25th July- The Magic and Mystery of Numbers

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I thought I was going to die on July 25th. It was not a destined date, rather a number shooting forth like a musical note from a crazed fiddle player. I was held against my will in a number seven apartment, on a number seven street. I fell at seven pm on the seventh day of the seventh hour on a date adding up to seven. I was in a new cycle of seven, according to numerology. I wasn’t at sixes and sevens’ only sevens! Out of curiosity, I investigated and believe that it must have meaning.

The other day, I visited a friend’s cafe and opened a delightful magazine, called Happinez. Can you believe, they had a story on July 25th? It is termed an Out of Time day. The old year ends the day before and the new year begins the day afterward. The Sun and Sirius are aligned on July 25th, which is why the date has relevance. Google it!

As much as I find all this research into the significance of numbers fascinating, July 25th also brings up memories. It is winter in Australia, and the nights can be bitterly cold. I recall I was dressed in white trousers and jumper. I never dress in white, and wonder why I had on this particular evening. Everything seemed to happen so quickly. Being jostled up the stairwell, trying to talk him down. Being choked into unconsciousness. The fall. The fall seemed to defy time as I understood it. Waking on the ground and having him attempt to finish me off.

Every year a feeling of discontent rises in me, particularly since I have become a parent. You see everything differently, including your own trauma. Memories re-emerge as winter chills my bones. The hand-woven blanket I had shaken to refresh, has now been pulled close to my body, cocooning me. Normally, I would retreat on July 25th. I have always felt the need to mark it in some manner. I have been back to the site, and left flowers. I have written that young girl poetry. I light candles and give thanks that I am here. I have been to dinners with my daughter and danced in celebration of having survived.

He brought me to that dark building with the intention of killing me. He had decided that I would not see July 26th. A cacophony of emotions rattle inside my soul. I need to hold the numinous creature I birthed close, and give thanks. I am so grateful that I got to grow up. I feel despair, rage and everything in between. So many surgeries. Hundreds of hours of physical therapy, body braces and casts, wheelchairs and Intensive Care Units. A lifetime of physical pain. Weakened lungs and renal system. A small fortune in medical bills. This is the legacy.

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It is also a day of defiance. It may have been marked as the day I would die, at all of fifteen  years of age, but I still got to decide the lightness of my being. I look back and am amazed at how brave I was. I was cheeky, with a serving of bravado on the side. He couldn’t take the ‘Raphiness’ out of me.

I was online recently, and saw tickets for the Helpmann Awards, Australia’s night to honor standouts in theatre. I promptly got tickets for my daughter and I. Tonight, as the clock strikes seven pm, I will remember the girl who fell. I will be celebrating theatre of another kind, the little girl from my dreams by my side.

  

Back Pain Sometimes isn’t Transient

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My first surgeon informed me that I would be left in agony, over twenty years ago. Sitting would apparently cause me to weep after an hour, as would standing. Pretty much anything other than laying down would bring me to my knees. Sharp shards of bone, as well as metal artifacts are piercing into my spinal canal, causing a 50% reduction in the vital space. Despite this, I managed a pregnancy, and raising my daughter. I have traveled and have a demanding schedule every day. That surgeon was right; it does bring me to my knees.

I had to do a grocery shop the other day, and found my spine seizing up. There I was, draped over my trolley, groaning. My daughter didn’t bat an eyelid. She just asked what we needed and went to get it. She then loaded the bags into the trolley after I paid. I crawled into bed, and she made me toast for dinner. I lay there for fourteen hours, until I became concerned about the load on my kidneys and knew I had to catheterize.

The next morning was comical. I have a portable TENS Machine, which has proven to be gold. To my dismay, I couldn’t find it! I was rummaging through every drawer in the house in desperation. I finally sourced it, only to find the battery was dead! I could have cried. We had to go down the street to get a new battery. I had applied heat to my back, and a magical ointment, taken three different medications and put on my back brace before leaving home.

These are the things I adore. They make a real difference in my life. I have spent an obscene amount of money on things which have promised to relieve my back pain. I have done the magnets and fancy exercise equipment, the oils and potions. The tools below actually help. The degree to which they assist, depends on the day and the obscenity of the pain.

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A blessing in a hot bath at night.

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This was recommended to me by a scientist friend after I fell over and broke my back again six years ago. It can even be used on fracture sites.

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My portable TENS machine is my saving grace when out and about.

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Heat Pack. Needed throughout all the seasons!

I sometimes relay the severity of the pain and aftermath to people. I want to convey that I am not avoiding anyone, nor have I been in the space to answer messages, etc. It does irritate when people say that they hope I feel better soon. Honey, I am not going to feel better soon! I have pieces of bone and metal, similar to knife blades, sticking into my spinal canal! My fused spine is disintegrating, as are the grafts. It isn’t going to get better. I have accepted that. May I ask that you love me instead. Come over and have a cup of tea with me. Pour me a wine and commiserate. I don’t have a cold, which can be overcome.

I almost kissed the lady in our local bargain store, who upon viewing the little battery from my TENS machine, assured me they had one in stock. The relief! So I continue, as we all do. Broken yet somehow whole. Small and yet ever so tall.

No Need for Escape

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True, dat! Most of those I adore have toxic people and situations in their lives that they feel they have to endure. They are pleasant when they want to be assertive; indulge when they yearn to say “no.” It is frustrating, draining and exhausting. These extraneous demands take precious time from our lives; time we aren’t going to get back. You were built to progress, to keep moving. We aren’t built for stationary situations and toxic people. Why do we put up with so much? To get an occasional pat on the head and be told we have behaved according to expectation? So they won’t get angry?

I have lost several people in the past six years whom I adored. Some I expected to travel with my entire life. It is too short for nonsense, this life. How about we make up a list of those with whom our heart comes alive? How about we prepare a list of those with whom we recede into the shadows, deflated? What a difference, hey? How about we start to create a world with only those in the first list. How wondrous that would be! This is your precious life, and it goes so quickly. Too quickly to put up with nonsense. I want to take my next vacation for pleasure, not for escape.

Seeds and Growth

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They certainly did not know that we were seeds! Seeds containing the most fragrant, vibrant flowers. This life, it can get so ugly. I have had my body smashed up, bloodied and ground into the dirt. I have been saved by garden mulch. When I am out, and find it has stuck to my shoes and clothes, I am not in the least irritated. Rather, I am grateful for being reminded of the time it saved my life. If I had landed on concrete, I would be gone. The mulch softened my fall, allowing me the opportunity to live.

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The battle was far from over. There I’d be- lovingly attending my budding garden- when a slug would come along and eat the shoots. Pesticide was poured over the dirt, and it seemed that everything had died. Over and over again. Little did they know that there were slumbering seeds buried way underneath the mulch. They couldn’t destroy what would flourish underground! As a grown woman, I have tools to keep the pests at bay. I have a little fence (not white picket in nature), and those seeds are about to rupture. No matter what they do, they can’t access those seeds. I think it’s time for us all to bloom. I will scoop up a handful of mulch, and give thanks.

Retreat and Refreshment.

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This was me at the end of term 2. I was hanging out for the school holidays, longing for days at home. The last week of term, I was in the city five times for workshops, shows and other commitments. It is a journey of almost two hours each way. I would curl up in the shower each morning, allowing the heat to wash over my spine, willing myself to get going. When you are in that level of pain, you operate on automatic pilot. The promise of a two week break got me through. We have been for walks through our beautiful town, and have had plenty of home days. It has been bliss.

 

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Getting the house in order and planning for Term 3 has been wonderful. Resting when I need to, and playing with my daughter has been a treat. Life gets so busy; too busy. There needs to be retreat as well. I don’t know how anybody with a massive amount of daily pain does it. I certainly don’t know I get through!  I do it because I have to. I am grateful that I still can.

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This is sometimes where I find myself. I have to rest, and connect with my daughter. I need to lay flat, as it’s the only way I find relief from the relentless pain. It is frustrating when there are so many marvelous things going on, and so many special friends to see. Those closest to my heart are those whom understand and patiently await our return to society. I appreciate them with all my being. No pressure, just love. I am starting to let go of feeling bad if I have to have a day in bed to recover.

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These are indeed the best moments; the pockets of time where we can heal and grow strong. On my walks, I have been able to appreciate the sound of the bell birds and kookaburras, the sight of llamas, horses and cows, and the pleasantries exchanged. I have caught up with friends I haven’t seen for well over a year, and it is as though no time has passed. We pick up where we left off, and there is nothing but love. I will keep going on this strange and wonderful journey, and during term, whirl around from event to event. In the holidays, I will continue to retreat into the mists, emerging refreshed. It is how it has to be.

 

 

Frida

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When I need my courage strengthened, I intend to go to the Art Gallery of NSW to see Frida’s paintings, letters and photographs.That steely gaze is affirming for this gal. Fortunately, my daughter adores her as much as I, and indulges me. Whatever will I do when the exhibition eventually closes? I will have to absorb as much courage, conviction and Frida as I can, whilst her glorious work is here.

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Frida Kahlo

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When I was seventeen, I was informed that I would be crippled and then die if I didn’t have risky surgery. I hadn’t had time to digest this information when I came across the extraordinary visage  of Frida, gazing at me from the newspaper. I cut out the story, continually gazing at her face. ‘The Broken Column’ spoke of my own wounds. I couldn’t believe that a woman from another era had captured my experience. She was  a storyteller of the highest order, unafraid of revealing her pain. She touched death with each stroke of her brush. All the things we commonly run from, she embraced. I had found my heroine.
  When I heard that Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s work was coming to the Art Gallery of NSW, I could hardly breathe. I had waited twenty years for this moment. I took my daughter, and she was as entranced as I. She knew how much Frida has meant to her mum! We stood in silence at each painting, holding hands. 
   Frida inspired me to paint my body cast. Rather than viewing it with disdain, my former cocoon  was kept out of respect.
  
  

Frida was unafraid of confronting what would ordinarily remain hidden. She paved the way for a legion of young women. I remain in her debt.


Real Friends

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I love the above. For too long I tried to be everything to everyone. I tried to fit into spaces not meant for me. I lost my voice and my boundaries. My life was a free-for-all. I was exhausted. When the drainers were done, there was nothing left. I watched as they flitted from energy source to energy source, surviving quite nicely without me. The fact was, I wasn’t helping them anymore than they were capable of loving me. I have come to learn what love is by uncovering what it isn’t. 420866_339739942726524_237387945_n

Friendship should feel good; you ought to feel assured of your place in their world. I have come to understand that it isn’t based on what you are able to do for that person,  but rather who you are. Can you imagine being surrounded by friends who affirm that if you have nothing but yourself to give, that is more than enough? Friends who offer support and call in with food when you are sick? Friends who celebrate and commiserate with you? Friends who love you because you breathe? I am proud to say that I have these friends. I had to fight many a battle to get to them, and the path was fraught with detractors.

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I have turned myself inside out for people I called friends. I was used, scoffed at, ignored and discarded. It hurt, but not knowing the light of my own being hurt much more. I had to determine that I deserved better in order to find true friends. I accept invitations when I can. I help whenever I possibly can. It feels as though no time has passed when we have the opportunity to spend time together. We have each other’s back. There is still a child inside my soul, alone and begging the world to love her. My job is to guide this enthusiastic character, so she is steered toward people who are open to loving her as she does them. Boundaries are a good thing. Not everyone is meant to hold the precious key to your heart. I find you aren’t hesitant in showing your vulnerability when it occurs in the presence of a true friend. That is worth holding on for. Stubbornly refuse to hand over the key until you have found your tribe. There will be exchanges of heart and mind, with an equal amount of energy flowing in an endless cycle. That is the safety which comes from having boundaries. Start with being a friend to yourself. Friends will come and they shall stay.

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The Time I Won a Car!

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I didn’t get my driver’s license until after I had my daughter. I was too busy having surgery in my earlier years, and besides, living in the city, it was more convenient to take public transport. I started receiving driving lessons whilst undergoing IVF. The instructor was a tiny little lady with a Cockney accent and a bubble car. She had to sit on a  cushion whilst driving (as did I). I failed my first driving test as the gruff instructor was frustrated that I hesitated when he ordered me to go right at a notorious intersection. The next time I sat the test, I passed. I was praised by the female instructor for being cautious at the same intersection!

I was in need of a car, so imagine my delight when a local pharmacy rang, congratulating me for winning a car in a competition I had entered months before and forgotten about. A junior assistant spoke with me, and said I could pick it up from the pharmacy within a few days. Excitedly I texted everyone I knew. “My luck is turning!” I relayed. Friends congratulated me, and we all anxiously awaited the date of delivery. I was asked many times what kind of car it was, and I answered that I didn’t know, as I hadn’t asked. “Who cares! Its a new car!”

I went down to the pharmacy, anticipating that it would be sitting in the car park, wrapped in a huge bow. A lady came out of the stockroom with a box. I had won a car alright, a bright red toy coupe. My toddler was impatient as I put the blasted thing together, and then excitedly banged into every corner of the house as she ‘drove.’ I had to laugh, even as I sheepishly sent out another message to explain my mistake.

I haven’t been driving this year, partly because it is cheaper to get around with public transport, though mostly due to my spine. My right leg and foot goes numb and are painful, and the medication I am on makes me feel spacey. I look forward to driving again, and having  more independence. If I ever win a car in a raffle, I shall be asking whether it is a toy or not!