As of right now, I’m writing this from Niamey, Niger. Why I’m here, I’ll get to that. First, let’s backtrack from my last post.
Waldemar and I took a step into our relationship, defining us officially as boyfriends. Far before this moment in November on our journey to Canada, we had started talking in early May 2019. Since we began, we haven’t talked to anyone else, and grew closer and closer.
Frankly, neither of us had shown interest in the pursuit of a relationship. Former mishaps and history in our recent memory genuinely had us on the path to friendship. That changed when we met, while we played video games, after sharing similar stories about our upbringing. The more we learned, the harder we kept to our guns and held out on expressing the development of our feelings. But it continued to grow without regard to what we said when we first met.
Upon the decision to claim a novio, I had let down some walls, as did he. From that, we have furthered our relationship, slowly opening up to the other, scared/terrified/nervous/anxious, but slowly and honestly. And with each knew piece of information we discover and gather, that is all we do. We discover and gather, without judgement or closed minds, then we begin to digest, process, and move forward.
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My mom had breast cancer. I say had, because she is in “remission”. I hate to use quotes to describe the diagnosis and her current situation, but that’s genuinely where I’ve compartmentalized that information. She found a lump, went for testing, waited for results, learned of the diagnosis, then immediately for an excision. Her journey started in October when my family returned from their visit over to me in Maryland. She officially told me in November, following my trip to Canada. She didn’t want to spoil my adventure while I was out - but I already knew. She returned for a follow-up re-excision and evaluation in January to determine the need for further excavation and determine the need for radiation or chemotherapy. Thankfully, incisions are healing and a health wake-up call has been discovered. I’m not sure I’ve much more to say on this at the moment. Perhaps at another time when I’m having a crisis and need to process.
My sister had a mass in her abdomen. This was found out in October, right before my promotion ceremony. While my family had just come in, my sister stayed behind because of work and school commitments that were made. Unfortunately, this is the moment when they left that she felt a very large pressure in her abdomen over her stomach following her eating a while earlier - my immediate thoughts were GERD. Yet, later that night after she took some antacid to help settle and some rest to give it some time, she ended up vomiting, rupturing some veins and causing some bleeding as well. Immediately, my sister’s boyfriend took her to the ER, evaluated, scanned, and a mass was found.
A mass was found. About the size of a toddler’s soccer ball. To further the gravity of the situation, my sister is only 4’10”, with a small soccer ball in her abdomen. This led to an evaluation, inpatient stay for the weekend while my family was gone, and a discharge from the hospital when my family returned. After this, it took a bit of time in order to schedule and put together her surgery time and coordination due to the holiday season coming around. When the surgery did occur, they had to open up her abdomen, sternum to upper pubic region. The mass took her spleen, most of her pancreas, and a fuck ton of space. She stayed inpatient for a bit, then to a ward, and was then followed by a safe discharge home. And then time to heal all.
Time for my mom to heal and to process, time for my sister to recover. All the while, my father without batting an eye and shedding a few tears, he was with each of them every step of the way throughout each of the appointments, surgeries, recoveries, and everything else that came along. All the while, I haven’t been able to visit home due me giving them space to heal and have their surgeries without me being there to bother or disrupt their healing. They would absolutely overdo themselves and want to go out and do things we normally would, when they know they shouldn’t. So I need to see them.
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For the month of February, I was able to be under a different unit called the METT. And it was an experience I’m beyond thankful for and only hope to continue holding a position in their roster. Following this, I returned to my unit and discovered the realities of COVID firsthand. My first shift returning I had an 80 year old woman in a rotoprone bed, with multiple pressors, sedation, analgesia, and paralytics going. This was the start. Following it was only more patients with COVID, different diagnoses of all kinds, and attempting to balance it all. Over the stent of two weeks, it was chaos and busy. At the end of a 3-night stent, I received a call saying I’m deploying and get a 72hr bag ready.
I’ll spare all the horrors of what it took to get deployed, ready, and over here.
The second and third week’s of March, Waldemar and I had scheduled flights to Texas and then to Puerto Rico. He hasn’t been home in so long, and I haven’t seen my family since all above noted medical things have happened., and now I’m deployed. I think I needed to vent all of this.
It’s Day 3/14 of quarantine, and I’ll be here for the next 6 months.
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I think I needed to backtrack a little (a lot) and really take in where I’ve been the past few months and why it’s been honestly busy and essentially came to a plaguing halt.
But I lost my drive for my art, for my photos. For my expression.