When I was a little girl I fell asleep on a beach in Western Australia, on top of a sea turtle's nest. These last few week has felt a lot like how I imagine a newly hatched turtle feels clawing it's way through the sand to reach the surface, and after a death defying dash to the sea, freedom and relative safety. I might not quite be all the way to the sea, but I am getting there. Before the surgery everyday was full of fuzzy brain and fatigue. The anti seizure drugs made it feel like I was living in quicksand soup. After the surgery and once I stopped taking the majority of the heavy duty drugs, I stopped sleeping well. Being closer to the surface and crawling out of the sand and into the light has not been entirely comfortable. With the lack of sleep came a bewildering array of new symptoms and issues. None serious but all disruptive. Every night seemed like yet another slog through the sand. Trying, unsuccessfully, to sleep is both maddening and exhausting. After a long conversation with one of the nurses we decided that I was experiencing the symptoms of opiate withdrawl. Let's just say I would make a terrible addict.
Kids and hatchlings Western Australia circa 1975
Everyday I have a little more energy, though I am still not able to manage more than a brief outing without feeling like I will collapse with sand in my shoes. Mental things are more tiring than physical things. Talking on the phone is completely exhausting. Both the concentration and the auditory processing take huge amounts of energy that I just do not have. Having more to do and taking on more responsibility for myself and trying also to rest well is a tricky kind of balance. At some point I will have to crawl free of the sand and rejoin my life. I would be lying if I said a part of me does not miss those first early days when everything was taken care of. When food and medicine was delivered around the clock with care. When rooms were dim and quiet. When my only responsibility was to rest and get well. Those 4am medication calls felt like a warm beachy nest. (sometimes with tiny alligators). A place that only existed for a few days.
Decades ago on the beach my friends and I waved towels and made noise and scared away the gulls and other birds. All of our turtles made it safely to the sea. No bird snacks on that day. I have been an adult long enough to wish, just once in a while, that someone would just take care of me. And people have. Willingly, tirelessly and with large doses of good humor. Like us kids and the turtles, our community of friends has made sure that we are all making our way out of the sand and toward the water. We have been well cared for and for that I am very, very grateful.
Hatchlings to the sea.
Summer is coming, and light and warm and water. I will be there.
Hatchling and labrador footprint.
2 comments:
thank YOU for all the love you've given me and mine. summer days on the sand, here we come.
Heidi G Look at you outside in the sunshine! Your primary responsibility is still to rest and get well, taking on more responsibility for yourself is part of the get well process. You have made remarkable progress! The sea is near!
Jamia M Beautiful!! Huge hugs from over the pond. Tell S I danced some Renaissance steps in the Great Hall of Stirling Castle today & thought of all of you
Sue T On an unrelated note - WOW, you are a fabulous writer and after all of that too, to be able to write like that. You are amazing.
LeAnn O <3 <3 <3
Sophia K Beautiful.
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