Advocating for Myself

Yesterday I went to the hospital three times. I had a tender spot in my neck, right where the nurse who placed the PICC line over two months ago had to direct the line downwards to my heart instead of upwards toward my neck. Before I went into the hospital for my routine dressing change, I called and let the nurses know what was going on so they could get an order for a chest X-ray to check the PICC placement. The X-ray showed a large loop in the line, right where that tender spot was (whew, I'm not crazy)! The only thing I can think of is that the line got pulled out a few inches a couple weeks ago by a nurse as she was changing my dressing. She pushed it back in...but why hadn't it hurt until Wednesday night? No idea. 

The nurses pushed one of their chairs at me and had me sit behind their desk with them while they looked at the X-ray and scheduled a new line placement. I sipped from a company cup like I used to before I quit working just over a year ago. It was nice to be one of them for JUST a minute. 

I could have gone to interventional radiology (IR) right away, but I promised my graduating kindergartener we would pick her up and take pictures with her teacher since it was the last day of school. That was fun and sweet. My daughter's teacher is the most wonderful, genuine person, and got my child reading like a pro this year. 

When we got home, my angelic mother-in-law was working in our house, cleaning dishes, bathrooms, and the floors. The soup she lovingly made was stewing in the crock pot all afternoon. I was so grateful for her help. 

I looked forward to IR for the weirdest reason: I was excited to lie down and rest my head and neck (....aaaand fix the loop in my PICC line). They unwrapped my dressing in the hallway (what the?) and guided me into the imaging room. After prepping and draping me, the doctor inserted a guidewire, took out the old line, and put a new line in the same site with X-ray visualization. Hopefully they ruled out structural problems after I requested it, but I was kind of just another body to them and wasn't really respected enough to get answers, even as they worked. 

The guidewire was inserted too far into my heart and made me want to cough. I struggled with breathing for a minute while they worked, but they didn't validate my discomfort. My heart felt and looked like it was being tickled on X-ray; I have no doubt I was in an arrhythmia, but I wasn't being monitored in any way. Once the PICC was placed in the superior vena cava (SVC), I felt better. When he was done, the doctor asked why I have a central line and how I got Lyme disease. 

The procedure didn't take long. I got to watch myself breathe while the X-ray machine was running in real time. It was the most beautiful thing; I'd never seen my insides in real time before. What a wonderful Galaxy I am! Bodies are the best Invention ever. 

The techs who took care of me in interventional radiology were very nice, but they didn't know much about PICC line dressings. I asked three times (twice in advance) for the gauze method I've needed the last couple weeks with the blistery rash around the PICC site, and they fully retorted, then ignored me. Furthermore, the tech who dressed the site put a dressing on while my arm was still wet with iodine, even though I told her not to. Sigh. I was still under a sterile drape and going by feel only. I walked out and noticed the dressing was put on completely wrong and went from my armpit to my elbow. Too exhausted to fight it, I just went home to put on pajamas and rest. 

But an hour later, I knew I couldn't make it through to my next dressing change with wet iodine eating at my open skin. It was burning I called my girls at the IV therapy unit again. They said they could fit me in for a dressing change right away. I went to the hospital for the third time. Luckily, my husband had gotten to work from home a lot of the day. 

The nurses wanted me to spill all the details about the loop (still elusive) for education purposes, so I did. I was already getting red and reactive at my elbow and raised blisters from where the wet iodine was (and blood, just a little). I felt high maintenance, but the nurse said it was a good thing I came in and I knew it too. It was just way more hospital than I wanted for the week. 

The nurse removed the dressing, wiped off the blood and iodine with alcohol, squirted the site down with saline, let it all dry completely, and dressed my arm, all with sterile technique. 

You've gotta love good nurses! They are going to talk to the educator about my loop. The nurses had never seen a loop that huge before and wondered if it could have been an aneurism or if it had been there since placement. They don't do routine chest X-rays for PICC placements anymore like we did when I was working; they use another method which shows if the tip is placed in the superior vena cava, but not whether the line is looped or a straight shot. 

(I think part of my mission in this life is to be a medical guinea pig to help educate others by being an aware patient and sometimes calling people's bluff. I've had lots of teaching experiences as a patient.)

That was yesterday's urgent, medical endeavor. The loop was causing inflammation in my vessel and was a blood clot risk, plus it had been painful to sleep with and was giving me a headache with nausea. I wonder if it was obstructing blood flow to my brain; I imagined that instead of a nice round jugular, it had been stretched flat by the loop. 

It was a a busy evening after all that: I saw my zoning friend to help work out some of the radiation I'd had, took and ate loads of antioxidants, had dinner and my home IV, read scriptures with my family, rested...it was a long day. My guts acted weird so I couldn't fall asleep until two, but I think they dealt really well with the day they had. My body is team, and some players had really hard plays yesterday, so I was gentle on the whole team and just let them talk it out once I could sit back and listen. My guts were definitely the loudest!

My daughter has been a little busybody today without school to fill her morning. She picked an outfit for me to wear and has been trying to get me up to get ready for the day. She doesn't know that it's not usually up and moving very much before lunchtime after a day like yesterday. I hope I can keep my children happy and having fun this summer! I used to love hot weather, but for the past seven summers it has really drained me. I'm more likely to feel like passing out in heat than any other weather. And it's no fun to swart when you have open skin on your tender inner arm. 

Today I am unapologetically recovering. I really left it all on the field yesterday and am now thanking my body for running faster than it was able. In three weeks I should be done with IVs for a month while we take a break and reassess how the regimen is working. That will be six total months of central line IVs, and about a year of IV treatments total. Wow!

A long time ago as I prepared for a statewide scholarship competition, my coach told me that no one is going to stick up for me but me. In nursing, my most important job was to advocate for the patients. I have taken both of those charges to heart, and wrapped them into one yesterday as I advocated for myself. It was an educational day. I'm glad everything worked out and look forward to spending more time with my babies this summer. 

Follow Up on My S.O.S. Message

(Note: All my posts take courage to write, but this one really did.) 

I have not written a clear follow-up about the crisis I had earlier this month. (Do you remember the S.O.S. message I sent out on Facebook? That.) This experience changed my paradigm in a few ways, and I feel like I need to testify of what I learned.

Here is the breakdown of events.

On Monday, May 4th, in the evening, I suddenly felt as though I had swallowed a whole handful of capsule-type pills at once and that they had stuck together and lodged in my esophagus. I hadn't eaten or drank in at least 45 minutes. Swallowing broke up the building spasmodic pain for a few seconds, but then it would resume. I thought I had a large buildup of Lyme happening in my guts again, so I had my husband start my first IV of the week: penicillin. The pain persisted, but I felt through the Spirit that I didn't need to go to the emergency room. I asked my friend who zones (reflexology) if she could squeeze me in that evening. My antibiotic finished, and my husband capped my PICC line after our family pulled up to our friend's house. 

The pain came and went like a spasm; it was right behind my sternum, so I concluded it was either a spasm, a heart attack, or a blood clot. Zoning revealed that my esophagus, stomach, and heart were all golden, but the sphincter between my esophagus and stomach was spasming. I was relieved to know I wasn't losing heart tissue. The pain intensified after I left, but by the early morning hours, I was okay.

On Tuesday, May 5th, I felt occasional spasmotic aftershocks and was just sick and couldn't eat. I felt a lot of fear of my body and how it would act, feeling separated from it somehow. Crazy thoughts started flirting through the stage of my mind. I went to a really dark place where I considered, for the first time in my life, self harm. I even took a pen to my forearm and wrote all the negative messages I was feeling, bust washed it all off before anyone could see. It was a crazy, almost out-of-body feeling because I felt no control. I wanted to run away and take a train to Denver or turn off my location services and drive to the bookstore and read books. I felt trapped and like I needed to get away, but I didn't have strength to stand much less drive anywhere. My husband worked, and my children watched TV all day. By evening, I had wanted to break free all day, and since I couldn't get out, my husband let me have some alone time while he took the kids went grocery shopping. I don't blame him because he didn't know what was going on in my mind, but if I had been him and been a mind reader, I would NOT have let myself stay home alone. It was hellish and horrific. I wanted to just stop being. It was the wildest, darkest, most hellish day I've ever had.

I believe it was on this day that I texted an S.O.S. message to my family members and pasted it to my Facebook wall so people could pray for me. I was desperate and needed immediate relief more acutely than I have ever felt in my life.

Adding to this, I was beginning to itch everywhere. My lip felt like it was stung by a bee, then swelled up. I didn't notice I was breaking the skin and that hives were forming. I had my husband start my penicillin when he and the kids got home. Meanwhile, I stayed in the same muu muu I'd slept in the night before, and I brooded, wildly hating my life. (It's hard for me to admit all this, so be kind.)

On Wednesday, May 6th, I was low. I was oh, so low. I was too sick to have wild thoughts. I was too tired to write on myself. I discovered the hives after scratching all through the night again. My lips swelled up. I took Benadryl. I called my doctor's office and told them I was quitting my IV for the rest of the week. It seems I had acquired an allergy to penicillin and not been able to reason through it. It made me go crazy. The rest of the day I rested and recovered from the past two days of illness. Again, I couldn't eat much, but I was grateful the sphincter spasms were gone, and I was grateful for Benadryl. I thought on the horror of the previous day and wondered what it all meant.

On Thursday, May 7th, we kept our appointed time slot to visit the Payson Temple open house. I packed a purse with emergency stuff (including a puke bag) and held it on my lap while my husband pushed me through all the floors of the temple in my wheelchair. Partway through, the plastic around my wheels gave way (they had been wrapped to keep the temple carpets clean), and I had to use the first aid station's wheelchair instead. I got my comfy, streamlined chair back at the end and was so grateful to have been able to withstand this day. There was profound beauty and peace everywhere in the temple. I got to be on ear-level with my children, and I whispered to them the things they should look for and told them to note how they felt in the beautiful temple. In the Celestial Room, I asked them how they felt, and I remember they said "happy" and "love." I asked them if they now understood why we want our own home to feel like the temple, and they GOT IT. We later talked together about how important it is to only bring good influences into our home so the same Spirit we feel in the temple can be in our home. We talked about why it's important to love each other, get along, and keep our home orderly and clean. They were excited to contribute more at home because of our peaceful experience in the temple.

And now, the lessons.

A few days later, I talked to a woman whom I love. I learned more about her world. Inside her head, she lives in an especially dark world every single day. She had considered self harm and even acted upon it. I let her talk as long as she liked, and then I realized what a GIFT my hellish day had been. It had given me a new empathy. I'd thought I had empathy for people who suffer in their mind, but I experienced it to a new degree on that day when I wrote hateful messages on my arm while contemplating using sharp object (so unlike me!). I understood not being able to feel, not being happy or sad, just desperate to know if and why you're alive. I understood the feelings of wanting to disappear and stop existing. (I've actually infrequently lived in that place since I had my first baby and experienced postpartum depression which has never let up.) I could sit and cry with this woman. I understood. And then I understood why "Jesus wept." He knows acutely the hell and distance that people can feel in mortality. That hell is not knowing where you are and where God is, and can be entirely out of one's control due to other factors. I couldn't take this woman's hurt away, and I couldn't restore her memory of how much she is loved by God; but I could hold her, and I could know my own version of her hurt. I was so grateful for that terrible day I'd had so I could be with this woman, validate her feelings with my own recent experience, and feel I could weep cry with her. I hope I was a safe place for her to bear her heart.

Another lesson I learned is about the power of prayer. I concluded that my day of wild thinking was because I was reacting negatively to the penicillin and maybe the toxins being put out by my organs.

Generally, if I know people are praying for me, I try to be receptive to their faith in my behalf. But the day I sent the S.O.S. message to all of you, I was too out of my mind to be faithfully receptive. It was all I could do not to curse God; I just can't do that. I just enough sense to know it wasn't His fault and that somehow He was blessing me in this way. If I was patient enough, I would see the importance of this difficulty sometime. 

But WITHIN 15 MINUTES of my message being posted and texted, I felt a lift. An edge was taken off. Something was better, something felt lighter. Maybe I was stronger, or maybe the forces of what was happening in my body were kept at bay enough for me to not do anything dangerous. IT WAS REAL, PEOPLE. PRAYER WORKS. Prayer delivered me. In retrospect, I imagine that for every positive thought directed my way and every prayer uttered in my behalf, a crew of angels took a degree of darkness from me or added a countering boost of light. They may have even neutralized some of the toxic processes happening in my body so I could stay safe. I don't know how it went down; I just know I made it through the day, and I am okay. God was giving me my highest good. Thank you for praying for me! 

Regarding my current treatment and feeling so confused, I know that certain things have worked concretely to help my body. 

As much as I want to deny it (being sort of anti-antibiotic myself), my IV antibiotic regimen has helped me. It's stopped my sciatic pain and uneven gait and joint pain, cleared my mind enough to think well sometimes, restored some of my memory capacity, and given me just a degree more energy week to week. I'm not "cured," but I know IV antibiotics have helped minimized symptoms (besides the penicillin; I fired it, doncha know).

God's gift through my friend who does zoning has kept my organs functioning. God has moved die-off and toxins through my body and allowed my organs not not become too overburdened (although my liver is overburdened often, and sometimes my kidneys [per labs]; you can pray for them if you like). 

I also know my Paleo diet has helped keep inflammation down in my body and kept my guts from having daily pain.

Emotional work has put my head in the right place so I can understand how to physically use the Atonement in my life and also approach my challenges in a positive, productive way. I am so grateful for my doctor's guidance in this and for the experiences I'm having. 

While I face uncertainty at this time, I know God is giving me the highest good for my life. I really need to get on my knees and pray about what to do next with my regimen and blistered PICC line arm. He has the best answers.

Speaking of answers, if I offended anyone a couple posts back, well....I'm sorry. I had too many suggestions and some attempted manipulation all happen at once regarding my self-care, and I felt cornered. Just like with everything in my life, I want to make sure God and I are on the same page, and I will not bend my will to please someone. So has been all my life. I may be 105 pounds and look like I'm fourteen, but I am mighty. "Though she be but little, she is fierce" (Shakespeare). While I am polite and will hear you out, I am also smart. I just couldn't hear anyone else out anymore. It's no coincidence that I am a nurse having this experience. I am prepared for this. Though I can't have near as many mental tabs open at once and my Ram is weak sauce, I can think for myself and discern when something is no good for me. Suggestions often come out of love, and I thank you for the love you have felt any time you have suggested something to me. However, I will not yield to every blowing wind of suggestion. God and I have a thing going, and I trust His counsel the most.

I think I better close this out. I hope you understand a little more about my crisis and the great things that came of it. Once again, it reinforced my belief that EVERYTHING GOD GIVES US IS A GOOD THING. (I came up with that one myself!) 

I thank Him for my horrible day. I thank Him for being able to feel hives and painfully swollen lips for the first time. I thank Him for my family and friends who care about and pray for me and offer me suggestions. I thank Him that I could see the temple with my children after feeling like I walked "in the valley of the shadow of death." I thank Him for helping me become a nurse so I can keep up with the lingo and be a case manager (with Him) for myself. 

Most of all, I thank Him for loving me, and for loving me enough to provide me with the highest good in my life, trusting me to suffer and experience the things that I need to grow. I hope I can be worthy of dwelling with Him one day. I hope through this blog that I can teach what I learn. I hope I can help others as we learn to suffer with Christ. We become glorious by loving God and being grateful. 

I love that Jesus Christ kept His wounds for us, and I can't wait to kiss them. As we acquire wounds and scars, I can't help but feel that we're in the Best of company. 

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, ye are little children, and ye have not as yet understood how great blessings the Father hath in his own hands and prepared for you;

"And ye cannot bear all things now; nevertheless, be of good cheer, for I will lead you along. The kingdom is yours and the blessings thereof are yours, and the riches of eternity are yours.

"And he who receiveth all things with thankfulness shall be made glorious; and the things of this earth shall be added unto him, even an hundred fold, yea, more."

Love God, and be grateful for your highest good. ❤️

Quick Updates

My PICC line has been itching like crazy all weekend, and a feeling of dread came when I realized why. I had a dressing change today, and it was just as I remembered for my last PICC line. My skin has two big, open blisters and about a hundred little blisters all around the site. I had my last PICC for one month before I broke out in blisters. This time it's been two months with better dressings and more gentle cleaners on the skin. I don't know what I'll do next. I just don't know...it'll be a surprise to me. 

I saw a neurosurgeon today. He was great. My pineal gland has a (probable) benign cyst. It's about the size of a jellybean instead of a sunflower seed. They used to always remove these, but we're going to do another MRI in a year to see if it's changed (like marking your child's height year to year on the door jamb, it will show if there are any significant changes). The surgeon told us emergent signs to look for, but otherwise to just not worry about it. It's on my medical ID bracelet (complications make themselves known, and I wouldn't necessarily be able to speak for myself). I may have been born with this cyst or developed it early in life; at any rate, he sees about six per year (rare). He sees no sign of a tumor at this time and does not want to go forward with surgery. We liked him a lot; I could work for a doc like him. 

I'm doing a lot of "studying out" to weigh the risks and benefits of my current Lyme regimen. Am I fruitlessly beating myself up or making aggressive strides toward wellness? Heavenly Father can direct me in this. 

My sweetheart continues to be my very best friend in all things and is sweet and wonderful. Our moms and dads are ever helpful and doting. Our siblings are loving and supportive. We feel really blessed. 

I ranted a few days ago, and still feel a degree of frustration...but I was reminded of the most recent priesthood blessing I received and was empowered by its central message. Then I read some stellar scripture stories last night and felt more peace. I needed these reminders. The priesthood is a miracle. 

God looks out for His children. I'm so grateful to be His. I think He is glad I come to Him in my frustration and ask for help. 

Those are a few swift updates. Amen. 

Disenchanted

It seems that I am not responding predictably to my treatments. I'm stumping my doctor, and that is frustrating. She won't give up, but it makes me wonder what all my work, time, and money has been good for if I'm not making positive advances beyond just not getting WORSE. I can tell my doctor is disappointed: this bright, young mom in childbearing years has a big crimp in her groove that she hasn't been able to iron out yet. 

I thought I was going along like a normal person like me when my doctor said I'm just not responding right. Dang! I mean, maybe all I've done is indeed payment toward the end result I want, but I don't KNOW that. I don't like feeling like I may have to go back to square one and figure out what else might be wrong. How can I physically endure much more?

I went from working full time to spending way more than I was earning every month on getting better...and I'm starting to wonder...what now?

On Monday, I'll see a neurosurgeon for the first time. The neurologist I saw awhile ago referred me to this neurosurgeon to get a second opinion and also so I can have a neurosurgeon who knows me in case things go south (I feel grateful for the referral but also a bit perturbed at the possibility of tanking). There is a structure in my brain that is 160 times larger than normal; I'll learn more about it on Monday. 

I once again feel sick and tired of being sick and tired. Suggestions pour in from friends, family, and strangers of modalities that worked for a friend of a friend or some relation, and each has a 200% guarantee of working. My suggestion box is full, and I don't have the money to try every dang thing. I don't care anymore about the chemistry, or the energy, or legislation to legalize stuff, or that your way is just freaking magic. I'm tired of orders and prescriptions and suggestions. Instead of feeling open to trying new things, I now feel like running away with my hands over my ears. 

In my imagination, I call time out in this boxing match because I'm so tired of fighting. 

But if I stop fighting, will I slip backwards if I HAVE been making progress?

Having used different combinations of treatments for several months, I am believing less and less that there is one or even a combination of magic things that will cure me. Though my symptoms betray this belief, most days I feel I will somehow, someday get better. But today, I feel like unlacing the boxing gloves, icing my face, and maybe retiring from the ring so I can live my life. 

I can either push through upcoming aggressive treatments, or just quit. Quitting sounds mighty easy. All this trouble I've gone to may pay off, but today I'm feeling awfully disenchanted. 

Pullin' Up My Bootstraps

The past couple days have been wild, and I have been running. Functioning at this level is familiar, but only a memory. The muscle fibers and synapses have fired up automatically (yeah, she's still got it in there somewhere). But running all day has felt like a living memory in live-action surround sound, with subtle changes like the layout of the grocery store being different. I've liked flexing my functional-human-being muscles again, even though I am so totally pooped. 

Heavenly Father has been whispering hints of a new family focus we need to have. Following a church lesson on that very topic on Mother's Day, I knew exactly what He wanted me to do to carry it out. Call me cautious, but I know that anytime I utter a good plan out loud, oppositional forces do their worst to thwart it. (Tip: never say you're going to the temple out loud--just think it and GO!) So with my plan in mind and good forces on my side, I skipped any medicines that would make me tired for the day, got our kids in the car, and ran the two errands required to carry out the plan for the most epic family home evening ever. 

I came home content, wordless, exhausted, and ready to get my cool mom on. But my good intentions must have leaked because oppositional forces came down like a sledgehammer on my husband's face. 

He has been brewing a hurricane in his upper jaw for three months, but it didn't devastatingly hit the shore until a few days ago. The master of all toothaches brought him to his knees, with pain radiating from his eye socket to his chin and back through his neck (likely from the festering of a bad root canal he had gotten in Italy--without anesthetic). My sweetheart apologized for being a baby, but I wouldn't have it. To me, he's trying to be a hero. There is nothing like the bone pain due to building pressure, and I won't have any apologies from him. That man needed reinforcements but couldn't think around the pain.

He saw his cousin, a dentist, who deduced the likely problem and referred him to an endodontist (appointment tomorrow). Meanwhile, my sweetheart started the first prescription medication he's had since grade school: an antibiotic to stop the critters from bursting through his skull. 

My ruddy husband was white and listless with pain, unable to eat or talk much. I got my protective nurse on and updated his dentist, got my persistent wife on and hit the pharmacy, and got my pushy lunch lady on and filled a grocery store basket with soft and cold foods to bring home to my fella. He protested my going out, but my powerful alter ego smacked her hip, snapped her fingers, and threw her dreadlocks over her shoulder. "Don't you worry about a thing, honey. Mama's gon' take GOOD care of you," and left in a whirl of flying braids. 

Adrenaline had shot through my body like fireworks, and set to singe any thoughts of myself. Ain't nobody gonna take care of my husband like I can, Lyme disease or not. 

I stacked groceries on the table so my husband could see his options. I educated him about medication and put hesitations to rest. I brought him ice packs and potato cheese soup. And that night--last night--I slept on the couch an arm's length away so I could keep my eye on him through the night. He fared fairly. 

Today started early with my own morning full of appointments in a town behind the mountain. My husband's mother greeted her boy and took me away; I fretted all the time. But I returned home having finished all but two of my out-of-home treatments for the week. And my mother-in-law saw her boy again, offering soothing words, a mother's touch, and a gentle kiss on his whiskery cheek.  

Busily, I set back to work taking care of my family despite my post treatment fatigue. It's nice to be back in the saddle even if I feel haggard. I'm going to feel "ew" anyway, I've given my utmost in adrenaline, and my family is worth everything I have. 

My to do list tonight includes my home infusion and injections. But for now, the house is quiet. My daughter is at dance, my son is eating at Grandma's, and my husband is quietly sleeping on the couch, where I lie an arm's length away. And I'm content. 

Salutations

I wrote this post strictly for your information and to catalogue symptoms. Sympathy and prayers are okay. But I just feel like getting this down. 

The last week has been a special challenge. A week ago I started into a pain attack at 1 AM which was blessedly abated immediately with a priesthood blessing and medications. Total miracle, no denying it! I slept within a half hour. At 3 AM I experienced a dull pain attack of a different place of origin and character (dull instead of sharp). It came and went like labor pains, waking me from sleep with each surge. I keep a massage ball at my bedside (it looks like a giant jawbreaker-sized marble with a base/handle on it) and dug it into my solar plexus where the pain seemed to originate. It radiated out from there. The pain subsided after two hours. At 5 AM, I was able to put the ball away and sleep without interruption thereafter. 

That morning, I managed to be a passenger in the car (extremely nauseous) to my dear reflexologist/zoning friend. She treated me gently, and I felt helped from her gift. Afterwards, I slept at home from 10 AM to 4 PM (with a couple short interruptions). I fasted completely until after 4 PM that day because I felt scared to eat and justified it as "gut rest." That evening, I made up for hydration and nutrition needs. Food was kind of okay again. 

I concluded that simple carbs, just fruit (okay, and chocolate), had done me in. I have a tendency to want to blame events in my body on something. 

Today--right now--I'm having yet another pain attack. Obviously it is bearable enough now to be distracted from the pain between surges. It started this evening before starting dinner. It felt as though I had something stuck in my esophagus: I've never felt that before. I hadn't eaten or drank in at least 45 minutes. The pain is spasmodic and comes and goes. Drinking water broke up the spasm long enough for gulps to pass through, but the spasm would resume immediately. Oh wait--a surge is starting...

Slightly better. It radiates into my back like a gallbladder attack and also into my chest, neck, and jaw. It feels like a heart attack, I imagine. I know my INR is low. My first thoughts were esophageal spasm, heart attack, and blood clot causing heart attack. 

Okay, better now. So anyway, I called for another blessing. (Go to Mormon.org to learn about priesthood blessings for the sick.) The power that I felt was more important to the words; it is a still, warm current. I felt comforted and enlightened. I developed a plan and felt comfort in it. 

My zoning friend invited me over tonight. My esophagus and heart felt beautiful, and no lots were detected. But the sphincter between my esophagus and stomach was rigid. 

To me, that explains the massage ball in my solar plexus last week. That explains my current predicament. 

Pause pause pause. 

And we're back. That was a bad one. I had to distract myself by turning on the TV. This surge convinced me to eat half a banana and take some more medicine (I only took a quarter dose before; natural childbirth warped my sense of pain--I know what a ten REALLY means and have a hard time justifying taking medicine). Now I'm chewing gum!

I like to think these spasms are lessening. But my longest pain attack was four hours long. I'm at four hours now. 

Another thing that happened this week was an emotionally really bad day. I mean REALLY bad. Gnarly to the max. As gnarly as you can get without needing intervention, I think. It was a real blessing a few days later though; I was able to connect on a new, deeply scary, depressed level that is hellish to the max that I hadn't understood before. This person desperately needed candid talk and an understanding ear. For the first time in my life, I understood this degree of the depths of despair. Heavenly Father is SO GOOD in all ways, and I especially was grateful for the harrowing day I had and that He let me get through it in one piece. I'm grateful a few days passed of clarity so I could understand another in the same situation. What a gift. 

I am amazed that Heavenly Father trusts me to handle some of these things He gives me to handle. And others too!

Wow, chewing gum (and swallowing frequently) has helped my sphincter a lot as I've written the last few paragraphs. How grand! I haven't had a major attack in minutes. Maybe things are settling down after all. What wonders. 

I challenge you to thank God on your knees for the most difficult parts of your life. It feels like they're a promotion to new and more qualifying opportunities (read that:greater challenges) to grow. Boy, I'm glad I can have these body experiences. I don't have fun during them, but I am grateful for the trust God gives me. I can never "curse God and die." I can only praise Heavenly Father in all these wonderful training exercises. Just a minute. 

Okay. Better. That was a doozy. 

Life is hard. My gnarly day last week was gnarly the most because I forgot who I was and what purposes these trials are for. But I stayed on the path. I don't know if I praised God very well that day, but I didn't curse Him. 

Truth: I'd like this bitter cup to pass from me. It's not tasty. Sometimes it's really hard to have fun and think around the various levels of pain. 

But as long as I have this bitter cup, well...

...I might as well raise my glass, toast to to my Maker, and then drink it with gusto. Cheers.