6-8-12
Today was an
early day, so I got off work and did a little grocery shopping. I’d heard
there’s a cream cheese out that’s vegan and a sour cream as well. I’d made
cinnamon rolls and later in the week, mashed potatoes. I longed to apply cream
cheese to my cinnamon roll…but I refuse to cheat. In making the mashed
potatoes, it was in need of sour cream, but that’s dairy…so I bravely attempted
a leap of hope for creaminess and added mashed avacados (which did work! But
the white color changed to a greenish color – to which I’m fairly certain most
children would refuse to eat.
I was able to
help Mom plant in the garden. Fun.
6-7-12
I don’t know
how my platelet level is, I didn’t wait the hour to collect the results after
the test – I didn’t want to be late for work. But! Next Monday, I go in for
bloodwork again and we’ll see where I’m at regarding my level. I received a
call today from the cancer center reminding me of my appointment time and told
that the nurse would be seeing me instead of the doctor this time; he called it
unnecessary. I mean, that has to be a good sign, right? :) I’m hoping to be
pleasantly surprised.
My car has
been experiencing some troubles of its own – a cracked headgasket and cracking
timing belt. So it’s in the shop and I was informed that it will be pretty
pricy to fix, but worth it. I took a deep breath, considering my medical
situation and said, “Do it.” I’ve tightened up my belt and am prepared of mind
to undergo a long season of payments. I was initially stunned at the cost to
fix Smokey (Mom named my car cause it smells like cigarette smoke), so I’d
flopped back on my bed and spread my arms out, palms up in an “I give” posture.
I prayed, “Okay God, I can’t afford this situation right now, but it’s here and
its happening. If I don’t deal with it, it will turn into a bigger monster with
a higher price. I know I must trust You above all else. If I can’t do this…if I
lose my car, cause I can’t pay for everything, then *swallows* I lose something
material. In the end, it won’t matter – it’s material. I just…I wanted to be a
good example…*tear quietly slips down my cheek, didn’t wipe it off*…I really
did. Have I failed to be a good steward of this money You gave me? I mean, I
can’t seem to keep it, although I save and save. My medical trials just suck it
dry as soon as the paycheck comes…*more tears*…and now this. I’m just not going
to be anxious! I won’t. I have You, so what is a material possession and what
is mere money in comparison. You see the small sparrow, You clothe the lilies
in the valley, and You are watching over me. I know that more than anything.
This is going to hurt, but so long as You’re going with me, I’m glad. I’ll walk
right with You too, I don’t care if it’s through this stormy valley, anywhere
with You. Anywhere. Just…help me. I’m weak, You’re strong. Remind me where my
strength is so I don’t forget. The lightning of this storm is bothering to this
small child, and I could forget You are Emmanuel, God with us. I don’t want to.
I don’t want to. No, never.” I closed my fingers n sat up, sniffing as quiet as
I could. I texted for a while about my situation and was told I am a good
example.
The next day,
I opened the envelope that I was handed mid-week. Life Insurance. I qualified,
meaning… I booted up my computer and looked at my paycheck. It hit the next pay
scale! I would barely scrape along, but because of that small extra, I’d make
it. Everything is going to be okay, I thought to myself. Just keep trusting.
You’ll go through this valley and it’s going to be okay. He cares. He’s right
here, right now, right with you. Don’t you be forgetting Who’s in control,
okay? I huddled up inside my sweater, staring at the new paycheck. No mochas
for a while, I smirked, shaking my head. A very small loss. I told my parents
of my situation and what was happening with Smokey, and how it had to go to the
mechanic. They were understanding and encouraging.
6-4-12
I had a morning
shift, so the whole noon to evening was free…so I snatched up my garden gloves
and straw hat for sun protection, and went outside with a hand shovel. The
weeds were gonna get a big surprise: Relocation slash pile project. Bwahahaha!
I slipped into my rubber boots and hopped off the last of the porch steps,
dawned my gloves like a surgeon, snapping it for effect. “Goodbye weeds,” I
grinned and then dug in. “No no, don’t pull me! Ahhhh!” I said in a high pitch
as I uprooted a dandelion, speaking for it, I guess. It went into the bucket
and I went for the others… Four hours later, I was beneath the front porch,
booted foot pressed against the foundation of the house, tugging sharply on a tree
that was trying to grow there. “Come. Out. Of. The. Ground!” I demanded, giving
insistant yanks. Twenty minutes later, in a spray of sand and clay, it flew out
of the ground toward my face; causing me to tumble and roll down the soft sand
and stopping just inches from the irises that Mom and I planted. Not one was broken.
I wiped my sandy forehead, “Fewww. Close one.” I noticed a small red dot on my
skin and sighed. Pupura? I checked over my arms to see if there was more. Only
three spots, the others very tiny in comparison with the first spot. I shrugged
and dusted myself off, coughing as the cloud of dust surrounded me. I raised
the small tree-start in my fist to the sky and let out a triumphant shout,
“Woooooooooo!!!”
Spent the
rest of the evening pulling much smaller weeds. Saw a gigantic butterfly.
Bright yellow and black with a body as big as my pinky finger is wide and long.
The wings easily could have matched the size of each of my palms. Just seeing
it brought a huge smile to my face. I’d never, ever seen a butterfly so big in
my life!! I fumbled with muddy hands for my cellphone. I snapped a picture of
it and sighed, “Ahh the wonders of modern cellphones…” I took more pix of it of
course, but wished quietly that I’d had my Cannon Rebel TXI in my hands. I
could have shot up close and captured every speck of detail on it. I was very
glad I’d helped plant butterfly-attracting flowers. I hope more will visit my
home. J
6-5-12
Woke up the
next day, went to work, and was having a good time. My energy level ever since
removing dairy from my diet has skyrocketed. Everyone has noticed I have color
in my face, that I’m lively and joking again, and I’m talking more. I figured
that not many had noticed, I thought I had it pretty hidden that I was hurting
– but they said that I no longer had that pained look in my eyes. So much for
keeping pain a secret. :P I went about my tasks humming and doing my work. Went
to lunch and couldn’t help but scratch my forearm. It was uncomfortable and
hurting in a burning sort of itch. I felt a bump as my fingers drew across it
and I stopped and looked. A bump…it was red and had a small splotch around it.
The center was slowly pulsing a whitish color to a light red. The very center
was a little dark spot. What was THAT? So I shrugged, ate lunch, and continued
working. By the end of the day, it was beginning to bother me some. Just in the
background of my mind, but bothersome, just letting me know it was there and it
hurt. Did I get a bee sting? I didn’t know. Went home and texted Paul, “I am ok
physically. About 9am, I was really wanting to tear my forearm away from me,
just so I wouldn’t go nuts with the aggravating itchiness of it…but then that
would make me mad in the mind. Plus, I’m rather attached to that arm. Otherwise
feel ok.” I texted one of my pals, “Goes about the house singing and conducting
with my fingers, “I need some music, diddlydee. I need some music for me. Must
be the rainy day, oh heck I’d sing anyway….I need some music *hands to heart
for big pitch* for meeeeeeeeee!” *snatches laptop n skips down the stairs for
to listen to good musics.* :P” I did some chores while listening to a
collection of my favorite songs. By then, my arm was really burning bad.
Hannah
arrived a short while later and we spent a gob of time snacking over chili-cream-cheese
dip and gluten & milk free crackers (that were deeeelicious btw). Laughing
and giggling and chatting. It was good. I withheld the thoughts about the
burning in my arm and didn’t let it enter the conversation a second time. She
said she had to be going home, so we said goodbye and hugged and waved,
promising to get together soon. My mouth opened after that and I rocked on my
toes, laughing nervously, “It’s just burning, burning, burning. I’m going to go
nuts!” I closed that thought off with a giggle, trying to make it light. “Oops
sorry. I’m okay, really. It’s cool. Just some sort of bee sting I guess. It’ll
go away.” She looked at me kind of unsure, and then the conversation shifted
back to before I’d blurted my thoughts about the splotch. We waved goodbye and
then I went inside and jumped around holding my arm, releasing all my pent
thoughts, “It burns burns burns burns! Ahhh! Like fire. Why can’t it leave me
alone? What is this? It BURNS! Ah-ah dang! Ahh! You hurtful little bump! Oh my
arm!” Moments later, began looking for something, anything to stop the feel of
burning. Put my arm against the freezer door. Ran under lukewarm-cold water. Dabbed
ointment on. Nothing worked. I wanted to cast my arm away from me, it hurt so
awful. After a second, I realized: if this doesn’t stop NOW I’m going to go
insane! That’s when I realized, I think I better go see the doctor now. And so,
I called them up and was squeezed in to see the nurse. Good.
Saw her and
discovered it was a poisonous spider-bite and the venom was what was burning. I
was asked if I saw the spider and what type it was. I was surprised. A spider-bite.
I’d been bitten years ago by a brown recluse while reaching deep into my
dresser to retrieve a sock that had fallen behind the drawer and it crawled up
my fingers and took a chomp (-I didn’t know what that spider was at the time,
so I thought nothing of it, although I did think it was very quick – it
escaped. The next few hours I felt so dizzy. I thought I was developing a cold,
so I had soup that night. Went to work the next day and told my coworker that I
felt sicker than a dog and was sorry but I couldn’t work any further – I had to
go home and lay down, my vision was wavy and I felt so unbalanced and I might
even barf. She pointed to my hand and gasped. Some of the skin was peeling away,
gray-black and the mark was huge. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that
my ‘sickness’ was from the spider-bite (which I was not oblivious to, it hurt).
I was sent to E.R. where they gave me anti-venom as soon as I described what
spider I saw. They asked if I was joking, and I wasn’t. “Why’d you just stand
there and let it bite you??” I remember being asked. It happened too quick, too
quick to do anything. So they were very worried and wondered why I didn’t come
in the day I started experiencing symptoms and asked me if I knew what would
have happened if I hadn’t of come in when I did. I didn’t know, so they told
me. I was shocked and sat open mouthed). I will never forget that day. No, this
new spider-bite didn’t come with any of THOSE symptoms. So I was told to take
Benadryl and also a steroid cream from the pharmacy. She shook my hand and I
flinched. She looked at my hand as I pulled it away. She examined both hands
and then told me what I suspected. I sat in the car afterwards and looked at my
hands, “Okay. Okay God. This is just how it’s going to be then.” I turned on
the ignition and then drove home.
6-6-12
Day at work
was spent very uncomfortably, constantly glancing at my two bites and wondering
what on earth I did to deserve them? Pulling out that small tree-sprout? Well,
I was after all, under the porch and locked in focus with yanking on that. Of
course I was in a cool dark place. And perhaps I’d been pulling on its home. So
of course it would be very angry with me. The day wore on. I saw one of my
brothers-in-Christ and he asked how I was doing and that I was in his prayers.
I said I was really struggling today with a poisonous spider-bite that just
burnt and it was getting harder to focus around the pain message it was sending
my brain…I was having trouble counting currency back to the customer and I felt
badly about that. He said he hasn’t stopped praying for me. I nodded and
thanked him. He’s been through a lot himself, so I knew he understood my
discomfort and then some. After all, pain is not fun, and I’d prayed along with
the rest of the church family for him during that time. Finished up my day at
work, keeping my mouth as closed as I could about the subject of my forearm and
burning pain. I think I only told one lady because she gasped when I handed
back her change. She’d said, “Oh my, honey! Your arm is blistered and swollen!
You NEED to go to the doctor.” I told her I had been and it was found to be a
poisonous spider-bite, so I was given medication and it would be alright…I just
had to press through the burning. She said she’d pray for me and she was very
concerned, “It’s very blistered.” I nodded, “It hurts some.”
Happened to
tell my coworker that I was having a rough time dealing with finding a good
bread that didn’t taste sandy. I didn’t want to eat sandy bread, blech. Don’t like sandy bread. XP Was
eating Ezekel bread, but now that the gluten was being removed, I wouldn’t be
able to have it. And the Ezekel bread I was toasting in order to eat it,
otherwise my mind translated that bread as sand grit. She said she’d see what
she could do to help, so I was to find her after I clocked off work. So when
the time came around, I clocked off, and wandered around the healthy food
section in search of her. She was loading up the freezer when I found her.
“Ready?” she asked. I nodded, “Yep.” She pointed me to Udi’s Bread and pulled
out two packages: “The chia seed is good, and the flaxseed is also a good one.
Pick which one and I’ll mark “no sale” on it so you can try it and see if you
like it. Or, I could mark both at half-price and you could try both for the
price of one.” I pressed my palms to my heart, “That’s so nice of you! You
don’t have to do that!” She smiled and said she was doing that, so choose. I
looked over my options and then said I’d take one at full price and the chia
one for free. “Very good, I’ll mark it no sale and just go through the register
with it and show it to them. You will like this bread if you love homemade.” I
nodded vigorously, “I love homemade bread.” “You are in for a treat then.” She
handed it to me, “Enjoy.” I felt like crying, but didn’t. “Thank you.” I said. Paid
for the one loaf, and was given the second one free with a smile from the
cashier, “Ooh, a treat from Natures Corner. Enjoy it.” Went home and looked at
the chia seed bread, pulled it from its frozen slices n held it up. The song
“Ch-ch-ch-chia pets!” echoed through my thoughts. I sighed and placed it into
the toaster, “Here goes nothing…” Seconds later, it popped up, unfrozen. I took
a gentle nibble of it and then grinned widely and shoved it in, chomping on it.
Love this new bread! Tastes just like homemade! I love it more than any other
bread I’ve ever had, save for my friend’s homemade honey bread. J
7-11-12
A bundle of
things has happened in the gap of time between my last post, my above draft,
and now. I’ll condense it.
~Received my
blood count report for the ITP. 150 thousand. I am in the clear. The nurse
pronounced me, “Normal.” (Drat! I should have gotten that in writing!! It might
have come in handy when my mom gives me that eyebrow-raised look and the words,
“You’re crazy.” I could have held it up and grinned widely, “Nope. I’m normal.”
That probably would have earned me a thwap with a pillow, magazine, or the
like.)
~I was told
when at the doctor’s office for a ‘spider-bite’ that it certainly looked like I
had rhuematory arthritis in my right hand. I was bummed because I’d heard that
arthritis is a killer to an artist and writer, but I gave it up and didn’t keep
the worry. Found out later through a blood test that nope, I don’t have it. And
my ‘spider-bite’ is nonvenomous, that instead, I am allergic to it. Next time I spot it biting me, I’m to examine
it so I can tell them what got me. The next day, I was outside yanking at the
weeds some more and saw a very tiny black fly land on my arm, then, it bit me.
Wellah! I had my ‘spider-bite.’ It’s a nosee’em (biting midge) that got me. I
was bit several times, same affect. It is mosquito and nosee’em season. In one
day, I gathered 32 bites. Yesterday, 36 new bites just while watering the
garden. I’m glad to be so liked, but by bugs…well, they’re being rather pesky.
:P Thank goodness for Benadryl itch sticks! J At least I know what ‘spider’ I am
allergic to now. :P
~On to what I
was saying about a whole new realm of doctors in my last post. My stomach has
been giving me some issues…well, a lot of trouble, to say the least. So I went
to an internal doctor and was prodded, scoped (yuck to the GoLytelly bowel prep
stuff I had to drink, I’ll never forget that experience. When they said it’s
nasty, they were very right and nope, I won’t indulge details about why. I
agree with what a customer said once to me, “There are some things us older
people don’t tell you younger folk so that you can live without dreading what
you’ll face later in life.” From the Colonoscopy and Endoscopy it turns out… I
am 100 percent healthy inside. No Crohns, Colitis, Irritable Bowel Disorder. Cancers.
None of that bad stuff. So, peace of mind for me. I kept saying after I was
told each one I didn’t have, “That’s great. Good. Good.” The doctor gave me a
look, “You are glad? It means we didn’t find the problem.” “Yes I’m glad!” I
replied back, “I DON’T want those!!” He smiled, “No, you don’t, you’re right.”
So it’s
nothing critical. Only thing is…what is causing all this trouble?? It’s
suggested yet again that my problem is that I’m dealing with Depression (a
subconscious kind, in other words: I’m not aware of it) and antidepressants
might help. There were questions about my past, present, future, concerns and
worries, and stressed-environments and relational as well. Quite frankly, I’m
not stressed out and I’m not dealing with this Depression stuff. I know people
who do, and I know I don’t have it. I was told that I’m in denial and can’t be
helped until I let them help me. My symptoms continue for a while longer, not
stopping. I remind myself that being scoped doesn’t solve any problems, it only
told me what isn’t the problem. Narrowing down the options as to the trouble is
a very good thing. Right? Right.
~I saw the
doctor again. The doctor says what we’ll do is process of food elimination and
see if it’s food-related. First thing to go: Dairy. All dairy, including eggs.
For three weeks. The total test would take six weeks, so dairy would be out for
that long. Gluten would be out for the last three (this way, we’d know which
one was the troublemaker). Within three days of my dairy-free diet, my presumed
writer’s block lifted and the fog was gone. I was writing again (yippy!!). The
frog in my throat left (I thought I had a slight cold or pollen allergy, but,
umm, nope). J An unpleasant symptom was resolved and my confusion as to
what to do to make it stop, I finally had an answer: Dairy. I went with the
diet very willingly after that. Feeling good, felt….good. People began telling
me how great I looked. I still had a few symptoms, but with the other symptoms
now resolved, I wasn’t troubled like I had been. I could deal with them,
although I didn’t like them either. Especially the part about how fast I was
dropping in weight, didn’t matter how much I ate. I figured at this point that
the left-over symptoms that the nondairy diet didn’t catch, might be connected
to gluten. Perhaps I was allergic to both? It was possible. I know people who
are.
~Called the
doctor on the end of the 3rd week, ecstatic about the
writer’s-block-lift and the other dairy-sensitive symptoms lifted away. He said
that it seems we’ve finally found the problem and so I don’t need to see him
anymore. Which was great. I was a bit unsure, mainly because of the weight-loss,
among other issues. He said if I wanted to continue on the plan or not, it was
up to me from this point. The conversation was quickly over. I was left, mouth
open, wondering - but…but….the other symptoms…. Shrugged and decided to go gluten-free as
well, stick to the plan. After all, the two allergies could interconnect.
~Three weeks
later… From 125 to 117lbs, I called him back. Taking gluten out until I only
consumed 1/4th of my prior amount, then down to zero of it, has
helped some, but not enough to make it stop. Still not digesting my food. Still
burping…a lot (annoying but painless). Gas. Bloating. Pain was not vanquished
as I had so hoped. Neither had throwing up. I got desperate. I started separating
what foods I’ve eaten from all the rest, and began planning meals two days in
advance. I found that carrots, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, lettuce,
celery, beef, fried food, coffee, oranges, lemons, onions, soda, all have
something in common – I think my stomach does not like them and I think I feel
better when I leave them out. I’m not sure what else bothers me, I’m afraid to
know at this point because…what if it is everything and it leaves me with only
three food sources, chicken and rice, and almond or coconut products? How will
I gain weight that way? So I stopped trying to find all the problem foods. I
continued eating the lesser problem foods.
Decided to
put beans into a dish (I thought it would give me needed proteins), but very
quickly discovered they are a bullet in a game of “food Russian Roulette” (as
Hannah termed my eating of foods). Thought to call the doctor…well, once I was
able to get to the phone. (There was quite some time where I was pinned, really
hurting and curling in my ball. I wasn’t about to take the trip to E.R. only to
be told, “You’re just stressed out. Go home, relax and drink some tea.” I don’t
want to hear it anymore. I don’t, repeat, don’t have Depression. The subject
being brought up has begun to chaff on me by this point. Some begin to try
opening me to the concept that I might have this Depression). I can’t reach the
doctor, so I leave my number and name.
~Their office
calls me on another bad day where I have just finished throwing up and curling
up by the toilet. On the floor, where I was whimpering and crying, trying to
soothe myself from the explosive pain in my swollen stomach. And they ask how I
am doing. I tell them every little speck of detail. I hear the words I’ve been
longing to hear, “Umm, that is NOT Depression. That’s not normal. Let me talk
to the doctor and we’ll call you back.” Yes, good. I laughed aloud once the
conversation had ended. Triumph. Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to say all
along! Now we can move forward without that distracting issue in the equation
and find the problem. Oh happy day!
~I went down
to 114lbs and at last, it is finally being believed that what I was saying is
true- I don’t have Depression and something isn’t right, just as my gut has
been telling me all along. I so hoped we would find the monster that was making
my social life no further than my house. I was canceling with friends when it
came to fun things I really wanted to do. Parties, hiking, movies, swimming,
walks…*sigh* so hard to cancel fun things. I hate canceling. I hate having to.
~So, I was
told there would be more tests coming up. I’d kept a journal of my food and
pain, tracking it steady for 1 week. I missed two days the next week, and I
couldn’t recall what I ate - it’s a blur. Weighed myself at 112lbs. Still going
down. With a more intense drive, I ate when it was time to eat and kept eating
and eating. Even when I wanted nothing to do with food anymore, I ate. I ate
when it bothered me so bad that I had to put the fork down and my mind screamed,
‘Stop, stop! No more!’ And I’d take a breath, and eat more. I didn’t want to
drop any further. I didn’t want to get to 90lbs (they told me they would put me
in the hospital at that many pounds), and it was speeding closer and closer to
me. At the rate it was at, it would take less than a month before I hit that
number. I had people telling me, “You are so skinny, you need to eat more.”
Well, I was trying! My food just didn’t want to swallow at times, like that was
as far as it could go. It would start rising back up into my mouth as soon as I
went for the next bite. I fought, struggled to eat. Painstaking task, I started
wishing I didn’t have to eat. And then there were other times it went right in
and I felt horrible. I began dreading meals. Hating meals. They just weren’t
fun anymore. Cooking used to be so therapeutic for me, I loved cooking and
baking. But now, now it is something that I am obligated to do, and it always
hurts me later. I feel better when I eat nothing, when I am empty. I like that sorry-choice
far better than the swelling, cramping, pain shooting down my legs, and aching
muscles. …and worse, the fetal-ball and facing the toilet. Isn’t food supposed
to be the good guy?? I feel like it is the enemy. My grandma said of the
situation, “My goodness dear-heart, it is like you are accidentally bulimic!
How horrible.” It is horrible. …I loved food. And a secret (that really isn’t a
secret cause I’m telling you): I still want to love food.
~I learned
that most people want to hear that I am doing just fine, they don’t want to
hear anything else. It was just as my mentor through this situation had said. I
hadn’t paid that part of the conversation much attention because I didn’t think
it would apply much to me. ‘There are different types of people out there. Ones
who love to hear that you are doing okay and others who really want to know what
okay really means.’ She developed a code-speak for how she feels on good days,
on okay-days, on bad days so that in mixed company of these two groups, she
could say the same thing and have both understand. It was an amazingly complex
system. I remember being so shocked that people would not be interested in what
was really happening that day to her. I just sat there when she told me that, shaking
my head. “I want to know!” I’d blurted. She’d smiled.
I’d decided
to use her system recently. I grew acutely aware of how much people were happy
that I was “ok.” But, a few of my pals were insistent, demanding and pleading
in person and in texts that I PLEASE tell them what was REALLY behind the words
“I’m ok.” They wanted to know just what pain I dealt with…as they would know
how to pray, and my struggle encouraged them. That’s how I learned which group
was which. It’s not the easiest to do, this system. I think it is because my
mentor is wise and more practiced at it than I am.
~Speeding
ahead…. July20th: I was given a CT scan without/with dye. I had sat out the
waiting time cuddling my stomach and wishing I could lay down in my fetal-ball (the
test was done on one of my bad days). Drank what I was given. I pulled out the
sheet of paper with lots of scribbles from my pocket, read over it, clutched it,
put it back in my pocket. Remember, I began to instruct myself. My name was
called. They told me what they were doing. I already knew what the dye would
feel like- Hell on earth. My body would burn with fire so intense I would physically
sweat and I would have to remember to lay very still. Very still and not move.
I’d asked for prayer from close friends that God would pull me through this
test…I knew what was coming and I wouldn’t like this. Not at all. Thankfully,
liking this dye was not the point. “Please find something,” I hoped. “God, can
you point out the problem, please? No one is finding it and You can make it
visible to their eyes. I know You can.”
The lady in
the room began to dawn her aloe gloves. I objected very quickly and asked her
to please switch her gloves – I am allergic to aloe. Had a conversation about
how many products contain aloe. She was an amiable person and made the cold
white room seem warm. She gave me a heated blanket and that stopped the
shivering…cozy. Swab, poke, done. The iv was in. She was fast. Good cause I
don’t like needles. The taste and smell of cool metal went in my mouth and
nose. I gagged hard. “Oops!” She said, “Are you okay with the saline?” Saline.
I had forgotten. I nodded, “Fine, fine. Just got surprised by it. Forgot that
part.” Up went my arms like I was told to do. The cord had been wrapped around
my thumb, a pillow went behind my head. “Arms down, good. Ok, here we go
sweety. The machine will tell you when to breathe.” She said. I squinted. It
would tell me? What did that mean? She disappeared behind me and the table
below me shifted forward.
“Close your
eyes.” She said, “The laser is going to sweep over you.” I did. I thought briefly
of Attack of the Martians and little laser guns shooting little red beams; the
sounds being puny and high pitched. Remember to pray… I thought. “Hold your
breath.” Came the masculine computer voice. The table moved. My stomach did a
little flip, but I made sure I didn’t move a muscle. I wished my stomach wasn’t
raging on this day, of all days. But then, being it was so uptight, perhaps
they would see whatever it was, easier? More clearly defined? I had no idea.
Pray, I thought and did so. I released my breath as instructed. The table came to
a stop. The easy part was over already? She was fidgeting with a cord. “Here
comes the dye.” I heard a faint click. Then, fire. Burning fire. I remembered
this. Spreading down my arm, my shoulder. Searing, painful heat. Licking
flames. “I feel it.” I said uncomfortably; she’d told me to tell her when I
could. “Already?” She asked, “How are you? Does it feel too painful?” I gave a
faint shake of my head, “Fine. No, do this. Do this. Let’s find this tricky
monster.” She chuckled and said I was cute.
Footsteps
stopped and the table moved. My eyes were still closed. “Hold your breath.” The
voice commanded me. Cool air whooshed against me. Oh yes, praise God! They have
fans! I thought. I hadn’t noticed them the first round through without the dye.
It was not like that tube I went into before, where I baked, feeling sweat
trickling down my face and pitch darkness and loud knocking sounds, the machine
mere inches from my face. And I was burning in there, I remember the thought,
“I am burning alive. This is like hell, only, God is with me, so it is not.”
Remember, I shook myself off the past and began praying. “Release.” Came the
next command. The pleasant fans were farther down near my ankles, so I was
outside the machine. “Hold your breath.” It told me. The fans got closer, good.
I was going to stay in prayer, it didn’t matter the heat. “Release.” I breathed
out. Another time through. Then faster than I expected, she came out and told
me I was done and I could sit up. “W-what?” I was surprised. “Yep. You are all done.
You’ll get your results on Monday from your doctor.” She informed me and
bandaged up the spot where the tube had gone. I was glad she didn’t tell me to
wait where I was. That was a good sign. I liked that very much. “Okay, thank
you.” I slipped off the table and snatched up my items. “Umm, you’re welcome.”
She smiled, “I hope you feel better.” “Me too, me too.” I said.
I sighed a
prayer of thanks as I closed the door behind me. I didn’t want it to be
something that I found out today, that meant it wasn’t a huge problem and had
to instantly be dealt with. That made me happy. I didn’t want it to be.
Although, on the other side, I was very curious what the problem was. Could she
see what it was when I was being scanned or was this another trail where I would
be found as clean too? I hoped both that it was clean and that the answer
wasn’t hiding anymore. That it was found, but that I was fine. Contradictory
hopes, but hopes all the same. The air was bone dry when I went outside. One
ice-cold raindrop splashed on my arm, then another on my head. Then the boom of
thunder. Then a flash, another flash. A rattling boom that was too loud for me.
I wandered to my car, sat in it and thanked God nothing had been found, yet.
And praying that the problem, whatever it was, wouldn’t stay hidden inside of
me. That this was the right trail. Went home and spent a miserable night
pondering what on earth I ate that made my stomach so upset. Not gluten, not
dairy. Those were gone. So were beans, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, celery,
acids, greasy food, caffeine, and onions. I couldn’t bear yet to remove
carrots, but it couldn’t be that cause I didn’t eat that recently...besides,
those make me burp a lot, I’d know if I’d eaten carrots. I couldn’t bear to
remove apples. I love apples. Turned on the heat to my bed and finally drifted
off.
~July 24th:
Worked hard. Had a great day. No pain, no troubles. Had chicken and rice for
lunch and a bottle of water. Yum? Bland actually. Some BBQ sauce would have
been lovely. :P I worked hard, it was
busy. I got a splendid idea in my noggin and thought: Say, being I feel so
good, let’s invite Hannah over for cherry pie. She’d like that, I’d like that.
It’d be grand fun. …So, I snuck up on her and grinned widely, “Whatcha doin’
once you’re off today?” “Uhh, nothing…” She grinned as if she suspected
something good and liked it. “Want to come over and have some cherry pie? It’s
good. We could even make one. The smell of almond and cherry hot in the
oven…mmmm…” I teased enticingly. “Yessss,” She rubbed her palms. “That sounds
good.” She said when she’d be off, I told her my off work time. The plan was
set. The house would be filled with floured hands, laughter and stories, and
the warm soothing smell of hot pie. Got home and we came inside the house. 90
degrees indoors. Bummer. Sat on the couch, despondent-like. Turning on that
oven would make the house miserably hot. “Well, things could be worse. It could
have been 100 degrees…” I stated. She twitched a smile. “Next time. Perhaps hot
dutch apple cobbler in the fall?” I promised. That got a grin, “With a scoop of
vanilla icecream!” …So we settled on an iced cold banana chocolate mocha shake.
(First few taster sips were disgusting. I didn’t say a word, I just poured in the
chocolate. :P) Put in the hand-blender and pressed the button, both of us
laughing in hysterics at the ridiculous slurping sounds the pancake blender
made.
We enjoyed
the shakes, then sat in front of the tv and watched Jane Eyre. We fictated
through the whole movie. Talking to the characters, comparing the book to the
movie, talking about the attire the actors were wearing, how the shots were
taken to make the movie, and our thoughts. Instead of popcorn, we had out a
bowl of homegrown Rainer and Bing cherries and a separate dish for the pits. It
was grand fun. After the movie, we walked about the yard. She petted the
chicks. The larger hens squawked and dashed out of her reach. I picked up the
golden-colored chick, the one Mom and I named Curiosity (due to how it was the
only one who would come up to us and cock its head every time). I let her hold
the chick, telling her how to do so. She talked to it. We talked about the
chickens and the new batch and about how we think the dark one Mom called
Tiger, is a rooster due to its cocky dominant way over the other chicks more
mild mannerisms. I said, “Well, if it crows, we know without doubt.” We walked the
back property and discussed how it was so quiet and untouched. “Like another
world where time is still. Like a lost world.” She was saying, slowly turning
circles and looking around. I agreed and told her what I’d like to do, once I
get to feeling better. She agreed it was a grand idea. “There are a lot of
ideas one could get from this place,” she’d told me. I could just picture the
writer in her licking her chops and reveling in the notions of a secret getaway
spot to sit with pen and paper and write as it comes….I would know nothing of
this, being a writer myself, now would I? …Yes! :P
The end to a
good day. We said goodbye as she had supper yet to make for her hubby. I went
inside and closed the door. That had been fun. I stepped forward to peruse the
kitchen for ingredients for supper. But instead, this little click went off
inside of me and I lurched for the bathroom with the thought that I’d never
make it. Leapt over the dog on her bed, grabbed the doorframe and swung inside.
Odd, I thought. I had been fine all day. Well, it was over now. It had come
fast, and left just as quick. Didn’t need that room. Good.
I went into
the kitchen and knowing what I should do for supper, I reached up to the spices
and a sharp pain yanked me downward towards the floor. I snatched hold of the
oven door and held myself up, barely. My stomach flipped-flopped and I felt
severely nauseous and very, very crummy. I had the thought, I ought to lay down
so this goes away. It yanked again, combined with rumbling growls. “Not again.
Not again.” No no no no, I was thinking. I made my way to the couch slowly but
as quick as I could. This could drop me and I’d be stuck where I landed. I
wanted it to be a soft place.
I eased
myself onto the couch and laid in a fetal-ball, breathing slow, staying calm.
It came to me after a few minutes: I need my meds…which are upstairs. It might
as well be 3 blocks away, I reasoned. I could do this. I sat up and my world
spun off to the right. I laid down with the motion. Ighh, so not fun. Sharp
pain struck through my stomach like a searing bolt of lightning, white hot and
painful. I cried out. It was motivation enough. I was GETTING those meds.
Lowering myself onto the floor and crawling by my forearms, still in my ball, I
ascended each step. I was GOING to get that relief. 1/3 of the way up I
screamed. It was just that sharp. I covered my mouth with my hands to hush what
had already come out. Paused. Then climbed again. Higher, higher. Closer,
closer, closer. Screamed more. Didn’t care anymore. Screamed again. Cried.
Sobbed. Nothing mattered but medication. Medication to stop this evil monster.
Fireworks exploded in my stomach. Explosion after explosion. I kept screaming
as the white pain shot through my whole body, prickling hot needles in my legs.
I didn’t care. I wanted relief. Relief now. Relief at the speed of yesterday
already.
Now at the
doorway of my room, the invisible spear thrust into my stomach and pinned me
directly to the floor. I saw stars and screamed hard, curling into a very tight
ball. I could not reach my meds. I was stuck. I was stuck. Helpless. And alone.
I gripped my cellphone tighter and tighter. I couldn’t think. What should I do?
“Message box full.” My inbox chimed four times. I couldn’t care. I cried
unstoppably, screaming. And then trying to hush me, stroking my own hair, “Shh,
shh, shh…” I knew the meds to be on top of my desk, 7 footsteps away. I’d have
to stand to reach it. …but it was out of the question. More explosions rocked
my world. Fierce as it was sharp. Pain shot down my back, down my legs. I had
to reach the meds. I couldn’t reach them. No way. “Oh God…Oh God…” I began, and
then “Owww!!” I slammed my palm over my mouth. No screaming. I wanted to think.
I had to get to those meds. Had to plan. But I couldn’t focus, all my thoughts
were scattered. All I felt was pain. All I knew is I was stuck until it
released me. My phone rang. Mom asked how I was, she was pulling up. Then I
screamed. Appologized profusely. Appologized more. It was right in her ear. So
sorry, so so sorry.
She came
bolting up the stairs and stopped right where I could see her feet. “Oh honey…”
She sighed. “Medication.” I said. “Desk.” She hurried over me and got the
medication, gave it to me. “How many?” “Two,” I said. I put them in my mouth
and waited. And waited. Sharp pain continued. And I waited. Nothing. It still
hurt, I was still pinned down by the invisible spear. “This isn’t normal. This
isn’t right. No, you need to go to E.R. I’m taking you.” Mom said, pacing. “No,”
I said. “No.” She called someone, but I couldn’t understand what was said. Only
that Mom was frazzled, frantic, worried sick. I screamed, covered my mouth.
Screamed more. I cried. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. I obeyed my strict
diet. I ate A LOT. Still dropped weight. Nothing was showing up: Tests showed
nothing was wrong with me. My blood sugar was a little low, but that wasn’t
concerning. Footsteps came pounding up the stairs. “Message box full.” My phone
chimed at me 5 times. I gripped it harder. I imagined words I knew were coming
in to my inbox. I am praying for you. Mom began to pat me on the back. “You
need to go to E.R. sweetheart. Here, let me help you…” “No, don’t touch me. It
hurts. I’ll know when to move.” I said quickly to explain. She started to scoop
her arm around me. “No don’t. I’ll do it.” I said, “I think I have a break.” I
scooted. It worked. I scooted more. Then piercing pain exploded through my
stomach. I cried out.
“This is not
normal. Nicole, we have to get you to E.R. Let me help you. Are you going to
crawl down those stairs??” “Yes, yes, we are going to crawl down them, which is
far easier than going up them. If I stand, I could fall.” I said and moved
again. “Oh my…this is not normal. This isn’t right. I am so sorry.” Mom
commented. “For what?” I huffed, easing down the next step, then the next.
“This isn’t your fault.” “I’ll get your shoes and purse.” Mom said and got down
the steps. I got down to the bottom and slipped on my shoes, crawled across the
kitchen. But stopped there. Began to feel my stomach go tight and my throat get
warm. Nausea prickled at the back of my throat. I gagged. More pain and my eyes
went wide. Back to being pinned, but this time I was going to throw up, and
there was nothing I could do to stop me….felt it coming, but it stayed in my
mouth. I was so glad. I did not want the mess it would have made. Got down the
steps and hunched far over, got to the car, got in and curled back up. Rode to
the E.R. Where I was wheelchaired in.
Noticed the
nurse had aloe gloves. I told her my allergy. She put on a clean pair of the
same. Mom told her while I cried and curled tighter. New gloves (this time
without aloe) and told to lay on the table. I did so, in my ball. Crying,
whimpering, crying-out. “We aren’t sure what to do for you, do you want pain
meds or do you want tests done?” “Pain meds! Test was just done. Waiting for CT
scan results to come in.” I huffed. “Stop the pain. Stop it quick. Please.
Please…please!!” “Okay. Are you…what’s your pain from 1 to 10?” I was asked. “I
don’t care!” I cried, “I want relief. 10, no 9. Pregnant mothers get the ten.”
“The pain scale is for YOU.” I was told. “9. I don’t care. Help me please help
me.” I responded, crying. A few moments later, one of them came in, introduced
himself and told me, “Your CT test result is in our files. It says you are
clean of critical issues. However, you are jam-packed with heavy constipation.
Your colon and intestines are packed tight. Your colon is malfunctioning, we
don’t know why, but you do have IBS-C. Where your intestines don’t work
properly, rather, they are spastic, so that doesn’t make the situation easier. It
packs things even tighter. Which is probably what is causing you all this pain.
Is it random sharp pains or repetitive sharp pains?” I smiled, glad. The
answer. We had the answer at last. I clutched the warm blanket I was given and
cried out. “Nicole?” Mom prompted. “I don’t know, random? It’s sharp pain.” I whimpered.
“Very sharp. Like lightning in my stomach. Explosions. Hot and white and sharp
and running down my back, in my thighs…Where’s the medication?” “It’s coming,”
He said. “Message box full.” My phone chimed from across the room. Once. Twice.
Three. Four times. “People are praying for you,” Mom said, patting and stroking
my arm. “Oh, and Grandpa and Grandma and Paul are in the waiting room.” “Goody.”
I whispered. “Glad.” I cried out and then, “Is it coming?” “Soon, sweetheart,
soon.” Mom said. “I’m sure Paul wants to see you, but he can’t come in here.”
“I know.” I said. “Dad is on his way also.” She added, and then informed me she
was going to go out in the waiting room for a little while to talk to them. It
was fine with me. I laid there, listening to my phone tell me how full it was,
comforting to know I was cared for….even if I couldn’t reach the silly thing to
free up space so I could see what was sent! Cried out. More pain. Covered my
mouth with both hands, muffling the noise. Could those in the waiting room hear
me crying? Hear my pain? A sharp pain and I cried louder, hands both to my
stomach, not caring who heard me. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…” I whispered. Oh
dear God, help me. “Oh dear, oh dear….” God, help me.
Mom came back
in moments later and said they were all worried for me. I nodded. “Is it
coming?” “Right here.” A lady said, “But I’ll need to get to an arm, you’re all
twisted up in a knot.” “Go fast. I don’t like needles.” I informed her. “Okay,”
She swabbed my arm. “I’m going to stick it…” “No, don’t tell me, please. Just
shove it in.” I objected. “Okay, wiggle your toes for me please.” She said. I
wiggled them, “Why am I doing this?” Poke, it was in. “The medication is going
in now. It makes it easier for me to get the needle into your vein. When people
get scared, their veins get smaller, so when they are focused on moving their
toes, their veins are more open. It’s an effective distraction.” I saw one
vial, two, three…three I think? She put them in there. Explaining something
about the nausea I was complaining about and the pain in my stomach. She asked
about my favorite hobbies, what I like doing in free time. I told her. She says
she likes to garden. We talked of gardening. How her plants turn yellow. I
explained overwatering makes them yellow just the same as under watering does.
She didn’t know that. I told her how to check the soil and talked of green
thumbs. Her doing most the footwork on the conversation I’m sure.
Next I knew,
my legs were restless and it was dark. I had my eyes closed. I opened them. I
couldn’t tell if I had slept, I supposed I had. The pain was gone; however, the
world was blurry. A clipboard was placed in front of me. Something was being
said. I recognized a slurred “name” and “sign.” The pen was toward me. The page
was white. “Where?” I was pointed to the bottom and I wrote my name. “Nicoley!...Well,
she usually is much neater…” I heard Mom explaining. I wondered what my writing
looked like. I figured I wouldn’t want to know; the perfectionist in me
wouldn’t like it. “Oh that will work. We’ve seen worse.” The lady said. “How do
you feel? Scale of 1 to 10.” “Marvelous.” I mumbled. “And the pain?” She asked.
“Gone, yay.” I smiled. “Good. Do you need a wheelchair?” She asked. “Nope. I
can- walk now.” I said. “Okay.” She stepped out. I went to stand and the world
tipped side to side in waves. Mom caught me before I could slip all the way off
and land on my face. Both Dad and her supported me out to the waiting room.
Paul sat up and I put up my thumb, “No more pain.” He said something but I
couldn’t hear him. He said it again. I’d forgotten what it was but he’d been
praying and it was something that I smiled at.
Got out to
the car where I sat and Dad and Mom talked about something. Paul rested his arm
on the door and peered down at me. A sad sort of smile on his face, glad that I
was ok but worried. He said something to the effect that I mattered, that I was
worth it. I was no trouble. I shouldn’t be sorry, or something of this sort. I
guess I was apologizing. He said he’d be praying and then said goodnight.
8-16-12
8/2: Stomach
got all swollen up. Informed Paul that if he didn’t want to join me for lunch
on the 3rd, that would be fine with me. I didn’t want people assuming
something awful and catch him off-guard so as to embarrass him. I’d been
congratulated on being pregnant before due to this condition, so I was no
longer caught by surprise at the question (although I still feel my ears and
cheeks get warm). I know it looks like I’m three months along in a pregnancy
because I was told so. I don’t try to explain anymore, I just let the issue
drop each time. Why? Simply because when I try to tell them it’s not that, but
a medical issue, they don’t believe me (its people around town or when I go
places, that assume this). It goes kinda like one lady said, “Aww
congratulations sweety! Is this your first one? You must be proud! How much along,
three months?” “Uhh, well actually this is a medical issue.” -me. “Haha, that’s a different way of calling
a pregnancy. Don’t want everyone to know yet? Trying to surprise your friends
or family? …I suggest you wear a loose top around them, then.” “Uh, I’m not
pregnant. Really, I…” –me. “Oh honey,” She puts her arm all friendly-like over
my shoulder. “I’ve seen a lot of new moms and its ok. You don’t have to hide it
from me. I can tell.” “Uh…” –me. She patted my back, “You are a sweety. You’ll
make a great mom for that little one.” …at this point I just gave up with
trying to tell her. Others have been just as difficult. They do not believe me,
they do not know me. Little do they know that the very next day, my stomach
will be flat and my ribs will show again so I’ll be back to wearing two shirts
to hide it, instead of one loose shirt to disguise it when it swells up. Paul
has never (I don’t think) encountered being congratulated like this… which I’m
sure he would be if around me at the time, due to how the thought process of assuming
works. “Aww! Congrats to you both.” And to him, “You must be very proud…” I
could see it now. Paul was bothered by my saying that “perhaps we should just
get together another time.” He didn’t mind the assumptions (which were wrong
anyhow). He just wanted to talk to me, didn’t matter what others said anyway.
So, we were going for lunch regardless. I really liked that he was willing to
endure that just to be in my company.
8/3: Went to
lunch with Paul. It was great. And, nobody did any assuming of the sort I
worried about a day prior cause I woke up and my stomach was once again flat.
Huzzah.
8/4-5:
Migranes, sleep, nausea, dizziness, weak, napping for hours, feeling sick. Me
fighting to live an ordinary life free of pain, despite the pain. …umm, sorry,
not going to happen. Still managed to do some chores and get things done, which
was great.
8/6: Dizzy
and weak, spots in vision while watering the garden, stumbling about trying to
drag the hose. Wasn’t about to give up. Finished that. Napped off a few hours,
woke still dizzy. Wasn’t at all hungry (which I’m not hungry anyhow), but ate
anyhow (forced myself). Feelings of being stuffed sick were overwhelming and
awful. Exhausted from fighting. Realizing how easy living had been prior to
this circumstance in my life. Realizing that if life got tougher, that I was
going to be thankful that this wasn’t as bad as it could get. Enjoying what I
have, grateful knowing I’m here at home and not in a hospital with the poking
of needles and tubes of ivs. Ever thankful for good pals who have really shown
the brightest during this time in my life.
8/7: A bad
day with extreme dizziness and nausea (will I ever escape the latter?). Was told by pals to tell work I am very sick
cause I was, but I refused and put my foot down. It was a busy day there and I
committed myself to my job, worked very hard, as hard as I could. Everything in
me screamed to go home, but I would not abandon my crewmates and leave them a
person short. Not doing it, period. Fought. Fought hard. Was warned to pick up
the pace. Reminded again to speed up. Go go go. And my mind waged war. Listen
to my pals and go home!…No. Don’t give in, don’t give up, fight hard! I
listened to the latter. Was told I was getting behind and it was unlike me. I
worked harder. As hard as I could press, I pressed to do. I wasn’t smiling, as I
was reminded to smile. I put a smile on. Was still told that I wasn’t smiling.
Apparently my smile kept slipping off me. I couldn’t seem to keep it in place.
At the end of my shift, I was told that I didn’t get something done that needed
doing and next time I would hopefully remember to do so. I was angry at myself
for not being efficient enough to meet the standard. The standard was a simple
one, too. I met it easily before this issue. I promised myself that tomorrow my
boss would not have to speak to me again about picking up my pace, about not
getting things done when they should. I was going to improve, darn it. No if
ands or buts. Tomorrow would be better. Spoke to my parents about my bad day.
Was informed softly that I could lose my job. People can be fired if they
cannot meet the standard, if they are medically sick enough to not meet the
standards of their job. I was horrified, because I LOVE my job. I am at home
there. It is where I belong, and I’ve known it from the start. Yes, it is
challenging at times, just as it is full of growing opportunities, and yet,
enjoyable enough that I love driving to work and am hesitant to leave to go
home. :P My coworkers are all amazing. Yeah so every workplace has its chaffs
and gossip and “excuse my French Nicole, blahblahblah.” Those things are at any
job. *shrugs* I could care less about that, cause I don’t listen to it anyhow.
This job is home for me. It fits me. Perfectly.
Went to bed
feeling incredibly uncomfortable and ill. And now worried with knowledge that I
could lose my job over this condition. I fought with my health, now I’d fight
to keep my job too. I was not going to let that slip like sand through my
fingers like my weight is. I could actually do something about the job. But
what? I thought about how to push myself to achieve the goal for the morning. Yes,
coffee was a bullet for my stomach, but it was also caffeine, which would
create energy. Lack of energy was my downfall… I knew what I was going to do.
And I wasn’t going to be sorry.
8/9: Drinking
coffee was not a wise choice as to how it made me feel, but wise choice in how
I worked. I was complemented on my speed being just “how you used to be!” And
then I got ahead in my tasks, and then right on time during the rush. It made
me smile, feel accomplished. I made the right choice. Regardless of how mad my
stomach was, never minding the migraine. Fighting never felt so…alive.
8/10:
Drinking coffee today was totally out of my reach, I felt too sick to even
consider drinking it and making myself feel sicker. I felt flushed and just….terrible.
In the breakroom, one coworker looked at me with worry. Finally she spoke and
told me my face was very, very red; like a fresh sunburn. Other coworkers
sitting around the table agreed. I was told to go look for myself. It was true.
I wrote it in my Health diary and let it go. I didn’t know what to do about how
red my face was anyhow. Felt incredibly ill the rest of the day, but kept in
mind my parents warning about being fired. It kept me fueled with resolve to
push through my tasks, not quit, not give in. By 3pm, my thoughts began to be
rather loud about going home, forget eating, and just go to bed! I wonder if I
am developing a cold. I hadn’t had one in quite some time. Perhaps I was and
that’s why my muscles ached so much? Why my stomach was so mad with me? I didn’t
go home, wouldn’t complain. Not a word. After I got off work, I went straight
home, showered and put myself to bed. Mom wouldn’t let me sleep until I had
eaten. I watched Sara Plain and Tall and ate supper. Then went to sleep.
8/11:
FINALLY! A good day at last! I feel some semblance of normal! Can everyday be
like this one? Oh pretty please!! Went with Paul to the store (cause I had to
get some special groceries for myself…yup, I ran out at home. Mostly used ‘em,
the rest went bad cause…well, sometimes I felt too sick to cook, so whatever I
grabbed was, bingo, you guessed it, supper). He went against my complaints of
not needing to buy me anything. That I just had to get a few things and then
we’d be off for my house and able to go do something more fun. I know, a girl
who doesn’t like to shop. Weird aren’t I? :P Anyhow, he goes one way and tells
me to just go get what I need. So, wondering and hoping he wasn’t up to
mischief, which I supposed he was certainly up to some sort of mischief. I
collected my groceries and went to the check-out. Poof. He was behind me and
setting special grocery items I could eat- specifically what I was out of and
couldn’t afford (they weren’t necessary items) – ice-cream and fudge sticks.
“Paul…” I shook my head and said no more. What am I to do? Say no? That hasn’t
worked in the past. “…thank you.” I manage. I pull out my money quick and step
closer to the register cause…well, who knows what Paul will do. Sometimes he
gets rather stubborn about what he has in mind to do. And I don’t want to use
my pal, that’s not right nor is it fair. I’d warned him/told him before to save
his money for his girl, she’d like that very much. A lot. Slid my card. There.
Done. Grabbed the groceries but they were abruptly, gently, removed from my
hands. “Well urr, thank you.” I said awkwardly as Paul took all four bags.
“Can’t I carry one?” I asked. “Nope.” He said, grinning this wide smile that
tells me he’s enjoying this... I give in and let him carry them out to my car,
where he both puts my groceries in and then closes my door for me once I’m in.
Shoot, I smack my steering wheel with my palm. Satisfied at the relief of
pounding the steering wheel, I give it three more: Shoot shoot shoot. He’s such
a gentleman.
I get to my
house first and he parks to find me going for my groceries. “What are you
doing?” He asks knowing full well what I’m about. “Getting groceries,” I huff,
bent over the seat and retrieving rolled items. He clears his throat and my
eyes turn to see his hand is waiting. Reluctant, I attempt to take them inside.
“Bratty young impish whippersnapper of a princess,” He smirks. “Ha!” I say,
“I’m not a brat.” “Yes you are.” He laughs. I laugh.
I get my food
put away and he takes me to my next errand where I am getting bottles for
Kombucha Tea which I am told helps upset stomachs and gives it good probiotic
stuffs. So on and so forth. He stays in the car. I talk to the lady at the
counter, feeling odd and very out of place myself standing in a wine and beer
shop. I am informed that I can’t have 12 bottles because she doesn’t have all
12 in stock. But she searches cause she has “an idea” and soon enough, she has
5, 7, 8…including a heavy plastic bottle meant for beer. I’m informed there’s
very old bad beer in one of the glass bottles, so give it to someone I don’t
like….but don’t drink it (in other words, pour it down the sink, which I did.
Smelled NASTY btw). A swipe of plastic later and the dusty bottles were mine,
packaged into a case, and away I went. Went for soft serve ice-cream and talked
about how we both don’t like crowded places….so we went out from the busy
restaurant and took it to a nice, quiet park. Sat at a picnic table and enjoyed
it. It was very quiet. Conversation-wise too. I suspected both of us knew that
after today, things would be very different. I didn’t speak of it, neither did
he. But the silence screamed it. I prayed quietly a few times when it just got
too quiet, looking up and watching the wind. Thinking about a random verse,
“The wind blows where it wishes. We hear the sound of it but we do not know
where it is going or where it has come.” And then popped back to the week’s
memory verse about guarding one’s heart for out of it springs the issues of
life. Sighed. I know. Picked at the grass. He did too. Joked that if we kept
picking grass, no one would have to mow this park lawn. Enjoyed the sun and the
shade, and enjoyed amiable laughter. It was such a lovely day. It was
near-perfect. Zero pain and with a good pal, on a summer day, in the park, and
with a soft serve treat. How many days are like that, huh?
8/12: Another
day of good! Huzzah! A trend! A good trend! Yippy!!! Today at work was
near-easy, just like it used to be. Well, the tasks were. :P Dealing with a
rush of hungry people all longing for the stuff inside of the cases….haha, another
matter entirely. Speed and knowledge and questions and answers and shouts above
humming fans and roaring equipment….ahh, sweet adventure! *grins* I love it!
Not a dull moment, no siree. :P Prayed
for Paul as I worked. I foreknew the day prior that Dad and him would be going
out for lunch. I didn’t know what all would be said, but I knew the general
idea. I texted a few girl-pals to be praying. End of day, no usual text from
Paul. No one had to say a word, I knew. I got home and listened to Dad talk
about the meeting. I pretty much only nodded, but what was I supposed to say? I
knew it was coming. I was in agreement with both of my parents. I wasn’t in
agreement with Paul. That’s why I wanted Dad to speak to him. And he did. Now
it was over. Done. Finished. Sadly. Went to bed and prayed. And prayed. Put my
head down, hands up against the window pane, up to the stars, touching the scintillating
satin-black sky with an invisible barrier between. And looked up beyond the
stars. God, Your will, not my own desires. Amen.
8/13: And
back down to reality. Watered garden although nauseous. Tripped about, tugging
the hose. Gave up half-way through. It was just too hard, too much. Burping as
though I had soda, but I’d had none. Gas. Awful gas I couldn’t escape. Nose
starts running like our drippy faucet. Decided fine, I’m not going to sit
around the house. If I’m going to feel awful, at least I’m going to feel awful
and be somewhere other than within these four walls! I’ll go crazy if I stay in
this house! So, I hear Dad telling me he’s going shopping for a faucet that will
work. I tell him I’m coming too. We’ll make it a father-daughter date. He
agrees but wonders if I’m up to such an event. I tell him I’ll be sitting,
it’ll be fine. I’d only be sitting here at home too, so why not? My reasoning
wins and we adventure out. Many faucets later, we stop for lunch at Subway
(cause I can eat there). I fuss about how he can go for a burger being he
really seems to want one. We’ll just grab one sandwich from here and then go
over there. But he’s adamant and won’t hear me. “Stubborn man,” I huff and cross
my arms, a playful smile on my face cause I’m not being serious. “No sense
eating at two different places, we’ll eat from the same place.” He says right
back and then puts out his tongue. Alrighty then, two could play at this game. I
put out mine. We laughed. “Fine Pa, Subway it is.” I smirked. I get a turkey
avocado sandwich, fresh apples, and break from my diet to enjoy one small soda.
Mmm, soda. I mean, really. When the day is already crummy, how could one soda
possibly make it worse, right? *rolls eyes* Riiight. Not a smart move on my
end, but hey, it did taste soooo good.
Some more
shopping and we locate the faucet, buy it and home again jiggity jig. I fall
asleep several times, nap. Wake up. Nap. Wake up. Like that, until we start to
approach home. My phone vibrates and I don’t think about it even looking at the
caller id. I know who it is. I snatch it up. I know what Paul’s going to say
afore he says a word. He says precisely that. Our conversation ends and I press
the end button very reluctantly. Dad asks what was said, and so I tell him what
Paul just told me. We pass his house and I think, “Vaya con Dios.” I fall back
to another nap. I wake up very near home. I am talking to Pa and just then, I
see him on the opposite side. Whoosh. Just like that, we pass. I wonder if he
saw me, too. No, I doubted it: he was looking straight ahead when we passed.
Just like life, showing me in real time about how we are going separate ways
from this point on. My mind goes back to reality: I hate soda. It hurts my
stomach. I look down at my skinny hands and twine them together over my
stomach. “Hurting?” Pa is curious. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” I half-smile. “Uhuh.”
Pa is not convinced.
Wander inside
with a half-aimless quality. I lay in my usual spot on the couch and text two pals
what was on my mind. I force myself to eat, then decide that tomorrow might get
worse. I prepare my first batch of Kombucha. I’ve never made it afore. I get
called away from the task to sit beside Mom, who’s on her computer. She puts an
arm around me and says she loves me. I say why. (…umm, duh? :P) She says
because. Then she points me to a friend’s facebook profile page. And then I
tear up and fight to hold it back. Mom doesn’t hold back, she calls me her
beautiful daughter. I read what my friend has reposted from my earlier text to
her:
A friend of mine just found out that the man she REALLY
wanted to marry would not be able to... her response to learning this is excellent
and inspiring. Something I intend to emulate in whatever difficult situations
:)
Here's is her response:
“It is goodbye and the end of a chapter. I am very sad.
...there are just many things that don't go how I want. I feel I stand in a
current of all my pals’ happiness and I just watch it go by. But then,
realizing their life, like their shoes, don't fit me. God knows what's better
for me. This is just a blessing of another sort (although the world would call
it a heartbroken tragedy), just like my health issues (which are still very
much present). It is like [Pastor] Keith was saying. Blessings aren't all money
and health and ladeedah [or the relationships we feel we need]....”
She also said:
“[Most people] would have been angry and irritable and upset
with God. Not only to say goodbye to a good friend, but to deal with a very
painful health issue at the same time. They would have called it unfair, not
praise or glorify God anyway, not count it as joy. ...I do hurt some, but it
isn't anguish. It is sadness, the loss kind, the disappointment kind. ...God
knows what’s in store for me. The best thing I can do is just trust Him and
leave the reigns of my life in His hands. Haha, I don’t want the control at
this hour anyhow! It'd be madness how fast it would all spin, spin right out of
hand and crash. O_o Well, a very good thing He has them. It’s going to be ok, I
know it very well. :)”
That is faith in action. :)
I continue
onward with making the tea and I get stuck on what to do. My mind rolls over
and over again with words I’ve heard before: “When I think of the Proverbs 31
woman, I think of you.” “….Inspiring….intend to emulate….” “You are such a
beautiful, godly young woman and it is an honor to be your friend. :)” “A beacon of light and
encouragement…” “An encouragement…” “Such a testimony...” “…walking the walk.” am
I? Am I? I blink back tears, grab the teaspoon and taste the starter-batch,
then gag. It is slimy-nasty! I cover my mouth with both hands. Oh gross! I pull
out the culture that has grown in there and set it aside. I pour sugar into the
tea part and look over the recipe. I’ve followed it, but the brew isn’t sparkly
like our neighbor’s Kombucha Tea is. I call her and she comes over. She says I
look horrible and wonders if I hurt my back, then realizes it’s my stomach that
has me doubled over. She wonders why I’m not doing this batch tomorrow. I tell
her tomorrow may be worse. I should deal with what I have. If I can stand, I
can do it. She hesitates on that, but then helps me with my first batch. It fizzes
and sparkles perfectly. I shake my head. Just like taking a car to the
mechanic, I guess. I pop in the berries into my new bottles, we pour in the
juice, and close them up. She gets her Kombucha jar and bottles back (she let
me have some of her batch…thank you dear neighbor!). In five days, I’ll enjoy a
new batch of it (which if it’s anything like hers, its kinda tasty and reminds
me of soda minus the vinegarish first taste and berry aftertaste…and way more
healthy). I clean up and go to bed with the hopes that tomorrow will be better.
8/15: A good
morning! Huzzah! So exciting! Went about the garden watering and it was great.
Enjoyed the warm summer sun, birdsong and soft breeze. Mmm, soo nice. 2pm rolls
around and I realize I’m feeling kinda not alright. Semi-nauseous actually. And
definitely dizzy. I clock in only to feel a switch inside of me. I must go,
like right now. So I race around the tables and slam my shoulder into the
bathroom door and make it. Barely. Hands to face, and thinking of how I hate
this. How I just want to be normal, like I used to be. But then, was I ever
truly normal? What does normal mean? Average? Am I average? No. Then I will not
be normal, either. Fine. Will I ever feel better? Be rid of this constantly
ever-there health issue? Or will I keep having good and bad days (errr, which
could start out bad and end good, or be good and end bad, depending)? I just
don’t know.
Hurried to
help my coworkers and do my tasks. Nearly fainted while bending over cleaning
but caught myself on the way down. No one saw, thankfully. I would have been
embarrassed. Stars in my vision as I cleaned. I ignored them. A guest and his
wife, both I know well, said I made their day nice and told me anything I would
like to drink, they would buy for me. I said they didn’t have to do that. I was
stared at with the expectant “I’m waiting” look from the wife. She’d obviously
go get it so I didn’t have to leave my station. “I…I…” I stuttered. “You…you….”
He smirked, imitating me, “So, coffee, tea, soda perhaps? Juice? There must be
something you really want.” I thought of what I really wanted. I bit my lip and
then spoke up, “Yeah, water.” He was taken back. “15 cent water? No really,
what do you want. I meant anything.” “No really. It’s incredibly hot back by the
machines and water would be wonderful. It would be perfect.” He paid for the
water and smirked, shaking his head. I asked what was the matter. He chuckled
and looked up at me, “You make a very cheap date. ‘Water, please.’” I laughed,
“I guess so, huh.” His wife passed me the water, “Well, in my opinion, she’s
truthful. Someone is going to love her for that.” I smiled, “Thank you. For the
water.” They smiled, she spoke, “You’re welcome. You make our experience here
so nice; it’s just a small thanks.” “It’s what I needed,” I took a sip of cold,
refreshing water. He chuckled, shook his head with a smile, and they were on
their way.
The rest of
the day was spent with discomfort and indigestion feeling. Not to mention gas.
I kept moving, highly embarrassed. No one noticed that, either…perhaps its
cause I stood next to Big Bertha (our huge black trash container) and that
stinks nasty bad! Igh. Got home and surprise, supper was waiting for me. I ate
and then committed to clean up and then to pick berries out in the garden. I
was interrupted from Mom, who was mowing the lawn. She gestured for me to go to
her. So I did. Then to hop on the riding lawnmower with her, so I did. Then to
drive it. I objected. I wasn’t allowed to touch any of the sharp or motorized
objects here ever since the ITP ordeal. I was told, “Drive.” So I did, for a
moment. “Further.” So I did. Started to turn around. “Through the woods. Keep
going.” I kept going till we made a huge loop around from the front of the
house to the back, mowing our path through the woods. Avoiding tree stumps and
twigs. I didn’t like it. I was greatly bothered by the jarring motions, the
searing pain in my legs and arms,, the shlopping feel in my stomach. “I can’t
do this! I can’t do this!” She encouraged me forward, me groaning the whole
way. We reached the back lawn. I lept off as soon as we reached the flat
portion, “No more. No more. It hurts too bad.” My vision went gray-black for a
moment, so I leaned over and prepared myself to throw up. I felt like the
ground was tipping forward to meet me. Mom had me get on the mower by myself,
her getting off. I was glad to sit. She taught me how to use it, which was way
more comfortable than squatting on my legs, pressing the gas pedal while
lurched over the steering wheel to keep me on it (which bruised my forearms). I
mowed the back lawn as well. I was told I didn’t need to be so timid on the gas
pedal. So I pushed it down. Surprised how stiff the pedals are. The whole thing
shut off, just like that. I put my hands up. “What did I do?” “You got up off
the seat.” Mom explained, “So you have to stay seated.” “Oh.” I managed,
understood the concept. Mowed around the property, kicking up a huge dust-cloud
that covered the entire garden. Next time, I thought, blinking at the sand. I
will have to wear goggles for this! Got off at the end, being the hill was
ahead and Mom didn’t want me doing that until I was more apt at handling it.
Otherwise it could flip and land on me, crush me. I didn’t like that idea
either. That’s how Grandpa’s neighbor died. Went back to picking berries.
Texted my pals: “I rode a John Deere mower about the yard just now. My very
first time without a push-by-hand mower. Feels kinda like driving, only on a
very bumpy, dusty road. :P” A second later, my phone was buzzing. “Neato,”
Rissa said. “Did it make you feel like…like taking over the world?? :D” Hannah
asked. I laughed. Yes, yes, like taking over the world. Dominating one blade of
grass at a time, all at the power of a pedal, instead of arm and back muscles!
Bwahahaha! ….O.o Perhaps they would think me too odd if I said such a thing, so
I didn’t. But, now I consider it and think, perhaps I should have. :P
Tidied up the
kitchen, washed berries and froze them for my Kombucha drinks and protein
shakes. By 8pm, I was hurting. Drank herbal tea. Stomach is rock hard and so
uncomfortable that no position, standing, sitting or laying down, helps. I
weigh myself, curious if it makes me heavier. Dummy me, of course not. Although
I do discover I haven’t lost weight. I’m at 112lbs. A far cry from what I want
to be and need to be, but at least its not 109lbs anymore. Well, I hope the
pounds gained are real. I’ve had fake weight before. 3lbs there one moment and
by the end of the day, completely gone and then one, four. So I have become a
skeptic when I step on the scale. 9:30pm- Mom touched my stomach, agrees I do
look pregnant. I raised my eyebrow, telling her she won’t feel nothing kick,
there’s nothing in there but me and food. She called me a goose-head and said
she wanted to know if it felt hard…and it does. “Hard as a rock,” as she said.
*Glances to stomach* As hard as rock….iiinteresting. I’ll not let my
imagination get away with my head about telling me I’ll turn into some hideous,
grinning rock monster, rawrrr! :P Anyhow, night got so incredibly uncomfortable
that nothing was comfortable, or interesting for that matter. Put myself to
bed. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t get comfortable. Watched the stars in the sky.
The shooting stars, the satalites. Tried looking in vain for the meteors, but I
couldn’t see any. Drat. Rolled over. Rolled over. Rolled over. Nothing
comfortable. Tried to read for point 2 seconds. Shifted. Tried to hunt for new
reads on Amazon. Shifted. Turned off my kindle. Sighed, shifted, rolled over.
Tux padded up to me and flopped over on his side onto my face. Oopfh! “Thanks
Tux.” He purred loudly, snuggling himself into my arms. “Fine you silly cat, I
will pet you.” I petted him for about 10 minutes, then he got up and went on
his merry little way. To roam the house, I suspect. Tossing, turning. Praying.
Tossing, rolling over. Stomach hard, swollen, hard to bend. Back sore, legs
sore. No sleep. Not coming. 2 hours of this. 2 ½ hours. And then, I open my
eyes and frown. It’s very dark, and a sharp pain is rippling through my stomach
like a storm caught inside of a small space. I look upward toward and back to
the clock to try and read the time. 4:54am. Awwh no. It’s too early for this.
Go back to sleep, please. Stomach is still swollen. Still can’t find a
comfortable place, can’t find rest. Darn it, so I’m up. I’m awake and that’s
that. Fine then. I write in my Health diary about the low back pain and waking
up to prickling nausea in my throat, about painful-discomfort in my stomach,
and what on earth did I eat – I just want to sleep!
Mom came in
and rubbed my back, which helped…a little. She asked if I was still planning on
going swimming and would it be wise? (Yesterday, I got this crazy notion that
summer will only be here for so long and this waterbug needs some watertime, so
whether or not I have company, I am GOING swimming. Fortunately, I told Hannah
that and her eyes lit up, so she’s coming too.) I said I won’t change my mind,
I’m going. However, just in-case my stomach gets that invisible spear stuck
through it and pins me, I’ll stick to the shallows where my feet easily touch
the ground. I don’t want to drown cause my stomach seizes up or whatever it
does to make it so hurtful that it drops me like a stone. But I’m convinced
that I just can’t stay indoors. I’ll go insane. I’ll go mad.
I wonder: how
do long-term ill patients make it through being inside all the time? How? I
admit that I don’t know the answer. They must get rather lonely. I know I do
when I’m pinned down inside the house. I wonder if people visit those lonely
patients? To read to them, talk to them, make them smile, hold their hand and
pray for them, or/and be the sunshine in their stark-white room. Are these
people being visited? Can I one day visit the lonely hearts as my pals are
visiting with me? I pray for them today. That someone will go and be there with
them. So they know they are not alone. So they can think as they drift off to
sleep at the end of the day: Someone cares. Someone cares about me.
11-8: The
first day of snow. Real snow. The kind that sticks to everything it touches.
I’m sitting on the couch, listening to my favorite Christian songs and watching
it. It looks cold, and it was earlier when I was outside. 43 degrees actually.
But it wasn’t snowing then. I woke up not too long ago from a nap and noticed
the sideways slant of swirling snow, the wind swishing our Snoopy themed fall
banner completely off to one side. To my delight, the tea kettle is informing
me with its high squeal that a nice hot tea is waiting for me. To my right,
Tuxedo snoozes on, making muff noises whenever he moves his paw or takes a deep
breath. To my left, the heater has been turned up to 71. It still feels too
cold for comfort, so I’m going to have to get up and grab a throw to ward off
the chill. Gray toes have already been spotted a week ago, so I switched back
to wool socks. Still they are gray, due to my poor circulation. I’m thinking
its time to dig out the Hot Hands and put them on my socks and another layer to
hold them in place. Just in the corner of my vision, 3 apple spice candles are
lit, filling the room with the sweet spice scent. Behind me, Genny huffs at the
door to be let in, tail wagging and hopeful. I’m going to these three and
return shortly: Tea, blanket, and happy puppy.
Ok, I’m back.
So let’s see, where to begin? Been growing and learning. So, the realm of
seeing doctors is apparently done. I went through a whole adventurous maze of
test after test and hardly anything. All that showed up is how jam-packed
constipated I am (like to the point that we found out the reason why I wasn’t
hungry: I was honestly, full). And that my blood sugar is low. When they did
the test, I was at 50. They asked why I wasn’t asleep and I didn’t have any
other explanation: “God wanted me to be awake, and so I am?” They looked at me
incredulously and gave me lots of juice to drink. They saw that there is
certainly something going on, being I’m unable to keep my weight (dropped down,
again, now 105), have low blood sugar (but no visible reason why, everything
checks out normally), the ITP issue (which dropped 22,000 points, I’m now at
134,000), and the constipation-fill up issue. They said they needed to label it
as something, so they said they’ll put it under the stress-related IBS
category. I had to squint at that one. I’m stressed out? Wait, what? They know
I’m not. They proceeded to explain that it only means that they don’t know what
it is that’s bothering me, but this IBS won’t endanger me. They could find
nothing wrong physically with me, they said IBS is triggered by rough emotional
troubles and it would be a good idea to seek a counselor or pastor or
hypnosis-treatment and a dietitian to help me form new habits to deal with
this. I came away from that disagreeing, so did others around me. The doctors
had proceeded to explain that I’m so stressed out that I don’t know it and its
subconscious. I didn’t take well to that either: I didn’t know that I was
stressed out but I was, really? To me, that’s just crazy. I didn’t like the
knowledge that I was now categorized as a stressed IBS patient. I thought it
could fuddle up stuff, make a mess that I’d soon be dealing with. Sure enough…
I started getting asked by doctors to set up appointments with hypnotic
treatment to cure the stress, to do this or that mental stuff to heal my
stress. I could handle those easier than I could the people that care about me.
The multiple chats about how I shouldn’t be so stressed out, the chats of how I
was in sin and needed to repent and God would take all of this away and I’d be
back to being healthy (what sin did I commit? I have been only praising Him and
fighting in His strength to keep the right attitude of a worshipful life,
honoring to Him). They persisted in telling me that I was holding on to my
situation, to my sin, and I wasn’t letting God take it, or I would have release
from my pain. Being I stubbornly resisted, God couldn’t have it. It didn’t make
sense to me, especially being I’d been pushing away my circumstance into His
hands, constantly repeating, “Take it, take it all. Take it. It’s not mine.” Am
I perfect? No, but neither was I in sin in this area. It was awful. The more I
prayed for Him to please relieve me of this trial, the more they would insist I
wasn’t giving it to Him and how in sin I was. It occurred to me: Job’s friends.
These pals of mine care about me so much that they are giving me the most
helpful advice they know: Repent and God will take this away. It wasn’t right
for my situation, but from that point on, I saw their repetitious conversations
to me as care and concern and so I responded with that knowledge. Then I was
told that the reason why I am in this state of decline is because I am dying
because of breaking up with Paul; I’m not strong enough to handle such a
situation. I never saw that one coming, but I responded just like I did with
the others that cared so much and completely for me. And so, I hugged them and
told them God would see to it that I was provided with all the strength I would
need for each new day.
Tuxedo, my
senior cat, began throwing up, at least 2-3 times a day. I’d be too late to
stop it, but as soon as I tried to comfort him, he’d tuck his tail and fold his
ears like I was going to back hand him, although I would far from do that. I’d
cuddle him up to me and tell him everything was going to be ok and that I loved
him, then I’d let him go. After that, he’d purr and headbutt me and rub rub
rub. This became more and more frequent, which troubled me. He wasn’t getting
thinner, but more plump. And he was eating a lot, given, but he was throwing it
all up after he ate it. I started noticing how often he was sleeping and more
and more during the night. It bothered me. I looked it up and the symptoms he
had looked to match diabetes.
Saw the
nutritionist, a few times, and set up a high protein high fiber diet for me. We
were so sure that would be helpful, that my weight would rocket up in the two
weeks and that would be good. I’d also feel better for the fiber. After 2 weeks,
she, like the doctors, was baffled. I lost weight and gained nothing, and I was
still constipated after all the fiber. She asked to see my food diary which she
shook her head and said, “Now I know something isn’t right. You’ve eaten
everything I’d asked you to. I put you on this diet and you should have gained
weight….” “At least I didn’t lose more. It was only half a pound.” I said,
optimistic. She told me, “No. I put other people on this diet and their weight
skyrockets. Yours doesn’t stay steady, it drops on that diet. Why? Why. That’s
what I want to know. Your medical mystery boggles my mind. It’s right in front
of me (she gestured to my food diary) and yet, you’ve done everything I’ve told
you to do. I don’t understand. And with tests, they gave you the whole works
and you come out as completely healthy. It doesn’t make sense.” After this, we
tried a few change ups, and I lost 2 pounds. She’d given me good tips for
getting fiber and protein in my diet, taught me about foods that would benefit
me. I had a feeling we would soon get to the same dead end that the doctors
hit. One day, she leaned back in her chair and blew a breath, then I nodded. I
knew what was coming, I expected it. “I’m out of ideas. I don’t know what else
to do to help you. We tried the protein, tried the fiber. You already stay away
from the foods that irritate you; you know what those foods are. You aren’t in
danger, thankfully, but I just wish we could figure out what it is that’s
causing the problem. I just have this feeling that your IBS, ITP, that low
blood sugar, and all those stray symptoms, are somehow all related. It’s like
they are all tied with an invisible string, but I can’t find the string. I’m
sorry. I wish I could help you.” She gave me the name of a doctor and told me
to go to him, see what he says, and with my permission, she would talk to him
about me. I gave permission.
And then…I
got very sick. What started out as a sore throat, progressed to sharp shards of
glass that wouldn’t swallow. And then pressure in my skull. Unnerving, awful,
horrible migraines assaulted me. I couldn’t work. I spent four days in bed,
miserable and tired and already so from my turbulent adventures. Finally got
some relief by placing a moist warm rag over my forehead and eyes, which made
it much easier to sleep. The very bad head-cold didn’t go into something worse,
and the symptoms, after the rag trick and Sudafed (my hero!), went away. I think
that was pretty quick, and I was relieved that it didn’t hang around. Lost 5
pounds from that.
Was given a
conversation by those that care about my eating habits. How I need to up my
protein and fiber in my diet, and eat more often, and more food. I listened and
nodded, but didn’t say much. I let them speak. They were concerned, and that
showed me how much they love me.
The invisible
spear struck the day before yesterday. A level 7 that made concentration on
conversation a laborious process as my focus was elsewhere. My workday was
already over when it happened, so that was a relief. I laid down and rode it
out, just as my doctors had said: Do whatever it takes to get comfortable and
ride it out. It took the rest of that day and night away, but it did go away. I
knew it would. Didn’t go to E.R. No reason to. I knew I wasn’t in physical
danger. I’d survive this just like the last ones. Fought with it until I ran
out of energy and slept.
12-6-12
Update: Its
snowing! At last. For the longest time it was merely rain and windy days. Its
so peaceful to see the new falling snow. Brilliant white coating everything.
Silence drifting down through the sky to the ground. Soft Christmas music in
the background, Frank Sinatra singing Christmas Dreaming. Mmm… lovely. Heatpack
on my stomach (its just upset, not mad like it was last night). Tuxedo all
cuddly with me, eyes closed, purring. And the tea-kettle heating up on the
stove. Trying to finally post this. I reckon by the time I do finally post
this, it’ll be 100 pages. JUST KIDDING! HAHA! :P Spirit this morning is relaxed
and quiet. Slept well last night, so that was a plus. Woke up at 6am by a
hungry puppy pouncing on me. Ooof! Nothing like being pounced on and licked by
a slobbery wet tongue. “Thanks Genesis, now here’s the plan: You go to right
back to bed and I will too! Sounds great. Good night!” “Woof!” She says right
in my ear. She’s not going to sleep. That means…neither am I. Then, I hear it:
Tuxedo is getting sick. Oh dear. Good morning world. I look around for the mess
but can’t locate it. Then I notice Genny licking her chops. I frown deeply, “Oh
my word. You are GROSS! That’s just SICK SICK SICK!” I scoop up my kitty and go
turn on the tea pot, starting my morning. A nice day off work. Its planned we’ll
be setting up Christmas décor today. Can’t wait. Also going to shoot Christmas
photos for my friends today. Exciting. They expressed how they’d like their
photos to be done- the two of them together wrapped up in Christmas lights. Ah
young love. *giggles* Adorable. :D
Was excited
to go to church on Sunday. Dad had the sound booth, so I sat out with the
congregation this time. Gave the update: We retested for Celiac Disease cause I’d
seen on tv an actress who had Celiac and her words echoed in my mind- you must
be on gluten when tested for Celiac or it will show as negative. …And I’d been
off gluten for several weeks when I was tested. I have almost all the Celiac
Disease symptoms. It made perfect sense….a perfectly invisible string – we’d
done the test improperly. The diagnosis might just be right beneath our very
noses and we had skimmed right over it! So, I’d called the hospital where the
test was done and asked them “Did I need to be on gluten when we had the Celiac
test done?” The answer was “Yes, or the test is useless. Even a Celiac patient
would test out as negative if they didn’t consume gluten at the time.” My heart
had beat rapidly. Was this it? Would this mystery be over now? The answer I was
seeking, my answer, was this it? Finally? At last? I’d be able to be proactive
about this, instead of just taking it, rolling with its punches? I’d decided to
hope. I had to hope. Not in the test, but in the fact that God was in control
of this, and if this was the answer, God would show me it were so: The test
would be positive. And if it wasn’t, that God would provide for me in my
continued pain and through this mystery. I was either way, going to be okay.
But! I desired prayer. So, I asked for that. Thanked my church family for the
prayer. And then sat down.
After church,
Dad came up to me with a white envelope, small, with my name on it and beneath
it scrolled in neat letters: God will provide. I put my finger under the flap
to open it, but was touched on the shoulder. Talked with my pals, laughed,
shared in good conversation. Walked out to the parking lot. Finally, I could
take the suspense no longer. Who was this card from and what did it say? I
lifted the flap and stopped dead. My vision blurred right up, but not before I
saw the only thing in that envelope was a 100 dollar bill. Exactly the amount I’d
set aside for a bill that was coming my way in a few short days….and I’d lost
it. How badly I’d been upsetted by that. Tore my room apart. Never could find
it. Considered myself a poor steward. How could I just loose a 100 bucks like
that?? I laid starfished on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of my room.
Well, I had. Now what would I do? How would I pay this bill? What on earth was
I supposed to do? Draw money from some hidden stash? I didn’t have one. I was
out. My paychecks were already dolled out to other things. That’s precisely why
I’d scrimped up that 100 dollars inch by inch and hidden it away so I would
have it for this bill. Now it was gone. Then I’d cried cause I was just…well,
careless. How could I be so careless to loose something like that?? Then I
broke down and asked God to calm me down. I knew already that He’d provide, He
already had so many times before. Everything was going to be okay. One of my
pals said she’d be happy to help me by showing me how to do a budget plan. I
agreed to it and she’d showed me how to start one the following day. …now here
I stood, tears slipping trails down my face, in the parking lot, crying over a
crisp 100 dollar bill. I’d expected a card with heartfelt encouragement within
it. I didn’t expect this. At all. God had provided EXACTLY what I needed to pay
that one bill. “What is it? Nicole?” my pals asked, gathering. I couldn’t
answer. Just cried and lifted the envelope. Mumbled beneath huffs, “God will
provide. He did. He promised. He did. Who…who did this? Who did this? Who?” “Oh
you silly girl,” one of my pals smiled and hugged me. “Of course He does. It’s
going to be okay.” “Yes, yes, it will.” –I’d agreed. “Someone just paid off one
of my big bills. Exactly.” “Wow, isn’t God awesome?” she said with an awed
smile. I nodded, wiped my tears away, “Always.”
Paid my 100
dollar bill off when it arrived in the mail. Sent it on its way with a flowery
spring stamp. Good bye bill. Began a reserve stash of emergency cash inside the
now empty envelope that read “Nicole. God will provide.” The five dollar bill
seemed scant, but it’s a start. Into the bank it will go at the end of the
week. J The week passed by rather quick. Hard
days came and went. Began reading “Do you think I’m Beautiful?” And a book
about Detoxing and vitamins. Tried on one account to submerge my swollen
fingers into a steaming hot bath and then an ice cold bath for set amounts of
times. My hands became so swollen that I was miserable. Added Epson salt into
the hot bath and waited with my hands submerged to bring down the swelling.
They only swelled more until I couldn’t use them at all. At 8pm, I went to bed
because I could do nothing with my hands. They were rendered unusable for the
night. I’d not be doing that again. But the idea stuck on me. If I had toxins
in me and that was the cause of my swollen hands, it was a good idea to try and
get them out of my system….just not with hot and cold baths. It was another
idea, and for that, I was grateful. Any more ideas? I’d be willing to try them.
Yep. :)
Saw one of my
friends and talked about one of my pitfalls- asking for help. I’d told her about
how my Grandma had suggested wisely that I’d do as much testing as I could this
month before January when the deductible ended and I had to start all over. I
didn’t have that much money to do the next test with: A food allergy panel. I’ve
heard they are terribly expensive….as well as painful, but I wasn’t concerned
about the later. Pain was as free as it was abundant. “Just how do I pay for
that test?” –I’d asked my friend. “Ask for help,” my friend had said. “That’s
what friends are there for. To support you. Ask them. They will love to be
given the joy of being there for you. Let them have that situation. You don’t
have to do this on your own.” Novel idea. But I was scared to do that. What if
that was taking advantage of them? I did not, absolutely not, want to do that.
My friends were priceless. They were treasures, blessings in my life. I loved
them for them, and I wanted to be sure they knew that more than anything else. “Are
you denying them the pleasure of showing you that they love you and want to
help?” I was stunned by her words. I had to think about that. Was I, in effort
to show them they had no obligation to help me, denying them what they wanted
to do for me because they wanted to? Was I? ….thought provoking, certainly
because I didn’t want to deny them that pleasure.
Church next
Sunday and I was able to go. J Didn’t feel at all good, felt very sickish and mostly
because of the nausea. Dizziness didn’t help. I remained seated during worship,
but I was there. That’s all that mattered anyhow. There and worshiping with my
church family. Yes. I was happy with that. It wasn’t something I’d take for
granted. During prayer and praise time, I raised my hand and gave the update:
The Celiac test, the second one, complete with my eating gluten this time, came
back: Negative. I heard breaths of sadness, disappointment, hums of compassion.
I told them I was thankful for their prayers, and God was still in control,
still sovereign. Celiac was apparently not my answer, and I only want my
answer. I told them I was very grateful it wasn't Celiac, and thanked God for
that.
Fought
drifting to sleep, just as I did last Sunday. Embarissing, disappointing, and
most of all, rude. I kept hearing snippits of the sermon and knew I wasn’t
staying awake. I’d go stand in the back, but I was too dizzy. That would be a
distraction if I collapsed. I hated that I was nodding off and fought hard. I
lost. I woke up when he said amen. I was humiliated. I’d caught some of it, I
could piece together what the message was about, but I wanted to hear the WHOLE
thing. I was bummed out. It made me sad. But how do I change this? How do I
fight harder than I already am? I let it go. Dropped issue. Watched all the
conversations around me and all of the conversations muted out as I saw one of
the dear ladies come up to me, smiling. I later wrote of her in a text message
to my pals: So special: A couple at church today was a blessing in my life. The
wife came ovr n askd how I wwas doing n that they’d been prayin 4 me…she
clasped my hand n something scratchy stiff pushed into my palm. I glimpsed th
amount. “Nonono, u need that!” I objectd. And she closed my fingers over it n
smiled with her heart. Told me God had blessed them this month n this was a
gift from their heart as they knew what illness n its pains felt like…and they
wanted to bless me as they’d been blessed. So I cried….sobbed actually. She
wiped away my tears and told me, “Don’t cry sweetheart, God provides. Its going
to be okay, trust Him.” She gave a huge hug n told me I am an angel, touching
her life as I’ve done. …wow. Speechless.” I’d snapped my words short as soon as
I’d objected. An echo had crossed my mind: Are you denying them the pleasure of
a gift from their heart? Let go. Accept it. So, my fingers curled when she
rolled her palm over my fingers, giving the generous amount to me. I hadn’t
asked for help. She just….gave. She told me she felt led. She gave me a gentle,
comforting hug, rubbed my back motheringly, whispering how God was going to see
to my cares, everything was going to be ok. So, of course that just made me cry
harder. And she shhh’d and rocked gently. Then pulled out of the hug, wiping my
tears from my cheeks with such gentle care. She was aquanted with pain and
illness. She understood. “Don’t cry sweetheart, God provides.” That first part
of her tender words echoed in my mind this whole week. It’d touched my soul. And
my food allergy test? She just paid for it unknowingly. I didn’t have to worry
about not being able to afford that test after all. Didn’t that dear lady just
tell me “It’s going to be okay, trust Him”? Speechless is right. Darn right. “Won’t
He as well provide for you, oh you of little faith?” –Jesus had said. True. Oh
so true.
Went to a
Luke Commission event/dinner with one of my pals, both of us guests of my
grandparents. I’d not heard of them, but my friend had, so she told me all
about it and we looked at all the African crafts that were being auctioned and
sold. I fingered black wooden elephants, they so reminded me of Daddy. He would
have liked these very much. I smiled. Reminded me of his travels. All the
amazing knick-knacks he’d brought back for me. The flute, the currency…and so
on…and telling me about them. I remembered all of this in brief flashes,
childhood memories. I was mighty tempted to buy one, send it his way for
Christmas…then I saw the price and the object suddenly wasn’t that tempting a
purchase. I set it down and moved over to the colorful scarfs. Touched a
blue/green/brown/red one. Heard my mom behind me, so I turned. When I looked
back, I saw a lady had picked up the scarf I admired and went to pay for it. I’m
glad someone took it. Now they’d get to enjoy it. It would look beautiful on
her…oh the compliments she would get, her complexion was made all the more
enhanced. It was the perfect match for her. It made me smile as someone came up
and complimented her just as I suspected. Her smile made her look all the more
beautiful. I was glad. “Oh, someone took the scarf that was here earlier. It
was a pretty one.” My mom said, coming up beside me. “I guess so.” I said, “What
were you looking at?” “Come here, I’ll show you.” She brought me to the hand-beaded
necklaces and lifted one. A slate gray brown one. It was so delicate. I touched
it. So light. “It would look beautiful on you. And look! It could go with
anything. It even has a bracelet to match! You should get it.” I recalled what
happened the last two Sundays and inwardly shook my head. No, this was
unnecessary, although, yes, I loved it…it was a beautiful piece. It would look
pretty. I wanted it. I set it down. I picked it up. I set it down. Picked it
back up. …oh no. I was in the buying stage. I set it down and with resolve,
told myself I did NOT “need” it. It was pretty. I admired it. Now I would go. I
walked down the stairs. I felt victorious: I didn’t buy it. Nope. I had what I
needed anyway. I was here with my family and my friend. What else did I need
anyway? I located my friend and she smiled, “So what necklace were you looking
at up there? I saw you eyeing one and I wanted to purchase it for you.” I
bumbled about in my words before getting out that I didn’t want her to feel
obligated. I didn’t need it. It’d be fine witho… “What are you talking about?”
She asked, her whole expression clearly showing confusion. “I WANT to buy it
for you. You’re not making me obligated. You didn’t ask me. I just wanted to. I
saw that you liked it and know you can’t, and I wanted to.” Oh. Uhoh. I closed
up my objections. “Okay.” I said simply. I was turned away by conversational
questions directed at me. I answered and turned back to her but she was gone.
Oh boy had I done it! My mouth went dry. I botched it. Now I’d hurt my friend.
I sat down and pushed my food around my plate. Then I was tapped on the
shoulder. I turned to see my friend standing there, two colorful necklaces held
in her hand, “I can’t remember which one you liked? Was it either of these?
Could you show me?” I stood up and went to the table and pointed it out. She
picked it up and smiled, “It is a pretty one.” It was set aside for us. We went
into the room where they had the presentation telling what the Luke Commission
was all about. They played a video about aids and their endeavor to treat this
disease which was rampant. A man was interviewed. It showed flashes of days
spent tossing and turning in his bed. And how there was a huge difference in
being treated and he could do things. It showed children without parents, all
of them orphaned. The age people were lucky to get up to? 30yrs old. I watered
up a lot during that presentation. I didn’t understand aids, I didn’t
understand the situation, what it took, any of the details. But their pain,
their hurt, touched me very deeply. I had nothing to give to them, but I wanted
to. I really wanted to. And one day, I will support them. It’s as good as done.
My friend and
I returned to the shops after the presentation and she put the necklace in my
hands. Purchased it at the tables. We went to dinner afterwards, just light
salads or soups. And oh yes, warm coffee/tea/hot chocolates around the table. J
Afterward,
once I got home, I received a text message after again thanking my friend for
the pretty gift. “:D Thanks for giving me some joy today! :D <3” I swallowed. Okay, so this would be the thing
I worked on. I opened my fist and looked at the necklace. Put it on and leaned
forward to look in the mirror. It was a beautiful piece. I touched it, but didn’t
see it as a treasure. I saw my friend as the treasure and this was just the
proof of her kind, beautiful heart. Indeed, she too was a blessing. A thought
caught me in its twirl: Was I that way in my friends’ lives? Showing them in
honest love of how much they mean to me?
I’ve been
taking it easy the last few days. Came out of two bad days back to back the day
before yesterday. Days where I couldn’t wait for them to end, only to fight
everytime I turned over in my sleep as well. It was the definition of
miserable. No real relief. I was again told that I was in sin. I didn’t say
anything this time. I just wanted to have the day be over so I could lay down,
cuddle up with my hotpack and collect the sleep I was longing to have. Hugged
that dear one and said I loved them and was so grateful they were praying for
me and how much it meant to me.
Yesterday, I
woke up with the raging pain that sucked my breath away. “Okay,” I breathed. “God
is still in control. I will go through this day just as I have for the last two
days like this. He’s providing the strength anyways, not me.” Got ready for
work and worked hard. At 11am, I bent over to chase a cherry tomato that
dropped on the floor and squinted. I wasn’t in pain. I was in zero pain! I felt
awake. I couldn’t help a grin. I was so incredibly thankful. At last, yes! I
felt great! Terrific! Outstanding! I breezed through my day and it was very
enjoyable. I had fun. The evening went beautifully as well. It was more than I
could hope for. It was perfect. Saw two of my friends, and then went to
Biblestudy. A few minutes to the end of it, the fatigue hit me hard. I began
nodding off. The ringing in my ear and dizziness began. I started burping. What
was this? I squinted and struggled to stay awake, to pay attention. Hey! I was
learning here! I didn’t want to sleep. Where had this sleepiness come from? A
second ago I’d been wide awake, now I was completely spent. I was nudged, told
in a whisper to not drift off, stay awake…I was drifting. I could barely hear
my Mom’s voice. Fire erupted in my stomach like the flick of a match being lit.
Poof! It was there. Just so instantly and sharp. It brought tears to my eyes.
The left side. Again. Now I wasn’t able to drift off to sleep…I was seriously
hurting and my mind reeled noisily about how I was dizzy, my ears were ringing,
I needed to lay down…I needed my hotpack. My low back was in hot-pain. And then
my muscles pulled sharply, so of course I twitched away. Tingling in my right
wrist to elbow, in my legs. What on earth was this from? I had been fine. I
fought to listen to the conversations of questions and answers and then prayer.
Once it was done, my parents whisked me homeward. I laid down in bed as quick
as I could and thought for sure I was going to be speared here, the pain was so
intense. My eyes were blurred up with unshed tears. I pushed my face toward the
pillow, there was no way I was going to start any sort of screaming. That
wouldn’t solve anything, I wouldn’t feel better. Pain would still be pain. I
laid there and prayed fervently that I’d just sleep, and now…quickly, before it
got worse like I knew it could. God could answer that prayer, I believed He
could. The pain would numb out to nothing if I got deep enough into sleep….an
impossible thing at this level of pain. So I asked Him. At 6am, I woke up. I’d
slept soundly. Thanked God for a restful night’s sleep. And that my pain today
was bearable. Yeah, so I had an acid back-up this morning, but haven’t had one
since. Thankfully. J If I take it easy today, it should be a fair day. And that
will be very nice. J
Praise God
for even trials, because even within the hard times, the rough spots, there are
many blessings. He is Wonderful. Even though the storms are rough, I can see
that He is Healing me from within, and transforming, molding and shaping my
life into something beautiful. Something my imaginative mind cannot picture,
it’ll be just that stunning. :’)
Until next
time, God bless.
Ps- Oh! And
about my kitty’s IBS. Although he has been diagnosed with that, he has also
been a naughty kitty and his reasons for throwing up could very well be from
his fern-eating habit (which was cut short by us putting it high out of his
reach). I caught him nibbling off a branch of it yesterday night, and licking
his chops. Doesn’t he know that’s bad for him?? Ah well, at least the
temptation has been taken from him. I expect to see improvements in him health
wise after this find…well, once the fern is out of his system. Poor guy. He
didn’t know any better.
