Up a creek, with three to paddle

By Maria Padhila

I had a very strange week recently, and that was before the earthquake.

I was in bed when the earthquake hit, by the way — alone. And no, didn’t have anything going on — I was trying to take a nap. I wanted to meditate on what I was learning about receiving and what was happening to my body and some big aspects coming up that were going to activate my scary Mars-Saturn square. I just needed a little time. I’d only gotten out of the hospital a week before, and I was trying to sneak an hour in the middle of the day to just lie down and rest, and what happens? Earthquake. Damn.

Maybe I’d better back up. Isaac and I had been traveling for weeks, ending with picking up our daughter from one group of relatives, going to visit another group of relatives, and then having a long drive, a short camp, and a day of tubing on a river in the mountains with a large group. Fun, right?

But I was feeling bitchy and cranky and ill. The easy drift in the sunshine, with a few tiny whitewater passages, that this tubing trip was supposed to be turned into a battle without a paddle in the face of a headwind and spitty bursts from gray clouds. Just trying to get into the current was a fight. We couldn’t hold Tobi’s tube and paddle at the same time, so we rigged lines out of Chris’s bandana and t-shirt and my sports bra, which I struggled off under my tank top, while trying not to flip the tube. Our little Redneck Yacht Club flotilla barely moved, even with Isaac’s strong paddling from the front and Chris kicking from the back. In the middle with Tobi, all I could do was paddle with one hand. Even in my frustration, I couldn’t help laughing at the picture we made: “This is not a metaphor!” I proclaimed to the sky.

Eventually, we got into the current and had an easier time for an hour or two. Tobi taught me songs she’d learned at camp, and we laughed so hard we couldn’t stop. We grownups lobbed secret jokes over her head. We waved and talked to people we knew, floating by. I figured all the pain in my side, back, and legs was from running too much the previous day, sitting and driving too much, or paddling too much, though as Isaac pointed out, he didn’t think I was doing that much. I resolved to stop being such a tense bitch and just get over it.

Then came another tough spot — a lot of rocks. Isaac had to haul us along, African Queen-style, until a shallow chute started knocking us out of our tubes. I went first, and couldn’t get back up — my legs refused to work. I watched the current take Tobi, the guys, and my tube downstream. Then I saw both Tobi and Chris fall out. He was up in a second, but she came up under her tube. He scooped her out and had her floating again in moments.

We were all wearing life jackets, the water wasn’t more than waist deep, and the ripples wouldn’t have registered on anyone’s charts as a rapid. All the same, I knew what Isaac was thinking — his friend, an Olympic-contender kayaker, had died in a river kayaking accident, though in a much tougher river, in pro-class rapids. Isaac got the tubes stopped on the other side of a group of rocks. I signaled to Tobi — did you bump your head? She signaled back a no and a thumbs-up. She was shivering, but fine.

I scrambled over a group of rocks to meet them. Chris had started over and was trying to help me, but my legs were so unsteady I was afraid I’d pull him over, and I refused to take any help. We weren’t far from the takeout, but I was worried about how Tobi was shivering. Everything felt a little fuzzy to me. We hit a stretch of rocks only the light ones could float over, and Issac pulled Tobi in the rest of the way. I tried to get out and walk/swim over the rocky parts, but I kept falling. Chris kept trying to help. I kept refusing. Finally, he told me bluntly to stop arguing and get in the tube, and he towed me in for the last stretch. I was embarrassed at my inability to do the simplest thing for myself, much less take care of my daughter. I was extra embarrassed at the way my panic reactions set in — I get angry and curse like a sailor when I feel fearful or threatened, and here it had happened in front of lots of people I didn’t know, not just people who are used to my sometimes extreme PTSD reactions. But one thing I have managed to get through my skull is that self-blame just starts off a spiral that doesn’t help anyone — what matters is to ensure people are safe, apologize and explain (without beating it to death) when you can do it without causing more trouble, and give Tobi a lot of hugs and let her talk.

I’m beginning to learn to treat the PTSD reactions — such as screaming “Get the fuck away from me!” at people who are trying to help me — as some kind of Tourette’s, or maybe chronic gas. You can manage the behavior, you can mitigate it, you can do preparation, you can work to alleviate aftereffects, but you’re still going to, psychically and emotionally, stink up the room occasionally, and the people you love are either going to leave you or learn to put up with it.

I spent years trying to cover it up, pretend it wasn’t there, pretend other factors were causing it. I blamed myself and others. For some people, it gets better quickly; for others, it may not ever get better, but we’ll all keep going, and that will have to be good enough.

So I hugged Tobi and kept her warm on the short bus ride back to the starting point. Once she was in dry clothes she was happy and hopped into her car seat (despite her age, she has three pounds to go before she’ll be big enough to go without the booster), got back to work on the bracelet she had been weaving, and asked about dessert later.

I still felt shaky and sore and kind of sick. About 36 hours later, I was getting my appendix taken out. Oh. So that’s what was wrong.

Isaac took care of Tobi, he waited at the hospital while I got surgery, and he also, in a really odd series of events, ended up escorting one of our friends to the hospital when she went into labor early, and taking care of her daughter, too.

Everyone is fine, and the baby is beautiful. The real big sister and the honorary one, Tobi, are here playing right now. No school, because they’re checking the buildings post-earthquake for any damage. Luckily, I’m still officially on sick leave, though doing some work from home, so I can finally do something helpful.

Chris stayed the rest of the time, brought me edible food, and got me home from the hospital.

So what does all this have to with poly? I think it has to do with what you’re willing to give and receive, and what you can trust others with. I took a cab to the emergency room; I literally begged people not to bother coming to see me. I also begged Isaac to bring my phone charger, because it was my only way to get in touch with people (the hospital phone line was messed up, and I didn’t have anyone’s number). So there are some things I’m willing to ask for.

It has always been hard for me to trust Tobi with anyone, and I’ve had to work through that. I have a hard time receiving; I can’t believe people won’t resent me for it. This series of events made me face up to that pretty dramatically, and at least realize it’s something I’ll need to work on. If it hadn’t been coming at me from two directions, I might never have had to face it. It might put an end to these relationships if I can’t make it work. Something even more important is at stake: I have to get it together to model these abilities well for Tobi. There aren’t any shortcuts. It doesn’t make it easier to have two — it just gives you that much more to learn. But it gives you that much more support, as well.