Tag: trigger

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Triggers Everywhere

Beeping. Flashing numbers. Pulse Ox. Alarms. Scrubs. Hospital bed. Dinner tray. Pink pitcher. IV bags. Things I never wanted to see or hear again. Things that immediately bring me back. To inpatient treatment when we were hopeful. The the ICU when Ariella lay dying, hooked to a machine keeping her alive, but not well enough.

The sights, sounds, and smells of the hospital should be easy to avoid. Until you have to visit someone in the hospital. Which I did. Seeing the numbers flash on the monitor brought me to our days in the ICU, staring at that screen for hours, willing the numbers to change in the right direction. The IV pole. When Ariella was feeling good she used to love to ride on the IV pole through the hallway. We spent much of 2017 in the hospital and I actually have many fond memories of that time. Because despite everything there were times she had fun, times she enjoyed. Fun visits with friends. Decorating her room. Playing games. It wasn’t all bad. In fact there were many smiles and much laughter through many of our hospital stays. Sitting in the hospital room the other day all I wanted to do was escape. Because it reminds of the fond times we had and I miss them. Because it reminds me of the horrific end of her life. Because if I’m going to be in a hospital I want it to be with Ariella.

There are the fond memories and then there are the memories of the ICU. And it’s traumatic sitting in a hospital room being reminded of Ariella with tubes coming out of everywhere, hooked up to an obscene number of machines and pumps, and not being able to be saved. I never want to see the inside of a hospital room again. I know that’s not feasible. Shit happens. Triggers can’t always be avoided.

Speaking of triggers, I wish there was a place to go from October to January, where there are no signs of holidays. No pumpkins, no turkeys, not a single strand of lights. I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next couple of months. The commercials, the decorations. The people who love the holidays, every second of them. The people who hate the holidays, because of the stress. Both make me angry. Those who love them because I used to love the holidays too. Thanksgiving was always my favorite and I just used to love the festiveness from Halloween through New Year’s. Now there’s nothing to love about this season. Ariella isn’t here to help me set the table for Thanksgiving and write the menu on her dry erase board. Her menorah will be left unlit this Chanukah. No one to anticipate the gift she will get each of the 8 nights. She was so grateful for all her gifts, no matter how small. No one to try to stay up with until midnight on New Year’s eve. Every wreath, every roll of gift wrap is a slap in the face. A reminder of what I am missing, of who I am missing. Seeing everyone happy and excited about the holidays just makes me long even more for what I can’t have. Those ranting about the stress of the holidays also make me angry. Because they should be grateful they have their families to celebrate with. Now I know many might also be dreading the holidays for the same or similar reasons as me. But those are not the people I am referring to. I am referring to those that only see the work, the stress in a holiday, taking for granted that they have a family to share it with. Holidays don’t need to be stressful. They should be about family and friends and spending time together. That makes a perfect holiday. The rest doesn’t matter. So it pisses me off when people complain about the trivial stuff that just isn’t important.

I don’t want to be in the world. This world is so fucking painful. It’s been almost 6 months without my girl and I am absolutely dreading the next couple of months. And then it will be February, the month my dad died, the month Ariella was officially diagnosed, the month that started the end of it all. The triggers, reminders, dates are never ending and I have years and years and years left of yearning, of anguish, of heartache. I just want it all to be over.

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A New Month

Have turned the calendar twice now since Ariella died. Almost 2 months without her. Every turn of the page takes me further from her. On the other hand, I wish I could just keep flipping and flipping and flipping the pages to make time speed up. But it’s just the opposite. The days drag and sleep is barely an escape because sleep is elusive. Most minutes of most days are torture and I’m wondering once again how I am actually going to survive the rest of my life without my daughter in it. The okay day Saturday now feels so far away, just 2 days ago.

I can’t even explain what makes one day harder than another. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason. It’s just what I’m feeling at any given time. I will say that today I was triggered by a Facebook memory of Ariella and my father together at a baseball game. They are both gone now and I was so close to both of them. Ariella and my father very close as well. She was devastated when he passed in 2016. The picture was from 2012 so she was 4 1/2. Their birthdays are 1 day apart and were always celebrated together. I think they have a special connection. He died in February 2016 and she was diagnosed in February 2017. She had her bone marrow transplant in February 2019, one day after the 3rd anniversary of his death. I took that as a good sign, that maybe February would finally be associated with good. But nope February sucks. Now they are just 1 grave site apart.

I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook memories. I do like reminiscing but they make me so sad that we won’t get to make more memories. Facebook itself is a trigger. I actually don’t do much on Facebook but post my updates, check in on my bereavement groups, and check on the cancer families I have gotten to know so well. The rest is just too hard to look at. I may start scrolling but it’s all happy families, family vacations, Ariella’s friends doing things without her. It’s too painful to see what Ariella should be doing and what we should be doing as a family but can do no longer. We know our family and friends and Ariella’s friends are sad and miss Ariella, but it doesn’t consume them and it shouldn’t consume them. But I can’t lie, it is painful to see everyone else going on happily living their lives when we are stuck in the depths of despair.

Summer is a trigger. Not my favorite season but my favorite time of year usually. I haven’t worked the past 3 summers so got to do many mother daughter activities. Not so much in 2017 because Ariella was in the hospital much of that summer but even though she was in treatment 2018 we got to enjoy that summer the 2 of us and as a family. But generally during summers we would go to New York (started that tradition when she was 5 years old) and see shows on Broadway and take at least one other day trip. At least one family vacation every summer. Long days at the pool with evening swims. Hikes and finding waterfalls. Family bike rides. Parks and playgrounds. Snowballs and Rita’s. Strawberry and cherry picking. Going to baseball games and amusement parks. Ariella was fearless. The bigger, faster, and scarier the roller coaster, the better! Last summer as a family we went to Disney World through Make-a-Wish and Ocean City with Believe in Tomorrow. In addition to that Ariella and I went to LA for Dancers against Cancer. So much family stuff happens in the summer. I don’t have much to do this summer but haven’t even joined our pool (though I usually love the pool) because Ariella should be there with me, bugging me to watch this and throw this and play with me. Not sure I can go there without her. Not sure how I am going to survive this summer. I guess like everything else minute by minute, sometimes second by second. In no particular order by year here are some pictures from various summers.

One thing did make me smile today. Not one, but two of Ariella’s friends texted me today to see how I was and let me know they were thinking of us. They’ve reached out to me more than people I expected to and haven’t, and I am so grateful that Ariella had such good friends. I am grateful to her newer friends from 6th grade for welcoming her into a private school where the others mostly had been in school together since kindergarten. It didn’t take her long to have a good group of friends and they were amazingly supportive of Ariella during her treatment (she was in outpatient treatment during the entire time she was in 6th grade, all of 5 1/2 months) and when she was in the hospital. I am grateful to her dance friends as well for reminding her always that she was part of their family even when she wasn’t able to dance. I think many adults could learn a lot from Ariella’s friends.