Crossover
There’s a crossover that occurs when something drastic or traumatic happens to a person—a surgery, a diagnosis, maybe a car accident. Life gets interrupted and changed forever. And there are so many people who have crossed over.
Life goes from regular checkups here and there, to having to get tests regularly—whether it’s CT scans, MRIs, ultrasounds, bloodwork, etc. Doctor appointments become a regular thing in your life, with different doctors and specialists.
Medication. Prescriptions that have to be taken at a certain time, have to be remembered, have to be on point. That shit changes your life. I don’t drink anymore—but how could I? I have to be on point with my medication, my body, my mind, if I want to stay alive.
And that’s what happened with me in January 2024. I was at Blue Mountain and I drank a lot—a magnum or two of pinot grigio my fucking self.
I was still drinking steady after first surgery, which was April 2023—in total denial, that or I just didn’t care. Maybe both. And that weekend, I was drinking like a fish, going in and out of the hot tub, intensifying the effects of the alcohol even more.
I totally fucked up my pills that night, because in the morning, when I went for them, there were none left in the capsule—they were gone.
So either I took them right before I passed out, or I lost them. Most likely the former. And that shit scared me. I felt like a complete fucking loser all day. I also had a hangover from hell, and that was the last time I was drunk.
I didn’t set out to stop drinking—that incident happened and it straightened me the fuck out. I knew I had to buckle down and do better, and if I wasn’t going to take any action, my subconscious was.
Being drunk was a sloppy ass distraction, so I just stopped drinking. It took me three months to even realize that I had stopped drinking. I was like—hey, shit, I haven’t had a drink in three months! That was the longest I’d been without alcohol since Trent was born.
When you cross over to the chronic fucking ill lane—yea, that’s what it is—make no mistake—you have to focus on your well-being constantly. It doesn’t go away. It’s just a huge ass adjustment. The sooner you accept it, the faster you’ll adjust.
There are a lot of people out there battling whatever it is they’re battling, or have already battled and are dealing with the residuals—which is medication, exercise, diet, appointments, etc.
For me, it’s consistently been about setting up my medication every two weeks and making sure it’s all there, that I have everything in my sack of pharmaceuticals, and that it’s the proper dosage—because pharmacists are human too, and they fuck up.
I’ve been lucky enough to catch a few of those fuck-ups. I’ve had so many pharmacy/pharmacist issues—denying their fuck-ups, arguing with me for fuck sakes—and it’s just one more thing you have to deal with, be on top of, that makes whatever you’re already going through worse. It’s been a steady fucking hassle for me. An unnecessary hassle if you ask me. Yet it’s a thing.
This is the world we live in now though—you have to pack your patience and oversee everything yourself. Double check everything, because the fuck-ups aren’t just a one-off these days. They’re everywhere. They’ve become a regular part of the program.
Just making sure I take my meds at the exact same time every day is sometimes challenging. So no, there’s no way I could drink and keep up, even if I wanted to. That’s the crossover. Life changed forever.
I know it sounds simple, like it’s easy peasy—two doses a day, no big deal. But when you get distracted by life in general—writing, laundry, cooking—and when I have my granddaughter, she’s the focus. A distraction, the best kind. And I forget. And I can’t forget.
I have an alarm on my phone. I have an alarm on my watch. Sometimes I don’t have my watch on, sometimes I hit the snooze button on my phone with the intention of going to my room to take it, and I forget.
Some cross over to the other side when they’re young. Some cross over midlife. Some later in life. And some don’t cross over at all.
And some of those people who don’t cross over at all—don’t go to the doctor at all either. They don’t want to know because they can’t, or don’t want to, deal with the other side.
It takes a lot of inner strength and bravery to confront your own health issues—be it physical or mental.
They say your body is a temple—meaning you’re supposed to respect it, care for it, and protect it like something sacred. I never respected or dignified myself, let alone my body. Just the outside—polished armor. I do now.
The shit that happened with me—sometimes I still fucking think about it and I’m like holy fuck. When I say it out loud, it doesn’t even sound real. My story, my journey, has been insane.
It’s 11:30 PM and I’m laying here in bed, ready to take my sleeper, and I look over to make sure everything is there for when I wake up—my water, my capsule with my pills in it for my morning dose—and it isn’t there. I forgot to swap it out.
So I gotta get up, turn on the fucking lights, put my glasses on because my eyesight is fucked—nothing is quick anymore—open the drawer, swap out my capsule from Friday to Saturday, open the capsule, and make sure my pills are all there correctly for the morning: 6:30 AM. It’s now a habit—double checking my capsules because I fuck up on occasion too.
It’s the constant little things that are so fucking hard to get used to—life changed for good.
Almost six months post second surgery, two and a half years since this all started, and just now I’m finally adjusted to living in the now. Today is my focus. Every day.
These things I know are going to happen—I’m gonna wake up at 6:30 AM, dose, go back to sleep until 8-9 AM. Get up, feed the dog, brush my teeth, walk the dog, then feed myself. And then the day just plays out however it goes, and I’ve finally gotten used to it.
Sometimes I have appointments. For the most part, I make them, but sometimes my stomach’s fucked and I’m down for the day in bed with the nausea, stomach pain, bad headache combo.
And sometimes my mind just isn’t in the right place, and it changes the course of what happens that day, and I just roll with it. I fully understand the assignment now—and that’s to slow the fuck down. All the way down.
I just kept piling shit on myself—deadlines, pressure, expectations. That was my life.
There is no anxiety about tomorrow anymore— making it to work on time, no more deadlines, no more worrying about how I’m gonna survive—because that’s not my life anymore.
Some days I get up and I do all kinds of shit—cook, clean, laundry, long walks with the dog. I run my errands, even go to the grocery store—specifically Farm Boy—and I go on a weekday between the hours of 11-3 because there’s barely any people there and I feel safe. It’s a good day.
And after a day like that, the next day I’m down for the count, sometimes for two days. My week is half and half these days—half busy and half in bed. And I’m still healing after two and a half years of fucking mayhem, but I’ve finally gotten used to it—not just healing, but accepting my life changes. It only took almost three years. Fuck.
I’m allowed to feel sick. I’m allowed to cancel whatever, whenever. And I’m allowed to stay in bed all fucking day if that’s what I need to do that day. I struggled with that for a long time—big time—the struggle is no more.
When I lay in bed at night, I think about the day I just had rather than the day that’s ahead of me. Because I have no idea what tomorrow is gonna be like.
I might wanna do one thing and end up doing another—or doing absolutely nothing. And I don’t beat myself up for those days anymore—c’est la vie for me.
I’ve fully surrendered. I no longer have control over what comes next. Probably never did. I just stay within the lines. Abide, have faith, and keep on going.
My life is a mystery at this point because I don’t know what’s ahead or what’s next. I don’t know what’s gonna be. I don’t know where I’m gonna end up. I’m going somewhere. I don’t know when and I don’t know where, but I know I’m going.
Every day for me is a different day. Instead of worrying about what tomorrow is gonna be like— when you live in the now you just think about the day you’re on—the day you’ve already had—and how grateful you are to have been able to do the things you did that day. You’re just grateful you had another day to do those things. Another day to get through.
That shit’s real—living in the now. One day at a time. Five little words that mean so much. They get thrown around like candy, but you really don’t know what it is until you have to do it—live one day at a time.
It took me two and a half years to adjust to the crossover, and I’m finally living one day at a time—not because my time is running short, but because the destination ahead is already laid out, even if it’s uncertain to me.
The path is there. I’m on the path. I’m just looking at the apple trees and the cherry trees as I go by. Sometimes I pick them or gather them, sometimes I eat them, sometimes I just look at them—every day is different.
But now I’m allowed to be sick. I’m allowed to heal. I’m allowed to lay in bed all day if I feel like shit—without guilt. I have adjusted.
My body is different. My needs are different. I’m different.
Every day is different. I’m just riding a wave. Am I curious where it’s taking me? Sure. But I’m not worried about it, because I won’t know until I get there—and because I am protected.
Two and a half years later, I’m still learning how to heal. Oh, I’m still healing—100%. Physically and mentally. Spiritually, I’ve got it together. My soul is intact.
I know at some point I wrote about being altered, and that’s exactly what it is. After 50 years, everything just changed. I live a completely different life now. I see things completely differently.
I’ll re-watch a show and see it differently than I once had. It’s like I’m watching it for the first time, catching all the cues I’m supposed to catch.
You have to give in to your illness, because it demands respect. As fucked up as it sounds, it’s there for a reason. Denial is a huge waste of fucking time. Lord knows this life ain’t easy. Things get a lot harder before they get easier.
I didn’t know any of this two years ago, three years ago—shit, not even last year. But I sure would’ve appreciated reading something like this to help me get through the last two and a half years.
People who haven’t crossed over, who don’t have, or don’t know they have a chronic illness, have no idea what it’s like for someone who has. Doctors don’t even know. They can only imagine. They see it every day, but they don’t live it.
I was talking to a friend the other day who now has a chronic illness and had a major surgery this year. She’s young, and she’s crossed over. Her entire life has changed because the number one priority now is keeping the chronic illness at bay—and that takes work. It’s a full-time commitment. Life changing.
I openly speak on this because it’s real, and I think more people should have an understanding of what I’m saying here—for those that have crossed over to know that your life has now changed forever and you’ve got a lot of adjusting to do if you haven’t yet, and for those who have not crossed over to know that their child, their friend, or family member who has crossed over is living another life. A life of learning, acceptance, and adjusting—because adding a chronic illness into your everyday life ain’t no walk in the park.
I want to give insight into what it’s like for someone like me who has crossed over—and it’s not just heart surgery. It’s chronic illness, period. Diabetes, Cancer, Crohn’s, Heart Disease—the list goes on.
People with these illnesses live differently, and sometimes I feel it’s overlooked because the person on the other side has no clue what’s involved or what it’s actually like for someone dealing with a chronic illness.
That person’s life just changed forever—or has already changed—and for those, they’re not adjusting anymore, they’re maintaining.
But the people around those managing a chronic illness should really try to envision themselves in their shoes, because then they’ll see just how much patience and compassion is required. And you just never know when or if you’ll be the next one to cross over.
