Tightrope Walking

It’s been a week since my life blew up, quite literally, inside my body. I haven’t left the house unless you count walking out into the backyard. I haven’t put on a bra or driven a car or slept without waking with a pain in my abdomen or some distant memory of the trauma of last Monday. I don’t have much of an appetite but I make myself eat so I can take my pain medicine. They gave me Oxycodone which I hate. It made me have the angry sads and coming off of it was unpleasant. I’m still very sore in my belly so I take my high dose ibuprofen and take it easy as I can. I cry at random- at a touching scene on the TV, when I walk by what would be the baby’s room, when the delivery guy brought flowers from a friend, when I do too much and get winded. I’m going a little stir crazy and missing out on the most beautiful Seattle weather but the thought of returning to work or being social or even going to the store paralyzes me.

I do not yet have a new normal.

Everything feels overwhelming to me and I care very little for the bullshit of life. There is so much of it and there is nothing like a traumatic emergency surgery and loss of pregnancy to shake the snow globe of perspective. I am waiting for things to settle so I can see clearer. Right now I feel panicky and I try not to let my mind drift there, to the dark place of what ifs and worst case scenarios. There are too many maybes and I’m too tired to play them all out. They do nothing to help me exist in this new reality. We’re trying to just take it day by day, sometimes hour by hour, until we have our follow-up appointment next Wednesday where we will bring all our questions about what’s next.

It’s funny what you think is your worst thing. As a kid, my dad dying was my worst thing. Then I got cancer and thought, wow, this is definitely The Worst. And then I had a ruptured ectopic pregnancy which jeopardizes our chances for having a baby and I’ve got a new Worst Thing. There will always be trouble coming, won’t there? Seven months ago I was worried what my first pap smear results would be after my cervical cancer surgeries. That was our big hurdle then. And we waited and worried and hoped and wondered and tried to heal as we do now. What I said back then rings true again today:

I have never been more acutely aware that the great lesson of my life is patience. To lean into the waiting and the wanting and the wondering. To trust the process and let hope buoy me when I feel myself spiraling into what ifs and worry.

I have no idea what’s next. Do we ever? I used to think all my plans and lists would keep me safe. My coping mechanisms that served me all those years are laughable to me now. Oh honey, I want to tell my younger self, there is no such thing as safety. Life is a tightrope and you can spend your life building a net without ever getting up on the wire. Or you can take it step by delicate step, balancing, falling, and getting back up again and again. But you can’t look down. Only out and up because, sweet girl, the views are spectacular.

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” – Helen Keller


30 thoughts on “Tightrope Walking

  1. Thank you for sharing, Sizzle. You’ve been in my thoughts and in my heart. Healing is a tricky bitch because it isn’t linear (and like you said, there’s the unwanted surprise of new The Worsts along the way.) I am keeping everything crossed that you and Mr. Darcy get some answers and some clarity. And maybe, hopefully soon, some peace.
    Sending love,

  2. Life is definitely a tightrope. I would have never dreamed I’d have the life I’m currently living… It’s so far off the journaled plan, the lists and lists I made in my 20’s. But you know what? It’s my life and I’m very proud of how I’ve maneuvered the many heart wrenching obstacles that have been thrown in my direction. I cherish every minute I get to live this life and try daily not to get caught up in the what ifs and what could have beens. I think it’s normal to live in a fog after experiencing a life tragedy… Take whatever time you need and let yourself feel every feeling. We all grieve differently and there is no right or wrong. Much love and hugs being sent your way.

  3. You and Mr. D are going to figure everything out in its own time. Some things will take care of themselves, other things will be choices you get to make. The important thing is that it will be you and Mr. D, together, loving and holding and accepting each other as your lives unfold together.

    Peace and warmth and comfort and healing to you both.

  4. This is a beautiful post. You have such an amazing way of inspiring others, even when you’re grieving. That’s a very rare gift, I think. Endless love and light to you and Darcy.

  5. Thank you for writing this – I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I hope you get through this the same way you’ve gotten through everything else, with an amazing ability to write out what you are going through and a new perspective, however hard that can be. I hope you heal well and quickly, both physically and emotionally. *big hugs*

  6. I’ve been thinking about you a lot this past week. That quote near the end is ringing so true for me right now. I’ve been going through complications in this pregnancy (sorry, I know that isn’t what you want to hear) and living in a constant state of worry, researching and asking questions that no one seems to be able to answer. I keep telling myself it will be fine and I was given this miracle baby for a reason. But shit! It’s so easy to spiral down. I will use the tightrope scenario these last few weeks to keep my head and heart upright. I can’t change anything about the outcome, just the way I welcome it. I wish I could speed up your healing process and pain. Sending lots of love your way. xoxo PS. Mel is right! You are inspiring even in a time of suffering.

  7. I love your writing. I just had Gall Bladder surgery and did the same thing. Stayed off the knock out drugs and just took the Ibuprophen. Get better, time makes it easier. I played softball on Sunday. Two weeks after surgery.

  8. What a beautiful post. And what a great lesson for you to share with the rest of us. I hope that writing your thoughts out makes you feel better, if not, at least know that the wisdom you share is not forgotten.

    A friend of mine with a newborn just announced on her blog that her husband (in the military) was in an accident overseas. It made me so sad and put my stupid shit in to perspective. This post made me think of that.

    I hope you have no more new worsts. I really do. And I hope you feel better, at least physically, soon!

    Hugs! πŸ™‚

  9. Today is my first visit to your blog. I was directed by “Holly Would if She Could” in her link to “Being vs Fixing.” I loved that post so I read all your Cancer Chronicles. I related to them based on my own cervical issues with HPV and cyrotherapy etc. Then I figured I’d check out how you are doing now. So sad to hear you lost the baby. 😦 I have tears in my eyes. Again, I relate since I had a miscarriage myself a few years ago. Hope you are feeling better. Just had to drop a note to say thank you for boldly sharing your story. It is inspiring.

  10. Life most definitely is a tightrope. And you are handling yours remarkably well and with such poise and grace. I know I have said it before, but I am truly so sorry you are going through this. I hope you continue to heal, inside and out.

  11. I’ve been meaning to write since your last post, but I didn’t have much in the way of a computer in Michigan (they are simple folk up there).

    In any case, Sophia, I love you. There, I said it.

    At first, I read you from afar, as in, I didn’t know you at all but I somehow stumbled onto your blog YEARS ago (like maybe five years? six??), and besides one very famous blogger (whom I now find kind of irritating), yours is the blog I’ve read the longest.



    You are a force. You are truth. You are compassion. You are frustration. You are happiness. You are sarcasm. You are wit. You are beautiful. You are thoughtful. You are unapologetic. You are you. You are more than most people can be…themselves (especially in print).

    I know this is a terrible time for you, I know this because, how could it not be? It’s a heartbreaking and painful situation. However, I also know that you will maneuver through this obstacle until you are on the other end of it a WINNER. You are faced with challenge after challenge and yet…you always come out on top. That’s because you never give up, you persevere, and you’re determined to move out of the bad and into the good.

    You are an inspiration and I am glad to know you if only as a loyal reader and acquaintance/borderline friend. Maybe there is a lesson to be learned in this, maybe there isn’t – but I do know you will eventually find the silver lining and become even more awesome in the process.

    Heal your body and be gentle with yourself both physically and emotionally. I truly feel there is something really great for you on the horizon – if only because I know you will seek out happiness and healing and not give up. Because that’s just YOU.


  12. I am sorry you have to go through this. Wouldn’t it be great if life was easier than this? I learned quite a while ago, planning if bunk. Just when you think you have a plan, you go and loose the damn notebook with all of the rules.

    Love you,

    (who was I again in the Golden Girls cast?)

  13. I’ve been thinking about you. Life is a b*tch… yes, and a tightrope… and all those other metaphors we can think of that make us cringe and a little scared and definitely teach us a lesson in patience.
    I hate when bad things happen to good people and I really, really want to believe that karma will come around and award you for all the shit you’ve been going through. There must be some poetic justice just around the corner, RIGHT?

    Hugs to you, my friend.

  14. You’ve been in my thoughts Sizz. I love you and I hope your healing go smoothly and I am very happy that you and Mr. Darcy have each other. Sending you all my love, friend. Xoxo.

  15. “Life is a tightrope and you can spend your life building a net without ever getting up on the wire. Or you can take it step by delicate step, balancing, falling, and getting back up again and again. But you can’t look down. Only out and up because, sweet girl, the views are spectacular.” <- This is so very wonderful.
    I can't help in anyway, but I can send invisible hugs.

  16. It’ll never be ok that these things have happened to you. And you’re never going to get over it. But it does get easier to breathe, and move, and be around people and function in the world. I promise. But take the time you need to process and feel and be sad. It’s ok. And it’s all going to be ok. Maybe not soon, but someday. I promise.

  17. All I can think to say/do is continue to think of you, send healing thoughts, good vibes, prayers and hugs from afar. You’re a beautiful and amazing woman and I hope that the world/universe rewards you for that very soon. xo

  18. I don’t say this to discount your true sadness, as I’m sure that is the bulk of what you’re feeling, but… I was on Oxycodone (and other opiate drugs) after a shoulder surgery 5 years ago, and it wasn’t until months later, after the drugs had COMPLETELY left my system, that I realized how much they had screwed with my emotions and my reactions. I remember the day my mom left to head home (after being with me after surgery) and I COULD.NOT.STOP.CRYING. She felt so bad, and I just kept saying “it’s because of the drugs!” And how I cried my first day of physical therapy, just because I was SO.SAD about my condition. Anyways, just thought I’d throw in those two cents. Take all the time in the world that you need, and let your heart heal.

  19. Oh, Sizzle, I have always so very much appreciated how in tune you are with yourself and how able you are to put feelings into words. I also respect that you let yourself feel the feelings, live the emotions and let them provide you perspective on life. You’re pretty darn amazing. Your final thoughts about life being like a tightrope are astoundingly true. Thank you for sharing with me, with us.

  20. I’ve been thinking of you so much, my friend. And I will be on Wednesday.
    You are so very right, we never know a damn thing as far as the external is concerned. We get to know better what’s in our heart, and how that helps us see the beauty in spite of the fear. Much love to you!

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