Flatlined

I remember the day I knew it was over. For sure. I had met my husband for lunch, and while we were standing on the street saying goodbye, he hugged me. I had the striking realization that I felt nothing. Nothing. Not joy. Not anger. Not passion. Not love. Nothing. I physically had a pulse, but emotionally and spiritually I had flat-lined. I was an empty shell parading around as a real person.

Missing in Action

At the age of 37, I ran away from home. Not the kind of running away young children do when they pack a snack, walk to the other side of the block, and sit in the line of vision of their parents. No. This was the real deal. Some called it a mid-life crisis, others irresponsible, but for me it felt like a matter of life and death.

Looking back now, knowing that I missed my daughter's birthday and hearing the pain that my leaving caused, I can't believe I did it. What kind of a mother leaves her five young children for six weeks, with no communication whatsoever, when they've been used to having her home and available every day, every moment? A desperate one. A woman teetering dangerously on the edge of emotional break-down.

I needed the voices screaming in my head to stop. They were those of my mom, my husband, my kids, and all those well-meaning people who had always claimed to know more about me and for me then I could possibly have known for myself. I needed, if even for a time, to not feel needed. I was seeking space to find my own voice, the one I barely remembered and had somehow lost. It had become buried deep under obligation, fear, and the ability to contort myself in any way possible so that others would approve and love me. And yet I still vaguely believed in its existence. In the process of reclaiming my own voice, some higher part of me knew I would then be open to hearing the divine whisper of God, something I had always craved.

In arriving at my new temporary destination, it occurred to me that the one person I was trying to escape the most was the only one who had made the trip with me. How exactly does one run away from oneself? Well actually, I had been doing it for years, by repressing thoughts and emotions, ignoring my own intuition, and letting what others thought of me determine my opinion of myself. It was time to get real. This is where the rubber meets the road, as they say. It was time to deal with the only common denominator in every situation of my life, me.

As I sit here, I'm pondering how to capture in a few pages six intense weeks of falling apart and coming back together. How do I describe the pain, the exhaustion, of time and time again releasing an ocean of tears?

It was important for me to not have any contact with my family. I knew if I did, I would wrestle with immense guilt. Having that emotion constantly creeping in would get in the way of the clearing I needed to do. I journaled hundreds of pages of emotions that I had felt over the years and was either too embarrassed, ashamed, or afraid to admit. I made lists of who I was, what I liked, and what I desired from life. Those exercises were surprisingly difficult as I had completely lost touch with any knowledge of myself. As the time went on though, my lists grew more comprehensive. After ten years of either being pregnant or nursing, combined with not caring well for myself, my body demanded reprieve. I started to listen to what it needed. I slept when I was tired. I ate when I was hungry. I walked when I craved movement. I read spiritual books and opened myself to the Divine.

For some reason I couldn't explain, I had taken a small keyboard with me. As a child I enjoyed playing and had completed eight years of lessons, but over the last 20 or so years, the music within me had virtually died. I had recently started singing again at church, but my blocks in this area obviously ran deep.

One day, I was on a walk around the shoreline, when a melody popped into my head. It was only seconds later when lyrics started to come. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and when I returned to the house, I went directly to the keyboard to try and translate what I was hearing. What resulted was a simple song. It did not feel like I was writing it, but rather I felt like the song in its entirety had been given to me, and my only job was to get it out. I became almost obsessed with the process, unable to focus on anything else until it was out of me and onto paper. I knew the song was complete when I suddenly felt empty. My mind had gone silent. It was a strange experience, the first of many to come over the next several years. Looking back, I see the lyrics as a message to me, a sneak peek of a way of living life that I had been unfamiliar with up to that point.

As the time approached to return to my previously scheduled life, I knew I had experienced a shift of some kind, and yet feared losing it. I was hoping to maintain the new rituals I had begun, but in some way, I think I also expected life to return to "normal". At the time I did not fully understand the universal law of correspondence, that with internal shifts come external changes. I had discovered some big, scary truths while away, and as I've since learned, once you know something at a deep level, it is impossible to un-know it. I can try to ignore it for as long as my stamina to experience pain endures, but the knowing remains.

When I returned home, I was blindly unaware that my journey, both personally and musically, had only just begun.

Five Miracles

Giving birth is remarkable and I've been blessed to experience it five times. Alexi was born in Connecticut, weighing in at 7 lbs. 14ozs. The labor was induced as I was past my due date, and my blood pressure was beginning to spike. I chose to handle her birth, and the subsequent other four, without pain medications of any kind. After some quick intense labor and about 20 minutes of pushing, my first child was born, caught by a doctor called back from his dinner break with the gown hanging half-off from the unexpected rush. The sensation I remember most is the crowning of her head at the same time her feet were kicking my abdomen. When it was over, I remember laying in the hospital bed, her in my arms and an NBA basketball game on the TV, trying to explain to my husband what the whole process had felt like. He was there through it all, and would remain an active part in future deliveries, and yet I was certain his experience had not been the same as mine! No words can precisely describe the feeling of your body splitting open so a new being can emerge. Like pushing a pumpkin through a pin hole, it truly is a miracle!

Brinn was born not quite two years later in the District of Columbia, weighing in at 8 lbs. 11 ozs. That labor was also induced because the doctor was concerned about the growing size, and though she had agreed to my medication-free request, it became painfully obvious that she had not experienced that process. When the baby's head was crowning, in a panic the doctor reached for the forceps thinking assistance was needed, but thank goodness Brinn slid out without help. The doctor, in a hurry to leave, then proceeded to scrape my uterus with her hand in order to detach the placenta and finish up. That method was excruciating and took longer than the actual birth.

John's birth, two and a half years later, proved to be its own adventure. As the pregnancy progressed, I grew bigger and bigger. I took a plane ride to attend a wedding in my sixth month, and the employees were hesitant to let me on as they thought I was due any day based on the size of my belly! Around my eighth month, I had random strangers stopping me on the street to ask how many babies I was carrying! Knowing that my second baby was almost a pound bigger than the first, I was concerned that this one might likely end up near ten pounds! Because of my last doctor, this time I had chosen a midwife in the hospital to help with the birth. My due date came and went, and finally a week or so later, the sensations started. The labor was fairly quick and intense like the other two, so when it was pushing time, I thought "15 more minutes and I'll be done!" Not quite. Two hours later after trying various pushing positions, feeling completely exhausted, and breaking several blood vessels in my face from the strain, John emerged in Virginia, sunnyside up, weighing in at 11 lbs. 14.6 ozs. Yes! You heard that right. When his face finally peeked out, not only was he looking at us, but his size caused a collective gasp from everyone in the room! Essentially that kiddo turned out to be 12 pounds of empowerment.

Today is Christian's birthday, and it happens to be a day he is scheduled to be at his Dad's house. That means no good morning or goodnight birthday hugs. When this happened in the recent past, I would allow thoughts of being a bad mom to permeate a day of already weepy depression, but now I know I have a choice. Though tears are just below the surface, I continue to choose to focus on what I am grateful for instead of continuing to mourn what I have lost. I am grateful for his charming soul who made an appearance in Oregon eleven years ago, weighing in at 9 lbs. 3 ozs. Once he slipped out, I heard myself repeating "He's so small!" Judging by the expression on the nurses' faces, they thought I had lost my mind. Everything is relative.

McKenzie, the last one, was born in Oregon as well, but at a different hospital. She came into the world in November weighing 9 lbs. 9 ozs. after a peaceful labor and delivery. Her birthday will always serve as a reminder for me, because shortly after she was born, my world, as I had known it, ended. Upon returning home with her, I just hurt. The normal strain on a woman's body during delivery, coupled with the little lips tugging at the unaccustomed nipple, produce a unique kind of pain and soreness. I had experienced it before, but this time seemed different. A relentless headache had joined the mix. It did not go away and in fact, grew stronger until after several days, my husband found me doing things that made him think I was hallucinating. It occurs to me now that I probably should have sought help sooner, but hindsight is often 20/20. I saw a doctor, received a shot that was supposed to help, and then got in the car to return home. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed, dazed and confused, and seeing children standing on the other side of a glass window.

Piecing It All Together

The following story is one I've pieced together from what I've heard others say and not from any of my own memories. The accuracy may be a bit off, but it's the best I've got.

After receiving the shot from the doctor, my husband drove me home and I went to bed. When he came to wake me a few hours later to nurse the baby, he found me seizing. A whirlwind ensued. An ambulance arrived and my kids watched them carry me out on a stretcher and drive away to a nearby hospital. My husband followed and my mother-in-law stayed with the children. Because the baby had been used to nursing, she went for many hours, reportedly calm, without nourishment until she became willing to take formula. After many tests and more seizures, I was then ambulanced to a much bigger hospital in a nearby city, where I underwent more tests and remained unconscious in ICU for a few days. I've been told my husband and parents were there, anxiously awaiting news of any kind. Apparently swelling at the base of my brain had led to the seizures, but the doctors could determine no definite cause for the swelling. Because there was some fear as to whether I would come out of it, the kids had not been allowed to see me. While I was in ICU, the nurses continued to pump and dump my milk because my mom knew that if I did come out of it and was unable to nurse, I would be very upset. Nursing my babies had always been extremely important to me.

My first memory is that of seeing children on the other side of a glass window, and if I am correct, that is the first time they had seen me. I also remember seeing two vaguely familiar women from church sitting in the corner, and one of them was holding a baby. I had no idea why they were there, or even where I was.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a regular hospital room and seeing my cousin sitting in a chair looking at me. My husband was holding a baby.

From there the fog started to lift, but not much. I have a smattering of memories. I vaguely remember a visit from my friend and her mom, and they were holding a baby.

I remember being zapped as someone performed a nervous system test on me.

I obviously returned home, because I have a memory of sitting in our living room and opening baby gifts from the neighbors. They had scheduled a baby shower for me, but as it turned out, that had been the exact time I had given birth to McKenzie. Honestly though, that could have been a few weeks after returning home, I don't really know.

I remember attending a large in-law family gathering at Thanksgiving and sitting quietly, anxious to leave because the noise was overwhelming.

I remember checking back into the hospital the week between Christmas and New Year's to try a targeted IV medication that was supposed to relieve the leftover headache. It didn't work.

I remember hearing the doorbell ring and having someone deliver food for dinner, and after the door closed, the kids groaning that it was lasagna.....AGAIN!

I remember standing in my house thinking I was in a life that wasn't mine.

I remember feeling as if someone had plopped five kids in front of me and said "Oh by the way, these are yours."

One day blurred into the next. I'm sure over the following year there were holidays and birthdays and significant little moments, like the baby rolling over and crawling, but I don't remember any of it. I remember spending much of it either sitting in a blue chair in the basement or lying in bed with the door closed, unable to cope well with bright light and loud sounds. Our family mantra became "Shhh, Mom has a headache." I watched the world swirl around me, and I checked out. I didn't care. My head hurt. I felt like a terrible mother, a terrible wife. I desperately wanted the pain to stop.

An Affair of the Heart

My husband and I often joked that I would never be the one to have an affair because my apparent blocks to physical intimacy would not be conducive to such behavior. As it turns out, we were both wrong. It's exactly what happened. In the midst of pain, depression, and numbness, I developed a friendship with someone, and that friendship eventually led to an affair. At the time I was so emotionally foggy, I couldn't even see or predict the inevitable mess that was to follow.

From one perspective, it appeared I was going crazy and had completely checked out as the person everyone knew me to be. The happy, people-pleasing Lorena was now rocking everyone's boat. There was no shortage of people standing in line to express their disappointment and tell me how wrong I was. Just for the record, that way of handling things is never helpful for the one on the receiving end. There seems to be some line of thinking that suggests we can emotionally harass and guilt someone into "straightening up". To the contrary, I actually learned the most from those who were able to love me right where I was, just as I was, with no judgment. I was having an affair that I refused to end, and no one could understand why I was abandoning the picture-perfect life of sweet kids, a great husband, and a big house. From the outside, I had it all and was throwing it away. I was showing myself to be unstable and presenting a compelling case for my husband to ask for full custody, which caused a whole new panic inside of me. At times I was even accused of suffering apparent brain damage that had altered my personality.

There are always many ways to view a situation, so please allow me to present another perspective, that of someone in desperate need of something to fill the emptiness growing larger with each day; someone who is so spiritually empty and lonely inside that all rational thinking has halted; someone who is wil thinking has halted; someone who is willing to grasp at any lifeline that comes along. I distinctly remember the day I was driving along a curvy backroad, looking for the perfect tree to point the car towards. Darkness was all I could see and feel. I was certain everyone, especially my children, would be better off without the burden of me in their lives. And then he was there.