Category: life

One Year Ago

I have been working on this post for weeks.  Today, I decided to start over.  My post was long, and unnecessarily so.  It didn’t accomplish what I had wanted it to.  It’s tone and the overall message was lost with every paragraph.  So here we are. At the beginning.

One year ago, my brother was in an accident.  It has been a long three hundred and sixty-five days.  I don’t want or need to rehash every sad, upsetting detail.  But, I do want to share with you all some of the more poignant moments and some observations that have stuck with me over the last year.

I remember when I got the call from JJ’s foreman, Ian. But more so, I remember the phone call I got from dad shortly after.  I asked Ian if JJ was alive. When he answered “yes”, there was no denying the uncertainty voice.  I knew what he was saying without saying it.  I knew what the tone of that “yes” meant.  JJ WAS alive when I left him, but I don’t know if he still is.  My dad asked me the same question just minutes after.  I wanted to be strong and say sternly, confidently “Yes!” but the words had, unintentionally, come out the exact same way Ian had said it.  Unconvincingly.

After I arrived at the hospital, I talked with the nurses and then found the ICU waiting room.  I opened the door and was immediately taken aback.  The people in the room were talking loudly, laughing, eating. All these things, I couldn’t fathom happening in a place like that. This was supposed to be a place of tragedy, a place for reflection, prayer, and quiet whispered voices.  I hated the waiting room with every ounce of my being.  I couldn’t stay in there.  I honestly, truly couldn’t. Luckily, there was a private waiting room we were told we could use. And by god we did.  It was supposed to be for doctors to have consultations with the family of patients.   I thought about the tough questions asked and some even tougher answers given in that room.  I prayed that that wouldn’t be us.  We stayed in that room for three days.  And just when we had gotten a little less sad, enough to where we could tolerate talking, and smiling we gave up the room to someone who needed it more.  It didn’t last long, we were back in there by day 5.  The day JJ’s artery gave out.

That first night, we had been told, that it was going to be a long one.  The first time we got to talk to a doctor was around 8 or 9 that night.  JJ had been in surgery since one o’clock. Dr. Brown told us that he was the orthopedic surgeon that had been working on JJ.  He was impressed with the double femur break JJ had suffered.  He said that if you had to have a broken femur (or 2) this is the way to do it.  It was a clean break. Flat across. He told us that the bones would be able to fuse with little to no problem, he believed.  He said that if all this injury was, was a couple of broken femurs, JJ would be out of here in a few days.  But that, as we would come to know, wasn’t the case.

A few hour later we got to talk to the second surgeon.  He told us what he had seen and maybe more importantly, what he hadn’t.  JJ had lost a lot of tissue, muscle, nerves, and lots of blood.  He went through 107 units that day.  But most distressing were his arteries.  They were completely shredded. I asked the doctor if there was anything I could do.  If there was anything that he could take from me to give to J.  I told him that he could have whatever he wanted.  The doctor smirked and shook his head a little.  I could tell he had thought of it.  I have no doubt. Maybe not my arteries specifically, but someones. His face said it all.  That very thought had come to him.  I didn’t delve any deeper.  But my father and I both let him know in no uncertain terms that whatever JJ needed, we were happy to give.

IMG_0421

At 2 am we were told that they were wrapping up the surgery and they’d be bringing JJ up soon.  From the room we were in we could see JJ’s.  We stood on chairs, we craned our necks.  Did whatever we had to do so we could catch a glimpse of him.  And at 3:30, they told us we could go in to see him. He didn’t look like himself.  He was so swollen.  But I have never been so happy to see someone in my entire life.  We asked the prognosis. Torn between the desire to know and the dread that may come with the answer.  JJ was, without a doubt, still in critical condition.  When the doctor talked about the prognosis, he wasn’t referring to if he would lose a leg or both, it was if JJ would survive.  I will never forget that moment.

After a few days JJ had started to come to.  Never for long, only a few minutes and then he’d be back to sleep.  But when he was awake, he wanted to communicate.  It was a tall order with the breathing tube in.  Someone got him a small dry erase board. He would try and write something, sometimes falling asleep in the middle of writing, and we would be left with the task of deciphering it.  We may as well have been decoding ancient hieroglyphics.  And when we couldn’t figure it out, we would start guessing like we were playing a game of charades. Is that an I?  No?  Ok, is it an L? No? Shit, is it a J?  Nope. Then after a minute or two, when all of the energy he had, had drained out of him, he would let his hands drop from equal parts exhaustion and frustration and his eyes would fill with tears and he would shake his head as if to say “I give up”.  That was, without a doubt, one of the hardest parts for me.  There he was helpless, relying on us to help him, and I couldn’t.  I was not a good guesser.

img_4415

One of the first things that we were able to read was the word “boots”.  Mom said, “your boots are right here, J.  On the shelf”.  She showed them to him.  The sense of confusion on his face was unmistakable.  My mom and I looked at each other.  She knew right away why he was confused.  Call it mothers intuition.  She said “J, your boots are fine. Your feet didn’t go into the chipper.”  His eyebrows became unfurrowed,  almost like at that very second, everything came back to him.  In fact, one night after the boots incident, mom asked him if he remembered the accident.  He nodded as best as he could, and then wrote: “They didn’t believe me.”  Later he would explain what he had meant.  When his co-worker had been on the phone with 911, JJ told him to tell the dispatcher to get life flight started.  He knew that they carried blood on the helicopter and that he was going to need it. But what he either didn’t know or didn’t think about at the time, is that patients can’t request life flight, it has to come from the paramedic.

The hardest day was undoubtedly the day JJ’s right leg artery gave out.  It was the first Monday after the accident.  The nurses would come in every few hours and pull out this black box that had a stethoscope in the shape of a pen connected it to it.  They would put it on the top of JJ’s feet, one by one, and move it around until they heard a swishy sound.  That sound was his pulse.  That day, they had checked it before he went down to surgery.  A process we had already come to know well. And when he would come back.  One nurse tried, then another. No swishy sound.  They called for the doctor. The room was silent.

The doctor confirmed what we all had suspected.  At the very beginning, we had been told that the repair to his arteries was a kind of one and done deal.  They weren’t sure if the gore-tex that had put in would hold.  Each leg had a 50/50 shot they told us.  But it didn’t matter.  We wanted a second opinion.  We asked that his file be sent to mass Gen to see what they said.  JJ had woken up, and I think it was dad who explained the situation to him.  He took it well.  You could tell he understood and agreed.

A couple of hours later a report came back from Boston.  There was nothing that could be done.  The right leg would have to be amputated. We cried. A lot. I went to the chapel for a while. Eventually, we all reconvened in JJ’s room.  J woke up and motioned for his dry erase board.  He wrote, what I made out to be “ambulance or helicopter.” He wanted to know how he was getting to Boston.  I read it aloud so he could confirm my guess.  He did.  This was, for me, the hardest moment of JJ’s hospital stay. I looked at him and said  “J, you’re not going to Mass Gen. I’m so sorry.  They said that there was nothing they could do.” He stared at the ceiling for a minute, cried only a couple of tears, and fell back asleep.

Not long after, the doctor came back in to explain the procedure for the amputation.  We were all listening intently when I looked over and noticed JJ had woken up and was listening too.  The doctor started over from the beginning to make sure J heard everything he had said. Nurses came in to start the pre-op prep like they had done earlier.  They gave J and an extra dose of whatever powerful concoction he was already on. He fell asleep immediately.  One of them asked dad to sign a piece of paper allowing them to amputate.  And that, I have no doubt, was dad’s toughest moment.  He said he didn’t want JJ to hate him for making that decision.  For signing that piece of paper.  More tears came.

Now, looking back, the days that follow sort of melt together in a way.  But certain moments stick out. The bigger ones, certainly more at the beginning and then start to taper.  Like when he got his breathing tube out.  There was a nurse on duty that J had taken a liking to.  He said to her, “Can I ask you a personal question?  Why do I get the feeling that you like me?”  Listen, I’ve seen my brother interact with women, and I must say, this was, surprisingly, one of his more charismatic moments.

One of the only times I have seen JJ cry was one of his first nights in his regular room. Everyone was concerned about his mental state. Probably because we were all such a mess we assumed he must be too. It was just him and I and I can’t remember the exact wording I used but I asked him what and how he was feeling.  He told me that the hardest part was that he would never be a firefighter again. He cried real hard, and so did I.  I told him that if there was something he wanted to do, then he would figure out a way to do it.  I had. and still have, no doubt of that.  I found a video of a firefighter in Ohio who had an amputation almost exactly like JJ’s.  He had been outfitted with a special prosthetic that worked perfectly.  He wasn’t on light duty, the guy was fighting fires.  I watched J watch the video and then we cried some more.

IMG_0742

On Sundays, we would have football parties in his room.  We’d bring a cooler and whatever JJ wanted to eat.  He had lost so much weight.  He was already thin and didn’t have much to lose.  When he was able to eat, which was about once or twice every other day, he didn’t eat much.  He wanted a special soup.  We always called it green soup.  Our nanny would make it for us.  Kruno went and bought every box Hannaford had.            That’s what he’s eating is this picture.  He was so happy to have that green soup.

Next came his time at Spaulding.  They do some truly amazing work there.  And JJ was the incredibly lucky to be the recipient of some of that amazing work.  He has said several times that he doesn’t believe he’d be this far along if he hadn’t have gone there. It was hard, him being so far away, but it was for the best.  We all knew it.  I got this photo one day while I was at work.

image


I was so proud.  JJ has made us all very proud throughout this experience.  His resolve has been something to be admired.  He would be a great role model for someone who’s gone through a similar experience.

He has worked very hard to get to where he is.  I got to go with him to a physical therapy appointment a few months ago.  To the naked eye, the unknowing person, it may have looked like he wasn’t doing much.  Lifting a leg up and down, moving side to side. But to us, to know where he had been such a short time ago.  The condition he was in.  How hard he worked. It was nothing short of a miracle.  We almost lost him…a few times. But here he is.

​

So many moments and memories stick out.  Things that I want to share.  But this post has again, turned out to be very long.  They will have to be told at a later time.  Maybe on his two year anniversary.  The weird thing is, and I think I can speak for most of my family.  We are now running on a different calendar.  To me, and I’d bet to JJ too, tonight at midnight, marks a new year.  With I’m sure, more milestones to conquer and mountains to move.  He will continue to progress and heal, hopefully sharing his progress along the way.  This past year JJ has been the recipient of more prayers and blessings then could ever be counted.  And for that, our family is so incredibly grateful.

It’s a fine line between fearlessness and belligerence.

 

I remember a few years ago I read an article that talked about an art gallery opening.  The layout of the event was set up like a person’s house. With several different rooms, all with different types of artwork in them. One of the spectators arrived via skateboard, and instead of carrying it around with him, left it leaning against one of the hallway walls close to the entrance.  Everyone that arrived after him, stopped to photograph his skateboard.  They all perceived it as a work of art.

When it comes to art, I am a novice at best.  I know nothing about it. But there seems to be a lot of it.  And it’s got me thinking… Who has to perceive something as art for it TO BE art? And better yet: Who has to perceive you as something for it to be true and does it matter?

When I first read about the Fearless Girl statue.  I was immediately drawn to her.  I read every story I could find that mentioned anything about her.  I don’t consider myself a feminist necessarily, or an art connoisseur by any means, but everything about this bold, brazen sculpture spoke to me.  The artist was able to make this statue convey gumption in the most subtle yet unequivocal way.

There is a lot of controversy surrounding this pony-tailed, little girl. Specifically, how she was placed in relation to the iconic Charging Bull.  The male artist who created the seven thousand pound symbol of American power and resilience pitched quite the fit about the girl. Stating that the female artist who made this tiny, in comparison, 250-pound Fearless Girl statue had “altered the perception of the bull” because of where and how she was placed.  Facing the bull.  He isn’t entirely wrong. The statue had accomplished everything the artist had set out to do. Everything about Fearless Girl was very intentional.  The artist said, “I made sure to keep her features soft, she’s not defiant, she’s brave, proud and strong, not belligerent”. And I think the artist was able to perfectly emulate that.

I’ve been thinking about how I’m perceived a lot lately.  If people’s perceptions of me and even my own are an actuality. Everyone wants to see themselves in a favorable light, but is that the truth?  I haven’t been reaching my potential professionally.  And while some of the fault undoubtedly rests on my shoulders, I believe it is also a product of my environment.

I’ve decided it’s time for a career change.  I don’t fit in in the wealth management industry. I am not naturally meek or mild, but this position has forced me to be both in some instances.  I don’t like it. It makes me uncomfortable. I feel unsure almost every day. In most of the things I do. Except when I’m talking to clients. That’s when I’m at home. I’m confident that whatever they need, I can help them. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll put on my Nancy Drew hat and work tirelessly until I find it and report back. I’ll conquer the unknown happily and fearlessly. Because I know that when I do, the client will be thankful. I will have helped them accomplish something they couldn’t have done on their own.  And that is a great feeling.

One of the things I miss the most in my current position is being part of a team.  I guess technically, I am.  But Just because someone says “you’re apart of the team!” doesn’t make it so. That means they may think of you as that, but if no actions are there to support this thought, then does it matter how they perceive it? Shouldn’t how I feel carry some weight?  Whose perception is correct?

Over the last couple months, I’ve had several interviews.  And recently, I have had 2 men, in a hiring position, tell me that I “seem like I can be a bitch when necessary”.  They aren’t wrong, I guess.  I like to get shit done.  But, I didn’t love how the word “bitch” hit my ear.  One person immediately felt bad and said: “I mean that as a compliment”.  And that’s how I had taken it.   I think that’s how some people perceive being strong and taking charge.  When and how people use that word can and do have different connotations.  Whether that’s right or wrong, well, I guess it depends on the perceiver…

I have been offered an amazing position.  One that I am so excited about it gives me chills. It’s at a fantastic company run by an incredible group of successful, intelligent women. I didn’t know if I was going to get it honestly.  The interview process was intense.  And I don’t know if I was necessarily the best candidate on paper. But as it would turn out, after 5 meetings, and hours of some of the most self-reflective questions I have ever been asked, they chose me.  And I know that I won’t have to be meek or mild. I won’t have to feel like an outsider.  I’m going to be a part of a team. Like, for real this time. I can be confident, tough, determined.  All of the things that The Fearless Girl and I were meant to be.

Mayor Bill de Blasio and Manhattan Borough President Gale Brewer visit the Fearless Girl statue in Lower Manhattan after the permit for the beloved statue will be extended through next year on Monday, March 27, 2017. Michael Appleton/Mayoral Photography O

I Want To Be A Quitter

Yesterday, I made the decision to quit smoking.  I wouldn’t consider myself a heavy smoker. But, I have about a half a pack a day. But regardless, I know it’s going to be incredibly difficult so I figured I’d ease myself in a little bit. With the goal of being completely done with them in a week or two. So, yesterday I had one at 6:45 in the morning.  I went all day at work without one, and easily, I might add.  I had one at 5pm, and after I thought “I didn’t need that”.  I wish I wouldn’t have had that one. The real test came when I got home. I tried to keep myself busy.  I did dishes, cleaned the kitchen, made dinner and prepped lunches for my husband and I for the next day.  And, I almost made it.

At one point Kruno came into the kitchen.  Poor guy.  He never saw it coming.  “Babe! Listen, this is going to be really tough!  I don’t know if I can do it!  I don’t know how I’m going to do it!  I’m going to sound real needy right now, but I need you to give me tough love.  And a lot of positive reinforcement.”  Kruno’s eyes had gotten real big by this point. I was erratic, loud and probably slightly dramatic.  But I continued on. I told him that I needed encouragement, and often. And that I needed him to be mindful of timing. I told him that he should tell me things like “Hey, Darci. You’ve done so great today!”  I stopped talking and there was a pause. He didn’t move. Frozen from fear I’m sure.  Slowly he opened his mouth and in small, uncertain voice said   “You’re doing so great, babe”.  We both had a good laugh at how unconvincing he was.

After dinner, I gave in.  I had one and it tasted awful.  But I still liked the act. It’s hard to explain.  I really enjoy the act of smoking.  I find it so calming.  And in the same breath (ha!) I also find it almost embarrassing.  I get self-conscious when I smoke as I walk down the street. Or outside my office building.  Times have changed so much. For the better, of course. But, it just seems like there is a stigma attached to it, that never really used to be.

Cigarette Count for 6/21/17 – 3

Today I woke up and didn’t have a cigarette.  I didn’t have one in the morning, or when I drank my coffee, or even when I took a walk at lunch. And I still haven’t had one at 4:09, as I type this.  I’m not going to promise I won’t have one today, but I’m going to try real hard not to.

Cigarette count for 6/22/17 – TBD

If anyone has any tricks or tips for me.  I’d really love to hear them!

Mischance, Migraines and Milestones

These three “M” words won’t mean much to most, but to me, they are perfectly entwined.  For better or worse.

A few people have mentioned recently that I hadn’t done a blog post in a while.  And they are right in a way. I haven’t done a public blog post in over a month.  But, I have been writing. I have a few posts drafted and edited, ready to go when the time is right.  I did, however want to write something to check in, in a way.  With myself more than anything.

 

Mischance – An old-timey word for bad luck.  Bad luck is what started this blogging journey. When my brother was in his work accident, I needed this outlet so badly.  And as his recovery has progressed, I realized it’s no loner my story to tell.  My perspective at this stage is a sort of a moot point.  He has his voice and can post his updates as he sees fit.  That may be hard for some, family especially, whereas he’s very stingy with his information, but that’s his choice.

One of the main reasons I haven’t been posting is because I’ve been having a lot of migraines lately.  I had never had a headache in my entire life, until about a year and a half ago.  Except a hangover headache.  Had plenty of them.  Stress does weird things to a person’s body, and mine apparently deals with stress in this form.  I’ve lived a fairly stress free life, which I am incredibly grateful for.  But, I think it’s catching up with me now.  I’ve been through a few different types of medicine, and recently switched it again, and so far so good. Hence, this blog post.

It has been 6 months since I started this blog.  It was a milestone I wasn’t sure I’d see.  Even though I had made a couple of posts at the beginning about my motivation and wanting to see this through. There is always a little doubt.  Can I do it?  Do people want to read it?  Does it matter if they do or don’t?  I can do it.  I have no doubt of that.  My self-confidence shakes a little when it comes to the last two questions.  I guess we’ll see how this goes along.  Maybe I will answer them at my 1 year milestone.

 

Extra-Ordinary Love

I witnessed something a couple of weeks ago and have been thinking about it ever since.  While a parents love is unconditional, many of the things they do go unnoticed or unacknowledged .  I asked my brother if he’d mind me sharing a story about him and he agreed.  Thank goodness.

JJ’s road to recovery has been at a slow and steady pace.  A couple of weeks ago, he started having some pretty intense pain in his right hip.  Which happened to coincide with a visit from his two sons.  We knew it was going to be tough, especially since one of the boys was sick.  But, to him, a parent, it didn’t matter.  There was nothing that was going to stop him from seeing them.  So, one night after I got out of work, we headed out to meet their mom halfway.  I didn’t realize that the route lead us through the white mountains.

Every curve of the road, hill and bump made JJ exhale in pain.  And then, when we were at the highest elevation, the snow started and the wind began to strengthen.  I was a mess.  Trying to avoid divots in the road, while staying on it, in a new vehicle.  I’m not a huge fan a driving in bad weather, but when other people are with me, like JJ or the boys, it adds a whole other layer of worry.

When we made it to the meeting place, pure relief came over me.  I told JJ that we needed to find a different route home.  We went to greet the kids and it was clear that his oldest was not feeling well.  He had a terrible stomach ache.  I got them loaded up with the help of their mom and we were on the road to home.  With a different route all set it google maps.

Our trip home was even worse.  We drove in some of the worst conditions, on some of the worst roads I had ever been on.  This new route took us through a national forest, with steep inclines and declines, and black ice everywhere.  We really should have been more thorough in our search earlier.

So, this is where the love story comes into play.  Ten minutes into the trip we hear “Daddy, my tummy hurts, can you rub it?”  JJ had already been huffing and puffing from pain.  The toll the trip there took on JJ was immense.  You could see it on his face and how he moved.  So slowly, so cautiously.   I looked at him, and he started wiggling and maneuvering his body as best as he could to face the back seat, and rub his sons tummy.  And that’s how he sat for the entire 2 hour trip back.  He fought through the pain, nausea and discomfort, so he could comfort his little boy.

While this act may be nothing remarkable for any parent.  They will do anything for their kids.  It was something I was in awe of.  It was beautiful.  To witness a love like that is just something I wanted to share.

I don’t care much for country music, but this post is for my brother.

“I know you have mountains to climb, but always stay humble and kind”

 

 

 

 

 

Why Lularoe? Why now? My “Why”.

 

When you sign on to be a Lularoe Consultant, they ask you to create your “Why”.  Your reasoning for signing up with the company.  It’s not just about selling clothes, or their amazing leggings.  It could be, they are that good. It’s about so much more.  They are a company who motivate and inspire people to work hard and achieve their goals.  They built their brand with ethical business practices at the forefront,  a unique plan for customer engagement, and a beautiful product. So, this is my “why”.

The Backstory

A few months ago, I started to get bogged down a little.  I felt like I was starting to drown. One morning I was reading the news and came across a story about recurring dreams.  The most common one is where you feel like you’re falling.  I had recently started having this dream almost nightly.  The article said that usually means that you feel like you’ve lost control. And it was right, I had.  There was so much going on at home, with my brother, professionally, financially.  It was overwhelming.  I didn’t feel like any one person or thing or task was getting  100% of what they deserved or needed.   I was keeping a running tally in my head of who I had disappointed.  J.J. wanted to go to the store one night, but the dog was sick so I couldn’t take him.  I told him we’d go the next night.  The next night, something came up with Kruno, and he needed something.  But I had already disappointed J.J. the day before so I couldn’t do that two days in a row to him, so that night I had to disappoint Kruno.  My work suffered, my relationships, my health.  One of the biggest reasons we moved home was because of my health.  I was stressed to the max in Colorado.  I was having migraines almost every day.  I had lost feeling in my left arm and leg, and I had a 1.3 cm cyst in the middle of my brain.  Stress does very strange things to the body.  And some of the same symptoms had started happening again. I had to regain control, prioritize, and just get my shit together in general.

 What I realized

As things started to fall into place, and the stress was subsiding, I started to wonder about these episodes.  They seem to come on during times when I was in, what I consider to be, a mild state of depression.  I was down and out, unhappy, a real negative nancy.  In going along with my New Year post, that simply wasn’t going to do anymore.  I desperately wanted to change.  My outlook. My situation.  In order to do that, I had to do some serious soul-searching.  This is my theory:

I decided to take on a second job…  I know, it sounds crazy.  I’m sure most people would think that taking on additional projects or business ventures would be counterproductive.  Hear me out. While I enjoy my lovely little life.  I am truly blessed in all aspects of it.  There does seem to be something missing. It’s hard to put into words exactly what it is.  It’s lacking a little creativity, a bit of a social aspect, a desire to be in control (to a certain degree) of my future and success. I don’t feel completely fulfilled.  And I really really want to be, or at least know I’m working towards it.  Think of your life as a set of gears.  Lots of them, but all different sizes. Some big some small, remove one and everything after that one, will stop. And the end result will never be realized the way it was meant to be if all the gears were there. And maybe that missing gear is an aspect that you unknowingly long for, and just didn’t realize until now. For me, I think  that gear is something that brings a sense of accomplishment and confidence.  And it only took me 33 years to realize how important these things are both professionally and personally.

The Plan

Kruno and I want to be business owners.  We both have an entrepreneurial spirit.  We want something of our own.  Where we get out exactly what we put in.  We don’t expect to quit our jobs and start a business, have it be a success and make six figures tomorrow. But we wanted something to work towards.  We’ve tossed around business ideas for months.  There was always something that held us up.  Not enough time, or space, but mostly money.  It takes a lot to start a business.  But, what we’ve come to realize recently, is there will, most likely, never be the “right” time or specific conditions, for anything.  And if, by chance there is, you only realize it was perfect after its passed. I think this is true for most everything.  I probably shouldn’t be giving advice so early in the game, but at this point, I say if there’s something you want, or feel like you’re missing in life, get after it! (responsibly, of course)  You want to go on a trip?  Book it.  Want to start a new career?  Make the leap.  Want to adopt a child?  Do it.  I am a firm believer of the “everything happens for a reason” theory.  I think this opportunity came along at exactly the “right” wrong time for us.  It’s a wonderful company with a product I believe in.  I think this will give me the exact gear that I’ve been missing my whole life.   And Kruno and I couldn’t be more excited.

When a flower doesn’t bloom you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower.                                          – Alexander den Heijer

 

 

These are a few of my biglyest fears….

I’m not one to post about politics, but I’ve had some things on my chest for a while.  All of them are coming to a head. And here seems like as good as place as any to voice them.

The countdown to January 20th continues, and there is no infiltration in sight.  No one is coming to our rescue, no one to deliver us from this evil.  Because, that was our job, the American voters.  We failed, his opponents failed, and like Meryl Streep said “we all lose”.  I was nervous when Bush Jr was elected, even more so for the second term.  And now, I am downright uncomfortable.  I watched his press conference with a knot in my stomach.  I kid you not, nausea is still coming at me in waves.  This may sound dramatic and maybe some day I’ll look back and agree that it is.  But today, I am terrified about what is about to happen.  I know I know, my New Years post was about being a positive Polly.  I’ve fallen off the wagon.  I’ll hop back on as soon as I stop dry heaving thinking about our President Elect.

I have been imagining the possible outcomes. And trying to estimate the probabilities of certain catastrophes happening during the next four years.These are the thoughts that have consumed me since election night.  I work in the finance industry.  When the president-elect makes a derogatory comment about an industry or company, all you can do is sit back and watch. Watch how that stock or sector flails about. While the market is a cycle and goes through ups and downs, the fact that this one idiot and his ignorant opinions, can wreak havoc in so many ways is unsettling to say the least.

Working in the finance industry, I find myself surrounded by men.  Not figuratively, but literally.  My desk is smack dab in the center of the four men I work for.  Throughout the election is was quite clear that some were supporters of the now president-elect.  I can’t count how many times I had to get up and walk away from conversations when it would deviate from the topic at hand to pro-trump bullshit.  Or when they would congregate at MY desk and chit-chat about their choice for president and how great everything was going to be once he was elected.  I may not be the most open-minded person this side of the Mississippi, but….how?  How is this what people think?  What they believe?  This entire election and everything that has come out of it has been just….unfathomable.

So, as the title of this post said.  These are a few of my biglyest fears:

  • Advancements in Equality (all types) will be set back, potentially decades.  That’s worst case scenario.  Best case – is just comes to a screeching halt. We can’t reasonably expect the man who said that a judge couldn’t make a fair ruling because “He’s a Mexican” to truly grasp or believe in the idea of equality.  Or when doing an interview for New York Magazine and referring to the treatment of women said “You have to treat ’em like shit”.  I mean…C’mon.
  • The possibility that the last 8 years will be undone.  When you think about all of the things President Obama and his administration worked so hard for, and that some could potentially be for nothing in a mere 9 days. My god, I feel defeated. And I don’t really have any skin in the game!
  • Immigration.  My husband is from Macedonia and his family is still there.  When we learned that Trump was running for president my husbands first reaction was “I need to become a citizen”.  And he was absolutely right.  But now, questions arise.  Will his mother and father be allowed to visit?  What type of restrictions will be placed, if any?
  • Terrorist attacks, specifically on U.S. soil.  Donald Trump is a joke.  The entire world and it’s leaders know it.  Especially the leaders who aren’t our friends.  I think we have opened ourselves up to be an even bigger target than we already were.  I didn’t think that was actually possible.  But apparently, I was mistaken.
  • My biggest fear of all is for my nephew.  Who, by the way is an avid Trump supporter.  Bumper stickers and everything.  He is in the military.  The president elect’s temperament doesn’t seem to shake him though. But it shakes me to my core.  The thought of him being at the mercy of an overly sensitive, trigger happy, spiteful awful excuse for a human is gut wrenching.  I worry everyday about the probability of him being shipped overseas.  I have nightmares about it. I worry that someday I will get a call from my sister,  and it will be her telling me that my Joshy has been called for deployment.  Please don’t get me wrong. Serving in the military is one of the most selfless things a person can do.  I admire and respect every single service member.  It’s the thought of someone, who dodged several drafts, playing fast and loose with my loved ones life that upsets me.

While President Obama has repeatedly asked that we, as a nation maintain an open mind.  Be optimistic, welcome the new president just as President Bush did for him. I’ve tried and I can’t.  Not honestly anyway.  I can put on a fake smile for a person or family member who wants to sing Trump’s praises in my presence. But, my poker face isn’t that convincing.  They have to see through it, and if they don’t, they are just as oblivious as Trump himself.   I think the only sound advice at this moment is something I’ve written about before.  More than ever, we’ll need to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

 

 

 

 

 

Going To The Mattresses

 

 

 

I’ve never seen “The Godfather”. But, I have seen “You’ve Got Mail”. Many, many times. In the movie, Meg Ryan’s character, Kathleen, is at odds with a big businessman named Joe Fox, whose company is about to put her’s under.  Unbeknownst to the both of them, they are each other’s secret online love interests.  Joe Fox, played by Tom Hanks replies with the following message to Kathleen when she asked him for business advice:

“Go to the mattresses. You’re at war. It’s not personal, it’s business. It’s not personal its business. Recite that to yourself every time you feel you’re losing your nerve. I know you worry about being brave, this is your chance. Fight. Fight to the death!”

This post was a tricky one to write.  There are so many variations of what it means to fight.  You can fight for an injustice, for someone’s well-being, or for something you believe in. My family has been tackling some of those lately.

My first lesson about “Going to the Mattresses”

For my entire life, I have been terrible at all sports. Awful. I have no business being on any sort of field or court in a competitive setting.  However, in 7th grade, I signed up to play on our middle school soccer team.  Every sport I had played leading up to this, I had been coached by my dad or his friends at the rec department.  That wasn’t the case this time.

During one match, our team was winning 7-0 and we were in the final minutes of the game.  The coach called my name for the first time that day and put me in as fullback.  The whistle blew and an opposing wing came at me with the ball.  I managed to take it away and kick it in the opposite direction.  A few seconds later the whistle blew again and I had been replaced.  As I came off the field I saw my dad get out of the car and start walking towards our sideline.  I thought “he’s probably coming to tell me what a great job I did, kicking that ball away.” I was mistaken.

“Darci! Get your shit, we’re going home!” I stopped in my tracks, shocked.  He didn’t stop there though.  He then turned to the coach.  “Hey!  You’ve got an awful lot to learn about coaching!” he said.  “You’re up 7-0, and you can’t leave her in there for more than 30 seconds?  You’ve been playing your first string the entire game!”

That was the end of my soccer career.  I was so embarrassed.  I remember crying and dreading going to school the next day.  We are from a very small town where everyone knows everyone.  I knew kids and their parents would be talking about it. Later on that night, dad came to have a talk with me about what had happened.  I believe this was after he had had a phone call with my former coach.  While I don’t remember his exact words, the moral of the story was “That wasn’t right.  That’s not how to be a good coach.  And she needed to know how I felt” My dad lacks subtlety, at times.  It’s a blessing and a curse.  But, I’ll never forget that day and the lesson I learned. He fought for what he believed.  It’s a story I tell often.

 

Our family has fought our share battles recently. All of the varying levels of intensity and for different reasons. Some have been fought as a group and some have been taken on singularly, and even internally.

My mom, for example, has fought for my step-dad every day since September 1st.  He was in a car accident and has been in the hospital since then.  Most of the time he hasn’t been fully awake.  She has fought for an adequate level of care. She has fought to keep him alive, more than I believe the doctors have since the first days after the accident.   She has been at the hospital (with the exception of when my brothers’ accident happened) every day she could since the beginning.  My mom with her vigilante style bedside monitoring, and her demand for answers.  She’s fought real hard.   He woke up last week, and I got a phone call from him. He said, “What’s going on, kid?”  That’s always how he started a phone call with me. It was probably the most amazing phone call I’ve ever gotten in my life.  Unfortunately, he did have a bump in his recovery road a couple of days after that phone call.  But, he’s still here.  He’s still fighting.

Today is the 3-month mark since JJ’s accident.  There is no way for anyone to really understand what he must battle with every day.  There’s no way to measure how much he has to fight on a daily basis.  Even in his first days in the hospital, the doctors and nurses all talked about how tenacious he was.  How much strength and determination he had.  And all that was said before he was able to talk.  My family knew he had all that in him.  But I never truly noticed the degree of it until then.  When he would insist on doing things himself when he had 6 very willing family members in his room to help.  When he would surpass every expectation the doctors had set.  Stand with almost full weight on a leg that he doesn’t have full feeling in.  And most recently, when he was told he wouldn’t be on a snowmobile this year.  He showed them all just how much fight he had in him.

img_2048

Just from a personal standpoint, my brothers fight aside.  This is what I’ve learned in the last 3 months:  Fighting is hard.  It is exhausting and often tear-inducing.  And because of the recent uptick of occurrences in which going to battle is required, I’ve had to pick them more carefully.

My brother is home from the hospital.  And everyone in the family is ecstatic. We have been looking forward to this for three months.  We knew that the transition would be tough, but I was totally unprepared for how tough it would be at the beginning.  In one week alone, I have cried at 2 different pharmacies trying to pick up my brother’s prescriptions because of issues related to billing.  I’m sure I looked like a lunatic.  And then, inevitably feel immediately embarrassed and start pleading my case as to why I’m not a lunatic and then probably look like even more of a lunatic then I did at the beginning. It’s a vicious cycle.  Anyway, One of the battles we’ve taken on is making the house handicap accessible.  We have been begging for 2 months for someone to come in an access our house.  Get it set up for him so when he got home, he’d be able to be mostly independent.  We were met with every stall tactic and excuse they had.  And I, having never navigated through anything like this before, fell for it.  At this point, there are 5 or 6 different people or companies involved in this.  The caseworker, the caseworkers assistant, the insurance company, the contractor, subcontractor,  and as of today the owner of a very large home modification company.  Everyone is pointing the finger at the other as to why this is taking so long.  I make multiple phone calls a day trying to figure it out but usually end up more confused than I was at the beginning.  Today, I made an extra phone call.  To a lawyer.  As this process goes along, I’m seeing that sometimes you can’t fight your battles alone. And I need help fighting this one.  There won’t be many more niceties.  It’s not personal.  It’s business.

I have yet to find a manual or script anywhere to offer me any guidance on how to fight. The desire alone, to fight, comes from within.  It’s propelled by a person’s heart, gut instinct, and moral compass. And not very often, do those 3 things combined steer you wrong.

 

“If you’re feeling froggy, go ahead and leap” – Butch Hanson

 

 

 

 

As my Meme would say – “To Us”

As the year comes to an end today, and we reflect on the year past, there are surely lots of things to be remembered.  Good and bad.  It’s what we make of the year to come that matters most now.  Looking at things with rose-colored glasses is difficult for some, and I am that “some”.

While the traditional New Year’s Eve song “Auld Lang Syne” isn’t necessarily relevant to my life right now, it is a symbol of new beginnings. It brings us into a new year. A new state of mind. Resolutions, promises, and expectations. 2016 seems to be a year some would like to forget. If you find  yourself on any sort of social media, you will inevitably see things like “worst year ever!” or a growing list of hashtags with similar sentiments. Celebrity deaths aside, it would appear that more people than usual have experienced hardships, tragedies or loss this last 365 days.

I find myself coming up short on the positives often. Every year on my birthday, I get a call from a friend of mine. Her name is Katie, we’ve known each other since elementary school and she is a rose-colored glasses kind of girl.  She does this thing on birthdays. She’ll ask “What was the three best things about this past year? And what three things are you looking forward to in the next year?” I turned 33 on November 22nd, and I knew the call was coming. I had tried to prepare for it.  I dug deep for answers to both questions. So deep, in fact, I don’t remember what I said. I think maybe I’ve forgotten because the responses I gave her maybe weren’t the truth, or particularly important. Except one answer. In response to the best thing about last year was “I moved home.” That’s all I had, but it was a big one.  When she called,  my brother was still in the hospital.  Our lives were in a mild form of chaos.  I couldn’t see the forest through the trees. I had tunnel vision, and I mean like longest tunnel in the world vision, with only my running lights on.  What I could see, was very dim.

I know that I am more negative than I intend to be.  I envy the optimists, the positive Polly’s of the world.  Negativity creeps up on me. I’ll start a sentence or story with the intentions of it being neutral, and before I know it, it’s taken a turn south. Or when I’m preparing for something.  An event, not in a social way, but more of an outcome of something.   It’s hard to see when you’ve crossed over from being prepared to pessimist. “Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best” is a saying that sums up my outlook most days.  I don’t see that perspective changing for me. While I believe in this saying wholeheartedly, it does, more often than not, tend to slant towards pessimism Negativity spreads like a weed, while the opposite somehow takes more care and nurturing to hit not just mainstream media, but self-acknowledgement.

But in this time of reflection, I’d like to publicly declare my one and only resolution attempt for 2017. I will be that positive Polly. No more negative Nancy. I will make a serious attempt to see the best of situations and speak only to that. Not in the annoying overbearing way some people do, but in a realistic, non-condescending way. A way that doesn’t demean the gravity or seriousness in the situation, but simply emphasizes the best possible outcome.

With all that being said, or typed rather.  I’m going to start the new year early.  My rosey glasses are on.  I’m going to take today and celebrate the end of an unforgettable year.  For better or worse, it is done with.  I will raise, perhaps a few glasses of champagne tonight.  As I have been known to do, often without a special occasion.  We will move on to the next year and I’ll do my absolute best to make it one where #bestyearever will be my most often used hashtag.  As soon as I figure out how to use hashtags…

 

To Us!

Follow The Yellow Brick Road

It’s been a month.  One month today since the accident.

When I got the call that my brother had been in an accident.  I immediately left for the hospital.   It was the simultaneously the slowest and quickest drive there has ever been.  I arrived, and found my way to the ICU floor.  I was met by 2 nurses, later they said they knew who I was by the look on my face.  They sat me down and explained the situation.  It was bad, labeled as critical and life flight was used.  I excused myself and waited for other family members to arrive.  Later on, while at the ICU door waiting to get buzzed in, someone came up next to me.  They had a loved one that had been in the ICU for a few days.  I was looking down at the floor and then I heard them say “The floor here reminds me of the yellow brick road.  Ya know, from the ‘Wizard of Oz?'” That’s my favorite movie.  From that moment on, I thought about the similarities between the movie and the situation that we were in.

I was the Scarecrow.  Asking for a brain to figure everything out.  Trying to learn the medical terms, which monitors meant what, blood pressures, oxygenation, medications.

I was the Lion. Asking for courage.  Courage to be strong when others couldn’t be.  Courage to help my brother with the unknown.  Courage to believe that everything is going to be just fine.

I was not the Tin Man. My favorite quote from the movie is “hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable”  My heart has felt more this past month than perhaps my whole life combined.  It has been broken, mended,  but mostly filled will love and gratitude.

And then there’s my brother, J.J..  Unfortunately for him, he is a girl in this analogy.  He’s Dorothy.  Wanting desperately to find his way home.  He’ll be there soon.

“You’ve always had the power my dear, you just had to learn it for yourself”