Purge.

My Dad finally got his liver 3 weeks ago. It was a joyous day, full of laughter as we waited, tears as he was wheeled away. It was scary at first, seeing him broken, bruised, endless tubes snaking out of him like fat, external veins. He was mindless from the medication--Mom had to fight with him for days so he wouldn't remove the respirator.

The first night he almost died due to a complication from one medication. The nurses scrambled for a doctor, pushing my mother out into the waiting room, where she has to sit all alone, because we had all gone home for the night. After being asleep for less than an hour, I get the call from my Mom and drive in the pouring rain through Atlanta, the numbing panic gripping my entire being as I wondered what news at the hospital was waiting to be told.

But then he got better! And we were all glowing with new life! Things were looking up! He was released from the hospital a week to the day of his surgery. He was laughing, his color was no longer the color of a weathered page, but red and rosey!!

And then the steroids wore off...

There were many days my Mom described as 'hell'. He felt bad, worse. No one was listening to them--the transplant team was wonderful in all aspects except emotional. Then he was back in the hospital--and I got the horrifying call Friday that he was going to have another surgery to fix a tiny hole in his bile duct---and oh, yeah, there is now a spot on his lung...

Defeated, bleak, uncertain, scared and disappointed. These are the emotions I feel every minute. I miss those first few days after the transplant--when we were so foolishly sure the worst was behind us. Mom even booked a house on Tybee for our annual summer trip.

Now we have a 1.7 centimeter black shadow casted over our minds and no one can tell us when we will know anything or what they plan to do about it. Worst case scenario is that his Liver cancer spread. Best case (which is weird) would be that it's lung cancer. I've heard tale that they might be able to just 'cut it out' but of course, no one can tell us anything until they look at it, and they also won't tell us when they plan to look at it.

Add to that the dissolution of my brother's marriage. I love my sister-in-law and I love her son, Caden. I'm not really going to get into it other than my heart is broken over her decisions and my heart is broken for my brother.

Between being the eternal optimist for my Mom (who is amazing, BTW.) and the counselor to my brother, I find my phone hardly stops ringing.

And then today I looked up classes for Summer semester. Due to financial aid issues, I had to put off school one semester (which worked out great, because RC got his liver and I couldn't imagine having to deal with all this plus school). I'm scared and excited, second guessing myself. I keep thinking about that moment at the end of my driveway in 2007 when I decided to quit grad school, silently vowing to write. Its taken some time for me to own this decision, to myself and publicly and to own the dream of working in publishing.

Then, there is the added stress of when I am going to have my next kid. I'm hoping to be pregnant while I finish up my degree. It struck my today that I will be 27 (!!!) when I have my next child, IF I have him/her earlier rather than later. 27!!!! How did I get so old???

I wanted to be done having children by the time I'm 30. And how can I start a career with a new baby? Granted, I'll probably go to grad school first, but I have this over-whelming fear that I'm not going to be able to fit it all in. There is the ever-present conflict of having children and a career. It's times like these I wish I were a man.

Here's the thing: it's not the end of the world if I have children in my 30's. Most people I know won't start having kids until they are in their 30's. I just feel like I've wasted so much time A) Pursuing a different career path than what I should have B) Taking so damn long--(i.e. Being complacent) finding the courage to taking the next step.

And what if I SUCK? What if I get into publishing/writing/ whatever and I hate it? And I'm stuck at square one?

I'm not really looking for answers or pity or advice. I guess I just feel better putting all this self- doubt, fear, confusion, love, grief, sadness, joy, excitement and angst into the universe. Purging.

It's just a whole lot of feelings for one girl to digest in one single, solitary day. I'm so good at putting a wall up to my emotions, to feeling them in their appropriate time, when I feel they are ready to be felt. It seems as of late, the levy of my mind is revealing it's limitations. It's bending under the pressure.

Writing Prompt #2: A Cup of Restraint

I would like just a cup of restraint, please.
Instead I have gallons.
So much restraint,
I'm hindered.
I'm swimming in restraint.
I'm breathing in restraint.
My words, my actions
are cloaked in over-thinking.
Analyzing has become
the chains that bind me,
the drugs that sedate me.
I wish I could break free,
be irrational, unpredictable,
impulsive and sure.
Be true to myself,
even if it's
hurtful, unhealthy.
Feral, strong, unthinking.
Courageous, petty, unfeeling.
I'd rather be all these things
that are ugly,
than to not be.
Because living in restraint,
is almost like
not living
at all.