One piece of superstitious lore from my mother that has always stuck with me is, "Whatever you do the day of New Year's Eve, you will do for the rest of the year." Like some karmic-ally fated version of Ground Hog Day. Frankly, I have always hated this sentiment as it makes me nervous, but if we do get the option to intervene in our fate, I suppose this year I'd like to try to find my voice again.
Sorry for the graphic image, but it really is the kind of 'after shot' that puts things right into perspective.
It's kind of corny, but I know how lucky I am to be alive. I am so so so lucky to have had an amazing surgeon, plus devoted family and friends who have cared about me and for me, and most of all, a husband who really gave me a reason to want to live again. I wish I could enter Ken into some contest where he could get at least a week off from his work (and mine) to go relax in some tropical locale and eat bonbons all day, after nursing me back to life and sleeping for two months in a chair beside my hospital bed. He has kept everything together despite it all.
I've been downright pissed off at times at the way my life changed so quickly and unexpectedly, but at this point I'm genuinely happy to be here and take a crack at the coming year and what the future holds in store.
I have read some of the beautiful blogs by Sweet Amandine and I aspire to have put this experience into words as well as she has, “I think you’ll understand when I say that Sweet Amandine has both nothing and everything to do with the aneurysm. Starting this blog was my way of saying, ‘I’d like to talk about something else now.’ I was tired of being upstaged by my illness. Here, in this big, white, open space, I could look away from the pain and fatigue, and begin to remember who I am. I could celebrate the people I loved, and what nourishes us. I could celebrate my life, my living. “ If you have never read Jess Fechtor's blog, it's wonderful and it's hard to imagine her being upstaged by anything.
And while this blog has everything to do with the big A, so too does it let me give it some air, put a bandage on it, and tuck it into bed for a little while. Throughout my recovery my therapists at the hospital kept droning this mantra at me, "Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps..." Well this is one giant step for Madeleine-kind! If I end up making history tonight by making an outrageously elaborate dessert, I will be showing off here. (F$#%k having to prove I am capable of making a hard-boiled egg.)