Hero Heroes Heroes

Carrie Fisher passed away yesterday, and that sucks. She's fine - - it just sucks for the rest of us.

The public grieving of Carrie Fisher and the explaining... always the explaining.. I don't know if it comes with that variation of geek grief, but everyone seems to not only be grieving, but explaining WHY WHY WHY.

(Sidebar - - growing up, I had no one to talk about science fiction fantasy comic books etc. with. I kept it mostly to myself, except for getting really excited when my fifth grade teacher chose to read Lloyd Alexander's "The High King" out loud. I remember Alana Olson complaining something about how I was the only one in class who liked books like that... but having her read that particular book was magic. After I grew up, and found myself at a couple of Science Fiction conventions, I grew pissed. Here are a group of people with your like-minded interest.. and they were arguing over who knew the most. They were one-upping each other on the trivia vs. celebrating the amazingness of it. Pissed Jen. It was like playing with musicians who were gear heads. I don't care what your instrument is: I care about how it treats you and you treat it. Maybe I just didn't find the right folks. Who knows... )

And here I am explaining why...

Princess Leia was the bomb.

She was not only my hero, but basically my only choice of hero. Visually represented speaking. The 80s were a great time for adventure movies, a rough time from heroines. Most female characters were just plot devices to get the white straight hero in trouble. There was a lot of screaming. So much screaming.

Princess Leia did not scream. She got shit done.

She had awesome outfits and wore her long brown hair (representation matters, folks) in actually practical ways. She was brave without saying she was brave. She was frustrated at the ineptness of the males around her, and just wanted to get the shit done.

SpeederBike Chase! Communing with Ewoks! Cloud City Dinner with Vader! Garbage chute! Bustin' up a Starbux! WHY DID SHE NEVER GET A LIGHTSABER! GAH!

I was her for multiple halloweens, and when in Kindergarten, we were able to make hand puppets out of paper bags, I made Princess Leia. With a tiny black blaster.

All my other heroines of note were letters on a page, until the edited-for-TV version of "Aliens" showed up and suddenly I had 3+ badass female heroines (I include Newt. Newt survived for a very long by herself in a spaceship full of monsters. Newt's great. And Martinez! And that poor pilot!) And of course Ripley, who, again, frustrated by the ineptness of the males around her, got shit done. Points for being a brunette.

And that was about it.

Marvel comic books eventually entered my household, and I got that weird mix of often poorly written but pretty awesome heroines (Hi Kitty Pryde. What. You also have a pet dragon. What? You're a brunette? That's fantastic.) and boobs. As the 90s continued, the scale tipped to all boobs all the time, and I gave up.

Things (obviously) have changed, thank god. The YA genre is filled with very capable heroines, and new comic book heroines have appeared, fully dressed. And, visually speaking, we've got a Rey and a Jyn and a Katniss and that poor tortured looking girl from whatever Divergent is. Hopefully we'll get some non-white heroines in there eventually please.

And Carrie Fisher. We love you, Carrie Fisher. You were smart capable honest flawed and funny. Your smile was amazing. Thank you for putting up with us, and not putting up with our shit. I wish you were still here. 

Dec. 24th, 2016

Google "Rediscover This Day" is kind of a jerk. 

This day, a year ago, we began our trip in hospital. Began what we might have suspected, but truly didn't know would define 2016 and ourselves for us. I see pictures of baby on a hospital bed. Our 2? 3rd? 4th EEG. My hair. 

I didn’t know. We didn’t know. Felix went code blue four times this night, terrifying 6th floor nurses, until they promptly moved us back to 3rd floor before the shift break. We didn’t know. All of the EEGs. All of the acetone. All of the glue. All of the readings. All of the questions that never really gave up answer. And at the center, a sweet trapped little boy. 

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. We miss him so. 

I have my to do list on the refrigerator from before he was born. It says to Assemble the crib. The crib has been assembled, and it’s never coming down. 

I love you, Felix, and I miss you. There are so many people who love and miss you too. You touched so so so many. How can one little child, one little life, do that? YOU ARE AMAZING, DEAREST BOY, AND WE MISS YOU EVERY DAY. WE WILL NEVER FORGET YOU. 

I’m so lucky to have carried you, to have held you, to hold you. That your cells still swim through me, just like the other kiddos. Four pregnancies. One miscarriage. One beautiful healthy boy. One beautiful baby. One Who Knows. 

Yesterday was such a beautiful day

It was such a beautiful and nice day.

Kiddo only had a cannula on. No eeg. Not anything else. Short seizures, rarely desat'ing. I just want to hold and hold and hold him.

Today, he has the EEG and a BPAP on. He kept desaturating over night.

I knew how rare and precious yesterday was. I miss it, and I hope we can go back to it. 

A unnecessary meditation on comic book television

From infant feeding to hospitalization, my intake of media is currently pretty limited by what I can stomach.

Which, right now, includes Superhero sitcoms produced by the CW..

Things..

 -  Brandon Routh and Grant Gustin are absolutely fantastic. I will watch them as superheroes, no matter what superhero they play. 

- why does the gentleman who plays Arrow always appear to be wearing eyeliner? Like a tiny underdressed Eddie Izzard.

- the superhero costuming makes sense.

- the regular costuming makes absolutely no sense... There's should not be that many crop tops as casual wear. Why does it seem to be continually 1995? I don't get you, TV's DC universe.

- Did you need a reminder that comic books are actually, in their heart of hearts, soap operas for 15 year old boys? Look no further!

... These two are romantically engaged, talking about past life couple dynamics... This is why one should rarely engage in EXPLAINING comic book plots to anyone. Your crazy fever dream can be  scary and alienating. 

- there's one actor who's approach to the his character is to bark every line... It's actually fantastic.

It's so dumb. But so smartly dumb. So self-conscious, and yet not. Much like comic nerds themselves. 

Onward.

Things that seem feasible right now

Things that seem feasible right now

 - Starting drinking. By choice.
 - Starting a faith in god. .. This also seems appropriate.

Luckily, escapism can currently come in the form of streaming television. I supposed to go to rehearsal today, and I don't know if I have the brain power. But. It's escapism too.

And also, there's just being here. Surrounded by isolation gowns and caring people who don't know.

Do parents just up and leave this situation? I keep wondering this. Whatever the saying from "Lilo and Stitch" (which would leave me even more crashed if I could remember it right now): that's what's happening right now.

Poor sweet little kid. Strong dude.  

Things I have contemplated while becoming a 'Hospital Mom'...

It turns out that there is a title for my current 'condition': hospital mom.

I never planned on becoming a hospital mom (I've only been a mom mom for around three years), but it's chance you take, having kiddos. Someday, the varietal of mom I am might take a different form: right now, I'm writing you from behind my almost-three month old's fancy-yet-janky hospital bed.

Things I have contemplated getting while hospital-momming:
 - Tattoos. Possibly all of them. My kiddos' names in the best of writing. (Although, I've found that their picture as my phone's home screen works really well. I look at that screen 100s of times per day. And now, everything time I get to see the picture, I get happy.) :)
 - A perm. This might be a cry for help. Or possible genius.

Things that are fun:
 - The anagrams that peppers medical speak. "I's and O's" meaning "Ins and Outs" (how much fluid he's taking in and producing), "PRN" for "per diem? something something", etc.. It's another language, and one that's fun to throw around.
 - The support. This place is amazing. And the systemic support is heartening and impressive.

Things that are not:
 - Intubation. Intubation is a godsend. Intubation is rough. I hate it and am so grateful for it.
 - This cold that follows me.

Things that are things:
 - We don't know what we don't know.
 - Even what we know, we really don't know.
 - We don't know much...

Please know we love you. (As does Aaron Neville. On every soft rock station. Forever.)

ART/Art/art

I thought of a handy definition today. And this is nothing new. People have said this before. It just never clicked for me before. 

I think I got hung-up on the word Art. I love this word. It's what I wanted to do, it's the direction I wanted to follow, it's what we should aim for, etc.. And, I think, art became ART and lofty. 

I didn't mean it to. 

It's just easier to give into fear if art is ART. Why attempt that? I might get it wrong. 

This is what I've decided: art (music, dance, theater, art, poetry, comedy in any form, ALL OF IT) is just another way to communicate. 

And is a way to help us process. 

Our brains are processing machines. But, even though we are married forever to the facts (the data reel of who, what, and how), the facts are never the entirety of any experience. 

"I gave birth" will never be just "I gave birth."

Just as, "I was dumped" or "I was alive in 2014" will never only be just that. 

I think.. our brains crave reflection. Dreams give us that (they process and process). And so does art. 

Some of us need to see bodies move in space to deal. 
Some of us to holler with a song. 
Some of us need color or contrast. 
Some of us need stand up comedy (especially when processing the political). 

This art does not have to be 'good' (whatever that means). This art just has to be. 

So... in thinking about my own (scaredy cat) Art/ART making, I've realized that.. 

I have all the excuses in the world not to Make. And this serves no one, especially myself. 

So - - you! We need your art!

We need your dumb song lyric. We need your doodle. We need your poem. We need your character. We need your sketch. We need you to dance. It doesn't have to be 'good', it just has to be. Make it. You don't even have to show us your art, but it'd be wonderful if you did. Let us witness it, please. Sharing is caring. My brain, and myself, will thank you for it. Even if it doesn't serve me, something will click with someone. And that's amazing. 

Through another's act of reflection or creation, some part of me will process and reflect. 
I will frame and re-frame. 
Something, maybe mysterious, might click. 

We can find the answer, hiding in other's stuff. Does that make sense? (I"m really tired.) Cool? Cool. 

The non-art of feeling all the things

I know it's part of the human condition, feeling more than one emotion at a time. Or, really, all the time.

Or perhaps it's more part of becoming an adult.

 - I'm so grateful for it all...
 - I'm so scared.
 - I'm so happy (when glimpses of something that might be seen as positive.)
 - I'm so sad (so sad this is happening, so sad for him, so sad for us).
 - I'm so tired.

Really. Just very tired.

I'll come back for rounds tomorrow, and hang out. My ability to speak and spell drains away.. there is no autocorrect that can translate it all.

I don't know when and what to eat. I know logically, and so, that's what I've set myself up for. And I do that. But.. not having an appetite is weird. (Unless cake is involved. I'm pretty sure that I always want cake.)

Sleep is a big hammery anvil that swings it's way down onto me. I hate it when it misses. Lately, it rarely does.

I double check my things. Keys, phone, cords, water.. every little bit. I don't trust my ability to track. There's not much to be done (which makes things like playing with the two year old weirdly easy and fun.. There's not much more to think of.)

Feeling all the things. And mostly, just tired.