Tilted

Written 06/15-06/17

Why songs? Why quotes? Poems? Well I wish I had a better answer for you. They just make me feel. They also come to me when I need them the most. Yes, I realize that they are designed in that way, to be used universally; to be relatable. But that’s not what I mean. Specific quotes and songs will come to me or play...too coincidentally at times.

I’ll explain. The night after my dad died, I couldn’t stop thinking about the song “The Boxer” by Simon and Garfunkel. My dad never specifically liked Paul and Art, he liked Bob Dylan, but I just always pictured him as a fighter and this song kept playing in my head for some reason. My mom had the CD stashed away in her drawer under the TV in her room at the time, along with her collection of Van Morrison, Stevie Nicks, and Janis Joplin and I knew it was there and needed to hear it. I took it out to the kitchen. Everyone was sitting at the table playing music quietly and remembering. I played this song and we all cried the cry we needed, together.

At his funeral I hummed this song to myself and remember walking his casket out and seeing it was snowing when it hadn’t been before. Everything was white and still. My dad’s funeral was on New Year’s Eve and I remembered wondering how I would make it into the next year, only a day away. But time came and went.

Weeks later I heard the song “Weep Little Lion Man” by Mumford and Sons and the song hit home. My dad had his own quote that he made up that involved a lion to which he likened himself. I will share this quote later.

Anyway, I avoided listening to this song when it would come on the radio because it hurt. It hurt for two reasons. One: the words, and two: my dad’s absolute best friend was dying of cancer at the time. He was able to attend my dad’s funeral in a severely weakened state and would die about a month later. His name was Kevin, but we called him “Mumf”. A shortened version of his last name Mountford, but I used to think his last name was Mumford. When the song would come on the radio, I would change the station and tell Justin that I never liked Mumford and Sons. I pictured my dad saying that he never really liked Simon and Garfunkel in the same way.

New Year’s Eve came around again a year later and I remember being mad that it hadn’t snowed yet. We were driving to a friends house for a very small party and I was thinking about the anniversary and how a year can go by and so much can change. I was sad and angry and all the things you feel when it isn’t so fresh anymore and you’re expected to be ok. Or it’s just sincerely hoped by everyone around you that you are ok and you feel bad that they have to be aware on that level. It just wasn’t fair, and I was tired of the feeling. And above all else, I just missed my dad.

Well. Wouldn’t ya know, right then on the radio, a song played. You’d be right if you guessed and said “The Boxer”. You’d be even more right if you said “The Boxer” but a remake by the singer from Mumford and Sons. You’d probably be beside yourself when I said I looked up and in the light of the headlights, I saw the snow I had been hoping for so badly.

Part of me wanted to brush it off, like it was just some sort of cosmic coincidence that didn’t really mean anything. I spoke to the radio in my mind and decided that I’d believe it was something special based on the song that would follow. The next song came on and I laughed through tears. It was “Land Down Under” by Men at Work. My dad absolutely loved this song and would make me burn him CDs of it among other songs that I’ve downloaded to remember him by.

Every now and then I will ask for a song and they come at the right time. Sometimes they don’t come right when I ask but I will hear them, and as mentioned in previous posts, I will collect them. One came before my wedding. It was “Take It All Back” by Judah and the Lion. I remember listening to this song and feeling guilty because I was so happy, but I also felt guilty because of the lyric “I’d take it all back just to have you” knowing I’d trade all the happiness in if I knew I could get my dad back. But I can’t. And there’s no use in dwelling on it. You can’t go back, you can only go forward as Justin says. I know this song is sad, but it is also upbeat in the sense that it tells you that you should appreciate what you have because there is no re-do. I guess it just makes you...realize.

So, lately, I’ve been looking for quotes, songs, and poems everyday. For small bits of treasure in the mundane...or in the 2020 trash. Sometimes it takes a bit to find one. Sometimes I don’t find one at all. Then there’s days when they show up in a speedo at a rocky ocean cove and make small talk with you in between riding waves and doing what can only be described as individualized, eccentric yoga poses. His name was Rob and he had no idea how much I needed him. Until I told him. It was the day after mine and Justin's fourth wedding anniversary. We met him at Beavertail State Park by the ocean. I'll never forget him.

About an hour before our ride down to Beavertail, I had gotten off the phone with the doctor’s office and learned that my last D and C (Dilation and Curettage) in March was incomplete. The ultrasound that I had requested and had done the day prior, (due to lingering HCG levels over the past 3 months) had shown retained tissue-meaning a potion of the pregnancy was missed when trying to remove it. On the phone, the doctor (a new provider I had yet to speak with as my other two go-tos were out on some sort of leave) had explained the situation. She said, “As I’m sure you know, your uterus is significantly tilted which is likely how the pregnancy was missed during the in-office procedure. It is now recommended that you go into the hospital to have the surgery done so that there can be ultrasound guidance”.

Funny story, though, I didn’t know my uterus was tilted. No one had mentioned this to me.

I was shocked and my first thought was that this was the cause of my miscarriages. That is not the case and she let me know that when a pregnancy progresses, everything straightens out. She seemed to start dancing in her subsequent conversational maneuvering because I had thrown her a curveball. She knew it was weird that I didn’t know. She dove right into directions and general procedural information; bloodwork, scheduling, plans for follow-up. There wasn’t much time for me to process the information or to ask questions but she did mention that she knew I’d been through a lot and shakily shared her sympathy.

After, I thought back to all past conversations before and after miscarriages that I had with all doctors and nurses, both in the office and when in the hospital, and in none of these instances had my tilted uterus been mentioned. I remember the correct phrasing for the shape of both my “irregular” gestational and yolk sacs with my two pregnancies. I remember the doctors saying that these were typically more of a “perfect circle” with a well defined border. I would remember them mentioning my tilted uterus.

I also remember going over the options for an in office D and C versus having the surgery done in the hospital. We had discussed the difference between the two. In office, you are in and out. In the hospital it is a longer procedure, but ultrasound is used to help guide. I have never been put under with anesthesia, which would be necessary for surgery. I mentioned my fear of being put under since I’ve never had never been before. It was determined that an in office procedure would be the quickest route, which I definitely preferred, and I was most comfortable with this as I would be able to be conscious and feel more in control. The in office procedure also worked the first time, so I was confident with this decision.

But. Had I known my uterus was significantly tilted, I KNOW I would have pushed for the procedure to be completed in the hospital, especially after everything we had been through already. It just wouldn’t be worth it to chance anything with our luck this year. Now, it just seems the 2020 trash heap just keeps getting bigger and I am having a very difficult time sifting through rather than getting swept away with it all. Very difficult.

At Beavertail, we went down onto the rocks right from the parking area. Usually we will walk the paths and try to find a tucked away spot. Not today though. We walked straight out while avoiding people strategically. We found one and settled in only to watch a man with a backpack settle in confidently about two social distancing paces apart from us. To set the tone for you, it was like we had gone to see a movie, discovered we had the theater all to ourselves, and this man had sat in the same row, a few seats over. He steadied himself on the rocks, laid out his blanket and stereo and looked up to smile at us every now and then. I found myself genuinely smiling back.

He was in his 60s, and I admired him as he smoked cigarettes and pot, and drank coke in a cup and poured a little something in from a thermos. He wore rainbow sunglasses and dipped his feet in the water to see if he was ready to go in. Now, the area we were in was not a swimming area. The waves came in rather hard and pulled out over jagged rocks. There was a slender straightaway where you might be able to tightly grip the rocks on the side of you and let the wave give you a sense of swimming, but it was not for the fainthearted. He stripped down into his small swimsuit and went right in.

When I was about 8 years old, my dad and his friend Kevin had taken me to a closed golf course to collect golf balls that had been hit in the woods. It was probably mid April and the month was living up to the rumors; it was drizzling and not much stood out to let you know spring had worked its way in yet. We walked the perimeter and kept our eyes out for small white treasures or for people yelling at us to get out. We had about a bag full but my dad knew he could find more. We had made our way over to a river that would be about waist high had a full grown man decided to go for a dip on a cold, rainy, spring morning. And that’s what he did. I watched, eyes wide, as he went right in, not even wincing. Kevin laughed his signature laugh, the perfect tone and pitch for that moment. My dad knew he made an error in being so brave when I started bounding down the hill to join him and he had to fully explain how cold it was so that I wouldn’t make the same mistake. It was too cold to collect many more golf balls, but I keep the gold of that memory with me still.

I felt the memory in that moment as this man smiled only to himself when he came out from the water and went over to his blanket. He quietly went back to his stereo and finished his cup. He watched sailboats pass and quipped to us that they only knew how to sail in one direction. He did a thinking man pose and made hand seagulls as they passed overhead, knowing full well we were right behind him. He also took his cup and placed it on his head and put his hat on top. A magic trick? It didn't work, but I needed to know more.

I got up and made my way down to his rock while Justin yelled out “six feet!”, because COVID. I was wrapped up and almost forgot. I fumbled for words to try to explain myself and just came out with the truth. I wanted to let him know that he made me very happy. He knew how to enjoy himself and take full advantage of a beautiful day. Then I began to cry. To a strange man. I was now a strange woman, crying...and suddenly felt like I was smashing this guy’s vibe. To my surprise, his face contorted and he also began to cry. He then spoke these words:

“You know, I go to festivals and I dance and I show that I am happy and do you know what that usually gets me? Arrested. I get called a junkie and weirdo and the cops try to rough me up…Well, I don’t think they’ll be getting away with much of that anymore. But I just like to be happy...You know, my son, he opened a bakery down the road and I am so proud of him...Have you ever seen the movie Roan Inish? It’s about a baby who gets taken in by seals and it’s really a 6 year old playing a baby and he runs around the hillside, naked (laughs-slaps knee). This place reminds me of that movie. I’m a tree cutter and I work really hard and I just like to get out and come and relax when I can (nearly inaudible speaking towards water) Have you ever been to (some music festival), you can usually get a soda and some french fries (inaudible again- talking at the water). Sorry to bend your ear. I grew up in Warwick and….”

Dear god.

When he took a breath, I asked him only clarifying questions (it was all I could fit in), mostly “What was that?” because I couldn’t really hear a lot of what he was saying-I don’t really know that he cared because he never adjusted his volume either. But honestly, I loved every second of it. He was a stone cold weirdo. He was unapologetically himself. His name was Rob and he liked to dance and was fearless and...he was happy. Justin and I went home and we watched the movie, The Secret of Roan Inish. It was pretty good! That six year old baby can run!

I was really scared to go in for surgery. I couldn’t help but recount all of the ways in which shit has not worked out for us this year. I know it isn’t helpful, but it’s kind of in your face at this point. Before I went over to Rob on the rocks, Justin asked me why I was humming “that song”. I was confused. I definitely wasn’t humming. He said, “Yeah you were. The song from the end of that special”. We had recently watched a comedy special and there was a song at the end of it that I really liked and downloaded immediately. I had been listening to the song more recently but I wasn’t humming it. He begs to differ.

I don’t have much left in me. I am starting to shut down and I am wondering what it’s all for. I looked up “learned helplessness” the other night, knowing full well what it is but wanted confirmation of my retained facts from undergrad. psychology courses. I’m trying hard not to resort to alcohol or destructive means to soothe. I stick to quotes, songs, and poems. Apparently, I sing songs unknowingly. This is all I have for right now. I’m getting scrappy.

I am scrappy. This may sound self-deprecating, especially given the context but it's really not. It’s actually my absolute favorite compliment. I work hard to make meaning or make the most out of moments; out of things discarded or easily looked past. Especially when things get hard.

When we were driving home last week from a quick errand, Justin and I were turning onto our street. We were just about stopped to turn right when a star-shaped balloon floated from a neighboring yard out into the street in front of my car. It hovered for a quick moment directly at our eye level, like it was staring at us. I happily got out of the car and scooped it up to bring it home.

I keep thinking about that balloon. I had thought it was a sign that things were going to be looking up. That was clearly not the case. I also should have known better because when we got home we figured it would hover a few feet off the ground for a bit, but instead, when we released it, it flew directly into the ceiling fan and exploded. Justin and I laughed hysterically because that was a fucking spot on representation of this year. Moments of almost having something, then having it slip away and blow up in your face.

Driving to the hospital, I was terrified. I know people go in for much worse situations and that knowledge only seemed to make me feel worse. I felt ridiculous that I was so scared. It wasn’t the idea of the surgery itself, I’d already been through two, fully conscious at that. It was the anesthesia. I was afraid of being completely out of control. I went through waves of convincing myself it was fine and I believed it for a bit until I didn’t again and would cry. I decided to just try to keep my mind off of it. I started writing this and got pretty far in the night before until Justin basically forced me to go to bed at 1:00am. I woke up the next day as late as possible and filled out pre-op paperwork. We were driving down and the song “Old Pine“ by Ben Howard came on Pandora. I’ve mentioned this song in a past post. The song is the song I will play if I have a baby. The singer featured in the video also reminds me of a young version of my dad. I smiled thinking this song was sent to me in that moment.

Then we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and “The Boxer” played. The one covered by the singer from Mumford and Sons. I started grabbing my things, thinking it was just a cosmic coincidence and trying to use it to give me courage, but I began to panic. I looked at Justin and asked him to drive away. I was too scared. I began to cry and the song finished up as we pulled onto a neighboring street and I willed the radio to play me another significant song to know that it wasn’t just a coincidence. Judah and the Lion, “Take It All Back” played next. A string quartet version. I cried all I could cry and let myself feel the fear to get it all out. Justin held onto me, telling me everything was going to be fine and it would be over very quickly.

I was afraid I wasn’t going to wake up. As the song came to an end, the final lyrics played, which were “I’m waking up” over and over. I let my breath stabilize like a baby after a good cry and told Justin I was ok and we drove over.

Everything was fine. I woke up and I’m fine. I’m going to keep fighting. Only going forward, not back. I’ve got my songs.

Here’s the song I was humming at BeaverTail with Justin, unknowingly. Picture me putting on a record, tilted, but still functioning somehow.

Rilo Kiley-Better Son/Daughter: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0sy7y54XAE)