Anniversaries Part III

Day 13 of our marriage: 

Thursday morning and daytime carried on with some of the previous days' routine, poke me in the chest, be worried about how much pain, shoot me in the belly with Heparin, which was now resulting in bruising, take my vitals, take more blood. Now, my IV, placed in Tuesday night was causing so much pain that we decided to find a new spot. That took more poking in the afternoon. At this point I had been given the same day time nurse two days in a row, Lori. She had seen me through my feverish mess on Wednesday and we were getting to know her more and more.

Joseph finished school early and the doctor came by in late afternoon. He took a seat this time. Huh...that seemed different. He started to talk. He started to lay out what we were facing.

It wasn't clear yet if the antibiotics were working. He was honest. People die from this and my heart and lungs were at risk. If those tissues were damaged I was facing a major surgery to try to reduce the damage done and then a long healing process. I could need a PICC line which is basically a semi-permanent IV placed in your arm with a line up into the heart that would allow for IV antibiotics to be delivered for 6-8 weeks. If damage was done to my organs I was looking at months away from work and a long healing process. And on the better end of the spectrum I could get better in the next week or so. The surgeon would be in the next morning and he/she could determine if I needed invasive surgery to clean out the infection and repair damaged tissues.

WE WERE SCARED. Flat out, no messing around this was terrifying. Once the doctor left the room we began a flurry of discussion and phone calls. Thank goodness my head had cleared from how it was Wednesday. At the same time I was on enough pain killers that clarity of thought was not exactly easy. We knew we needed a game plan. Ketchikan, though it has a hospital, does not have a community of specialists. The whole town is 10,000 people and the only way off is a plane or a boat. Seattle is a two hour flight and the closest high quality medical care. Joseph began calling family, trying to get their ideas and my precious Aunt called my insurance to find out what was covered, what long term care could look like. He and I talked about what was our line to tell the doctors that we were going to Seattle. We decided that we would do the surgical consult but not allow them to do any major surgery. I would not have an invasive, anesthesia needed surgery in Ketchikan. We weren't exactly sure how it would work and after some inquires with nurses we knew that we could ask to be transferred and that I could board a plane with my IV's and go to Swedish Medical Center. At this point I was not "sick enough" to have a Medivac transport. If the surgeon had good news then we'd stay.

We settled into bed with a plan, all centered around what the surgeon would say in the morning. My body was aching from the terrible beds and days spent laying on my back. I wanted so much for just a short time to be on my stomach. So I got some pillows to try to cushion my chest and bared the pain and attempted to settle for a few minutes. Which is about when the small opening that had been made on Monday and pushed on all week began to expel the gunk...ah gravity. But it was a bizarre kind of hopeful moment. I went to get the nurse. I hoped that perhaps if we could get enough out to relieve some of the pressure I felt that I would get some pain relief. So I clutched Joseph's hand about 10 pm as she pushed and I wriggled and tried not to scream. And sorry for those who are squeamish but my liquified tissues came out. (That is the horror of this infection, it is considered flesh-eating) At least enough came out to make me not so miserable.

After middle of the night vitals and another dose of IV antibiotics I could not sleep and Joseph couldn't either. I began crying, he started crying and neither of us could say our worst fears except in short sentences. But what was going to happen? Would I die? Would I be sick for months? He started praying and saying scripture. Which soothed me enough to slow my tears. He found worship music on my computer and we both tried to let the songs ease our fears. It was a terrifying night, but I was not alone, my dear husband who was facing his worst fears, having to be in a hospital day after day, was staying beside me every night, no matter the nurses encouragement for him to go home and sleep. We were together and God was there and somehow we would get through each moment. I had never felt so close to another person in my whole life. There was a oneness in our fear, in our hopes and dreams for the future and in our resolve to get through it together.

Friday morning, day 13 of our new life as husband and wife. Joseph had gone up to school early in the morning to try to make up what he missed during the week. We had no idea what time the surgeon would come by and knew he had to get school work done. Lori, our nurse was aware of our plan and let us know that she would give us as much warning as possible about the surgeon coming. She gave me the heads up about 930, I called Joseph. He was coming. The surgeon came breezing in and wanted to get started before he arrived. I thought she would just be assessing so again the baring my chest, which at this point I had no modesty left, but the poking was so painful that I squirmed away. The surgeon scolded me with "stay still" and "it can't hurt that bad" To which I burst into tears shaking and unable to calm down. Thank God Lori was holding my hand on one side and within a few seconds Joseph came flying through the door.

The surgeon wanted to open me up right there, in the room. Since I was infected, there was no need for a sterile environment, just clean equipment and minimizing exposure to more bacteria. She was describing a couple inch incision to clean out the infection and check for tunneling.  She had already called for morphine when I was crying out at her poking. Joseph and I talked very quickly and felt that this minor procedure could be done but if she wanted to do anything more extensive and we would say no thanks and head to the airport. The surgeon had left to get some gowns on and the staff started filling the room, I was given morphine. Joseph was made to leave by the surgeon. He didn't want to but Lori, thank goodness, kept assuring him that she would be with me and it would be okay. He stood at the door, held back with a nurse. Once the morphine was on board I was somewhat better, although I got a second dose before the procedure which eased me into a very hazy state. Shots of Lidocaine around the site and she completed a two inch incision and began exploring. Thank goodness for the medication. I didn't notice most of it. Her verdict was the infection had most likely stopped progressing. There were two small pockets on the edge of the main cavity, which needed to be watched and there was no entry into my ribs, or the protective lining between flesh and my lungs. The final step was filling the cavity with sterile gauze. Three feet of quarter inch wide gauze tape was packed into the opening.

The surgeon stated that tomorrow morning the gauze would need to be removed by Lori and she needed to visually inspect the cavity. If there were no signs of further tissue loss then we could be fairly certain that the infection had ceased. So for Friday we held onto hope. We knew that the situation was looking better and by Saturday morning we would have an even greater degree of certainty about making a full recovery.

Anniversaries Part II

Tuesday, day 11 of our marriage:

The Dr Liljegren saw me that morning and I had taken two doses of antibiotics. She cleaned me out again and drew on my chest to mark the areas of redness and told me if I felt flu like, my fever went over 100 or if the redness spread to call or go to the ER. I assured Joseph I would be fine and made him go off to school after the appointment. I spent the day on the couch. I had a good size bandage on my chest and thank goodness for the pain killers because I would start watching the clock each time a dose was wearing off. I was moving slowly and had soreness down my left arm but desperately wanted a shower that evening. As Joseph began to help me, I was unsteady with the fever and pain. He pulled off the bandage and we both looked and the area of redness had clearly grown.

I remember first looking into his eyes as he stood close to me in the bathroom and there was this moment when we shared the fear...this sense that this was NOT good. After taking a breath and both saying it out loud we decided that a shower would still be a good thing before returning to the ER. It was about 830 pm at the time. We dressed me carefully, as the pain had increased since earlier in the day and drove the mile to the ER. I can't forget that ride, the vibration of the car caused shooting pain that took my breath away and the dread of this being bad grew.

Our favorite ER doc Ernie Meloche was on that night. Relieving some of the stress especially for Joseph. He knew he could trust Ernie's judgement. As the hours passed in the ER I was feeling worse. At the time I thought I was sleep deprived. By midnight I was being formally admitted to the hospital. An IV was started in the ER and I vaguely remember being wheeled upstairs, a nurse letting me have more painkillers and some discussions about getting Joseph a chair he could sleep in in the room, despite the nurses encouragement that he go home. He kept telling them that he would not leave me alone.

Of course there's the early morning blood draws and vitals check that wake you no matter what. I awoke in pain and so fuzzy in my brain. We had a decision to make. We both knew he needed to be at school. He had missed one day this week. We had invested thousands of dollars into this program and were counting on this Welding program being part of the financial stability we wanted for us as a family for the future. I told him he had to go. I had nurse's and CNA's and I would be fine. I remember him calling my boss that morning, leaving a message before we opened, saying I was in the hospital and I was very ill and we didn't know when I would be back at work.

 Day 12 of our marriage:
 
That morning, the hospital doctor came in and wanted to look. I couldn't tolerate the poking and prodding. And gasped and burst into tears with the smallest pressure. He expressed significant concern about how much pain I was in. He told me I was on Vancomyacin and that the levels in my blood would be checked to be sure they were getting high enough. I had started shots in my belly, Heparin, twice a day, to be sure that I wouldn't get blood clots from being in a hospital bed and it seemed like as soon as I got to sleep that day people came in to draw more blood. My IV site was tender and the Vancomyacin going in would burn. My veins and body seemed so sensitive. The antibiotic dose usually can flow at a rate to be completed in 2.5 hours but the burning sensation meant they had to slow it to a rate of 4-5 hours. I woke for lunch and vaguely remember calling a few family members to tell them I was in the hospital and to spread the news. I simply said at that point that I had an infection on my chest, under my breast and that I was on strong antibiotics. I could barely sit up, raise my arm, or maneuver myself for the pain and probably sounded like a wreck on the phone. Silly me actually called my boss and spoke to her. She assured me I needed to focus on getting better and all was fine at the office. I returned some texts from work that afternoon. I think I was grasping at some normalcy.

Just after lunch about 2ish the staff that entered my room looked different. They were wearing long yellow gowns, gloves, face shields. Obviously I asked what was going on. The nurse said my culture that was done on Monday had come back and that I had MRSA, Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. It's a super-bug. Now I was actually familiar with MRSA, one of our staff had it on their arm a few months before, missed a few days of work and in our due diligence to be sure we were keeping staff and kids safe we had done some research. There are various strains, community acquired being less dangerous and hospital versions being the most deadly. I had a community acquired strain. I refreshed my memory on MRSA via my computer that hubby had dropped by at lunch and knew that this was not good but was optimistic. At this point my fever had broken and the two doses of Vancomyacin were probably working and I was coming out of my hazy, fuzzy brain status.

Joseph showed up about 3 to check in on me and I apprised him of the MRSA. The nurses encouraged him not to touch me, to which he laughed and expressed that he wasn't going to abide by that. They at least implored him to wear a gown. He responded with I was pressing on that infection all weekend, I've been around her for days, if I'm going to get it the damage is already done.

I had a lovely Quarantine sign posted on my door and had a room to myself. The doctor came by that evening and wanted to poke again. Though my brain had cleared my pain had not. At that point I was taking some kind of heavy duty pill and was thankful for it. He started talking with us and said that he was concerned about the pain. He told us that MRSA likes to "tunnel" meaning it doesn't grow in a nice little circle that it fans out through the tissue in little pathways. The location of my infection, with the proximity to my heart and lungs made him concerned that the tunneling could get into those organs. There were signs of tunneling as the pain had made a path up my sternum. He said he expected that after two doses of Vancomyacin that I would be feeling better. The ER doc had drawn a line on my skin of where the redness was twelve hours earlier and it covered the size of a hand on my chest. The area had not grown but it hadn't shrunk either. He told us both that he would order a surgical consult and said that in the morning after another dose of the Vancomyacin we would have a better idea.

About the same time as the doctor was there more blood gets taken. We spent the evening in the hospital room, watching tv, talking and making phone calls to family.

Late that night, maybe 10 pm, the nurse comes in with a much bigger bag of antibiotics. We ask why and she said that the blood tests indicated that the level of the medication in my blood stream is not high enough and I need a bigger dose. That was not encouraging.

Anniversaries Part I

It's been a long hard week... This week last year I was facing death. I just looked over this blog and there's a huge chunk of last year that never got posted. Even now I'm still early in the blogging thing and far from consistent. But it's time to tell the story. Publicly. I think I'm finally ready. I think I finally need to.

Joseph and I began dating the first week of 2011 by late April we were talking about a life together. In mid June I selected a new rental that would be able to accommodate Joseph, Donovan, Joseph's step-daughter, Madison and me, whenever this "family" all came together.

On June 24th while Joseph and I had coffee before work together he knelt down and proposed. He called me Abigail as he had taken to doing. He told me he loved me through his tears and asked me to be his wife. The man who never thought he would marry again. In just a few months God had made us both so certain that He choose us for each other. It didn't take any thought I knew without a doubt. I've known without a doubt. The most amazing thing about my husband is that he walks with God. He hears God's voice, everyday, he checks everything and anything with God and above all else that is what I had prayed and hoped for in a husband. I knew that we could get through any challenge together if we could both walk closely with God's voice.

In August of 2011 Joseph and I traveled to Arizona. He needed a medical procedure and the best doctor for it was in Tucson. We had stopped on the way to visit my sister. We had been talking for weeks about when we would get married. I had been looking at economical ways to have a wedding. We both desperately wanted to have our family and friends together with him in a tux and me in a dress and Donovan and Madison close by. The struggle was that all of these friends and family would have to travel from all over the United States, we knew many could not afford the cost of travel to Alaska, I thought about other locations that people could drive to, and nothing was affordable. Especially since we had accumulated a big medical bill with the procedure and were taking out a student loan for him to do a year of welding school. Accumulating more debt did not sit right with either of us and for weeks it seemed like God had been rather silent with us regarding a wedding. During the trip we prayed and talked and after setting aside our dream of a wedding, God spoke. Since a big to do was out of the question God made it clear 9-10-11. Just about three weeks from the Wednesday morning the we were discussing and praying about timing. We made calls to have a dear friend preside over the ceremony and we each asked a couple that we were close to to be witnesses. It seemed a bit rushed but the peace that God had chosen the date presided over the disappointment of not having the big celebration. In my mind, God was up to something.

Saturday 9-10-11 at Ketchikan City Park Jessica Mathews presided over our vows, which we wrote together earlier in the week. We had, Jim and Katie Parrot and their children, Lisa, Rodney, and Megan Dial and Jessica Mathews, back to the house for cake and they spoke a few words and celebrated with us. Then Joseph, Donovan and myself went to lunch at Cape Fox. The day was sunny and beautiful and of all silly things we spent the afternoon at the shooting range and then came back to the house and watched a movie.

Day 7 of our marriage:
Next Thursday evening as I was getting ready for bed I noticed what I believed was a white head at my bra line, on my chest slightly left of my sternum. I popped and snuggled in with my husband. By morning it was irritated and I thought dang it a zit is really forming. I went to work and as the day wore on it became more tender and red and by the end of the day I went home and rushed to get my bra off which seemed to be making it worse. As the evening passed I was more uncomfortable. Being September it was football season and I felt bad enough that instead of going with Joseph to our friend the Heck's house I stayed home. I wondered what was going on did some internet searching and thought I had a "boil". Now I know that sounds medieval but people still get them. It's a skin infection that is red and various bacteria cause it. I had trouble sleeping that night because it was so tender and couldn't lay on my stomach.

Day 8 of our marriage:
Saturday morning I got up to do chores and go grocery shopping. It was tender and I think I treated it with a hot cloth that morning, as that was a suggested treatment. Joseph had gone off to do some work. He was trying to do side jobs since he was in school four days a week and we needed extra bits of income. His school schedule was such that missing a single day of class could jeopardize the National welding certification that he wanted to have by the end of the two semesters. In Wal-mart about 11 am I suddenly felt so much pain from the location that I had to stop and catch my breath and I got a little light headed. I knew it was best I head home and momentarily thought that perhaps I shouldn't drive and should call Joseph.

I arrived home, took some Tylenol, tried treating with a heating pad and Joseph arrived home a bit later. We tried to press on it hoping to push out some of the infection. I decided to rest and figured if it didn't improve I needed to see a doctor first thing on Monday. But it's just a stupid "boil" right? Joseph went to the Heck's for evening football. I stayed home, he called often to check on me and I assured him not to worry and that I wanted him to enjoy the game. I didn't sleep well the spot was getting redder on my skin and I had trouble laying down or getting up from the pain.

Sunday morning I knew I wasn't going to church, continued the Tylenol and knew first stop on Monday morning was the docs. I couldn't bear the thought of going to the ER for a stupid boil, nor did I want the expense. We don't have urgent care up here so ER costs for an infection seemed silly.

Monday morning I woke with a fever. I began throwing up breakfast at 7 am. Joseph was worried. I was worried. We called the primary care clinic the minute they opened and were told to come in at 845 to see Doctor Lilijegren, complicated name, but good reputation, though I had never seen her before. Joseph called his professor and begged his way out of class that day. The walk into the clinic from the car was hard and the minute I sat down I was throwing up into the trash can in the lobby. They immediately brought me back and laid me in a room. The doctor came quickly and she looked closely and her face said it all this was serious. She pushed on the area, trying to squeeze out the infection and I cried out in pain as I squeezed Joseph's hand. She suggested that she could get me IV fluids and antibiotics there in the office and went to speak to her nurses. Upon her return she said that it would be best to take me to the ER, which is the building next door. I was loaded into a wheelchair and she personally walked with us over to the ER. I was reminded in the moment of the nice things about being in a small town. How many docs would make sure you got right into the ER, for a stupid skin infection...

Now don't forget the location I'm dealing with here and by the time the ER nurse had looked and the second doctor of the day not only was I in pain but feeling like quite the exhibitionist. The ER put me on IV fluids and after some visual inspection the doctor thought it best to get a culture and try to get some of the infection out. I was draped in the room, numbed with Lidocaine and he made about a quarter of an inch incision to give him some room to get the stuff out. Then he began pushing and pushing, keep in mind you have a sternum and ribs and cartilage right there, none of which take kindly to a 200 pound man bearing down on them. After some pain meds, and a full bag of IV clindamyacin. We were sent home about noon with a prescription for Bactrim, pain medication and clear instructions that if the area of redness spread we needed to return to the ER.

My dear husband at this point is being stretched beyond his sanity. When he had a job injury in spring of 2011 he had told me all about his anxiety related to doctors, hospitals and expressed that he didn't know if would be able to handle me ever spending days in the hospital. He said outright that I might have to go it alone, cause he just wasn't sure he could deal with the stress he associates with hospitals.

In the meantime I had called in sick to my office. I don't make a big deal out of what I do but to really understand my story you need to know that in my position I oversee 3.8 million dollars in counseling services. There are over 50 employees and 10 contractors that report directly or indirectly to me. We had enrolled at the time about 90 child clients over 150 square miles. The 90 clients are part of 90 families and so the impact of what we do is far reaching. I take this position very seriously. I am very cognizant that solid leadership is important and as I was only two years into the position we were still in transition, building up staff, creating solid processes and working towards internal stability. At the same time the staff are tremendous, my Executive Director has been there over a decade and when I've traveled and been out of the office before everyone comes together and gets things done. Nonetheless the organization was fragile, but resilient.

I didn't feel much better for the rest of Monday.

(More Tomorrow)

Life without Hope

In our world now there are so many ways to get your inmost thoughts out into the public eye. The beautiful thing about blogs, and twitter, and facebook is that you can be connected to so many people's stories. Their struggles, pain and God's glory can be easily read, followed and digested. I was browsing a blog tonight and I was holding back tears reading about this mother's pain. Her baby boy of three years was diagnosed with cancer and died 8 months later. She continues to write to him over a year after his death. Her anguish is palpable. As I read posts it was so clear that she has so little hope. There's no hint of God's redemption of this tragedy. She signs her posts "I hope you are safe". And that killed me. See I have to believe that as young as he was that he's waiting for her in heaven. There's no hint that she has any idea he is there. That she can be with him again someday. And she's hurting so bad and you can tell that she despairs because she has no hope of a reunion.

I cannot fathom living without the hope of heaven.

I got on a float plane this morning to come over to Prince of Wales Island. I have an incredible group of staff here that minister to children and families on the island. I call it ministry. We are not a Christian agency but I know that the things the staff do is ministry. There is only one source of love in this world, even if you don't yet know that source. Anyways, the weather was horrible, the planes fly visual flight rules, which means that you can only fly if you can see where you are flying to. You have to have a certain amount of visibility above and below. I knew we were pushing those limits. The rain was coming down, the clouds were hanging low and the wind was blowing. There is a moment with these flights that I know Alaska has more small plane accidents and deaths than any other states. We also have more flights than any other states. I know there are risks. But the momentary concern is so easily dismissed. I know what will happen to me if I'm not here. I'll be with God in heaven, Yippeee!

Admittedly I want to be here. I am crazy about my husband. I beam just thinking about the hopes and dreams we have for our lives together. We are just 369 days into our married life and it's been incredible. Amazing. I did not know marriage was so indescribably wonderful. I am looking forward to every moment of each day God gives us together. I want to be here for my son. The boy I adopted in my heart a little over four years ago and legally two years ago is actually finally accepting me as his family. He is investing in being a family member. He says out loud that Joseph and I are his family. He is asking for our advice and wants to be around us. I mean, talk about a change. It was three and a half years of heartache and struggle to parent him. Thankfully God sprinkled in enough precious little gift moments over those years to give me hope that he might embrace his adoption some day. And he has...and the hope is bearing fruit...and I am excited.

As I read this mommy's words tonight. I ached and prayed that somehow, someone would lead her to the healer of broken hearts and the giver of hope.

Blessings in the right direction

I'm not sure what exactly God is up to but I am super excited about more blessings that he poured out on my workplace this week. About ten months ago I was at the end of my rope. I was so tired of keeping on at my job. Leadership was taking it's toll and every time we got a break it seemed like something else would fall apart. I had to make a mental shift. I had to choose to be in my job. I had to decide that I was not stuck, I could leave at any time and find other work but that I wanted to be there. I started making clear plans. What needed to happen to relieve the pressure of leading? What help did I have to find? What kind of hires needed to happen or positions created. Since then there have been steady steps to structure more leadership positions into the program, allowing me to share the challenges and decision making. Really solid staff has come into the program and it just keeps getting better. This week someone came looking for a job and happens to be a great fit for the program and the whole organization. Another blessing and I didn't even have to plan or seek this one out. It just seems clear that God is really up to something. And my stress continues to go down...and that is the biggest answer to prayer. 

It makes me wonder how often God is waiting for me to mentally shift or take a different perspective. I recently got a letter from Ransomed Heart Ministries and John wrote about asking just this question: How do you want me to see this Lord? What if we paused long enough to ask how God sees a situation rather than our human perspective?  

 

The War

"Dear friends, you must remember--the world we live in is a world at war." Walking with God, John Eldredge

Of course, we slide too easily into believing "I am a mistake". It is the enemy's plan. Satan has many tactics but I'm beginning to see that shame is a vicious arrow in his arsenal to wound us, keep us from loving each other, and prevent us from advancing the kingdom. Shame makes us hide, withdraw and disengage. All positions that keep us unable to fight the war for hearts. How many soldiers are being taken out everyday?

I was taken out this week. For quiet a few hours over several days. I was publicly embarrassed by being unaware of some key information. Which happens to most people on plenty of occasions but my brain doesn't leave it there. The initial pain was, "I didn't know", (which is innocuous enough and not necessarily shame inducing) but it quickly moved to: "Because I didn't know I let people down and therefore I am bad". The enemy tapped into the link he set up in my early childhood that letting others down equals being a bad person.

I see now that I skipped over acutely feeling the shame and progressed into anger. I had an easy target. The person who didn't keep me informed, right? Perhaps a human, normal pattern of reacting to this type of situation, but it is incredibly distracting. I seethed with anger for hours, trying to tame my thoughts, stay cool on the outside and move on with day. It didn't work. Instead of being at war against the true enemy I waged a battle in my heart with anger towards another one of God's precious creations. I justified my anger in my own mind. I was completely unable to meaningfully engage with people for the whole day. I was rendered ineffective for the Kingdom.

It wasn't until the next day when, feeling angry again, I paused longer to examine more of the dynamic. Then I realized how this all got started. I felt like a failure, like I was a screw up and inherently incompetent. But initially I had wrongly identified shame as anger. I felt angry but that was only after I felt ashamed. So I acknowledged the shame. I processed the real emotion and the anger faded. But real peace only returned after asking God to forgive me for warring in my heart with another.

And I am hopeful that next time he won't so easily knock me out of the battle.

So far away

I'm crying. I miss my son so much. Telephone calls are not enough. I know for sure that he is exactly where he needs to be but he hasn't lived with me for 11 months now. And prior to that he was only home for a few weeks. It was easier when he was still here in Ketchikan. But now, being a plane ride away, it's just really hard. Since December I've only laid eyes on him for two visits. I want to see him laugh and watch him play soccer and not be calling a locked down facility, getting a ten minute phone call each day. It's just so hard. I cannot imagine how hard it would be if I had actually given birth to him, if I had raised him all 17 years. But it shows me over and over that being a parent can start at any time, with any age child. He's a great kid, with a hard start to life. I love him and I wish that love was enough to turn the tide against the patterns he learned so young. I just want him to grow and learn and make better choices so he can come home and stay home.

The fuzzy difference

"Recognizing we've made a mistake is far different than believing we are a mistake."-Brene Brown

On a page the difference in words is obvious. In our hearts, in our day to day living, well I'm not certain we don't cross back and forth very easily between these two phrases.  Do we even notice? Do I recognize when I'm denigrating myself rather than acknowledging my actions? Am I in tune enough with the beliefs fueling my emotions?

I know I'm not. Moving too fast, having too many demands on my time, it all keeps me from carefully cultivating my heart life. And the more glorious news is that there is someone who knows my heart better than me. I do not have to guard it on my own. I do not have to delve in on my own. I have a guide. God's precious spirit can help me notice, can reveal every thought and belief that will help me stay in the position of knowing I've made mistakes but never, ever, ever AM I a mistake.

A many messaged chapter

Genesis 3, The Fall, studied by all the greats, written about, commented on, explored over and over. There's frankly books and books worth of teachings based in the one chapter. I also know that God in his wisdom leads each of us to the teachings related to particular scriptures that support our personal needs, pains, weaknesses and strengths. For me when I remember the fall I focus most often on Eve questioning God's goodness. She doubts him. I know so many of my actions, thoughts and emotions reflect that I doubt how good he is and how much he loves.

Reading it again and wondering about shame I think about Eve. Satan almost taunts her: "You aren't good or lovely, you could be more, you could know what he knows, you could have what he has." Maybe she felt ashamed. Did she feel small and not enough and flawed? A lot of writers say she was prideful and her sin was pride in grasping after being the same as God. And I don't dispute that. But was pride the secondary emotion? Was her pride a radical reaction to first feeling shame? My thoughts wander over how I would feel if someone pointed to something lovely and told me, "If you have that over there, you will be a better person". I don't immediately feel a sense of deserving that thing. My first thoughts are: "Yeah what I am is not enough. I could be better. I could/should be more than what I am." And yes it's pride to say God didn't make me right. As if I know better than God the way I should be. Or have we distorted our definition of pride because we're so desperate to avoid a conversation about shame?

The first definition I see listed of pride is: satisfaction with self: the happy satisfied feeling somebody experiences when having or achieving something special that other people admire. Only in the third definition is there mention of superiority and a haughty attitude.

I mean really when I was shopping on line last night was I feeling pride? "I deserve new things. I am worthy of the nicest items" NO what's really floating under there is: "Maybe I'll belong more if I look a certain way," or "Maybe that would minimize my waist" All the thoughts having the common thread of being not enough or too much. And I really don't think I'm avoiding my own pride by considering this line of emotion for Eve. I mean I have pride at times, for sure, no doubt about it. But now I wonder is the root of the pride my own struggle with shame? A feeling I had not even considered until a few weeks ago. Is this what is tripping me up and holding me back?

Little Details

There is simply so much there...the options for study and thought are endless. My mind is full of a zillion possible paths for discovery today. I've read the first chapters of Genesis more times than I could count. But I missed it. I'm not sure I have ever read those chapters looking for the emotions. And there it is...shame. As I was getting ready this morning thinking more about shame I asked God about where the scriptures talk about it and he began filling my mind with times when the disciples avoid obedience because they feel too small, or not enough. And then my mind flashed to the beginning Adam and Eve.

In looking at several versions of the first chapters a few things started to jump out and my fingers were flying to start making notes of the questions and thoughts buzzing through my mind. In skimming through the NIV, NLT, NKJ, NAS the first actually named feeling word is "ashamed". Feelings are alluded to prior to that but almost all the words are reporting facts and actions and events. Genesis 2:25 is the first clear statement about the emotions occurring in Adam and Eve. What's strange about this first emotion statement is that it's used as a contrast. The emotion of shame is NOT being experienced is what verse 25 says. God is describing the emotions that Adam and Eve are experiencing by saying they do not feel shame. In a literary way it's using the opposite of what they feel as a way of helping the reader understand what they do feel. But since I hardly understand what shame is, since we as a culture have ignored this emotion, in an attempt to deal with it, the contrast is lost on me. Whereas if it said, "They felt no sadness." I think oh yeah, I get it, I know how that feels. But shame being so foreign to me I really don't get it. So I've missed it, despite having read it many times, I avoided what I don't understand.

What is not ashamed? Do they feel whole, peaceful, connected and complete? Brene Brown formulates the definition of shame as:

Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of acceptance and belonging. (I Thought It Was Just Me)

Perhaps they felt accepting of themselves, of each other and like they belonged both within their relationships and environment. They maybe felt a connection to God to each other and a peace with their humanity. And we know that at this moment in the scripture things are as God intended. Emotions, relationships, communication, sin has not yet destroyed the beautiful balance. This is a state that God must want for me.

Horrible Memories

I've been paying attention to shame these last few weeks. What I've discovered is one of the ways shame crushes my heart is by washing over me some very vivid and painful memories. At the most unsuspecting moments I am reliving times when I have said something I wish I had not. They are all memories of saying something that shocked, or made others feel insignificant, or odd. I mean I don't know exactly what the receiver of my words felt. I just know that their discomfort was obvious and I felt ashamed. I felt that I was bad. Some how being unable in that moment to separate saying something inappropriate from being something inappropriate. Now, often years later I still cannot separate it and the intensity of the emotion remains. I relive feeling as if I am too much or not enough.

Just last week I was out for a walk, getting some exercise and a memory flies into my brain and within seconds my heart is cringing, my head is hanging down and I am reliving the moment and feeling so small. I want these memories gone because they torment me. I would prefer to remember with such vivid clarity moments of joy in my life. But we cannot selectively numb emotion. If I want the joy memories then I will also have to have the uncomfortable ones, the moments that I felt shame. I wonder, as I take the first steps on this new aspect of my heart journey, how the emotions around these memories could shift, how it might feel in a year of working specifically around this issue. I am hopeful that some part of this will change. There will be good fruit.

We have to talk about Shame

I'm a counselor. I've been doing my own "work", that is growing my heart, stretching myself, trying to clean up and clear out this messy space inside me since I was eight and yet...I don't understand this word or the concept. Sure, I've said to staff and co-workers that it's important not to shame kids. I've used the word. I've said I felt ashamed but I have never ever dug into this...this thing. And in the hopes of healing dynamics within my work team I'm pointed toward Brene Brown's work and I cannot get my mind or heart away from the ideas. I know intuitively in my gut that I must do this work. I must find out what shame means, how it works in my life and when it is haunting me. I feel compelled by God to ponder, to wonder, to observe, to learn about how shame is crippling me. Because I believe it is. I am certain that shame is the biggest hindrance I face in living as God wants, in relating to others as I want to, to overcoming the depression and anxiety that has been ever present.

And in twelve years working in this field and in four years studying in counseling. No one has ever brought up shame. We have theories on self-esteem, and self-worth and addiction and grief but have we just been looking at symptoms all this time? Are all these curriculum's on anger management and bullying and overcoming yada, yada, yada really just treating the symptoms? We know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, after fifteen years of unprecedented brain research that we are made for relationship. (Too bad we could not take the Bible at it's word many centuries ago.) It cannot be denied, although it is still yet to be very common knowledge. (Oh but it could have been, if we only believed what he wrote to us.) Those of us who study and work with people for a living are shouting that it's all about relationship. But maybe the more important truth is we cannot get there, relationship, unless we talk about shame. We must unmask it, remove the secrecy, dare to wade through it and even more importantly support one another in courageously taking on this monster every day.

I must talk about shame. It is the reason that though God told me years ago to blog, to do it regularly, to write not just for Him to see but for others to see, that I have done so little. I have feared that I am not enough or too much and have allowed those thoughts to be bigger than my courage and stronger than my voice.

Facing the Facts

I've been reading Good to Great again and there's this chapter about facing the brutal facts, making tough choices and maintaining the belief that despite the facts you will be successful. There's this reality that no company can be great without having access to the brutal facts, accepting the facts, making decisions based upon them, the really tough choices, the ones that hurt hearts and make people cry, but it takes the facts. In a company there's dollars and cents, and labor hours and all these numbers to work with. Even in my organization when it's sometimes hard to measure what we do, or arrive at facts because how do you really measure relationships and connection, there are still plenty of facts to work with.

But what about in my individual life? It seems so messy and unclear and shades of grey. I'm coming to terms with some facts right now and it's brutal and I can't say I'm doing a really good job of the later part of believing, being resolved that I will overcome. All I seem to notice are the facts that suck, that mean deprivation, that mean more unknowns. And I do NOT like unknowns.

The seemingly easy to come to terms with fact is that I'm gluten sensitive. All these years I thought dairy was causing my problems but nope it's wheat. That diet I wrote about earlier was the first step in even identifying this fact. After 17 days of the diet a stomach bug and the stress of eating so restrictively lead me to give it up. I started adding foods back into my daily routine and in the weeks since it has become painfully obvious that wheat and I are not friends. It makes my insomnia worse, makes my stomach ache and cramp for hours and though I continued to avoid and then run back to it I have now for a week avoided it completely. The result: my digestive system feels so good and my skin is glowing and those are the brutal facts. At the same time I feel like a part of me is dying. I feel deprived, anxious, angry and miserable. Every time I go to the grocery store it is like touring all the things I will never eat again. Well rephrase, I can eat them if I want to be miserable. Sure have the Girl Scout cookies but you will suffer- suffer for two days no less. Meals regularly remind of what I want to eat but can't. I am grieving and it seems so stupid to be so bent out of shape over food but I am. That's a fact too. I cannot minimize, ignore or belittle my own feelings. Isn't it truly kinder to myself to admit how hard this is? But I also have to get beyond these emotions. I can't stay in this angry place forever. But I also want to have the temper tantrum. I want others to feel sorry for me. I want some damn compassion.

Trouble is....I'm ashamed. I am ashamed of my own emotions and the intensity around some freaking food. I mean life could be worse. I feel like I have no right or space to complain because really in the broad view of bad things to happen in life this is not that big of a deal. But for me right now this is a big deal. Too bad I've isolated myself so much in the last year that I don't even really have people to talk this over with, and as lovely as my husband is he falls more in the accept it and move on category.

Then there's the really big brutal fact that I cannot seem to maintain any normal range of emotions without anti-depressants. This is a fact that scares me. It's hard to even write it. And it doesn't scare me because of what you might assume. I've been on and off anti-depressants since the middle of my adolescence. I have tried on several occasions to get through life without them. I always go back. I like myself better on them. I take small doses and they bring out the best in me. I am happy, joyful, resilient, calm, motivated, able to concentrate. Seriously I could be a poster child, they are so effective in a way that makes me the best person I can be. At several points in the last nearly 15 years of taking them I've asked myself why do I ever go off? I'm better with them.

But I went off again in a calculated decision. I want to have a family. And what "good mother" or half way educated one doesn't know that you are to avoid ALL medications in any form during pregnancy and for the most part while breastfeeding. So I weaned off, my doctors cheered me on, my husband supported me, rah, rah...fail. Epic Fail. It's been ten months off of them, six months of trying to get pregnant (that's a whole different story) and I am a freaking train wreck. Oh I hide it well. In fact lately I've been getting compliments on how engaged I am at work, how present and focused I am, little do they know. They don't know that I am somehow managing in that environment well but not the rest of the hours in a day. I am not functioning I am forcing, slaving, dragging. It's really come to a head in the last few weeks. I mean I have no joy, no true interest in anything, I am making myself do just about everything. And I CANNOT live this way because this is not meaningful living.

My real fear is that my inability to conquer something, to manage my own emotions, resulting in going back on medications could mean that my future child has some horrible congenital defect. See in my view God's protection is not a guarantee, this world is messed up, my body is not how in his perfect design he wants it to operate. Life is full of choices which allow for brokenness and sin to impact us and others. God is more than capable of protecting an unborn child but he doesn't have to. Do I trust him to sustain us through whatever comes? Do I make a different move? Why do I set myself up as an opponent to him? I mean aren't we supposedly on the same team? But for some reason I doubt...just like Adam did...just like Eve and Jacob and Moses and Peter...just like hundreds before me...I wonder if his heart is good. I wonder if he really has my best in mind.

I read a blog entry recently, written by Morgan, part of the Ransomed Heart team, and he reminded us to practice slowing down and asking God before making a move. I feel like I asked God a week or so ago about if I need to be back on medication. I'm not so sure now that I really waited to hear clearly. But now I'm pausing and yes I am sure. He invites me to trust him. And truthfully... reluctantly... I will try.

Belly Aches

Wheat is apparently my enemy. Every time I try to have some my belly hurts for hours. You'd think I'd quit trying it but I haven't yet been able to come to terms with the loss. Wheat tastes so good. Bread, cookies, cakes, ugh and now they tear me up inside for hours. I'll try again tonight, no wheat. It's not worth it, I don't want to feel like crap but my memory is bad and I keep going back to it.

A week in review

So we are seven days into the diet changes and I'm pretty miserable, at this moment. But I want to balanced in how it's really gone so I'm going to start with the positives.

• Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I had really consistent high energy levels all day. Even when I came home from work I still had energy to burn and stayed up on my feet and cooked and cleaned the house.
• I noticed on Wednesday evening that I didn't have this burning desire to sit down and put my legs up when I got home from work. For years I've been uncomfortable in my legs and hips by evening and have wanted them up and elevated. 
• My concentration and thinking skills seem clear and focused throughout my work day. I didn't have times where I felt like I had brain fog or an inability to organize my thoughts or take in what people around me are saying. 
• I received compliments on my skin glowing and and looking hydrated. 
• I have lost weight around my middle. 
• Things that would ordinarily get me angry, upset or frustrated seemed to roll off my back. I didn't seem to get the simmering anger that sometimes happens. 
• I'm discovering things that are sweet tasting that I didn't usually think are. Spaghetti squash.
• There was a couple days when my girl parts felt really healthy.

The not so good are:

•  The sugar cravings are strong and hard.
• I had headaches all morning on several days.
• I want bread in the worst way
• By Friday I did not feel good. Protein seemed to help but the moodiness, fatigue and irritability is noticeable.
• Saturday was pretty awful. I was emotional, grumpy, wanting so many foods that are out of the question. 

Saturday's Realization

I mentioned in another post that I've had many years of struggle with yeast infections and unfortunately I think this is going to be a long drawn out siege. I'm having symptoms this week, after a couple days of feeling some real improvement. So this is something I've learned up until ovulation girl parts have a certain acidity level that generally keeps yeast away. The second half, after ovulation leading up to your period the acidity changes and an infection is more likely. I was having an infection pretty much every month prior to my period and then the period and some treatments would get it under control and then the cycle would repeat. The last two months the infections have started earlier, even during the time prior to ovulation. That's what got me really concerned. I was at almost constant infection. I've tried a detox with doTerra essential oils in January and had some relief but not a cure. I'm repeating the detox along with the diet.

But today I really came to terms with what I've suspected and that is I am looking at long term diet changes. This stuff is vicious and is probably living in my blood stream. My husband suggested I see the doctor. The reality is that doctor's don't generally think that systemic yeast infections exist. There's evidence that yeast interferes with fertility, sleep, weight loss all sorts of stuff, this is all over the internet in journal articles and studies but...most docs I have talked to and the one I did speak with here in town does not believe they exist. Mayo Clinic's website supports the idea that systemic yeast issues don't happen. But clearly it has a strong foothold in my body. So I'm sad, super sad in fact, that I will not be having bread or dairy or things that have seemed so yummy for such a long time. Some people have to stay on a strict diet for six months to a year without cheating in order to get rid of the yeast and after that have to be very careful. I'm angry that this is going to be a ton of hard work most likely and I feel like I've got enough to be working on why this? I mean really God, why give me one more challenge? I mean the good news is I will probably end up at a really healthy weight and there is nothing wrong with that but the cooking and shopping and thought that is required is a lot of work. And there's no way my husband is doing more than 30 days of this. I am still hoping that there might be some things that could make eating more enjoyable that I can add back in at 30 days. Like almond milk for my coffee, at this point I just gave up coffee, it is gross black.

At the same time I can't live like I was before. I felt awful. I don't want to go back to eating garbage but being this restricted is awful. It seems like a no win situation. And maybe in a few days I'll be far more used to this way of eating and I'll see more results and be more optimistic but for now I'm sticking to it only because I know I have to. I can't go back to being overweight, not sleeping, infected, mental fuzziness, energy peaks and valleys, that was awful, but this is hard too.

Perhaps what I really need is sleep and some time with God. Because at this point he's going to have to really move in my mind and heart in order to get a better perspective on all this.

Cleaning out the kitchen

So tomorrow my husband and I are trying a new way of eating. It was a decision that was made in the last week but it's been a long time in coming. For him, he's been steadily including more healthy habits ever since we met but...he's been increasingly grumpy about how tight his pants feel since we got married. I keep telling him that he's doing most of the cooking so maybe it's his own fault but he jokingly blames being settled down. I have suspected for years that my eating needed a major overhaul for reasons I'll detail a bit later. The thing that really stuck out to me earlier today was the wondrous aspect of having a teammate to make this change with. For the first time in my life I've got someone who is committed to make a life change with me. We're in this together and it feels different than any other time that I've tried to loose weight or exercise more or any number of healthy life changes...I have a partner.

But it's even deeper, it's a reflection of how we are taking the oneness of marriage seriously. When I brought up with him a little over a week ago how very much, for my own health and comfort, I needed to make diet changes he, without even flinching, seemed to know that my health is connected to his. I could make the changes on my own but they would be that much more lasting, powerful and easier to sustain if he was fully invested in making the changes with me. His response was not just support but joining in with me on whatever needed to happen for my health and his.

THE WARNING SIGNS: How I knew it was time to clean out the kitchen.

For those that don't like biology and yucky medical condition discussions you may want to skip this paragraph. Changing what I eat is a long time in coming. About ten years ago I had a summer of terrible stomach upset, cramping, pain and diarrhea. After weeks of paying close attention to what I was eating it was clear that I no longer tolerated much diary. Ever since then I have had horrible problems with yeast. I mean as a grown woman I have had thrush more times than I can remember. For those that don't know usually only babies get thrush, it's a yeast infection of the mouth. And since getting married and being hospitalized with IV antibiotics yeast in many locations has been my nemesis. And during ten plus years of fighting yeast I can definitively say that medical treatments are not the answer. At the same time up till this point I've only made small enough changes to reduce the symptoms for a short period of time.

I'm seriously concerned about my immune system. In the last two years I have had two major infections. Strep which lasted for four months and only ended because of a tonsillectomy and MRSA which only resolved after a week of IV drugs. I'm only 33 years old my body should fight this stuff off. After the MRSA that first I had and then my husband I knew we needed to get our immune systems functioning well. I absolutely have a ton of stress in my life and I'm well aware that it is hurting my immune system but I know that my diet is not helping. I also know there's only so many vitamins a person can take. And do we really have any idea how much the chemicals in our foods undo any good we try to do for our bodies?

I've always been a reader and a researcher and have made some good efforts to use natural non-medical interventions for various things. I've had fibromyalgia for most of my life and there's a ton of information regarding aspartame, inflammatory foods and now yeast and chronic pain. I even cut aspartame out completely a few years ago and felt a ton better. Unfortunately avoiding aspartame only lasted about 8 months.

Since getting married we've had the possibility of starting a family on our minds. I've been particularly concerned about learning to live on a daily basis without using medications. Between pregnancies and breastfeeding I'm hoping I'll have years of needing to avoid medications. I think it's better to start practicing pain management, headaches, allergies etc without medication prior to pregnancy than just having to go cold turkey.

Jettisoning medications has resulted in horrible insomnia. With fibromyalgia insomnia is often a part of the picture. Over the last few years I've generally used all natural pain remedies but had not transitioned into non-chemical sleep aides. I had no idea how much my body relied on my sleep aides. Nor did I understand how brutal life is when you can't sleep. So I turned back to researching and the more I read the more it was obvious that my diet, yeast, wheat, all sorts of foods could be part of my body's inability to regulate itself well.

Then there's the stress management. I'm pretty sure my adrenal glands are pumping out way to much cortisol. And one of the best solutions for getting hormones regulated is to change your diet.

Reading and learning related to so many health conditions the last few months has made me even more aware of how I feel when I eat. I've been so aware that good foods make me feel good and processed, sugary foods make me feel terrible. I'm tired of feeling bloated, gassy and run down after eating. And I'm even more tired of knowing what I need to do and not doing it.

We're embarking on what will be a thirty day commitment to no sugar, no chemicals, no dairy, no processed crap. Just fruit, veggies, meats, natural foods and hopefully a whole new perspective. It's pretty restrictive for the 30 days and then we'll make decisions about what to add back in.

Honest truth is I am excited and petrified. I am hopeful that I could feel vastly different but I'm dreading the sugar cravings, the work and the meals that could feel less than satisfying. I can tell that I'll be learning a lot about using spices, cooking new vegetables and conquering my desires for things that hurt my body. It's not going to be easy but it will be good.

baby feelings

Here's a crazy thing. I have mountains of journals. I write a ton. Not quiet as much since I got married and have less time to myself but I can write endlessly. And a couple years ago God made it very clear I needed to start writing publicly. So I started this blog and told no one about it. I'm being obedient right? :) Oh dear... And so as you can tell I have very few posts. I mean typically I come to this thing and have total block. I get all anxious about what I'm going to say and I get all concerned about my "audience". Geez, high school writing classes die hard.

God has been challenging me lately about the judgement I place on myself and others. He's been even more clear that I need to be writing on here, not just in my books. He and I processed all this as I'm journaling, pen to paper in another of my endless books. I asked him directly about what is going on that I'm so blocked when it comes to writing publicly. He was so clear that it's because I keep trying to write for others instead of writing for Him and myself. My physical journals are all about connecting with Him and this venue can be the same way, but see, I get blocked, by judging myself and second guessing my intuition. He's made me into this lovely woman and so often I hide it and shirk away and conceal myself because I'm so afraid. Which if you know me in the rest of my life seems so crazy. I have a job where I interface with people all day long. I lead a huge group of incredible professionals as they serve this community. I can public speak and speak my mind but perhaps like so many I am deeply afraid that if the secret part of me were known that I would be thrown out in the trash.

Hiding isn't working anymore.

I've sort of prided myself on being transparent and open with others but I'm realizing that's all relative. I don't mind sharing my personal life story and history. But I'm very careful about who I share my now with. I keep most of my present thoughts pretty guarded. I don't reach out to others and get very curious about their current world. I do in my work. I can't be a therapist or a good supervisor without being interested in people's worlds. In my work it's important that I don't mutually share my world with people. And that was really safe. It's coming to the end of it's usefulness this... wall... hiding...only peek out a little bit thing. It's time to grow. It's time to change and it starts with going way back.

I asked God where this all started. When I get in casual social situations I feel like I'm 18 months old. Seriously, I feel like everything is big and scary and I just want to cling to my mother's leg. I may know a few words but I'm too scared to speak them. It's to the point that I don't like going to church. I don't know what to say. It's this huge room of tons of people and I have no clue how to operate. I've felt this way for years at church, and I blogged about it before. But I've pretty much given into my total avoidance of going. I can't worship. I can't connect to God. I am a clingy baby the whole time with no mom to hide behind.

Now I don't have any clear memories of my life at 18 months but how is that I got stuck there? Some part of my social development is back there. That may not make sense to a lot of people but it's something we therapists notice. Emotional development happens but all of us have areas that don't necessarily grow up and we have patterns that we revert to that may be very childish. So here I am a slightly verbal, feeling like 18 or 22 months in any kind of unstructured social situation. Not true for structured ones, when I have a role or responsibility in a big social gathering I'm all good. The next question is how do I grow up? I want to...I'm done giving in to this little baby. The thing about growth is that God makes it happen. I don't have the answer yet but asking him what is going on is the first step and then asking him to help me grow is the next one. I'm going to trust him to grow me to guide me in becoming 33 socially. That sounds really good. I'd really like to be 33 on Sunday mornings.