Watch your back!
picture by mag3737
I’ve been virtually immobile for almost two weeks now. It is wearing me down. I’m snapping at the kids and hubby is just back from a three week business trip and having to take over all the work so I can rest. I never realised how much of my day goes to bending and lifting! If I can’t bend and lift, stuff all housework gets done. I hate this! I have no appetite, no motivation, no creativity.
It began very innocently. Now and then it becomes necessary to clean out the car and I did my usual routine at the local BP (car wash and industrial vac does wonders). There are heavy seats on sliders in the middle row of our Tarago and I recall having to give it several good hard sideways pushes to get it moving. At some point I managed to strain a ligament in my lower back. Didn’t realise anything at first, just felt a bit tired and sore that night and woke up rather stiff the next morning. It got progressively worse throughout the next day and I had a rotten night that night, waking up very sore and with occassional spasm. “I’m OK,” I thought, “I can soldier on.” I had a wedding to take the kids to that weekend and dear hubby was away on a business trip. Heat made me more comfortable, or at least like I wasn’t hurting myself when I moved. After sleeping with a heat patch on my back I woke up feeling somewhat better, more mobile, less achey. But it just hasn’t got better than that.
So I sought help last Wednesday in the form of my local osteopath. I do think it helped. But I can’t say I feel like I’m getting better. I have a follow-up visit with the osteo this Wednesday, but I’m thinking I’ll bring it forward. If that will help. I don’t know.
So, if I’m to receive this injury with some sort of conscious awareness, I’d say this is a sign that I need to take better care of myself. I see my readers rolling their eyes at me. I know I’ve posted about this before (and I won’t humiliate myself by going back and linking to past entries) so now I really need to start paying attention. Hubby and I both need to make ourselves, our health and our relationship a priority. He suffers from lower back pain too.
Our spines hold us upright, carry information back and forth between the brain and our extremeties, cushion our every movement. It’s an interesting life metaphor that when you hurt your back people refer to regaining ‘core strength’. It’s true, I do feel hollow and weak in my core right now. I can now imagine how disabling it could be to live with chronic pain. I understand how attitude is everything when your capacities are limited. There are many lessons for me here. I need some time to get back on my feet and build my strength again.
October 26th, 2009 - Posted in duty of care, wisdom, health, self-care | | 3 Comments
Introducing Brooke
picture by coconut
Winter dark
It finally resembles something akin to Spring here in Perth. Kamabarang, the Noongar name for one of our six seasons. Kamabarang is a far more apt name for what is happening around here right now. Something tells me the Noongar have a far better understanding of the way of the world in these parts…
The sun is beginning to peek through the cloud more often than not. The ground is warming and giving off that earthy, lush smell. Wildflowers in abundance. On the road side, in the parks, in my garden. Bright, warm, inviting, captivating. The air is no longer crisp. The air is affectionate, it wraps itself around you, enveloping you in a gentle caress, and oh how I have missed that touch. Tantalising and teasing you with all that you know Spring and Summer will bring.
I loathe Winter. I really, truly do. Every year, around June, my mind is taken over by a strange, dim fog. Nothing makes it go away until the sun returns in October. June through September is a horridly depressive and despairing time. And it’s really for no reason other than the sun is too far away to energise me. It is curing those in the opposite hemisphere of what I now suffer badly. The Winter Blues.
I’ve only really made the connection this year. I’ve begun looking back through old journals and online posts, and I’ve found that the colder and darker my world gets, the colder and darker I become. Like a bear, I retreat to my cave, and hibernate. I gather my blankets and my ugg boots. I indulge in my sweet and heavy foods. And I sit inside and wait for the sunshine to break through the cracks in the grey skies. I wait for the sunshine to bring my bliss back to me.
I’ve found this year particularly shocking. There are a few reasons for this. For one, in the first week of June I gave birth. I roared a sweet and precious baby girl earth side in the calm between two Makuru storms. And that meant that I began the cold and dark days already confined. Even when it was light outside, I didn’t have the urge to soak up what was left of the sun for the season. I stayed inside with my fresh earthling, keeping warm and recovering from bearing her. Ensuring her access to the sweet and heavy milk she would need to make it through with me.
By the time I was ready to embrace the world again, as a new mother of four; the sun and warmth had dissipated. It was slate skies. Torrents of rain; heavy, hard, stinging rain. We had hail, and whilst my wee men enjoyed bringing me the ‘snow’ they’d collected off the lawn and learning about the stages of rain to snow and how that relates to water in its solid and liquid forms, all I felt inside was a deep desire to escape the bitterness and loneliness of Winter. I was trapped. I knew that I had to wait for the cycle to continue and that soon enough the sun would come again, but oh how long are those Winter nights, weeks on end of nothing but cold and stark, inspiration-less environments? My mood darkened with the lack of daylight. I could feel my fog descending on what I knew was clear thinking. Thoughts began to turn to the darker of humanity. Depression reigned. I had SAD.
I know that the transition of seasons here is consistent. I know it like I know that if I drop an apple it will fall to the ground, and if I stub my toe I will cry. But by the end of Djilba, the August-September season I’ve almost lost hope that my mood will improve. I resign myself to a fate of limited functioning because the cold has frozen parts of my brain and I can no longer think without a feeling of having a head stuffed with cotton wool. My husband can see it in my eyes, that wild searching for warmth and earthy spirit. He knows that I need to take my shoes off and feel dry dirt beneath my feet. He also knows that this is a pattern I follow, entirely dependent on the seasons. He wonders aloud “How different would your time be if you didn’t suffer Winter?” I know. I’ve lived in places where there is no Winter. And oh, how I long to be in one of those places by the end of September. I contemplate packing myself a bag, and walking to where it’s warmer.
By this point, my insanity is at its peak. I need warmth and I need it right now.
A week later it’s October. Kambarang. Finally. I’d thank God if I thought there was one. I wake to see sunlight streaming through my bedroom window. It’s blinding. It’s orange and bright and it’s warm! Oh thank you! I wake, and I smile. For the first time in a long time. I know today is different. I can already feel it in my bones.
Over the coming days, I feel my lifespark reignite. I feel passion. I feel heat. I feel alive. The world around me agrees. The birds and the bees and the lawnmowing neighbours. My world is alive. And it’s bright and shiny out there. I’m overcome with gratitude for Sol, our sun, my sun, my saviour. I kneel and kiss the warming dirt. I smell divine, overwhelming smells of new life springing forth. My new life, my baby woman’s new life. All out in the air, the warm, sun touched air. My taste returns. I crave real food. The starch and the sugar of cold days no longer interest me. I want crisp, fresh, cool food to soothe my warming, scorching body.
I crave the company of people venturing out in the same world. Walking the same path. We sit in gardens, in sun dappled covens. Our toes bare. Tea and good food. Laughter and grinning and smiling while our skin crisps and sweats gently. Invigorated, we wish for the sun to get hotter, knowing that the strongest heat is yet to come, and knowing that when it arrives, we’ll curse it. But for now, we say goodbye to grey skies and howling winds. And we say goodbye to despair and darkness. Hello world! I’m outside and I am loving life.
Brooke blogs at Loquacious Verve.
October 13th, 2009 - Posted in happiness, grief, wisdom, health, self-care | | 4 Comments
Out of the mouths of babes #5
picture by ap.
A fox got in the hen house. Quite literally. And left us with a lone, traumatised rooster and no hens. It took several weeks to locate a new community of chooks worthy of our lone rooster, Coconut. Finally, they arrived, and I guess Coconut fully matured over those weeks because now, he’s very ‘happy’ to have some girls around.
Miss Almost Eight observed the rooster in action and came to me with many questions. Why does the rooster jump on the chickens like that? Because he wants to make baby chickens. How does he make baby chickens? Well, like making new people, you need a mummy and a daddy chicken to make a fertilised egg that makes a baby chick. No Mum, I mean how does the rooster fertilise the egg that makes the baby chick? How does that happen?
Well now we’re getting to the pointy end of the discussion. There was a lot of awkwardness around the birds and bees discussion when I was a child. My dad pretty much left it to my mum who rather uncomfortably handed over books containing the relevant information she couldn’t use to answer my questions in conversation. About menstruation and reproduction, love and sex. I always wanted to be frank with my kids about all that stuff. And unembarrassed by their questions. Well, one out of two ain’t bad. I decided to forge on and give her the information she was seeking.
“The rooster puts his penis into where the egg comes out of the chicken and that can make a fertilised egg.” Simple.
“Oh!” and I can see by her eyes the analytical cogs are turning. There will be more questions. But she’s satisfied for now. I compliment myself on having tackled the topic head on.
She returns the next day, having digested the information of the day before. “Mum, is that how all babies are made? Is that how you made us kids?”
Fortunately, the children already know how a mother grows a baby in her uterus and then gives birth. They have all seen their own birth photos, and the older three were in the room when our youngest was born. They know about birth and blood and where babies come from. It’s only fair that they have the whole story. I explained how all babies need a woman and a man, or a mummy and daddy, to make a fertilised egg. That we call it ‘making love’ but that the principle is the same.
“Yes, that’s how your dad and I made each of you.”
“You and dad did that?”
“Four times,” I say with a wink.
Her eyes grow wide with understanding. “Oh, so that’s how you control how many children you have!”
Surprised by her rather wise extrapolation of the information, I compliment her on her having figured out one of life’s biggest questions. There are adults in this world who still haven’t figured that one out fully.
October 5th, 2009 - Posted in childhood, parenthood, wisdom, health | | 4 Comments
Couple nostalgia
picture by Jesse Draper
Hubby and I missed an important milestone when we did the math and figured ourselves to have been together for longer than we’d been apart. That means we’ve more experiences in common than we do separately, which gives us a lot to reminisce about.
What brings couples together may not be what keeps them together. I’ve plenty of theories on what makes my own relationship work, but confess I’m completely without insight into the dynamics of other couples. For us, we got together so young, we had such enormous influence on each others’ personal development. I really can’t imagine what my life, my outlook, would have become without that influence. All the major achievements in my life have been the result of his support and encouragement - including starting our family. He showed me how to think big(ger) and keep all the moving parts in clear focus. He also has a way of maintaining perspective that has rubbed off on me in such ways that I still thank him for singlehandedly breaking me out of an unproductive emotional cycle that could have, given my family history, tipped me over the edge into chronic depression.
And while he has the innate ability to think big, I have the innate ability to bring everything back to its source. Hubby freely admits that, had he not met me, he’d have pursued that high-flying career with all the economic trappings that I despise so much. It has created a quality life, rather than one of quantity (though we certainly have more than we need), in which we aim to reduce our footprint and engage with our local community with consideration for our children’s future.
Even though our very different attributes have had a positive influence on each other, it’s the likenesses that bond us on a daily basis. We observe our children and their foibles. We laugh at the same jokes and appreciate a similar aesthetic. We come from similar family backgrounds and value similar things. I am profoundly grateful.
But is that what has kept us together as a couple for so many years? I really can’t say so. When I look at the photo albums on our shelf and the random collection of objects in our home, so much ’stuff’ with significant memories attached, I wonder if we have created an environment together that serves as a regular reminder of the good times? Our separate lives have merged into one shared life that is greater than the sum of its parts.
Ah, but all couples do that, right? Maybe. But perhaps it is the preservation of the separate and unique aspects of ourselves that keeps us interested in each other and our respective points of view? I don’t know. There is a small part of me that doesn’t want to know ‘why it works’. Is it possible that accepting and preserving that tiny component of interpersonal mystery is what keeps us intrigued by each other?
October 3rd, 2009 - Posted in gratitude, partnership, nostalgia, ritual, beliefs, love, friendship | | 1 Comments
Uninspired
picture by phoenixdailyphoto
I’m spending a lot more time at the keyboard these days as I try to develop a more disciplined writing routine. There is so much I think I want to blog about and then I get here and the words fall away and I lose interest half way. I’m so sorry dear reader. I’m spending so much time ‘in my head’ writing fiction and not feeling very grounded at all. I have been holding back a lot of stuff that belongs here. My calendar has been full and I can’t say I’ve been terribly reflective, another health kick has fallen by the wayside. So I figured I should at least share what I’ve been up to, and what is distracting me from my quest for personal growth without secular belief.
First is, news to some, I have spent the last three years, on and off, writing a memoir about my early years of parenthood and the birth reform scene in Brisbane. It’s the reason I started the Masters at Kelvin Grove. The manuscript is not yet very polished, and still has a way to go before I’ll feel it’s ready, but with the Rudd Government’s proposed reform of maternity services becoming a reality, the time seemed right to test my potential. I submitted it to the Allen & Unwin Ironmonger Award for writing on public issues, and while I don’t imagine I’ll have much chance of ever seeing my story in print, writing that goddam thing was cathartic and healing beyond belief. Submitting it to something like the Ironmonger makes it feel officially done (even though it isn’t). I plan on spending the month of November on cleaning it up for inspection. Even so, I’m feeling like that part of my personal and parenting journey is now behind me and I can move forward with a clear conscience.
A week later I got on a plane to Canberra and attended the Mother of All Rallies for homebirth insurance. The rally was a whirlwind of names and faces and making of acquaintance with people I have been corresponding with by forum or email for years. We had a lovely visit overnight with Eilleen from Consumption Rebellion, met her beautiful children and took her out for Ethiopian cuisine -YUM! It felt like a kind of reunion, though we’d never met in person before.
The week after that we threw a party. Dear Husband turned 40, and none of the children has had an official birthday party since we left Australia four years ago (almost to the day) so the time and the weather was right. We hired a jumping castle for the kids and gave them glow sticks after dark. Hubby and I argued about adult entertainment but he won so we ended up playing sumo in fat suits with a rock band chaser. It all went smoothly and we met some more of our neighbours, my kids’ friends’ parents plus a few ring ins. This could become a regular event.
On the fiction front, I submitted my first short story assessment piece, which was my first foray into writing fiction since high school. It was about a girl on a diet for her sister’s wedding having a struggle with the vending machine at work. I had fun but I can’t say the process was entirely painless. Got a credit, but thought I’d do better. Read a classmate’s story and didn’t think it any better than mine. She got a distinction. I just don’t get this gig. And I’m not enjoying the short fiction I’m reading for the course material either. I suppose if I don’t read it, why would I write it? Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m paying them to put me through this. I have written my second assessment piece, but am feeling much less confident this time.
Plus, I have written the first three chapters of a modern romance story set in Brisbane in 1976. This is for my Novel & Genre subject. It needs workshopping so I’ll be inflicting it on my writing group this Saturday before giving it a quick revision and doing it again with my class next week. I’m sure it has faults, but I’m just getting a feel for the story and it’s direction, so maybe I’ll keep writing and see where it takes me. Next semester I’ll take Creative Non-fiction and Memoir and be back in my comfort zone.
And going back to uni, even part time, has been an adjustment for the whole family. In particular, Miss Almost Nine has been having attacks of insomnia on nights I have classes and this weekend we’re back to having to juggle Hubby’s travel with all the rest. We’ll get through it, we always do, but the whole family is long over the travel requirements his job entails. When he calculated the cumulative time he’d spent away from the family since he started this job he totalled eighteen months. Eighteen months away from me and the kids. Sobering, huh.
October 1st, 2009 - Posted in personal growth, parenthood, community, friendship | | 1 Comments
