Weekend vignettes

Tags

Acceptance, Antarctica, dumplings, jungle gym, Kinesiology, Nieces, peace and yum cha, picks the lock, San Francisco fog, Sunday lunch, Surrender, thyroid, ultrasound

winter blossoms

More yoga, of course. Waking early enough to be there, which is actually very good for my mind. Full class, gentle but firm postures that awaken the lightness of my body. Refreshed and properly awakened, walking to the tram. Sunny but snow-tingling icy-ness with no gloves, oops.

~

A quick shower and change, a short cycle to my main drag for a less enticing experience. Why are radiologists in charge of doing ultrasounds these squat unwashed-looking men with legitimate reasons to look at my naked breasts? Squelching on that gel like its sunscreen, asking intimate questions I don’t really feel like answering. You’re not my doctor; you’re just the guy taking the pictures. No, I don’t know what’s going on exactly. My doc, she was just being thorough I suspect. Here, wipe yourself off with the gown. Cold, slimy invisible gel. Does he enjoy it, I wonder?

~

Nakedness without intimacy creates a need for comfort. Dumplings! A special treat, okay? And it didn’t cause my gut any problems, not really. With tea in a large dark brown earthenware mug (I have one of these at home). Warmth. Space to breath in a recently renovated place of peace and yum cha. Before a different kind of encounter.

~

Kerry put me onto Amanda, because she’s successfully used kinesiology to heal her own thyroid issues and those of other women, too. Another person to explain my complicated history to, because it’s still relevant. Why? Because a thyroid condition doesn’t just occur. It has a history, too: my history of abuse, sorrow, pain and fear. It’s not over, because it’s still locked in my body. But with love and determined fierceness I’m gonna heal this body one way or another.

~

Some of the same old stuff, but new things, too. What happened when I was six years old? No, I don’t know. Childhood memories are scant at best. But I cry anyway, my heart rate increases and we try to work it out but I don’t know. It’s okay, she says, and we find other ways to figure it out in pieces. I still don’t know, but she works out enough to get started. It leaves me undone. Who goes to these places? Who picks the lock on these rusted doors? No one, that’s who. Not for ages. I don’t even know the way there and back anymore. Looks like we’re going to find out though. It’s important to this process that we do.

~

(I was right about the depression, btw. But I’m coming back out of it now. It rolled in like a San Francisco fog and back out, then in periodically because I hadn’t expressed the things that needed to be said, so I could understand just how ridiculous they were. This is the power of writing. Not to be scared by what we write, but to provide that escape hatch for things grown foul and fetid.)

~

Don’t bother seeing this movie. It’s stupid, pretentious and full of wankery.

~

Winds howling their way from Antarctica to my bedroom window. There’s still never enough sleep no matter how much I get. Snuggling with the cat and a text from my sister announces my parents will be coming over for lunch today, too. A slightly hi-jacked Sunday, then (thanks to my eldest niece who can’t keep anything to herself!). I’m still undone from yesterday’s kinesiology session. A bit panicked, a little freaked out but I drag myself from under the blankets anyway.

~

Sunday paper reading while the train rattles southwards. Keeping my head down and heart in my chest where it belongs, and not jumping out of my mouth where it’d like to be. Relaxing, relaxing. There’s about forty minutes to find some acceptance and surrender. And I do.

~

Small feet running and girlish voices calling my name. Hugs and kisses and I’m a jungle gym, presented with an upside down two year old begging to be twisted and turned and somersaulted up and down the length of my body. A four year old seeing if she has the strength to give me a shoulder ride but of course, only managing to stick her head between my legs while her sister demands more “upside-downs”.

~

The two eldest niece-lings have a (natural) obsession with my breasts and I make sure they know I’m okay with that through my actions (no flinching away from their touch). There’s giggles of enjoyment as they look down my jumper or hug me or rest their hands on my ample chest. I get the two year old to look down her own top and she gives us another of her stunning one-liners: Little bit, she says. Outbreaks of hearty laughter all-round.

~

You look better every time we see you, they say. That doesn’t mean anything, I want to counter. Instead I settle for: Perhaps, but there’s still a long way to go. I’m not better yet, not by a long shot but I understand that you want me to be. I understand that… oh, never mind.

~

She’s five weeks old and every day it seems she gets cuter. Like a polished gem stone, glinting her placid perfection at us. Later, her eyes open and they’re so wide. Hello world, hello people in my life. She’s eager and beautiful and there’s so much enjoyment in simply holding her while she sleeps, and talking to her when she opens those gorgeous grey-brown eyes that are destined to end up chocolate coloured, like her sisters and daddy.

~

It’s hard to leave but I know I’ve over-stayed because I’m already weary. The wind is even more biting as the sun vanishes, but my train is mercifully quick. And quiet. Except for the people I had to move away from, discussing the merits of animal testing, because if we don’t test on animals then who are we going to test products on, they ask each other. Humans? Yes! I wanted to say. But instead I move to the other end of the carriage. Words with Friends and a little more newspaper reading until it’s my stop.

~

There hasn’t been enough time for any cooking or shopping or being prepared for Monday and I’m falling asleep while I wait for the washing machine to finish. Clothes hanging, heater on against the bone-crunching chill and cat fed. Bedtime but once again, it’s never enough.

~ Svasti

This, that and chicken pie

Tags

AC joint shoulder, Anxiety, chicken pie, Doctor dude, free pizza, Mark Whitwall, nausea, neighbourhood moggy, panic attack, Photoshop, Scanner dude, Shamwow, sound-glasses, torrential downpour, Twitter, ultrasound, wince, Yoga

Won a competition on Twitter last week that meant I was to receive delivery of not one but  five pizzas from Crust. And not over a bunch of different days. ALL IN THE SAME NIGHT!!

Managed to negotiate for a Sunday evening delivery instead of Friday and invited a few people ‘round to assist in the eating. Great competition! I entered on a lark but somehow won the dang thing. Never happens to me. Til now I guess.

Also, just finished making a poster for Nadine to promote Mark Whitwell’s visit to Melbourne in a few weeks. Now I look at it, I can see a few things I woulda done differently or refined… but it’s not too bad I guess. Teaching myself Photoshop is fun… 😉

Click to view larger image!

Finally had that ultrasound on my left shoulder (from my bike crash) couple of days back. Sure, I shoulda done it months ago perhaps… *cough*. See, I’m just not terribly good at taking care of myself although I’m working on it!

After almost being drowned in the incredibly sudden torrential downpour, I wait almosted half an hour to see the Scanner dude. In the waiting room I was subjected to daytime TV (which I rarely watched even when I was unemployed) and learned of something called a Shamwow, which apparently people like. Even 13 year old boys.

Just as I was getting impatient enough to interrogate the receptionists, my name was called. And it went a little like this:

Scanner dude: Okay, take off your top and put this gown on… are you done? Great, sit over here… *prod poke scan* *repeat* *repeat* So that tattoo you’ve got on your back, does it mean anything?

Me: Yeah… [wincing at prod/poke/scan] I got it in Thailand…

Scanner dude: Does it have any significance?

Me: Yeah… but it’s a little complicated to explain [especially to you right now while I’m half naked and you’re prodding and poking my sore shoulder and there’s a very strong possibility that you’re Jewish and therefore might be offended by my heathenness anyways…]

Scanner dude: Okay… *prod poke scan* *repeat* *repeat*

Me: [sharp intake of breath] *WINCE*

Scanner dude: Ah, you didn’t like that one did you?

Me: *head goes all smooshy* *stomach churns*

Scanner dude: *swiftly leaves room & returns with Doctor dude*

Doctor dude: Hi, I’m the Doctor dude.

Me: Hi…

Doctor dude &/or Scanner dude: So what’s going on?

Me: I’m not sure, but I feel really nauseous…

Doctor dude &/or Scanner dude: Why do you feel nauseous? Are you in pain? Does your shoulder injury normally cause nausea?

Me: *breathes deeply* *head between knees*

Doctor dude &/or Scanner dude: Where is the pain? Do you have the pain all the time? What happened to you? Why is your shoulder injured?

Me: I fell off my bike last year and it flared up again at the end of the year. I’ve never felt sick like this before though. It just came on when Scanner dude pressed down on my shoulder…

Doctor dude: *Asks more questions in rapid fire that I can’t answer* Well, it’s very difficult to diagnose when you can’t give us more information.

Me: *head swirls* *body temperature rises*

Doctor dude: Okay well I don’t think its rotator cuff damage. It might be your AC joint…

Me: Okay…

Yeah, whatever. All I know is that I have a doctor’s appointment Thursday night and my shoulder hasn’t stopped hurting since that little episode. I briefly Googled ‘AC joint shoulder’ but I didn’t like what I read. So very cowardly-ish, I’ve stopped researching for now.

And today for no reason I can tell (although perhaps the abovementioned trauma had something to do with it?), I’m in Panic Attack World. Not too serious. I don’t feel like I’m going to die. But still, it’s far from comfortable. My heart and lungs are heavily congested and my heart rate is up, of course.

I’m safely ensconced in the office and there’s no stress in my job (unless you count having to revise budgets for my projects). And yet I’m in the grip of a very physical reaction I can’t control.

But I’m sans Emergency Essence (note to self: fix that), and it’s all about making it to the end of the day. And the tram ride home.

Everything looks weirder when you’re in a heightened state of anxiety. The person I sat next to on the tram that I thought was a girl? Turns out to be a boy with VERY emo and feminine hair. And how was I supposed to know? I mean, she/he had the kind of thunder thighs you normally only see on a girl (speaking from experience)… Everything is too loud. I want my sound-glasses (a little invention I thought of where putting them on creates an ambient noise filter, no iPod or headphones required). I’m too strung up to read.

So I just breathe.

Normally in these states, I go to ground. Burrow deeply into the couch and try to remain vewy vewy still… not that it helps. But comatose is usually better than anything else. Or so I’d thought.

I’ve had this idea in my head since last weekend that I wanted to make a chicken pie. Never made one before, but seemed like tonight was the night. Had to go get an ingredient at my corner store – another thing I never could’ve done before while in Panic Attack mode. And yet I did. And I liked it, the little walk down the street.

Even spoke to the neighbourhood black and white moggy who always looks seriously freaked out. But he/she is actually very friendly. So we spoke for a bit and puss listened to my ramblings. Even took a couple of steps towards me from its position on the brick wall. I giggled.

A photo of kitty from another day

Maybe it was the air. Or the cat. Or the fact that it’d stopped raining. Or observing my breath. Or all of the above. Or perhaps I’m just getting better at handling the panic attacks when they come. Maybe it’s that, and so I don’t freak out as much (adding to the fun). Dunno.

But it turns out that being active, running around and making food works just as well (if not better) than being comatose for the episode’s duration. Or maybe that’s just how it is now, given I’m less comatose-like in general? Can I mark that one down to progress perhaps?

Almost back to normal after about six hours of stress from no known source… and the pie was good, too.

My chicken & vegie pie!

~Svasti