Catpaws Cafe

Random musings from my virtual fountain pen

Archive for the tag “pain”

Small Victories, 1 December 2015

I’m counting small victories. Being able to sit up for ten minutes. Having a shower unaided. Manage laundry. Still to come are simple things like mop the floor…

This is my first time at my computer in a while. After researching for almost a year, I wrote the first draft of Seeds of Soultraction in a month during October and early November. I’d gone back to editing Andino Andina, then walked to the local market and stocked up on vegetables. It was an ordinary day, or so I thought. When my husband came home we considered shopping before or after dinner: I was hungry, he wasn’t, and since he often falls asleep after dinner I chose to go before dinner… straight forward.
I knew to leave my new phone on the kitchen table, didn’t question why and since I expected to be gone for less than an hour my rational mind agreed.
Off we went. Supermarket one, supermarket two, purchases stored in the compartment under the seat, back home. Easy peasy. Only on the way back we got ourselves hit by a drunk driver. We had right of way and were going slow (25-30km/h). I was looking the other way, and the first I know is screeching breaks and shouting. A drunk youth on a borrowed bike, without a license, ran a stop sign.

It all happened very fast and I don’t remember much, and what I do remember is in odd snapshots. I remember screaming until someone got our overturned bike off me. Too stunned to move, I just lay where I’d landed after pulling free, in the middle of the intersection. Two young men carried me to the curb. When the ambulance came I could not remember where we lived, or even my date of birth. That’s when I observed I must be in shock.
I stared at my left leg and knee that had taken the full impact complete with road-rash, swelling, disfigure and Hurt, as did my neck on the right side. The arm that had protected both our faces on impact was scraped a little. Other scrapes and bruises were at that point to minor to worry about. I could not move and when I tried to stand on my other leg, nausea and blacking out forced me down again. I scanned my body and my guides confirmed no bone was broken, but tendons and ligaments were torn etc. All I could think was “They’re going to cut off my favourite pair of denim shorts -indeed the only ones I have right now. Crap.”
Just touching the knee made me retch with pain. Later, back home, any time I tried to stand up, the nausea would be instant and the feeling of fainting immediate.

Then everything is a blur again. A young man who spoke good English bought me a bottle of water and an icepack. He also reminded me the bike was not as important as us being alive. Much as I agree, well, it’s darned useful to get around and we’d only finished the repairs from last years incident three days prior. Honda no longer makes spare parts for the BizPlus.

The next day in a desperate bid for coffee I’d made myself stand up, holding onto and retching into the sink. That’s when I saw the portal open and understood. It was classic and so bright it was difficult to look at. This had been a choice point, the pain I felt in my neck was where the other me had snapped hers. The fainting spells was where she surfaced briefly to consciousness. I felt rather than heard a voice say Are you coming? And I mentally stated NO; I’m not leaving my husband, our cat, and I have two books I want to see out in the world first! I felt the other me die and the portal closed again. It was 11am and in the moment of closing the nausea and faintness was gone in an instant.

It took me a while to process. I was almost vegetable state, snoozing and staring at nothing for the first three days. Milou slept with me on the mattress, purring whenever the pain got too much in spite of the med’s. All energy I had had to be preserved for getting to the toilet.
I was not angry, or resentful, and that surprised me. Somewhere in my mental fog I knew there were bigger things at play here. Seeing portals and feeling the word co-creation on replay in my head does that.
We could have screwed the driver and the bike’s owner for every penny they would earn for a very long time, but ruining their lives just was not the way forward, I knew that.

After a week I had the bright idea of “I could spend this time writing, just give me a pencil and paper”. I found I could not. There was severe mental fog going on as well as a knee filled with what felt like razorblades and a leg under constant Chinese burns. I read some books instead in my waking moments. I could only sit up for minutes at a time.
Still, I was truly grateful. It sounds odd but it’s true. I was at home, I could recover with my beloved cat, instead of in a hospital I could neither afford or wanted to be in. Here, in ordinary hospitals, few speak English and family is expected to provide most of the care. In my case that would have meant Mario, before and after a 14 hr work shift, still recovering himself? In a room with several others, in pain, comings and goings all the time, no mosquito protection and the food… It does not bear thinking about.
Milou overrode her inherent dislike of sleeping close to anyone – cat or otherwise- and have spent most nights next to me – except on the full moon when she took the night off from nursing me to attend the cats allnighter party!

Thus, no matter how long it takes… there’s a lot to process. Some really old stuff that I really have zero desire to revisit. And sure, I rage against that, but I’m not going to bore you with it. I also rage against desperately wanting to move house and being stuck at home. How can we look for houses when I can’t walk? It’s likely to be a long time before I can, and before I can ride pillion again. I’m learning to ask for help and being dependent and I’m not enjoying it one bit. So here I am, watching the slow aurora borealis of bruising come and go on my leg from mid thigh down to my toes and occasionally wondering wtf?

I also sad because wanted to do the December Art & Crafts market on Isla; I spent a lot of time this summer and autumn making things especially and here I am… There’s work I promised to do and that now has to wait, and more work that I was looking forward to do that I will not be able to in the foreseeable future. There may be emails and enquiries in my mailboxes that I have not been able to reply to as I’ve not been able to get to the i-net cafe. I’d only had my phone for three days and thanx to being left at home it is intact, but I’d had no opportunity to download any apps for it before this happened. It makes me worry that I’ll thereby create for myself a reputation for being flaky and unreliable.
I have a little go-juice but equally it can be zapped by pain in minutes. When it’s spent it’s gone; all I can do is pass out on the mattress for the rest of the day. .
I was listening to a recording of Wendy Kennedy being interviewed by Rob Gaultier on a downloaded episode of Enlightenment Evolution Radio where she mentioned choosing the slow road rather than a near death experience, and that helped with the processing too.
I want to take this time to thank the Sisters of perpetual disorder on isla who helped in our time of need, with a care-package and crutches so I can hop around the house. Your help is so appreciated you have no idea and has helped enormously making life less difficult.

I know I’ve asked for an exit point quite a few times in recent years, but one where my beloved blames himself just would not do. Not one where he will forever ask himself Could I have done it better? No. I never blamed him. He did all anyone could have done in that situation, certainly more than I, being a lot more experienced at driving a bike.

It also makes one question the self, what if we had gone shopping after dinner? What if I hadn’t gone back to get… whatever? The queue had been shorter? What if we’d driven just a little bit faster/slower? What if the bike had started on the first kick? You can drive yourself crazy thinking like that. If it’s going to happen, it will, one way or another. My soul clearly thought I needed this experience so here I am having it. As the little voice after the X-files used to say (at least on English tv) I created this (or was it I made this?). If the option was to have died, no matter how long I take to recover, it is progress…
All things considered it’s something I’d have preferred not to have had to go through.
So please, next time you’re tempted: drink OR drive. One or the other. This is one way you don’t want to change another’s life, trust me on that.  And always wear good knickers.
The furry Angelic wants her dinner. I can do that.

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Lauren Z accident

The dusk and dawn

 

The dusk and dawn

 

When the worlds overlap so slightly

is when the pain of separation

is at it’s most intense.

I never looked at it that way

I only knew it hurt

but I couldn’t work out why

I’d been just fine five minutes before

just like for me in 3d

I often don’t realize how much I miss something

until reminded

by having it once more

a blessing in itself, in disguise

So at dusk the pain of separation from

my soul family is so palpable

because of those on the other side

are cloaked but near.

It hurts so bad I never made the connection

I never thought that’s what it was

tho now,

when I compare the two

missing someone who has passed over

or longing for someone who is away

I can see they are one and the same for me.

 

So here I am subconsciously thinking I’m travelling and

moving the world over

in search of my souls cherished companions

where I need first to explore

and know intimately

the Pain of Separation.

And I know how to be a stranger

just as I know how to pack up and move.

Years of temping taught me how to pick up and fit in

without ever being noticed.

To the next place, and the next…

Many times I wanted to stay

mostly for the camaraderie I witnessed

but it was not to be

and anyway, I was always too soul restless for that.

I’d spend a year with the same group and

the itchy feet would start

Like watching from the sidelines

the echoes of voices

the same lines

over

and over

and over…

When I got a close fit

they’d disappear out of my life

often without a trace

no explanation, no closure

and the confusion and question-marks would hurt so much

sometimes instant,

other times time would trickle away

and they’d be irrevocably gone.

Too late to grieve like for a lover lost

but I guess I grieved on the inside instead

the tears I never shed

the dull pain never identified as such

the missing unvalidated.

Never enough to hold me in one place

when I needed to move on

in search of

and exploring it’s counterpart

when it starts to get comfortable

like ants all over

unbearable

I’m subconsciously urged to move on

by boredom at work

of fear of stagnation.

To stay in a stale job one needs very special colleagues

or a fulfilling life outside of work.

A fulfilling job can equally accommodate

an empty personal life.

Mine was rich on the inside

whilst empty on the outside…

I wanted the inspiring career from day one

to make up for the empty feeling inside and

later to cover up for my lack of success in attracting all I thought I ought to have

I don’t know if it would have made me happy or not

since I never got the experience.

 

Then I came here

I reckoned I’d moved for every other reason bar love

so I thought why not try that.

Actually, that was an afterthought

It wasn’t so much of a choice

as it was a a road with no turnoffs…

No matter how much it pained me to leave

my friends, the job I loved, the car of my dreams

I knew with every fiber of my being

I was doing the right thing.

And so the next phase of my life began.

For a while all the bits of my crazy life made perfect sense.

 

It certainly stepped up the feelings of alienation in a way I had not foreseen. I had expected because I was on the right track at last to quickly make new friends. It didn’t happen that way. Spanish turned out to be just as impossible to get the hang of as it was at college, and I found myself surrounded by women of all ages with babies on the brain and not much else; tourists in search of sun and an escape from their everyday life, problems and worries; and men fuelled largely by beer and tacos.

As the friends I had made left one by one and work dried up, the layers of the onion deepened.

 

My friend Jacquie once said when I was new to Park Gate and feeling low about it, that it takes about a year to make real friends in a new place, and I’ve found that to be my truth too. It’s been almost six years now and here I am, mainly alone, acquaintances aside.

Every other year I encounter someone I feel is close friend material for sure

only to never hear from them again.

 

I don’t know how much deeper into this onion I have to go

or what I’m supposed to do.

What I know is I’m not aligned with much on this island anymore.

I’m not interested in drinking, smoking, bullshitting and bar-hopping. I’ll never have any interest in babies, kids or the soaps on tv.

The sand and the palmtrees on the beaches does not make up for the absence of other things nature wise. I need personal space and will never be comfortable living the way many Mexicans do, on top of eachother and in and out of eachothers pockets and space all the time. 14000 residents plus tourists on 3 square miles of buildable land is too densely populated for me, with more people arriving every week, and soon every foot of land will be covered by concrete in one form or another. I’d like to live somewhere where alcohol is not the main fuel of the economy.

But I only have to look at my husband of almost 5 years now to know I got the man right!  I wouldn’t change him for the world.

 

So now I know

what that dusk and dawn feeling I’ve always dreaded is.

I feel at peace and easeful, for a little while.

I give the kitties a good brushing because they love it and

passers by smile at me and I find myself smiling back,

right here, right now.

 

So where do I take it from here

or where does this take me more like?

I don’t know.

 

Do I care? In the now, no.

If I let myself go to the future, yes definitely.

How much should we allow ourselves to dwell on the future?

I don’t have an answer for that right now.

I don’t want to go there.

Because I am here

and I like to stay in the moment for now.

 

 

10 April 2013

(c) Catpaws Cafe, Liz Rosales.

Despair. Migraine.

This post is not particularly spiritual. It is however honest and truthful. Does that make up for it?

 

Today is day three of a migraine, this week. I’ve noticed I spend as much money on migraine tablets as I do on everything else (if you exclude food, rent and bills). It feels like having a hole in my pocket. It just goes on and on in a never ending story I am so done with you have no idea. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to learn from this. It makes me want to kill myself. There. I said it. Truth.

Headaches and migraines have been the bane of my life, so I thought that I’d once more try and put down on paper, migraine from the inside, just in case someone still is under the illusion that it’s ”just a headache, take a couple of asprin and stop fussing and get on with it”.

 

I hate and dread the feeling when a migraine starts, be that when you’re doing something you enjoy or when it hits you like a sledge hammer when you open your eyes. (The mental picture I sometimes get is that of myself being dragged off by one leg, with the other limbs flailing, kicking and screaming…)  I rub my neck and shoulders, lymphs-nodes and face in a desperate but ultimately pointless attempt to alleviate, delay the inevitable, the point of no return. Here comes the steamroller again…

I detest the confusion, the unnamed dread, the pounding pain and the waves of nausea. Sometimes being unable to speak. The feeling of being sucked under, the walls closing in on me and the only thing I can do is just… wait. Try not to cry. Out of anger, despair, the perceived unfairness of it all and yes, the feeling like a victim. The trying not to even move an eyeball behind my closed eyelids as it will aggravate the pain.

I lay down, not because it makes me feel any better, but because it is all I can do in between retching sessions. I must not cry in my despair coz it makes it worse, the pain creating tunnel-vision (in the event I have to open my eyes to not miss the bucket) in the gloom. My eyemask is getting damp with perspiration.

Again try not to cry when feeling so utterly helpless.  There is nothing I can do that I haven’t already tried .

 

I’ve tried going with it, talking to it, reasoning and bargaining, embracing it, accepting it, relaxing into it, to not fight it, not judge it, looking at it as neutrally as I can. Still they keep on coming.

 

I do everything I can to stall the occurrence of migraines and headaches, including wear glasses, wear sunglasses, try not to squint, watch how I sit, that I don’t sit for long in the same position, watch how I sleep, use good supportive pillows, constantly on tense-alert, avoid msg and foods containing nitrates, avoid cinnamon and chocolate, avoit eating in places that serve Mole in case of cross contamination, even the smell of chocolate can set it off. Also strong smells like petrol and chemical cleaners are best avoided, as well as loud noise especially involving a heavy baseline.

I make sure I check (and if necessary close) the Ileocecal valve every night, go over acupressure points associated with migraine relief whenever I remember (usually in the bathroom) in a prophylactic way. I detox regularly. I cook almost everything we eat from scratch.

I try to keep my blood-sugars level, eat enough protein and keep carbs complex. My blood-pressure is low as is my cholesterol. I do my best to get enough sleep. I have good pillows. I drink copious amounts of water to keep hydrated as I know dehydration is the express lane. I avoid being too much in the sun and exerting myself in the heat. I stretch and breathe. It is my second reason for not drinking alcohol. Why risk giving your self an extra day of it if it can be avoided?

 

Growing up I had braces on my teeth for nearly 5 yrs coz everyone agreed that would sort out the problem. It didn’t. I’ve had hundreds of chiropractic adjustments and naprapath treatments, and as many acupuncture sessions by 10 different practitioners in different countries. I’ve taken Chinese herbs, tons of supplements, been on any diet that even hinted of the possibility of relief, balancing and eliminating, and of course spent thousands on pharmaceuticals. I have no fillings in my teeth.

It’s one of the reasons for learning near 20 healing modalities, and sampling many many more from others including series of homeopathy, osteopathy, naturopathy, cupping, flower and other remedies, aromatherapy, Zero balancing, Cranio-sacral therapy, and other’s I’ve forgotten the names of.

 

For a couple of days ensueing each episode, my forehead feels sore to the touch, from rubbing or at times banging my head against something in sheer despair, sobbing I can’t fuckin’ stand this any longer, which inevitably makes me retch because the crying makes it worse, intensifying it to just below fainting. I actually did faint a couple of times during the last episode last week, momentary relief, all too brief.

The only good thing is I’m slowly overcoming my phobia of vomitting.

I’m becoming scared to be by myself these days, because the migraines makes me want to kill myself. There soul: take That. I’m the body and I’m in charge and you better keep that in mind if you want this experience of ensouling the body and sort this shit out. That or I might just exercise that ”right” and end this ”game” at any point – do you hear me? Are you listening? Got that? NO MORE! EVER!

I’m not scared of dying. I’m scarred of this continuing.

 

So you’ve made it this far reading, congratulations (read: thank you). Also, if you have any triptans hanging around that you’re not using, feel free to donate them to me (rizatriptan, sumatriptan, zolmitriptan). And take a minute to be deeply grateful if you do not experience migraines.

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