I really like to chase critters up and down the mountain. But then one day, I came back limping like a three-legged dog. Keith and Carole took me in the car—Freya came, too. As we drove down the mountain road, Freya and I stuck our heads out the back windows. We like to do that. At the vet, Freya and I watered the grass. The people there are really nice. They took me to the back, and I went to sleep. Later, the vet showed Keith and Carole my pictures—Freya was there, too. Then we all got back in the car and drove home. Another day, we went for a longer ride in the car to a place with new dog smells. Freya and I watered the grass there, too. The people were really nice. I went to sleep, and when I woke up in the middle of the night, the people gave me food. I like to eat. My leg hurt so I licked it. The nice people said, “Heathcliff, no licking! Good boy.” I cried a little when Carole came to pick me up. To get into the car, I had to climb a ramp, which I didn’t like, but did it because Carole said, “Heathcliff, come! Good boy.” That night, I had to wear a cone on my head. I bonked around and couldn’t sleep. Carole and Keith took turns taking me outside to water the grass then said, “Heathcliff, go to your bed.” I like my nest bed. Carole fed me pills in soft treats—Freya got treats, too—and took me on many short walks. Keith put ice and heat on my leg and moved it, which I didn’t like. He said, “Heathcliff, stay still! Good boy,” and after a while my leg felt better. I got to do lots of fun things during my recovery: going in the car and sticking my head out the back window, walking, sniffing, watering the grass, pooping, eating, sleeping in my bed and getting treats. Soon I didn’t have to use the ramp to get into the car, and I got to chase critters up and down the mountain again. I really like that.
I’ve been thinking about ‘microrecovery’. I thought I invented the term but googling it now, I see some other people have also coined it. It is more than taking a deep breath, but taking a deep breath can kick it off. Taking a minute to turn your mind or your whole self deliberately to something that makes you happy, or to connect with someone who makes you happy, or joke around with a stranger in line, in the midst of something stressful. I remember when my late husband was in the midst of several days of having lots of tests as his stage IV cancer was being diagnosed, about the most stressful time in my life, I waited outside the little temporary MRI trailer, one day, while he had yet another brain MRI. Trailers were used that summer during a Mass General Hospital construction project. The trailer deck functioned as a sort of waiting room. Some kind person brought me out a folding chair and I put my feet on the railing, leaned back and felt the sun warm me. Construction sounds, sawing, hammering were all around, my husband was in the trailer while they were finding God knows what in his brain, and even at the time I had a moment of ‘how odd it is that even now, leaning back, feeling the sun on me, this feels good’. It a well kept secret, well kept from ourselves, that sometimes, not always, but more often than I think to do it, even in the midst of high stress, we can deliberately turn and access doses of microrecovery.
I didn't realise that I required recovery until I felt the improvements. I've literally just gotten home from 5 exceptional days away and I am simultaneously exhausted and rejuvenated. The last few months have felt challenging. I put the extreme imposter syndrome and random urges to sob down to the effects of long covid, ...or age, ...or relocating. I've been feeling very lonely and isolated, filled to the brim with self doubt and trepidation, but it crept in and I wasn't aware to what extent it's reduced me as a person, a woman, and an artist. I've always said that getting a thousand miles away is self affirming but maybe it needn't be so far. Amid an impressive and joyful crowd of welcoming strangers for a few days, I found myself, my confidence, my desires and intentions, and will forever be grateful to all of those who helped me to heal.
It was dubbed, “The People’s Wedding.” Last week, we celebrated our love with friends and family at the Hotel El Mirador in Loja. Michelle and I are now married, seventeen years on. A perfect timing, the page turned. The confluence of worldly personalities arrived, laughed, cried, returned, and recovered. It was an event deserving of some post-R&R.
A week happens fast when you are planning it for a year. You execute, then return to routine, basking in the glory of new memories. We’re recovering from exhaustion of the best kind. An abundance of love, emotion, goodwill. It was worth it.
Now, back to the now. Tomorrow, our daily routine begins anew, rich with healthy intentions, tranquil nights. Each day a rejuvenation, a personal recovery. We are excited to invite everyone back. We’ll share common bonds again. It's easy when people let their guard down. The door opens, a hug, two kisses, and we walk on through.
I have a secret, but now you know. I love recoveries, particularly ones that do not involve a recovery from a life and death situation. In most cases, recoveries act as a mental reset for me that forces me to be in the now. Often, too exhausted to be the Type A perfectionist I normally am, I get time and space to imagine, to dream, to reconsider, to unbecome, and then, hopefully, to become.
And, when the recovery period ends, I feel exactly as I hope the heraldic phoenix feels after the burn. Ready to keep going and to try anew, fresh and chiseled from the flames.
Post chemotherapy a C.R. stands for "complete response". I translated it as "complete recovery". There is a difference. One, the monster has merely retreated, the other it's been slain. That distinction lead to what in hindsight was PTSD from having an aggressive form of breast cancer at the tender age of 44 resulting in a C.R. and living as I'd always had really- looking for and expecting monsters of one sort or the other around the next corner, in the closet, under the bed and now having personal proof that the monster can live right inside of one's own skin. I started managing anxiety with a monster of it's own- Alcohol. I'm not saying I will never have a drink again, but flirting with a known carcinogen when cancer lives in one's own closet just seemed not smart. I'd likened chemotherapy to having a chronic hangover. I don't say "I'm in recovery" or that "I'm a recovering alcoholic." That paradigm of addiction blames the addict for not being able to handle an inatley addictive substance. I am "reclaiming" and it feels good and that is enough.
I really like to chase critters up and down the mountain. But then one day, I came back limping like a three-legged dog. Keith and Carole took me in the car—Freya came, too. As we drove down the mountain road, Freya and I stuck our heads out the back windows. We like to do that. At the vet, Freya and I watered the grass. The people there are really nice. They took me to the back, and I went to sleep. Later, the vet showed Keith and Carole my pictures—Freya was there, too. Then we all got back in the car and drove home. Another day, we went for a longer ride in the car to a place with new dog smells. Freya and I watered the grass there, too. The people were really nice. I went to sleep, and when I woke up in the middle of the night, the people gave me food. I like to eat. My leg hurt so I licked it. The nice people said, “Heathcliff, no licking! Good boy.” I cried a little when Carole came to pick me up. To get into the car, I had to climb a ramp, which I didn’t like, but did it because Carole said, “Heathcliff, come! Good boy.” That night, I had to wear a cone on my head. I bonked around and couldn’t sleep. Carole and Keith took turns taking me outside to water the grass then said, “Heathcliff, go to your bed.” I like my nest bed. Carole fed me pills in soft treats—Freya got treats, too—and took me on many short walks. Keith put ice and heat on my leg and moved it, which I didn’t like. He said, “Heathcliff, stay still! Good boy,” and after a while my leg felt better. I got to do lots of fun things during my recovery: going in the car and sticking my head out the back window, walking, sniffing, watering the grass, pooping, eating, sleeping in my bed and getting treats. Soon I didn’t have to use the ramp to get into the car, and I got to chase critters up and down the mountain again. I really like that.
I was waiting for pictures!!! I’m so sorry you had a ♥️ scare but maybe it was because it was too full? 🥰 So happy for you & Eric!!!!!
I’ve been thinking about ‘microrecovery’. I thought I invented the term but googling it now, I see some other people have also coined it. It is more than taking a deep breath, but taking a deep breath can kick it off. Taking a minute to turn your mind or your whole self deliberately to something that makes you happy, or to connect with someone who makes you happy, or joke around with a stranger in line, in the midst of something stressful. I remember when my late husband was in the midst of several days of having lots of tests as his stage IV cancer was being diagnosed, about the most stressful time in my life, I waited outside the little temporary MRI trailer, one day, while he had yet another brain MRI. Trailers were used that summer during a Mass General Hospital construction project. The trailer deck functioned as a sort of waiting room. Some kind person brought me out a folding chair and I put my feet on the railing, leaned back and felt the sun warm me. Construction sounds, sawing, hammering were all around, my husband was in the trailer while they were finding God knows what in his brain, and even at the time I had a moment of ‘how odd it is that even now, leaning back, feeling the sun on me, this feels good’. It a well kept secret, well kept from ourselves, that sometimes, not always, but more often than I think to do it, even in the midst of high stress, we can deliberately turn and access doses of microrecovery.
Congrats on your wedding. I bet you looked stunning. Any photos now that it is August 22?
I didn't realise that I required recovery until I felt the improvements. I've literally just gotten home from 5 exceptional days away and I am simultaneously exhausted and rejuvenated. The last few months have felt challenging. I put the extreme imposter syndrome and random urges to sob down to the effects of long covid, ...or age, ...or relocating. I've been feeling very lonely and isolated, filled to the brim with self doubt and trepidation, but it crept in and I wasn't aware to what extent it's reduced me as a person, a woman, and an artist. I've always said that getting a thousand miles away is self affirming but maybe it needn't be so far. Amid an impressive and joyful crowd of welcoming strangers for a few days, I found myself, my confidence, my desires and intentions, and will forever be grateful to all of those who helped me to heal.
It was dubbed, “The People’s Wedding.” Last week, we celebrated our love with friends and family at the Hotel El Mirador in Loja. Michelle and I are now married, seventeen years on. A perfect timing, the page turned. The confluence of worldly personalities arrived, laughed, cried, returned, and recovered. It was an event deserving of some post-R&R.
A week happens fast when you are planning it for a year. You execute, then return to routine, basking in the glory of new memories. We’re recovering from exhaustion of the best kind. An abundance of love, emotion, goodwill. It was worth it.
Now, back to the now. Tomorrow, our daily routine begins anew, rich with healthy intentions, tranquil nights. Each day a rejuvenation, a personal recovery. We are excited to invite everyone back. We’ll share common bonds again. It's easy when people let their guard down. The door opens, a hug, two kisses, and we walk on through.
I have a secret, but now you know. I love recoveries, particularly ones that do not involve a recovery from a life and death situation. In most cases, recoveries act as a mental reset for me that forces me to be in the now. Often, too exhausted to be the Type A perfectionist I normally am, I get time and space to imagine, to dream, to reconsider, to unbecome, and then, hopefully, to become.
And, when the recovery period ends, I feel exactly as I hope the heraldic phoenix feels after the burn. Ready to keep going and to try anew, fresh and chiseled from the flames.
Post chemotherapy a C.R. stands for "complete response". I translated it as "complete recovery". There is a difference. One, the monster has merely retreated, the other it's been slain. That distinction lead to what in hindsight was PTSD from having an aggressive form of breast cancer at the tender age of 44 resulting in a C.R. and living as I'd always had really- looking for and expecting monsters of one sort or the other around the next corner, in the closet, under the bed and now having personal proof that the monster can live right inside of one's own skin. I started managing anxiety with a monster of it's own- Alcohol. I'm not saying I will never have a drink again, but flirting with a known carcinogen when cancer lives in one's own closet just seemed not smart. I'd likened chemotherapy to having a chronic hangover. I don't say "I'm in recovery" or that "I'm a recovering alcoholic." That paradigm of addiction blames the addict for not being able to handle an inatley addictive substance. I am "reclaiming" and it feels good and that is enough.