Sex Spoken Here: Secrets of a Sexuality Educator

She's Come Undone--The Ridiculous Life & Times of Catherine

Sometimes it seems like my life is a perfect shit storm. Don't get me wrong, I have been incredibly lucky and blessed for most of it. It's only more recently that things have gotten away from me. 

I'm still in shock and barely believe that my father passed away so suddenly. It's been difficult on all of us (I have 2 older sisters, 2 brother-in-laws, 3 nephews and 1 niece). One of the hardest things for me to process is that, after many years of being a caretaker to my mom while still working, he actually seemed to be enjoying life. When he wasn't working, he was with family. He mellowed as he aged. It was heartwarming to see how much he loved his grand kids and how he would do anything for them. He would be on the sidelines watching a bunch of 8 years old boys and girls attempting to play a "real" soccer game. He also went to school recitals and birthday parties--this is not something he usually did when I was growing up. All I can say is that his presence is going to be sorely missed. I find myself breaking down and crying because my heart hurts for the trauma my niece and nephews must be going through. 

In my earlier post, I briefly mentioned that I wasn't able to go to San Diego to help assist with the aftermath of his sudden passing.

I've had multiple issues going on in my life, and maybe it's just easier for me to put them down in chronological order. 

About 5 years ago, my best friend was diagnosed with an illness that scared the crap out of me. A quick search of his newly diagnosed illness made me incredibly sad. Very few people know about it. It's one of the main reasons I don't bring it up. I researched the fuck out of what he was diagnosed with only to learn that the average mortality rate is not great...at all. I can't put into words how heartbroken I was at learning this. Luckily, he has beaten the odds and continues to live a full and happy life. I've never ever forgotten, however, that there is a real chance that he could catch some infection that could set off a chain of events that would cause his death.

I'm not even kidding when I told my best friend that I was going to throw myself on his funeral pyre because his death would render me inconsolable. We have a connection that can't be described. We can read what is on each others mind, finish each others sentences, etc. I named this blog post "she's come undone" because it happens to be the title of our favorite book--we discovered this years and years after we read it. We also learned that one of our favorite movies growing up is a little gem called "the slipper in the rose." The movie is incredibly gay, and my husband finds it enormously amusing that we both adored it. 

Flash forward to about a month ago. My dad was not doing well. The medication he was on to treat his cancer basically caused his body to go into shock. It seemed like the worst was behind us and that he could be stabilized.

I can't make this shit up when I say that it was that exact week that my husband was diagnosed with a serious illness that is so devastating that I am unable to write it down. We've spent the last month going to appointment after appointment after appointment seeking out 2nd and 3rd opinions of his original diagnosis. 

In other words, my husband learned he was sick at the same time my father was dying. 

I've had such guilt around the fact that I wasn't there when my father passed. Yes, I know it was sudden, but it still breaks my heart. I've had incredible remorse and many sleepless nights going over in my head how I could have told my dad one more time how much I loved him. Intellectually I know that my husband needed me to be with him more than my father, but it's still difficult to feel as if I failed my dad by not being with him. 

I've spent half my life with my husband. He is insanely wonderful, smarter than anyone else I know, loving, emotive (especially for an engineer), patient, handsome, and I could go on and on. Seriously, can you believe that HE was worried about telling me about his diagnosis because he had been so concerned about how much I've been going through with my dad? I have no words to describe how amazingly lucky I am to have a husband who is so loving, caring, and in tune with my feelings. 

I had lunch last week with my husband and my best friend. They have only met once or twice before, but know A LOT about each other because of me.

Because I am so close with my best friend, we both think it is not the best thing to have others around us when we have plans. We both feel like whomever is with us will feel horribly left out or ignored because we have a closeness that basically makes others around us invisible. This particular dynamic was not lost on my husband. Only instead of feeling left out, he got to see first hand how ridiculously close we are, and he "got" that our closeness is really quite difficult to put into words.

My husband wanted to see my best friend in person to let him know, in no uncertain terms, just how much I was going to need his support during his long medical treatment. The word loving doesn't even come remotely close to just how amazing this particular gesture was. Seriously, even in the midst of his own medical crisis, my husband felt the need to let my best friend know that I was really going to need him and his support. The whole situation blows me away and there wasn't a dry eye amongst us. 

Learning of my husband's diagnosis kicked my ass into high gear. Who would have known that the contacts I made while working with the HIV positive community would come in handy in my personal life. I called in every favor I had to find out exactly who he needed to be seen by for his particular diagnosis. It just happens that coordinating appointments and speaking to medical professionals is something I am very good at. I've basically been working as his medical coordinator. It helps me feel a lot let helpless. Being well versed with the medical community has helped me negotiate his schedule. Of course, I insist on him having only the very best physicians, surgeons, and treatment team.

I've also learned that this includes both tangible and intangible considerations. Tangibles are the skill of the doctors and how many patients they have seen with this issue. Intangibles are things like how he felt after meeting the individual doctors and if he felt like he was being well taken cared of by a team of specialists. I've lost count of the number of hours we have physically spent at medical centers in the past month. My best guess is probably somewhere between 60 and 75.  

We are both relieved to know that a treatment plan is now firmly in place. The road is going to be very rough, and his treatment will last about 6 months. All the medical professionals basically refer to this time as "the lost year". 

I know god is mocking me when I went to a follow up eye appointment with my opthamologist this past Friday. I saw him the week before because I was seeing floaters in one eye, and have had it drilled into me that I am at high risk for retinal detachment. It was late Friday afternoon when my doctor told me that he saw a hole in my retina, and was being immediately referred to a retina specialist. I ended up having laser eye surgery to repair the hole. I'm still at risk for retinal detachment and possibly more emergency eye surgery. I've never been a candidate for lasik corrective surgery because of my severe near-sightedness.

My husband left work to gather me from the surgery appointment and was a bit disappointed that I didn't need an eye patch. I think he would have found it completely hilarious if I took to talking like a pirate and say "gaarrr, matey."

I can see how ridiculous this all seems. Most of the time I am consumed with grief that I am barely functional. At least I can occasionally find humor in this clusterfuck. 

Sickness and death are complicated and taboo topics for many people. I've learned that my tolerance for bullshit, game playing, and pettiness is almost non existent. I've also learned that wanting to build a mini sex positive empire is so completely not important to me anymore.

The shear amount of compassion I have received by my friends, family, and people in the medical community is beyond touching. Seriously, I have no words to describe just how lovely, compassionate, and willing to help me through these series of issues people have been--it is not something I have taken for granted. 

Not everyone has been all warm and fuzzy, however. I have lost some friends during the past few months. I'm usually someone who can very quickly and permanently close people out of my life. I guess I've struggled with a few former friends because I didn't want to believe that I had invested so much time with people who, when I needed them, were simply not there for me. 

Believe me when I say the purpose of this blog post is not for you to feel pity for me. I guess I felt the need to let you guys know that there is so much more going on in my life right now beyond my dad's death. My life is completely absurd right now, and work is the last thing on my mind. I'm no longer accepting new coaching clients and have cleared my workshop schedule. 

I'm someone who usually always gets back with people quickly. I'm no longer as responsive to people's calls, texts, and emails. It's not that I'm trying to avoid anyone--I'm just coming a bit undone. 

Picking Up the Pieces

I've been dreading writing this blog post for many reasons. As a blogger, it is a strange thing for people I've never met to know personal details about my sexuality. I feel like I've come to terms with that piece, but it's always a fine line of what constitutes too personal. 

When I wrote my more recent posts "Now What" and "Now What (Part Deux)" I could not have foreseen just how excruciatingly difficult these past months have been. 

I lost my mom in 2009 after a long illness. It was horrible and traumatic, but she had been sick for so long that I was able to begin processing her passing before it occurred. Don't get me wrong, I was a mess after her passing and I still continue to mourn the loss of her. 

My full disclosure is that I am the baby of the family, and I have always had a different experience with my parents than my older siblings. I have such a strong recollection of realizing they would actually die when on one of our regular road trips. I remember breaking down and sobbing at the thought of them not being in my life. I think I must have been around 8 or 9 years old at the time. 

Almost everyone who met me had thought at one time or another that my parents were a weird couple. My mom was unruly, generous, emotional, and both good crazy and bad crazy. On the other hand, my dad was more stoic, intellectual, soft spoken, and super well regarded as a top notch anesthesioligst. The fact that, at 79, people still wanted him on their medical teams says so much about his love for his work. 

A few months ago my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. It was quite the shock to everyone in my family because he has never been sick. The reason he went to the doctor (and remember that doctor's generally hate seeing doctors in a personal medical way) was because he was having difficulty breathing while walking on his treadmill. I'm ashamed to admit that my 79 year old father was way more active than I am. 

I can't even imagine how difficult it was for him to 1) quit doctoring after 52 years, and 2) come to terms that he was given a devastating medical diagnosis. As a doctor himself, he knew the exact outcome of his diagnosis. 

Cancer is a tricky illness. Some people outwardly show obvious signs of illness. My father did not. I spent some time with him after I found out about his diagnosis and remember thinking to myself "Damn, he totally doesn't even seem or look sick!" We walked his regular 2 to 3 mile loop every morning, went to some doctor's appointments, and I left him thinking that I was certain he would be around for years. 

He very suddenly passed away last week. My whole family is in shock, but he was at home and not alone when he passed. Due to my husband's new diagnosis (I'm not ready to talk about it), I was not able to fly down to help my family with the aftermath of a sudden death. 

My dad was a very proud and dignified man. He had been a care taker for my mom during her illness which lasted about 8 years. The slow but obvious decline of her health was heartbreaking to everyone. I know that my dad would not wish to go through the same process as my mom. 

I haven't much talked about my dad because he was such a fiercely private person. He was a great role model for me growing up, and I got to see first hand that men could be loving, respected, super intelligent, and resilient. 

If you don't know much about how the Japanese Americans were treated during WWII, I highly suggest you do a little a research. My father, who was born in America, and the rest of his family were re-located to an internment camp during the war. My dad's side of the family was doing quite well as farmers. They had over 35 acres of land when they were given their orders for re-location. My dad and his siblings along with his parents (American born), and grand parents were shuttled off to Idaho. They were only allowed to take what they could carry, and nothing else. When they arrived at Idaho, they were given a single converted horse stable which became their home for the next 4 years. 9 people in one tiny stable is almost impossible for me to wrap my head around. Everyone ate in a chow hall and there were only communal bathrooms.

(display of what a typical room looked like in the internment camps. Remember my dad had 9 people in that area)

My great grandfather (and the first Toyooka to emigrate from Japan) passed away in the internment camp due to the lack of medical services. This memory stayed with my father and I believe had a huge impact on him going on to become a physician. 

When my dad's family returned from the internment camp they found that all but 3 or 4 acres of land had been taken over or sold. Their belongings were looted, but thankfully they had some neighbors who offered to hold some of their things for safe keeping. 

The internment camps were not easy on anyone who were re-located. I was so fascinated by this horrible stain in American history that I went on to write my undergraduate thesis on the sociological impact the internment had on Japanese Americans. 

I believe the way my father coped with the internment was to become as assimilated as possible into the American culture. He spoke very broken Japanese, graduated from medical school, and completely left the west coast. He met my mom--who happened to have blond hair and blue eyes--because she was working as a nurse at the same hospital with my dad. 

The real gift my dad gave me was making me aware that there were other men out there who were "Renaissance Men". On top of being respected and well regarded amongst the medical community, my father knew something about everything. He was a voracious reader, listened to classical and opera music, had an enormous wine collection, appreciated fine food, and basically knew how to fix anything. I used to say that he was a bit of a walking encyclopedia and this was decades before the internet became commonplace. 

When I was younger, I used to worry that I would never find a man to marry who had the same type of desirable qualities my dad was known for. I wasn't sure other men like that existed, but was completely shocked when I met my husband. In more ways than one, he is very similar to my father. I knew I had found a keeper when it was easy for my dad to tell me how incredibly smart my husband is. He had never said that about any of my previous boyfriends. In fact, I am quite certain that my previous boyfriends were always intimidated by my dad. He was not a big or tall man by any means. What he was, however, was quiet, and soft spoken, and this combination made many people uncomfortable. 

My father defied everything people assume about the elderly. He continued to be sought out as a doctor, basically served as my sister's handyman (he walked around with a multi-meter) and computer expert (he set up and monitored their wireless connection), and adored his grand-kids. I can't even begin to describe how much they loved him. 

I feel like my dad was taken from all who loved him way too soon. I know he was aware of how much I loved him, and knew how much he loved me. Losing both parents in under 4 years is just plain cruel. 

I didn't get the chance to say goodbye, which will eat me up in side for what seems like forever. I am so thankful and proud he was my father. My heart is breaking, and I feel like I will never be whole again. 

I've been crying through out the writing of this blog post. I know it is super personal and might make you uncomfortable. This is one of the only ways I know how to process what has happened in less than a week. 

Here are a few of my favorite pictures of me and my dad at my wedding in 1995.