News from Jules | 12.14.2022 | On the Road: Part 3

I’m sitting here in Flagstaff, AZ, watching the flurries of snow blow from the sky like heavy powdered sugar onto my favorite chocolate Wagon Wheel holiday cookies, adding a fresh inch of snow to the porch, pines, and mountains nearby.

Every time it has snowed I want to curl up with hot cocoa and watch each snowflake drop in awe as the world is given a clean, white slate. All the cracks and jagged edges are smoothly covered.

Not that any wounds underneath are immediately healed, but they are given a chance to rest, to rebuild, to recover. Permission, if not a requirement, to pause until it is safe to emerge and continue.

This is what I have been doing at each stop on my road trip throughout the past month after I departed from the East coast. First Denver, CO for two and a half weeks, then Taos, NM, last week, and now Flagstaff, AZ, this week.

The first winter storm rolled in on Nov. 15 and quickly nudged me back on the road to stay ahead of the weather. It started to snow just hours after I arrived in Philadelphia, PA, where I could safely watch through the window in wonder.

It was snowing as I arrived at Denver International Airport on Nov. 17—just four days after my third hospital discharge in three weeks. My body needed to recover from laparoscopic surgery, Intrauterine Device (IUD) removal, a hematoma, a drain procedure, seven days in the hospital, and the root issue diagnosis of severe Endometriosis. That will require a long-term treatment plan to reach full recovery of a healthy, calm uninflamed pelvic bowl. But, first I needed to just be able to walk more than a few blocks and be able to bend over to tie my own shoes.

Hugging one of my best friends at the airport, and then her Mom, her fiancé, and their dogs at the house was such a sweet reunion. The last time I’d seen them was when they waved to me in the rearview mirror after my stop at their house in La Veta, CO on my road trip east in May.

Everything has happened since then.

I had that same tingly, warm feeling as when my close friends comforted me at the hospital in D.C., when I stayed in familiar Rhinebeck, NY, for the second procedure, and when I was greeted with a warm welcome from my bestie’s fiancé’s brother in Philly—whom I’d never met before.

I had indeed started my trip home for the holidays. And there has been family every step of the way.

In Denver, the four of us celebrated Thanksgiving early so that my best friend’s fiancé could be with his family on the actual day before heading to his brother’s in Philly to pick up and drive my car back to Colorado.

While I did watch many movies, take long naps, and go on daily walks, I quickly became bored and restless. My mind and creativity needed a sense of purpose while my body did its miraculous healing work. So, just like growing up, I appointed myself as lead Elf—or we joked, Chief Ambiance Officer—in charge of festive cheer.

By the weekend after Thanksgiving, my best friend, her Mom and I had donned the house with lights, wreaths, garlands, stockings, mistletoe, a Christmas tree, candles, and an elaborate gingerbread house that toke us a whole movie to decorate.

While they encouraged me to relax, my hosts graciously let me jingle about and distract myself while my mind, body, and spirit's inertia moved me forward and the ERs and hospitals of a few weeks prior melted into a distant memory. 

And then, my bestie’s fiancé and my car arrived safely a couple of days before their holiday housewarming party—the reason for all our decorating. The night of the party, I got my period. A reassuring and relieving sign that my body was healing well. I was sad to leave but sensed it was time to be on my way.

Instead of all-day drives and powering through whole states, I made frequent pit stops during shorter spurts of driving and have stayed in fewer places longer. All the while trying to stay ahead of or out of winter weather. Magically, once I settled in at almost every stop there’s been an overnight blanket of snow to tuck me into my next resting place.

Each stop has also greeted me with that tingly, warm, familiar embrace of going home for the holidays.

For instance, in Denver my bestie and I were invited by a friend (and reader) to a wine and cheese party at her house, then throughout my six nights returning to Taos my new friend (and reader) and the hostess I just met each invited me to something almost every night from dinner parties to Breathwork sessions like I was one of their crew, then returning to Flagstaff on Monday night, I was immediately invited to the neighbor’s condo for hot buttered rum and board games—and my friend host wasn’t even here yet.

As the warm hospitality nurtures my soul, I see rapid healing progress between each stop.

In La Veta, CO, I had the energy to spend a day “taking care of business” on the computer, including securing Oregon Medicaid health insurance and scheduling my annual exam and Endometriosis follow-up for Dec. 21. In Taos one day, I slowly hiked a snow-covered trail up 700 feet of elevation over three miles in the Carson National Forest. And on Monday, I drove seven hours in one day from New Mexico to Arizona.

In the short term, it seems like I am nearing a full recovery—meaning the incisions are sealed, the bruises have faded, my cycle restarted, the hematoma is probably gone, and my glute muscle is rewoven. Plus, the fatigue has subsided, the anxiety and fear have eased, and my optimism is renewed.

Perhaps I can go indoor rock climbing or take a yoga class this week and/or start thinking about a mountaineering training plan for the new year!

The snow flurries here have slowed down and there’s a patch of cornflower blue sky peeking through puffy white clouds coasting outside the window. The sun is emerging and will quickly turn snow into water. It’s as if each time the snow melts and the earth has rested a little longer, there is more growth stirring.

The yin to the yang.

The rest to the labor.

The healing to the growth.

All in good time.

May you come home to yourself this Holiday season.

Love,

Jules