“I was having a great Saturday when I realized it was Monday.”
Do you have a time of year that you have to keep watch over yourself because it is a pattern of your life for something ‘big’ to happen, and typically not a good thing? One of mine is around February 10th of every danged year. I even forget what date it is and then have something happen and then remember, “Geez, of course!”
On February 10th, 1948, a throw away child was riding on the lap of a nurse from the Foundling Home on a train bound for forever.
What happened to that discarded baby for the first 6 months of her life, no one can tell me, but you can tell so much of the story by those things that belong to that child. It is from that space of a lifetime that the creation if my wants and needs, my flaws and frailties, my anxieties and my sadness’s were created and are proclaimed.
Every year at that time, all along my timeline, there are crises, traumas, sorrows, and, on the other side of it, great joys. Imagine a baby being looked at with eyes of love rather than disassociation. Anything we know about early childhood is that so much is formed with the connection between mother and baby. Mine was broken and has the name of “Primal Wound”. But, it was also such a great gift; a mother who wanted me more than anything in this world, to replace a baby she had lost just months before. I became the recipient of that mother’s longings, sorrows, and great great love and I greatly loved in return. That is how the days before and after February can be both trauma and true joy. I have to always be aware during this time.
This year, I have just been hospitalized due to reaction to a danged diabetic medication I have to have because I am now also, diagnosed with congestive Heart Failure and this medication is a pre-insulin medication that has some ‘rare’ side effects. And, the resulting side effect of over-the-counter Gravol had me having small hallucinations as soon as I fall asleep. Again, weird side-effect but I have to take it or become dehydrated again until I see another doctor and get another kind of anti-nausea medication. And more, they sarted me out at 100 mg and after 30 days they up it to 300 mg. and more, it cost $200.00 for one month’s supply. My luck, right? My February 10th new thing.
I had a truly life-changing thing close to February 10th in 1982. It was oreganos the greatest wham that happened in my life:
“I was in control, or so I thought, until January 26, 1982. Blank Slate. I lost my memories and had to reinvent myself after the end of January, ’82. They, those grateful people who were supposed to love me, grabbed at the chance to change me from who I was. You did it this way! No, you have never done that before! As soon as my left hand could touch my hair, it remembered. Plaits, ringlets, how the fineness felt in the cracks between fingers. It remembered the hairbrush crashing down on the crown my wriggling. It remembered upside down my father’s armchair, Seeing my parents in a foreign way and knowing, I do not belong here. I never told them moments were uncurling themselves from that bled place. My hair felt the wall-blows, when ear crushed like grape. It did not run purple, nor blue but dry and stinging. He said, “I don’t know you any more.” I left him. Again, I had a new slate to write my truths on; whatever that was, it was. Was it a brain bleed? Was it a rare migraine? I do not know, neither did the doctors, but my last baby was 6 months old and I had a headache. The headache became worse throughout the day. I took an outdated headache pill. Could it have been that? I had never known such a headache. One moment I was sewing and the next I asked the kid’s dad to take me to town for something for it. He was headed to a basketball game. One moment it was two of us in the car and suddenly someone else appeared. Then another blank space and he was telling me not to turn the car off. It was January 26, 1982 and the snow was falling lightly. I was to drive myself a few blocks from the basketball game to the hospital. He was adamant, “Do not turn the car off.”
I grew up in and around Cardston. I knew my way but once I began driving, I had no idea where the hospital was. I followed some lights, not having any clue where I was. I just knew I had to get to the hospital. I drove in to a parking lot but I was not sure it even was a hospital. I was sure someone could help me. I had to be sure not to turn the car off. I reached to open the door but it would not open. I could not get out of the car. I tried using my right hand to open the door and was embarrassed to find myself lying on the pavement outside the car door. I struggled up and wove my way in to what I guessed was the main door. I was confused. I knew I was in trouble. I did not know where to go and heard sounds off down a hallway to the right. I started bumping against walls and finally made it. Someone came out to me and said I had best come in the room. I was taken in by a stranger. There, I was told to sit up on a table. She then told me to lie down. As I lay down, I felt and heard a pop. The headache left immediately but so did a lot else. A long time seemed to pass before strangers came in. They spoke in another language. I could not understand them. There was garbled talk and then some of what these strangers said made sense, or something like sense. “What day is it? Gargle. Garble. I had a day but I could not tell them and I did not know exactly where my day was. I was feeling like there was some sort of conspiracy. I was sure they were tricking me. Garble. Garble. “What is your name?” I had one; I just didn’t know where I put it. Garble. Garble. “Touch your nose.” I had a nose. I just did not know where it was. A stranger showed me how to touch his something. I got it. He wanted me to touch his something or mine. I did have one of those. I used my right hand and touched my something. Garble. Garble in a language only they seemed to understand. The stranger showed me what he wanted me to do. I lifted my left hand to touch my something. It never moved. I looked down. That is when I panicked. I am blank until I am being rolled along in a stretcher. I am aware not to turn the car off. I was concerned about not turning the car off. I think I turned the car off. I was being rolled along. A couple came over to the stretcher. I tried to tell them not to turn the car off. I also was practicing saying my ABCs. But I was only getting ABC and nothing further. In fact, I was aware my lips would not work right. Aw uh, uh. Time left me in a blank space again. Suddenly I was in a room and people were sitting to my left. They were talking about my face, about my left hand being dark colored, and I was aware that they lifted the covers and said my leg was black. I should know these people. I didn’t. Time warped again and now my oldest son was standing at the bottom of the bed. I could hear them talking and understood them. I tried to ESP messages to my son. I can not turn my head. I can not speak. If he leaves me, I think I might die. The doctor tells them he will call them if there is any change. He tells them rest because this could be a long haul. They leave. It goes dark. I Grieve. It is there, No sorrow. No angst. A blank space and then those people leave ( they were my husband, my son, and family friends. Something curls within. Inside out. Outside in as if giving birth to myself. A sudden wooshing, through, out, up. There is no emotion. No cold. No pain. No strange language. I heard you say I did not know. I heard you tell my family I was in a com. I heard you tell them they should leave. I heard you say it could be a long haul. I heard you say they should get some rest. I heard you, doctor. No tunnel, just a surge upwards to some never land place as if I was pushed… I was only aware of a lovely gentle hum is all I hear. No voice, though I sense some command. No time. An hour, a day, a month a year, eons may have passed. There is no sense of angst or hurry. I am calm. I must see. I see you though I should not. I see a stranger, yet dear to me, lying on the bed. Still. Empty. I sorrow for her, perhaps pity her for her duress. I see myself. It is not stark white. It is a billowing. It is satin. It is a veil. It is a mist that lifts me. Holds me. There is a parting in the warmth. Hand and wrist of my father, long past. I recognize the square cut nails and brown speckled wrist. He reaches. He offers. If you take my hand, I will take you with me. If you choose to come you can not look back. I know what you are saying, without words The temptation is great and grievous. I can not. I have often thought Some deaths take forever and choice was not mine to make. Baby. Seven. Life. I can not be finished. I must refuse. No acceptance mouthed. No refusal. A simple plead to raise them. Promises. Oh, how I grieve for this chance of goodbye, turned away. I grieve a thousand yesterdays of sorrow. I grieved a thousand times the loss. I grieved through return, blood vessels filling again with excruciating pain. I grieved goodbye and a choice I had to make.
I have seen that other place. It is as close as the hand before my face. Another time lapse and they move me to a Calgary Neurological Ward. We go by ambulance. Time lapses. These people are feeding me, pouring broth down my neck. There is no mirror. I want to pour broth down my own neck. I do but there seems more pride in me doing it too myself. I will my left side to move. It does not. I am being lifted, naked, strapped loosely into a chair to be let down into a type of Jacuzzi. I am afraid. I can not tell them. I am floating. I will drown. I am terrified. A lady in the next bed says she knows me. She says she is from home. I do not know her but she is gentle speaking and I feel a draw to her. It is hard to stay awake. I hear a gasp at the door. It is my best friend, but I am not sure I know her well. She is more stranger to me than someone known. She cries, “Oh, look at her face.” No more. I remember no more of the visit. I have my red socks. I have that gentle lady in the next bed. I have to find a mirror. I ask. My face. I was vain and had kept my skin looking good and now here it was, drooped down on one side. Numb. Eye lid falling down. I try to open my mouth and show my teeth like they asked. Only one side moves. I am heartbroken. I have to get better. “ABCabcABC.” Move. Move that toe. Move that foot. Move that hand. I am in a pool. They are holding me up. I am to try to move. I float and my body begins to turn and my face goes under. I am going to drown. I am on a mat. They are going to teach me to crawl. I am tired. I work so hard. I have to get home to my babies. My big toe moves, barely perceptible, but I feel it twitch.
There are no answers other than perhaps it was a cluster migraine, a rare migraine, a brain bleed, a bump, old head trauma. I knew what it was. They did not nor would I tell for many years.
I am home. I am lying on the couch and the babies are put in the crook of my leg so I can hold them. My mother is there. My friend is there and taking over for mother. I talk but it is not good yet. I have electric shock treatments on my face and hand and leg. There is pain but I enjoy it. I feel it. I am afraid of headaches. I am no longer afraid of death. I have changed. I will make changes. I force myself to crawl up stairs on my own. I do not want help. I will do this. I did. They were never sure what caused it. Doctor’s prognoses differed. One, years later, finally found a small scar of a tear in the brain. Whatever it was, it disabled me for months. It also changed me. “Shhhhh: A Creation Story”, Carol Desjarlais (P114 – 118)
This is just one of the ‘things’ that happened close to February 10th of any year. I know to be watchful.
On my time line, every year, I can see that black bump. Sometimes I forget because I have always been an overcomer and part of overcoming is ‘getting past’ (getting past past.) As I age, I deal with some of the physical incidents. For instance, you have noticed my typing, my spelling errors. The eft hand does not move as fast as my right hand. My right hand can type faster than I can think. My left hand does not.
My brain learned to adapt and different good cells took over for damaged cells. Sometime, not so successfully. But, I am grateful. My lfie changed to a totally new way of life, a purposeful life, a driven professional life. I now ease into old age and sometimes I forget to take extra care during this time. I think I am through this year’s ‘never fails”. I am grateful.
Do you have a black dot or series of black dots on your timeline? Have you sought to seek it out and know it by its very many names?
©Carol Desjarlais 2.10.22
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