Yesterday would have been my Dad's 70 th birthday. I picture him with
his grand children gathered around him. Eating birthday cake, giving
him Birthday hugs and wishes while teasing him about getting old. We'd
find a crazy birthday card that makes fun of how old he is and how he is
the best Dad and Grandpa EVER! Then we'd all go home until our next
family get together.
My cousin Julie mentioned on facebook today
that when her mother passed to God's presence this past year, she was
met on the other side by people like my Dad, our grandmother, who we all
adored, my Grandfather, two uncles and a whole host of family. I
picture it much like the a fore mentioned party, but without the
wrinkles and the funny cards.
I believe that God intended families
to be together, forever. Not just for birthday parties and holidays her
on earth, but for every warm, happy, fun occasion we can think of.
These times I picture the party my deceased family is having and the one
each of us wishes we could have as well. A little piece of me crumbles
and dies when I realize what an enormous blockade death makes to all of
us being together.
Truthfully, though, Death is only a blockade
for the living. Those of us who cling to this life with fervor and faith
live avoiding or denying death. On the other side though, they wait
with bated breath for us to come to the forever family party.
I've
spent my entire life fighting the inevitability of death only to
realize it comes for each of us until we are all together again. Those
who die before us celebrate the day when they are joined with those who
were left behind. Those left behind mourn our loneliness until we can
join our loved ones. The time between is painful, lonely and dark
without those we love.
The good news is...its but a moment in a
dark tunnel until we join the party as well. I live my life in complete
darkness except for the light I find in my children, my husband, my
family, friends and my Savior. When the party lights come on I hope to
see my father's face. Feel the embrace of my Grandmother's arms and see
the lovely smile of my Aunt Caroline. to kiss Colby Bird and thank him
for sharing his organs and his beautiful family with me. I can't wait to
meet my Savior and wash his feet with my tears. I'll wait to become
strong enough and smart enough to have finished my course, but I look
forward to the Forever Family Party. Just imagine what a party it will
be.Save me some cake, Daddy!
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Tiny, Tender Treasures
My ten-year-old promised me this weekend, he'd never be a 'snotty teenager'. I know its just because he's only ten, but a part of me wishes he was right. My mind drifts back to when my 15-year-old was less than five pounds and barely breathing.
When my son was born it was after 12 weeks of bed rest and 72 hours of labor. As difficult as those weeks leading up to his birth were, it was nothing compared to what would come next. His tiny little body was black and blue from the delivery and the forceps they used to deliver him. His body was so fragile , I was terrified I'd hurt him if I touched him. The nurses warned me rubbing his little arms and legs felt to him like I rubbed his sunburn. The nerves were so sensitive. He had tubes leading from his feet, his belly, where his umbilical cord had been, his nose and his chest. Every breath he took was an effort and he didn't make a sound. I was in pain from the delivery and the bed rest but I sat for hours beside his bed and listened to the sound of his monitors recording his heart beat as he slept.
By the time my youngest was born, I was prepared for the long hours and slow progress of a newborn, premature baby. Little did I know. It was torture not being able to hold him, touch him, or rock him to sleep at night. He couldn't nurse, he was too small, he couldn't breathe, he'd popped his lung the night he was born. My only solace came from the nurses who told me his heart rate and breathing were labored and too fast until I'd come into NICU. As soon as he heard my voice, he'd settle down and rest. His respiratory and heart rate slowing to a normal pace. I sat on a stool beside his bed for hours to keep his little body working. I cried, missed him terribly and wanted nothing more than to bring him home.
In the years between his birth and now, the hard times at the beginning of his life are distant memories with the ache of past pain and a smile for how precious a blessing he's been in my life.
In those moments with my tiny, tender treasures, I knew how blessed and fortunate I was to have moments to treasure my child. When he talks back to me, argues to hear his own brilliance and wants nothing to do with me, I remember why I loved him enough to go through those difficult hours where he was all that mattered. When his tiny hand wrapped around my finger and it brought tears to my eyes. When his blue eyes opened to look at me. When his laughter filled our home and when he kisses me goodbye before he leaves for work.
The moments that are painful make the moments of triumph more precious and valuable. Moments that seem eternal in their darkness, but are brilliant in their treasures. I wish I'd known to enjoy the long, precious moments I had with my premature babies. I'd have lived a little more in those moments. I'd have soaked up their love, warmth and need for nothing more than food and a caring hand. The time drags in the hospital where progress doesn't happen in hours or days, but in weeks or months. Treasure the time. Fill it with words of love, tender touches and laughter. The moments will melt away until the memories are all that remain.
When my son was born it was after 12 weeks of bed rest and 72 hours of labor. As difficult as those weeks leading up to his birth were, it was nothing compared to what would come next. His tiny little body was black and blue from the delivery and the forceps they used to deliver him. His body was so fragile , I was terrified I'd hurt him if I touched him. The nurses warned me rubbing his little arms and legs felt to him like I rubbed his sunburn. The nerves were so sensitive. He had tubes leading from his feet, his belly, where his umbilical cord had been, his nose and his chest. Every breath he took was an effort and he didn't make a sound. I was in pain from the delivery and the bed rest but I sat for hours beside his bed and listened to the sound of his monitors recording his heart beat as he slept.
By the time my youngest was born, I was prepared for the long hours and slow progress of a newborn, premature baby. Little did I know. It was torture not being able to hold him, touch him, or rock him to sleep at night. He couldn't nurse, he was too small, he couldn't breathe, he'd popped his lung the night he was born. My only solace came from the nurses who told me his heart rate and breathing were labored and too fast until I'd come into NICU. As soon as he heard my voice, he'd settle down and rest. His respiratory and heart rate slowing to a normal pace. I sat on a stool beside his bed for hours to keep his little body working. I cried, missed him terribly and wanted nothing more than to bring him home.
In the years between his birth and now, the hard times at the beginning of his life are distant memories with the ache of past pain and a smile for how precious a blessing he's been in my life.
In those moments with my tiny, tender treasures, I knew how blessed and fortunate I was to have moments to treasure my child. When he talks back to me, argues to hear his own brilliance and wants nothing to do with me, I remember why I loved him enough to go through those difficult hours where he was all that mattered. When his tiny hand wrapped around my finger and it brought tears to my eyes. When his blue eyes opened to look at me. When his laughter filled our home and when he kisses me goodbye before he leaves for work.
The moments that are painful make the moments of triumph more precious and valuable. Moments that seem eternal in their darkness, but are brilliant in their treasures. I wish I'd known to enjoy the long, precious moments I had with my premature babies. I'd have lived a little more in those moments. I'd have soaked up their love, warmth and need for nothing more than food and a caring hand. The time drags in the hospital where progress doesn't happen in hours or days, but in weeks or months. Treasure the time. Fill it with words of love, tender touches and laughter. The moments will melt away until the memories are all that remain.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Finding Freedom
Shackles and chains come in all shapes and sizes. My body has represented many of the confines I've learned to work around throughout my life. Many people believe my blindness shackles me to my home, my neighborhood, or my friends and family to get me around. While I am grateful for the kindness, patience and support of my sighted friends...these are not the confines from which I must break free.
When I was on dialysis as a kidney patient, I was literally chained to a machine by needles and tubes. For three and a half hours, three times a week, I sat in a chair with my blood running from my arm, into a machine and then back into my arm. This process is hard on your body, your heart, your nerves, your muscles and bones. It is also necessary to keep you alive. One of the side effects of dialysis is a sleep disorder.
Disorder makes it sound rather innocuous. You just plain don't sleep. The blood cleaning is exhausting enough, but the not sleeping will drain what's left of your strength.
I was given a prescription for Adovan, an anti-anxiety medication to relieve this problem. I started on .5 mg.'s the first few days. After 2-3 nights of sleeping, my body caught up and I couldn't sleep again. The prescription was bumped up another .5 Mg's every time my body adjusted and the disorder came back. It took me about a month before I couldn't sleep at all and the dosage was up to 5 mg.'s every night.
I went to dialysis one morning at 7 a.m. feeling as if my skin would crawl off of my body. While I was trapped in my chair with my blood being cleaned by a machine, I started shaking, my heart palpitating and my skin crawling. I fought the sensations of my body attacking for the next few hours until the nurses at dialysis sent me to the hospital to get some help.
On the examination table in the E.R., I was told I was detoxing from the adovan and they'd give me some more to stop the reaction and I'd need to increase my dosage again.
My body had trapped me again. Maybe it was 'medically necessary' because I had an issue that could only be dealt with medically. It didn't matter. I was shackled to a drug, a drug that relieved other problems but that now was in complete control of my sanity and well-being.
I refused the adovan and stopped the prescription.
I wish I could tell you the drug wore off and I went back to my life. It didn't. I was awake for five days straight. My skin crawled. I cried, thrashed, soaked in hot and cold showers and prayed round the clock. All these years later, I still have sleeping problems. For different reasons, but the result is the same...sometimes I don't sleep for more than a few hours at night. The chains are broken, and I'll never go back to those confines. I could sleep more and better if I took the medicine. I could find a different prescription that was less addictive, but I won't.
Actual physical wounds aren't healed with the prescriptions, the pain is just deadened. Deadened pain is a blessing for those of us who live with it constantly. The problem is...everything else ends up deadened too. Thoughts, emotions, the influence of The Holy Spirit, the voice of The Savior and the quiet love and peace The Lord offers.
Healing deeper wounds of shame, self-hatred, feelings of failure and the fear of being too broken to love can't be fixed with drugs. To heal the wounds of the heart and the scars of the soul, one must fall at The Savior's feet. Fight the forces tearing at your body and break the shackles of numbing temporary balms.
Yes, it will be painful, healing hurts. Finding freedom, in any part of life comes when we surrender to God and let Him heal us.
Healing will not free you from your problems, injuries and diseases. It will bring you peace and strength to fight, thrive and succeed in your life. No one knows the extent of your pain and so no one can understand what is necessary for you to function. If you find yourself depending more and more on the medication and withdrawing from your relationship with God, turn to Him and those who love you, during your pain and frustration and ask for help to hang on.
When I was on dialysis as a kidney patient, I was literally chained to a machine by needles and tubes. For three and a half hours, three times a week, I sat in a chair with my blood running from my arm, into a machine and then back into my arm. This process is hard on your body, your heart, your nerves, your muscles and bones. It is also necessary to keep you alive. One of the side effects of dialysis is a sleep disorder.
Disorder makes it sound rather innocuous. You just plain don't sleep. The blood cleaning is exhausting enough, but the not sleeping will drain what's left of your strength.
I was given a prescription for Adovan, an anti-anxiety medication to relieve this problem. I started on .5 mg.'s the first few days. After 2-3 nights of sleeping, my body caught up and I couldn't sleep again. The prescription was bumped up another .5 Mg's every time my body adjusted and the disorder came back. It took me about a month before I couldn't sleep at all and the dosage was up to 5 mg.'s every night.
I went to dialysis one morning at 7 a.m. feeling as if my skin would crawl off of my body. While I was trapped in my chair with my blood being cleaned by a machine, I started shaking, my heart palpitating and my skin crawling. I fought the sensations of my body attacking for the next few hours until the nurses at dialysis sent me to the hospital to get some help.
On the examination table in the E.R., I was told I was detoxing from the adovan and they'd give me some more to stop the reaction and I'd need to increase my dosage again.
My body had trapped me again. Maybe it was 'medically necessary' because I had an issue that could only be dealt with medically. It didn't matter. I was shackled to a drug, a drug that relieved other problems but that now was in complete control of my sanity and well-being.
I refused the adovan and stopped the prescription.
I wish I could tell you the drug wore off and I went back to my life. It didn't. I was awake for five days straight. My skin crawled. I cried, thrashed, soaked in hot and cold showers and prayed round the clock. All these years later, I still have sleeping problems. For different reasons, but the result is the same...sometimes I don't sleep for more than a few hours at night. The chains are broken, and I'll never go back to those confines. I could sleep more and better if I took the medicine. I could find a different prescription that was less addictive, but I won't.
Actual physical wounds aren't healed with the prescriptions, the pain is just deadened. Deadened pain is a blessing for those of us who live with it constantly. The problem is...everything else ends up deadened too. Thoughts, emotions, the influence of The Holy Spirit, the voice of The Savior and the quiet love and peace The Lord offers.
Healing deeper wounds of shame, self-hatred, feelings of failure and the fear of being too broken to love can't be fixed with drugs. To heal the wounds of the heart and the scars of the soul, one must fall at The Savior's feet. Fight the forces tearing at your body and break the shackles of numbing temporary balms.
Yes, it will be painful, healing hurts. Finding freedom, in any part of life comes when we surrender to God and let Him heal us.
Healing will not free you from your problems, injuries and diseases. It will bring you peace and strength to fight, thrive and succeed in your life. No one knows the extent of your pain and so no one can understand what is necessary for you to function. If you find yourself depending more and more on the medication and withdrawing from your relationship with God, turn to Him and those who love you, during your pain and frustration and ask for help to hang on.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Practice makes...Purified
Last week my teenaged sons went to the DMV to take the written test for
their driving permits. One of them got his the first time he took the
exam, with exactly enough correct answers. The other studied, took it
twice and missed by only a few. Neither one of them can drive without
their Dad having heart palpitations and contemplating reverting to horse
drawn buggies.For the next year or so they'll get the chance to
practice. And by the time their permits expire, they'll be perfect
drivers and everyone on the roads will be safe.Right? I don't know about
you, but from my blind side of the car, it's not safe out there.I was a
horrible driver when I could see and super lucky when I drove with
impaired vision.Yes...I drove half blind. The good news is I don't drive
at all anymore. I learned something.I think that's the purpose of
practice. Not so we become perfect drivers before we turn ourselves or
our kids loose on the roads and highways, but so that we become smarter
driver's by practicing. The tragic truth is that we crash, total
vehicles, hurt ourselves...and others sometimes, and we become purified,
not perfected.When I took my driver's test. I passed the written with
flying colors. It took me three tries to pass the driving portion. I've
been in a half dozen accidents, driven in New York City, California, and
my little hometown with the same results. I learned, wrecked cars, got
injured and eventually lost my drivers license. I've hit other cars,
been hit by other drivers, been run down as a pedestrian, got lost in
The Bronx...at night and ended up with a road sign on top of my
truck.I'm a much better driver now, because I don't drive. My driving
skills have significantly improved. I don't crash. I don't hurt myself
or others and I don't make mistakes with a 2 ton chunk of deadly
metal.The saying goes that life is a highway, so lets put our driving
skills to work in our road back to Heavenly Father. We're so busy trying
to be perfect drivers that we forget to be purified people. Perfection
isn't the goal. Safety, happiness, travel and reaching our destination
is what matters. Does it matter how you get there? You bet it does. Its
the trip you take that makes the memories. Maybe you started out just
hoping you'd get across town and ended up in a ditch somewhere instead.
You haven't failed. You're never going to cross town again, or you're
just going to do a better job next time?The desire for perfection is an
empty pursuit and only ends in heartache. Instead work towards
purification. The ability to react calmly when the road gets rough. The
ability to pull off the side of the road when the weather is too
dangerous. The work faith and humility to wreck, put things back
together, heal and try again. You may not be the greatest driver in the
end. You may end up like me, just satisfied not to be causing accidents.
Either way, you're better and so is the road around you.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Run Faster Than You Are Able
With a 34 year history of health problems ranging from my eyes throughout my major organs and ending all the way at a toe on my left foot that stopped growing when I was 14 years old. running has never been on my bucket list. My husband is a runner. He's competed in the St. George Marathon. He runs to relax, work-out, and treat his asthma. If someone tells me "we should run together" I look over my shoulder to see what's chasing me. Even then, It'll take me a minute to decide if running away is worth it.
Walking? Climbing? Hiking? Activities I sincerely enjoy, but most people I go with do not enjoy having me along. Until I received a borrowed pancreas last year, it was too much for me to do more than walk. Over the last year I've enjoyed hiking again. I went all over West Yellow Stone with my family only two months after surgery. Okay, I wasn't the poster child for the National Forest or anything...but I did it. We finally took our kids to Disneyland and I did two back-toback days all over the park with only sore feet and an extreme dislike for standing in line. Hiking and Zip-lining in Mexico a few months ago was the most fun I've had in years. My body is supporting me for the first time in over three decades and I forget it still has limits.
Last Saturday, I got the crazy idea to go on a hike with Erik and my boys. It was 2:30 in the afternoon. The temperature here in our corner of the desert was nearly 100 degrees and Erik was hesitant. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes and I should've listened...I didn't of course.
The hike was only three miles round trip. It was a well cared for trail. I could do it!
Well, the second we stepped into the driveway and I felt the heat I tried to back out. It was too late. I'd promised the kids, we were all ready to go and Erik knows when I start to doubt, what I need is a swift kick in my butt.
Off we went.
It was just as I should've known. The heat was so intense, my poor borrowed organs mutinied and i barely could walk. I tripped over every stone and crack in the lava. My missing kneecap took a sabbatical and my one remaining leg turned to Jalapeno Jam. Burning hot and mushy. I made it about 3/4 of the way before I had Erik prop me in the shade of a rock and take the kids the rest of the way.
As I prayed for the strength to get back to the car, I wondered why this seemingly short romp across a lava ridge about did me in? Yeah, there were obstacles, but 'come-on' that's just life. Why did I feel my strength had failed me?
That little voice, my conscious or my Savior, whispered the answers. "Do not run faster than you have strength."
It wasn't my body which failed me. It was me who failed my body.
Between the two weeks I've been fighting a monster head cold, and my foray into my own Mt. Everest, I hadn't slept through the night in a week. My blood count was low and I was waiting to recieve IV Iron. I was only sleeping about 4 hours, coughing the rest of the night and I was eating only enough to take my medicine and stay alive.
Life does not take from us anything we don't willingly surrender. It throws problems, obstacles and trials in our path. It is only when we give up on the vessel we've been given, that it gives up on us.
Your body will fail you, tell you no more, and refuse to do what you want. Have you ever wondered what it is that you want that is more important than taking care of you?
Yes, your fllor being dirty may drive you crazy...today. It'll drive you crazy even longer if you break down before you take care of yourself and eventually the floor.
One of the things I've learned over...well, my life, is that there is more to us than what physical capacity. When your body starts to tell you it can't or won't do what you want, find out what's inside you. Find out what you can offer the worl outside of what your body can do.
I'll hike again. In cooler temperatures, with more strength, and better prepared. I still won't be any one's inspiration of strength. I'll do it to remind myself that I'm more than borrowed organs, broken and missing body parts and a stubborn blind lady. I hope people see more of the real me. I hope the physical part of me is not who I really am. I guess I'll never know unless I polish more than my body.
Walking? Climbing? Hiking? Activities I sincerely enjoy, but most people I go with do not enjoy having me along. Until I received a borrowed pancreas last year, it was too much for me to do more than walk. Over the last year I've enjoyed hiking again. I went all over West Yellow Stone with my family only two months after surgery. Okay, I wasn't the poster child for the National Forest or anything...but I did it. We finally took our kids to Disneyland and I did two back-toback days all over the park with only sore feet and an extreme dislike for standing in line. Hiking and Zip-lining in Mexico a few months ago was the most fun I've had in years. My body is supporting me for the first time in over three decades and I forget it still has limits.
Last Saturday, I got the crazy idea to go on a hike with Erik and my boys. It was 2:30 in the afternoon. The temperature here in our corner of the desert was nearly 100 degrees and Erik was hesitant. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes and I should've listened...I didn't of course.
The hike was only three miles round trip. It was a well cared for trail. I could do it!
Well, the second we stepped into the driveway and I felt the heat I tried to back out. It was too late. I'd promised the kids, we were all ready to go and Erik knows when I start to doubt, what I need is a swift kick in my butt.
Off we went.
It was just as I should've known. The heat was so intense, my poor borrowed organs mutinied and i barely could walk. I tripped over every stone and crack in the lava. My missing kneecap took a sabbatical and my one remaining leg turned to Jalapeno Jam. Burning hot and mushy. I made it about 3/4 of the way before I had Erik prop me in the shade of a rock and take the kids the rest of the way.
As I prayed for the strength to get back to the car, I wondered why this seemingly short romp across a lava ridge about did me in? Yeah, there were obstacles, but 'come-on' that's just life. Why did I feel my strength had failed me?
That little voice, my conscious or my Savior, whispered the answers. "Do not run faster than you have strength."
It wasn't my body which failed me. It was me who failed my body.
Between the two weeks I've been fighting a monster head cold, and my foray into my own Mt. Everest, I hadn't slept through the night in a week. My blood count was low and I was waiting to recieve IV Iron. I was only sleeping about 4 hours, coughing the rest of the night and I was eating only enough to take my medicine and stay alive.
Life does not take from us anything we don't willingly surrender. It throws problems, obstacles and trials in our path. It is only when we give up on the vessel we've been given, that it gives up on us.
Your body will fail you, tell you no more, and refuse to do what you want. Have you ever wondered what it is that you want that is more important than taking care of you?
Yes, your fllor being dirty may drive you crazy...today. It'll drive you crazy even longer if you break down before you take care of yourself and eventually the floor.
One of the things I've learned over...well, my life, is that there is more to us than what physical capacity. When your body starts to tell you it can't or won't do what you want, find out what's inside you. Find out what you can offer the worl outside of what your body can do.
I'll hike again. In cooler temperatures, with more strength, and better prepared. I still won't be any one's inspiration of strength. I'll do it to remind myself that I'm more than borrowed organs, broken and missing body parts and a stubborn blind lady. I hope people see more of the real me. I hope the physical part of me is not who I really am. I guess I'll never know unless I polish more than my body.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Outside My Window
The longest twelve weeks of my life were spent in a room with two walls made of glass. I was 4 stories in the air and looking out on the hustle and bustle of the city for nearly three months. I was also confined to a bed, 6 months pregnant and on the verge of losing my kidney function and my baby.
I don't know if the nurses felt sorry for me or if they just wanted me to have enough light with my diminished eyesight, but I was put in a room in Utah Valley Regional Medical Center with half of the room a giant window.
When I was first admitted, I was scared and willing to do about anything they asked to save my own life and that of my baby's. After 8 weeks of watching "the world" go past my window seat...literally, I was done.
I was trapped in a bed. bored out of my mind. Often alone for long hours. I was sick, swollen, allergic to my pregnancy and tearing holes in my skin at night because the rash on my legs was so bad. The food was tasteless. The bed was hard and my body was shutting down. We'd moved to Provo for just this contingency and having been hospitalized, my husband couldn't work. Every day they told us...Not today, but maybe tomorrow. Don't go anywhere. Between blood draws, high blood pressure, round the clock insulin injections, whirlpool treatments for my torn skin and melon sized hands and feet from kidney failure. I couldn't take anymore.
My husband who'd been by my side the entire time tried to comfort me, but I couldn't be soothed. The nurses who took care of me around the clock tried to tell me how important every day was to the baby's survival, but it seemed hopeless. My doctors tried to tell me it would only be a few more days, but I knew better.
Until the day I gained perspective because of those giant windows.
My husband had gone to find himself some food and I was sitting by the windows, wishing desperately to join the world passing by. I could see just enough at that time to watch people on the grounds, cars on the road and children playing on the grass outside. Despair at my plight overwhelmed me. The desire to get out of my wheelchair and just walk out the doors was so powerful I clutched the side-rails to keep myself from doing so. The last straw was a couple carrying a wrapped bundle from the hospital, putting it in a stroller and walking down the sidewalk outside my window.
I backed away from the windows and crawled back into my bed to cry. When my husband came back, I was distraught and inconsolable. As he sat beside me, trying to dry my tears and buoy me up again, a commotion broke out from the room next door.
The woman in the room beside mine was only 16 weeks along. She had more than 20 weeks to go and she was pretty miserable as well. When her cries and tears spilled from the room, along with gown clad doctors and nurses, I knew she wasn't miserable over her upcoming long stay. Her cries were of pain, grief and despair. She'd gone in to labor again and the doctors couldn't stop it.
A few hours later, a nurse slipped from her room with another tiny bundle, this one far too small and still. One little foot protruded from beneath the blanket so pale and lifeless I choked on my own breath.
She checked out of the hospital the next day. She went home to her life, her car, her world outside my window. She went home without her baby.
At times in my life when my heart is breaking because I can't have what I think are the deepest desires of my soul, I remember the difference between the worlds in and outside my window. It is not what is happening for others that makes the other side of the glass look so perfect. It is our perception of what is happening on our side.
My husband spent three months, not eating, sleeping on a lumpy mattress and going stir crazy so he didn't leave me alone. dozens of kind, caring, wonderful doctors and nurses took care of my baby when my body refused to do it. I didn't deliver my son until I was 34 weeks into my pregnancy. He was purple, not breathing, and unresponsive, but he lived. My world was never outside that window. It was inside. the blessings, fortune, and love of God kept my world spinning when it would have been so easy for me to join the outside world like my neighbor had to.
If your world seems, small, lonely and empty, maybe its because your focusing outside your window when everything you need is on your side of the glass.
I don't know if the nurses felt sorry for me or if they just wanted me to have enough light with my diminished eyesight, but I was put in a room in Utah Valley Regional Medical Center with half of the room a giant window.
When I was first admitted, I was scared and willing to do about anything they asked to save my own life and that of my baby's. After 8 weeks of watching "the world" go past my window seat...literally, I was done.
I was trapped in a bed. bored out of my mind. Often alone for long hours. I was sick, swollen, allergic to my pregnancy and tearing holes in my skin at night because the rash on my legs was so bad. The food was tasteless. The bed was hard and my body was shutting down. We'd moved to Provo for just this contingency and having been hospitalized, my husband couldn't work. Every day they told us...Not today, but maybe tomorrow. Don't go anywhere. Between blood draws, high blood pressure, round the clock insulin injections, whirlpool treatments for my torn skin and melon sized hands and feet from kidney failure. I couldn't take anymore.
My husband who'd been by my side the entire time tried to comfort me, but I couldn't be soothed. The nurses who took care of me around the clock tried to tell me how important every day was to the baby's survival, but it seemed hopeless. My doctors tried to tell me it would only be a few more days, but I knew better.
Until the day I gained perspective because of those giant windows.
My husband had gone to find himself some food and I was sitting by the windows, wishing desperately to join the world passing by. I could see just enough at that time to watch people on the grounds, cars on the road and children playing on the grass outside. Despair at my plight overwhelmed me. The desire to get out of my wheelchair and just walk out the doors was so powerful I clutched the side-rails to keep myself from doing so. The last straw was a couple carrying a wrapped bundle from the hospital, putting it in a stroller and walking down the sidewalk outside my window.
I backed away from the windows and crawled back into my bed to cry. When my husband came back, I was distraught and inconsolable. As he sat beside me, trying to dry my tears and buoy me up again, a commotion broke out from the room next door.
The woman in the room beside mine was only 16 weeks along. She had more than 20 weeks to go and she was pretty miserable as well. When her cries and tears spilled from the room, along with gown clad doctors and nurses, I knew she wasn't miserable over her upcoming long stay. Her cries were of pain, grief and despair. She'd gone in to labor again and the doctors couldn't stop it.
A few hours later, a nurse slipped from her room with another tiny bundle, this one far too small and still. One little foot protruded from beneath the blanket so pale and lifeless I choked on my own breath.
She checked out of the hospital the next day. She went home to her life, her car, her world outside my window. She went home without her baby.
At times in my life when my heart is breaking because I can't have what I think are the deepest desires of my soul, I remember the difference between the worlds in and outside my window. It is not what is happening for others that makes the other side of the glass look so perfect. It is our perception of what is happening on our side.
My husband spent three months, not eating, sleeping on a lumpy mattress and going stir crazy so he didn't leave me alone. dozens of kind, caring, wonderful doctors and nurses took care of my baby when my body refused to do it. I didn't deliver my son until I was 34 weeks into my pregnancy. He was purple, not breathing, and unresponsive, but he lived. My world was never outside that window. It was inside. the blessings, fortune, and love of God kept my world spinning when it would have been so easy for me to join the outside world like my neighbor had to.
If your world seems, small, lonely and empty, maybe its because your focusing outside your window when everything you need is on your side of the glass.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Take A Blind Lady and A15-Year-Old Driver and What Do You Get?
My last and final foray into driving motorized vehicles was 18 years ago. Armed with good intentions, chocolate chip cookies and my "blind" faith, I drove for the last time.
This past week, my husband was out of town. He left two days earlier than I planned and forgot to pick up my prescriptions before he went to Las Vegas for the week. Wednesday morning I had a doctor's appointment and one of the prescriptions had to be taken the night before and the morning of my appointment.
What's a blind lady to do?
Fear not. I knew better than to drive myself. After calling and texting a half dozen people, I was desperate to get to the pharmacy. My teenage boys, one 15 and one 16, don't have driver's licenses. My husband has been teaching them to drive and letting them drive between the house and church, a distance of about three blocks.
My oldest was at work, but my 15-yr.-old came home from school, and I needed help. I only had two hours to make a trip that takes about three hours on the bus and about 30 minutes in a car. Hence an idea was hatched.
Using only residential roads, and going no more than 25 miles per hour my teenage son could make the 5 mile drive.
After going over the rules, the important parts of the car and the things he needed to watch for, we prayed and took off.
He was great! Careful, aware, talked to me and told me evrything he could see all around him. I paid attention to his speed, the turn of the car and the passing traffic, things I could feel and hear. We made it to the pharmacy and home again with both our car, our lives and our relationship in tact.
Before we left I had only two stipulations.
1- He couldn't drive on Sunset Boulevard. A busy 4 lane road.
2- He couldn't drive on Snow Canyon Parkway, another 4 lane-too busy-road.
Somehow, during our casual, tension free foray into the next town, my instructions to park at Linn's Grocery store was translated to "Park at Albertson's"
These two buildings are across Sunset Blvd. from each other.Suddenly my instructions to not drive on that road were tossed out because he HAD to cross Sunset Boulevard. The miraculous part is...he did it, without any problems. He did it so well, in fact I only found out we'd gone on Sunset after he'd parked.
With the pharmacy taken care of, I told him we'd get some dinner while we waited for a refill. This time when I said "We'll go to Albertson's, its just a block away and on the same side of the road." He translated it to."The grocery store on the other side of the road."
Before I knew it, he's pulling out into four lanes of on-coming traffic on the very road I told him not to drive on. A few honks and unhappy driver's later we blocked traffic, butted our way into the opposite lane and we parked on the other side of the road.
Shaken, a little unsettled and knowing we could have been killed, I made him walk back to the pharmacy for the final prescription before we returned home. At this point I understood that we were at Albertson's in the first place, not Linn's and when I said go to Albertsons he thought I was sending him across the busy road. Once we cleared up our miscommunication, I told him to take the side roads back home and STAY OFF SUNSET BLVD.
He promised and once again, we were headed for disaster.
Instead of taking the route I told him, he said he knew a road that would join up with the residential neighborhoods. A few minutes and 45 miles per hour later, we are zooming down the other, busy, four lane road, I specifically told him not to take. After he cut off another driver and the unhappy motorist tailgated, swore at us and flipped us off. I realized we were on the wrong road again.
To no one's surprise, my husband wasn't happy with me, my ability to make good decisions or my willingness to involve our children in my insane antics.
All of this trouble boils down to one thing...I think of myself as 'normal' while knowing I'm not. I've never pretended to be sighted, just capable. Knowing and having limitations are entirely different things.
There is a scripture in Corithians which says-"I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me."
I firmly, and without question believe that. Driving with my teenage son and completely blind doesn't sound like moving mountains to me. It sounds reasonable. A little out-of-the-ordinary, but reasonable.
My husband calls it insanity. I just call it faith.
The problem is...even things done in faith have consequences. Accidents happen. Circumstances collide with well-meaning individuals. Life happens while you're making other plans. The strength to deal with it comes from The Savior. A powerful relationship with Him doesn't protect you from life. It only makes it so you can live through it, heal, and find happiness. Easy words when my son and I returned home safely. Harder when disaster strikes. The lord knows you and loves you. Whatever you think you can't do...he knows that too. He knows what gaps, weaknesses and failings He must fill in. Always remember-
You Can Do This because He can do anything.
After all...If God is on your side, does it matter who isn't?
This past week, my husband was out of town. He left two days earlier than I planned and forgot to pick up my prescriptions before he went to Las Vegas for the week. Wednesday morning I had a doctor's appointment and one of the prescriptions had to be taken the night before and the morning of my appointment.
What's a blind lady to do?
Fear not. I knew better than to drive myself. After calling and texting a half dozen people, I was desperate to get to the pharmacy. My teenage boys, one 15 and one 16, don't have driver's licenses. My husband has been teaching them to drive and letting them drive between the house and church, a distance of about three blocks.
My oldest was at work, but my 15-yr.-old came home from school, and I needed help. I only had two hours to make a trip that takes about three hours on the bus and about 30 minutes in a car. Hence an idea was hatched.
Using only residential roads, and going no more than 25 miles per hour my teenage son could make the 5 mile drive.
After going over the rules, the important parts of the car and the things he needed to watch for, we prayed and took off.
He was great! Careful, aware, talked to me and told me evrything he could see all around him. I paid attention to his speed, the turn of the car and the passing traffic, things I could feel and hear. We made it to the pharmacy and home again with both our car, our lives and our relationship in tact.
Before we left I had only two stipulations.
1- He couldn't drive on Sunset Boulevard. A busy 4 lane road.
2- He couldn't drive on Snow Canyon Parkway, another 4 lane-too busy-road.
Somehow, during our casual, tension free foray into the next town, my instructions to park at Linn's Grocery store was translated to "Park at Albertson's"
These two buildings are across Sunset Blvd. from each other.Suddenly my instructions to not drive on that road were tossed out because he HAD to cross Sunset Boulevard. The miraculous part is...he did it, without any problems. He did it so well, in fact I only found out we'd gone on Sunset after he'd parked.
With the pharmacy taken care of, I told him we'd get some dinner while we waited for a refill. This time when I said "We'll go to Albertson's, its just a block away and on the same side of the road." He translated it to."The grocery store on the other side of the road."
Before I knew it, he's pulling out into four lanes of on-coming traffic on the very road I told him not to drive on. A few honks and unhappy driver's later we blocked traffic, butted our way into the opposite lane and we parked on the other side of the road.
Shaken, a little unsettled and knowing we could have been killed, I made him walk back to the pharmacy for the final prescription before we returned home. At this point I understood that we were at Albertson's in the first place, not Linn's and when I said go to Albertsons he thought I was sending him across the busy road. Once we cleared up our miscommunication, I told him to take the side roads back home and STAY OFF SUNSET BLVD.
He promised and once again, we were headed for disaster.
Instead of taking the route I told him, he said he knew a road that would join up with the residential neighborhoods. A few minutes and 45 miles per hour later, we are zooming down the other, busy, four lane road, I specifically told him not to take. After he cut off another driver and the unhappy motorist tailgated, swore at us and flipped us off. I realized we were on the wrong road again.
To no one's surprise, my husband wasn't happy with me, my ability to make good decisions or my willingness to involve our children in my insane antics.
All of this trouble boils down to one thing...I think of myself as 'normal' while knowing I'm not. I've never pretended to be sighted, just capable. Knowing and having limitations are entirely different things.
There is a scripture in Corithians which says-"I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me."
I firmly, and without question believe that. Driving with my teenage son and completely blind doesn't sound like moving mountains to me. It sounds reasonable. A little out-of-the-ordinary, but reasonable.
My husband calls it insanity. I just call it faith.
The problem is...even things done in faith have consequences. Accidents happen. Circumstances collide with well-meaning individuals. Life happens while you're making other plans. The strength to deal with it comes from The Savior. A powerful relationship with Him doesn't protect you from life. It only makes it so you can live through it, heal, and find happiness. Easy words when my son and I returned home safely. Harder when disaster strikes. The lord knows you and loves you. Whatever you think you can't do...he knows that too. He knows what gaps, weaknesses and failings He must fill in. Always remember-
You Can Do This because He can do anything.
After all...If God is on your side, does it matter who isn't?
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Black Day
My father taught me years ago that time is a flexible entity without beginning or end. As humans we label this flexible non-congruent factor so our finite minds can understand an infinite concept.
I wrapped my mind around that in differing degrees and at different times but no more so than this past few weeks.
On September 11, 2001, the world stopped turning and life as we know it changed forever. That date will forever be seared in many of our minds. On September 11, 2009, I received a kidney from my older brother. My world that was starting to turn more slowly than ever before catapulted me into a place I never thought I'd be. A place where I had a future. On September 11, three years later, I received and then lost a pancreas transplant when I bled into my stomach and the transplanted organ died. The lowest I've ever been in my life since my father's death, was on that day.
Black Day, for my family for the past 26 years has been May 2, 1989, the day I found my father's dead body on the front lawn after school. Some years were dark and painful. Black being the most accurate description I had. Some years we cried, remembered, held on to one another and survived. Some we laughed, missed him, and kept holding on. This past year, May 2, 2014, I was in the hospital with a tube in my stomach, recovering from another pancreas transplant. Once again being offered a future I was never supposed to have.
This year I spent "Black Day" with my donor's family. I laughed with his sister. Adored his funny, strong, caring younger brother. worried about his unborn niece or nephew. Shopped with his fiance and hugged his mom and dad until they probably wondered how they'd get rid of me. It was a "black day" in many ways, marking my father, as well as Colby's deaths. Perhaps in the future this day will be labeled by something besides the loss of loved ones. Perhaps, someday, this day will be the beginning of new families, friends and memories for all of us.
For now, if the day is a bit black, it is merely the void of our own lives we remember those we love sharing with us and look forward to the time when they, themselves will fill it once more. A little blackness makes the light much brighter, gives us the dawn to look forward to and reminds us that even in the darkest of nights, God leaves the stars on so we are never alone in the dark.
This black day a few more lights came on in my darkness. A few more lights and lives touched mine and left their flames burning in my soul. I still miss my dad fiercely, the ache that accompanies his absence has never gone away. The lights of others soften the darkness, bring light love and laughter and make each day a little less black.
My light still burns because of the tapestry of love and labels woven through time. Each flame lights the world every time I share it, and by those who light up my life, and fill the darkness until the day will no longer be black.
I wrapped my mind around that in differing degrees and at different times but no more so than this past few weeks.
On September 11, 2001, the world stopped turning and life as we know it changed forever. That date will forever be seared in many of our minds. On September 11, 2009, I received a kidney from my older brother. My world that was starting to turn more slowly than ever before catapulted me into a place I never thought I'd be. A place where I had a future. On September 11, three years later, I received and then lost a pancreas transplant when I bled into my stomach and the transplanted organ died. The lowest I've ever been in my life since my father's death, was on that day.
Black Day, for my family for the past 26 years has been May 2, 1989, the day I found my father's dead body on the front lawn after school. Some years were dark and painful. Black being the most accurate description I had. Some years we cried, remembered, held on to one another and survived. Some we laughed, missed him, and kept holding on. This past year, May 2, 2014, I was in the hospital with a tube in my stomach, recovering from another pancreas transplant. Once again being offered a future I was never supposed to have.
This year I spent "Black Day" with my donor's family. I laughed with his sister. Adored his funny, strong, caring younger brother. worried about his unborn niece or nephew. Shopped with his fiance and hugged his mom and dad until they probably wondered how they'd get rid of me. It was a "black day" in many ways, marking my father, as well as Colby's deaths. Perhaps in the future this day will be labeled by something besides the loss of loved ones. Perhaps, someday, this day will be the beginning of new families, friends and memories for all of us.
For now, if the day is a bit black, it is merely the void of our own lives we remember those we love sharing with us and look forward to the time when they, themselves will fill it once more. A little blackness makes the light much brighter, gives us the dawn to look forward to and reminds us that even in the darkest of nights, God leaves the stars on so we are never alone in the dark.
This black day a few more lights came on in my darkness. A few more lights and lives touched mine and left their flames burning in my soul. I still miss my dad fiercely, the ache that accompanies his absence has never gone away. The lights of others soften the darkness, bring light love and laughter and make each day a little less black.
My light still burns because of the tapestry of love and labels woven through time. Each flame lights the world every time I share it, and by those who light up my life, and fill the darkness until the day will no longer be black.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Sweet Sixteen
Tomorrow, is my oldest son's sixteenth birthday. His road so far has been a long and difficult one, especially considering he is so young. Between his start in Western Africa, knee deep in war, starvation, and violence, and his thrust into the United States where survival means learning to do more than find food, shelter and safety, the last decade and a half have tried all our faith.
Now, at sixteen, he looks forward to what most kids do...Dating, Driving, part time jobs, High School and an independent future. The world we live in is not as hard as the one he came from. It is far more complex, confusing and convoluted. Simple survival was easier and his struggle over the last 16 years has thrown him into a world of relationships, behaviors and thinking that is more foreign to him than the little desert town in which we live. Its been a battle for the whole family, but so entrenched was he in his old thinking, it was a disaster for him.
Love, patience and long suffering was necessary on all our parts, but no more so for us than for him.
The fight isn't over, its just beginning. However, after all the battles, the successes and failings and the broken minds and hearts along the way. This, his sixteenth birthday, is sweet.
He is working, keeping up in school, functioning and thriving socially and behaviorally and bonding with the family. It isn't perfect, what part of life is? What teenager doesn't struggle to find their way in the world?
A mere year and a half ago, I was searching the streets after he'd runaway. Two years ago he was in jail. Six months ago he was missing again. Today, he is on his way to work, on public transportation, unaccompanied and capable. These may not be hurdles for anyone else. For Him, they are monumental. A kid who dug for food in garbage cans, protected himself with sharpened pieces of metal and mistrusted anyone who came near, now has friends, co-workers, teachers and brothers who love and adore him. He is climbing the mountain and reaching for dreams for the first time.
As bitter sweet as your life has been, Joshua, you are a brilliant, beautiful, fantastic kid. Never forget how sweet success can be. I love you, bud. Happy Birthday!
Now, at sixteen, he looks forward to what most kids do...Dating, Driving, part time jobs, High School and an independent future. The world we live in is not as hard as the one he came from. It is far more complex, confusing and convoluted. Simple survival was easier and his struggle over the last 16 years has thrown him into a world of relationships, behaviors and thinking that is more foreign to him than the little desert town in which we live. Its been a battle for the whole family, but so entrenched was he in his old thinking, it was a disaster for him.
Love, patience and long suffering was necessary on all our parts, but no more so for us than for him.
The fight isn't over, its just beginning. However, after all the battles, the successes and failings and the broken minds and hearts along the way. This, his sixteenth birthday, is sweet.
He is working, keeping up in school, functioning and thriving socially and behaviorally and bonding with the family. It isn't perfect, what part of life is? What teenager doesn't struggle to find their way in the world?
A mere year and a half ago, I was searching the streets after he'd runaway. Two years ago he was in jail. Six months ago he was missing again. Today, he is on his way to work, on public transportation, unaccompanied and capable. These may not be hurdles for anyone else. For Him, they are monumental. A kid who dug for food in garbage cans, protected himself with sharpened pieces of metal and mistrusted anyone who came near, now has friends, co-workers, teachers and brothers who love and adore him. He is climbing the mountain and reaching for dreams for the first time.
As bitter sweet as your life has been, Joshua, you are a brilliant, beautiful, fantastic kid. Never forget how sweet success can be. I love you, bud. Happy Birthday!
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
I Met My Deceased Donor Today
My tears fell with her very first words. "I am the mother of your donor."
For the last year, I've prayed for, thought about, sent thoughts, prayers and hope for healing to these people, but today they became real. He had a name. He was 28 years old with a fiance, parents, a brother, two sisters and a myriad of friends and family who were crushed by his death. He loved music, playing instruments, making jokes, serving others and being with the people he loved. He had a motorcycle nick-named "black nasty". He camped, sang and laughed with people who were left behind to figure out how to go on without him. I have a little piece of his mortal remains, living and working inside my body. It gives me a chance at a future I never would have had without it. A future which belongs to me now and feels emptier to his loved ones. I can laugh and love and teach my children because I'll live long enough to impact their lives. A gift that belongs to me now, and one his family must do without.
A pancreas transplant is not considered a life saving procedure, a cure, or even the end of a diabetic's health problems. For me...this pancreas was all of those things and more.
His gift to me was weddings, graduations, grandchildren, and anniversaries that I will celebrate and he never will.
My mother doesn't have to bury one of her children. My husband doesn't have to find a way to be both mom and dad. My kids don't have to learn about the finality that comes with death or the faith it takes to lose someone and wait for the resurrection. His parents, siblings and fiance must learn those painful lessons.
I don't know if he wanted to make this kind of sacrifice for me, but because he did, we are forever bonded. A huge part of me wished I'd known his heart and soul instead of just his organ. A part of my heart grieves for his family and can't imagine how I could accept such a gift from a loving generous being, like him. Perhaps its better that he and I will meet after this life so I can thank him properly. I'm certain I couldn't have asked or thanked him before the fateful night which changed both our lives.
I pray my friend, that my life will be a fulfillment of your hopes, dreams, and desires, as a way to thank you for your gift. I hope someday to wrap my arms around you and let you feel the depth of my gratitude. I hope your family and friends are as proud of the life you've given me as they were proud of you.
A parent should never bury a child. Yet, your family worked through this horrible ordeal and still thought of my life, my future and my family. "Greater love hath no man."
Thank you Colby. May God bless you and all those you love.
For the last year, I've prayed for, thought about, sent thoughts, prayers and hope for healing to these people, but today they became real. He had a name. He was 28 years old with a fiance, parents, a brother, two sisters and a myriad of friends and family who were crushed by his death. He loved music, playing instruments, making jokes, serving others and being with the people he loved. He had a motorcycle nick-named "black nasty". He camped, sang and laughed with people who were left behind to figure out how to go on without him. I have a little piece of his mortal remains, living and working inside my body. It gives me a chance at a future I never would have had without it. A future which belongs to me now and feels emptier to his loved ones. I can laugh and love and teach my children because I'll live long enough to impact their lives. A gift that belongs to me now, and one his family must do without.
A pancreas transplant is not considered a life saving procedure, a cure, or even the end of a diabetic's health problems. For me...this pancreas was all of those things and more.
His gift to me was weddings, graduations, grandchildren, and anniversaries that I will celebrate and he never will.
My mother doesn't have to bury one of her children. My husband doesn't have to find a way to be both mom and dad. My kids don't have to learn about the finality that comes with death or the faith it takes to lose someone and wait for the resurrection. His parents, siblings and fiance must learn those painful lessons.
I don't know if he wanted to make this kind of sacrifice for me, but because he did, we are forever bonded. A huge part of me wished I'd known his heart and soul instead of just his organ. A part of my heart grieves for his family and can't imagine how I could accept such a gift from a loving generous being, like him. Perhaps its better that he and I will meet after this life so I can thank him properly. I'm certain I couldn't have asked or thanked him before the fateful night which changed both our lives.
I pray my friend, that my life will be a fulfillment of your hopes, dreams, and desires, as a way to thank you for your gift. I hope someday to wrap my arms around you and let you feel the depth of my gratitude. I hope your family and friends are as proud of the life you've given me as they were proud of you.
A parent should never bury a child. Yet, your family worked through this horrible ordeal and still thought of my life, my future and my family. "Greater love hath no man."
Thank you Colby. May God bless you and all those you love.
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