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They used to be photographs. Photographs that you didn’t instantly see, having to wait until your film was developed to see if you hair was perfect or your eyes weren’t closed. Once you did get your photographs, you were gifted with memories on each 3X5 glossed card. Candid moments were caught, and even posed ones couldn’t be guaranteed perfect. My favorite part was that I had these snapshots of time in a physical form, that I could touch, display, put in a book, and even destroy if mood dictated. Of course technology came along  improved photography and did what technology always does and ultimately destroyed photographs. Photographs do not exist anymore. Pics, snaps, selfies, whatever you want to call them, those images that exist almost extensively in the digital world that are manipulated before they are even taken, are all that we are left with.

Yes the time has came, I am old and now get to complain about things I miss. Also I don’t hate pictures as they are now, I just am blathering on about the parts I miss.

It is said a picture is worth a thousand words. This is true. What I want to know is how do I know what words in the picture are authentic? Social media has given us the ability to showcase only the best. There are those that get stuck trying to prove how perfect they are, how perfect their lives are. No one is perfect. You have flaws, its cool, we all do. Because social media traps so many, I wonder everyday while looking at my friends posts, what does the picture say? Are you feeling self conscious, insecure, need someone to tell you how amazingly beautiful you are?  Are you doubting your ability to parent, you are emotionally exhausted and you wonder if you can keep going until bedtime? Are you filled to the brim with love for someone and are so grateful they are in your life? What is going on in your life? Are you just posting a picture of yourself that looks as if it took 200 tries and you just got out of the salon because you love the way it looks? Are all those pictures of your littles just because?

mark

 

As I am the one sharing the pics, lets focus on me and mine. What words do you see in these 2 pictures? What is going on? I see my husband and I taking a selfie. We are at a Utah game. There is some dude in the background, in what is called “a reverse photo bomb” In both pictures my eyes look like they are half closed or something. My hair is getting long. I am not sure what else you would see. Do you see that it is at the Arizona State game? Do you see that it was our first home game this season during the day? Do you see it was the 3rd home game I have been to, having missed the Stanford one for our son’s birthday? Do you see that this is before the game is over and that we lost? If I would have posted this on Facebook that day you probably could have figured all that out. Aside from my weird half closed eyes, I really like these 2 pictures. However when I look at them the words I see are; anguish, despair, loss, terrified, sadness, shame, fail.

I see those words because I lived them. Like I said this was the 3rd home game I attended, this year we were scheduled to have 7. I can’t speculate on how many I will end up at when the season is finished.

*I need to stop here to address that I have not updated this blog for quite some time, so some of the symptoms and such may be unnerving. I promise I will give a full medical update soon* 

I have always said going to these games were that one thing. The one thing I could hold on to. They took a lot out of me but with the help of the game day adrenaline and my day after recovery, I looked forward to every game. I can no longer say that is true. The first game I thought I was just out of practice. I had trouble riding Trax, walking was laborious, I was visibly in pain. Game 2 was more of the same but I had my football buddy Peyton with me. Mark missed I don’t know how many plays getting me more water and tending to Peyton’s whims. In a way having Peyton there made the pain and everything more bearable. I’m used to putting his needs first, and wanting him to have a good time was most important to me. However, as it got later, Peyton got tired and started watching the clock, waiting until it read all zeros so we could leave. The game won and put away long before the 4th quarter, I realized I was watching the clock too. Each game was getting harder to get through, longer to recover from. Away games and the Stanford one, I sat watching with that familiar ache to be there. I wanted to be there, at the games, the tailgates, all of it.

This brings us up to the game where the pics were taken. I hadn’t been to a home game in a month so I thought I was just rusty again when by kick off I was already struggling to do the fan thing. I couldn’t stand long, or without a wobble, the sun made my vision more unfocused than it already was and the pain was beyond hiding. I came prepared, I loaded up with salty snacks, drank as much water as I could get my mouth on, took every medication in my arsenal (as prescribed). I was holding on, the game was entertaining and helped distract from my pain, I limited my standing and the sun was going down. I was gonna do fine.  At half time that illusion ended. Halftime is when I run up to use the girls room. Mark accompanied me up. This 25 minutes were some of the scariest I’ve ever experienced. The pressure in my head and neck was so intense I couldn’t breathe at moments. Walking to the bathroom, pressure not letting up, I was convinced we were going to have to leave the game right then and there. I was headed to the hospital instead of back to row 8. I had made it to the bathrooms, somehow by myself I was standing there in line, then walking to the stall. TMI but all I wanted to do was pee, urinate so that the pressure would ease the tiniest bit. I couldn’t go. My bladder hates me. I had ingested enough fluids to fill a  bathtub but they were staying put. I spent the entire halftime in that stall. When I emerged to collect my husband, still fully loaded, I was ready to tell him I needed to leave. Before I could open my mouth, my stubbornness or the 25 minute rest in a dark quiet stall, led to the slightest increase in strength. I decided leaving wasn’t worth it. I stuck it out. I was miserable, probably mean and scared, but I got through it. Recovery was bad. I had pushed myself too far and I was paying for it.

This led to me staying home from the black out game last Friday. Amazing game to be at, we played phenomenally.  I hate myself for missing it but would have made the same decision no matter. I celebrated having a house during Halloween with my boys that week. I over did it for a normal week, but a game week….. I would have ruined the game for everyone, because I know without a doubt if I would have went last week I would have left in an ambulance. Instead I ate cheese fries in bed and couldn’t manage to stay awake through the entire game. *note-cheese fries are a must during pity parties.

Tomorrow is game day again. We have 2 home games left. I have rested all week. I am petrified. I can’t wait til kick off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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