It's been awhile since I've written. Shocking, I know.
It has been one hell of five-month drought. Much has happened, some things wonderful, some things bordering on tragic. Some things reassuring, and some things a little disheartening.
But, I can say that as of right now, June 6, 2010, I may be the happiest that I have ever been. Ever.
The majority of this happiness is a temporary glee that has been induced by the last 24 hours of being in Spain with my parents. I came a week ago, on May 27, and they were barely able to make it over yesterday, June 5. Mom and Dad (but let's be honest, mainly just Mom) spent almost a year planning this trip. They rented the Cortijo Estacada de las Cabras, a villa that sleeps 20, about 50 km outside of Sevilla in southern Spain. They convinced their friends to come. They planned the day trips. The bought the plane and train tickets and rented the cars. They put in the deposits.
And after all of that, it was looking like they weren't going to be able to come at all. And it is for this reason that I am so absurdly happy to be able to spend this time with them.
It has dawned on me in the last six weeks since Mom got sick that, not only have I turned 25 this year, but the people around me are also getting older. It's easy to get wrapped up in the self and not pay as much attention to those around you. It really struck me in April that Dad was turning 55, and that Mom would be 52 in June. Fortunately we live in a time and country in which these are still considered to be 'young' ages and that one can say with a good amount of certainty that there is plenty of good, healthy, happy, mobile life left. But unfortunately, my parents, Dad especially, don't take the greatest care with their bodies in the day-to-day.
I was grateful and excited when I decided not to go to South Africa for many reasons. The greatest of them by far was that I could spend this time in Spain with Mom and Dad. Because, while they are still relatively healthy and youthful, I just don't know how many more opportunities there will be. I will eventually be married with kids and they will age quicker and quicker. How many times are there in the future to travel internationally and have races in pools and goofy diving contests and cook and eat good food together and see ancient ruins in beautiful old cities?
I am incredibly grateful now that I made that decision then. Even without Mom's struggles of the last six weeks, I would be grateful. But with them, my gratitude is inimitable. Unexplainable.
On April 20 Mom called me and thought she had the stomach flu. She was 'coming down with something' and wasn't feeling well. Then on April 21 Dad called and said he was taking her to the emergency room. Then later on April 21 they were going in for emergency surgery to operate on her appendix, which had ruptured god-knows-how-long earlier.
It is no fun to see your mama laid up in a hospital bed. Period. The community from the college completely rallied around her—there were cards and cards and cards and flowers and flowers and teddy bears. Dad literally had to shut off the phone and have the nurses turn away visitors daily so that she could rest. It was a beautiful thing among the chaos that was going on in her body.
As of April 27 she was still not better and wasn't progressing well from the surgery. Who knew that appendix surgery could be so complicated? She had gained 25 lbs. of water weight and her digestive system wasn't working correctly. (Oh and the geniuses at the hospital still hadn't put her on any intravenous nutrition—which, let me tell you, my nurse aunt Cookie was just thrilled about)
On April 30 they found abscesses with infections in her belly. Because the first surgery was so invasive and they had to clean out the toxins from so much of her system, the doc had said there was a high-risk of infection. In reality we couldn't really be surprised that she required a second surgery to remove the abscesses. But it didn't mean that we were happy about it. And at this point, 27 days before she was scheduled to leave for Spain and France for a month...things weren't looking good.
The surgery went well, and the retention sutures that they used helped her heal quickly and prevented her internal and external incisions from opening. The center of the abdomen is such an integral part to most movements that we make, and even a small wrong turn could have opened her back up again without those sutures. They also put in a drainage system that flushed the system while also removing the yuckiness, which helped decrease cause for concern for more infection. This system was painful for Mom as she could feel it pulsing and cycling through.
A few days after, they put in a Wound-Vac. It was a similar system, though portable. It continued to drain her system of toxins and residual post-surgery icky stuff. She was making remarkable progress at this time, though to her it felt slow and painful and frustrating. She was walking around the hospital more, regaining color, losing fluid, and moving more easily in her hospital bed.
This is after the surgeon told her multiple times that he almost lost her, and that she was lucky to be alive. That she had almost died. Which to me still doesn't sound real or even possible at all.
I had a tournament to coach May 8 and 9—Mother's Day. I got the best call ever from Dad who said she was being released from the hospital. It was the best Mother's Day 'gift' for her ever, although she did it for herself. Her fortitude and tenacity and determination was inspiring, and though it was heartbreaking to see her frustrated and in pain and struggling, her strength shone through and she secured a speedy recovery for herself.
At home for the next two weeks she lay in bed knitting and watching movies, which, if you've met my mother, is extraordinarily difficult. No daily walk through the mountains. No laundry. No house cleaning. No work. Just rest.
And then it was still uncertain if she would make Spain at all. It came right down to the wire. She was officially cleared to come May 25, two days before I and the rest of the crew flew out of Reno. No pain meds. No weird drainage systems. No crazy open gaps in her stomach. No nada.
And this morning, June 6, she is swimming laps in the pool and lying in the sun and laughing with her friends with a glass of rosé in her hand. In Spain.
This situation has really made me stop and think. It is cliché to say and horribly contrived...but, all of this could really be gone in an instant.
To quote Brandon Boyd, "And in this moment I am happy." (And I have to say that if I Wish Anyone Were Here---Pierre should be. It would complete it even more than it is now)
I feel like a kid. Waking up to swim in the pool with Dad.
Taking his advice to improve my breath-holding skills (which suck) so I can swim multiple lengths of the pool underwater.
Hearing about Ruben Nabarra, the ex-Mexican national team swimmer who had to resort to spending his life as a 'wetback' ( no negative connotation intended) in Smoky Valley, teaching young Paul how to swim.
Doing crosswords with Mom.
Eating anchovy-stuffed olives in warm weather and not out of Christmas stocking (yes we have some weird traditions).
Making gnosh plates for dinner.
Hearing them laugh.
Watching them swim and play in the pool together like they're in puppy love. Like they met last week instead of 30 years ago.
It is a beautiful thing.
