Befores and Afters

I’ve seen a lot of people posting pictures from this time two years ago. There are posts asking people to share the last pre-pandemic photo on their camera roll of when things were “normal”.

My picture for today exactly two years ago was my “new office” (my couch), my kids fighting, and my grocery store run where I couldn’t find any meat or toilet paper but bought wine and oreos. Some things have drastically changed in those two years, and some are exactly the same. A few days before we had been skiing in Taos. There were whispers of a virus and a few borders were shutting down. But we had no idea what was coming. Most of us have these before and after pictures on our phone of pre-and post-Covid words. It is a before and after that the entire world shares, even though we have all had varying experiences.

But it is a good reminder that every has their own befores and afters.

Ones that are not shared with the planet and rarely posted on social media.

They have before the diagnosis, before the phone call, before the loss.

I’ve had my own version of that play out this week. I accidentally stumbled on my last “normal” photo. I was looking for an old Halloween picture on my phone. I scrolled through Instagram to find it - going back several years and landed on one of me in a dental chair. I froze. It was dated November 8, 2013. The caption under was aiming for a laugh.

Except, now I wasn’t laughing

This was a very out of character post for me (because usually I only post pictures of my kids, dog, books or trips), but for some reason I felt the need to document this. A student handed me a blow pop on our way out of the building for a first period fire drill. Maybe I am too old for blow pops - because within seconds my molar split in two and I carried half of it in my pocket back into the building. It didn’t hurt, but I was concerned about how much it would hurt my wallet. My dentist got me in that afternoon and told me that I was lucky, that he thought he could save me from a root canal. He took a long time repairing the damage and fitting me for a crown. I spent almost two hours with my jaw craned open and the drill vibrating. Something in me shifted that day, it would just take me a while to realize it. I wrote some snarky comment under the Instagram post about how expensive that blow pop ended up being. A few days later I got my first tiny shock. It happened each morning for weeks as I put on my makeup. They were so slight that at first I thought maybe I had imagined it, until the next day when it would happen all over again. Each time I thought - I should ask a doctor about this, but then I would forget again. It was on the opposite side of my face from my new crown, so I didn’t connect the two for years. That is my last post of when things were “normal” for me.

Several pictures after that image is a photo of me and me and my two closest friends celebrating her birthday at the Gaylord exactly one month later. I remember that night because I almost spilled my wine glass on our waitress as the electrical shocks got stronger. My once a morning zap - suddenly happened at dinner. Over and over again with a pain level that could no longer be ignored. Earlier that night we had tubed down the indoor ice exhibits, ordered good food and wine and laughed, until my face literally hurt. There are 16 pictures on my phone between the dentist office and that dinner. Sixteen images between being broken and realizing it. They are of my kids’ soccer games, playing in the fountain, books, beer, friends, my crazy kids, great meals, and adventures. I finally made that doctor’s appointment. I was misdiagnosed more than once. Given all kinds of pills that didn’t help. One doctor suggested a psychologist before another finally recognized my classic symptoms and sent me straight to a well known neurologist. He gave me pills that immediately worked. They made me sleepy, run slower, gain a few pounds and sometimes forgetful. But I only took a few, and some days I’d skip them all together. The photos continue. And they are so fun to look through. My kids are joyful. We go on amazing trips. I run a half marathon. I do crazy things at school. I spend time with my favorite people.

Then YEARS later there is a third picture that gives me pause. This one is dated July 2015. It is of my mismatched socks sticking out from a hospital bed before they wheeled me off for surgery.

My caption this time was only one word. “Ready”.

But I had no idea what I thought I was ready for, because I can assure you I was not.

In between the dinner where I realized something was wrong and the hospital - there are literally hundreds of photos. This stage where I went from managed to desperate is full of

races, vacations, birthdays, soccer games, dress up days, girls nights.

Even in the midst of pain that led me to cut a whole in my head, I literally couldn’t pick 100 favorite images.

And then I look at images after surgery. It took me years to find any kind of real relief. However, from most of these pictures you can not tell. There are no more defining images.

I can remember enough to know that there was hesitation behind some of these pictures.

Mountains I was afraid to climb in case of an attack. Trips that I was uncertain of, but took any ways. Concerts that maybe I didn’t make it all the way through.

But I can’t find an image and say -- that is the last one where I was really hurting.

Or that is the last picture that I was afraid all the time.

Or the last picture where I took fistfuls of pills.

It is too hard to tell or remember.

The healing was so slow and gradual that I almost missed the miracle.

Even my after images are still in a state of in between.

And I certainly can’t find an image in there and say -- this one, this is the one where I started living again -- because I had never stopped.

I remember those years as a painful blur, but frankly, my images tell a different story.

There are still hundreds of pictures of races, trips, dinners, adventures, birthdays, graduations, weddings, my kids doing their favorite things while I am there to witness it. They are smiling their faces off. More hikes than my kids have ever wanted to go on. Oceans and lakes.. Mountains (and volcanoes) climbed. Literally and figuratively.

I know that life on social media isn’t real.

It is curated and edited. But, these reminders are very much real. The joy is there, even if there was a layer of pain or medication underneath them. At their worst they are incomplete.

But so is only looking at only the 3 images: the dentist, the dinner and the hospital.

There are hundreds and hundreds of others in between and after.

I’ve also learned that life is a series of before and afters. None of us are lucky enough to only have one. It isn’t the before pictures that matter nearly as much as the ones that follow.

The world shut down two years ago. Go back, find your before picture.

Think about how hard it was, how much we lost and who we lost. Grieve and remember.

But keep scrolling.

I found pictures of Zoom meetings with friends I had not seen in years. Sidewalk chalk. Hundreds of meals outside. Hikes. Birthday parades. Weird first days of school. Vaccines. Vacations. Masks and plenty of memories I want to keep.

Having a before we can all share is also a good place to be aware of the befores and afters people carry and keep to themselves.

It is an opportunity to be a little more gentle with other peoples' stories.

It is an opportunity to be a little more gentle with your own.

It is an opportunity to acknowledge not only the pain of before but the unexpected joy that you can still find after.

P.S. I've finally sent out my first newsletter and had my work posted a few places this month. Sign up for my newsletter here to stay up to date (get free playlists) and I promise not to spam you.