There’s this guy named Mark, and he’s my hero.  He’s brilliant, kind, and easy on the eyes.  He’s funny, compassionate, and has a steady hand.  He’s also the person that I believe saved my life.  Five years ago today, Dr. Mark Luciano performed my brain surgery at Cleveland Clinic, and even he stated that he had no idea what he was dealing with until he was already in there.

June 18, 2009 – my parents, my siblings, and two of my best friends were sitting with me in prep before noon.  We were getting scolded by the nurses (Heather and Dee), wringing our hands (Mom), joking and laughing – really laughing, right Maria? (Dad, Sveinn, and Maria).  Dr. Luciano walked in and immediately plopped down on my bed, joining in the conversations.  He put my family at ease.  I left my family en route to the OR and I was scared.  Petrified.  I talked myself down, going over the neurosurgeon’s creditials – he has patents, and labs, and ongoing studies; he’s the Section Head of Neurological Surgery at the freakin’ Cleveland Clinic!  I had my very own McDreamy!  At this point, my anesthesiologist, Bird, came in; a great big guy with a personality to match.  The last thing I heard was “see you in a few hours, sweetheart”.  And this is what he left me with – a hole from a size 14 IV.  Still have a scar!

As my family and friends were, in no particular order, drinking insane amounts of Starbucks, walking 2 miles to smoke a cigarette, threatening desk nurses, getting fed (along with the rest of the hospital) by some Middle Eastern royalty, and having a very, very long day, my McDreamy was having complications.  A four and a half hour surgery was now six hours, now eight hours, until finally, about 10 hours later, he walks out to talk to my “posse”, as he calls them.  He was carrying two candy bars, which to Dee meant that he had good news (who can eat candy with bad news, right?), hence his first nickname, Dr. KitKat (his second was Dr. Hottie – for obvious reasons).  In the recovery room, I woke up screaming.  SCREAMING.  I was in so much pain, my feet were on fire from being strapped to a metal table for so long.  My neck felt like it was ripped in two from the incision.  I cried because I just didn’t feel right.  Something was wrong.  Dee wiped my forehead clean of the blood to reveal holes in my forehead and my face felt like it was blown up like a balloon.  The way my family looked at me terrified me.  My Mother, frantic about the blood coming from my ears, wasn’t whispering as much as she thought she was.  All I wanted to do was go back under.  I made my family and friends, who so patiently waited for me, go home.

I woke up the next morning and realized within an hour that everything had changed.  I was deaf and blind on my left side, my chest hurt, and my body was weak.  I couldn’t even keep my balance laying in a hospital bed.  My blood pressure took a direct hit in surgery and was having a hard time regulating.  A sympathy stroke during surgery weakened my left side.  And my hair was gone.  GONE.  I had a small tuft on the top that was left and that was it.  This wasn’t supposed to happen!  I was sad, and scared, and angry.

The next week was horrible.  I wasn’t with my kids, the meds they had me on were eating my veins, my vitals constantly flunctuating.  I had to learn to walk with a walker, I drooled on myself, I could still feel the swelling of my brain.  Constant nausea from severe vertigo, the fact that I had to be dependent on everyone, for everything, was enough to make me pissed off.

This paragraph will be short because it’s my rock bottom, and I don’t like to revisit it.  I came home and needed help with everything, even sitting on a couch so I wouldn’t fall off.  My friends washed my hair, my family took care of my kids, and I did nothing.  I was worthless.  I started feeling sick on Wednesday and prayed that whatever it was would take me.  By Friday I was in the ER with my kidneys shutting down and I wanted to die.  I was so angry with my Mother for not letting me just die.

Then I woke up on Saturday.  Physically and emotionally, and even spiritually.  I was alive.  Not only was I alive, but so were my kids, and my family, and my friends.  I had a job to go back to, I had Mommy-ing to do, I had a lot of sarcastic comments to catch up on.  I remember thinking “screw this, I’m better than that”.  I immediately apologized to my steadfast support group for being such a whiner.  I threw out my walker and started walking, ok bouncing off walls, but it was still on my own.  I got my hair cut that covered enough to make it look decent, but I still pulled it up in a ponytail ala 90s grunge style.  I went to things my organizations were putting on, that my kids were involved in, and rebuilt my life.  I had every reason to put one foot forward.

I lived for a reason that day five years ago.  Emma and Alena were my one and only focus and they are what saved my life.  Three months after surgery, I met Jason.  And my life just pulled together.   Those three people are, unapologetically, my first and foremost.  So to those who think I prioritize them too highly, or show my appreciation too much, or love too publicly – I don’t care.  People that matter don’t mind, and those that mind, don’t matter.  I still live with the residual effects from surgery complications, but they’re not my crutches!  I don’t complain and whine because that is exactly what I did to get to my rock bottom.  I don’t breed hatred over someone else’s accomplishments because I know how hard I had worked for mine.  There was no one else to blame for my rock bottom but me.  I came back with avengence because I was allowed to.  I have never been happier in my life than I have been in the last five years, and it only is getting better – if that’s not something to shout in the streets about, I don’t know what is.

So, to my parents and siblings – thank you for loving me at my lowest and celebrating with me at my highest.  To my friends – thank you for being my strength and my cheerleaders.  To my children and my now husband – thank you for understanding the bad days and making the great days.  Last but not least, to Mark Luciano – thank you for my everything.  On my fifth anniversary of that day in Cleveland Clinic, I’m proud to say that I got a life sentence.

Learning how to reign yourself in is an ongoing task. We all get off task, or lay low, or simply give up from time to time. This year, the first six months have flown by with my planner being largely ignored and me trying the “fly by the seat of your pants” method. Boy, did I fail. But you know what? I can start over again. If I have learned anything in my almost 40 years of life, it’s that I can stop, regroup, and start again.

As usual, the winter months make me into somewhat of a hermit. I despise the cold, I’m not a fan of winter sports, I don’t like the darkness (I’m a Leo – I absolutely LOVE the sun!), and the dust from the furnace, salt from the shoes, and puddles of melted snow from winter gear get on my last nerve. I got in a rut of having a little extra free time so I didn’t plan as much. Now it’s June and I’m a hot mess with planning, so I need to start again.

This winter also brought some things into our lives that were not welcomed, but in the end, made my husband, the girls, and I much, much closer than we already were. My little family is very much the epitome of second chances, and I’ll share my take on them.

Personally, I’m the epitome of a second chance. My medical history alone proves that. The things I have lived through and came out stronger have helped mold me into who I am today. My life experiences have afforded me a different outlook on life and responsibilities I will not fall short on. My trials and errors have taught me some hard earned lessons that I will carry on throughout my life. I have been proven right, and I have been proven wrong; and I forget nothing from which I learned from these.

My husband and I have both been married before, and both had resigned to being unhappy until we found each other. Jason and I get teased, ridiculed, and in some cases, lashed out against, because of our happiness. Anyone who knew us in our “former lives” truly knows how thankful we are for each other. I finally have someone that I can rely on, that loves me unconditionally, and has nothing but my and the girls’ best interest at heart. He finally has someone who gives as much to the family as he does, who builds him up, and loves him for all his strengths AND his weaknesses. I can honestly tell you that when Jason and I first met almost five years ago, it wasn’t that “Dream Weaver” moment; it started out with a battle of the stubbornness, and moved on to a great friendship full of trust, having each other’s backs, and a true interest in the other. Then one day, our hearts said “oh, hey! There you are! I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time!”. As much as I fought it (I think I tried to run about three times), I finally realized that we were meant for each other for no other reason than that God made him for me, and me for him. Sure, Jason and I argue – some tiny, some not-so-tiny – but they are very few and far between. I realize that it’s hard for people to understand that a husband and a wife actually LIKE each other, but we do, and we don’t apologize for it. We respect each other, and more importantly, our kids, too much to air our dirty laundry in public. Now granted, our dirty laundry is maybe a couple of t-shirts and a sock or two – not an entire load, but still, it’s ours. We may overdo the hand-holding, the time-sharing, and the “happily ever after” take, but it is not anything but our appreciation for our wonderful life. He makes me a better person, and I make him a better person. It’s as simple as that. There’s nothing wrong with relishing in second chances.

As far as my girls, Jason adopted them over a year ago. The three of them had discussed this for a while before it was presented in full. I don’t even think the ink was even dry on our marriage certificate when we started the process for the girls. He has been such a positive impact in their lives and the girls are so in tune with him that it’s as if it’s always been this way. I know that I was a damn good single mother, however, these girls have flourished unbelievably after Jason entered our lives, and to be honest, so has he. The father/daughter relationship is an ongoing learning curve for both sides, and there’s real beauty in that. The girls knew they had a man, who regardless of what life handed them, would be there, no questions asked. And I had a husband who truly wanted to be a parent. When Alena needed help with homework or projects, Jason was sitting there for hours on end. When Emma went to prom, Jason was standing there proudly taking pictures. Jason is more of the teacher of our parental unit (I’m the “let me just do it” kind of person). He has taught Alena how to skate, Emma to work on cars, and both of them how to pick on me (ok, maybe they already knew that one, but let’s blame him.).He knows that they both look up to him, want to be involved in his life, and look to him for guidance. They’re proud of who he is, and thankful for his unfaltering love for them. And let’s be honest…the comeback of “oy…you’re adopted.” just doesn’t get old.  Their second chances were game changers and they all hit home runs.

My friends are an important necessity in my life. Some of my friends gave me a second chance, and some are their second chances with me. I have learned this about myself though: I do not try harder than anyone else to keep a relationship afloat. I got a call this past week from someone that used to be near and dear; I quickly found out that information is all they were seeking. I wasn’t hurt, and that showed me that that relationship had run its course. No harm, no foul, just part of the past. I’ve had to rekindle a few friendships this year because I dropped the ball – me; not them, me. You know what?  It was my regrouping that showed me what I wanted. I’m getting older. The drama, the negativity, the blame games were never my thing, but they are certainly something I no longer tolerate. So, to a handful of people, I happily have the viewpoint of “it’s not you, it’s me” – because I want better than that. I make conscious efforts to surround myself with people who make me a better person. Call that selfish, but in the long run, it helps a lot more people than just myself. If someone isn’t happy for me or my family, do I really want them to be a part of mine? My second chance started when I became friends with myself, and everything falls into place after that.

A planner has always been who I am. Without it, I am in total chaos. Plans ranging from shopping trips to places traveled, parties to have to financial obligations. Without structure, I’m kind of a hazard to be around. I love itineraries and checking off things from a list. It’s just who I am. So, I know that my kitchen calendar still has “May” on it, two vacations still need to be finalized, children’s activities need to be followed up on, and a plethora of household chores await me. Daunting? Yes. Impossible? Not at all. I just have to regroup and prioritize.

I’ve lost track of time and realized that I’m into the middle of 2014 already. I have vacations to plan, meals to prepare, gatherings to attend, and time to use wisely. This requires discipline, something which I either possess wholly, or not at all. Everyone needs to just bear with me.