Happy NEW Year!

Tonight I am home in bed, sick, yet perfectly at peace.  I am warm, I am fed, I am blessed.  I'm thinking about those in cold who feel so very unloved (why are these people sooo very on my mind these days??) and realize how good I really do have it.  I've never known true hunger, and I've never felt truly alone.

This year has been the make it or break it for me in my new little life - and I think I just might have made it.  I moved to a city where I literally knew not a soul.  My reason?  I simply felt I needed to. Family and friends thought I was nuts, worried that as sick as I was - I would be back home in a month all the wiser.  Not a chance.  I made my rent each month (sometimes with a $1 left to my name after) and took care of my needs.  I made friends, many whom I now can't imagine life without, and transitioned my business to a whole new market.  Not once, not for a single second, have I ever regretted my decision to move and what a feeling that is.

Happy New Year; here's to a chance to make this next one even better.  My resolution?  To simply stop and reflect more, give love, give thanks, turn off the electronic devices and not be afraid to stop and sit still and be perfectly happy in my own skin.

My Christmas Gift

I have truly been given a Christmas gift this year, one of much deepened gratitude.  Every day for the past few weeks I have been reminded how much I have been given and how fortunate I am to have a roof over my head, shelter from the cold and the abundant support I have in my life.  I am truly, truly blessed.  Still ornery, but very blessed :).

Tonight I am thinking about my Savior and what humble means he came to this Earth under, and with that, the life He was able to live and good he was able to do.  I feel grossly inadequate with all i have been given as to whom my life needs to be dedicated to - in every action and deed.  May you all remember the babe in a manger this holiday season.

Merry Christmas!

Grateful

It has been a busy week.  Busy shooting pictures and sleeping every minute in between.  It is cold outside, uncomfortably cold (well, for this southern lady) and as I sit in a warm house with food in my stomach I can't help but think of those who don't have this tonight, those who are suffering and desperately hoping for warmth and love.  I'm thinking of the people without a place to go, homeless animals who are suffering at no fault of their own, everyone and thing who is wishing they had someone to take them in tonight.

In short, tonight I am feeling incredibly blessed.

And if she can do this two minutes before a double mastectomy..

If he can do it..

then i will never be too weak to do something.

Keeping me down

Whenever there is a period of time where I have troubling booking up a season of photographing weddings, I have learned that it is because the Lord will need me to stay down and get extra rest during that time.  It used to terrify me, causing self-doubt concerning my work and the future of my business and should I save face and throw in the towel.  Nope, I am just going to need a break.

This fall was one of those. I tried repeatedly, invested greatly, in trying to secure a few last minute weddings - yet nothing was falling through.  Since I had had such a busy Spring and Summer, I figured I was allowed a little break and moved back to Austin to enjoy life without photoshop for a while.

I popped up to Salt Lake City for pop's 60th bday in blessed Sundance (that place is prozac for me) and before I made it back to Dallas, I popped back into my ob/gyn's office for my annual.  I could tell something was off, the endometriosis was doing something and told the doc about the recent soreness that felt very similar to how I felt just before ovarian cysts have ruptured in the past (by far the worst pain of my life).  She did an ultrasound and sure enough, 4 cm cyst.  This was Thursday at 3:30pm and by 4:45, I was at the surgical surgery pre-registering for my surgery that would be happening the next morning to have it removed.  That surgery is no big deal, not that painful and I would much rather go through that than wait for it to rupture (remember? worst pain ever).  Surgery happened, everything went fine, cyst removed, insides cleaned out, endometriosis deemed 'not horrible but there' and life moved on.  I even cancelled a photo shoot that was supposed to happen the following day, yeah, it wasn't going to happen and I felt absolutely no guilt about it.  Progress.

Four days later, yeah, I broke my foot.  You see a pattern..  I have these huge barstools in my apartment and had my purse resting on one. When I grabbed it, I somehow dragged the barstool down directly on top of my foot.  Wind knocked out of me, I winced and writhed and then tried to just walk it off. As in, walking all over a bumpy field for two days during Austin City Limits.  Yeah, common sense never was my strong point.  Yet, if I could put pressure on it than it couldn't be broken, right?  Wrong.  It got more and more swollen, blacker and bluer, and I headed into the ER for an xray with my head held in shame five days later.  

See.  There were plans for me.  Plans that involved me needing to be free of work for a while.  Plans to stay down and rest.  I have repeatedly learned that if I won't go down willingly, the good Lord will intervene and knock me down.  For good reason, of course.

Today I made pancakes.

Today I made pancakes.  As in, that is all I did.  The whole day.  I had had a busy couple of days, made a quick trip up to Dallas and back, and there really wasn't anything that absolutely had to be done, and man, I was craving pancakes.

I woke up around 11, deliriously exhausted and wondering what on Earth I had been doing for the previous 10 hours while I thought I had been sleeping (running around holding a desk over my head?), forced my head off the pillow and needed.pumpkin.pancakes.

With recipe pulled up on my phone, I walked into the kitchen and just stood.  This happens often, I miss home cooked meals and always have grand plans to cook them but the minute I am in the kitchen, my head starts to spin and I realize I have nowhere near enough energy to pull it off. I then slap peanut butter on a piece of bread and go lie down.

Not today, today was the day of pancakes and if it was the only thing I was going to do, it would be the making of these pancakes (from scratch, I might add).  I did just that, making an enormous mess yet fully enjoying my finished product.  I walked back to bed and collapsed, my day's work done.  I fell back asleep and didn't wake up until after dark.

Some days will just be like this.  And it sucks.  I think about all of the things that can be accomplished in a day, getting hitched, having babies, working, traveling, all that I used to accomplish in a day - running 10 miles, working 12 hours, etc, and I feel guilty for my wasted day of rest.  Many think that bed rest is a dream come true, 'oh the books I could read! the movies I could watch! the sleep I could get!  Actually, it is miserable, lonely and depressing.  After a day in bed, you feel ten times worse about yourself and your life than you ever should - but for that day, all that you needed to accomplish, you did.  Where did we get this notion that if we didn't work ourselves to the bone we didn't earn the right to take a day off?

You just have to let these days happen, and move on - thinking about all the things you can do once you are well, realizing in order for that to happen the bed rest must come first.

I could watch this over and over again

number 81

i gathered the courage to go to the doctor again this week.  I usually go through a period of time every six months where i just can't bring myself to do it - i just can't go on that hypochondriac trial every other week anymore, it's just too degrading.  Yet, when a doctor is so successful it takes nine months to get an appt, you at least schedule one.

As the months went by, I would sometimes think about it but seeing as I have been on the list for an appt for a doctor in Utah since 2010, yes, three years ago - I didn't put much stock in it.  The week before the appt I even considered canceling it, would it be too expensive, a waste of my time, but most of all, would I be able to handle yet another one tell me this was all in my head.  Seeing as I had been feeing especially sick these last few months, I figured what did I have to lose.

I showed up with my trusty binder of medical records and sat in the office, a very nice office I might add.  One after one I noticed autistic children coming and going and from behind the front desk and I could hear a strong texan man tell them he loved them.  Odd, I thought - that is not something you hear a doctor say everyday.  I soon saw the man with the voice, a jolly late fifties crew cut man in scrubs with Dr Stewart embroidered on the chest - yep, that's the guy who supposed to work miracles.

I was called back and hooked up to all of these machines that tested my inner ears when certain sounds were played. Very interesting, I thought - I guess they were measuring the amount they contract when sounds are played, a sign for nervous system function.  Next was standing on platforms that measured my balance, with eyes closed, without eyes closed and finally again with a big piece of foam under me. Hmmm...was I at another quack's?  I was showed into an exam room and this big burly man came right in.  His first words were 'what are you doing in my office when you look so healthy?'  I almost fled the scene right there.  Then he got a big smile on his face and said, "I bet you've heard that before."

The next 90 minutes were kind of a blur.  Yes, he spent an hour and half with me, right in my face, drawing diagrams, explaining this and that and I may not have understood exactly the chemistry of it all I understood one thing.  He.got.it.  He understood completely.  He would ask me the most random questions about my health and he would nail it every time.  Things that I had never thought were related to the fatigue he called out.  And after we talked about how all of this started while I was a missionary in Africa, he then witnessed to me.

Yes, you read that right. In the south, to get 'a witness' from someone is basically to hear a testimony.  And my, my he gave one.  Probably not pc, probably could get him in trouble, but hey, it's his show.  He started out as an ENT and after growing tired of performing sinus surgery after sinus surgery and not really seeing much difference in his patients' health, he moved on to neurosurgery. He was one of the top neurosurgeons in the country for many years and again, after 'cutting people up and shoving pills down their throat', he again grew weary of his chronically ill patients inability to improve.  He said every night he would wake up about 3 am and go into his office to think, and it wasn't long before things just started coming to him and he started to take notes.  He claims he was taught by the Lord. I can believe that.

Years later, he is one of the top autism specialists in the World and also treats a lot of MS, lupus, alzheimers and autoimmune patients.  It's all inflammation of the nervous system, he claims, the brain is running on no fuel.  He looked at all of my records and couldn't believe some of the things previous doctors had missed.  Things that had shown up but docs had discredited with, 'that must be a fluke, don't worry about it,' or 'that's only marginally high'.  He then said he would fix me within a year.  This, I've heard several times and he could read my skepticism and added, 'you the be pessimist, I'll be the optimist.'  He gave me a big hug and promised to call

What's next?  10 tubes of blood drawn on the way home.  I like that he is so proactive with this, 'you've been sick long enough, lets fight this' and daily injections and a few other  supplements, steroids, and vitamins.  His theory: help the body get in a state to where it can heal itself.  He said he will call me next week with the lab results, 'to tell me he was right about just how sick I am' and we'll go from there.

I am skeptical, but there is something telling me to be hopeful. In the last year or so I had pretty much resolved the fact that I would be sick the rest of my life, and I would still have a fulfilling life, and it would be okay.  Now, do I have to though?

back home

I didn't say I would stop writing all together, I just needed to be relieved of the guilt of not writing every day.  The words will come when they come, and when they do, I will write.

Tonight I am feeling such peace and contentment.  I am back in my beloved Austin, after a summer of extreme stress, travel and work; I really should have never left this place.  Everything was unsettling, unfamiliar, somehow just not right.  I traveled to some beautiful places, and I worked really hard and really long hours, but it all felt off, completely wrong.

The whole working in a cubicle staring at numbers thing, another failed experiment. I got sicker by the hour and in turn, got lower and lower.  It was another experiment, a failed one, in attempting to live life with this illness while carrying on a 9-5 job.  doesn't work.

I drove into town last Saturday and immediately could breathe again.  Everything just felt right.  Sure, there are things about life I wish I could change, but where I am at when I am in my beloved new home, is pretty wonderful.

I've got nothing.

For the past few months I have been too busy, overexerting, overspending, over-committing (this is no surprise) but as things are coming to a close, and I am learning the same lesson yet again, I just have nothing to say.  Severe writer's block.  Oh how I wish for the inspiration that was coming so freely a year ago.  And I am sure as not going to get on my soapbox when I am not following my own advice.

I'll be back - not sure when but I'll be back.  Include your email address below and I'll let you know.  Charles and I need to do some resting and maybe get the tank off of the empty line.

this just seems to make it all okay

Yearly Review

Cali was lovely, too much but lovely. Whenever one of these things I attempt doesn't go well I wonder what I will be able to do and what I can no longer do in this illness. Are the plans I have futile? Should I completely alter the life I hope to have in order to avoid this disappointing physical failure? In short, should I go back to bed?

I have been, and maybe always will be, stuck in this sticky part of a well mind (okay, okay...it's at least a whole lot better off than my body) and a body that just can't keep up with the ideas and plans I make for it. I push it and push it and fall short, every single time. Now, this truly is not the end of the World as what health I do have leaves me in a far better state than most, and for that I am truly grateful.
I just get so tired of always falling short to these extreme lengths I beg my body to go to. Perhaps I should plan a one mile jog instead of a marathon, so to speak.

One of the greatest ways I used to feel accomplishment was to push my body, time, schedule, mind far more than I thought I could handle yet walk away an exhausted yet achieved mess. I would end up far too busy with paying for what I'd done to ever enjoy my victory; I'm now learning a better quality of life yet smaller trophy may be the ultimate wisdom.

So this brings me back to the things I want out of my life, the big steps along the way, are they ridiculous pre-cure? Then again, how dare I let this illness take even more away from me. Wayne Gretzky said 'you miss 100% of the shots you never take.'

In my life I see enjoying my days, taking my trips and doing my exploring, can this still be done in between naps? I see kiddos, ones with only two legs instead of four, I truly believe I was put on this Earth for that reason; am I ridiculous for refusing
to let that go? I don't think I am, it will just have to be much different than I had thought.

The solution that rears its ugly head each time, that 'b' word that I might have to name a child after or something, I must learn balance. And a well planned, well balanced, eager to say no, wary to say yes scares the tar out of me. It's the gray, it's the nothing all that special and the extraordinarily ordinary that scares me out of bed everyday and pushes on to projects and places I have no business in. This balancing act will be a life lesson for me and although I have been getting better at saying no here and there lately, I must get to the point of planning to utter the word instead of tackling its counterpart's climb.

Here I go again. Wish me luck.

Asking for help

Sooo. yeah.  I am now laughing at this past week - well, almost.  I had a ripe opportunity to ask for help the other day.  Through tears.  Half naked and freezing.  Let me explain.

First let's back up to the beginning of the week.  I am not only housesitting, but looking after two wonderful parents of my mom's best friend and her husband.  Viit Viitanen, the wonderful 92 year old Fin is by far the happiest man I have ever met.  I love him.  He lives on his own in Almaden and I head up every other day or so to check on him and 'grocery shop'.  By grocery shopping, I mean making booze runs.  His grocery list yesterday consisted of bourbon, gin, and celery.  I begged him to add just one more thing he could actually chew and he came up with olives.  But hey, I've been to Finland, where in fact all they did was eat fish, drink booze and get naked in saunas and if you are 92, who am I to judge.  (Except the part where he knocked on my door the other night and was completely nude in his roll around scooter with just a washcloth not covering much).  Okay, so that's Viit. We have dinner at the country club and he sings me old songs he used to sing with my Grandma Norma and 'drives' me around town in his golf cart.  Such a delight.

Gali.  Gali, the 98 year old russian mother of the husband whose house I am watching got pneumonia the week before I got here.  Gali, whom I was supposed to look after and take care of, well - Gali died, on my watch. Her other son came to stay with me down here a few days and that is a feeling of horror and guilt that I hope will go away soon.  God bless Gali.

Fast forward a few days later.  I spend a good hour a day 'working my land' as I call it (you should see my new tan).  The house is way up in the hills and their beautiful plants need to be watered every day almost by the clock. While I do that, I turn hose that goes to the pool on to give it a good fill every day.  Usually after about a half an hour I turn it off.  Well, except this day, yeah - I forgot. Left the house to go see viit and didn't return until hours later after our cribbidge tournament ended.  I turn on the kitchen sink - no water.  Hmmm, I think, that's funny.  The water comes from a tank that they have to have filled up every other month or so - water is precious here to say the least.  Then it hit me, all the water went to the pool. And flooded the pool. And the grounds around the pool.  Luckily, there wasn't much water left in the tank and it wasn't that bad except - THERE WAS NO WATER.  Hey, I like camping, I can go a couple of days without running water but the plants!!! It was 96 that day.  I called for more water to be delivered but it would be days before they had an opening.  Then I realized there was about 20 ozarka tanks of drinking water in the garage.  You know the big drums that you pour upside down in the cooler.  Yes, for two hours, I carried six of those things over each plant to water them.  Biceps are doing good. I finally found a guy that could bring me some water if I slipped him cash under the table.  I'm not proud, but it worked.

And now to the doozie.

One of the things I was most looking forward to about my month in San Jose was being able to explore and pop up to San Francisco, a city I just don't know too well.  I popped up once, saw the sights, and headed back but really wanted to get past the bridge up into Marin County this time.  My sister was having her huge shower for her wedding Saturday night and I really, really wanted to be there.  But couldn't.  Thus off Woodrow and I went that morning (after working the land) and headed north bound to distract me from my sadness.  We had a lovely afternoon where I finally got to take him to the beach (turns out he hates sand, and water) and then to Muir Woods.  It was a spiritual experience for me, to say the least and everyone should be in that peaceful place at least once in their lives.  I went up to San Rafael, where my mom grew up until her parents moved to San Jose when she was 13, and then down to Sausalito, a town that instantly stole my heart.  On the way back over the bridge, it was getting dark and I was exhausted but I thought, hey, when in Rome, and I headed over to Baker Beach to catch the last of the sunset. We parked, we walked straight to the water, and then before I could even sit down in the sand, I realized the car keys were gone.  They are on this black and white laniard that I usually have been wearing around my neck (it is one of those cars you can hit lock on the inside and then close the door) so I had been weary all month about making sure I knew where they were.  I had even gone to make a spare the week before because, well, I know me.

No keys.  I immediately retrace my steps to the water and back to the car. No keys.  I try and peer through the windows and still, no keys. No keys, no keys, no keys.  By this point it is completely dark, people are leaving, and oh yeah, my phone decides to die.  AND IT IS FREEZING.  This Texas girl didn't realize just how cold a California night on the water can be.  In a little sundress.  no coat.  Woodrow - no coat.  A lady let me use her phone to call the insurance company to send out roadside assistance - and while we are almost done her phone dies, too.  I get them back with her car charger and they inform me it will be at least an hour.  In the dark.  The lady leaves me!  Eish! I would never leave a woman by herself in such a situation but hey, call me old fashioned.  A cop comes and I explain the situation to him thinking he would at least let me sit in his car to stay out of the cold.  He just wishes me luck and drives off!  You know the cold that starts to make you go crazy?  At this point I was getting there.  I hugged my knees under my dress and sat down on the pavement by the car hoping it would block the wind.  Woodrow is shaking so bad that it is starting to scare me. I did what any good mama would do and put him down my shirt.  Hey, a mother's love.  It is completely dark and I am completely alone (did I mention that I drove to the remote park of the beach that most people don't know about and is so hard to find (good luck locksmith).  I thought about walking a ways to the bathroom but was worried the locksmith wouldn't see me.  So for an hour I sat, shaking, crying, cursing, praying, FREEZING.  I tried to count down each minute in seconds to give my mind something to do.  I had just a little bit of juice on my phone that I didn't want to waste but tried the boys to see if one of their little brothers still lived in the city. he had moved.

shot taken in unaware bliss just before the drama.  trust me, I've looked for the keys in this pic.  No luck

BRIGHAM!  I remembered Brigham lived in the city.  Who is Brigham you ask?  Brigham in the  nephew of my uncles wife that I went out with once in DC and in the middle of dinner he announces that he just came out of the closet that week.  Good for you Brigham but why are we on a date?  'Just making sure' was the response.  Cuz that's what you want to hear and yes, for the record, I sure kept him gay after that.  Number, I needed Brigham's number.  I try to get a hold of my aunt but she is 3 rows back at a taylor swift concert.  Luckily she sees my text and I get the number. I get a hold of him but he is 40 minutes outside the city and on his way to a dinner cruise.  no go.

The locksmith came, an nice African man (I tell ya, when I am in a bind the good Lord sends me an African) who opens the car and sets the car alarm off as he does so. I frantically search for the keys then - in between the seats, under the mats, everywhere (you should see how cut up my arms are) yet still, no keys.  I look and look and look again and think 'no, this cannot be happening!' After listening to the car alarm for 30 minutes and verifying that yes, there really are no keys to be found I get a text from Brigham that says they decided to head home instead and if I need anything, just let me know.  Long story short (too late), I happily take the locksmith up on the offer to drive me to Brigham's house (but first to the bank to get cash) where I am met with warm hugs to wipe my tears and tea to warm me up.  I then have to do the thing I really didn't want to do - I had to ask for help, to extremely inconvenience people.  I had to wake up this cute young married couple that live next to my aunt and have them get into the house, get the spare key, and drive it to Palo Alto where I had Brigham and Houston (love them both), drive me down to at midnight on a Saturday night to get the key.  From there, they drove me back to Baker Beach to get the tahoe and then I did something so unlike me, I took them up on their offer, was wise and didn't drive the 90 minutes back to Morgan Hill that night at one am.  I stayed at their place, got some sleep and proudly did the walk of shame out of their place the next morning.  Common sense, for once.  Old Laurie would have made that drive in the middle of the night as to not inconvenience them any further.  baby steps, people.

What did I learn from this? Always have a spare taped to the outside of the undercarriage of your car somewhere, more compassion for those who sleep in the cold every night and are in such despair, and lastly, that it is not only okay, but sometimes it is necessary to simply ask for help. to. not. do. it. alone.

amen.

Take 2

I've been avoiding you.  Not necessarily that I didn't have time, there were plenty of hours of me so sick and tired I sat and stared at the wall, I just knew I was in so deep nothing I could say would be worth your time.  It's like when you are on a diet and you

Like the plague.  Like an off the horse addict. The past 8 weeks have been so busy, old Laurie wonder woman busy and for me that means bad bad bad.  I had known for quite some time it would be crazy, but thought, 'oh well, work comes when work comes.'  And then it came.  And I got even sicker - scary sick when blood pressure goes 60/40 and there are many times in the day when I swore I was about to pass out.  I know better.  I thought I had come so far.  One step ahead and two steps back.

It's over though.  The whole time I kept thinking, 'just make it through and you can rest all you want in San Jose.' And here I am, in California, house sitting for a month - yet too sick to really enjoy it.  I just woke up after an 18 hour sleep coma.  Didn't even get up to use the bathroom.  Almost beat my record of 19.5 - almost, and no - I'm not proud of this one bit.

Yet time to start over, again.  I am in a beautiful valley south of the city covered in gold hill that absolutely glow in the late afternoon.  There are honeysuckle bushes at every turn that take me back to my happy childhood here.  And I have a Fin.  A 92 year old Finnish man, the father of the lady I am house sitting for, that 'takes me out' in his golf cart to the country club down the road.

Take 2.


Are there meetings for this?      

An hour too late

 



I was an hour late.  That next morning, I just couldn't not be there any more.  I got on the road and only an hour from his house, I got the call.  And he had been alone - that's what makes me so sad.  Okay, so he had a nurse there, one he had never met, but that doesn't count, in my mind.  No one holding his hand, telling him that it is okay to go, etc.  I still kept driving and by the time I got there, still had a good hour to sit with him until they came to take him away.  I was able to say goodbye and get closure and I think that helped alot. 

The previous day I had been so sad, crying my eyes out.  This day I didn't shed a tear; I felt very much at peace with the whole thing, it can't be easy living in a 95 year old's body.  After he was wheeled away (he donated his body to science with no service of any kind - so Sam), Charlie and I went to our favorite dog park.  It had rained that day and there was such a gorgeous sunset in the sky. I knew he was on your way.

(taken on one of our last visits together - I didn't want to forget this)



Thank you sweet Sam for being my buddy these past three years.  Whenever I felt my worst, I would make it a point to come visit you, and it always helped so much to put things in perspective.  We would sit on your couch and I would lean my head on your shoulder and you would rub my hand.  "What a pair we are!,' you would smile and say. We were both suffering in our own way and you would always make me feel so much better.  You truly taught me what long suffering is about and how to do it so gracefully.

Thank you for telling me all of your stories over and over again. You knew I didn't know what to say and you would always pipe up with one of your best, pretending you hadn't told it to me two weeks back.  Thank you for buying me an extra yogurt at the grocery store every week, it was all you had to give and in my mind, better than gold.  When you could no longer shop, that extra ensure you gave me tasted just as good.  Thank you for loving my family. I'm sorry yours was too selfish and my sisters and mother and father were honored to have our pictures framed on your coffee table.  I sure do love you over and over again and you will not be forgotten.



                               Sam and his most loyal defender - of the squirrels around his apartment, at least.

 

Sam adored my dad.  He always said he was the most wonderful man he had ever met.  I get a lot of comfort knowing my dad had been over to visit just a few days before he died.  This was taken we took Sam sailing and Sam insisted on framing this picture and putting it on his coffee table.

 



For the past three years I had mentioned in every prayer, 'Father, please bless Sam.'  The night he died I smiled as prayed, 'Father, please say hi to Sam.'




ps - there are SOOO many elderly that sit for months without a single visitor (boo bad families).  There are so many nursing homes and hospices that would love nothing more than an hour of your week.  As you can see here, the payoffs are immense.

one foot in and one foot out

I received a phone call today while I was glamourosly shopping at Walmart in well, yeah, my pajamas that don't exactly look like pajamas.  It was the hospice.  It is never a good thing to receive a phone call from a hospice.  'Well, I've got some bad news,' was the first sentence. Then click.  Line dead.  I called back, 'sorry this is the after hour answering service.' riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. That wasn't going to work.  Luckily, the lady called me back from her cell phone and I abandoned my cart, grabbed my purse and headed to the front of the store for better reception.

'Sam is bleeding out.'  Sam, my dear sweet Sam whom I was assigned to visit nearly three years prior, was found unresponsive in his bed, his catheter so full of blood that it had overflowed and soaked his entire mattress, as well.  That is a picture I can barely handle - how long he must have laid there in his favorite green robe, soaked in his own blood.  Hospice people talk about death like they are telling you what's for lunch, by the way.  'He is in renal failure and will not recover,' was the further explanation, 'just thought you should know.'

One of the biggest (and only, really) drawbacks to moving to Austin was leaving Sam behind back in Dallas.  I still called every week and visited every time I was in town, but still, our visits were far less frequent.  I told him just three days ago on the phone, 'Sam, Austin is great but it would be perfect if you were here, too.'  I promised him that I would be back in Dallas in two weeks, would drop by and luckily ended with my usual, 'I sure do love you, Sam.'  'Honey, I love you too.' 

My first reaction upon hearing this news about Sam was to get in the car and head north on 35.  Three hours and I could be there.  Wait, it's rush hour, 4 hours I could be there.  Could I actually do it? It is no coincidence that today, even after 14 hours of sleep, I felt worse than I had in months.  Nope, couldn't do it.  Old Laurie would have grabbed a Jolt Cola and been on the road.  New Laurie is desperatley trying to learn these new lessons of moderation.  He is unresponsive, body shutting down, would never know I was there, yet I just wanted to be there and hold his hand.  I hate that he is there with only a strange nurse that is getting paid to sit there with him.  I hate that no one is holding his hand as he hovers in both worlds and telling him how much he is loved.  I hate that his two sons only call once a year and have no plan of coming down.  Sam deserves more than this.  If he is still with us in the morning, I will try and get up there.

I know he is ready, has been ready.  It is torture to live in a 95 year old's body and it was hard for me to watch.  He lived in a little apartment, no A/C, no TV (didn't want one), and basically just waited to die.  His wife of 63 years (and two weeks exactly), had passed a few years before and he was entirely alone. Or so he thought.  Sam I am with you tonight in every way I can. And I sure do love you.



perspective

Finally! Something showed up!

From my nerve pain that is.. the time is not right for the big answer yet, I guess. I think I still have some more humbling to do - oh man, too much humbling to do.

I got an email from the neurologists a few weeks ago.  Since when do your MRI results get emailed to you at 2am, by the way?  Just the report, no explanation, no 'call me to discuss.' I was so in shock not to see, 'scan unremarkable' like I have for the last, oh, 10 previous MRIs.  There was a paragraph, there was sentence after sentence there!  I've been waiting for these sentences for so long! As strange as it sounds, the sooner I learn what the problem is, and trust me, after nearly 7 years, I'm quite ready to know what the problem is, then I can either fix it or officially accept that it can't be fixed and move on.

Anyway, the results were a little, um, prentiously verbosed.  A big peeve of mine is when people use huge words when perfectly simple words would do just fine.  Seriously, radiologists - we get it - you are smart, but why can't you just say it like it is.  So I did what any normal person would do, I googled them: trigeminal neuralgia.  AKA, pain is so severe it is often called the suicide disease.  Treatment: more surgery. brain surgery: cutting through the skull to access the trigeminal nerve with lots of risks of facial paralysis, etc.  We are not going down that road; this thing had better fix itself.



I guess ('often seen with people with autoimmune disorders'...oh, I loathe that mysterious phrase) my trigeminal nerve is sticking to blood vessels on each side of my face and each time the blood pumps through those vessels my face becomes on FIRE.  I had never ever had a problem with this kind of pain until the day after my jaw surgery I woke up and thought someone was holding a curling iron to my temple.  Now, any person with common sense would think that something went wrong with the surgery. I don't know, maybe it is the fact that my eyes won't close, half of my face is frozen, my lips don't meet up right, people keep asking me if I've had a stroke, etc.  Gettting a doctor to admit that something went wrong to me is a whole different story. Surgery has risks, I get it, just be honest with me!

The jaw doctor says nerve pain is permanent and has absolutely nothing to do with surgery, over and over and over we have had this discussion. The neurologist says, well, haven't been able to get him to call me back since the MRI results came in.  The neurosurgeon that I have been referred to, well, can't get into him for six weeks.  Thus how modern medicine works, lot of waiting, lots of being passed around. 

So, here i sit, 4am with an ice pack to my face, wondering what it is I am to learn from this.  I could get really mad and really bitter and wonder why on Earth I am adding yet another notch in the headboard of stange diseases but instead, I have other plans.  I have this hunch that this development will lead to further answers and so, I will try and sit tight and wait for those to come.  Thus the absence from my writing, I'm really just out of things to say about overcoming pain and fighting the good fight and all of that.  This hurts, I'm in pain, I want it gone. that's about it. 

I will be right back

I know, I know. I'm just not up to letting every one in this little post 'get your face chopped up & re-arranged' world of mine yet. Oh where to even begin. It's definitely not the all that horrible, it's just there have been some complications and I can't really get any answers out of the ole md's just yet. Looks like some more surgeries are in the midst to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.


Again, learning a bunch.

Again, humbled a bunch.

I think I am being prepared for childbirth in the wilderness or something.

Check out my awesome new tats!

getting there



Sorry for the absence, friends - still under it.  Every day is getting better, though! I just need my face to get all back together again. And my eyes to close again.  Baby steps!

Pain



I'm writing you from a place of pain.  Pain is something that kind of intrigues me and for tonight, I'm referring only to physical pain. There has to be a purpose to it, or else it wouldn't exist.  Few things have more power over us, too - the minute it comes, the toughest of person will buckle to it.

Right now, I am in pain.  So much pain that I want to literally put my fist through a wall to express just how bad it is.  Is it the worst I've had? No.  The worst ever felt by a human? Nowhere close.  Can I curl up in bed and moan and cry, already done.  I've called every family member and cried, mumbled, complained and extracted as much sympathy at possible but at the end of it all, this pain is mine and I alone must confront it.  I'm working with it, I rolling with it, I writing with it.  I'm trying to push through it and wait it out.

maybe this is why some things hurt



My first thought? Pills!  Glorious, gleaming, sparkling, shiny little beings that just make it all go away.  (yes, I realize a problem could easily brew here).  So I tried that.  Three hours ago.  No dice.  Now what.  It doesn't surprise me, though, that the most common response to pain is, 'FLEE!'  This, 'why do i hurt i don't need to hurt i want the pain gone i can't handle it make it go away now' thing. What happens when that isn't an option?  I think a change of attitude must come, then.  An, 'it's going to hurt so let me steady myself for it, let me take it minute by minute, I am strong enough for it, it will eventually go away, let me confront it head on and just accept its presence' thing.

Anyone who knows me knows that the topic of childbirth is another one that peaks my interest.  I think perhaps because it involves this undeniable pain and how people of all kinds have to address it, confront it, run from it, accept it, etc.*  How on earth can mai 95lb pet give birth naturally to a nearly 8 lb baby.  How was she able to hang in there and ride the waves of it? Midwives - hey blow my mind.  How they deal with so much pain and are able to talk women down from absolute panic and terror amazes me.  Do they cry with them? No.  - but this is a topic for another day.

This is just the dialogue in my head tonight.  I'll be just fine.  That's the thing about pain, just as quickly as it comes, it heads right on out, leaving very little memory of it behind.

*on this semi-soapbox, I in no way claim to have felt a contraction of my own and knowing that, relinquish to the fact that I may in fact choose, and deserve, an epidural of my own one day.

this made me happy

 

this impresses me more than any mansion or fancy job title ever could.  oh the stories of love, patience, tolerance, acceptance and joy I bet these two could tell.

 

Connecticut Couple Honored as 'Longest Married' in U.S.

 

 

http://gma.yahoo.com/blogs/abc-blogs/connecticut-couple-honored-longest-married-u-205715329--abc-news-topstories.html

A Connecticut couple who tied the knot over 80 years ago will be named the longest married couple in the U.S.

John and Ann Betar of Fairfield, Conn., said "I do" on Nov. 25, 1932, and have been happily married for 80 years. Together they have five children, 14 grandchildren and 16 great-grandchildren.

The couple was selected for the 2013 award by Worldwide Marriage Encounter, a Christian marriage enrichment group based in San Bernardino, Calif., that organizes a search each year to promote the virtues of lasting marriages and inspire young couples.

"What an inspiration Mr. and Mrs. Betar are to all of us. They made a commitment to each other 80-plus years ago and they have kept that commitment over these many years. They truly are a sign of hope to us all," Worldwide Marriage Encounter's Ron and Judy Pekny said in a statement.

An award ceremony will take place on Saturday at the Fairfield, Conn., home of one of the Betars' granddaughters, Heather Mitchell.

Before their 80th wedding anniversary in November, John and Ann Betar told ABC News that they considered themselves "blessed."

"We are very fortunate. It can be repeated and repeated," Ann, 97, said at the time. "It is unconditional love and understanding. We have had that. We consider it a blessing."
Though the couple is hesitant to give out marriage advice, their secret to so many happy years together is simple: compromise and don't hold a grudge.
John, 101, met Ann, now 97, while growing up in the same Syrian community in Bridgeport, Conn. Breaking with tradition, Ann defied her parents when they set up an arranged marriage for her. She ran off to Harrison, N.Y. to elope with John. Now, she says she knows she made the right choice.
The Betars said they delight in the newer generations of their family, and their descendants return the compliment.
"I'm always blown away by their incredible optimism, deep sense of compassion and modesty," granddaughter Heather Mitchell said before their anniversary. "They are true beacons - inspirational people who emit such joy without even knowing it."

The Betars were chosen out of hundreds of couples nominated during the project's submission period, which ran from October of last year to January. There may be other couples who have been married longer in the U.S., but none was formally nominated, according to the group.

I survived!

okay, so that last one got a little self-pitying.  Today I had my stitches out and my jaw freeed! Hallelujah, free at last.  It is amazing what not eating out of a syringe can do for the soul.  Most of the hospital memories are waning, and I once we get my eyes to close on their own (small, technical problem), we should be good to go. It is over.  And, I might add, the number on the scale being four pounds lower than it was last week might be trying to compensate for the pain. 

In pain

'In your patience, possess ye your souls.'

Luke 21:19

Mama is having some work done

Hmmm, if I were to have some work done what would would it be? Arms, I'd get my arms slimmed out, always wanted skinny arms.

Sadly, this is not cosmetic. I'm getting a metal jaw on Wednesday. Or metal joints that cushion the jaw. Who knows. We replaced the original joints with new ones made out of my ears about 18 months ago. That surgery has a 95% success rate, yet you know me and odds. Besides being completely scared out of my mind tonight and using Tim Riggins on replay to calm my fears, I can't help but sit and be grateful for a nice hospital to get to go to and good doctors to take care of me; too many do not have the same. Wish me luck!

Does this mean I'm going to beep in airports?

M's vs N's

It always amazes me the vast difference between md's and alternative docs (nd's). Md's look at my lab work and see nothing wrong and send me off for yet another psych eval, which I luckily pass (I'm not crazy M'Lynn). Well, not crazy enough, I guess.

Today I entered the World of alternative medicine, again. Back in 2008, out of sheer desperation, I spent a year with an overly zealous guy who starved me, earth-drugged me, and took thousands of dollars I barely had. He kind if reminded me of a cult leader, and with the 40 pills daily of each herb he had me swallowing, I thought he might be overdoing it.

Alternative medicine has always been in the back of my head though, as I've realized that western medicine, be it as advanced as it is, can do nothing for me but get my hopes up and then label me a head case. You could say I'm just not sick enough for it.

I skeptically went to a homeopath recommended to me by a bishop whose wife was near death and found relief with. She sat down, heard my story, looked at my labs, and declared me half dead. The same labs that the docs declared were just fine showed huge red flags to her. Then the weird symptoms I described made her eyes bulge (ie: 15 cavities since I've been sick....15 people....and I don't eat candy or drink soda), the crazy seizure like episodes that would put me in the back of ambulances in the early days, the 60/35 blood pressure, etc. All of these things that I bring up to md after md and they just shrug their shoulders and up my happy
pills (anger issues with the docs, much?)

So here we go, taking the herbs, the potions, the tonics, the really big bills again. I will say how
impressed I was with the sheer knowledge of this woman, how each problem affected each system, etc. 'Wow,' I thought, 'she really gets it.'
So here's to old hope again, may it one day align with the Lord's timing
and make me whole again. (and less angry with medical professionals).