A lot of the things I’m discussing should have links to what they are upon their mentioning such as ganglion cyst and my blood type.
At the spur of the moment, an ex foster sister came to visit me today.
She’s the other foster sister in Oranges, well, was. In the few years we’ve been apart, both of us have changed a lot, and yet that small time we shared in the same foster home made a connection only we could share and understand.
My laparoscopy is in a few hours (I can’t sleep, but I’ll be knocked out for a while and I’ll probably sleep for one or two days straight, so I have zero concern over getting a few Z’s in for once). At the time, I still had roughly 20 hours until I should be knocked out.
She had told me that she had forgotten a good portion of her past and that because she had forgotten it, she wasn’t sure why and wasn’t sure if she should’ve been concerned. Upon my mention of our foster parents, a lot of things came back. The “disturbing and upsetting things” we talked about, reminiscing on memories that grew our bond, it showed my boyfriend and reminded my ex foster sister and I where we came from and what our overlooked world is like. Being out of it, it was a better feeling than one might think it would be. We could finally look back on what we survived and see what worse horrors we survived. Her visit was to reconnect on the last day I’d be healthy enough to socialize with for an unknown period of time (since my last one had so many things go wrong, I’m not planning around the whole “being fully recovered in less than a week” thing).
I looked back on what we shared and what I endured in the foster home after that, the one she didn’t know the details of until half an hour before she wanted to visit. I kept thinking about the proclaimed apology human services was forced to make.
Then everything clicked.
One of the most important things I learned from my experience as a writer thus far was to trust your gut. I knew that the particular characters, particular details, and particular scenes all came to me because they made sense and I just didn’t know how or why yet. Even my ex foster sister said everything happens for a reason. With how perfect timing has been with so many things, I can’t help but believe something big is definitely falling into place.
I figured out the final pieces to the allegory that I need to finally put it to a close. It was because the conflict I was trying to confront hadn’t come full circle yet, but it did during the apology. Everything else started making sense too. Whether I can seriously get to work on writing this depends on three things: my recovery, my carpal tunnel, and the ganglion cyst.
I happened to get diagnosed with those a few hours before my ex foster sister showed up, but that’s only another task to throw on top of recovery and awaiting the post-op’s report on whether I have endometriosis or not. Regardless, I just know the stent my physician gave me somehow makes the pain worse.
No matter what though, I’m confident I’ll come out of everything well enough to write this out. Yes, I’m easily injured and get sick easily, but I’m sturdy and stubborn. I have a feeling it’s one of the things I’m meant to do.
I’m almost certain I’ll try for traditional publishing on it this time. I don’t know how many books it’ll be or what separate story arcs would look like yet, but I found what I needed yesterday, and that’s all I need left to move forward. My health problems take up more thought and take up more concern (if carpel tunnel is going to limit my typing, writing and drawing, it’ll definitely cloud my mind more than it might in others). I don’t know what I can or should update on that yet, but I will when I make further progress on it.
As far as the surgery goes, I have my usual fears anyone would have with an exploratory surgery. Even more drama and tension comes into play thanks to my possible blood type. I’m almost certain I have the rare HH/Bombay blood type (click the links on things like this, even if they’re the wikipedia page for it, at this point in time, any proof it’s a rela thing is good). They plan to double check it, hoping Murphy’s Law isn’t happening with my blood type too. I’m hoping that either it isn’t and it’s no big deal, or that if it is I can have proof it’s not an error and a print of the link above to further explain it. Hearing doctors correct me that there’s only 5 types and no others exist is kind of unnerving, especially if they doubt your type when they also talk about you may needing a blood transfusion…
I’m worried about getting through the recovery stage than what he finds. I’ll eventually find out and I’ll get treatment for what can only be treated, I just don’t want another serious infection again. There’s an odd feeling of comfort in knowing incurable conditions can be treated. It takes fear of the unknown away to some degree. Yes, there are concerns and things to fear, but at least you know what the monsters look like.
I’m guessing I should wake up from the surgery about 12 hours from now. As my ex foster sister said back when we were stuck in that foster home; hope for the best, but expect the worst. I’m not planning for this to go well. I know better than to do that. Yes, I’m a bit scared, mostly of the pain from the IV and my general discomfort with seeing things that look painful. I know I’ll handle my own incisions after looking at them for a bit before having to clean them for the first time, but that’s a several-hour thing.
I’ll update whatever happens. In the mean time, please wish me luck on getting to get some writing and drawing done; I need my hand to function for cleaning my incisions too, but writing and drawing will keep me sane during recovery.
Please feel free to let me know if you have any questions you want me to follow up on in a future post, especially about the feminine conditions I’ve brought up here and prior. Education is essential to these kinds of situations and asking questions is one of the most important steps to progress.
J.D. Crawford 