When I first started this blog, I was determined to write as frequently as a lovestruck twelve-year-old with a diary. But if you've been following me, you've seen a smattering of posts and the fact that I haven't written since my dad passed away in May. So, an update (some of the following, I hope, will turn into individual blog topics soon):
1. Post-op depression. It's real, it sucks, and just when I was about to feel better, my dad passed away. So there's that. 2. My husband Mike and I moved to a new city. 3. I went back to my job as a teacher. 4. Stressed backwards spells desserts. :-) 5. It's always interesting how things fall into place. And yet, the best laid plans... I decided to write today because my fellow Heart Valve Ambassador, Susan, had just read one of my posts yesterday after liking my tweet. I neglected to mention that I tweeted for the first time in months last Friday. I got a lot of likes! OK, 24 likes is pretty darn good for someone like me. I'm no Kim Kardashian, maybe except for the fact that our married names are directions, and we both have Big Booty. But I digress. Susan is an amazing--beyond amazing--survivor herself, and you can check out her blog at www.stronglifenow.com. When she said that she loved my post, I was grateful. Maybe going back to work and knowing that what I do for a living can make even the smallest impact, and getting a positive reaction from my friend, made me realize that while I may not have a giant following on this blog here, it's good to share our experiences. Today, it's all about this: LIFE. GOES. ON. It's hard to describe the feeling I felt the day my dad passed as my brother and Mike ran out to grab a U-Haul so they could transport my dad's stuff from his nursing home room and my sister-in-law and I were going through old cards and letters my dad had kept in his desk in his room, but as I heard the voices of nurses and residents as they walked down the hall, it struck me. When we pass, the world doesn't end. People still have things to do. Life doesn't come to a halt. The next few weeks were a bluster and other than the day we had my dad's service, I don't remember much of the day-to-day after that. Mike and I began looking for a new home. I was finishing cardiac rehab. I was still tired and didn't do much. I was still spending days sitting on the couch watching programs on the ID GO app on our iPad. Mike and I found a house. We were in escrow for 45 days as we packed our stuff. Eventually, I had to think about returning to work. Life went on. It goes on. Mike and I moved into our new home a few weeks ago, and then school started. We made sure--thanks to my spectacular sister-in-law--that we had the kitchen and bedrooms and bathrooms set up, and especially the office so that I had a place to do my schoolwork. And so, on the eleven-year-anniversary of my mom's passing, I began Year 18 of my teaching assignment. The buzzing and running around as Mike and I moved transitioned me smoothly to the busy-ness of my job. One of my friends joked that even though I hadn't been working for almost eight months, teaching was like riding a bicycle. It sure was (even though I never learned to ride a bike). I got my room together, planned lessons and copied handouts, and welcomed my new set of students the way I always had done dozens of times before. As we begin our third week of school, valve surgery #3 seems as if it were a century ago...and yet, it seems as if it were yesterday. Does that make sense? I'm seeing my therapist less frequently now for a variety of reasons, but most importantly that I'm coming back into myself, the new myself. Her concern, as she had expressed for months, was that I would not be able to keep up with the demands of my job physically. When I checked in with her last week, she commented, "You seem to be where God wants you right now. I think you would have known almost immediately if your body wasn't ready for you to go back to work." True. I'm tired, but teacher-tired. Maybe a little CHD-tired, too, but I know my limits: when to work my tail off, and when to rest. Right now my weekends are all about unpacking and organizing, and working on school stuff. But in the evenings, it's Netflix and chill with Mike. And a good night's rest, too. And coffee. Delicious, warm coffee. Yup, life goes on. But on Friday--and it is common knowledge among the staff and students that I'm the resident heart patient--one of my students asked me what I ended up tweeting on Friday. "Did you really have four heart surgeries?" he asked quizzically. "Yup, sure did," I said, and explained my story to this confused teenager. He absorbed what I said, and then in true teen fashion quipped, "Well, you don't act like you have a heart defect!" Like, how am I supposed to act? But perhaps that is why I do what I do. Why I feel the Lord called me to be a teacher on a chilly April night in 1997. To educate. Not only to teach teens how to analyze writing as they improve their own and hone their skills, but also to teach my students that a congenital heart defect doesn't have to limit your life. After all, life goes on. |