Melissa said, "Pain hurts!"

I know this tittle may seem redundant, but it is the only thing that sounded right as I have been contemplating this post.  Pain is real and it is a thief.  When succumbed to it can steal your happiness, joy, friends, family, job, and any number of other things.  It is physical and it is emotional, the latter sometimes the more difficult to deal with.  Pain has kept me from writing this blog for the last few weeks and really what prompted me to choose this as my current topic.

Physical pain is awful.  Whether it is a paper cut or a broken bone, pain can ruin your day.  Physical pain has become an intimate part of my life for the past 2 years.  I have dealt with mind numbing, screaming pain (my two spinal taps come to mind) and I have dealt with constant, just under the surface pain that you almost get used to.  For going on three weeks I have been dealing with a migraine that extends down into the left side of my neck.  I have not had a migraine like this is in probably 15 years.  Physical pain is like that, it can hit you like a ton of bricks, be on you and then knock you on your butt.  It has drained me physically and made me very unmotivated, thus the lack of blog posts.  I also have constant physical pain in my feet.  My neuropathy creates a tingling, prickling pain in my feet all the time.  There are times when it hurts more, sometimes it hurts less, but it is always there.  To be very plain, it just sucks.  It sucks to not have a single day that you don't feel some kind of pain. Like I said before, physical pain is a thief that steals your motivation, physical activity, and emotional well being.  While you might not be able to do anything about the pain your are feeling, you can choose how to respond to it.  Even if I have to be in bed, I can choose how I treat my family and friends as I am going through that pain.

Emotional pain is trickier.  It can hurt just as much or more than physical pain.  Often physical pain can be the precursor to emotional pain.  I remember being in so much physical pain that emotionally I thought things would never get better, that I would never walk or move my legs again, that my life was essentially over.  Emotional pain can't be seen by others and is often not understood by those around us.  Emotional pain is an especially vicious thief in our lives.  It definitely steals our peace of mind, our joy, our love of life, friends, family members, and our ability to forgive.  I have people I do still consider friends as well as family that have let emotional pain take over their lives.  They have let things that have happened in their lives devastate them to the point that they are bitter and unable to forgive others.  They have cut loved ones out of their lives because they think they just can't forgive.  The Bible teaches us that in order to receive forgiveness we must be willing to forgive as well.  These people that just can't seem to find forgiveness in their hearts seem to forget that they have probably done things that need to be forgiven as well.  They let whatever pain they have experienced rob them of the joy of forgiving and receiving forgiveness in their lives.  One thing I have realized is that when we think of having to forgive others, sometimes the person that we REALLY need to forgive is ourselves.  You have to forgive yourself for your past wrongs, and only then can you start to heal yourself of the pain you are feeling.

Definitely the way you CHOOSE to react to emotional pain can either reduce or enhance your pain level.  I have seen people that have gone through things that are the most emotionally painful things a person can go through and come out of it either totally wrecked, or have used it to make them stronger.  I know people that have lost children, but choose to still find joy, still have purpose, and still be strong because they know that is what their loved one would have wanted.  I have seen others use it as an excuse to check out of life totally.  I have seen people who had horribly abusive childhoods come out as great parents and determined to give their children what they never had and I have seen people use it as an excuse to be terrible parents.  What bothers me the MOST are people that because of their pain say that they simply CANNOT change.  That because of whatever circumstances they have gone through they can't forgive, or can't be happy, or can't find joy.  I hate to be this blunt, but that is a bunch of bull.  If I know anything about the way God made human beings is that he made the human heart malleable, able to turn from darkness to light, and able to CHANGE if we CHOOSE to.  The key is that we have to choose it, we have to choose not to give in to our pain.  People who choose to let the pain rule their hearts do it because they get some kind of pay off for doing it.  It can be because they get attention, or self satisfaction, or even self esteem from this persona of a damaged person.  What they don't realize is there is so much more peace front letting go of the pain and working through it.

Now, after saying all of that, I know it is not easy.  It is not easy dealing with physical pain.  At this exact moment I am feeling some pretty intense pain, and it hurts, it wears me down, it is definitely not easy to deal with, but it can be done.  Emotional pain is even harder to get through.  I have deep seeded emotional issues that I still struggle with.  Some are always there, just under the surface like the pain in my feet and some things that I think I have licked then hit me like a ton of bricks like my migraine and I have to find a way to get through it.  It is hard, it is work, but it is worth it to free yourself of anger and bitterness, and unforgiveness.  In the end it is those things that will actually damage your soul, not the pain itself.

Melissa said, "Happy Mother's Day!

I have the best mama in the world.  I am sure (and hope) that most sons and daughters would say that about their mothers, but I really do. I do not know how I would have gotten through these past two years without my mother.  By this time in our lives I should be the one taking more care of her, not the other way around, but she has, and still is caring for me, and for Danny, and for anyone else who needs it for that matter.

My parents were born to be parents.  I have never met two people who are more in love with children than my mom and dad.  No doubt when the below picture was taken on their wedding day, they already had dreams of the family they would have.

Mom and Dad on their wedding Day

I will not go into details, but Mama did NOT have the best childhood at all.  Her mother married her stepfather when she was 8 years old.  They had 3 children very close together and my mom really was more of a mother to them as they grew up than their mother was a lot of the time.  Her stepfather was not a nice man and made my mother's childhood one that she does not like to remember.  I think because her childhood was so bad, she was that much more determined to make sure that her kids' childhoods would be loving, fun, and we would always feel safe.

Mama and her younger sister Theresa

Sadly, like myself, motherhood did not come easy for my mom.  She too struggled with infertility, but they decided to adopt instead, which is how my brother, David Lynn Hopkins Jr. came to be my mother's son.

Mom and David at 7 months old

Mom and David Now

Mom and Dad loved finally being parents, but as I said, they have an absolute love of children, and were not satisfied with just one child.  They waited awhile and thought that adoption would be the way they would again add to their family, however God had something else in mind and almost 9 years after they adopted David my mother found out she was pregnant with me, and BOY was she pregnant!  For such a little woman she got huge with me, I was an 8 pound, 9 ounce baby to boot.

Mom pregnant with me

It was when she was pregnant with me that my mother gained her nickname "Grumpy" because someone commented that to be that big and pregnant she MUST be Grumpy...but actually the opposite was true.  Mom tells me she loved being pregnant, she had little to no morning sickness and other than an intense craving for chocolate, she had a wonderful pregnancy.  My mother always told me that both her children were lucky.  David because when they could have no children, they got to PICK him to be their son. Me because when she thought she could never get pregnant, she got pregnant with me.  Because of our age difference both of us really got to be "only" children.  My brother got my mom all to himself for 9 years.  Once I was born he was starting to get to the age when having mom around all the time was not "cool" so then I got to have her mostly to myself for my younger years, and boy was I a Mama's girl.  My dad swears that my first words were "Mama do it!"  All run together like one word.  I always wanted my mom to hold me and do everything for me.

Mom holding me, a very frequent position for us to be in.

My Mama was and is awesome.  I was blessed to have her stay home with me, so anytime I was sick and needed to come home from school she was there.  She was there all summer.  She was there to go on every field trip, and be a room mom, and any other thing that would allow her to spend time with me.  I am SO grateful that I got to have this kind of childhood where my mom was there for everything.  My parents were always there for us and she was always available for a snuggle when I was scared, nothing ever said about having to get up for work the next day.

Snuggling in bed was always a fun activity.

As I grew up we remained close.  In fact, when Danny and I got married we lived with Mom and Dad for a few months.  We got along fine though, and I was grateful for Mom's company because Danny started our marriage working second shift.

My wedding, April 25, 1998.

As adults the close relationship we had when I was a child blossomed into a wonderful friendship.  I really do love spending time with my mom, and when I started breeding and showing cats she was my frequent traveling partner.  Danny would stay at home to care for the other cats and Mama would go with me to the cat shows and help me by marking the book or even chatting with spectators.  

Mama, me, and Smokey at On Safari in Portland, Oregon.

As much as she loves me, she adores her grandchildren.  My brother has given her two awesome grandkids, that are hardly kids anymore.  Keith and Kamryn were both born premature and she was on a plane to see them as soon as they were born.  Sadly, my brother lives in Oregon so as Keith and Kami have grown up (Keith is 20 and Kami is 17) she has missed so much more than she would like, but she lives to see pictures and stories on facebook and visits when she can.  I know one of her greatest sadnesses is that she missed so much with them as they grew up because we lived so far apart.  She was definitely born to be a mom, but her definite calling is being a grandma, no grandmother could adore their grandchildren like my mom does Keith and Kami.

Mom, Keith, and Kamryn.

Kamryn, Mom, and Keith.

Since I have been sick and have been living with Mom and Dad I do not know what I would have done without her.  She came everyday to the hospital to see me, did the work the nurses needed to be doing most of the time, never complained, hugged me when I cried, and is ALWAYS. here for me when I need her.  She is my best friend and I never tire of spending time with her.  I hope that one day I will overcome my own infertility so that I can give her grandchildren that she will be able to really watch grow up.  I want her to see first steps, hear first words, and be there for all the other firsts that will come along.  I pray everyday I will be able to give her this gift because NO children could have a better grandma, because no daughter could have a better mom.

Happy Mother's Day Mama!  I love you so much, thank you for everything you have done for me.  God could not have given me a better mother or a better friend.

Melissa said, "Happy anniversary baby....I've got you on my mind!"

Today is my 15th anniversary...I cannot believe it sometimes.  I feel like I just got married and 15 years has past.  I think it is no coincidence that the traditional gift for the 15th anniversary is a watch or a clock.  I think this is the first anniversary that really feels like a long time, 15 years, that is knocking on 20 and is definitely an accomplishment.  Look at the picture of us on our wedding day...

I was but a child bride at the age of 18 and Danny had just turned 22 the day before.  By today's standards we never should have made it, but we have, and we will continue to because we have a deep commitment to each other and to making it work no matter what.

I can tell you our marriage has not been easy.  When we got married I was in college, Danny had just started a new job and we were very, very young.  Although chronologically I was quite young, I have always "felt" older than I was and the idea of waiting until I graduated college to get married was just not an option.  I can remember going to class and listening to my classmates talk about the party they were going to that weekend, or where they would spend Spring Break, and there I was going home to cook dinner and do the laundry.  I do not feel as though I missed out though, I felt like I had so much more than my peers.  I had a supportive husband, I did not have to worry about dating and breaking up and wondering if "he liked me" or any such drama.  I loved the feeling of being settled.  Also, when I walked across that stage to get my college degree, it felt like so much more an an accomplishment than that of my fellow graduates.  I had stayed married, worked almost full time, AND finished my degree.  We definitely had some really tough times in the beginning.  Year 5 was especially hard and we had some big time arguments and many other couples would have probably gotten divorced, but when you go into the marriage knowing divorce is NOT an option, you either work it out, or you spend your life not speaking to each other and what kind of life is that?

We went through (and continue to go through) infertility.  We actually started trying to get pregnant two years into our marriage. I spoke about my infertility at length in a previous post so I won't go into it detail again, but I will speak about what it has taught me specifically about marriage.  Children are added TO a marriage, they are not the REASON TO get married.  I see so many marriages that solely revolve around the kids, spouses come second.  My friends think I am crazy when I say that your spouse should come before your kids.  Somehow they think that means that you love your kids less, I think putting your spouse first shows MORE love toward your children.  I KNEW I came second in my household, but I felt SO safe and secure in my home knowing how much my parents loved each other.  I see infertility ruin so many marriages and it just makes me think those couples got married just to procreate.  I married Danny 15 years ago because I wanted to spend my life with him.  Whether or not we have children is of no consequence.  Of course I will be disappointed if we never have kids, but I will not let it ruin my happiness or ruin my marriage.

We went to the Georgia Renaissance Festival last weekend to celebrate our anniversary.  First, if you have never been and are anywhere close to the Atlanta, Georgia area, I highly recommend you go, it is a great time! Friday night we went to the indoor pool and hot tub at the hotel and were so relaxed.  We laid down in bed and turned on the TV to see that the Boston bomber had been captured.  We sat for an hour and watched as the crowd applauded the law enforcement officials as they left Watertown.  We talked about how the victims' lives were going to change.  I can empathize the victims who had limbs amputated and are going to have to learn how to walk again, or how to dress themselves, eat, drive a car, and any number of other daily activities.  I wondered aloud how the families would deal with it.  I was lucky in that when I came home from the hospital I was able to come live with my parents so they could take care of me.  This took some of the burden off of Danny and he could continue to work and take care of the cats at home.  What if these families do not have people that can help take care of these victims.  What if the spouses have to stop working to care for their loved one...what happens with the kids?  What will they do for money if no one is working?  These things probably would have never gone through my mind before my situation happened to me, but it did now.  These marriages will either thrive, or they will crumble, I hope it is the former.

I know that Danny and I will continue to have hard times and I especially look forward to being back home and everything being "normal" again, no matter what happens I know we will make it through it.  He is my best friend, the one person I want to talk to more than anyone else, the person I have the most fun with, the person I miss the most, and the person with whom I can most be myself.  15 years is just a short amount of time really in the life of our marriage.  I hope we have 35 more and I know we have the stuff to get to 50 years, Lord willing.   We may or may not have children, and that is okay.  I may walk with a limp forever and need him to help me more than I would have before, and that is okay too.  The point is we know it is one man and one wife for life, there is no debating that so whatever comes our way we will get through it, and not just because we HAVE to, but because we WANT to.

Melissa said, "Why me....well, why not me?"

I have been pondering for the past few days on what I wanted to write about next and then I was inspired by  the sermon I heard on Sunday.  It was on endurance, enduring both bad times and good times.  When I was listening I really thought Brother Tim had designed this lesson specifically for me, it was something that I really did need to hear.  The past two years have definitely been a lesson in endurance.  I have asked many times, as most any human would when bad things happen...why me?  Why did this have to happen to me?  It seems that the past few years have been a series of disappointments and heartaches.  I have struggled with infertility, losing my dream teaching job, not being able to find a new teaching job, financial woes, and then my health issues.  When I broke my ankle as I lay there on the floor I cried out over and over, why, why, why.  I had just gotten to where I could walk pretty good on my own and then this happened, why did this have to happen to me now?  What I realized later is...why not me?

Matthew 5:45 says "For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust." Good things happen to both good and evil people...bad things happen to both good and evil people.  I have seen terrible tragedies happen to some of the best people I know.  Children dying, terrible diseases...things far worse than what has happened to me, but even though in your head you know that is true, you are still human, and what is happening to you is happening to YOU.  Even though you know things could be worse what you are going through feels pretty darn bad.  No matter what the situation is you have to endure it.  The lesson I have learned however is even though you cannot choose the circumstances you are going to have to endure you can choose how you will endure them.

I am reminded of two men that were in the hospital at the same time I was.  We were on the physical rehabilitation floor of the hospital.  Patients on this floor have many different types of physical issues and both these men had one of there legs amputated.  One gentleman had a wonderful attitude.  He was one of my favorite people to chat with while doing our occupational therapy.  We would sit there putting pegs in holes or squeezing hand exercisers and chat about all kinds of things.  He had a wonderful smile and a jolly laugh.  I remember watching him get up on the crutches for the first time and it did not take him long to start flying around the therapy room on those crutches.  The second man never spoke to the other patients, and hardly ever had a kind thing to say to the therapists.  When he would arrive in therapy he would often complain of being hungry and demand something to eat or he would simply fall asleep instead of doing his prescribed exercises. You could see the therapists strain to keep a neutral face when they were told that he would be the patient they would be working with that day.  Who do you think was the first man to leave the hospital?  That is right, the first man.  I do not think the second man ever got out of his wheelchair while there and went home in that wheelchair.  I made a vow that I would never have such a bad attitude, no matter how bad I felt, I chose to endure my circumstances with a positive outlook.

For the most part I have stayed true on my course of having a good attitude, but I have had times of weakness.  I had a bad fall in my driveway while trying to get into the car from my wheelchair without using my sliding board.  That little incident really spooked me and my physical therapist had to have a little come to Jesus meeting with me.  I had some days when I was feeling particularly sorry for myself at home and just wanting to stay in bed and not make an effort to do anything and my mom had to get a little ghetto with me.  If you know my mom you know it takes a lot to get her fired up, so you know I was being particularly full of self pity.  We all have our moments when we just want to wallow a little, when we want to feel sorry for ourselves, but we cannot let those feelings rule our lives.  When Paul and Silas were in prison they sang songs of praise and even in our own darkest hours we can have good attitudes.  How we feel just doesn't happen to us, we choose it. 

1 Corinthians 10:13 says "No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it."  Whatever trial you are enduring, there will be a way out and let that knowledge be a comfort to you.  In the meantime, there is no reason to make everyone around you miserable.  Keep a good attitude, trust me, wallowing in self pity makes things much harder to get through and think about the impact you may have one someone else's life.  Remember gentleman number one?  He definitely had an impact on me, and I hope I have been able to make a positive impact on someone else's life in some way.

Melissa said, "I love St. Patrick's Day!"

Since St. Patrick's Day is tomorrow I decided to  compose a more light-hearted post and explain a little bit about why I love St. Patrick's Day and more specifically all things Irish, Scottish, or generally Celtic in nature.

Celticism is defined as a fondness for Celtic culture and I definitely have a lot of celticism!  I guess it all started with where I was born, or more correctly, where my parents lived when I was born.  They lived in a tiny town in North Central Tennessee called Erin.  This is taken from the Houston County Chamber of Commerce's website:

Cradled in the heart of Tennessee’s natural wonder and magical charm, 200 jewel-like acres of Houston County are nestled quietly in a range of hills and valleys, unequalled in beauty by any part of the highland rim portion of the state. According to legend, Irish railroad workers who were reminded of the valleys, hills, hollows, and meadows of their homeland, Ireland, gave the name Erin to this small community. One night, the workers took a “wee drip too much” and let out the ancient rallying cry, “Erin Go Braugh.” The name stuck and a celebration of Irish heritage and blessings takes place annually during the third week in March when everyone is “Irish in Erin.”

Houston County Chamber of Commerce

Erin literally means Ireland in Gaelic and "Erin go Braugh" means Ireland forever. While I only lived three years of my life in this small town, my parents lived there for a total of 15 years.  I went back a few times as an older child, but I garnered most of my knowledge of the town through curiosity.  My initial curiosity was not piqued just because that is where I was born, or that my parents lived there for so long, but because all throughout my family Irish names kept cropping up.  My mother's maiden name is McDonald and her grandmother was a Montgomery, both Irish names.  My father's mother was a Ferguson.  We have a book on the Ferguson family history that is almost 3 inches thick and inside the book's cover is the tartan pattern of the Ferguson clan.

This is the Ferguson tartan pattern

If my family background was not enough to start my love of the Irish, once I started doing some research I really fell in love with the symbolism, music, jewelry, and sheer beauty of the land. On this St. Patrick's Day Eve I would like to share some of the particular Irish symbols and legends that we hold particularly dear.  

First, Danny and I decided to name our Bengal Cattery Fianna.  Some information on the Fianna:

The Fianna lived many hundreds of years ago. Every man of the Fianna was chosen for his strength and bravery and was specially trained in warfare and was made a champion among warriors.

Usually before any man could officially become a Fianna warrior he had to undergo some tests:

• While standing in a hole as deep as his waist he had to be able to defend himself against nine warriors using only a shield and a hazel rod.
• He had to escape from nine warriors by running through the forest without breaking a twig under his feet or tearing his clothes on bramble.
• He had to be able to jump over a branch as high as himself and run under another as low as his knee.
• While running at top speed through the forest he had to be able to pick a thorn from his foot without stopping.
• He had to learn twelve books of poetry by heart and also know many of the old legends and stories.
• Not to take a dowry with a wife.

Information about the Fianna

The Fianna were warrior poets and beautiful and unique among men.  I just thought this was a fitting name for my cattery that represented a breed of cat that were equally beautiful and unique among cats.

While many of our cats had Irish names, the one that is most precious to me is my girl Fianna Connemara.  She was one of my first keeper kittens and she was just beautiful.  She has a gorgeous, contrasted, rufoused red marble coat.  She had gorgeous green eyes and I knew that Connemara had to be her name.  Connemara marble is gorgeous green marble that can only be found in a certain area in western Ireland.  Since I only bred marble Bengals I thought it a fitting name for one of my most stunning marble girls.

Legend has it that St. Patrick used the commonly found shamrock to teach the Irish people about the holy trinity and that is why the Shamrock has become synonymous with St. Patrick's Day.  I personally just love them.

I also really love Claddaghs.  I wear a Claddagh ring on my right hand, as a married woman not really the place where I should wear it, but that is okay.  I just love the symbolism on these rings and think they are really beautiful.

How To Wear The Claddagh Ring

Claddagh rings were originally worn in the village of The Claddagh in Galway, Ireland and their traditional purpose at that time was to show marital status.

If one was courting, the claddagh ring would be worn on the right hand with the heart facing outwards to show your heart had not yet been taken.

Once a betrothal had been decided the claddagh ring would be worn on the right hand but turned in so the heart faced inwards and this was to show that your heart had now been taken.

Upon marriage, the claddagh ring was then transferred to the left hand with the heart still turned inwards as a sign of the commitment and love between the two people and this was their wedding band.

This is the actual claddagh ring that I wear on my right hand (again I know its wrong, but I have a wedding band on my left hand.)  Danny got it for me for Valentine's Day last year.

I also really love Trinity knots...for my anniversary last year Danny got me a gorgeous Trinity Knot necklace.  Trinity knots were also used to represent the holy trinity.  I wear this necklace every day.

It came from an awesome website called Gaelsong.  They have tons of celtic jewelry, clothes, home decor, and more.  I highly recommend checking it out.

Finally, I have a certain penchant for celtic crosses.  I think they are beautiful and love the meaning behind them.  You can find some great information about the symbolism of celtic crosses here: Celtic Crosses

Anyway, I just wanted to share some of the things I love about Ireland and celtic culture. I absolutely love St. Patrick's Day and look forward to decking out in my green every year.  It is my dream to go and visit Scotland and Ireland one day.  I hope I get to make that trip.  

Happy St. Patrick's Day and Erin Go Braugh!

Melissa said, "Depression hurts...yeah no kidding."

I have struggled for a few days on how to write this post because this is probably one of the most personal things that I will write about...my struggle with depression.  This is not something that came about just because of my surgery complications, this is something that I have dealt with since I was a child.  Depression is more than just being sad for a few days.  It's more than wanting to stay in bed after a bad break-up, it's more than just grief after the loss of a loved one.  People can get "depressed," but real depression is more than just grief, sadness, or loneliness.  It is all of that and so much more.  When I am having a bout of depression nothing makes me feel better.  I feel as though I am trying to move through water.  Everything is heavy, hard, and painful.  Nothing brings me joy, there is nothing to look forward to, there is only emptiness, darkness, and especially pain.  One of the hardest things about depression is that some people think you are not depressed because you may be smiling and not seem like anything is wrong.  What you may not realize is that it is taking all my strength to put on that smile and that as soon as I am alone, the smile will be gone.

I remember being a little girl and being teased relentlessly about my weight, or being sad and confused over moving to a different town or different state.  I remember crying inconsolably.  I know kids go through things and get sad and a little down, but I believe mine was different, I definitely think these were the beginning stages of my depression.  It was then that my pain began.  You know those Cymbalta commercials that say "Depression hurts, Cymbalta can help."  Well depression most definitely hurts, and mine has always manifested itself as pain.  I started getting my first migraine headaches as a child and I believe they were related to my depression.  When I discovered my infertility issues I also had lost of a job at that time.  I remember staying in bed and just feeling like my whole body ached. As an adult my headaches continued as well and I also suffer with neck and shoulder pain.  Since my surgery complications my legs and feet have hurt constantly to varying degrees.  I know that part of this is due to my neuropathy, but I believe that part of this is due to the depression as well.

One of the hardest things about my depression is that I also feel extremely guilty about being depressed.  As a Christian I know I should be full of joy.  The Bible teaches me that I am to learn to be content with whatever circumstances I am given.  I have so much to be grateful for and I know that things could be much worse, but yet I still feel sad.  This is so frustrating and I constantly think that I am letting people down.  I have mentioned in a previous post that I am afraid of being alone.  This is partially due to being afraid that I will fall or something else happening to me, but the other is that when I am alone I have more time to think and dwell on what has happened to me.  When I am by myself I cannot help but think about what I perceive I have lost.  I have lost time with my husband, I have lost the ability to possibly get a teaching job, I have lost independence, I have lost time I could be trying to get pregnant, and the list goes on and on.  When I think about this I slowly start to feel that blanket of hurt and sadness come over me.  Not being along helps me not think about this stuff so much and I dread how I will feel when I have to spend day after day by myself.

While it is a continuous struggle, there are some things that do help.  While in the hospital the doctors started me on the above mentioned drug, Cymbalta.  It is an antidepressant that also helps with body pain.  Over the course of my battle with depression I have been on several different drugs off and on and they have helped to varying degrees.  The Cymbalta has been one of the best ones.  When I came home from the hospital I had a few days when I did not have my Cymbalta because I needed a special code from the insurance company to get it due to its expense.  Those few days I cried almost all day.  My mother said then and there they would do whatever it took to make sure I got my meds because she did not want to have to go through seeing me like that again.  My animals help, having my cat Khole over here at Mom and Dad's with me has done my heart good.  Having my Mom here to cry to and listen to me has been a great help.  I love my husband, but there is just something about having your mom when your heart is really hurting. Writing this blog helps, journaling helps, and always prayer.

What I really want people to get from this post is to remember that just because people are smiling and look like everything is okay does not mean that it is.  Depression is real, it hurts, literally, and is very hard to explain to those that have never experienced it.  I want to be happy, I want to feel light and joyful, but something in my brain just will not let me sometimes.  If you know someone that suffers from depression please be patient and know that a kind word or a hug really goes a long way...trust me. 

Melissa said, "Fear sucks!"

I know my title for this post is not very eloquent, but really, that is what kept coming to mind when I was thinking about what I would write about.  Fear is something I have struggled with my whole life.  I have always been somewhat anxious and fearful even as a kid.  When I was as young as five or six I remember having a plan for what I would grab if our house caught on fire.  I also hated when my parents would leave because I was constantly scared something would happen to them.  I never spent the night anywhere because I had intense homesickness and was always terrified to be away from home. I don't know about other moms about there, but when I would cry over something trivial Mom would say "I will give you something to cry about." Well, I think God said, "so, you have been fearful your whole life over trivial things, now I am going to really give you something to fear."  This whole experience has brought about a lot of fears and I continue to struggle with them.

The most obvious fear that I first encountered was whether I would walk again.  When you start trying to take a step and your legs just crumple underneath you, you begin to doubt whether you will ever walk normally again.  The doctors kept telling me that I would walk again, but they could not tell me how long it would take.  Even though they kept reassuring me, I was still scared that I wouldn't.  I remember laying in my hospital bed and trying with all my might to move my feet to no avail.  When you can't control a part of your body, the doubts cannot help but creep in.

When I started actually getting up and taking some steps while in the hospital a whole new level of fear crept in, the fear of falling.  I would take some steps and my legs would just shake, I felt like I could not hold my weight.  During this time I could not imagine that I would ever be able to do this on my own.  I really wish I could properly articulate the feeling of your body betraying you, of your brain working so hard to move a part of your body, and the body just not cooperating.  Those days in the hospital were also so lonely.  My mom came every single day, but the nights were long and pain filled.  When you are stuck by yourself in a bed it is so easy to let every single worry and fear you have fill your mind.

I also had another fear that nagged at me, the fear of being forgotten.  I have continually struggled with this feeling of standing still while the rest of the world around me goes on.  During my time in the hospital and in the months after, friends from work moved out of state, changed positions, or quit and moved on.  Some of these changes happened without me even knowing about it until some time later.  Cat shows came and went without me being there.  Dear friends got married.  So many things just went by without me being a part of it.  I started to feel invisible.  I feared that I was just going to disappear from what used to be my life.  Some time later I went to a cat show and met some new Bengal breeders, there was a time when I knew personally or at least knew OF most of the Bengal breeders and most knew of me.  These breeders did not know who I was.  Wow, that hit me like a ton of bricks.  I feared my contribution to the breed I loved was gone.

Another fear that I struggled with, and still do to some some extent is the fear of being alone.  This was one of the oddest fears that cropped up because I have never minded being alone.  Since I was a little girl I have spent most of my time playing, reading, or doing some other activity alone  I have never had a lot of friends and my brother is so much older than me, so it was inevitable that I spent a lot of time by myself.  Something happened to me though when I was in the hospital.  Being alone was terrifying.  As I said, my mom came every day, but most days I sobbed when she left.  I hated laying in that room alone all night.  I made friends with a lot of my nurses and a couple of them would just come hang out in my room with me sometimes, but most nights were lonely. Being alone and in great pain is also not the best combination.  Those days I was in pain constantly.  The neuropathy in my legs was extremely painful and physical therapy also contributed to my pain.  I have never been so lonely in my entire life.  When I came home from the hospital and to my parents' house I couldn't really be alone much because I could not do much for myself.  When I got a bit more mobile being alone in the house scared me to death.  I was so afraid of falling, a fear that was compounded when I DID fall and break my ankle.  That event seemed to confirm all my fears that something bad would happen to me if I was alone.  My poor mother, I think she hated leaving to go anywhere then, and when she did leave me she would call to check on me constantly to make sure I was okay.

I still struggle with fear today.  The fear that I will will never have a "normal" life again plagues me.  I can walk now, but I still have pain.  The neuropathy is pretty much confined to my feet now, but it still bothers me and affects my ability to walk like a "normal" person.  I still really don't like to be alone.  I still live with my parents and the thought of how I will feel when I go home scares me.  While I long to be back with my husband, the thought of being in my house alone all day every day is so scary.  I fear that I will not be able to find a teaching job and get back to doing what I love.  I had trouble finding a job before, I feel like it is going to be that much harder now.  I feel like I have so much to share with my students now and I am scared that I will not get the chance.

I am working toward trying to overcome my fears.  2nd Timothy 1:7 says, "for God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind,"  so I know that I can have a "sound mind" and not be so afraid all the time, but it is definitely a work in progress.

Melissa said, "Having children is hard, NOT having children can be even harder."

I said in my first or second post that I would speak about my infertility, and for some reason tonight what I wanted to say starting coming to my mind.  Danny and I got married when I was 18 and he had just turned 22 the day before.  I am now 33 and he is almost 37, we will have been married for 15 years next month.  That is a LONG time for a couple to be married and remain childless.  What often saves us from the outright question as to why we do not have any children is people do not realize how long we have been married.  I think we both look relatively young and no one in this day and age gets married as young as we did.  Inevitably though the question does get asked...why don't you have any children yet? After the question comes the awkward mumble of an answer.  We can't, we have tried, blah, blah, blah.  How do I answer what seems like a simple question with what is an entirely complex answer.  Most of the time I just answer, "not yet," but that does not nearly cover it.

When Danny and I got married somehow I knew i would have trouble getting pregnant.  It took my mother and father 13 years to conceive me, my older brother was adopted when he was 4 weeks old.  I thought I had youth on my side however.  I was so young when I got married, I would be very young when I started trying, so even if it took a few years, I should still be a young mother. After a few years of trying with nothing happening, I decided to consult a doctor.  They put me on clomid, which stimulates ovulation.  I tried that for several months with no results either.  I went to injections, and after the first round the nurse called me and asked that I check the expiration date on the box of hormones, because they must be expired since they had been so ineffective.  I was so heartbroken by the conclusion of the nurse that I gave up medical intervention into my fertility for several years.  That is when children came into my life, albeit in a completely different way.

I started breeding cats, Bengal cats to be specific.  The story as to how we got roped into that is a completely different one, but what is relevant to this discussion that that we did.  We started bringing these little mewling creatures into the world.  I remember my first litter.  I was scared to death.  I had never owned a cat until my first Bengal and I had never seen a live animal born.  I am not squeamish at all, but to see this precious mama cat push out that kitten, to see her clean it, to see that baby start to nurse, it was magical.  This little animal's body did so easily what my body just could not seem to do, even with medical intervention.  Somehow this was able to fill a need in me for a time.  I got to play midwife for my beautiful girls, got to cradle newborn kittens in my hand, watch over them and help keep them safe, and then see them off to their new families.  I loved this work, I could be a mother of sorts to my beautiful Bengal babies, but even that only served as a band aid on a wound that would soon start to hemorrhage again.

Some years later with better health insurance we tried again.  More hormones again, more sterile rooms where I was poked and prodded, had very embarrassing procedures performed on me to make sure that my...eh... plumbing.... was still working as it should be.  This was painful and humiliating.  Then it was decided that we would try an artificial insemination.  They thought this was my best chance.  Take the best of Danny's swimmers and put them right up where they needed to be.  Well, needless to say it did not work.  Devastated barely describes what I felt, but I still had my cats, still had these little lives that I helped bring into the world that hopefully went on to be loved and cherished, went on to make another family complete.

My next step was the weight loss surgery, my doctor told me that losing weight would help me to ovulate, which the lack thereof seemed to my only real medical issue.  Well, we all know by now how that little surgery went.  Whether or not the weight loss surgery ultimately will help my fertility still remains to be seen.  What is the most sad to me thought now is that I do not have the cats to comfort me.  Seeing these little wiggling balls of fluff be born and grow into beautiful little kittens was always a source of comfort to me.

Infertility is a very hard thing to deal with.  Baring children is my God given right as a woman, and yet I have failed at it.  One more thing in a long line of my particular failures (at least that is the way I look at it.).  I absolutely love my husband and I will learn to accept our family as a party of 2, but I am sad and grieve for what might never be.  Every time I hear someone complaining about something their children are doing I WISH that I could get the chance to complain about anything my child could do.  For those of you parents that wistfully think about all of us childless couple that can do whatever we want to do, remember, we are thinking about you, and just as wistfully wishing that we could have a sweet chocolate smudged good night kiss and a hug.  We would trade any perceived freedom for the chance to have a family.

Melissa said, "Sometimes your childhood dreams become your adult wish I would haves."

I love watching the Oscars.  While the gowns are of course beautiful, and I like critiquing what everyone has on, especially with my husband, which is too funny, what I really love about the Oscars is seeing these people turn their childhood dreams into an adult reality.  If you ask most of these stars, they would say that their dream as a child was to be an actor.  Watching the Oscars you see all these adults that made that dream happen.  Whatever you think about their acting talent, morals, or personal lives, these people managed to make their dream come true, and the dream of acting in Hollywood isn't exactly an easy one to have fulfilled. How many of us can say the dream we had for our lives as children came true?

When asked that proverbial question when I was a kid "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I had several answers over the years.  My first choice was probably to be a singer.  I recall a first or second grade drawing of me standing in front of a microphone with SINGER written in my best first or second grade handwriting under it.  Problem with this particular dream is that I actually got to meet several musicians and singers as a kid because of my dad.  I saw what it was like being on the road all the time, what most gigs are REALLY like while you are in the "trying to make it" stage of your career.  Even if I had been good enough to be a singer, I learned rather quickly that I did not really want the lifestyle that comes along with it.

I spent some time thinking I might like to be an attorney.  As a kid I loved to argue and I loved watching lawyer TV shows like Perry Mason and Matlock.  When I found out how long you had to go to school it started getting a little less attractive.  Also, I have never been very good at memorizing things unless it comes with a tune, and I knew being a lawyer meant a lot of memorization, so that was out.

The thought of being a writer always cropped up.  When my teacher would bring out that magic paper, the paper with the lines at the bottom and the place at the top to draw a picture, I was in heaven.  The magical story paper, where I would get to craft in a few lines a daring tale of whatever my first or second grade mind could cook up and then masterfully illustrate that tale above it.  Now, my pictures ALWAYS left much to be desired, I was never a good artist, but even then I tried to write something that was as good as I could make it.

When I got older that story paper was replaced by the blank book.  In 6th grade my teacher introduced us to blank books.  We got to craft a story, type it on a computer, cut out the type, glue it in the blank book, and then illustrate as needed.  This was absolutely awesome.  When I was finished I had what looked like, at least to my 11 year old self, a real book.  I even remember what my story was about, it was about a group of friends who stay after school for a club project and find their teacher murdered and they work to solve the murder.  Pretty unoriginal really, but I thought it was full of suspense and mystery and I was extremely proud of my finished product.

When I got a little older I considered seriously becoming an optometrist.  I have worn glasses since I was in second grade and have always been fascinated by the eye.  I went to far as to visit the University of Alabama campus in 10th grade with a friend and investigate what classes were involved in this major.  When I saw all the math classes involved in that particular career choice I knew that was out.  I was barely keeping my head above water in algebra.

My final abandoned career choice of that of a band director.  I absolutely love music and the last two years of my high school days were filled mostly with music classes, with a few core classes sprinkled in there.  I was in concert choir, show choir, jazz band, and marching band.  I was drum major of the marching band and also was a teacher's aide in the beginner band class.  How could something I loved so much NOT be my chosen profession.  When discussing it with my beloved band teacher Mr. White he gave me some surprising, yet sound advice.  He told me that band director jobs are few and far between and he knew I was quite serious with my boyfriend (we were engaged in secret actually), and he told me that being a band director means that you sometimes have to move around to find a job.  He told me to do it only if that is absolutely what I wanted to do.

After thinking about it I realised that there was one job that I could do that would encompass all the things I ever wanted to do.  I could be an elementary school teacher  I got to teach science, showing my students the wonder of the human eye and many other amazing things.  One year I got to teach elementary music and I even got to do a Christmas program and a Grandparents Day program.  Being a teacher required arguing many times and I often felt like an attorney when I had to deal some particularly difficult parents.  One of the things that brought me the most joy as a teacher was teaching writing to my students.  I spent three years as a fifth grade teacher and in Alabama students take the Writing Assessment in 5th grade.  I got to write for my students.  Crafting examples of the three forms of writing they would have to be capable of producing for the test I got to share my love of writing with my students.  I never was more excited about teaching than when I got to prepare my students for this test.

There are times when I wish I would have done something different, something more exciting, something that made more money, but what else could let me do everything I ever wanted to do all at once?  Some dreams still feel unfinished, like being a writer myself, but being an adult does not mean all our dreams have to die.  This blog is my step toward making that dream happen, instead of it being a regret.  I hope I get to teach again.  I was devastated when I was pink slipped from my teaching job just before I was tenured, and then spent 2 years looking for a new job to no avail, but I KNOW when I do get to teach again I will be so much the better for all the things that have happened to me since.  

Melissa said, "Thank God I do not remember everything."

Danny and I have started going to the gym, we have been going for a few weeks now and I am really feeling good doing it.  It feels good to move my body, to feel my legs and feet working as they should.  One of my favorite things to do is leg press, specifically calf raises.  I like this exercise so much because it is the one thing that really shows me how far I have come.  The memory of me not being able to pull my feet up and not being able to move my feet up and down is a memory that is seared in my brain.  I remember so clearly what it felt like to stare at my feet and try so hard to move them and not be able to, like I had a short circuit in my brain.  Now when I do my calf raises and I push down on that plate and them pull my feet back up with 80 lbs on that bad boy, I feel great, I know I have come so far.

The memory of me not being able to move my feet is very clear, and hopefully something I will never forget.  I do not want to forget it because it forever reminds me of what I couldn't do then, and what I can do now.  When I am feeling down about not making progress in some all I have to do is move my feet up and down and I know that what once seemed impossible is possible.

Some memories from my experience are not so clear.  I was talking to my Mom about this tonight. I know I walked around the house slowly feeling the strength leave my body.  I know I tried to stand and walk one day and just fell and knew something was seriously wrong.  I know I spent so many days sitting in the hospital waiting room, waiting for a room to be ready so they could check me in.  I know I felt agonizingly awful.  I know I spent days laying in the hospital bed, dry heaving every 30 seconds or so, burning pain in my legs.  I KNOW all these things happened to me, but the  MEMORY of it, is very hazy, like a thick wall of smoke has enveloped it.

Mom and I talked about it and we agree that we think God lets us forget some things for our own good.  God told Job  in Job 11:16, "You will forget your misery; you will remember it as waters that have passed away." The memories that are fresh and clear with me are the ones that teach me the most.  The memories that remind me to be grateful for how blessed I am, that show me how far I've come, that remind me to be humble, and show me I can accomplish what I set my mind to, are the ones that are right there, clear and present.  The memories that remind me of how dark a place I was in for so long, that only bring up feelings of pain, anguish, loneliness, and fear, they are more distant, harder to bring to mind.

I think this is no coincidence, but a gift from our Father to His children. The memories that are easily recalled are not all experiences that were easy to go through,  but they are ones that are needed to teach us a lesson or remind us of something.  Many of those memories are of intense pain or terrible circumstances, but remembering them is necessary for our growth and because those memories teach us something, recalling them does not take us back to a place of pain, but rather a place of gratitude.  I believe that some experiences God lets us forget because they were so horrible and remembering them will truly do us no good.  Some memories will only serve to bring us back to a dark place. Job 21:6 says "When I remember, I am dismayed, and shuddering seizes my flesh."

This also brings to mind the fact that when I am in a dark place spiritually and I am sinful, that when I repent God no longer remembers my sinfulness.  Hebrews 10:17 says "I will remember their sins and their lawless deeds no more."  Thank God that HE does not remember our dark days as well as long as we ask Him for forgiveness.

There are days that I really hate what I call my "anesthesia brain" when I can't remember the word for something, or can't remember to do something.  My memory truly is not what it used to be after all the anesthesia that I have had, however there are many days that I thank God for my poor memory, and rejoice in the memories I do have.  While not all of them are pleasant memories, they are all to help me grow as a person and show me how far I have come, which is a long way dang it!  80 lbs on the calf raises..... boo yah!

Melissa said, "Scars are beautiful."

As I was was in the bathroom washing my face this morning I started thinking about scars.  I have been battling some acne since my hospital stay.  I blame it on my change in hormones and stress of the whole situation.  I finally broke down and went to the dermatologist and have a whole regimen now that has helped a great deal.  I was thinking that I was glad that the scars are my face are starting to fade, but that made me think of the other scars I have on my body.  I have never really minded scars anyway and now I appreciate them more.  Most of my scars remind me of things I have overcome.

I have the scars from my gastric sleeve and gastric bypass, the scars that represent the beginning of my ordeal.  I have the muscle and nerve biopsy scars, which are particularly funny to me.  This surgery was done by a plastic surgeon and these two scars are by far my craziest looking scars.  When the surgeon came to explain the surgery he held up his fingers about 2 inches apart and said the scar on my upper thigh and ankle would only be about that big.  Well the scar on my upper thigh is at LEAST six inches long and quite deep and the scar on the side of my left ankle looks like he cut me open with a jagged piece of glass.  Even though the scars look crazy, they represent the knowledge that I did not have permanent muscle or nerve damage. I have the scars on my Achilles tendons and the backs of my calves that represent being freed from the searing pain that I was having every time I tried to stand up and put my heels on the ground.  I also have the scar on my right ankle from my broken ankle repair.  It reminds me not to get too cocky and try to stay humble, because no matter how confidant you are feeling, something can make you slip and fall.

I also have scars that are attached to memories.  I have a scar on my chin that I got when I was about 5 or 6 years old.  I got it when I went with my dad to the gym one day.  He told me not to play around on the equipment but as soon as his back was turned I went to the dip bars and tried to do the dips that I saw the guys doing.  Well needless to say I could not hold my chubby self up and I fell and hit my chin against the thick bar.  I probably needed stitches, but my parents patched me up.  This reminds me that listening to your parents is probably a good idea most of the time.  I have an almost perfectly round scar on my right elbow that is attached to a particularly good memory that has to do with Danny, but I won't go into details about that. *wink*

Scars are also not always visible.  Things happen to us that scar our hearts and minds.  I remember being teased as a child about my weight.  These hurtful words seared my soul and would shape the way I think about myself until this very day.  My parents moving us around from city to city in Oregon and then from Oregon to Alabama was terribly painful for a young girl, but just like a scar, once time passed the mark faded and I realized that new places and new experiences open our minds and hearts to things that we might not have had the opportunity to experience otherwise.  Watching my parents' have a loving, sometimes frustrating, but all the while lasting marriage left a mark on me that would carry over to my own marriage that despite the odds and some pretty serious struggles, has lasted almost 15 years and will last a lifetime.  I remember my favorite teacher, my band director Mr. White, asking me after I had not done very well as drum major at a competition if I had done my best.  When I responded that I had, he said that is all he asked  of me, to do my best.  His words of comfort cut through my disappointment and tears and would forever shape the kind of teacher I wanted to be and how I wanted to empower and encourage my students.

Scars may look ugly, jagged, and raw in one sense, but remember they represent healing, time, and transformation as well.  Some people may think that scars are ugly, but I think scars are beautiful.

Melissa said, "Dating your husband is fun!"

There have been a lot of things about my situation that has really well...sucked, I can think of no eloquent word that really sums it up properly, it has just sucked.  There have been a couple things that have been kind of good though, one I will ponder here.  Currently Danny and I do not live together.  This unusual situation has brought forth an arrangement that usually does not happen after almost 15 years of marriage, we get to date. Danny either comes over a couple times during the week or we go to the gym and work out together.  Friday night he comes over for dinner here and Saturday night is usually our formal "date" night.  Now do NOT get it twisted.... I would MUCH rather be at home with my husband every day, but there is a certain excitement to our relationship now.  I get very excited on the days I know I will see him. I look forward to it all day.  If it is a date night and we are going out to dinner or a movie I think about what I will wear (though I do not have many clothes still, and he is has seen everything), but I still really think about what he will think is pretty.  I take more special care with my makeup, I pick my earrings carefully. I do all the things I used to do when we were dating.  When he comes to pick me up I am so usually ready and waiting for him.  When we are out, we hold hands or he holds my arm (now grant it, a lot of times that is to make sure I do not fall over when stepping up a curb or just walking in general).  I love being close to him, we have great conversations.  When he takes me home he walks me to the door and kisses me.  That kiss means so much more now because I do not get one everyday.  That kiss is not just a peck we do as an afterthought because that is what is expected.  That is a kiss I cherish because I do not get one everyday.

Throughout my ordeal I have tried to focus on the positives.  Sometimes it has taken a lot of searching to find those positives, but this is definitely one.  Danny and I will have been married for 15 years in April, we dated for 2 years before that.  Before all this happened we still had date nights, but didn't always hold hands.  We still kissed, but often it was those absentminded pecks that almost really don't register in our minds and are done more as a reflex than a reflection of love. We had conversations, but often they were about menial things, now we talk more about things that are more important to us.  I get butterflies waiting for him to pick me up, and my heart sinks when he gives me that goodnight kiss.  I appreciate every single minute I spend with him, whether we are just taking a nap beside each other or watching a movie.  That kind of shot in the arm to a relationship like ours has been a good thing.  In our marriage it is "just us." In the movie Sex and the City 2 a couple are talking to Carrie and Mr. Big and ask them when they are going to have children, and they say they aren't, that it will be "just us."  The other couple look horrified that they dare have a marriage that would not include children.  I have had one of those marriages for 15 years.  I still pray everyday that children will be in our future, but I am 33 and Danny is almost 37, there is a REAL possibility that our marriage will be "just us." We have to maintain a strong, fun, fulfilling marriage if it does end up just us two forever.  

These circumstances have shown us what we mean to one another.  The card Danny gave me said that he knows how hard the last two years have been for me and I have been an inspiration to him and it has made him love me more daily.  I cannot tell you how much these words meant to me. I told him in his card that these two years apart has shown me how much I love him and how much I can't wait to be next to him again.    So no matter what this experience has given us a shot in the arm of romance, and that ain't so bad ya know?

In case anyone was wondering, I made Danny a bouquet of chocolate and graham cracker dipped marshmallows.  They were really fun to make and Danny said pretty yummy too.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.  Remember you never know what will happen in your relationship, so remember to still "date" one another, trust me, it's pretty fun.

Melissa said, "This is how it started."

So as I promised in my first post, I am going to explain how this whole big adventure got started for those of you that don"t know or did not get the whole story.  It will be a bit long, but I implore you to stay with it till the end.  This post serves as background for my subsequent posts.  Future posts will both be reflections about past events and observations about current ones.  Also, I must give a shout out to my childhood friend Brianne Kughn Hendrick for the idea for my blog name.  She has an awesome blog called "Briantics," obviously a play on her first name.  I wanted something similar and my much wittier than myself husband came up with the name for mine.

So, I wanted to lost weight.  Weight has always been a struggle for me, and my doctor seemed to think that my weight was a contributing factor in my fertility issues (topic for future posts). My husband Danny had his Gastric Bypass first and he sailed through with flying colors.  By the time I had my surgery our insurance had changed and our new insurance paid for a new procedure called the Gastric Sleeve.  My doctor, who was not the doctor that did Danny's surgery, recommended this newer surgery because it was safer.  I took this advice and March 9, 2011 I had my surgery.

I have always seemed to be a magnet for complications and this was no different.  The Gastric Sleeve cuts off the greater curvature of your stomach so your stomach is now the size of a banana. Great for weight loss, smaller stomach, less food, but the SAME amount of stomach acid being produced.  Most patients can control this acid with medication, I however, could not.  My acid reflux was so severe that I could not eat anything at all.  The burning pain in my stomach and throat was torturous.  After several weeks my doctor said the only way to remedy this problem was to revert my surgery to a Gastric Bypass.

I had the revision surgery which led to further complications.  I developed strictures, which is scar tissue where my esophagus is connected to my new stomach pouch.  The scar tissue caused all food I ate to come back up.  Because I could not eat I started getting weaker and weaker.  I was in and out of the hospital for several weeks, going in to get re hydrated and then coming back out with no solutions and still with no way to eat.  I proceeded to get weaker and weaker until the end of May when my legs literally gave out and I could no longer support my own weight, my legs and feet numb and tingling with pain constantly.

I began my "long stay" in the hospital in June.  After a couple of weeks on a regular floor I was transferred to a floor called "Easy Street." I love the irony of the name because nothing about being there was easy.  This was the physical rehab floor and I have physical therapy twice a day, every day.  All the while I was being experimented on to try to come to some conclusion as to what was causing my condition.  I had my entire body MRI'ed, two spinal taps, a muscle and nerve biopsy, and more blood drawn then I can remember.  IN the end it was concluded that the cause of my neuropathy was nutritional.  I had a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) placed and began TPN (IV nutrition).

I received my TPN 24 hours a day.  It gave me all my nutrition and vitamins. I had to have pain meds every 4 hours because the pain in my legs was so intense.  I could not walk so I had to use a bedside commode.  You have not felt any kind of embarrassment until you have had to use the bathroom basically in a bucket and then have a total stranger empty it for you.  Physical therapy was terrifying and grueling.  I was fitted with special leg braces which I fondly call my "magic shoes" (thank you Forest Gump}. I remember the first time my therapist stood me up.  I rolled with my wheelchair inside a set of parallel bars.  I had one therapist behind me, one in front of me, and one on either side.  I stood up, legs and arms shaking, tears streaming down my face and took maybe 3 or 4 steps.  It was agonizing.  I had electric stimulation on my legs to try to wake up the nerves that had been so badly damaged by malnutrition.  My days consisted of therapy during the day, sleeping, and very lonely nights alone.

My mother came every single day to see me even though most of her time was either spent alone in my room while I was in therapy, or watching me sleep when I was in my room.  I cried many, many days when she left. I was put on an antidepressant.  Danny came on the weekends to see me.  It was just not feasible for him to come much during the week with him working overtime and trying to take care of our cats.  I was so lonely, I cannot remember ever being so lonely in my whole life.  My dog Harley had to go live with my parents because he was depressed with me gone.  I remember one day my Dad brought him to the hospital. My mom wheeled me outside and I saw him as my Dad pulled up, I thought he was going to jump through the window to get to me.  That was a good day.

It was the end of July when my insurance company kicked me out of the hospital.  By that time I could walk a little way with a heavy duty walker, but I was still pretty much stuck in a wheelchair.  I had to go to my parents' house because I could not be alone during the day and my house was not big enough to accommodate my wheelchair.  I also had to have help with my TPN solution since I was still getting it 24 hours a day.  I had to have someone mix the additives into the bags and help me flush and clean my lines.  I still had to use a bedside toilet except now it was my mom that had to clean it. I finally got to take a shower instead of just using washcloths in the hospital.  My parents have a big enough shower that allowed me to use a sliding board to transfer from my wheelchair to a shower chair.  Let me tell you, that first real shower after 2 months absolutely felt like heaven.

Over the next months I continued outpatient physical therapy at the hospital here.  My TPN was slowly tapered down from 24 hours, to 18, then 16, then 12, and finally it was ok'ed to be taken out.  I still see my nutrition doctor regularly and he monitors my nutrition levels closely, in fact I had one of my nutrition blood tests done today with results coming next week.  I worked very hard in therapy and gradually went from my wheelchair, to a walker, to a cane, to just my braces, and now I do some walking without my braces, though I do still wear the "magic shoes" most of the time.  In order to help me walk more normally again I had to have a procedure done called a Strayer procedure to lengthen my Achilles tendons because I had such severe foot drop that my tendons had drawn up so tight that I could not stand with my heels touching the ground.  That surgery caused me to have to walk in very heavy walking boots that kept my feet at a 45 degree angle so my tendons could heal stretched.  That procedure actually helped resolve a lot of pain for me because the constant stretching every time I put my foot on the floor was awful.

After recovering from the Strayer surgery I got up to walk to the kitchen and had a bad fall and ended up breaking my right ankle in two places which led to surgery to repair the damage. This was a huge setback for me.  I had to go back into a wheelchair for 8 weeks.  This was very emotionally hard because I had gotten to where I did not have to use it anymore.  Once I got out of the wheelchair I was back in physical therapy for a few weeks.  During that time I actually got my PICC line out as well.  This was a banner day for us, as Mom was really tired of mixing those bags and I was tired of having to be home at a certain time to hook up to my own special "go go juice." (I know, I know, sorry for the Honey Boo Boo reference).

Since then I have continued to improve.  I still walk with my magic shoes 80% of the time. I do not wear them at home but I rarely go out without them.  The one exception is the gym.  Just recently Danny and I joined a gym so I can continue to work on the things that are still hard for me.  Walking up and down stairs is still very difficult.  I still use a shower chair for bathing, I am just not ready to stand in the shower yet.  I live with a lot of fear, mostly of falling every since I broke my ankle.  I still live with my parents mostly because I am afraid to be alone.  I am terrified that something will happen to me and I do not want to be alone.  Also, in my absence Danny has really struggled to keep our house in order but he has lots of cats that have to be re homed. While I was sick and in the hospital he just could not do the things I used to do, like advertise and post ads on facebook and yahoogroups.  I was the one who always posted pics on facebook and updated out website, so kittens that were born grew up and they are still with Danny. Danny shut off our satellite service and some other things to help save money since I am not working and my disability payments are not very much.  Needless to say we have a lot of stuff to get back in order at my house before I can go home.  Most importantly I need to find homes for our cats,

I miss my husband terribly.  He comes to visit me and takes me out on dates, but it is just not the same.  My husband is my best friend and I hate being apart from him.  I do still have several doctor appointments and I have not really tried driving much so being with my parents makes it easier for my mom to take me to my appointments.  I long for the day when I am with my husband again, I miss sleeping next to him very much.

This is the shortest way I could tell this story.  I divide my life into two periods...before surgery/after surgery. When I walk around with the braces I wonder all the time if I will ever be "normal" again.  Sometimes I wonder if I even want to be normal again.  In many ways this experience has in many ways changed me for the better.  I definitely appreciate life so much more now.  I appreciate being able to just get up and go to the restroom when I need to.  I LOVE hot showers, after going 2 months without a real shower, feeling that water run down on you is like heaven.

Overall this experience has changed me irrevocably and those changes are what I will explore in future blog posts.

Melissa said, "In the beginning..."

So I decided to start a blog...I do find it a little hard to just bare my soul to friends, let alone strangers, but I decided that I was tired of wishing I would do something and instead have decided I will stop being afraid and just do it.  I have always wanted to write.  When I was young I kept diaries all the time.  I loved the creative writing assignments in school and even participated in a couple young authors' conferences.  Somewhere along the way I just stopped writing, stopped keeping a journal, and didn't think much about writing anymore. Since my health ordeal (which I will address in another post for those who do not know what happened to me) I have decided that I am going to stop being scared to try things, and just do them. I started keeping a journal again and I decided to start this blog and hope that maybe someone might like to read about the strange musings that go through my head.

While ultimately I want to get back into creative writing, I think just putting some writing out there will be good for me.  Since my disability I have found myself kind of blowing in the wind, stuck in limbo, not knowing what I am going to do with myself.  I hate feeling this way so I think writing about what happened to me and how it has changed my life will be a healing process.  A way for me to work through the feelings I have about the situation and a way to maybe encourage others in the process.  That is my hope, that someone will benefit from seeing what happened to me, seeing that I made it through, and be encouraged and know that whatever their trial may be, they can get through it too.

Finally, I hope to also gain insight from my readers.  I have a lot of feelings and questions that I struggle with everyday.  I hope that maybe someone who reads this can help me through these struggles and I can be encouraged that I will get through the journey that I still have left to travel.