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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781546215127 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 11/13/2017 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 110 |
| File size: | 691 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Part 1
Suddenly: My Story of Love and Loss
Suddenly
If I could make you pause and appreciate the wondrous stars that shine at night along with the moon and the planets twinkling above,
If I could wrap up the raging rivers and the purple mountains and the lonely canyons deep with breathtaking vistas of lakes and trees and the wonderfully heartbreaking desolation of the desert, along with the simplicity of the taste of cool water and the indescribable smell of wild flowers and prairie grass after a spring rain, with all the beauty of creation wrapped together in a gift,
If I could take everything that has ever made you smile — every pleasure and every comfort — all your aspirations — all the dreams — everything that you have ever wanted to become or share or create — and make them all suddenly easily within your grasp,
If I could take it all and compress it into a single emotion — into the essence of love — and if I could give it to you each and every moment for the rest of my life,
Then I will call my life complete.
And suddenly,
I will say that we're even.
Because you — my dear — have already given all of these things to me.
Grover Mundell
For more poems, see the appendix.
It was the worst day of my life. I slowly walked, hair disheveled, eyes red, clothes wrinkled, pale and exhausted, down the long hospital hallway to the ICU, holding my two- and five-year-old daughters' hands. They were quiet and scared. I was quiet and scared. I was in a bad dream as I led them into a room filled with beeping machines, flashing red lights, and their father. At thirty-five years old, after seven years of marriage, I was saying goodbye to my love. Two months earlier, my husband, Grover, and I had been planning our goals for our future — a home renovation and amazing vacations — and then suddenly, there was no future. And prior goals became trivial. As I watched the girls tentatively approach their father in the hospital bed — his eyes closed, his face swollen, IVs and machines hooked into his bruised arms and his mouth — memories flashed by.
I was twenty-six years old, working in sales and marketing for a technology start-up in the legal industry, living in New York City, enjoying the single life — and I didn't see him coming.
"You were the highlight of my trip," he said to me.
I did a double-take. I had noticed this engaging fellow with gray hair and glasses in a suit throughout the weekend of legal conferences, meetings, and social gatherings in New York. Although he wore a tie, he seemed very approachable and easy-going. He taught a few classes that weekend at the conference, and rather than being bored with the content, the crowd was engaged and interacted with jokes and laughs. I was engaged. He made a rather dull topic about court reporting very entertaining. I was attracted to his energy, and I was curious about him and why he found me so interesting.
We had an instant spark, but he lived far away in Denver. As part of our courtship, he emailed me songs he'd sung and recorded for me: "And It Stoned Me" by Van Morrison, "Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton (except he had changed the hair color to red for mine), and "Behind Blue Eyes" by the Who. His voice sounded great — it was strong, with a sensitive rasp that reminded me of Van himself, but maybe I was biased. I was in awe of him and had never met anyone who was so open, had so many talents, and possessed a curiosity to learn more and experience life in a way I hadn't. He was thirteen years my senior (a first time for me to date a much older man), but all of his experiences and wisdom added to the attraction.
I remember walking down the busy streets of Gramercy Park in New York with Grover's music pulsing on my iPod, sun shining in my face, smiling at the world. I was blinded by the overflowing feeling of love — so blinded that only the blaring horn and obscenities from a taxi driver could awake me from my daze. Yep, classic New York moment.
Because we both traveled for work and lived in different cities, we decided to date all over the United States. Our next dates were in Chicago, Orlando, Phoenix, Denver, and New York again. We got along like old friends and enjoyed every moment together. One date weekend in Chicago, we went to the John Hancock Observatory, at the time the tallest building in Chicago. They had a photographer to commemorate the moment. Neither one of us was very photogenic, but for some reason, we kept asking the guy over and over to take our picture, until he had taken more than ten of us. Afterward, we couldn't stop laughing because we looked so bad in the photographs. Being a naturally serious and intense person, I loved that he made me laugh a lot and enjoy the moment. He helped me to relax.
One of my favorite trips was visiting the wine country in Grand Junction, Colorado, which is a quaint town with beautiful scenery and romantic vineyards. It was New Year's Eve 2006, and we stayed at a bed and breakfast at the top of a hill that overlooked the town. That's when Grover proposed, overlooking the beautiful mountains of Grand Junction.
Six months later, on the night of our rehearsal dinner at an Italian restaurant on the main street of Grand Junction, I fell in love with Grover even more as I watched him read a poem called Suddenly (yes, the one at the beginning of this section) in front of all our friends and family.
My head stayed pretty much in the clouds as we began a life together, but we certainly had the normal ups and downs. In the first year of marriage, we moved three times between two different cities. We sold two condos. I had some issues with our first pregnancy and ended up having a miscarriage, which was really tough for both of us (see poem in appendix).
Over time, we recovered and tried again. This time, our perfect little Ruby was born. Northside Hospital, known in Georgia as the mecca for childbirth, was busy. A nurse who looked to be about fifteen years old was taking care of me. As the baby came out and I was screaming in pain and throwing towels across the room, she told Grover to grab a leg because the doctor was busy with someone else.
Grover stepped up and said, "No problem. I've delivered a lot of baby calves on the ranch where I grew up."
I don't think I appreciated being the cow, but maybe I found it funny. I can't remember. I saw Grover's eyes get big as the baby came out, and thankfully the doctor walked in right in time to catch Ruby.
Ruby was a feisty little girl and came out kicking and screaming. The nurse, who probably had delivered a thousand babies, even said, "You have a feisty one."
And we continued to see that spirit as Ruby got older. She has been fearless with rock climbing, zip lining, and diving into mud, and she is also a strong, independent girl who can't be told what to like and what to do. She will choose which sports to play, what clothes to wear, and it's even a negotiation on the going rate for chores. She will make sure her opinion is heard.
And then, two and a half years after Ruby was born, sweet Matilda was born. The cord was wrapped around her neck, and while our amazing doctor quickly unwrapped it, Grover and I waited anxiously for some noise. Matilda came out and remained quiet for what seemed an eternity. As a parent, you wait to hear for the scream after birth. You are supposed to hear a scream. Finally, I heard it and took a big breath. I'm not sure I was really worried, though, because I didn't feel that tragedy could happen to me.
Matilda started out my quiet, reserved child and grew into her strength over time. She was the one to sit on my lap and be a little more tentative about meeting new people. Today, she's still shy about making new friends, but her independence and strength are now on par with Ruby's, which makes them quite a pair with extreme sports and obstacle courses (as well as trying to parent). I am very fortunate to be raising strong, independent, fearless girls.
As with all parents, during the younger years, our weekends were a blur of parks and birthday parties. I look back on that period and remember being in survival mode. On top of raising the kids, we went through a home renovation, which was followed by an unfortunate rat infestation in our basement. We lived near a lake in the woods, and somehow a few rats found their way in and reproduced. It was horrible. We had two young kids and rats pretty much everywhere. One rat found a home behind our refrigerator. I had two little kids, and by God, I was going to get that sucker before it harmed a baby. I set up traps everywhere and ended up catching it myself. I paraded around in celebration. I had defended my family. That rat should have known better than to try to escape Pistol-Packing Momma.
In 2008, I joined Spanx, founded by Sara Blakely, the creator of the shapewear industry and the number one shapewear company in the United States. I rose in the ranks, and by the time I had the two girls, I was running the e-commerce business worldwide, overseeing a large team and a significant portion of the company's revenue. While life was crazy at times, I had a lot of pride in my job and what I was doing. I loved growing the team and the business and figuring out what was next and deciding how to optimize the business so it was more productive. Sara was inspirational, and the people who worked at Spanx were another family for me. I loved being with them and working with such a passionate and capable team. It was an exciting and special experience; I learned a ton and grew even more.
I had two beautiful children, a great husband, and a fantastic career. Things weren't always perfect, but the ship was heading in the right direction, and I felt fulfilled (if maybe overwhelmed and crazy at times). But in the winter of 2012, our ship started taking on some water. Grover and I got some type of flu-like respiratory illness. Lots of coughing, coupled with exhaustion; we couldn't shake it. We blamed it on having young kids. After about week three, we both started feeling better and began to get back to our normal routine. Small crisis seemingly averted.
2013 kicked into gear, and Grover seemed to relapse. He still wasn't feeling himself. He was tired, and I was busy and distracted with work and kids. I sort of resented him needing so much time to recover and largely leaving me to take care of the kids.
Grover's health continued to decline, and he began missing important events and work. He was now coughing up cups of mucus daily, although he was mostly doing it at work, so I didn't know the extent of it. I didn't understand how he could be so sick while getting plenty of medicine from the doctor. It's how I imagine many victims of natural disaster feel: something they had never seen before comes for their life, and they can't even fathom it. Grover was dying, but we had no idea.
Then on February 7, he just couldn't get out of bed. During the morning hustle with the kids, he called me to come help him; I walked into the room, and he was still in bed. I needed to call in some help. Raising a family requires a village. As I was juggling the kids by myself and had a work meeting with out of town attendees, I asked my brother Stan, an amazing human and always willing to help, if he could take Grover to the doctor. We thought he might have a particularly tough pneumonia, which was about the worst case we could imagine. This time, the doctor heard a crackling in his lungs, which we would later find out was the sign of a terrible lung disease.
The doctor had Stan take Grover directly to the hospital, so he could get the appropriate diagnosis and treatment. He stayed for the next month and never left. The first week was a parade of doctors ruling out over fifty different diseases while attempting to figure out what Grover had. We literally had a list of diseases and were crossing them out. Yay, no HIV. Yay, no tuberculosis. But what is it? He was in a regular hospital bed, could talk normally and have conversations, but could not breathe normally and needed to rest all the time.
The next week, the doctors came to us and said they had narrowed it down to two different diseases, neither of which was promising. To know for sure, they had to do a biopsy, which is an antiseptic word for opening Grover up and cutting out a large portion of lung. It was all so scary and unreal, and happening so fast.
My parents and family continued to watch the girls while I spent the day at the hospital with Grover, being his advocate and caretaker. It was stressful recording all his medicines and making sure we followed all the doctors' instructions. There were so many doctors and nurses involved, so many procedures. Each day, I had to relay the medications and what had happened negatively or positively the previous day to the next group of doctors and nurses. I felt like I had his life in my hands. I had to make sure they gave the right medicine. I had to tell the new doctor his history over and over again. There were infectious disease doctors, pulmonary doctors, internal medicine doctors, the general case manager doctor, and all the nurses, and they changed every few days. I probably talked to over forty doctors and sixty nurses during the month we were at the hospital. But none of them could give us an answer. None of them could tell us our future. None of them could offer comfort for our worst fears.
One doctor explained it this way: "When we hear hoof beats, we think horses, but when you came over the hill, it was more like a zebra, and we don't get many zebras coming through. On top of that, we needed to figure out what kind of zebra we were dealing with."
Treatment should begin quickly for very ill patients, and everyone did exactly the right things in my case. It has been a marvel, however; I was getting worse and fast. I was gulping O2 and requiring more and more. They wanted to conduct thoracic surgery now! Take lung samples sufficient for pathologies that could explain what was happening, and they needed to do it ASAP. In the middle of all this, my brother and my moral compass — my mother — had aired up the tires on the truck, gotten tickets, and flown to my bedside. I looked at them and said, "Saddle up."
A very petite thoracic surgeon appeared and held up her hands; smiling down at me, she said, "Small hands, small holes."
Grover's journal, February 2013
The doctor came into Grover's small hospital room. There was only one chair for him to sit in, and I sat on Grover's bed. I could sense his nervous energy. In such a small room, it was intense. He sat down and began a prepared speech. The biopsy had come back with the worst-case scenario. I remember the doctor being so ambiguous about the impact of it all. I needed to know if Grover was dying: needed and dreaded. Then he said, "It sucks," and stopped talking. That's when I knew it was terminal, because who wants to tell a man and his wife who have two small children that there is very little hope? I now know "focus on quality of life" means your life is about to suck.
Grover had idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis (IPF), a disease of unknown origin that hardens the lungs to the point of suffocation. The advice from his team of doctors was to focus on quality of life. I got out my computer and researched. I read that the diagnosis comes with only two to three years left of life. However, the accelerated version most likely ends in death within four to six weeks.
"Did Grover have the accelerated version?" I asked the doctor, who didn't really give me a response. If he had the regular version, the only way to continue living is with oxygen tanks and a lung transplant.
Knowing death was peering over our shoulders, we spent the day talking and reconnecting. We cried, and we daydreamed about what a second chance at life would look like. It was just the two of us in the room, alone for hours, it felt like. Knowing what he had in some ways released the anxiety of not knowing. We knew what we were dealing with, so we could pause and figure out how to respond to it. Life stood still that day. We held hands, we cuddled. We loved each other.
"I'm going to take more vacations, start a foundation to help others get lung transplants, and spend more time with the girls," Grover told me. "My new life will be fantastic. I'm lucky I get a second chance to do it all right."
"And what happens if you don't make it?" I whispered sadly. "What am I supposed to do with the girls? What sort of life do you want me to carry on?"
He looked at me and said, "I can't tell you. I don't know what life will be like in five or ten years. I don't want to limit you with a dying wish."
"I'm so sorry I didn't realize how sick you were," I said, not wanting any regrets. "I'm so sorry I wasn't paying more attention. Please forgive me."
He smiled and said, "I love you. We are going to get through this, and one day I'll write about it."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Packaging Good"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Sally Mundell.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Preface, ix,
Part 1: Suddenly: My Story of Love and Loss, 1,
Part 2: In the Twinkling: Our Time to Grieve, 20,
Part 3: This Special Place: The Packaged Good Story, 28,
Part 4: Carry On: Ten Lessons Learned to Grow through Pain, 47,
Part 5: My Happy Place: A Guide to Giving Back, 63,
Appendix: A Collection of Poems by Grover Mundell, 81,
References, 95,
Message of Gratitude, 97,