45 days & nights of Black Butterflies

Posted by Shireen Sandoval  02/15/13, 2:41pm

I'm naked. Standing in the middle of a room. Nothing's there. Just me. My pale skin's aglow. My brunette hair, unruly, cascades below my waist. Suddenly, my body begins to heave. I clutch my stomach, fall forward, landing on my knees. My eyes flutter with fear and my mouth flies open with force. Violently, thousands of Black Butterflies pour out of me. Flapping from my lips, they freakishly flood the entire room. Alas, they've finally made their great escape, flittering about. Then, poof! In perfect unison, they disappear. I wipe my face, stand-up and start floating. Hovering, ever so slightly, above ground. A bright light starts shining behind me. I linger in mid-air. Weightless. Suspended. At peace. That's the reoccurring dream I've had for the last 45 nights (yes, I looked at my calendar and counted.) When I looked back, I noticed...

45 days ago my neurologist walked into my examination room. He sat down on a twisty stool, glanced at my chart and without looking up said: "How do you feel?" I gave him my typical response: "I'm not dead yet." Mind you, I've been asked this question numerous times over the past few years, after developing Guillian-Barre' Syndrome. He chuckled. I like it when he laughs. I love my doctor. He saved my life (diagnosing & treating me, after so many others had given up, including myself.) He reviewed what he had written down and we talked about my recovery from my sixth (and final) IVIG treatment (Intravenous Immunoglobulin.) A standard treatment for GBS. He checked my reflexes and said: "You're doing well." I ignored him and explained that "sometimes" my lower spine still hurt. He listened and said thoughtfully: "It's time, Shireen. Time to start healing yourself. Rebuilding your body and your life." I looked at him, with tears in my eyes and said softly: "I'm afraid."

Butterflies symbolize change, transformation and luck. It's because they're short-lived. They only have a few months to grow up - metamorphosize - to understand their ultimate purpose. Imagine, living your entire life in just 8 weeks? Time would be fleeting, it would fly by and you would feel lucky to have each and every second. Seeing a Butterfly, in full bloom, complete in its maturation, is said to bring good fortune. They only spread their wings for about two weeks. Then, they drift off and die. A sighting is magical, mysterious and has captivated mankind for centuries. Native American folklore says: if you want a wish to come true, capture a Butterfly and whisper it your desire. Then, you must set it free. Even though it can't talk, The Great Spirit can. It sees and hears all. Upon giving the Butterfly its freedom (letting it live,) it flaps its way into the spirit world, where your wish is granted.

I've kept my reccurring dream of Black Butterflies to myself, at least until now. It scared me. I thought it spoke of illness, death and despair. Interestingly enough, I found out (from a dream specialist,) the dark flurry of beauties represent strength. Strength one carries into a new self-chosen journey; developed after a long suffering transition.

It was dark outside when I laced up my Black running shoes. I hadn't exercised in two years. I was busy dying and now, well, I had to get busy living. Doctor's orders. Of course, I didn't follow them until 45 days and one dream intrepretation later. I guess you could call my recovery a stroke of good fortune. Like my Black Butterflies. I knew others with GBS did not share my same fate. The moon was glorious that night, illuminating my new path, shedding light on my second chance at life. I walked just a short distance (with a friend,) but it didn't matter, because I had already come so far. I was no longer afraid of "What Dreams May Come," (yes, just like the movie.)

The thing is, if you aren't ready to look, you won't see. Dream or not. After my fifth IVIG infusion, I received a beautiful Butterfly ring, from a jewelry designer with a sweet soul. After my sixth treatment, someone I love surprised me with a pretty, vintage-inspired Butterfly pendant. That's not all. When I took a good look around me, I realized over the course of the past few years (while I was wrapped in a cocoon of healing,) my family and friends had gifted me with many gilded wings. I just didn't notice, until my dreams (45 days and nights of Black Butterflies) woke me up.

One of my favorite things; is my Emmaline Butterfly Ring from www.jillzaleski.com When I decorate my finger with the fanciful flight, it keeps me soaring and moving in the right direction and that's what my new self chosen journey of healing is all about.

Lace, Life, Writer's Block & Love

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

I had a really great idea for my blog last week. I was going to write about Lace & Life and how sometimes they parallel one another. I even talked to my stylist about it. She sent me pictures, we traded ideas, we outlined a plan. Matter-of-fact, I'd just bought three gorgeous Lace dresses from BCBG (for my Deco Drive television wardrobe.) They were actually the inspiration behind what was "going to be" a fetching fashion piece about configured fabric. I wanted to call it: "The Snapshots of Lace." I was going to share a few priceless pictures from my life: my wedding, my baptism, even my prom.  

A Wing & A Prayer

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

The room was dank and smelled musty. I sat on the edge of the bed, which barely fit in the room, and cried. Rome, Italy bustled in the background with life, but Sydney (my baby girl,) was dead. It had been one year to the day, complications from a difficult pregnancy, left me childless. I thought the world should stop. Pause. Cry with me. It didn't. Not even my husband (at the time) did . He chose to stay back in the states, trotting off to the Kentucky Derby in Louisville, to spend time with his father. I begged him to come with me to "The Eternal City," ironically enough, Rome's nickname. I thought we could find peace, perhaps toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain together, assuring our return. Instead, I found myself alone in one of the oldest cities in the world, with the newest of heartbreaks. I fell back onto the bed and cradled myself with dark memories. I pressed "play" on my ipod and let Beethoven's "Emperor Concerto" comfort me.

Perfectly Plastic Pumps

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

The poster read: "Dancers wanted." It stood out from a sea of others on the theatre cork-board. It was hastily written with a Black Sharpie on a hot pink piece of paper. I think the marker was spitting out its last bit of ink too, because the words had been traced over, making a slight indentation in the paper. For some reason, the saying: "Presentation Is Everything," popped into my head. I ignored it, looked past the pizza smears on the bottom of the sign, jotted down the info and headed to class.

The Colors of Sobral

Posted by Shireen Sandoval

I turned my face toward the scorching sun and that's when I saw Jesus looking down on me. I'd never been in His presence before. It was overwhelming. I was sweating and felt faint. I squinted, trying to look past the sun. The light was so bright behind him, it was as if he'd arrived from Heaven. He had long hair and was wearing a draped robe, just like I thought he would. His arms were outstretched to greet me. I'd never considered myself a religious person; more like, say, spiritual. But at that moment, "I believed."