But now I'm flagging. I have huge projects to deliver, and high level Tenders to produce. I sit in front of my laptop and try to produce the output I need. But nothing happens. My brain doesn't engage. I end up troubleshooting all the other little tasks around me that need doing, and allow myself to avoid the big painful one.

I have always had a bit of a tendency to procrastinate, but this is bigger than that. Rheumatoid Arthritis has Brain Fog as a symptom. Hashimotos has Brain Fog as a symptom. The chemo I take has chemo brain as a side effect. I suppose I have to expect that I'll have at least one of those afflictions sending me it's symptom. I have no idea which one. But here I sit anyway. Stuck. Afraid. Nervous. Stressing. Not sleeping. Feeling the building tension that seems to be making my Rheumatoid worse again now I'm back in South Africa.

Every morning now I'm waking up with hands frozen. They feel more like paws...fingers stuck on 'curl' until I have a warm shower and take my Anti Inflammatories! It is making me feel depressed and despondent. When I go to the toilet first thing in the morning, I am unable to hold the toilet paper to wipe myself clean. It seems like a simple thing, but it feels quite devastating actually. That's a basic thing I take completely for granted and suddenly I can't do that in the morning. I'm working hard to keep this desease at bay, and yet it seems to continue marching at me, ignoring my attempts at mitigation.

Once I've delivered my Tender at the end of the month, I think I'll have to take a few days off to try and destress myself. I'm thinking that the building tension is impacting the flare I'm having and making things worse. I think that actually writing my tender may also help me feel better - I must apply myself more to that.

I feel like even writing this peice is coming to me heavily. The ideas aren't flowing the way they usually do. The thoughts and words feel stilted and stuck, like me.

And still I pine for Red. We have intermittent spurts of trying to meet up. And then the efforts die down again and nothing happens. I'm pretending to myself that I'm not waiting for him. And yet I wait and wait and wait. It's agony, this waiting. I don't want to be here, doing that. I want to have someone who would hold me at this time, offer to sit next to me on the weekend, and give me moral support while I write my way through this mountain of a tender. I want Red to be that person.

But he won't. I do know this at some deep level.

It's still just me. Fucking lonely me.

Is it just my Placeholder?

No sooner had I posted my previous blog when I found a message from Red on my phone. After 2 weeks of no contact, he sent me an article with advice on things to drink for my Rheumatoid Arthritis. Which I think was probably his way of telling me he's not completely gone yet. I was so very pleased to hear from him...it calmed my very sore soul for a couple of days. And since then we've had a light chat going, about him moving out. About anything. With days between comments. And nothing about meeting and talking.

And I have carried this very very deep pain in me through all these weeks. The abandonment pain. The yearning. The waiting. My Rheumatoid has been flaring for weeks. Inflammation all over my body. I've upped my chemo meds, and my anti inflammatories. But still I'm waking up every morning now with swollen hands and feet. I know that at some deep level this is my body responding to my pain. That this very very deep and sore old pain is rearing up into my hands and feet and reminding me, all the time, how very very sore I am. Sore in my heart. Sore in my body.

He's moved out. And is coming to terms with what this new life is to be. He hasn't told me very much about it at all. I so want to see deeper into his life, and walk this time with him.

But I don't think it's going to be. I think actually I have no idea whether I am pining for Red, or if he's just yet another placeholder for my nameless yearning.  I'm tired. So very deeply tired of this cycle that I'm on. Hunt a boy. Meet him. See possibility and hope. Find a connection. Or not. Deepen the connection. Open my heart. Begin to hope and celebrate the beginning of joy in my heart. And then he leaves. And I'm left yearning. Aching. Waiting. Sad sad sad. Its just a cycle of one placeholder after another.

I no longer have the naive belief that there is 'the one' out there waiting for me. I don't believe in happily ever after. I think all relationships eventually fail or fade. I can't see a future that is a very long term one. All I want to do is be with someone who will hold me. Love me. Even if that doesn't last forever. And how long is forever anyway? I nearly died twice this past year. That could really happen. Any day. I want to be loved and held now.

Because I'm tired tired tired of being so very fucking lonely every fucking day.

So I came out of my therapy session with my shrink today and messaged Red:

We were going to meet up. So I wouldn't have to be the girl who got dumped on WhatsApp.  You said your demon was about escaping into yourself. Mine is about abandonment. I guess both of our demons are úp' right now.  I'm sad. Fucking sad. Thought you should know. Because I have not done anything until now to let you know that. 

It may well be our last piece of communication. I have no idea.

But I do know I just can't fucking do this any more.

 

And I get Life

I've just realised that I've not actually told the final part of my hospital story. Which isn't very kind of me...with all of you readers out there wondering what the hell is happening with me... am  I going to live a long life or a short one?

Well, the answer is a long one, (barring the 'hit by bus' scenario). I do not have a lung disease. No Rheumatoid Lung. No 'Atypical Asthma'. Nothing ongoing, which is a great relief.

What I do have is a pair of lungs that are gradually healing from being lacerated 3 times over the past 9 months. And the laceration came from the Macrodantin drug I took to control my UTIs. All of this is unpacked in the link to this previous blog.

It seems that only 1 person in 100 000 has this sort of reaction to Macrodantin. But the reaction is severe and life-threatening says my Pulminologist. That feeling I got that I only had a few minutes left when I left my kids alone at home and drove myself to hospital was spot on. That little psychic voice that told me to google the side effects of the drug was spot on. If I hadn't done that when I did it, or found the information when I found it, I wouldn't have made it to hospital. And my kids would have woken to find me dead in my bed in the morning. The oxygen that the hospital emergency room staff gave me literally saved my life!

Apparently the Macrodantin usually solves UTIs by making a cocktail of Formaldehyde in your bladder. It's a lethal concoction that quickly kills any bacteria in the bladder and is then expelled, not being absorbed by the body. But in very rare cases, mine in particular, for some reason the body makes the Formaldehyde in the lungs instead. That is a lethal thing - the formaldehyde sears all the breathing passageways (the incredible chest pain I felt), scars them, and makes it almost impossible for the lungs to function normally to extract oxygen from the air. Only the administration of pure oxygen will keep the person alive.

I'm pissed off that I was already communicating with my doctors the first time this happened to me that I thought the drugs had something to do with my condition. But the first Pulminologist was very set on his diagnosis of 'Atypical Asthma' linked to my extreme stress at the time that he was just not prepared to investigate my concerns. So I took the pill twice more, exposing myself to a lot more scarring, another hospitalization and two more life threatening moments before it was solved.

So all of this is completely unrelated to any of the Autoimmune issues I already have. It's just extra, on top of it all, that I have had to cope with this year. I feel pissed off that this has been thrown at me over and above everything else. Like why the fuck. Really?!

And at the same time I can feel the purpose in it. The incredible life changes I have effected because of the trauma of all of this. Because I have had to stop completely and look very long and hard at myself. And become more of the woman I need to be.

And I also feel more loneliness and bereftness through it all. Because to this moment I haven't been able to snuggle up in anybody's arms and cry about what happened to me. Someone who really really cares that I very nearly died twice this year. Someone who gives a shit that I'm still coming slowly back from that edge and fighting daily to reclaim my health. Reclaim my breath. Reclaim my body.

I'm glad I'm not dying. So fucking glad.

But I'm not over all this yet. Far from it.

Playing with My Family

Such a delightfully unexpected Saturday I had! My husband planned to take all my sons camping and fishing down at the river about an hour's drive from here. Which meant a weekend alone at home for me. Hubby also discussed taking his sort-of-lover with him and I said it was cool with me. But then came the logistical challenge - one of my sons has been away on rugby tour and would only get back way late in the night and so couldn't go with hubby and the other boys. So I offered to drive him down early the next morning.

So because I was going to be there anyway, hubby invited me to join them in the river rafting tour they had planned for the Saturday afternoon. Now my default mode would have been to say 'No thanks'. River rafting feels scary. White water. Rocks. Chance of falling out of boat and breaking a leg. Or a head. Ugh. And remember, I'm the one who will happily stand on the side of the activity and hold everybody's jerseys and cokes while they play. Taking part in the play is hard for me.

Part of my fear is about physical ineptitude. I have felt clumsy and inadequate for years. I don't have a very strong athletic instinct. And my autoimmune issues, particularly my Rheumatoid, has made me feel even more fragile and not robust. So 'No' is easier to say. At another level, this has been a hard part of my relationship with my husband for years. He is very physically talented and robust, and has not been able to disguise his disdain for my clumsiness and lack of energy and stamina over the years. Before I got diagnosed with these issues, he just chalked my shortcomings up to laziness and a lack of courage. And it irritated him immensely. So whenever we have got together to do physical things like hiking or climbing or river rafting, we have often finished the day in icy silence - he getting more and more critical of me, and me fighting back defensively, feeling so sore after experiencing the lack of care from him when I felt afraid of the physical tasks. I'd be slower, more tentative, clumsier. Drove him insane! Made me feel humiliated.

So over the years it has just been easier for me to just opt out: you guys go along and have fun - I'll just be a burden. See you all when you get back - tell me how much fun you had. The idea of going with everyone and becoming a physical burden that slows them all down and impacts their enjoyment of the activity is just too hard for me. It has been enough for me to enable the adventures of the family without actually participating in them. I felt I didn't have the right, really.

Shrink said NO! She says it's my default mode to marginalize myself when I feel the slightest bit of lack of welcome or invitation. And that this is my family. And that I have a right to be in the middle of it. And if my physical disabilities inhibit some of the things I am capable of, then my family must help me to work around them. I don't need to just exit myself. I must allow them to step up and take me along, and support me. and also give them the space to find a way for them to do some of the more hard core physical things they can only do without me. But it can be a BOTH/AND rather than a EITHER/OR.

So I surprised myself and my husband. When he invited me to join them, fully expecting me to say no, instead I said yes. Just yes. and I showed up in my shorts and T-shirt. And let them organise themselves around how they would manage me on the trip. In the end it was easy: my adult son took me in his boat, and my husband took our youngest son. And our middle son, almost 15, took his own boat.

And it was absolutely fucking awesome! Going in the boat with my very strong son who has been rowing for about a decade meant that I was in the safest hands possible. He is strong and capable. And never once was he impatient with me for doing the wrong thing, even when my steering meant we went down one rapid backwards. My husband would have been shouting instructions and getting pissed off if I couldn't comply. But my son was just cool. And delightful. And gracious. And strong enough to paddle us both down the calm sections when my rheumatoid wrists started protesting about the hard work.

And at one point we pulled off at a rocky outcrop where the river guide then put my boys into technical rapids where they could do some of the stuff I couldn't manage - and I sat on the rocks and so enjoyed watching them learn and play and get dunked and dunk each other - the things they can't do with mom in the boat - they got to do it anyway.

The river guides took the most beautiful photos of the day and sent them to me this morning. I love them. Such an awesome record of me playing with all my boys. and one really beautiful photo of our whole family smiling together after a fabulous day. I think I'm going to print up and frame that one. To everyone else it will just be a happy smiling family snap. But for me it tells a story of my own secret triumph.

The day I had the courage to step up to play with my family.

In pursuit of sex. Or love? And is pursuit the right thing anyway?

I had a beautiful weekend. With one of my Cape Town girlfriends. We stayed together in my house and got drunk together on wine. And laughed our heads off. And told each other our truths about where our lives are at. Although we've been mates for over 20 years, we're actually so much closer now, since my big crash, than ever before. Because I'm no longer scared to let my precious people in to my innermost thoughts. I am no longer hiding in my own shadows, ashamed of the real woman who lives there. It's a wonderfully freeing thing. And so very rich to be able to just talk and be, and know that you are loved.

And throughout the weekend I have also been engaged with my various lovers or prospective lovers. Or ex lovers. And by engaged I mean connecting with some. and mulling about others. Bush Man popped into my messenger system with a delicious naked selfie after months of silence. Asking if I still remember him. And feeling frisky, clearly, and asking me for some new naked pics because he's lost his old ones. I laughed. and complied. Because it was fun to feel desired and playful with him. and because, if truth be told, I was feeling needy and lonely - my Tasmanian had disappeared on me, and my old abandonment issues began to bubble to the surface. Playing with Bush Man for a few hours helped soothe that. And, true to form, Bush man was soon gone as quickly as he arrived. I know this is who he is. I miss him, but I know this is all I'll have of him and so I have peace with that - he told me it would be like this, and he's true to his word.

And I even sent a tame pic to Charlie Harper in my drunken state. He responded (!!) by calling me 'My Angel'. Really?  And said the pic was 'Stunning'. But nothing else. I was surprised he responded at all. But I'm not going to rise to the chasing bait now. If he wants me, he's going to have to come and try and get me. And depending on how hard he tries, I will consider my options and feelings then.

And the Tasmanian and I have been in contact a lot. A sexy, seductive engagement - far away from each other but still finding a way to be intimate. This pre-sex playing is great fun! He was also away from home, working in another town, and I only really had access to him late at night. But he was around a whole lot of drinking buddies and so, on a couple of evenings, just really disappeared on me, not really explaining his absence to me at the time. I really felt those abandonment things coming back at me thick and fast. All those wounds, old and new, can take a situation and twist it into the most horrible scenarios. He's drunk and shagging another chick. He's irritated with me and doesn't want to talk to me. He's over me already and now I'm just making a fool of myself by keeping in touch. I shouldn't have sent him that sexy pic because he'll  show his mates, or even worse, the chick he's shagging, and laugh at me. Or something. Uggh. Horrible horrible stuff.  MY stuff though. Not his.

So I tried to handle it in the most emotionally intelligent way possible. I told him I wasn't OK. That his absence hurt me. He got angry and grumpy and sarcastic a bit - so clearly I was making him feel blamed. He kept trying to push me to move on - didn't really feel happy with the discomfort of my sadness. And in the face of that I just kept on trying to explain that I wasn't blaming him. That I just do have these abandonment issues, and if he would be kind enough to manage my expectations about when he would be able to contact me, and when he couldn't, then I would manage my own feelings much more easily. I think he got it. And did try to do that more regularly after that, which I do appreciate. It's so nice when my man has compassion for how something makes me feel and does something to fix that.

We talked some more about his exclusivity need - where he needs me to be exclusive, although he won't be. I said 'No' again, and he's trying to push the issue, playfully telling me to inform the other 'dancers' that my dance card is full. But I'm still not biting. I'm not going to commit to that. At least not now. I'm free. I'm open. I'm learning new things with new people. and I still have no idea what the sex is going to be like between us. I'd love to know. Soon. Because I'm really craving that connected and beautiful sex that I haven't had for a long long time. Well, maybe a glimpse of it with Charlie, but very short lived!

I mulled about Bachelor number 1. And I sometimes think I should call him up and propose a casual sexual relationship. We're geographically incompatible. But maybe the sex would be lovely? Did I miss a trick there by moving on from him so fast to focus on Charlie Harper? And I pined a bit for Mark. Sent him some WhatsApps that he read but didn't respond to. Sigh.

So all of this flying about in my head. I feel an anxiety and an urgency about getting it settled. And maybe that's because of the backdrop of the pending doc appointment - am I fine or am I dying - maybe I don't have a lot of time left before my illness makes me no longer sexually desirable to anybody and I lose my chance at the sexual connection I'm craving forever. Or maybe it's my daddy issues screaming out loud and strong - hold me. Save me. Surround me. Make me feel safe. Protect me. Anybody. Please!!

So just letting it all be here, around me, without judgement. This is a tough road I'm walking. And I'm carrying many things that I'm trying to work through. I guess I still need to allow myself to misstep every now and then. Send that ill -advised message. Reveal too much of myself sometimes. Not respond in the perfect way.

Just be my own best friend on this road,

And get laid soon.

Showing up as Authentic Me

What a weird space I'm in right now. This limbo month of not really knowing what my health prognosis is for the future is a bit of a mindfuck. I'm living every single connection I have with people in a very raw and real way. It's exhausting!

This past weekend was full of lovely connections. I spent Saturday morning with a longtime mate who I began a friendship with in the working space. But over the past year we have settled into a much more intimate and connected relationship, talking in a very real way about our lives. I think the shift was me, no longer pretending I'm living the dream in my very sorted life, but rather showing up with my authentic, less than perfect, thoughtful and raw space, and just telling the truth about what I'm living. Which gives her the courage to respond in kind. And the result is so very satisfying for us both. Two women. Walking a brave journey. Sharing it in the moment for a bit. My whole body felt exhausted after that...I had to go and lie down for a few hours!

And then on to an afternoon with another dear mate. More connecting. More realness. More lovely. And then to an evening engagement party for another of my mates. And there was my whole tribe. And I took Berlin as my 'friend-without-benefits' date. Because I missed him and wanted to spend some time with him. And also, a little bit, to gently shock my friends, if I must confess. Show up with another man, not my husband, just to jolt them all into the reality of who I am now. This (scarlet?) woman who is out there, seeing other men, living her new reality of this open marriage.

Berlin was great company. Our 'near miss' intimate moment from a few weeks ago has resulted in a warm affectionate space for us, and it was just cozy and comfortable to be with him. Sitting close together, legs touching, but not having any intention of moving that along to something else. His arm loosely behind me on the couch. Nice. Comfortable. Easy.

By Sunday morning I was seriously finished, and spent most of the morning in bed, not even getting up for my cast-in-stone breakfast date with myself at Tasha's. I only dragged myself to the shower in the afternoon when it was time for me to have coffee with yet another girlfriend. Which was also real and lovely. Rich, nurturing girltime.

I didn't spend any time with my Tasmanian. Which I would have really struggled with, I think, had I not had such a really busy social schedule. On the one hand, of course, that's the key. Live a rich and full life of my own creation so I'm not pining away, lonely at home, waiting for Prince Charming to ride up and rescue my sorry ass from myself. On the other, it made me think very seriously about his desire to create an 'exclusive' relationship with me. Where he gets my undivided attention, and that of his live-in partner. And I get his divided attention, when he can find secret time for me. I want to be able to head off on weekends away with my lover. Connect when I need the connection. Invite him to be my partner at engagement parties. But this wouldn't be like that. I like this man, and would enjoy an intimate relationship with him. But going exclusive with him? Not sure I'm up for paying the lonely price for that. Not yet anyway. Maybe I'd feel differently if I fell madly in love with him. But at the moment we're just playful and connected. But not in love.

And then there's the issue of Charlie Harper. Who has not showed up again in any form. And I'm still nursing some sore heart and bruised ego about that. And grilling myself about being too needy and scaring him away. And imagining various 'you bastard' conversations I may have with him if I should ever bump into him again. But also, I need to look into the mirror and see myself about that again too. If he didn't see 'me' enough to want to be with me, then we should not be together. I mustn't try to be different from who I am to make myself more attractive to him, which is my temptation. If he can't enjoy sexy me, and manage needy me, then he shouldn't be allowed to come anywhere near me.

Tasmanian seems to be able to like me even though I have showed him sexy me and needy me. Bush Man too. And Berlin. Once he got over himself. And, I'm thinking, the more I have the courage to show up as completely myself, which some people will like, and some wont, I'll be sifting through the piles of people who should be with me, and those who shouldn't. Because, really, who wants to be with people who don't like the real me? Where I would need to twist myself like a pretzel before I'm accepted. Fuck that! I get the real concept of this, all of a sudden, but I am still working though it at an emotional level, I must confess. But I will keep at it.

I'm an interesting woman. Aware of her own shit. Loving. Good. Sexy. Playful. Real. Clever. I can create great happiness and joy with men who have the courage and balls to be with me in all my flavours. And who take the time to know me and enjoy me. Being that woman should be my goal. And filter out all the shit Charlie Harper types who don't have the courage or the depth to be able to enjoy a woman like me.

Hear me roar!

You've been Charlie Harpered!

I'm Manic! I know that this is probably a normal thing. I'm in that month where I wait patiently to find out whether I'm dying or not!

But my mind really doesn't want to dwell on that in any conscious way. Instead I am full of crazy emotions. All of them connected to men in some way. All of them obsessing about sex in some way. All of them, I suppose, just seeking some comfort and holding at the core of me while I wait this scary shit out.

I messaged Charlie. Just could not hold myself back.Sent him a Pinterest quote:

"At some point you have to let go of what you thought should happen and live in what is happening."

And then I texted: "Just like to know what that is..."

But. Nothing. He read it. Didn't reply. Went onto Ashley Madison instead of replying. Dick! So I think  I'm coining a new phrase: "I've been Charlie Harpered". Charlie Harper is the Charlie Sheen character in Two and a Half Men. Serial girl-fuck-and-leaver. That's what Charlie calls himself on Ashley Madison. Asshole - I should have really really looked that up before I lost a bit of my heart to him. What a fucking cliche!!!

Bachelor #1 has retreated. He got retrenched at the end of last month and is dealing the fallout alone. I've messaged him a couple of times, just to support him a bit, actually, but he's very clearly needing some solitary time. I have thought about messaging him and saying that I'm in a nasty space too - let's have some comfort sex together. Might still do that. Can a girl be forgiven for being a bit sluttish in her potential death sentence month??

There's another boy that I'm playing with a bit. The one I met before #1 and #2. The one who was a bit sexually forward for my fragile disposition. He's me in another costume in many ways. I recognise too much of me in him. But one of the benefits of him being my mirror, is that he remains as present as I do. No distance. No mystery. No feeling abandoned. He's right here. Full on. And If I really wanted a shag, I'd have him over in about 10 minutes! But shit. I also know I can't fuck with his heart. He is actually as fragile as I am. And I know how I felt when Berlin sent me mixed messages - 'I don't want to be with you but I do'. And I'd feel terrible if I hurt him the way I felt hurt by the Berlin situation.

Messaged Berlin and told him I need sex. He teased me and said that's contra-indicated in my medical condition. I said I have a new prescription I need to try out. He said OK. When I find the shag buddy, he'll wait for me around the corner and drive me to the ER if I stop breathing again. All very funny. And not so much either. He said why don't I consider shagging my husband. I said I'd even considered that for about 30 seconds. Then naa.

Didn't message Mark. Thankfully. Or Bush Man who can't show up - he's a two hour flight from here.

But all of this doesn't really calm the panic that's happening deep in my heart. Panic about the work and selling I'm not doing enough of because my head isn't here at work at all. And panic about this body of mine. My life. My future. My mortality. Thinking about dying by not being able to breathe. Thinking about trying to survive a lung transplant. Thinking that I'm creating a major fucking drama in my head about all of this and that I know, at some level, that I don't have this disease at all.

And not having that intimate person in whose arms I could just take some refuge. Just being held for a while so I can cry through this terrifying stuff. I'm looking for my dad again aren't I? Just needing that masculine energy to enfold and protect me for a while. Someone to hold the baby for me? With me?

This is brutal stuff people. Brutal!

But Healing isn't just about Medicine

Ground Zero. Driving myself to hospital alone in the dark. Saving myself. Fighting for explanations for my health. Trying to be an equal partner in my healing process with my doctors. Trying to keep myself positive and buoyant in the face of terrifying potential disease. Trying to stay strong and not disappear into an emotional hole from whence little healing and strength is possible. Trying to rewrite my 'hospital story' from the last time where I allowed myself to drift away from everyone who would care about me. And the deep and dark depression that followed that. Trying to keep breathing. Keep moving.

And Charlie. We made love in the afternoon. I so enjoyed being with him. He played the Carpenters. I LOVE the Carpenters. First time sex together was slow and sexy. And languid and lazy. And a sudden and magical connection moment when he put himself inside me eventually and I felt myself explode with a beautiful and deep orgasm that set him off as well. And it felt so very lovely to be in that place for those moments. And then he felt suddenly ill and rolled off me, running to the bathroom. Too many shooters the night before on top of no breakfast or lunch and suddenly Charlie was feeling miserable. He came back to bed and fell instantly asleep. And I snoozed next to him for a while, getting up to get him some water and have a shower. And I texted him while I lay there, telling him how lovely I had found that, knowing he'd come across it later.

And then I thought I should leave. He wasn't feeling well and I sensed he didn't want to be unwell in front of me. So to protect his dignity, I asked him to show me out. We kissed at the car, and I was gone. Heading home to be a mom to my little family who were on their way home from a happy holiday in Mozambique. By that night, the 'poison pill' had been taken and I was in hospital.

And then Charlie 'disappeared'. I did what I promised myself I would do - I texted all my close friends about what had happened to me, and asked for the support I needed. I even put a post on FaceBook - very unlike me - just asking for my mates to stand close - because I needed to not repeat my pattern of self isolation while I battle my demons alone. I didn't text Mark. Idiot. I should have. He's one of my best friends. But I didn't. Thought he was away on holiday with his family and somehow didn't want to intrude on that. But Charlie? WTF? Just started very distant 'get well soon' and 'sorry to hear that' messages. It was so fucking disheartening. Just no stepping up from him whatsoever. I even asked him to visit me in hospital because I needed some TLC. And his only response was that he would try the following day if he could find somewhere to drop his son off for a bit. Never showed. Not even a fucking bunch of flowers! I cannot tell you what a monumental feat is was for me to not fall into a hole because of that. I can't believe I was left alone again in hospital! Last time by Mark. And Berlin. This time Charlie. I make love to a man and he leaves. And I'm not just left to lick my wounds. I'm left fighting for my life. What, The Fuck. Is that About?

So I worked my ass off to make that not hurt so bad. I charged up my phone and started connecting with all my precious people. Telling them how I was feeling. Letting them support me through my Easter weekend. My precious mom-in-law showed up and took control of my home and my children, and my in-hospital care. Gluten free breakfasts. Hospital clothes. Visits from my children. She sat and cried with me when we read though my CT results. She just picked up the slack and held me safe through it all. What a wonderful gift the universe gave me when she came into my life. The real mom support that I was not born into. Blessed angel woman.

And my friends, dispersed across the country on their holiday weekends loved me from far. Checking in. Showering me with warm affection and care. Berlin. Stayed close and caring. Talked me through the rough bits. Tried to reassure me about Charlie's abandonment. Told me that sometimes things just need to grow, and that maybe Charlie is confused. And that I should stay away from texting him all my needy stuff.

And I walked the hospital corridors. And I read books. And slept. And tried and tried to keep myself in that positive frame of mind that would help me heal. Because every single time I thought of Charlie, my heart would begin to ache, right in the very same place that the Lung damage had hit. And the pain felt unbearable.

Both of my Cape Town best friends dreamed of me the same night. One dreamed I was in a castle with her. It was cold and raining, and uncomfortable, but she knew we were safe from the worst. And the other dreamed that we were both on an incredibly high cloud together. And she was terrified about how we would get down. And I smiled at her and reassured her that we would be safe going down the terrifying high ladder next to us. And she didn't want to go on it. But I said - 'Don't worry. We'll be safe. Watch me. Follow me. And I started to climb down. And then the ladder started to fall away from the cloud. And I fell with it down down down...away... and she screamed for the people to save me. And they rushed to where I would fall and inflated a huge jumping castle inflatable thing which I landed on. And I was safe. But she had no idea how to reach me again because now the ladder was gone.

This isn't an easy road I'm walking, is it? So much to learn about self care. And demons. And pain. And the neglect and abandonment that comes form my early Narcissistic mothering days. The long shadows that still reach into my life. The Autoimmune disease that comes from childhood trauma. The weak coping skills to deal healthily with self care. The dysfunctional expectations of relationships based on the pathological road I've walked. And the rechoosing of men who abandon me like my father did. All packed into one week of hospital.

A better week this time than last. Because I'm changing all of this slowly.

And that is all I can ask for. That it's better than before.

Lung Attack

I've been in hospital for a week. Again. And so much has happened since my last cheerful post, I don't even know where to begin my story. I think  I'll keep this one medical, and move to the emotional parts of my journey in my next blog.

I went to bed on Friday night early - I was exhausted. I had spent a happy afternoon making love with CHARLIE(!!!) at his beautiful home across the city from me. Because of my autoimmune diseases that I have, I seem to be particularly susceptible to Urinary Tract Infections (UTIs), and I'm most likely to start one after sex. So I took my new 'protocol' antibiotic, Macrodantin - I'm supposed to take one every time I have sex as a preventative measure. I also take Trepiline at night - it settles my anxiety levels and helps me sleep.

At 10 I woke up with a pain in my chest. I was struggling to breathe. I just assumed I was having a bit of an asthma attack, so I went to my son's room to take a puff of his Ventolin. Still groggy from my Trepiline, I slipped off to sleep again, thinking that I was going to be fine after the swig of Ventolin. At midnight I woke up again. This time the pain in my chest has horrendous, and I realized I could hardly breathe. I was dazed and confused and could feel my faculties slipping away through lack of oxygen.

My little psychic voice whispered to me then. 'Check side effects of Macrodantin'. I Googled it immediately. It had all the normal stuff, and then said that if you suffer any breathing problems at all, 'get thee to a health practitioner without fail!'  OMG. I was alone at home with my young sons. It was the middle of the night. I could feel my senses slipping and slipping and I realised I didn't have enough time to wake up someone to drive over and fetch me. I was going to have to take myself immediately. And leave the kids alone in the house!

So I did get to the emergency room intact and they did all the right things to get me lucid again, treating the event as an acute asthma attack. So I got oxygen and nebulised and booked in to figure out what happened. And found myself in the middle of a 'House' series medical mystery.

I went for a CT scan. It's the second time I've had one - they did one last time I was holed up in August last year. Both scans came back with some long and scary words, talking about scarring on the lungs, and 'opacities', and all sorts of horrid sounding things. And Rheumatoid Lung. And Interstitial Lung Disease.  And so I started Googling again.  Those words are very scary: They have with them the words 'fatal'. And 'Lung Transplant'. I started seeing a path ahead for myself that looks incredibly grim, And ill and bleak. And shorter than I would have liked.

My week in hospital was about clearing up the infection that had now developed in my lungs, and shoring them up with cortisone and antibiotics and antihistamines. And I was completely dependent on the piped oxygen to keep my oxygen levels at a safe 96%. If I was off oxygen for any length of time, my SATS would drop to about 86% or 88%, which is the level that guys get to when they try to climb Mt Everest and start making bad decisions because of faulty capacities. I decided to use the time to work myself well. Lying in a bed with drips and meds being poured into me wasn't going to be the only way out of there I decided. So I got out of bed, switched on the walking app on my cell phone, and started walking the hospital corridors in my dressing gown, trying to get in as many steps as I could before I needed to go back to my bed and replenish my oxygen levels. I was averaging 5km per day of hospital corridor! Doc couldn't understand how I could do that - he said my lungs were dispersing oxygen in an odd way and that I shouldn't have been able to do that walking. But I could. So I did. And think that moving felt like such an important thing to do as part of my own contribution to healing myself. Stronger body. Exercise. Lungs moving.

After five days in hospital they released me and I've spent the past 3 days at home. Finishing off the antibiotics, cortisone and anti histamine tablets to settle down this acute attack and get my lungs breathing properly. Yesterday I took myself off to my family doctor with all the reports and recommendations and medications to just try to make sense of it all. I still don't really know what's actually wrong with me - and it's all right to get myself settled after this attack. But how do I make myself heal now? How do I understand fully what's happened so I can manage it better? My lungs seem shredded - criss-crossed with scar tissue and debris from these attacks. I have heard that lungs can regenerate after years of smoking destruction. Will I be able to rehabilitate mine?

Doc's thinking is as follows:

1. Ground Zero is the attack I had on Friday night. Probably Asthma. Vomiting included
2. It looked just like the attack I had in August last year (after Mark) which landed me in hospital for nine days
3. I had a mini attack about 6 weeks ago when I was with Bush Man. Sore chest. Fatigue. Vomiting.
4. These attacks were triggered by something. They're a symptom.
5. I took Macrodantin before each attack. Twice that was teamed with my weekly Chemo, Methotrexate.
6. Macrodantin has severe lung damage as a side effect in rare cases. So does Methotrexate.
7. I also have some indications of Rheumatoid lung, which could also have triggered the attacks
8. Something else entirely that we haven't thought of yet triggered them.

So I'm off to a Pulmonologist next month. I'll need a lung biopsy to try to diagnose the issue and assess the damage before we know how to proceed.

And I need to walk through another month wondering whether I have a fatal disease or not.

And be ok..

See that Girl

Oh my goodness! We had such a brilliant dancing time last night at our conference! I'm usually a complete fader when it comes to such things - I know I'm going to pay for last night's dancing in an unhappy body today, but I don't care. It was lovely!

My new company has a tradition of announcing the new Global Partner promotions at this conference. It was inspiring to watch some very clever and high performing people be acknowledged and promoted with such warm and inspiring high praise from their leaders. The people here seem to really love working here, and have a huge amount of fondness and affection for one another. I like it, on first impressions.

And then at about 12.30 am, the band started. The music just begged my body to start moving, as did my feet which had been aching with standing still listening to all the speeches for over an hour. Wow. Brilliant song after brilliant song. Dancing happy people everywhere around me. I danced and danced and danced.

And I chatted and danced with some lovely sexy boys. One from Brazil who was very inspired by my presentation yesterday about the work I'm doing in South Africa, and thinking about how we can help him set up something similar in Brazil!! But besides by getting really excited about being able to export my  work like that, I was also melting at how fkn HOT he is! No, Pink Book, I didn't make any moves on him! He's hot. And Married. And one of my new colleagues, So off limits. But lovely to enjoy the chemistry and connection at the same time!

And my body just so enjoyed the freedom of the dancing. I haven't done that in years. Just out there, dancing. No longer as self conscious as I would have been as a younger woman. Dancing with happy abandon. Feeling the music. Feeling the endorphins cursing through me. Laughing with myself. Laughing with the people I was dancing with. Enjoying watching the youngsters around me dance and play.

It's morning  now. I'm typing in bed with a cup of coffee to slowly emerge and try to give my body some peace. Last night was good for me.

I remember as a child growing up in the 70's, my favourite pop song was the ABBA hit 'Dancing Queen'. I imagined that, when I was 17 like the girl in the song, then I would be out there at clubs, living it up, the dancing queen of the song. All grown up and sophisticated. Instead, at 47, I really did feel like that. Not for anyone else, but for me, just for a while, I was my own dancing queen.

And it rocked!!

Pinch Me

A year ago today I was in Zanzibar. I took my whole team away for the holiday of a lifetime to reward them for an incredible year and create a unified team to tackle 2014 challenges. We thought we had a charmed year ahead of us. Our sales pipeline was full and we were going to produce our best results ever. I was deeply in love with John-the Narc and he was there with me, leading our team and setting us up for success. Once the team conference was over, John and I stayed on a few extra days alone to have some chill time alone together. It was beautiful, sensuous, loving and connected time. We walked and talked on beautiful beaches, made love and slept and read in beautiful island bungalows and connected and loved in that time. I thought I was in heaven. A beautiful start to a beautiful year.

And now, 1 year later, I'm alone in my hotel room in Madrid. I'm at my first conference of the company that has bought my company from me. I'm meeting all my new colleagues and bosses who are going to be part of my new life. John has gone. He lied, stole from, and betrayed me. I fired him and cleared him out of my life. I'm walking an average of 14km a day at the moment, and I'm feeling healthier and stronger than I have in years because I have been SO focused on healing myself and rehabilitating this body of mine. I'm on chemo, and eating a gluten free diet. My company is slowly recovering from the devastating blows that hit it this year, and my soul is slowly but surely moving into a better place.

And in my heart I feel everything. Still the deep sadness for the loss of my love, John, who didn't really exist as I believed him to be, but gone anyway. I'm still lonely. I am surrounded by clever, energetic, sexy men. And I feel even more the pain of living my life with very little touch. I'm feeling the lack of being held, loved. Intimate and beautiful connection. Sex. Any man who shows me the briefest bit of attention becomes, for a moment, a beacon of hope for me. And then I remember that these are my colleagues now, and that makes them off bounds. I'm not going to have another work relationship. Ever.

And even that is a shift in me. I see the feelings start to warm up in me, and I am able to tell myself to 'Step Away From That Colleague'..a level of self management that my poor damaged soul hasn't really been able to achieve in the past.

So here sits Trudy. On the brink of a completely new phase in her life. Still sad. Lonely. Wistful. But also excited. Creative. Blooming with ideation on the possibilities of my new job. Brimming with learning about what it means to be part of a global business. Glowing in the accolades I'm getting from my new colleagues about the work I have achieved in my company. Watching the culture and politics around me warily to see how the game is played in this company to make sure I position myself well.

John is my past. This is my future.

So much in 1 year

I can't really believe it!

Pinch me!

Resolutions for 2015

This is a big day for me. It's the very last day that I own my own company - a company that I have built and grown for almost 19 years!

So while everyone else is looking at today being the last day of what has been a tough year for many, I'm looking at the end of an era.

And I'm writing here from the airport lounge waiting to catch a flight that will take me to Dubai to meet up with one of my precious mates for a few days before I head up to Spain and meet all my new bosses at their world conference.

So, on my very last day, I'm alone, embarking on a new journey and into a new life. I'll be celebrating the new year in the air with all my other fellow travelers and flight staff.

So I do think that 2014 is going to go down in the history of Trudy Green as the Watershed Year. I have made such momentous changes for myself and faced down the biggest dragons of my life.

1. My company went into the biggest freefall in 19 years and looked like it was going to crash. I thought I was going to lose everything I'd worked for and go bankrupt.
2. I sold my company - the one I grew up in and has been intimately interwoven with the story of my life, and my family's life for almost two decades
3. My health took the biggest beating ever with my collapse and hospitalisation. I'm finishing this year with two new confirmed chronic autoimmune diseases: Rheumatoid Arthritis and Atypical asthma on top of the Hashimotos I had diagnosed in 2013
4. I discovered the most cruel deception from my lover, a narcissist, who cheated on me and stole huge amounts of money from me. 
5. I've been working in therapy for the whole year on healing my soul from the scars of old and new Narcissistic abuse

There are more things that 2014 brought but these were the headlines. The trauma I have lived through this year has felt incredibly severe. And recovery has been slow and is still very much in process. My response is to try for a 2015 that has the following in it:

1. Create a life that works better for me and my Tribe  

2. Write more

3. Laugh more

4. More time with my precious people

5. Be there more. For me.

Be gentle Trudy.

100 Days Today

It's today. I promised myself 100 days ago that I was going to create a space of Solitude around me that would help me heal and work all the really tough things I am dealing. I was getting myself into a deep and confusing hole, not to mention all the boys that were coming into my space and messing with my very VERY fragile heart. I needed to protect my space better than I was capable of doing just in my ordinary course of life. When I set it up I thought I might never be able to see it through - I felt so very lonely and lost at that time and I was so hoping that someone would swoop in and rescue me from all my pain. But of course it's my job to do. Only mine. And I do feel like I actually know that now - deep inside me I know I am the one who must save me.

So here I am. 100 days and 87 blogs later. I've done some serious serious work. A lot of that has happened here, in cyberspace, with you. And a lot more in thoughts and conversations and therapy sessions with the people of my Tribe.

I'm staying with my family at my dear friend, Nesta's place. My son graduated yesterday at Cape Town University and now we are all with Nesta and her family just all powering down and being together. Even my husband is here, and since I sent him my two blogs about his behaviour towards me in our family, he has really been making a huge effort to be kind. So peace is around me, and that's just an awesome outcome for now.

So Nesta and I sat on the beach together while our kids played and talked through the themes of the last 100 days and what has evolved. She started the conversation by reminding me of the Carols by Candlelight event we went to a year ago here in a beautiful botanical garden called Kirstenbosch. I had just Google-diagnosed myself with RA, and was starting to get my head around how to manage it. I had 6 more months to wait before I could actually see a Rheumatologist. My husband and I were in a terribly sad place, and had also already negotiated our open marriage. I was deeply in love with John the Narc and had no idea that he was such a con-man, stealing money from me or cheating on me with other women. My company was performing beautifully and I thought we were in for another brilliant year. Besides my autoimmune issues, my health was great.

So what are the themes of recovery I have shifted over the past 100 days?

Learning how to express my needs: my hospital crash taught me how isolated I have become. How unuseful my behaviour was of keeping people out when I'm struggling, only to tell them later how bad it got. I've learned about telling people of my Tribe when I'm not OK. And allowing them to hold and care for me when that happens. Letting them in when I haven't yet found the resolution to an issue rather than carrying all the stress of the problem until I take it to resolution alone. My parents taught me that I would be alone when I most needed people. They were wrong. I am unlearning that lesson.

That is connected to another theme that is nurturing and shifting my girlfriend relationships. I have expressed to them all this sickness of mine, and committed myself to bringing them in when I need them, staying much closer to them in our daily lives, and going to them to be with them when they need me. All of my close girlfriend relationships are blooming in richness because of this, with even more of that to come. I'm so pleased. These beautiful women will walk with me through seasons and life issues and we will love one another through that.

I CAN SEE THROUGH NARCS: the most destructive force that has themed itself throughout my life has been bringing these people close to my heart and making myself very very vulnerable to their destructive forces. I'm nowhere near healed enough to be able to tolerate them near me and they still scare me a lot, and I have not yet reached that place where I can tolerate and enjoy their charming fun-guyness. So for now I'm just happy that I will know them. And protect myself from them. And not let them into my heart. No more human hand grenades for me for now.

I am learning to take my life back for myself. To start to ask myself what pleases ME. I can see that I really don't often have an answer to that question, but seeing that, and remembering to ask, is such an important milestone. I love my children, and my work. And I will continue to support and facilitate the lives of my children, and lead and manage the people I work with. But I will no longer live for them and through them. I will need to find how to live for me.

I am learning how to keep my heart intact when dealing with boys. I can see clearly how keen I am to 'give the baby' away to any man who glances in my direction. But I can now feel what a bad idea that is. And recognise it when it begins to happen. And catch myself in the middle of the 'pick me' siren song, and remind myself - "Do Not Give the Baby Away".

I know I am on the right spiritual path towards healing my body. Living a healthy and vital life will mean walking very carefully and making healthy decisions about how I spend my living and even thinking time. Build a strong body. Manage what I eat. Choose my activities mindfully. Catch myself stressing, even in my thoughts, and find different ways to manage that.

I am not obsessing daily about my husband, or about John-the-narc: they were men I chose to be with. They are flawed and broken people, just like me, on their own paths. I do not need either of them, or anyone else to be me. Being me involves learning how to love this person that I am. I think  may be getting some glimpses of that. Finding compassion. Finding care. Finding love. In me. For me.

I have climbed many real mountains in my life. One thing every one of them has had in common, is that when you begin at the bottom, the top looks like it's just ahead. And when you get there, the next part appears, and more effort is needed to get there. And then the next appears. Climbing mountains always seems to happen in stages. And at each stage one should pause, and sit, and turn around to see the path already walked. And look out at the view for you will never see again quite like this. Breathe in deeply. And then face the mountain again.

I think I'm in that place today. Looking back. Looking out. Looking up. Breathing. I know for sure that there is a lot more climbing to do before I conquer this particular mountain. But today is just that day. The day to remember.

How far I've come.

Holiday Plans

My eldest son graduates on Wednesday in Cape Town, which is almost 2 000km from where we are right now. So we've set Cape Town as Stop 1 in our annual family Overland Holiday Road Trip. We leave at about 4am tomorrow, and will drive straight through. We'll stay with one of my best mates in Somerset West, and then hit Graduation in the morning. Then a few nights with my other dear friend, Nesta and her family, still in Cape town, and then final leg of trip will be a beach holiday at a little town in the eastern Cape with some cousins we've been needing to spend some family time with.

Today I stopped taking some of the tranquilisers and Beta Blockers I've been on since I was in hospital, so I'm feeling a bit wobbly and, frankly, nervous about how I will handle my stress and my life without 'mommy's little helpers'. Doc says it's time, so let's see. I'm struggling with a bit of fatigue and brain-deadness now - maybe that's just what the last day of work feels like this year...I really don't seem to have one more ounce of fight in me to make anything else proactive happen today. Most of my team have already gone on leave and it's a few of us support people left to mop up and get everything ready for closedown. Silly little things, like paying people's salaries, etc!

I also went to the Rheumatologist today. Great improvement in my movement and rheumatic flares, so the chemo programme is definitely working! Yay!! Which means keep taking it .....ugh....

I'm struggling to find a writing flow today - I think it's also because of stopping the meds. I feel like I have holes all over my brain, and I would rather lie down on my bed than do anything, including write. But I am looking forward to writing on holiday. I hope I will find the time and space to really get into some of the things I have been thinking about the past few days. And I will need to cry a lot too - I still have all those unshed tears in my voice, and stopping the pills also means that I should start to feel all of this stuff a lot more strongly, and the tears really need to flow now. My 100 days are almost done - 3 more days to go.

Terrible post. Flat woman.  Who needs this holiday a lot!

Is my Hair really Going???

It's been creeping up on me the past few weeks. I've mentioned it in passing in a couple of blogs over the past few days. I keep touching my hair all day, trying to feel if it really feels thinner in some patches than in others. But in the past 3 or 4 days, I'm sure. I'm going to have breakthrough bald patches any day now.

My hair is really falling out.

I've been on chemo since May. I take it every Friday morning. I don't have cancer, but I do have an Autoimmune disease called Rheumatoid Arthritis. And taking chemo, in the form of a pill called Methotrexate seems to be one of the most effective drugs to retard the progression of my disease, and possibly even alter it and stop it in its tracks completely! So I've been taking this chemo for almost 7 months now. In the first 4 months it made me feel horrible. Stoned. Sleepy. Nauseous on the first day, and hangoverish on the second. In those first few months I spent all my Friday nights and Saturdays in bed. Mostly alone. Watching Series. Then after my hospital stay and the entire pharmacy of drugs I take now for anxiety and heart palpitations and lung issues, I haven't felt that bad at all. Just needed to lie down for a bit.

But now. The hair thing. It doesn't happen to everybody apparently. And I thought I was going to be exempt as it didn't start when I first went onto the drug. But now, I think I'm about to turn into a baldy.

And I didn't really mind when I first read about the symptoms - my feeling was that temporary baldness would be a small price to pay for snatching my body back from a debilitating and crippling future. And in the bigger scheme of things, that still stands.

But just now, as I take chunks of my hair out every morning after my shower, I feel a bit afraid and vulnerable. When will it start to look bad? Should I shave my head now before that happens? Should I go and have it cut really short now, or will that show the patches up more quickly? Will I look terribly ugly bald? I just searched 'bald woman' on Pinterest for inspiration - all the women in those pics are beautiful models and look triumphant and sexy with their bald heads. But I'm a 46-year-old slightly pudgy woman. I might look just terrible. Would a scarf or a cap look better? No way on wigs tho!

I'm heading overseas in January for my first international conference with my new colleagues. Can I really 'hold my head up high' with no hair? What will happen to my confidence? Will any of the men that surround me now still be attracted to me with my bald head? My 100 Days of Solitude are nearly over, and I want to get back into dating and connecting with potential lovers soon. Will this just kill that off? I'm vital and sexy and full of energy. But my bald head might say 'Sick needy person'. 'Stay away'. Just when I really really need to feel someone's arms around me again.

If it happens I know I'll come to terms with it. But today I feel afraid and alone. And sad. And Alone.

I hate that this RA battle has had to be alone, and I'm suddenly fucking angry with John. He promised me he would see me through this. He would hold my hand through the chemo. And work with me in my swimming pool exercises. And love me if my hair fell out. He SO fucking lied! Grief and loss again in my heart.

Reclaiming my Health - Beating Hashimotos Thyroiditis

I went to my Endocrinologist today for my annual checkup. I pushed it into the end of this year because I have been getting concerned about how much hair I'm losing on a daily basis. It's coming out in my hands in chunks every time I shower! Also, some unexplained weight gain creeping up on me again. And because the rest of this year has been such a cockup healthwise, I thought I may be experiencing a Hashimotos relapse.

The brilliant news is that I'm not! In fact, she says I have the best Thyroid stats ever since I was first diagnosed three years ago! Shew! That is such a brilliant thing to hear today!

So what, you may ask, is this disease you have with such a weird name. Here's a definition from the Mayo Clinic site:

Hashimoto's disease is a condition in which your immune system attacks your thyroid, a small gland at the base of your neck below your Adam's apple. The thyroid gland is part of your endocrine system, which produces hormones that coordinate many of your body's activities.

The resulting inflammation from Hashimoto's disease, also known as chronic lymphocytic thyroiditis, often leads to an underactive thyroid gland (hypothyroidism).

So basically your body's autoimmune system attacks your thyroid. Until it's dead. And stops working. Then you need chronic meds to replenish the hormones the thyroid produces. Because it's like one of the gears in the engine of your body, and when its stops working, your body goes ballistic.

How did I know I had Hashimotos? Well I Google-diagnosed myself at first: I was tired. All the time. My brain was coming and going. My hair was falling out at an alarming rate. My moods were up and down. I got fatter and fatter whilst eating exactly the same food as my perpetually thin husband. His opinion was that I just lacked motivation and discipline, and that I should get out there and exercise more. Only I couldn't. Because I couldn't get off the fucking couch!

They symptoms for Hashimotos Thyroiditis, also according to the Mayo site, are as follows:

You might not notice signs or symptoms of Hashimoto's disease at first, or you may notice a swelling at the front of your throat (goiter). Hashimoto's disease typically progresses slowly over years and causes chronic thyroid damage, leading to a drop in thyroid hormone levels in your blood. The signs and symptoms are mainly those of an underactive thyroid gland (hypothyroidism). 

Signs and symptoms of hypothyroidism include: 

• Fatigue and sluggishness

• Increased sensitivity to cold

• Constipation

• Pale, dry skin

• A puffy face

• Hoarse voice

• Unexplained weight gain — occurring infrequently and rarely exceeding 10 to 20 pounds, most of which is fluid

• Muscle aches, tenderness and stiffness, especially in your shoulders and hips

• Pain and stiffness in your joints and swelling in your knees or the small joints in your hands and feet

• Muscle weakness, especially in your lower extremities

• Excessive or prolonged menstrual bleeding (menorrhagia)

• Depression

When I went to my local GP to say I thought I had a thyroid problem she did some basic tests. And said that I didn't have a thyroid problem. Which confounded me because I was sure I did have a Thyroid problem. So I made my own appointment with the Endocrinologist. She was obviously a lot more thorough with her testing of me, and came back with the Hashimotos diagnosis. And whipped out her prescription pad to prescribe me some Altroxin to start.

I said No. I had done enough research to see that it seemed to be possible to manage Hashimotos with diet. I had done this successfully once before in 2003 when I had a horrible bout of Chronic Fatigue and I was resolved to try it again - use food to heal myself. She was very skeptical - as with all western medicine practitioners - she wanted to see the clinical trials before she was prepared to support such an action. I made a deal with her that I would try it for 6 months and we could retest. I would take her meds if I couldn't make a dent in my stats. She reluctantly agreed and I set to work.

I cut gluten out of my world immediately. And, for good measure, eliminated sugar and dairy completely for 6 months too. It's a tough way to live, but my husband and mom-in-law were very supportive and I managed to pull it off without a single lapse. The theory around eliminating gluten is that people are starting to think that gluten triggers autoimmune responses in intolerant people. Years of gluten onslaught in the gut system starts to create 'Leaky Gut Syndrome' (Google it!) where more than just good stuff permeates the gut and is released into the body. Gluten proteins approximate human proteins in some way and so the immune system is triggered and attacks the thyroid, slowly killing it. So eliminating gluten should reduce the autoimmune trigger and slow down the destruction of the Thyroid, giving it a much longer functional life.

I also joined an online Facebook support group for Hashimotos sufferers (search for Hashimoto's 411 on Facebook). That has been a godsend - people from all over the world, living with Hashi's, and sharing practices that help and hinder the progress of the disease. I have also seen that the more committed and disciplined people are to lifestyle management, the more likely they are to find wellness and vitality. Thousands of people on this site complain bitterly about not getting on top of the symptoms, but refuse to make the lifestyle choices that can actually bring relief. Because its' too hard, living with this disease. I get it. And it's easier for me because I'm in the earlier stages of disease progression. But I just feel like I owe it to myself and my family to do everything I can to retain ME, and not lose myself to the dark hole of fatigue, pain and depression that I see sets in when this disease really gets hold of you.

So I'm thrilled that after a few years of very committed lifestyle management, I am winning this particular battle to save my Thyroid. As I'm rereading this piece I see it sounds upbeat and easy. It wasn't. Dragging yourself through every day, fighting the fatigue, the brain fog, the weight gain is a very hard thing to do. And pulling off that AND raising a family, AND running a challenging business, AND dealing the abusive Narcissist onslaught at work every day - wow - I'm amazed I'm still standing!

It's not really a battle won. Actually it will continue to take focus and energy and discipline from me for the rest of my life. Vigilance in watching every ingredient that goes into every sauce that I eat; saying no to the most delicious and enticing treats, no to comfort food. Exercising regularly to keep my body strong and healthy. Managing the emotional and spiritual part of my life so I don't continue to carry negative and destructive energy around in my body. Choosing the people I surround myself to be more supportive and healing human beings, instead of the Narcs I've chosen through most of my life so far. And also tackle the other Autoimmune conditions I have - the Rheumatoid Disease, Asthma, and the chronic fatigue that is always hovering, looking for a weak moment to set in.

So. I'm gaining weight and my hair is still falling out in chunks. If not thyroid, then most likely culprit would be that chemo I take every week for my RA. Next stop, Rheumatologist - let's see whether we can solve those issues soon, before I end up bald!!