When Healing Edits You
Seven months later and I’ve got a lot to say still.
After having done this surgery twice in a short span, I can tell you that when they stop your heart and your lungs and hook you up to the machine (bypass) to take over, and you go to that funny place which is neither here nor there, it takes six months after they reboot you for you to become whole again—mind, body, and soul—six months. No doubt in my mind that happens to everybody, because it happened to me—twice.
The difference between me and most—I had an awakening. I was aware, I was wide open, raw, and I embraced it. My Virgo analytical self wanted to get to the bottom of it. A lot of people feel the same weird shit I felt or went through but don’t want to acknowledge it, or don’t even know what it is that’s happening to them. It just gets chalked up as depression.
I know this because once the six-month mark passes—which for me was just about four weeks ago—there’s a shift. You become whole, whatever that whole may look like. I’m sure it’s different for everybody. And what I mean by whole is your mind, your body, and your soul are aligned again and working as one. Because for those first six months after being on bypass, you are not whole—not at all. I can remember some things from those six months vividly, and others not at all.
Can’t blame it on the drugs, fuck off with that noise—it’s not the drugs. It’s complicated, man. This is a human being we’re talking about with a mind, a body, and a soul. We weren’t created to be hooked up or operated by a machine, so when the switch flips and the machine takes over—it all disconnects.
I went through fucking hell six months post-surgery. My second surgery was fucking brutal, and that’s just the fucking baseline. My stomach issues were so bad that on November 12 I ended up back in the hospital. I can’t even tell you what was more terrifying—my stomach issues or just being back in the hospital. They fully understood my trauma and treated me accordingly—so grateful for that hospital—I truly am. Yeah, I had a deranged discharge, but overall—I count my lucky fucking stars every day.
I had a CT scan, and everything seemed to be OK. I will be following up with a gastrologist, but ever since then—I’ve been fine. Six months to the day. That same week something else happened.
I finished the book in July, or so I thought I did, and then realized I needed to tweak a few chapters, add a few things. It didn’t take long for me to add another fifty pages—the words came flying out just like the rest of the book. It didn’t take me long to get out what needed to be said—what ended up being a super-duper—in my opinion, of course—amazing ending.
The ending of this story wasn’t in July—what was to be written hadn’t even happened yet. I was still going through it, and I didn’t write the ending—the ending wrote itself.
My friend Rosie, who is a names, numbers, and words girl, had been working on the book. I asked her a few weeks ago to send me what she had done so far. The instructions were simple, basic, but it’s a big-ass book. I asked her specifically to not change any of the words—just fix the punctuation and paragraph format from manuscript to book.
Something happened when I started reading it.
After the second chapter, I reached out to Rosie and said, “Don’t worry about going through anymore. I’m gonna edit it.”
I realized—I’m fucking the editor! Hahaha! I’m meant to edit this book. It’s too raw, and it’s too unconventional for it to be done by anyone other than myself—the author.
Rosie was doing exactly what I wanted. However, when I started reading it, it needed work—a lot of work. Excessive usage of unnecessary words and lots of exclamation marks—in case you didn’t notice. It needed polishing, the kind only I could provide.
I noticed how raw it truly was. I also saw my writing evolve as the chapters went by—the writing changes—and I didn’t change that, because that’s part of the book—evolution.
When I finished the book in July, I created a full manuscript document, closed my laptop, and patted myself on the back—even had me a glass of champagne. I was happy as fuck, excited—shit, I just wrote a whole fucking book—in six months!
There were some, not some—several backhanded compliments—“You wrote better than I ever expected.” “You wrote it so fast because you already had the words,” comparing me to his ex-girlfriend. Pfft—tha fuck? It’s my fucking life, of course I have all the words—do like Billie Jean and fucking beat it!
To be honest—I never wanted to open that book again. I never wanted to read those words again, and it’s my life. It’s my journey. And it wasn’t a pretty one. The thought of having to go through it and sift through those words again made me sick. Not something I wanted to do. But three editors later—here it is, back in my hands, right where it’s supposed to be.
So, I got the book back. I ended up in emerge with my stomach issues, and they wanted me to eat before I left the hospital. I ate a burrito—half there, half when I got home—and I have been fine ever since. Six months to the day. May 12–Nov 12.
I’ve lost a significant amount of weight after all of this. I’m six sizes smaller than I was before surgery. I didn’t think this size was even possible for me—my broad shoulders and height—I just thought that’s how I was built, but here I am, a size eight—feeling and looking great, if I do say so myself.
I’m 54. The end of December will be three years since this whole fuckery started—what a fucking ride!
I did some more research on what I’d been through—primarily the bypass part—when I noticed the shift again at six months, and I couldn’t help but notice the life expectancy that popped up after something like that—bypass—it’s 18 years. Uhm—yeah, that hit me some kind of way.
How fucked up is it for me to say that I know the next 18 years will be the best years of my life? Because I know they will.
I’ve been quiet, and that’s because my focus has been on the book. And what an experience it is reading and editing my own story. It’s like I was under a spell when I wrote a good chunk of those words—my soul was ready to speak.
As I’m going through it, I’m laughing, I’m crying—more laughs than cries though—but the one thing that isn’t there anymore—anger.
The stuff written about my father and my mother, my friends, and my daughter definitely cut the deepest. Those four factors still remain unresolved. And three out of four of them will never resolve, and I’ve made peace with that—but I won’t give up on the fourth. Never.
I’m excited to get this book out, obviously, as I was in July with a book launch in September—of course I was excited; I finished a book, who wouldn’t be? I’ve never written a book before. But the book wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready. The book wasn’t even finished. The book is ahead of me—I’m trying to catch up to the book.
The fact that I am the one intended to edit this book—it’s all part of the process, my journey. Going through my entire life one more time is so that I’ll have no qualms about opening that book again, reading any chapter, talking about my past without crumbling—that’s what this was all about—healing.
I should’ve known back then when I thought it was finished, and I never wanted to look at any of the pages ever again. I think I knew something wasn’t quite right. But it’s done now; I’m just cleaning it up—62 chapters. I’m on chapter 39, so she’s coming along.
I thought there were three more books coming after this memoir, but it turns out there’s gonna be four—five books coming from me in total. Crazy, eh!
It’s what I’m going through—the fourth one; it’s what’s happening right now—the aftermath.
Memoirs of a Lash Artist
They Saved My Heart—I Saved the Rest
Born to Swallow—Forced to Spit
Open-Heart Awakening
The Aftermath—the Cost of Staying Alive
A whole fucking collection!
So yeah, lots to write. I imagine these books will keep me busy for some time, and I look forward to writing each and every one of them. I can’t think of a better way to start my new year.
Not sure when I’ll pop on here again—I never do lol—but if it’s not before the year is out, I wish you all very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
—Love Jaye ❤️
