I Talk About Turds.

I cant share the frosting without also sharing the turds. It’s just how I’m wired. Or it’s how I choose to be now because I talk so much in my own personal TIR sessions and I know that pretending the turd isn’t there is like pretending you don’t have to take a dump when you have diarrhea. That’s not going to end well. Pretending the daily turds that happen aren’t there also isn’t going to help. Eventually I’ll come out of suppression and splatter everywhere.

I’ve had this really 💩 feeling that I haven’t been able to get out. I feel so guilty for not being able to have completed what my oncologist had planned out for my treatment because of the allergic reactions. Trust me, it makes no sense. Even to me. Cognitively I can tell you that’s ludicrous but my body still feels it. It has lessened with some of the data I’ve learned in the ICU and Room 4321 but I know there’s residual charge. I feel guilty and like I failed. A part of me feels so small in this feeling so I know something earlier / similar is connected to it for me … it’s not just what’s happening now. Thank goodness for TIR. I’ll figure it out and I’ll move the charge. And then I’ll feel better. Craig, I know you’re making notes for me and I know you’re missing my face even with the 6 extra layers of lip I have going on so see you in session soon!

That’s the next turd. I am covered in cold sores. I counted 6. I’ve never had 6 cold sores at once and I feel so ugly. I look swollen still, I have a crusty disgusting pair of very sore lips, my left arm is covered in bruises and holes and my skin looks like my Gramma Gillett’s. I do not like that. My henna is wearing off and I still hate being bald with no henna. It’s a very exposed feeling that makes me feel like I look weak and like I should be on a Mr Clean commercial. Only Mr Clean stinks and is toxic grossness so I feel stinky and vulnerable. I loved my hair and I miss it so much. The henna carried me through from the first time Kassandra did it to all the times she and Kylee have created my head since. I’ve grown to love the look and tolerate the time it takes to keep up. Last week Vanessa picked the henna off under a shade tree and she noticed how much hair was coming out with the pick process. So, I decided I was done. I would let my hair grow and that was my last henna. But, now it’s wearing off and I just want to cry. The henna helps me feel bold, brave and confidently me. The bald helps me feel weak, shiny and like a cancer patient. Ugh. What is the identity I want to create now until I have hair? I don’t want to look like this. It seems shallow and vein and then I feel like a whiny ungrateful jerk. I don’t know the answer for me. I’ve been thinking about a head tattoo but it wouldn’t be advisable now. Vanessa suggested non toxic permanent markers but I haven’t looked into that. Mikey wanted to get me some ball caps. I love ball caps but my head get hot. I feel stuck without a solution.

One bad seed. I had one nurse who I’m going to complain about somewhere other than just here. Like to whoever might do something about her behaviour. Here’s what happened. 1. She called me a goof. I’m not actually offended but it was really weird. I was at the stage that my Tylenol was as needed. But, she brought it to me anyways. I didn’t feel I needed it so I left it there. Then 4 hours later she brought me more. Seeing the solo cup still full she said: “you goof, why didn’t you take that?” I said “because I don’t feel I need it”. She shook her head and walked away saying “take the Tylenol”

The next night, she called me over to her desk as I was coming back from getting my crackers, cheese, grapes and some ice. Kyle, the man in the ICU tent next to me who was also septic and liked to yell “f-(£ you, you’re f~<£|^? hurting me.” was giving it good. I wasn’t offended or bothered by Kyle in the least. I flowed him love often and also got some chuckles out of his determination at 79. I don’t know what he looked like, but in my mind he is a spunky, funky man with some stubborn genes and he’s not afraid to use his voice. Go Kyle. Keep being you man. Anyways back to the bad seed. She says to me…. Oh I can feel the anger just preparing to type it. “If he’s bugging you tonight (pointing to Kyle’s tent) we can pretend you’re having an allergic reaction and I can give you Benadryl” First of all, bad seed. I would never pretend to have an allergic reaction nor do I think you suggesting it is any bit funny. Allergic reactions suck and are scary and I have charge around them. Allergic reactions are serious not something to fake happening. You are a nurse, why would you even think to suggest this? Secondly, bad seed. I do not take medication as a general rule. I’ve taken more medication over the last 6 months than I ever have in my entire life. I wish I had to have taken none of it. I sniff oils and try to go with the natural option. That is what’s in alignment with me. I wanted to scream at her “f~<k you, don’t even try to hurt me” but I walked back to my tent thinking “why is she a nurse? That scares me. Knowing full well I wasn’t finished with what I had to say to nor about her to someone. I wish she would get fired before she hurts someone. As if that wasn’t bad enough. She has sticky fingers. I read energy. I can tell when someone is up to no good. I watched her stuff first her hoodie right pocket and then her pants with supplies from the hall supply of hospital items. I know she wasn’t using them on me and Kyle was her only patient and he was sleeping. She didn’t go back in there for hours to him. She is gross. And she smells like Raid. 🤮

Code blue. It was hard. I could hear the family. I could feel the nurses who had to go back to work after losing a patient. I could feel the husband who chose to honour his wife’s wishes. It was my first night in room 4321. I had write about it earlier that day and selfishly hoped I would be able to avoid it. As a trained CRISIS®️and Trauma Facilitaor and Trainer it was for me like ignoring my work. This family all going through a crisis and I could’ve just sat and listened but I knew I needed to not. I needed to just be a patient next door and flow love and healing. It was not easy. You can’t take the “trauma girl” out of me. It’s part of how I choose to show up in this world. I blew them a kiss as I walked by and was thankful it wasn’t my family crying over me. I checked in with my nurse Mackenzie who had trouble sleeping that night replaying the events of the loss of her patient. She showed me her brave nurses face and I held her hand a moment as we exchanged some love. Being a helper isn’t something you can just shut off. Some of our jobs require us to show up for others and hold their hands during difficulties and that’s what nurses do. We have that in common and we could relate in many conversations. To the helpers, healers, and be there for others professions please always remember you don’t have to pretend to be strong and you don’t have to burn out. TIR can help with all of that. I think of the nurses and respiriologists who would show up in my little storage closet after a 12 hour shift to tell me what happened and I’m so thankful for them and their ability to share. I wish hospitals had storage closets with TIR facilitators. That would be cool.

There might be more turds, but I feel better getting those ones out. So I’ll leave it there for now.

Until then, frost the turds when you need to and talk about them when you can. And be the coolest cupcakes you already are! I love you all! xox Amie 🧁