I haven't sat down with the old laptop to write in what feels like forever. Writing was totally interrupted... so see how my tagline is so appropriate?
So much has happened just since summer break started that I can't even compile it into a short and sweet list. Instead, I'll tell you the short and dirty good stuff that has happened in the past 2 days, with maybe a teeny tiny bit of background in the midst.
Most of you know that my man has really struggled over the last 6 months or so with a regression in his recovery. We (and by 'we' I mean Bob... I have merely been an observer of his torture) have gone through hospitals and inpatient therapy, outpatient therapy, Botox injections, doctor after doctor, and ZERO answers. Our PCP is amazing, however, and so she has tirelessly worked on finding someone who can help us. She made phone calls, and researched options, and checked in on us often. We heart Dr. Laura Ray.
She got us into a new physiatrist (rehab doc) after a lot of consultation with colleagues. We went yesterday, and met with the Nurse Practitioner for the initial consultation, and It. Was. Amazing.
He was taken off of three medications... two for his blood pressure, and one for spasticity. The one that was for spasticity was the cause of the low blood pressure, and while we had significantly reduced the dosage previously, he is now off of it completely. And guess what. His blood pressure this morning, with zero pressure medication was completely and totally normal. Not the low side of normal, but smack dab in the center of normal range. They rearranged when he takes his other spasticity medicine, so instead of 20 MG morning, noon, dinner, and bed, he now takes 20 MG in the morning, at 3pm, and 40 MG at bedtime. And it WORKED. He said he hasn't felt as good as he has today in months.
I am convinced that all of his problems over the past 6 months were drug related. Initially one drug, and then another. Where his previous physiatrist was saying things like, "you should probably consider getting a wheelchair" and "we just don't know why this happened" and my personal favorite, "I am unwilling to do anything that is outside of standard spinal cord protocol," she said things like, "What's your goal? To get back where you were last summer, or to keep progressing past that? You want to get back to work? Your legs are strong... I'm not sure why they would score you low in your legs. I see that the hips are where your weakness is. We can totally work on that. I can't wait for you to meet this doctor. I think we should get second opinions about A, B, and C." She was interested, positive, willing to be an aggressive advocate, and had an action plan. We. Love. Her. She also gave him permission to drive as soon as he feels ready, as long as he starts slow.
I will tell you that I didn't lose my faith during this process, but it is important to understand that discouragement was so prevalent and pervasive that I did have a daily struggle maintaining it. I want to be transparent with you, because I think people hear Bob's story and our resulting testimony, and expect that we could never feel despair or hopelessness after watching God work so deeply in our lives. I wish I could tell you that were true. I wish my flesh would stop trying to trip me up, and make me doubt. I wish that when Satan whispers in my ear that I'm not good enough, and that I will fail, and that if God really loved me this would have been over already, that I could tell him to stick it (in Christian love, of course) and not think twice about it. I wish that believers couldn't get discouraged once they become believers.
God never promised us that life would be easy. Quite the contrary. That being said, He equipped us to deal with all manner of things. He gave us an instruction manual. Our debt has already been paid. I do so love that He knows when we're at the bottom, and that when you ask for hope, He can give it to you in buckets. Oh, that tricky obedience though. Dipping a toe turns into a full-on swim without ever intending to.
I am so grateful that He provided me with friends who have covered and continue to cover us in prayer. He has blessed us both with people who have both been in our lives for years, and with people who we've developed new and wonderful friendships with. We continue to covet your prayers, because there is still a long road ahead of us.... and because you should all recognize by now that I'm the slightest bit wack-a-doo... so there's that.
Peace, love, and bacon grease!
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Putting On My Big Girl Panties
I know many of you that read this (hahahaha... I know that the few people on my FB who click on my link that I'll post later and take the time to read this) will not find it even a little bit surprising that the last month or so has been fairly chaotic. Hospital, inpatient rehab, ER visit followed by hospital number 2, outpatient rehab... and sprinkled in between there was Easter, our Women's Conference, Junior Prom for one of my kiddos, and I found about twenty pounds that had been hiding and steering clear of my hind end for months... you know... life.
In the midst of chaos, it can be challenging to remember that God's plan > My plan. Always. It can be easy to rest on your laurels instead on in Him when you're weary and burdened. You can forget to count your trials as joy, and you can turn into a tired toddler, complete with foot-stamping and tear-stained cheeks while having your faith tested. Maybe I'm tired of trying to produce steadfastness. Maybe I don't wanna!!
Last Sunday, my man had a pretty good fall. In public. In front of what seemed like 50 people including 9 of our sweet church family members. There were distractions and blame to go around, and he was understandably embarrassed, because no one likes to take a header in the lobby of a new and popular restaurant. He's been going to an outpatient rehab center five days a week, 6 hours a day for the last few weeks. He is getting stronger every day, and becoming more and more independent, but he's also exhausted at the end of a long week.
I wish I could tell you that I just roll with it. I mean, for the most part, I have always had some sort of chaos in my life. It has been somewhat of a soap-opera/comedy/drama... you name it. There was a time when I could push some sort of internal button, and shut it down. Shut down the internal pressure cooker, but also the emotions that come with it. Pack away the frustration and the fatigue into a little package, tie it up with a bow.
Oh, but I've been a mess this time around. That foot-stamping and wailing I mentioned in the paragraph above... oh yeah. That was me. "But God, I have been praying that Bob would be healed. We saw You work miracles with his recovery for over a year. Why is he going backwards? What is that proving? We've been faithful! We tell about Your hand in this. I want it now, now, now!"
And then... Bob texts me the day after his fall. The day when he was sore and struggling - to tell me that he got the opportunity to pray over a man at the rehab facility. He asked the gentleman if he could pray over him, he said yes, and Bob sat down and did just that. Then in a group counseling session, the facilitator asked Bob to share about resilience. He had suffered a setback after all, and maybe he could offer some insight into the importance of being resilient. So my man completely took over her meeting by explaining that the only thing that made him resilient was his faith in Jesus. There was another believer in the meeting and between the two of them, the facilitator lost complete control of her group. My point is, if Bob hadn't regressed enough to go back to this therapy, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to share his testimony with these people. He wouldn't have gotten the chance to pray for a stranger. God's ways are bigger than mine. He has a purpose.
In the midst of all this, we've had the chance to once again see our church family be the hands and feet of Jesus. Our Sunday School class has a sign-up to help us with transportation back and forth to the rehab center. It is in downtown, which is a bit of a hike, and the times coincide with school dismissal for our youngest and a plethora of other previously scheduled commitments. People have sacrificed their time, and their gas and signed up week after week. One sweet friend sent a hand-written card of encouragement that came at just the right time. Another one sent a private Facebook message to lift me up when they saw I was struggling. A team from our awesome Student Ministry came over and mulched our flower beds and trees.
We've been blessed by watching another family, a really young family, live out their faith very publicly. I encourage all of you to read her blog, from the beginning... and take note of how she ends each post, because it blows my mind in the best possible way. https://babypragel.wordpress.com When I'm being a whiny-butt, I can read this and get over myself pretty quickly. I know I didn't have the faith these sweet people have when I was their age... which was forever ago, but I digress.
PS. I totally got to hold that sweet baby today... and it was the coolest thing ever to see one of her sweet smiles and pretty blue eyes up close and personal.
God reminds me, oftentimes not so subtly, that I can suck it up at any time. I have a roof over my head, I have a husband who loves me to pieces, I have kiddos that look to me to be their Mommy (or Ma, as the case may be) whether I'm having a bad day or not. I have a Mom who is always around to help when I need her, and I have friends that will be there at the drop of a hat. I am blessed, so I'm going to suck it up, Buttercup.
“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.”
Jeremiah 17:7-8
In the midst of chaos, it can be challenging to remember that God's plan > My plan. Always. It can be easy to rest on your laurels instead on in Him when you're weary and burdened. You can forget to count your trials as joy, and you can turn into a tired toddler, complete with foot-stamping and tear-stained cheeks while having your faith tested. Maybe I'm tired of trying to produce steadfastness. Maybe I don't wanna!!
Last Sunday, my man had a pretty good fall. In public. In front of what seemed like 50 people including 9 of our sweet church family members. There were distractions and blame to go around, and he was understandably embarrassed, because no one likes to take a header in the lobby of a new and popular restaurant. He's been going to an outpatient rehab center five days a week, 6 hours a day for the last few weeks. He is getting stronger every day, and becoming more and more independent, but he's also exhausted at the end of a long week.
I wish I could tell you that I just roll with it. I mean, for the most part, I have always had some sort of chaos in my life. It has been somewhat of a soap-opera/comedy/drama... you name it. There was a time when I could push some sort of internal button, and shut it down. Shut down the internal pressure cooker, but also the emotions that come with it. Pack away the frustration and the fatigue into a little package, tie it up with a bow.
Oh, but I've been a mess this time around. That foot-stamping and wailing I mentioned in the paragraph above... oh yeah. That was me. "But God, I have been praying that Bob would be healed. We saw You work miracles with his recovery for over a year. Why is he going backwards? What is that proving? We've been faithful! We tell about Your hand in this. I want it now, now, now!"
And then... Bob texts me the day after his fall. The day when he was sore and struggling - to tell me that he got the opportunity to pray over a man at the rehab facility. He asked the gentleman if he could pray over him, he said yes, and Bob sat down and did just that. Then in a group counseling session, the facilitator asked Bob to share about resilience. He had suffered a setback after all, and maybe he could offer some insight into the importance of being resilient. So my man completely took over her meeting by explaining that the only thing that made him resilient was his faith in Jesus. There was another believer in the meeting and between the two of them, the facilitator lost complete control of her group. My point is, if Bob hadn't regressed enough to go back to this therapy, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to share his testimony with these people. He wouldn't have gotten the chance to pray for a stranger. God's ways are bigger than mine. He has a purpose.
In the midst of all this, we've had the chance to once again see our church family be the hands and feet of Jesus. Our Sunday School class has a sign-up to help us with transportation back and forth to the rehab center. It is in downtown, which is a bit of a hike, and the times coincide with school dismissal for our youngest and a plethora of other previously scheduled commitments. People have sacrificed their time, and their gas and signed up week after week. One sweet friend sent a hand-written card of encouragement that came at just the right time. Another one sent a private Facebook message to lift me up when they saw I was struggling. A team from our awesome Student Ministry came over and mulched our flower beds and trees.
We've been blessed by watching another family, a really young family, live out their faith very publicly. I encourage all of you to read her blog, from the beginning... and take note of how she ends each post, because it blows my mind in the best possible way. https://babypragel.wordpress.com When I'm being a whiny-butt, I can read this and get over myself pretty quickly. I know I didn't have the faith these sweet people have when I was their age... which was forever ago, but I digress.
PS. I totally got to hold that sweet baby today... and it was the coolest thing ever to see one of her sweet smiles and pretty blue eyes up close and personal.
God reminds me, oftentimes not so subtly, that I can suck it up at any time. I have a roof over my head, I have a husband who loves me to pieces, I have kiddos that look to me to be their Mommy (or Ma, as the case may be) whether I'm having a bad day or not. I have a Mom who is always around to help when I need her, and I have friends that will be there at the drop of a hat. I am blessed, so I'm going to suck it up, Buttercup.
“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.”
Jeremiah 17:7-8
Monday, March 23, 2015
Not Getting The Answer You Want Does Not = Not Getting an Answer
To say the last few weeks have been a blur would be an understatement. My last post was about answered prayers, and man alive, have I had a few lessons in that recently! A week ago this past Thursday, Bob went in for his biweekly physical therapy, and I went to Bible Study. We were still waiting to hear back from the neurosurgeon's office. He was struggling with overall strength, and was having a particularly rough day.
We had plans with a group of friends scheduled for that night that both of us were really looking forward to. I stopped to have lunch and go to the grocery store to prepare for our dinner, and while I was there, Bob called to let me know that his physical therapist said his decline from Tuesday to that day was so significant that she felt it warranted an emergency, and that he needed to see the surgeon immediately. I contacted our family doctor, and after they made calls to the surgeon's office, it was determined that he needed to be taken to the emergency room at KU Medical Center, and that would result in an evaluation with the neurosurgeon.
I notified our friends that we would be unable to attend, hopped in the car, and drove to the rehab center to pick up my man. My mom was with me, so she took the Princess back to the house, and got her down for a nap. Another friend agreed to pick up the boy from Kindergarten, so all I had to worry about was my guy.
We had a 10 hour wait on a bed in the ER hallway. An MRI, CT scan, ultrasound and really good drugs later, and he was admitted and told that he would be seen by the neurosurgeon the following morning. There was another MRI, this time of the thoracic spine, x-rays, and a bunch of conversations with multiple doctors/nurses/etc. Morning turned into evening, and the surgeon arrived to tell us that Bob was not a surgical case. The syrinx that we thought was causing the problem was too small to surgically drain, and while the bone spur may eventually need surgery, it was actually not impinging on the spinal cord, and not causing any issues.
I wish I could tell you that this conversation was met with gratitude and a decent attitude by this gal, but it was not. I was running on no sleep and felt like we were suddenly back at square one. Technically, that was true. Since they had already admitted him, they were going to set him up for aggressive physical and occupational therapy, meetings with a neurologist, and some additional testing. They did a third MRI, this time on the sacral spine. They determined there were zero cord problems. No explanations of how he had declined. It was certainly atypical. No reasons for why he had suddenly lost so much muscle mass and overall weight, no answers for anything. My frustration bubbled over into anger.
It was eventually determined that if the insurance approved it, they would like to transfer him to the KU Spine Center for inpatient rehab. Prayer warriors went to the throne on our behalf and prayed that the insurance would approve. It would be unprecedented if they did, because there was not a new incident that explained the decline. Because God is good, and is sovereign, and knows way better than this girl... he was approved, and will likely have two weeks of intensive therapy. We discovered later that an additional spinal surgery would have not been a good situation for him. The doctors still can't answer our questions about what caused it, but the therapist has identified that the neurons are all firing, and the problem is simply muscle weakness. We can build on that.
He is attacking therapy like the bulldog he is, and looks and sounds so much stronger already. They are working with him on posture and balance, which is helping in all other areas.
Prayers aren't always answered in the way we think they should be. I went into the ER that day thinking that surgery was our answer. God is our answer.
Meanwhile, dear sweet people at our church continue to be the hands and feet of Jesus to us. They have prayed over us, and loved on us, and volunteered all manner of things, proving that despite the fact that everyone has their own stuff... these people are the real deal.
We got to pray over and watch as a family (a really young family at that) had their faithfulness put to the test, and a baby that was supposed to live for hours, maybe minutes, just turned a month old. The doctors can't answer any questions about her either, because she is a medical mystery. In other words, she is answered prayer. Miracles. They are all over, my friends. You just have to look. She had a surgery today, one that they didn't think they would do, and not only did she survive it, her smiling face is plastered all over my Facebook page as I type this, which gives me unbelievable joy.
If you get discouraged, try to remember (and I'm saying this to myself more than anyone) that you don't always see the big picture. Only One does. One who fights for you. One who goes with you, who will not leave you, or forsake you. One who hems you in behind and before, and lays his hands upon you.
We had plans with a group of friends scheduled for that night that both of us were really looking forward to. I stopped to have lunch and go to the grocery store to prepare for our dinner, and while I was there, Bob called to let me know that his physical therapist said his decline from Tuesday to that day was so significant that she felt it warranted an emergency, and that he needed to see the surgeon immediately. I contacted our family doctor, and after they made calls to the surgeon's office, it was determined that he needed to be taken to the emergency room at KU Medical Center, and that would result in an evaluation with the neurosurgeon.
I notified our friends that we would be unable to attend, hopped in the car, and drove to the rehab center to pick up my man. My mom was with me, so she took the Princess back to the house, and got her down for a nap. Another friend agreed to pick up the boy from Kindergarten, so all I had to worry about was my guy.
We had a 10 hour wait on a bed in the ER hallway. An MRI, CT scan, ultrasound and really good drugs later, and he was admitted and told that he would be seen by the neurosurgeon the following morning. There was another MRI, this time of the thoracic spine, x-rays, and a bunch of conversations with multiple doctors/nurses/etc. Morning turned into evening, and the surgeon arrived to tell us that Bob was not a surgical case. The syrinx that we thought was causing the problem was too small to surgically drain, and while the bone spur may eventually need surgery, it was actually not impinging on the spinal cord, and not causing any issues.
I wish I could tell you that this conversation was met with gratitude and a decent attitude by this gal, but it was not. I was running on no sleep and felt like we were suddenly back at square one. Technically, that was true. Since they had already admitted him, they were going to set him up for aggressive physical and occupational therapy, meetings with a neurologist, and some additional testing. They did a third MRI, this time on the sacral spine. They determined there were zero cord problems. No explanations of how he had declined. It was certainly atypical. No reasons for why he had suddenly lost so much muscle mass and overall weight, no answers for anything. My frustration bubbled over into anger.
It was eventually determined that if the insurance approved it, they would like to transfer him to the KU Spine Center for inpatient rehab. Prayer warriors went to the throne on our behalf and prayed that the insurance would approve. It would be unprecedented if they did, because there was not a new incident that explained the decline. Because God is good, and is sovereign, and knows way better than this girl... he was approved, and will likely have two weeks of intensive therapy. We discovered later that an additional spinal surgery would have not been a good situation for him. The doctors still can't answer our questions about what caused it, but the therapist has identified that the neurons are all firing, and the problem is simply muscle weakness. We can build on that.
He is attacking therapy like the bulldog he is, and looks and sounds so much stronger already. They are working with him on posture and balance, which is helping in all other areas.
Prayers aren't always answered in the way we think they should be. I went into the ER that day thinking that surgery was our answer. God is our answer.
Meanwhile, dear sweet people at our church continue to be the hands and feet of Jesus to us. They have prayed over us, and loved on us, and volunteered all manner of things, proving that despite the fact that everyone has their own stuff... these people are the real deal.
We got to pray over and watch as a family (a really young family at that) had their faithfulness put to the test, and a baby that was supposed to live for hours, maybe minutes, just turned a month old. The doctors can't answer any questions about her either, because she is a medical mystery. In other words, she is answered prayer. Miracles. They are all over, my friends. You just have to look. She had a surgery today, one that they didn't think they would do, and not only did she survive it, her smiling face is plastered all over my Facebook page as I type this, which gives me unbelievable joy.
If you get discouraged, try to remember (and I'm saying this to myself more than anyone) that you don't always see the big picture. Only One does. One who fights for you. One who goes with you, who will not leave you, or forsake you. One who hems you in behind and before, and lays his hands upon you.
Monday, March 9, 2015
Anxieties & Answered Prayers
For the past few months, my man has been struggling with a myriad of issues surrounding his spinal cord injury. With two years having passed, we had expected his recovery to be much farther along than it was. More than that, he was deteriorating at a level that was both frightening, and just so stinking odd.
Last summer, he was rockin' and rollin'. His gait was barely altered, and our biggest concerns were about his hand strength and wrist flexion. He had moved over to a new medication to prevent blood clots. They took him off Coumadin, and moved him over to Xarelto. The plan was that we wouldn't have to have blood checks every week, and still rest easy that there weren't any new DVTs.
A few months later, he started to rapidly lose weight. His walking worsened, his knees began to bow inward, and he had difficulty lifting his feet. His balance, which was already awkward, became more difficult. He began to have quite a few falls. I would be in one section of the house, and suddenly hear an earth-quaking thud. Due to his initial injury, he was never able to get his hands up to help break his fall, so it was literally like a tree going down in the woods.
He lost all his muscle mass, along with a fair amount of body fat (which by the way, I found and promptly reallocated to my back-side) and this increased his pain level. Now bones were protruding. This made sitting or lying down for any duration excruciating for him, as it instigated nerve pain. His bowels and bladder regressed. His joints locked up, and his energy levels waned. It was scary, and it was suddenly visible to others outside of our immediate household.
We eventually agreed that the risk of potential blood clots was much less than the risk of a brain bleed after a simple fall. We took him off Xarelto. He had some instant improvements with how he felt overall, but no strong improvements in the walking or pain levels.
Last month, he had a fall that pretty shocking. He broke his nose, and had a slight non-displacing fracture of the C7 vertebrae. We finally found a physiatrist that didn't shrug his shoulders and say "I dunno why that is happening." Our family doctor (who is AMAZING) diligently went to work on pain management, actually found the new physiatrist, and coordinated care with him to determine our next steps.
The physiatrist mentioned that there was a slight possibility that he may have a syrinx, which is basically a cyst, or bubble in the spinal fluid. He wasn't presenting with typical symptoms, so we were unsure.
A week ago Saturday, he had an MRI to see if that was present. We have been not-so-patiently waiting for those results. His doctor got in touch with him late last night, and we scheduled an appointment to discuss the results.
Today, we learned that he does indeed have a syrinx, 6 mm, in the C3-C4 area. He also has a very large bone spur in the C7 area, that is impinging on the spinal cord. According to the results, it is contributing to "severe right neural foraminal stenosis and moderate right paracentral canal stenosis." Easy peasy, lemon squeezey, right?
Our family doctor (did I mention she is amazing?) is coordinating with the neurosurgeon, and the physiatrist, so that we can get in quickly for a consult and then schedule surgery. While it is nerve-wracking to have him go in for another spinal surgery, it is also SO AWESOME that for the first time in I can't remember how long, we have answers.
Here's the cool part... we have had many people specifically praying that this MRI would give us answers, and that the results would require a surgery or a treatment that would fix what he has been experiencing. Last night, the two of us prayed together, and our specific prayer was that there would be answers. I can't tell you how often there IS NO ANSWER where the spinal cord is concerned. Answered prayer. I love to reflect on specific answered prayers.
Now, of course, I'm giddy like a school girl, because I feel like there's a solution around the corner, and my man is one step closer to full recovery. Then again, I'm not the one getting ready to once again go under the knife. AND there's some documentation to suggest that the removal of the syrinx can stop the progression of the deterioration, but not reverse it. Let me be clear. Our God is bigger than that. Bob wasn't supposed to be able to walk again at all. There was a chance he would always rely on bowel care and catheters, and medicines that I can't even count. He's walking. He's managing (although right now with a high degree of difficulty) his own care, and driving, and a ton of other stuff. If our God wants him to be fully recovered, if it brings Him glory, then he will be fully recovered. I have prayed since February 2, 2013 that he would be 100% restored. Doctors have said that's impossible. They also said that he wouldn't walk. They also said that he would always have to do this or that.... that he would NEVER do some things that he is clearly doing, even in a weakened state. While I will trust our doctors, and follow advice, I will RELY on the only One who has all the answers.
Specifically pray for strength and peace for my man. He is the one that has to endure the surgery, and go through all the aftermath of healing up... I just have to watch. I believe that this is going to be amazing. I believe that he's going to come out with crazy miraculous results, just like his original accident. I believe it with every fiber of my being, but I am also going to say that even if he doesn't, our God is bigger than this whole mess, and we will stand firm.
So there you have it. Prayers are always appreciated. I will update as we have new info. Love you all.
Last summer, he was rockin' and rollin'. His gait was barely altered, and our biggest concerns were about his hand strength and wrist flexion. He had moved over to a new medication to prevent blood clots. They took him off Coumadin, and moved him over to Xarelto. The plan was that we wouldn't have to have blood checks every week, and still rest easy that there weren't any new DVTs.
A few months later, he started to rapidly lose weight. His walking worsened, his knees began to bow inward, and he had difficulty lifting his feet. His balance, which was already awkward, became more difficult. He began to have quite a few falls. I would be in one section of the house, and suddenly hear an earth-quaking thud. Due to his initial injury, he was never able to get his hands up to help break his fall, so it was literally like a tree going down in the woods.
He lost all his muscle mass, along with a fair amount of body fat (which by the way, I found and promptly reallocated to my back-side) and this increased his pain level. Now bones were protruding. This made sitting or lying down for any duration excruciating for him, as it instigated nerve pain. His bowels and bladder regressed. His joints locked up, and his energy levels waned. It was scary, and it was suddenly visible to others outside of our immediate household.
We eventually agreed that the risk of potential blood clots was much less than the risk of a brain bleed after a simple fall. We took him off Xarelto. He had some instant improvements with how he felt overall, but no strong improvements in the walking or pain levels.
Last month, he had a fall that pretty shocking. He broke his nose, and had a slight non-displacing fracture of the C7 vertebrae. We finally found a physiatrist that didn't shrug his shoulders and say "I dunno why that is happening." Our family doctor (who is AMAZING) diligently went to work on pain management, actually found the new physiatrist, and coordinated care with him to determine our next steps.
The physiatrist mentioned that there was a slight possibility that he may have a syrinx, which is basically a cyst, or bubble in the spinal fluid. He wasn't presenting with typical symptoms, so we were unsure.
A week ago Saturday, he had an MRI to see if that was present. We have been not-so-patiently waiting for those results. His doctor got in touch with him late last night, and we scheduled an appointment to discuss the results.
Today, we learned that he does indeed have a syrinx, 6 mm, in the C3-C4 area. He also has a very large bone spur in the C7 area, that is impinging on the spinal cord. According to the results, it is contributing to "severe right neural foraminal stenosis and moderate right paracentral canal stenosis." Easy peasy, lemon squeezey, right?
Our family doctor (did I mention she is amazing?) is coordinating with the neurosurgeon, and the physiatrist, so that we can get in quickly for a consult and then schedule surgery. While it is nerve-wracking to have him go in for another spinal surgery, it is also SO AWESOME that for the first time in I can't remember how long, we have answers.
Here's the cool part... we have had many people specifically praying that this MRI would give us answers, and that the results would require a surgery or a treatment that would fix what he has been experiencing. Last night, the two of us prayed together, and our specific prayer was that there would be answers. I can't tell you how often there IS NO ANSWER where the spinal cord is concerned. Answered prayer. I love to reflect on specific answered prayers.
Now, of course, I'm giddy like a school girl, because I feel like there's a solution around the corner, and my man is one step closer to full recovery. Then again, I'm not the one getting ready to once again go under the knife. AND there's some documentation to suggest that the removal of the syrinx can stop the progression of the deterioration, but not reverse it. Let me be clear. Our God is bigger than that. Bob wasn't supposed to be able to walk again at all. There was a chance he would always rely on bowel care and catheters, and medicines that I can't even count. He's walking. He's managing (although right now with a high degree of difficulty) his own care, and driving, and a ton of other stuff. If our God wants him to be fully recovered, if it brings Him glory, then he will be fully recovered. I have prayed since February 2, 2013 that he would be 100% restored. Doctors have said that's impossible. They also said that he wouldn't walk. They also said that he would always have to do this or that.... that he would NEVER do some things that he is clearly doing, even in a weakened state. While I will trust our doctors, and follow advice, I will RELY on the only One who has all the answers.
Specifically pray for strength and peace for my man. He is the one that has to endure the surgery, and go through all the aftermath of healing up... I just have to watch. I believe that this is going to be amazing. I believe that he's going to come out with crazy miraculous results, just like his original accident. I believe it with every fiber of my being, but I am also going to say that even if he doesn't, our God is bigger than this whole mess, and we will stand firm.
So there you have it. Prayers are always appreciated. I will update as we have new info. Love you all.
Monday, February 23, 2015
The Week of The Reset (Or, 'I Pulled My Armpit Muscle Taking Off My Bra")
Today was to be my reset. My 'Oh my word, I've gained more weight in the last 2 weeks than I lost in 6 months, stop drinking so much soda and eating so many M&Ms, get your hind end to the gym, and RESET."
Is it age? Is it exhaustion? Is it thyroid? Nope. It's that I really, really like food. I really, really like chocolate, and I adore Coke with a twist of lemon, and let's not forget the gloriousness that is an ice cold Mt. Dew.
I bought new running shoes on Saturday, and was so excited to put them on and go for an honest run. Not a treadmill run, but a trail run, complete with headphones and quiet time, maybe some wild animals (let's skip the coyotes, though, okay?) and some good, old-fashioned sweat.
Saturday night, after a rousing bout of trivia with friends, I came home and was getting comfortable. By comfortable, I mean I was letting the girls loose. I think, as ladies, we can all agree with the sense of freedom that accompanies that point in the day when we can take off our bras and just relax, am I right? Well, I can attest that relaxed is not what I felt. One arm out of a strap, and a sharp cramp hit the muscle in my right armpit. That's correct, folks. This girl's body is so smokin' that the very pit of it catches on fire while removing an item of clothing.
Yesterday, I popped out of bed to grab something out of the bathroom, and my tailbone felt like it just popped out of place. It nearly sent me to the floor. Then later, as I was walking (not running, not doing some kind of jig, not performing a Michael Flatley routine) my left knee just went out. Now, every step I take coincides with this tweaky ligament pulling thing that makes each step feel like a marathon.
Today, my reset day, left quite a bit to be desired. No Butts & Gutz class this morning, no Zumba tonight, no trail run... but there was definitely some Peanut Butter M&Ms, Coca-Cola Life, some cheese and crackers. Sigh. Zero self-control. I have zero self-control.
Maybe tomorrow can be my reset day. You know, after the deluge of food I will inhale at MOPS, and the Minsky's that I will chase down the MOPS food with... maybe then I can start all over. You don't know.
For now, there's the remnants of a giant bag of Peanut Butter M&Ms calling my name. I'm answering them. Just today. Tomorrow is reset. I mean Wednesday. Wednesday is totally reset day.
Is it age? Is it exhaustion? Is it thyroid? Nope. It's that I really, really like food. I really, really like chocolate, and I adore Coke with a twist of lemon, and let's not forget the gloriousness that is an ice cold Mt. Dew.
I bought new running shoes on Saturday, and was so excited to put them on and go for an honest run. Not a treadmill run, but a trail run, complete with headphones and quiet time, maybe some wild animals (let's skip the coyotes, though, okay?) and some good, old-fashioned sweat.
Saturday night, after a rousing bout of trivia with friends, I came home and was getting comfortable. By comfortable, I mean I was letting the girls loose. I think, as ladies, we can all agree with the sense of freedom that accompanies that point in the day when we can take off our bras and just relax, am I right? Well, I can attest that relaxed is not what I felt. One arm out of a strap, and a sharp cramp hit the muscle in my right armpit. That's correct, folks. This girl's body is so smokin' that the very pit of it catches on fire while removing an item of clothing.
Yesterday, I popped out of bed to grab something out of the bathroom, and my tailbone felt like it just popped out of place. It nearly sent me to the floor. Then later, as I was walking (not running, not doing some kind of jig, not performing a Michael Flatley routine) my left knee just went out. Now, every step I take coincides with this tweaky ligament pulling thing that makes each step feel like a marathon.
Today, my reset day, left quite a bit to be desired. No Butts & Gutz class this morning, no Zumba tonight, no trail run... but there was definitely some Peanut Butter M&Ms, Coca-Cola Life, some cheese and crackers. Sigh. Zero self-control. I have zero self-control.
Maybe tomorrow can be my reset day. You know, after the deluge of food I will inhale at MOPS, and the Minsky's that I will chase down the MOPS food with... maybe then I can start all over. You don't know.
For now, there's the remnants of a giant bag of Peanut Butter M&Ms calling my name. I'm answering them. Just today. Tomorrow is reset. I mean Wednesday. Wednesday is totally reset day.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Grace That Pardons
I've been sitting here staring at the blinking cursor for the last hour or so. Granted, it was interspersed with a recorded episode of State of Affairs...but still. Blink, blink, blink. Tapping fingernails. What to write?
There are so many things this week that have snagged my attention for some reason or another.
Meanness.
Messiness.
New Chapters.
Doubt.
Sick Kiddos.
Answers.
Renewed faith.
More sick kiddos.
That's quite a list... yet still, I am unable (or perhaps unwilling) to pick one, and run with it.
As I read through it again, the one word resonating in my heart is grace. Grace. Grace extended. Grace received.
I could return meanness with meanness. No, seriously. I'm good at it. It is a special skill that I have finely crafted over many years. It is no doubt tempting. Some person who name-called, or called my intentions into question for no other reason than to alter someone's perception of me to suit her own purposes. I want to be mean. I'm mean in my head, as I play out potential come-backs and conversations that could take place. I know that it is a heart problem. Just the fact that I can play out the meanness in my head means my heart is not where it should be. I hear my kindergartener's voice reciting his scripture verses he's learned at school, "Keep your tongue from evil," and I'm reminded, not so gently, of how many times my tongue has been left unguarded. I extend some grace. I keep my mouth shut. Oh, so difficult for me.
Messy. Messy hearts, messy houses, messy minds. Messy kids, messy closets... dear Lord, please create in me a clean heart. Continue to extend that grace to me and all of my mess.
I'm thinking about how much we've relied on God and trusted in His goodness over the last two years, especially. I'm also pondering how it takes one little fraction of a millisecond to determine that things not happening in the time-frame we'd like them to causes that ugly doubt to raise its head. How quick we are to try to insert ourselves into a position of control. How dare we waver with uncertainty after all that we've seen? And because He is so good... more grace comes flooding in. We get answers to questions we're struggling with. We get reminders of where we've been. People are put in our paths who can testify to something amazing that He's done. The healing of an unborn child. The healing of a child whom doctors had thought was beyond hope. A renewed health after an organ transplant. A relationship saved because of a loving response. Grace.
It is bigger than my meanness. More than my fears or doubts. It can cleanse all the yuck. Clemency for so much gunk with so little return...
Let me somehow learn to extend it as willingly and as often as it has been extended to me.
Grace.
There are so many things this week that have snagged my attention for some reason or another.
Meanness.
Messiness.
New Chapters.
Doubt.
Sick Kiddos.
Answers.
Renewed faith.
More sick kiddos.
That's quite a list... yet still, I am unable (or perhaps unwilling) to pick one, and run with it.
As I read through it again, the one word resonating in my heart is grace. Grace. Grace extended. Grace received.
I could return meanness with meanness. No, seriously. I'm good at it. It is a special skill that I have finely crafted over many years. It is no doubt tempting. Some person who name-called, or called my intentions into question for no other reason than to alter someone's perception of me to suit her own purposes. I want to be mean. I'm mean in my head, as I play out potential come-backs and conversations that could take place. I know that it is a heart problem. Just the fact that I can play out the meanness in my head means my heart is not where it should be. I hear my kindergartener's voice reciting his scripture verses he's learned at school, "Keep your tongue from evil," and I'm reminded, not so gently, of how many times my tongue has been left unguarded. I extend some grace. I keep my mouth shut. Oh, so difficult for me.
Messy. Messy hearts, messy houses, messy minds. Messy kids, messy closets... dear Lord, please create in me a clean heart. Continue to extend that grace to me and all of my mess.
I'm thinking about how much we've relied on God and trusted in His goodness over the last two years, especially. I'm also pondering how it takes one little fraction of a millisecond to determine that things not happening in the time-frame we'd like them to causes that ugly doubt to raise its head. How quick we are to try to insert ourselves into a position of control. How dare we waver with uncertainty after all that we've seen? And because He is so good... more grace comes flooding in. We get answers to questions we're struggling with. We get reminders of where we've been. People are put in our paths who can testify to something amazing that He's done. The healing of an unborn child. The healing of a child whom doctors had thought was beyond hope. A renewed health after an organ transplant. A relationship saved because of a loving response. Grace.
It is bigger than my meanness. More than my fears or doubts. It can cleanse all the yuck. Clemency for so much gunk with so little return...
Let me somehow learn to extend it as willingly and as often as it has been extended to me.
Grace.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Milestones
Two years ago today, I arrived for my first visit to Salt Lake City, Utah. It was a most unexpected trip, and one I had no intention of making. The phone call I had received the night before, notifying me that my beloved had been paralyzed in a skiing accident, had prompted an emergency flight out at a most ungodly hour. I was hoping that the surgery they were wanting to perform would keep until I could lay eyes on him, but there was no way to know.
I left my youngest kiddos in the trusted care of family members with next to no groceries in my fridge or pantry (because people, if we ever go into survivalist mode due to some kind of alien takeover or nuclear bomb, my family will be the first to starve to death... I am the reigning champion of the 'Who Can Put Off Grocery Shopping the Longest" contest) and no access to my bank account. I had it stuck in my noggin that this whole thing would resolve itself in a couple of days, and that we would be back home no worse for wear. He kept telling me on the phone that he was starting to move his arms and that the feeling was coming back. Fluke. Had to be a fluke.
My brother-in-law picked me up at the baggage carousel and told me that my husband had been in surgery for a few hours, and that it would be a few more before he would be out. And so we waited in the surgery waiting room. A few hours later, the surgeon finally came and talked us, and I rushed to see this guy...
I expected some bumps and bruises, but the surgeon failed to tell me that laying face down on an operating table for a spinal decompression and fusion of the C3 - C6 vertebrae meant all the blood and fluid rushed to his face and made it swollen. I may or may not have had to sit behind him for a while with my head between my knees, but that's neither here nor there.
I didn't find out till a week or so ago that the paramedics were in a complete panic in the ambulance. I found out at the same time that they had already done the central line and his PIC line and had been in the ER for about 5 hours before they suggested he may "want to call his wife now." His double-digit concussion history made him think that he was going to just shake this off, and this one was just a little bit worse than before. No need to panic me several states away. [insert eye roll here]
Yesterday, as I was contemplating the two year mark of this major road diversion we took, I was flipping through Facebook posts from those first few weeks. Scriptures sent to us from sweet friends, pictures of power-chairs, and surgery incisions, the lear jet that flew us home after three long weeks in Utah... and the memories flooded over me so significantly that it took my breath away. I was overcome.
Overcome with gratitude. Overcome with wonder. Overcome with a little bit of that pesky fear that keeps poking its ugly head at me even though we have NO DOUBT that God has been all over this process from start to finish. Overcome with that ugly cry that starts deep in your soul and pinches off all the air in your lungs so that you have to gulp and swallow, all the while having tears and snot running haphazardly down your face. Overcome.
Tonight, as I'm typing this, my man is upstairs singing to our girl. Mockingbird. He took her up and put her in the tub, washed her hair, got her in her jams and is now singing her a lullaby. My heart is so full. Two years ago, he had to be moved from a bed to a power-chair using a Hoyer lift. God is so very good.
I can lay out all the physical milestones that he has achieved since the accident...recount miracle after miracle that God has performed, because they were and are plentiful. We have new ones all the time. Rather, the milestones I was thinking about today were altogether different.
We now can rely on God in a way we never really had to before, and because of all we've seen Him do over the past two years, we can trust Him in a way we didn't even know we could.
We can trust each other in a way that we've never had to trust another human since childhood. Because, you know, there are some things that can't be unseen. We've seen each other at our most vulnerable, and lived to tell the tale. We have laughed about things that other people would not find funny. You've never really giggled until you've laughed about bowel care or urinal mishaps. Your spouse may have never considered you a tantrum thrower until he saw you literally sitting on the floor kicking your feet and crying over a pair of stupid TED hose. (Those things are straight from Lucifer himself, by the way.) Seeing each other at your weakest creates a whole new level of intimacy. The mere fact that we went from spending a bit of time together each week after travel and work, to spending twenty-four * seven with each other and no one has been maimed or killed speaks volumes, I think.
We have gained friendships, built relationships that we value with people we had only cursory associations with before...people we now have deep affection for.
We have compassion for people that we hadn't experienced before. Empathy for those who have any kind of difference or disability.
Those are the good milestones... the ones that will stick to the walls of my heart, the ones that matter. The rest of it... that's just the gravy. Or the chocolate. Let's call it chocolate... because you know...chocolate.
I left my youngest kiddos in the trusted care of family members with next to no groceries in my fridge or pantry (because people, if we ever go into survivalist mode due to some kind of alien takeover or nuclear bomb, my family will be the first to starve to death... I am the reigning champion of the 'Who Can Put Off Grocery Shopping the Longest" contest) and no access to my bank account. I had it stuck in my noggin that this whole thing would resolve itself in a couple of days, and that we would be back home no worse for wear. He kept telling me on the phone that he was starting to move his arms and that the feeling was coming back. Fluke. Had to be a fluke.
My brother-in-law picked me up at the baggage carousel and told me that my husband had been in surgery for a few hours, and that it would be a few more before he would be out. And so we waited in the surgery waiting room. A few hours later, the surgeon finally came and talked us, and I rushed to see this guy...
I expected some bumps and bruises, but the surgeon failed to tell me that laying face down on an operating table for a spinal decompression and fusion of the C3 - C6 vertebrae meant all the blood and fluid rushed to his face and made it swollen. I may or may not have had to sit behind him for a while with my head between my knees, but that's neither here nor there.
I didn't find out till a week or so ago that the paramedics were in a complete panic in the ambulance. I found out at the same time that they had already done the central line and his PIC line and had been in the ER for about 5 hours before they suggested he may "want to call his wife now." His double-digit concussion history made him think that he was going to just shake this off, and this one was just a little bit worse than before. No need to panic me several states away. [insert eye roll here]
Yesterday, as I was contemplating the two year mark of this major road diversion we took, I was flipping through Facebook posts from those first few weeks. Scriptures sent to us from sweet friends, pictures of power-chairs, and surgery incisions, the lear jet that flew us home after three long weeks in Utah... and the memories flooded over me so significantly that it took my breath away. I was overcome.
Overcome with gratitude. Overcome with wonder. Overcome with a little bit of that pesky fear that keeps poking its ugly head at me even though we have NO DOUBT that God has been all over this process from start to finish. Overcome with that ugly cry that starts deep in your soul and pinches off all the air in your lungs so that you have to gulp and swallow, all the while having tears and snot running haphazardly down your face. Overcome.
Tonight, as I'm typing this, my man is upstairs singing to our girl. Mockingbird. He took her up and put her in the tub, washed her hair, got her in her jams and is now singing her a lullaby. My heart is so full. Two years ago, he had to be moved from a bed to a power-chair using a Hoyer lift. God is so very good.
I can lay out all the physical milestones that he has achieved since the accident...recount miracle after miracle that God has performed, because they were and are plentiful. We have new ones all the time. Rather, the milestones I was thinking about today were altogether different.
We now can rely on God in a way we never really had to before, and because of all we've seen Him do over the past two years, we can trust Him in a way we didn't even know we could.
We can trust each other in a way that we've never had to trust another human since childhood. Because, you know, there are some things that can't be unseen. We've seen each other at our most vulnerable, and lived to tell the tale. We have laughed about things that other people would not find funny. You've never really giggled until you've laughed about bowel care or urinal mishaps. Your spouse may have never considered you a tantrum thrower until he saw you literally sitting on the floor kicking your feet and crying over a pair of stupid TED hose. (Those things are straight from Lucifer himself, by the way.) Seeing each other at your weakest creates a whole new level of intimacy. The mere fact that we went from spending a bit of time together each week after travel and work, to spending twenty-four * seven with each other and no one has been maimed or killed speaks volumes, I think.
We have gained friendships, built relationships that we value with people we had only cursory associations with before...people we now have deep affection for.
We have compassion for people that we hadn't experienced before. Empathy for those who have any kind of difference or disability.
Those are the good milestones... the ones that will stick to the walls of my heart, the ones that matter. The rest of it... that's just the gravy. Or the chocolate. Let's call it chocolate... because you know...chocolate.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Title Track
You wanna know what happens when you have a billion things that you'd like to write about, and your internet goes out for 6 days? Everything. That's what. More things than you can shake a stick at.
Maybe you have to spend 5+ hours talking to people at your ISP who were incapable of assisting you. In fairness, that was the first 3 1/2 hours. The last hour and 45 minutes were with a gentleman who didn't make me threaten to drive to his office and snap him like a twig. Shane 'I'm not the supervisor you asked for 10 times, but I'm a genius and can handle any problem you can have' needs to watch his back, however.
Maybe you have an almost threenager who refuses to stay in her own bed for the duration of the night. Maybe she will randomly appear anywhere from 2:30 am to 6 am and insist that she needs you. Perhaps she will go back to her own bed if you carry her there like a baby, sing two songs of her choice, kiss her, hug her, hug her again with a squeeeeeeeze, throw each other imaginary presents that she pretend puts down her shirt, and make sure she has Delilah. No, not Delilah, Cocoa. No, not Cocoa, Rosie. No, not Rosie, but Delilah AND Cocoa. Rosie needs to go back to her cradle. No, she can't just lay down on the floor. No, she can't be placed gently on the dresser. The cradle. The cradle. The cradle. Make sure that Cocoa and Delilah are covered up with the blankets and on the pillows, especially so that in an hour or less, they can be abandoned when said threenager shows up in your bed again.
Maybe your 5 year old son surreptitiously advises you that his daddy was married to someone else before you... in case you didn't know. Maybe when you inform him that you, too, had been married before Daddy, he will gasp and shake his head in complete disgust. He may potentially then point out that if Daddy goes to heaven to be with Jesus, that you will be a widow. But not a black widow. Because they're spiders.
Perchance your sweet husband, who has dealt with a severe spinal cord injury for almost two years, will trip over a rug in the basement and face-plant hard enough to have a golf ball sized knot on his forehead and develop numbness and tingling in his arm. To be safe, you may take your man to the emergency room and get him a CT scan which will lead to the discovery of a broken vertebrae one vertebrae down from his original injury, and a broken nose. Maybe.
It's also possible that while you're in the ER, you run into the nurse who pretty much saved your life during a miscarriage 4 and a half years ago. You could recognize him right away as the man who helped get you out of the car when you stupidly drove yourself into the ambulance bay as you lost over half your body's blood volume. You could spend a significant period of time thanking him for the care he gave you, all the while getting a level of comfort and closure you didn't know you still needed.
Maybe when you're taking your kid to school and internally raging at the fact that you are once again late, late, late getting out of the house, you come upon a truly awful wreck at the intersection that you would have likely been going through at the time of the accident if you hadn't been a little tardy.
Maybe when you sit down at your laptop, finally able to access the internet and write, you'll recognize that in the midst of chaos, God can still offer you peace. Maybe you'll grasp that your story is more than turmoil. Maybe you'll know that God has a plan...one that isn't on your schedule, that isn't the way you may do it (thank heavens), that has divine orchestration and is what is ultimately going to bring Him glory no matter what you do to try and screw it up. Maybe you were late so you weren't hurt in an accident. Maybe your husband was hurt so you could get in touch with someone who will end up helping with issues he's struggled with in his recovery. Maybe you were at that ER at that time, so you could heal a little part of you that still was scabbed over. Maybe when you thanked that nurse, he needed it more than you did. Maybe. Maybe you'll never know. Maybe you don't need to, as long as you gain some insight, or get a reminder of the great God that you serve.
Maybe you have to spend 5+ hours talking to people at your ISP who were incapable of assisting you. In fairness, that was the first 3 1/2 hours. The last hour and 45 minutes were with a gentleman who didn't make me threaten to drive to his office and snap him like a twig. Shane 'I'm not the supervisor you asked for 10 times, but I'm a genius and can handle any problem you can have' needs to watch his back, however.
Maybe you have an almost threenager who refuses to stay in her own bed for the duration of the night. Maybe she will randomly appear anywhere from 2:30 am to 6 am and insist that she needs you. Perhaps she will go back to her own bed if you carry her there like a baby, sing two songs of her choice, kiss her, hug her, hug her again with a squeeeeeeeze, throw each other imaginary presents that she pretend puts down her shirt, and make sure she has Delilah. No, not Delilah, Cocoa. No, not Cocoa, Rosie. No, not Rosie, but Delilah AND Cocoa. Rosie needs to go back to her cradle. No, she can't just lay down on the floor. No, she can't be placed gently on the dresser. The cradle. The cradle. The cradle. Make sure that Cocoa and Delilah are covered up with the blankets and on the pillows, especially so that in an hour or less, they can be abandoned when said threenager shows up in your bed again.
Maybe your 5 year old son surreptitiously advises you that his daddy was married to someone else before you... in case you didn't know. Maybe when you inform him that you, too, had been married before Daddy, he will gasp and shake his head in complete disgust. He may potentially then point out that if Daddy goes to heaven to be with Jesus, that you will be a widow. But not a black widow. Because they're spiders.
Perchance your sweet husband, who has dealt with a severe spinal cord injury for almost two years, will trip over a rug in the basement and face-plant hard enough to have a golf ball sized knot on his forehead and develop numbness and tingling in his arm. To be safe, you may take your man to the emergency room and get him a CT scan which will lead to the discovery of a broken vertebrae one vertebrae down from his original injury, and a broken nose. Maybe.
It's also possible that while you're in the ER, you run into the nurse who pretty much saved your life during a miscarriage 4 and a half years ago. You could recognize him right away as the man who helped get you out of the car when you stupidly drove yourself into the ambulance bay as you lost over half your body's blood volume. You could spend a significant period of time thanking him for the care he gave you, all the while getting a level of comfort and closure you didn't know you still needed.
Maybe when you're taking your kid to school and internally raging at the fact that you are once again late, late, late getting out of the house, you come upon a truly awful wreck at the intersection that you would have likely been going through at the time of the accident if you hadn't been a little tardy.
Maybe when you sit down at your laptop, finally able to access the internet and write, you'll recognize that in the midst of chaos, God can still offer you peace. Maybe you'll grasp that your story is more than turmoil. Maybe you'll know that God has a plan...one that isn't on your schedule, that isn't the way you may do it (thank heavens), that has divine orchestration and is what is ultimately going to bring Him glory no matter what you do to try and screw it up. Maybe you were late so you weren't hurt in an accident. Maybe your husband was hurt so you could get in touch with someone who will end up helping with issues he's struggled with in his recovery. Maybe you were at that ER at that time, so you could heal a little part of you that still was scabbed over. Maybe when you thanked that nurse, he needed it more than you did. Maybe. Maybe you'll never know. Maybe you don't need to, as long as you gain some insight, or get a reminder of the great God that you serve.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
New Things
Apparently, my fitness level is equivalent to that of a ninety year old hippopotamus. I thought that running (even though I had gotten off track during the holidays) and some periodic free weights was at least sufficient to get me through one fitness class at my gym. I was mistaken. I wasn't just a little wrong, either. I was perfectly, totally, and completely incorrect.
My good friend suggested that we take a "Butts & Gutz" class at our local community center. Fun, right? Within 10 minutes of the class starting, I knew that I was ill-prepared for what was occurring. Squat repeatedly while holding weights you say? Faster? Sorry, but I've clearly been mistaken for one who actually possesses functional quadriceps. I am not.
Fifty minutes of somewhat keeping up with the instructor (and I use the term 'somewhat' VERY loosely) and I was pretty convinced that my death was imminent. As I headed down the steps to the locker room, my Jell-O legs were barely able to make it from stair to stair. I was tempted to sit down and scoot, and I may have actually tried to do such a thing, had it not been for the fact that I wasn't certain I would be able to get from the bottom step to an upright position without assistance.
The following day I could barely get out of bed. Walking around seemed to help, at least until I paused for any length of time. Sitting in a chair? Ha! To all appearances, you should be able to lower yourself in a chair rather easily. If, however, your quads, hamstrings, AND glutes are all rebelling against you, sitting should be avoided.
We are now at two days out, and the same good friend and I had the audacity to go to a Pilates class and then follow that up with a short run. My muscles were a little more loose, and that lasted for exactly 2 minutes post-run. In the mean time, I nearly rolled myself into a concussion on the large exercise ball, and laughed so hard attempting to do 'push-ups' with the ball underneath my hips that I could hardly even stay on the crazy thing. Entertaining, for sure. I'm pretty sure I made the other first-timers in class look totally fantastic... so you're welcome, ladies!
Perhaps we may try for a little Yoga Flow class tomorrow night. We shall see. I'll bet I'll make the people in that class look like the coolest, most Zen people on the planet.
My hope is that one day, my quadriceps may actually function. Perhaps I'll even have a couple of working hamstrings. You can't be too sure about these things, but I'm hopeful all the same.
Now if it's all the same to you, I think I need a nap.
My good friend suggested that we take a "Butts & Gutz" class at our local community center. Fun, right? Within 10 minutes of the class starting, I knew that I was ill-prepared for what was occurring. Squat repeatedly while holding weights you say? Faster? Sorry, but I've clearly been mistaken for one who actually possesses functional quadriceps. I am not.
Fifty minutes of somewhat keeping up with the instructor (and I use the term 'somewhat' VERY loosely) and I was pretty convinced that my death was imminent. As I headed down the steps to the locker room, my Jell-O legs were barely able to make it from stair to stair. I was tempted to sit down and scoot, and I may have actually tried to do such a thing, had it not been for the fact that I wasn't certain I would be able to get from the bottom step to an upright position without assistance.
The following day I could barely get out of bed. Walking around seemed to help, at least until I paused for any length of time. Sitting in a chair? Ha! To all appearances, you should be able to lower yourself in a chair rather easily. If, however, your quads, hamstrings, AND glutes are all rebelling against you, sitting should be avoided.
We are now at two days out, and the same good friend and I had the audacity to go to a Pilates class and then follow that up with a short run. My muscles were a little more loose, and that lasted for exactly 2 minutes post-run. In the mean time, I nearly rolled myself into a concussion on the large exercise ball, and laughed so hard attempting to do 'push-ups' with the ball underneath my hips that I could hardly even stay on the crazy thing. Entertaining, for sure. I'm pretty sure I made the other first-timers in class look totally fantastic... so you're welcome, ladies!
Perhaps we may try for a little Yoga Flow class tomorrow night. We shall see. I'll bet I'll make the people in that class look like the coolest, most Zen people on the planet.
My hope is that one day, my quadriceps may actually function. Perhaps I'll even have a couple of working hamstrings. You can't be too sure about these things, but I'm hopeful all the same.
Now if it's all the same to you, I think I need a nap.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
I started a new post yesterday about mean girls and bullies, but trying to get through it zapped every ounce of creativity I had, and I could not finish to save my life. It can really be boiled down to the following: Ladies, (especially those who tout theology and are Jesus followers) knock it off. Stop being unkind, mind your pie-hole, and remember that everything you say and do are being held under a microscope as an example of how Christian women behave. You never know how something that you don't think twice about saying or doing has impacted a non-believer, and often in a way you would be devastated to learn. End rant. I'll probably finish the initial post someday, but not today.
Today, I want lighthearted sweetness. I want something that can make me smile, maybe even laugh out loud. I want to feel anything but the overwhelming heaviness that often accompanies days like today, when it's icy cold and dreary outside.
On days like this, I can typically turn to one of my kazillion children for some type of amusement, because let's face it. They are a funny bunch. For instance, yesterday was our first day back to school from winter break for my precious kindergartener. He and his baby sister were in front of the TV before we left, telling each other how much they would miss one another while he was gone. Seriously. Holding hands and the whole nine. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I recalled the night before, when she took one of his toys which caused him to pop her in the back of the head and then call her a bully. I was reliving the tears streaming down her face..."Mommy, Cwosby called me a bu-wee." Insert racking sob here.
It had taken me 5 full minutes to figure out she said bully. At first, I thought he called her a boy. Big deal. I kept telling her that we all were well aware of the fact that she is ALL girl, all the time. Not to worry. This inspired deep sighs and eye rolls from my precious little princess. Her own mother can't understand English. The drama she is forced to endure because of inept parenting is too much for her.
On the ride to school, Kindergartener tells me "if you and Daddy miss me too much while I'm at school, just go into my room, and you'll remember me." Thanks, bud. I'll keep that in mind. I didn't tell him that I had every intention of doing some sort of jig when I got home. We'd been trapped in a house for 5 straight days at that point. Love ya, see ya, wouldn't want to be ya... peace out. That's not to say that I didn't have a sense of excitement picking him up and hearing about his day, but I did manage to suffer through.
Tonight, while I was preparing dinner for (let's be honest) the first time in a while... I noticed that my 16 year old had used his finger to write 'poop' on the microwave. Of course, it doesn't show up until the steam rises from the oven, so I have no idea how long it's been there. Classy.
Earlier this afternoon, after changing into pajamas for nap (yes, she has to have on pjs for nap, it is cause for annoyance, but a battle I've been giving up to maintain my sanity), my almost three year old was doing this jumping squat maneuver that I can not adequately put into words. When I furrowed my brow at her and asked what in the world she was doing, she said, "I'm getting all the pee out."
"WHAT?"
"Oh, mommy. I didn't pee in my pants," she scoffed.
What does that even mean? She didn't have any sort of accident...so... I mean... huh?
These things are what I shall focus on tonight. Kids being little weirdos that I so love. Making dinner for my family, even if the word 'poop' was on my microwave. 5 year olds telling jokes that make you want to slam your head into a door. The fact that every time I read The Hungry Caterpillar to my 2 year old and get to the part where "He wasn't a little caterpillar anymore. He was a big, fat caterpillar." she feels it necessary to say, "That's you, Mommy." Makes me want to "accidentally" knock her out of her bed. The giant brown eyes that look like chocolate pools when either one of my youngest two bat their long eyelashes and try to appear innocent.
I will not focus on the meanness, the cold, or the yuck that is on the news every day of the week. I will not focus on the fact that the two year old is literally digging her head into my hip as I try to finish this up, because I have exhausted her ability to be ignored. Just the light, the love that is in my household, and the friends that I've chatted with throughout my day. For now, that is just what I need.
Today, I want lighthearted sweetness. I want something that can make me smile, maybe even laugh out loud. I want to feel anything but the overwhelming heaviness that often accompanies days like today, when it's icy cold and dreary outside.
On days like this, I can typically turn to one of my kazillion children for some type of amusement, because let's face it. They are a funny bunch. For instance, yesterday was our first day back to school from winter break for my precious kindergartener. He and his baby sister were in front of the TV before we left, telling each other how much they would miss one another while he was gone. Seriously. Holding hands and the whole nine. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I recalled the night before, when she took one of his toys which caused him to pop her in the back of the head and then call her a bully. I was reliving the tears streaming down her face..."Mommy, Cwosby called me a bu-wee." Insert racking sob here.
It had taken me 5 full minutes to figure out she said bully. At first, I thought he called her a boy. Big deal. I kept telling her that we all were well aware of the fact that she is ALL girl, all the time. Not to worry. This inspired deep sighs and eye rolls from my precious little princess. Her own mother can't understand English. The drama she is forced to endure because of inept parenting is too much for her.
On the ride to school, Kindergartener tells me "if you and Daddy miss me too much while I'm at school, just go into my room, and you'll remember me." Thanks, bud. I'll keep that in mind. I didn't tell him that I had every intention of doing some sort of jig when I got home. We'd been trapped in a house for 5 straight days at that point. Love ya, see ya, wouldn't want to be ya... peace out. That's not to say that I didn't have a sense of excitement picking him up and hearing about his day, but I did manage to suffer through.
Tonight, while I was preparing dinner for (let's be honest) the first time in a while... I noticed that my 16 year old had used his finger to write 'poop' on the microwave. Of course, it doesn't show up until the steam rises from the oven, so I have no idea how long it's been there. Classy.
Earlier this afternoon, after changing into pajamas for nap (yes, she has to have on pjs for nap, it is cause for annoyance, but a battle I've been giving up to maintain my sanity), my almost three year old was doing this jumping squat maneuver that I can not adequately put into words. When I furrowed my brow at her and asked what in the world she was doing, she said, "I'm getting all the pee out."
"WHAT?"
"Oh, mommy. I didn't pee in my pants," she scoffed.
What does that even mean? She didn't have any sort of accident...so... I mean... huh?
These things are what I shall focus on tonight. Kids being little weirdos that I so love. Making dinner for my family, even if the word 'poop' was on my microwave. 5 year olds telling jokes that make you want to slam your head into a door. The fact that every time I read The Hungry Caterpillar to my 2 year old and get to the part where "He wasn't a little caterpillar anymore. He was a big, fat caterpillar." she feels it necessary to say, "That's you, Mommy." Makes me want to "accidentally" knock her out of her bed. The giant brown eyes that look like chocolate pools when either one of my youngest two bat their long eyelashes and try to appear innocent.
I will not focus on the meanness, the cold, or the yuck that is on the news every day of the week. I will not focus on the fact that the two year old is literally digging her head into my hip as I try to finish this up, because I have exhausted her ability to be ignored. Just the light, the love that is in my household, and the friends that I've chatted with throughout my day. For now, that is just what I need.
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