When life is a fuckin metaphor

 It was a lesson I would have sworn I didn't need to learn again:

we don't actually have control,

we have the illusion of control.

 

Apparently God, or the powers that be, 

thought a seasonal reminder was in order.

Late winter was going along as planned.

Back from a brief sun filled stay in warmer climes, 

I settled in for a period of reading, 

playing with paper/ making mini collages 

 

and made a few additional

anthropomorphic creatures to round out the tree.

Valentines Day came and went -

with the traditional studio photos to capture where the grands are now -

and they are perfectly wonderful.

I realize all grandmothers are biased but, come on,

it doesn't get any cuter than these two!

 

It felt like things were good -

because it was good -

and then, in a heartbeat, another fall.

Not mine this time, but my sons.

One uneventful evening, after work,

my son took a shower, ate some dinner and stood up -

only to find himself minutes later on the stone floor.

 

A vasovagal episode which caused him to pass right out, 

without so much as being able to brace himself.

He struck the tile countertop on the way down,

 before hitting the floor -

breaking his jaw in 3 places.

 

In swift succession,

this event was followed by an ER visit 

and a referral to the University system for specialty care.

For those of us lucky enough to live in proximity to Level 1 Trauma Centers,

or, in my case, multiple choices of Trauma Care,

its hard to fathom having to either drive yourself immediately post trauma

 or ask someone else to drive you

several hours away to get accurate diagnosis or treatment.

 

The father of my sons friend was willing to take him to Albuquerque  (over 2 hrs away)

for the initial referral which resulted in the recommendation of surgery 

and his jaws being wired shut for 6- 8 weeks.

 

Some major life changes were afoot -

for more than my son.

My son is fiercely independent; he is also single.

He lives 900 miles from the closest family member

and, due to Covid striking immediately after his move to Taos,

and subsequent unemployment for 2 years,

he has only a small circle of friends in his local area.

The more we realized what was facing him, 

the more convinced I was that he could not, 

nor should not,

be expected to face that alone.

Life was rearranged to the best of my abilities-

with me giving thanks that my term as Senior Warden was over,

my cataract surgery was cancelled,

my taxes were already at the accountants

and a good friend who fosters dogs for the Humane Society had an opening

to take Oreo! 

 

Things fell into place, I hopped in the car -

and despite a snow delay which left me stranded in western KS for an extra day

I'm now in New Mexico

for the duration of Lent, possibly beyond,

depending on how healing goes.

                                                           Liquids only for 8 weeks -

a necessity for him 

and in solidarity for me.

It just feels cruel to cook and eat 'ordinary' food 

in the face of someone who is struggling to get down clear liquids.

Can't complain about the views...

the Sangre de Cristo mountains as your backyard backdrop is easy to get used to,

Not gonna lie - this might be the last 'happy' picture I have of my son for a few weeks.

We ate at a Mexican restaurant in Albuquerque the night before surgery;

even though he couldn't chew, 

he loved gumming the filling from a cheese enchilada along with beans and rice.

 

The surgery was far more extensive and intense than either of us anticipated 

or could have prepared for.

To get to the break on the right side, the team went in externally -

pulling the facial nerve out of the way to get to the bone.

The docs are hopeful that they avoided any permanent nerve damage/paralysis, 

although his R side isn't yet responding the same way as the L.

 

The front and Left fxs were fixed from the inside of his mouth, 

so the stitches and swelling aren't as visible - but just as present.

This procedure was a same day surgery event, 

so barely 2 hours after a 5 hr surgery, we were headed home -

in the dark, driving on the high road to Taos -

which is always under construction.

 

Mike was barely conscious in the front seat, nauseous, holding an emesis bag,

with the wire cutters on the dash since there's a high likelihood of aspiration/death 

if you don't immediately go in and cut the wires 

when someones vomiting when their jaws wired shut.

 

Did I mention I was due for cataract surgery 

so driving at night is more of a challenge than in other years?

 

To say it was a harrowing journey is understatement.

 

Not gonna lie, the past few days have been hard for both of us.

 

With your jaws clamped shut, 

no movement possible, 

try breathing, drinking and speaking -

even for a few minutes.

 

Since the team needed access to Mikes mouth during surgery, 

he was intubated through his nose for the ventilator -

which led to irritation and swelling of his nose when he was finally taken off the vent -

which led to decreased ability to breath easily.

Air hunger and the panic it can create in those experiencing it are known consequences of this surgery. 

There's a sense of being in a straight jacket internally  

which translates to an overall physical sensation of restriction

and resultant panic.

 

Just when your head has been pounded on and manipulated for hours,

you've got this massive head fuck to deal with -

all while you're adjusting to your gums being stretched over barbed wire 

and constantly abraded.

Its been a tough adjustment.

But we're making it.

 

I'm concentrating on how apropros it is to be in the desert during Lent;

it certainly adds a different dimension to my musings.

I'll certainly share more of the journey as we travel this new road -

but, for the moment,

prayers and healing energy gratefully accepted.