Cocktails With Hemingway

Words fail me.  It’s beyond indescribable.  Nothing exists in the English language to adequately convey how I feel.  Such sentiments fill my posts with increased frequency…yet it’s the worst possible combination of a shell shocked writer’s block and uncontrollable word vomit.  One would be a fool to mistake this silence for lack of fresh material or apathy on my part.  If only.

I’ve been at a complete and total loss since my arrival in California.  What the hell am I supposed to say to people about my life?  Should I give them the sweet Southern smile and pretend like everything’s just fine and dandy?  Tell them it’s not something I want to discuss?  Blame pending legal issues?  Plead the Fifth and say comment?  EVERYONE WILL BE ASKING AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO ANSWER.

Three generations of Wilke women. =)

We could always discuss the scintillating films on my Netflix queue.  Or the fact that my desk job keeps me sane and my maternity leave cannot end soon enough.  There is an upcoming deadline for JiLTED.  Once in a blue moon I may even be a social butterfly and hit the town in a G-rated way with a select group of friends I can count on one hand.  It’s a quiet existence confined largely to my apartment.

“But Sloane!” you may gasp incredulously.  “You’re a Mommy.  Adam will be four next week and Tatum’s only a month old.  With a rambunctious preschooler and a newborn, how can anything be quiet?!”

My humble abode is eerily calm…nary a coo or a cry from an infant.  No diapers, formula, onesies, or Baby Einstein DVD’s here for my daughter.  Our first few weeks of bonding time were spent in the home I grew up in with my parents, in Memphis.

Although his Cars bed and Thomas the Tank Enginetable adorn his bedroom, my son’s clothes are folded neatly in the closet.  He’s never set foot in my apartment.  And that Christmas tree goes nowhere until he does.

Renee and me in Cambria

Take away a mother’s children and you have a woman with absolutely nothing to lose.  Every second of my life without Adam and Tatum by my side is pure agony.  Can you even imagine how difficult it was for me to board a plane leaving my three-week-old daughter with my parents while I flew 2000 across the country—completely alone?  Can you even imagine how difficult it was for me to have to miss scheduled visits with my son, knowing he couldn’t even begin to understand why?  Can you even imagine how difficult it is for my two children to have never met one another?  Pictures and various materials here and there are the only evidence in this home that I have kids…

I speak often of the Three F’s…Faith, Family, and Friends.  There’s a fourth one:  FIGHTING.  Tatum’s safe and in the best possible hands.  I’ll stay in California for as long as it takes and never stop fighting for Adam.  You can guarantee I will not leave this state without my son.  I’ll make enough noise until everyone is forced to listen and that’s a promise.

I miss our life back home.

Forgive this highly melodramatic river analogy– but I feel as though I’m drowning in the volatile and deceptive rapids of this cruel system.  Sometimes I thrash wildly and scream, doing whatever I can to in a vain attempt to make it to shore.  How I wish I could grasp a branch to give me a brief respite, though time is not a luxury I can afford.  I should resist the urge to fight with every ounce of my being.  Focus only on keeping my head above water so I don’t overexert myself.  Logic tells me to conserve my strength so I go limp and allow myself to be carried with the current…only to be sucked into a vicious undertow.  Gasping for air, I am propelled downstream towards a strip of land.  Relief!  Yet it is deadly quicksand, designed only to trap me while appearing relatively innocuous.  By some miracle I extricate myself and reach the end of the river where it is calm and shallow….only to notice the alligators smacking their lips as the circle around me tightens.  Welcome to my nightmare.

With infinite love, gratitude, and respect,

Sloane

***What follows are posts I composed during my time offline.***

Not even 24 hours after my arrival in California, I found myself in Twin Cities ER.  Renee and I were en route to the beach when I felt an itch on my arm.  Dismissing it the healing tattoo in the same general vicinity I didn’t give it a second though until the itching became unbearable.  Fast forward five minutes and a red, scaly rash covered my entire body.  The physician on duty quickly determined it was an allergic reaction to the antibiotic for my UTI, armed me with prednisone, and sent me on my merry way.

That would have been far too easy.

Friends for life

I fell down a few steps as I was preparing to leave Chrissy’s yesterday.  Carrying a basket overflowing with laundry + pants dragging on the ground + an already clumsy Sloane = disaster.  Thankfully I didn’t tumble down an entire flight of stairs though it was enough to take a nasty spill.  I hit my head on a hard linoleum floor—thank God Chrissy saw it and ran to my aid—because I was groggy and disoriented.  Nurse Chrissy kept me talking, iced my head, and gave me ibuprofen.  Although I was in immense pain I felt as though my speech was becoming more coherent so I decided that [instead of driving home as I originally planned] I’d stay another night there versus seeking medical attention.

One look at my ribs sent all three of us to the hospital.  Not only were they in excruciating pain but they were…protruding.  My head was also getting lumpy and turning purple.  Not surprisingly I had a concussion.  Multiple X-rays were taken of my ribs and—miraculously—they were not broken or fractured.  However, based on the areas that were given me the most trouble, the doctor informed me that I also sprained ligaments in addition to my bruised ribs.  He discharged me with a breathing machine [because of the immense pain I’ll want to take shallow breaths which leads to unhappy lungs], pain relief, and instructions not to move.  Those instructions will certainly be violated Saturday because the only reason I’d miss Adam’s birthday party is for my own funeral.

Xander and Auntie Sloane

Perhaps I’m so overwhelmed with stress that I’m assuming the worst– but I’m not convinced by my diagnosis.  Externally, something appears to be very wrong with the top portion of my left ribs.  I don’t dispute that the doctor can read an X-ray [we hope] but I’m terrified that something internally isn’t where it’s supposed to be.

So here I sit, confined to my bed yet again.  What I envisioned when I returned to California was a week to get my ducks in a row and then get back to work.  I’ll refrain from mentioning specifics [as I have yet to share with my superiors these recent developments] but I pray for a speedy recovery so I can be in the office as soon as possible.  Because I have lost a major source of income a second job is imminent and I need strength and health in that endeavor as well.

UPDATE:  As of 3/24/12, my left lung has partially collapsed.  Pain is the only obstacle standing between the breathing machine and me.  My doctor increased the strength and frequency of my pain management and I’m inhaling like crazy….please pray that my lung doesn’t collapse entirely.

With infinite love, gratitude, and respect,

Sloane

I am distraught, heart completely shattered. Our sweet Lala passed last night. She was my second grandmother. So much joy with her in my world, one of the women who raised me, I am beyond blessed she met Tatum the day before I left for California. Thank you, God.

Adam adored his Lala. I want him in Memphis for the funeral. They’ll never let me….our lives have been destroyed. She wanted Adam home so badly, asked constantly about progress, cried and prayed for it. I felt her prayers. They’re slowly taking the life from us all. Please God let me take my son home when I fly back to Memphis next weekend.

With infinite love, gratitude, and respect,
Sloane