Rife and an Update

I am long overdue for an update, and a lot has changed!

I have read a lot of books. Here are the ones I have read but not reviewed.

36) Boundaries: When to Say Yes, How to Say No to Take Control of Your Life by Henry Cloud and John Townsend
37) Doctrine and Covenants
38) Pearl of Great Price
39) The Sword of Summer (Magnus Chase) by Rick Riordan
40) Keturah and Lord Death by Martine Leavitt
41) A Grimm Warning (The Land of Stories) by Chris Colfer
42) Beyond the Kingdoms (The Land of Stories) by Chris Colfer
43) The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
44) Teachings of the Presidents of the Church: Howard W. Hunter, published by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
45) Cinder by Marissa Meyer

Ok, on to Lyme updates.

I told you that I quit treatment, right? It's been months and months. My husband was doing our taxes, and he quantified how much we had spent on healthcare in 2015. We were shocked, floored, maybe even devastated.

That was the last straw for me. My guts were worlds better than they had been when I started treatment, but nothing else had made that much money's worth of progress, and I was fed up. So I gradually took myself off of EVERYTHING I was taking except for the two cheap prescriptions. I got some salt lamps and bath bombs and a free library app. I determined to maintain myself through self care, etc. In the back of my mind, I knew there was one modality called rife with a rife practitioner that I had meant to try, but I didn't want to drop fifty dollars to try something that might not work. I was done.

I was content. We had modified our lives to my level of energy, and it was working. I still spent more time in bed than out, but I was okay. Our kids were happy. My husband was productive. I rarely had pain; I just had no energy. The summer heat made me really sick, but we had puppies the kids could play with all summer long.

After many months of doing well enough but not progressing, I heard my son praying one night. He asked Heavenly Father to help me feel better. I noticed he asked every night thereafter. The requests were specific to days and then events and then the entire month. This boy is endlessly patient with his slow mother, but I though that maybe I should try to step up my game to not just maintain myself, but maybe even improve. Maybe I should try to manifest some of his hopeful prayer.

An invitation to the state-wide Lyme support group meeting appeared in my email inbox, and it said someone would be demonstrating a rife machine. Rife--that thing I'd never tried. If I went, I could try it for free. So I drank some caffeine to get me there, and I went.

A man who had had Lyme showed us his machine and explained how he had been well for eight years, having used rife intensively for one year at the start plus a couple years of maintenance. Rife is a frequency generator, manifesting in radio and light waves, that can be tuned to different frequencies to heal or to kill, depending on the need. He demonstrated a couple healing channels on us, one for sleep and one for increasing energy. I was extremely sensitive to both. Then he put the machine on a kill channel for Lyme. I felt sick to my stomach and anxious, but it went away once the short cycle was over.

These energies don't care that Lyme spirochetes can manipulate their DNA to hide from the immune system or build biofilms to protect them or burrow deep into tissues where antibiotics can't find them. The right kill frequencies can find the spirochetes and blast them apart. Done. And all you have to do is clean up the mess and manifest exacerbated Lyme symptoms in a process called herxing. With time, these reactions lessen as there is less to clean up. Slam bam, thank you ma'am--you're on your way to wellness.

It took me two weeks to recover from this short demonstration. From what I remember, this manifested in migraines, severe gut pain, foggy brain, insomnia, mood issues, and involuntary bedrest. That's how badly I herxed.

Rife worked for me.

I decided to look up the rife person from my contacts that I'd managed to avoid for a year, and I made an appointment. The practitioner seemed nice at first, but she was so motivated by fear that she seemed impassioned about scolding and scaring me into submission with different treatments she recommended. Furthermore, she only scanned me for problems and didn't actually let me try their rife at all. I left, $250 poorer and frustrated. She tried to get me to come back in with a courtesy call, but it was barbed with warnings and expressions of doubt. I fired her services from my life.

I turned to my online support group to see if anyone knew of a practitioner in the area who could let me try rife again so I could decide whether to buy one. I expected an office situation, but a woman in the group reached out and said I could come to her house. When I arrived, she ran a cycle on me and another gal. We talked and found true empathy in each other. We discussed how our purpose is to survive until a cure is found. I went home comforted, but with a splitting migraine from the treatment. I felt terrible for a day, but then I had increased energy for about three days after that.

Miraculously, and in time, we were able to get a machine, and the woman who helped me in her home graciously answers any questions I have as they come up. I'm doing a 45-day treatment protocol which includes detoxifying foot baths using the machine, and overnight rife treatments that take about eight hours. I use the machine at least twice daily. It is busy, but far more comfortable than any treatment I've ever done. The machine is a miracle. It isn't just good for Lyme--it helped my son get over a fever last week. It has hundreds of channels that are being updated or added to every week. I'm so happy and impressed with this modality. I feel hope, like maybe my son's prayers for a healthy mom will be answered someday.

I'm only a week into my Rife program, but I feel a difference. I tried a self-designed program, but I herxed. The 45-day program doesn't make me react so severely, so I am actually functional at least part of every day--sometimes all day!!!

Further, I am exercising twice a week. I found an inexpensive pair of figure skates online, and I go to the ice skating rink to do laps and try new skills. The laps are my cardio; the skills build additional muscle. My rationale is that exercise adds muscle, which adds mitochondria and ATP, and therefore, it creates more energy for a fitter mom. As a dancer, I loved working my lower body and feeling those muscles burn, so skating is a thrill that way and also because the icy air that moves past me as I skate is exhilarating. I usually zone out and listen to an audio book while I glide along.

What inspired me to skate was the older gentleman I spied doing laps when I took my kids skating one day. Since then, he has actually skated alongside me and helped me with a skill I struggled with. The same people seem to come during the public skate hours I attend--students taking a class for university, the older gentleman, and some figure skaters with a coach in the middle of the rink who are actively training. I love going; it is such a joy. It's a miracle that I can endure some exercise.

That is a sufficient update for now. Let me know if you have questions. I struggle to explain rife, so try googling the nitty gritties of how it works. The machine was expensive, but only a small fraction compared to what we spent on healthcare in 2015. I feel tremendously blessed and hope this information can help you too.

Bags

I love bags. Maybe I need to start attending a twelve step program, because I am obsessed. All my life, I have loved bags. 

The first experience I remember with bags and containers was around age four. My mom gave me a blue-gray, plastic box with a handle. It snapped shut and held my dolly and all her necessities perfectly so I could take it with me to my friend's house. I still have and use that container. 

In sixth grade, I had a weirdly awesome language arts teacher with a M&Ms paraphernalia obsession displayed along one classroom wall. We did loooong units on random things, like frogs, the Iditarod, science fiction, and Savage Sam. One of our units was on bags of all things. We read about them. We designed them. We made art projects out of paper sacks. Oh, the joy! I was in heaven. I was about this age when I started carrying my spending money and a Chapstick in a little purse. Bags!

I come by this affinity for bags naturally. My dad loves to contain and organize his stuff. My mom has occasionally enjoyed finding the perfect purse over the years. And then there's me. I love all bags of every kind. If it contains stuff, I want to know about it. I have sewed many of my own designs over the years. I read reviews and specs of pre made items. I compare and imagine. What would be the best bag for backpacking Europe? How much should a carryon weigh? What safety features would you want in South America? Which kind of backpack straps are the most ergonomic? Are the zippers on that purse of the best quality?

The thing about bags that is so attractive to me is their potential and the sometimes subtle ways they are vital to our lives. Every hike I've taken has included a backpack with water in it. Every testimony-building experience I've had had included a scripture case. Every trip I've taken has involved a duffel or suitcase. Every mall outing has a purse or wallet involved. College was all about the books and work I lugged around in my backpack. Every outing ever with a baby included a diaper bag. And every grocery haul comes home in paper or plastic. 

Bags are sustenance and adventure and experiences and new ideas. Bags are magical. Bags matter. 

Hermione Granger had a purple, beaded bag with an undetectable extension charm during the Deathly Hallows. Mary Poppins used the same kind of magic on her own mysterious bag. Anne Shirley toted a carpet bag with a broken handle to her many new homes. Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman, cured folks out of her doctor's bag. These ladies are fictional, but I truly believe that a girl and her bag can change her world. Heck, Duchess Kate carries a clutch everywhere she goes, and she's real. 

I don't think I'm too weird for being obsessed about bags. It could be seeds, or computer parts, or carpentry. 

Nephi loved metallurgy. Notice how he admired his family's treasures, Laban's sword, the brass plates, and the Liahona. See how he had an extremely unusual bow--made of steel of all things. Do you know how hard it is to make something out of steel by hand? It's more than 24 hours of continuous pounding, and one single step at the end could shatter your work if you haven't done a good job. It is an art! Same with a single sword, and Nephi made swords like Laban's for his people. He asked where to find ore when commanded to build a ship. He fashioned plates out of metal to write upon. There are no shortcuts for this man! It's all about the metals. He loves them, and they changed his world and ours. To this day, unusual metal craft is found all over North and South America. 

I'm that way with bags, though my influence will not be felt like Nephi's. If I'd written the scriptures though, I would have noted the stitching and fabrics and cubic liters and pockets of bags. Did the women sling babies across them? Did the plates go in a camel skin lumbar pack with security features? 

I've often fantasized about getting to be around new bags for my work. Companies could send me their bags for review. I could start a YouTube channel for bag enthusiasts like me and show people bags. The joy of unzipping pockets! The thrill of sweet features! Id beam. I'd be delighted. It wouldn't even be work; it would be sheer glee. BAGS!

I just love bags, no apologies. And even though they aren't life, they matter because they go places and haul stuff. They silently serve all their days. Bags rock. Bags are my bag!

Book Reviews 2016: 21-25

Lies! I told you I wouldn't read until my nursing credits were done. Baloney, I guess. 

These books slid down without a hitch, like ice cream on a Sunday night. I especially enjoyed the mindlessness of number 24. 

Sometime, I'll give you a update on me; but for now, I'll just say I'm overall happier and better than I was a couple months ago. 

21) Healing from the Heart: The Inherent Power to Heal from Within (book and two CDs) by Judith S. Moore

This system is brilliant. It was homework for a physical and emotional wellness class I'm taking. I loved it!

I've told you several times I struggle getting through books with no plot. Well, this is a Christian-based self-help-type book...but it's two parallel stories! No bullet points, no lists, no subtitles, no boring stuff! It's a liiiiiittle on the cheesy side sometimes, but many things are better with cheese. Wouldn't you agree? Eat it. 

We meet chronically-ill Anne who is being taken care of by "Grandmother." Meanwhile, Grandmother tells Anne Native American stories about Running Wolf, a boy with a lame leg who seeks inner peace and great wisdom. 

There are six chapters. Each updates us on Anne's healing and improved perspective, tells us about Running Wolf's self-discovery and adventures, and has an accompanying track on a CD. The CDs contain meditations and guided imagery. It's a little fringey, and therefore right up my alley. They are relaxing and healing. I kept grasping bits of sageness, not really understanding how I was even recognizing and subconsciously incorporating them. It feels deliberate, but there is a passive, painless healing that happens. It sounds hokey, but it works for me. It's gentle and slow, like a loving grandmother. It got right in my heart and rooted out darkness, replacing it with light. 

Marie Osmond wrote the foreword for this book and used it for healing her own heart. She listened to the fourth chapter's track over and over again, for example. That's one great thing about the CDs: you can cycle through the "Dream Picture" you need as many times as you need. I've had pricey counseling sessions that are less effective than these tracks. While it won't fix everything all at once, the feelings will be a bit more manageable with every round of spiraling out of it. And eventually, it's small, and you're somehow okay. 

I feel greater peace having been gently and lovingly counseled by Grandmother. It is beautifully written and a book for the ages. This book is a gem. Five stars!

22) Soundless by Richelle Mead

I totally judged this book by its cover. It's gorgeous! I passed this book over and over in stores, thinking, "Ugh, if I didn't have so many books in the queue, I'd totally get this." Then one day, I saw it on discount in "lé Walmart" (makes me feel so classy), so I grabbed it faster than a baby grabs at a pristine, frosted cake, and it became mine. 

Soundless. 

High atop a cliffed mountain, a village of miners lives entirely dependent on the valley below for its food. Each day, the villagers send precious metals down a zip line; and each day, the mysterious line keeper below sends as much food as he thinks the village deserves. But it's never enough; excess is the stuff of legends. 

Fei and her sister are deaf, just like the rest of the village. The people went deaf several generations before, and now, many are beginning to go blind and are forced to become starving beggars. As Fei begins to contemplate the reason why, she miraculously begins to hear again. Will the village be accepting of her ability? Will Fei be able to feed the village and stop the blindness? A fantastic adventure awaits!

This book is a really fun story. It made me think differently and used really intricate language sometimes, which I enjoyed. Also, the concept was intriguing. Finally, it takes place in some place like China, so I was able to go on a brief, imaginary holiday to the place, all while reading at a middle-grade level. 

Unfortunately, I "edited" the entire book. Sometimes when you have authored a novel, you start looking for the next device that will move the story along. I found myself thinking, "We need more information or a guide here. Enter a new character? Well, how convenient." The layout felt classic, but it had so many intriguing concepts that I stayed interested to the end. Fifty-five pages from the finale, I couldn't predict what was going to happen. So even though I "edited" a lot, it still contained quite a bit of genius, and I recommend it. 

For innovation, a beautiful cover (it matters this time!), and a great story, I give this book a hearty 3.5 stars. 

23) Year of Wonders: A Novel of the Plague by Geraldine Brooks

This book is as uplifting as it sounds. The title references the plague ("The Black Death") that ravaged England in 1666, and a phrase spoken by Jehovah in the Bible preceding the very first plague in recorded human history, sent by Moses to Pharaoh of Egypt. 

The author wrote this historical fiction novel based on research she found in the town of Eyams, Derbyshire, England, or "Plague Village" as it was known. Anna, a common woman made heroic through extremity and scarcity, describes in first-person reflection the horrors of the plague that riddled her village of about 330 people. By the end, she has transcended roles in the Restoration period of England, having achieved a new confidence. 

The book is told from near the end at first, then reflects backward a year or so and moves forward. We get to know members of the town as Anna observes the basest and noblest of human behaviors. Puritan liturgy influences the town toward black-and-white thinking (though the new clergyman is vastly liberal comparatively), and we see witch hunting a good thirty years before Salem. So THAT'S fun. So many times I wanted to rescue wives and children from abusive situations and give women a rallying, feminist speech for the time. But Anna is good at keeping it together despite the pain of daily living and finds personal gifts she didn't know she had. I like her resilience. 

I loved this novel for nearly a hundred pages. Then my affection waned with each disturbing image. These were dark, dark times. There were so many ferociously off-color bits that are now lodged in my visualization. If I wasn't a nurse and had the stomach of an iron cauldron, I wouldn't have withstood the gore (and it wasn't all medical). So I digested the book as quickly as I could to get the bitter taste out of my system. Perhaps I would have quit partway if it hadn't been a book club selection, but I wanted to know what would happen. The story had a good arc, and I loved the diction and that my understanding grew. The writing felt archaic yet accessible. It will be an interesting discussion. 

I pray humans will not have to endure such depravity, ignorance, isolation, and superstition from a plague ever again. 2.5 stars for graphic writing and subject matter--this one hit me hard. (It doesn't help that I'm something of a germophobe.) 

24) Brunette Ambition by Lea Michele

I would be a women's lifestyle magazine monger is it weren't for all the ads, skimpy pictures, and things I just don't care about. I do enjoy how-to lists and healthy recipes and reading about fashion trends. Reading laudable articles about my favorite celebrities is really fun too. 

So when I learned that Broadway and TV star Lea Michele had written her own lifestyle how-to book (albeit a few years old), I was excited to see what she had to say. Lea touches on many topics in the book, from her at-home exercise routine to a luxurious spa day using kitchen ingredients to two-day meal plan with recipes. She talks about her simple wardrobe, the value of friendship, tasteful makeup looks, and hair care. I ate it up in just a couple of reading sessions. 

But before all that tiptastic stuff, I got to know Lea better in the book through her retelling of her personal life before Broadway and the lessons she has learned through her career, like professionalism, being amiable, learning all you can from mentors, etc. I can tell this book was aimed at teenagers because of her fan base and the generic, benign advice, but I really liked it anyway. I flicked through the pages aimlessly devouring instructions for DIY exfoliating scrubs and learning that a good rule of thumb is to have classic clothes and trendy accessories. I won't live out all of her opinions, but I have already given myself a spa morning and evaluated my lipsticks. 

Even though Lea sounds down-to-earth, and I like a lot of her ideas, she and I are quite different. Lea is a self-proclaimed "Broadway diva" (which has positive connotations in New York), and she has people: a personal trainer, hair and makeup artists, a stylist, and a tailor. Also, she is unattached and doing okay in the green department. I can't decide on a whim to spend a weekend at a spa with my girlfriends or fly to New York. But it's cool. I don't mind reading about her world for a short time. It's just that this book isn't going to be 100% relatable to very many people. 

Still, it's flippantly mindless and delightfully so. I'm giving it five stars for the extended faux magazine fix!

25) Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple

This book was recommended to me by a friend, and I give it four stars (swearing). It is a novel told in a compilations of emails, notes, letters, faxes, an emergency room bill, and more. Sometimes it is narrated by a teenage girl whose mother (Bernadette) has gone missing. 

I grew the most tense two-thirds of the way through the book when the plot got messy (i.e. unraveled and required massive resolution). Usually this happens for me one-third of the way through. But I enjoyed the uncharacteristic pace and formatting because it kept things so interesting for me. The characters are fascinating, and I wish I could explicate here some of my thoughts on some of them, especially Bernadette who taught me that artists mustn't be suppressed. I identify with her struggle to only do what she thinks she's supposed to do because of fear, rather than to do the things she is passionate about. It makes me wonder if many people do the same, and what kinds of problems develop from it. 

This book has made me think, and so I continue to enjoy it. (Thanks for the recommendation, friend!)

Sent from my iPhone

Bees, Seeds, and Hope

Spring is a busy season. Our lives are feeling more full as we move to the outdoors for more stimulation and responsibility.

But this year is different. We have the regular chores of getting our vast garden going. But we are also adding a lot to our homestead: a fence for our backyard, a thousand bees, and the near-dozen puppies our dog is due to have within the week.

The bees were a surprise. Long have we hoped for a beehive of our very own. Bees bopping on plants is such a heartwarming site for me. Plus I like to save the planet sometimes, and the world needs bees. But we've had a wasp problem the past couple years and felt we needed to get that under control before we got a beehive.

My husband's dad and sister are both experienced beekeepers. His sister's hive split when a new queen emerged unexpectedly, and the other queen and her swarm was evicted. My husband's sister gathered the swarm and put it in a hive, realizing they were meant for another home: ours. We are so grateful for her insight and thoughtfulness! It is really fun to have bees moving and grooving on the corner of our property.

Bees keep to themselves. They fly high above the hive, then take off for their routes. Same goes for their return. We live in a neighborhood, but the bees don't bug anybody. I see a flurry of them outside the entrance of the hive, but that is the most I see. They have a job to do, and we are just happy they don't mind living with us.

The beekeepers in our family talk often about the parallels between beekeeping and life. I remember a talk M. Russell Ballard gave about bees and their indispensable industry. Bees are really inspiring!

But for me, I think of how hosting a swarm is kind of effortless at the start--at least it has been for me. I think we just need to keep their water filled for now and let them do their job. They'll work their tails off for one-eighth of a teaspoon honey production each, and we will get POUNDS of honey in the end. Plus more bees for the world.

I was just reading Alma 32, where Alma likens faith to a seed. We are planting the remainder of our garden and also a few bushes today, so these agricultural metaphors are really on my mind. Alma says to "exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you..." (Alma 32:27). "...looking forward to the fruit thereof, it shall take root; and behold it shall be a tree springing up unto everlasting life.

"And because of your diligence and your faith and your patience with the word in nourishing it, that it may take root in you, behold, by and by ye shall pluck the fruit thereof, which is most precious, which is sweet above all that is sweet, and which is white above all that is white, yea, and pure above all that is pure; and ye shall feast upon this fruit even until ye are filled, that ye hunger not, neither shall ye thirst.

"Then, my brethren, ye shall reap the rewards of your faith, and your diligence, and patience, and long-suffering, waiting for the tree to bring forth fruit unto you" (vs 41-43).

Heavenly Father is really good at building our capacity over time. I feel like some seeds I planted in my heart many months ago are out of the vulnerable seedling stage and are finally thinking about thriving--like optimism, hope, faith. But I had to plant those seeds. That's the rub, isn't it? You have to plant them, and that is a conscious choice.

As I push actual seeds into the ground today, I'll be thinking of everything these seeds can become. I'll be chopping herbs for our dinner. I'll drive up to my house and see cheerful marigold balls on lush green stems greeting me like they do every year. I'll walk about my garden in July and thank everyone for thriving in the heat. I'll be feeling the crisp October morning air as I pick the pumpkins. And when we clear it all away after the first frost, I won't be able to believe this ground was once so sparsely vegetated. All winter I'll eat squash and green beans and corn--still thankful for the harvest.

In my heart, I felt the gripping indecision of whether or not to treat myself a month ago. When my Lyme numbers came back as high as ever, I didn't know what to do. But I chose nothing, at least for awhile. This period of rest has allowed me to observe the tentative seeds I'm always planting instead of mowing them down to make room for worry and fear. Now that things are looking lush, I like my garden the way it is--deliberate and sturdy and quaint.

I believe in my seeds, in my bees, and in my garden. I'm saving the planet of my soul and looking forward to its harvest. The garden of my soul is more beautiful to look upon with seedlings of love instead of thorns of fear.



Thank you for reading today. I have turned more often to podcasting because of its ease instead of blogging--about Lyme, life, and happenings. If you want to take a listen, go to tawnytuppence.podbean.com or find me on the free Podbean app.

Book Reviews 2016: 16-20

16) Pope Joan by Donna Woodfolk Cross

Pope Joan is an awesome book, and I gave it four stars. It is a historical fiction novel based on research of the fabled ninth-century female pope. I love when authors do a lot of work to make historical fiction as accurate as possible, and this is one of those kinds of books for me. 

This book follows a brilliant, multilingual girl through her life as she defies gender expectations, disguises herself for safety as a man, and rather passively rises to the position of pope. Yeah, like THE pope. The story felt mostly plausible and was full of intrigue. I really enjoyed it. 

This time in history was so weird. Europe was one country. Christianity existed (though I have NO IDEA how--truly a miracle). People still spoke Latin, which is now a dead language. Some people lived in tribal settings, and Rome was falling apart. I enjoyed placing myself in the midst of these peoples and appreciating their everyday struggles for just a time. 

I think the thematically-worst scene of the book involves an observed pillage and rape (ugh). The rest is pretty tame, but it is the darkest of the dark ages. 

This was a book club selection, but it was on my list anyway. I'm planning on keeping it around. My edition has fascinating research notes in the back. I like to think Pope Joan was a real person because legends start somewhere. I did a research paper once on Robin Hood and concluded that someone like him really did live. Likewise, even though the Catholic church has done its best to blot Joan out, there are many other documents supporting her existence. 

Either way, it's nice to think that Joan's legend may have inspired other women to transcend the female fate expected of them by oppressive societies. Go Joan! 

17) We Should Hang Out Sometime by Josh Sundquist

This book is written by the same author as Just Don't Fall, which I have already reviewed. Josh decided to set up a formal retrospective investigation involving all the girls he ever dated...because obviously that's the normal thing to do. It makes for great entertainment though. This process was used in order to scientifically deduce whether there was something askew about him that caused him to still be without a girlfriend into his twenties. 

In a series of entertaining-to-hilarious stories, hand-drawn graphs and diagrams, and scientific analysis, each relationship is recounted and examined. The end conclusion to Josh's problem was a revelation that made me think about crying, in a good way (and I am not an easy crier). 

This book isn't going on my favorites shelf, but it was still fun. Three stars. 

18) Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh

This book IS going on my favorites shelf. It has some swearing, like, kind of a lot of it (take off two stars). But I have not laughed so hard in...I don't know how long (add one star). Maybe I'll go through it with a sharpie one day when I care more. 

I think this would be classified as a graphic novel because it is made of both paragraphs and cartoon illustrations by the author. In that case, it's my first graphic novel I've ever read! Though they look roughly and haphazardly sketched, the pictures are meticulously crafted for maximum effect, capturing complex emotions that can never be conveyed in words. They. Are. So. Funny. You. Will. Cramp. 

The book is made of a bunch of blog posts the author wrote; I recognized a couple that I read a few years ago. The author talks about her dogs' mental problems in detail; a horrifying run-in with a goose; what depression feels like (not hilarious, but extremely accurate!); how she tricks herself into thinking she is a good, not-selfish, planet-saving person, even though she proves she's not; and a lot of other hilarious accounts. 

It killed me. I literally gasped and shouted to my husband as a shapeless, quivering blob from the couch while I was reading the chapter on fundamental concepts her dogs don't understand--"This book is literally killing me!" He cooed back to me, "Aw, you're so cute when you laugh." I kept reading even though it medically unsafe because the endorphin releases outweighed the implosions in my lungs...and my boo thought I was cute. :P

When I read the blog years ago, I imagined that the author was a hunched, emo college student with a pile of empty pizza boxes as a desk. But she is actually more of the over-caffeinated, perky, blond cheerleader type. Somehow, this makes her more relatable to me? Like, it shows you can look positive on the outside but still hide behind a blanket from a goose or hate all the things during depression or want to throw sand in faces for no explicable reason?

I think I'll sleep with this book tonight. It gets me. Thank you, Allie Brosh. ("Clean all the things?")

19) The Memory of Light by Francisco X. Stork

A note on the cover of this book indicates that it has the potential save lives, and I believe this true. From the protagonist's progress to the list of hotline information in the back, this book drips with subtle, believable hope for people with mental illness. 

This is a young adult fiction novel about Vicky, a teen who awakens in the hospital after attempting to take her own life with medication. She is admitted to the mental health unit where she meets a very caring doctor and other teens with mental health challenges. Vicky goes through a lot of growth and self-discovery and is able to eventually emerge from the depression fog that led to her drastic event, while saving other lives, finding her voice, and grasping purpose for living. 

I felt like this was a realistic and uplifting read. There were several points that really spoke to me. For example, I really appreciated how one character found out three things Vicky liked, and he pointed out that those are three things to live for. Who would think of that? That something as simple as gardening roses could keep a person going? Is life really so mundane and simple? Perhaps. I appreciated also the value of menial labor (we need more of this), family support, and space to heal. 

This is a book I would hand to a friend who is struggling if I was as brave as Vicky. For now, it's going on my favorites shelf. Five stars for accuracy and greatness.

20) Choosing Glee by Jenna Ushkowitz 

What a fun book! I read this book in an evening and felt fantastic afterward. Jenna worked on Broadway, then on network TV. She is full of pep and hopes we find our own "personal brand of happiness" through her ideas in this book. It holds such a positive vibe with its bright colors, tips, and anecdotes. So many points resonated for me. 

I recommend especially for fans of Glee since it was written around the context of wrapping-up of the third-ish season. (Confession: I LOVE a lot of the Glee music.) There are lots of photos included. Note that Jenna swears sometimes, meep. 

Here are a few quotes I liked. 

"Hope is chasing your dreams and standing up for your beliefs." p. 21

"...my differences really did turn out to be my greatest advantages." p. 139

"Becoming an adult is realizing that you don't have all the same beliefs as your family and friends, and that's okay. You have that right. I used to be scared of being 'wrong.' Now I own my thoughts and opinions..." p. 152

And that's a wrap, my friends. I still have 32 books to go, but I committed to myself that I would work on my continuing education nursing credits for a little while after I finished my twentieth book. We'll see how long I hold out, because I may or may not have begun three books just for a taste between the subtitles in one of the articles...

Book Reviews 2016: 11-15

11) Happily Ever After by Kiera Cass

This is a companion to The Selection series and includes four novellas (told by four different characters), sketches, a map, and other sections about the characters (my personal favorite is the "Where Are They Now?" section). My husband and I started this book last year and finally finished it, having read The Selection series last year as well. 

I feel like this book is comprehensive. The author demonstrates mastery over her fictional world by keeping the facts straight as she writes from a half dozen characters' perspectives! This book is so satisfying that way. We felt immersed in castle life; ultimately, we knew more about it than any one of the characters. Thanks Kiera Cass!

She really knows these people and loves them. She respects their voices enough to put out this book, and I appreciate that. I liked this better than the series, probably because it crowned the books. Five stars!

12) Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

Many Americans study parts of Leaves of Grass in school, but I took it upon myself to read the whole thing. It is pretty impressive. Sometimes I gripped the book with white knuckles, feeling like it held answers to life's mysteries. Other times, I felt like I was slipping into a peaceful trance. And once in awhile, I would have shaken the author's shoulder if I could and said, "Whoa, WALT! You can't just WRITE that, EVER, much less in 1855!"

Walt Whitman seemed to think like a modern-day hipster. He wrote in free verse poetry, talked about feelings, secluded himself in nature, talked openly about taboo topics, and sported an unruly beard and casual posture. I like him. I don't agree with many of his theology points: he gives mankind too much credit instead of God. But I would happily be his neighbor (as long as he didn't play "Garden of Eden" around his property like my old neighbors used to--hello, clothes much?). Walt Whitman is weird and edgy for his time and ours, but I can see myself singing kumbaya around a campfire with him and a bunch of other edgy people as a cultural experience if given the opportunity. 

I once mentioned my reading challenge that my sister and I are doing together. This book is going under the category "book that was once banned." In truth, many books are banned somewhere. I could have read Harry Potter, The Scarlet Letter, Farenheit 451, or hundreds of others (including the Book of Mormon, no doubt). But I love the BYUTV show "Granite Flats" and have kept in touch with the show's writer, John Christian Plummer, for some time. Leaves of Grass is the show's "Rosetta Stone" for translating symbols into concrete meanings. The names of the season three episode come from Whitman. And every time a show ends, I sit back and think, "....woooow...." It's pure genius. 

Early on, the writer (Plummer) gave me a few resources to research, including a lecture series on Whitman, and I ordered them straightaway. So when I saw Leaves of Grass on a list of previously banned books, my choice was obvious. 

The reason it was banned was for sexual allusions. Like I said, I'd be like, "WALT, you can't just talk about liking to be naked!" or "WALT, you can't just SAY that about private bedroom things!" But being a hipster, he never listened and went on reveling for another line. Whatever. No wonder we didn't read Leaves of Grass in its entirety in high school. 

For the literary experience that is Walt Whitman, I give this work four stars. I mean, come on guys. Listen to this:

"The sickness of one of my folks--or of myself... /They come to me days and nights and go from me again, /But they are not the Me myself."

Hello!

Or this:

"The smallest sprout shows there really is no death, /And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it..."

Also, he LOVED the USA:

"...the genius of the United States is not best or most it it's executives or legislatures, nor units ambassadors for authors or colleges or churches or parlors, nor even in its newspapers or inventors... But always most in the common people. Their manners of speech dress friendships--the freshness and candor of their physiognomy--the picturesque looseness of their carriage...their deathless attachment to freedom--their aversion to anything indecorous or soft or mean--the practical acknowledgment of the citizens of one state by the citizens of all other states--the fierceness of their roused resentment--their curiosity and welcome of novelty--their self-esteem and wonderful sympathy--their susceptibility of a slight--the air they have of persons who never knew how it felt to stand in the presence of superiors--the fluency of their speech--their delight in music, the sure symptom of manly tenderness and native elegance of soul...their good temper and open-handedness--the terrible significance of their elections--the President's taking off his hat to them not they to him--these too are unrated poetry. It awaits the gigantic and generous treatment worthy of it."

13) The List by Siobhan Vivian

I give this book two stars. It is about the things I chose to miss out on in high school by electing to be a goody-goody and a bit of a loner. High school felt so obnoxiously myopic--I knew it was only an illusion, and that nothing about it--besides the grades and awards that would get me into college--would last. Thus, I didn't seek out boyfriends or cliques or even a lot of dating opportunities. It just didn't matter to me. But it is the whole world to a lot of high schoolers, and this book demonstrates this idea. 

The book's premise is devastating. A high school has a sick tradition of posting an anonymously-authored list of the prettiest girl and the ugliest girl in each grade the Monday morning before Homecoming. Four hundred copies posted makes it impossible to miss, yet no parents or teachers know about it (???). The book is then broken up into days, and each listed girl's reaction is narrated for the week. In some chapters, there is a lot of swearing because a character is livid. We see labels and assumptions while also examining insecurities and strengths of each girl. But the book is full of labels. 

Problems: The authority of the list maker is taken so seriously. The tradition should have been extinguished years before. Also, there is a serious lack of parents in the book. Girls go off to buy gowns on their own. With what money, I'd like to ask? And don't parents care where their kids go and what they wear? Are my attentive parents a social anomaly?

I view this book as a sad commentary on how much people rely on public opinion, which is generally misinformed and wrong. I wanted each girl to grow a spine and not care, but each needed to be skinnier or more girly or less soft spoken. None viewed themselves as okay as they were. And I was not okay with that.  

Be aware that there are mature situations--a party with alcohol and resulting misery, eating disorders, make-out sessions, and a lot of teenage angst. Read with caution. I don't recommend. 

14) Just Don't Fall: A Hilariously True Story of Childhood Cancer, Amputation, Romantic Yearning, Truth, and Olympic Greatness by Josh Sundquist

The unusually-long title sums up this memoir (I'm enjoying memoirs lately!). Josh Sundquist is an energetic, fast-talking YouTuber, motivational speaker, amputee, cancer survivor, and 2006 Paralympian ski racer. I stumbled on his YouTube channel when looking for something else, and he made me laugh out loud. Because my library doesn't carry this book, I let many, many months pass with his book on my list...and finally ordered it for a penny online.

Josh's high energy shoots through his writing (when he isn't tired with cancer) as he narrates his story. It isn't so much about recounting events as it is about reliving his emotions through those events. He writes in the present tense at the age he is in the story, which is really fun. For example, we react in present tense with his nine-year-old self as he learns his cancerous leg will need to be amputated at the hip; we fee suspicion of the nurse who dug around his arm with a needle for an IV; and we notice with childlike disgust when adults try to lie to him. We feel like he really is in control of his life, because we are him, and we are nine, and we know everything because we read a lot and are smart about this condition. And we don't even notice he is close to dying because we are nine, and we have plans for the future. 

Josh is really precocious and polite, having been homeschooled in a conservative Christian home. I really enjoyed reading about his determination through cancer and his recovery, his first stint with motivational speaking (at the ripe old age of, what was it, fourteen?), college, and Olympic training. 

Josh talks about how his family doesn't use euphemisms (like "oh my goodness"), so the language and topics are clean for a lot of the book. Then he meets a few people who have massive swearing issues and have lived more "in the world" than he has, and while he handles it with grace, there is definitely a shift in topics. I am aghast as to why the f-word is such a go-to expression in books (is our vocabulary really SO limited?), but it shows up lots toward the end. Bah!

I really enjoyed this book. I really did. Maybe because Josh and I are peers. Maybe because I've followed him on Instagram and YouTube and laughed at his stuff for a long time (his Halloween costumes [a flamingo? a foosball soccer player? a gingerbread man with his leg bitten off?] rock, and the guy who takes his left shoes is his "sole mate"). Maybe because I get some of what he says in my own way. Maybe because he is so expressive. Whatever it is, I think I'll read this book again sometime and read his newer book soon. Four stars. 

15) The Book of Mormon

I feel uncomfortable "reviewing" The Book of Mormon except to say that I know it is true and is a book of God. I will be reading it three more times this year.  But it is five stars. Actually, ten. I keep uncovering new layers and am edifices with every reading. The Book of Mormon is true!

Book Reviews 2016: 6-10

6) The Continuous Atonement by Brad Wilcox

My sister sent me a reading challenge for this year, and I have put this book down for the book I had abandoned. It's true. It's like eating a super rich dessert, and it's really good, but you just can't eat it all at once. I think I worked on this book off and on for nearly a year. 

Brad Wilcox is wonderful. He is a gifted wordsmith. His heart is big, and his understanding is profound. This book on the Atonement (an expansion of a talk Brad once gave) is quite good, but something I would rather read a chapter at a time to get the full benefit instead of in a few binges, as I tend to do. 

I truly struggle with books that have no plot. The short stories sprinkled here in there helped me press through it. But otherwise, it felt like reading the Bible Dictionary (which is not a bad thing; I just can't read it for more than a few minutes because it is so compacted). 

I give this book four stars for subject matter and the compassionate wisdom of the author. My testimony and understanding grew! But it was so much information all at once, said in so many ways. I have to knock off a star for the way my attention lapsed very often. It's a book I would love to read again, in bits. 

7) The Only Pirate at the Party by Lindsey Stirling and Brooke S. Passey

Imagine two sisters staying out late to a dubstep concert, then staying in the same room afterward to giggle and write funny chapters for a book as the adrenaline rush subsides. Also, imagine one of the sisters was the headlining performer for said dubsmash concert, having danced in a whirl of sequins while playing complex, original melodies on an electric violin. 

I don't think the creation process of this book was far off from that. 

The book is told in first person by Lindsey. She jumps from story to story, and I was enthralled. Everything was addressed: early life, embarrassing memories, her LDS mission, her eating disorder, 'aha' moments, learning to be the boss, upholding standards on her tours, modesty, being awkward with celebrities, and "post-tour blues." I identify with Lindsey's cheeky personality and am amazed that this little pixie of a girl could have such immense spunk and vision, and the determination to see it through. She filled a void in the international entertainment industry we didn't even know we had--for a dancing, hip hop violinist. All the while, she manifests disbelief at her popularity, inward uncertainty, and expresses her regular-joe-ness. It is a fascinating juxtaposition. 

I gave this book five stars. I heart it. I want it in my private collection so I can see those bright blue letters stand out from the yellow spine, reminding me that it is really okay to be THE ONLY PIRATE AT THE PARTY. I am more inspired to be myself and go for my dreams. 

Despite how AMAZINGLY, REFRESHINGLY POSITIVE the vibe is throughout this book (even during harder chapters), I do believe most males and older ladies would blush with some of the lady talk. This is standard visiting teaching or mother's room conversation, sparsely sprinkled throughout the book. If you're a girl, you get it, but dudes might want to avert their eyes sometimes (THOUGH her observations about the guys on her tour group are positively revolting! I don't even see how they are comparable). 

I feel like Lindsey Stirling is the cool college roommate I never had. I GET her. 

I got an ab workout from laughing through this book. Lindsey has a clever turn of phrase I relished. I highly recommend this book if you're a Stirlingite or a person with big dreams. 

8) What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty (book club selection)

This torrid book club selection is about a woman who wakes up after a head injury with no remembrance of the past ten years of her life. Instead of blissfully newlywed with a child on the way, she has three children, is divorcing her husband, and has become someone that even she dislikes. So what happened? That's the story. 

The positives: this book helped me reflect. Am I who I wished to become ten years ago? Where will my current vector lead in ten years? Do my friends help or hurt my progress? How are my relationships with the people I love? How can I ensure blossoming, long-term relationships with them? 

Also, this book gave me many, many examples of people I want to be nothing like at all, and renewed perspective of what kinds of books I do enjoy. 

Otherwise, this book was exceedingly unpleasant to read. My online search for a summary at page 184 was fruitless, so I put in a few hours and ashamedly finished the book out of morbid curiosity and to keep up with my book club. Oh, how I regret it. If it was a movie, I would have walked out; I have that sick feeling for finishing it. The book is dusted with a thick layer of obscenities (f-bombs abundant), all of which could have been replaced with intelligent diction. To me, there is very little literary merit to What Alice Forgot. It is a dramatic story and nothing more to me, besides the discussion pieces which were great in book club. 

The author is disrespectful of the reader by keeping the storyline dammed up for nearly 200 pages, then slowly leaking plot and essential information over the next 269. She tempts the reader with important details without explaining them for a hundred pages or more. I felt manipulated into finishing this book, and ultimately underpaid for the work I put in. 

This is a two star book for me, representing the introspection I conducted and the few times the author made me laugh. I appreciate her efforts, but this isn't my style. This is the kindest review I can create for this book. 

9) Silence by Deborah Lytton

Fifteen-year-old Stella dreams of being on Broadway and has sworn off relationships to help her focus on her dream. But when a freak accident renders her deaf and unable to sing, solitary Hayden becomes the only person she can understand because his severe stutter makes his lips easy to read. The two grow closer as he shows her what potential her life holds, even while deaf. She really sees him despite his guarded brokenness. Of course there is lots of drama and that nearly insurmountable crest of communication that is characteristic of many novels, but I felt this was worth my time. 

Like a Hallmark movie, the book is cheesy, pleasantly mindless, and most of all, heartwarming. I give it 3.5 stars. 

This book reads like a middle grade novel, with basic diction, lots of cliches, and many, many. Short. Incomplete. Sentences. What puts it into older-grade territory is the topic of some physical and verbal child abuse in the past. Even though it felt like I was reading a melodramatic tween novel most of the time, it was a fluffy way to flush the bad taste in my mouth from the last novel I read. 

10) Focused: Keeping Your Life on Track, One Choice at a Time by Noelle Pikus Pace

If you watched the skeleton events at the last Winter Olympics, you'll remember peppy, family-centered Noelle Pikus Pace who took silver in the event (jumping into the crowd after her final run, no less). No one has been more excited to earn second place! It is with that enthusiasm that Noelle wrote this book. 

It is hard to categorize this book. Self-help? Memoir? But it reads quickly and packs an inspirational punch. Noelle writes in themed chapters, and a story from her skeleton career is used to illustrate each (though not in chronological order). Noelle wasn't always self-believing and others-centered, and I appreciated reading about 'aha' moments in her progression. I flagged several pages that had great insights or quotes from LDS prophets, and there are many beautiful photographs throughout with lovely, scripted quotes on them. 

This is an uplifting and motivational read, great as an emotional pick-me-up. Noelle is a determined, spiritual woman, and I feel like a better person having read her book. I can't wait to read it again another time. 4.5 stars. 

Sent from my iPhone

I Quit

My labs came back. Some things have improved, which is great, but the Lyme is raging. 

I talked with my doctor. We listed a dozen or more therapies that we have tried the past couple years. "And none of them have made you feel better, except in your guts," she conceded. We both sat back in our chairs and stared at each other, feeling bewildered. 

It seems I am an overachiever in freakin everything I do. 

Guys. This is tens of thousands of dollars we've spent, including loans. And still I lie in bed, a noncontributor to my nuclear family. 

The doctor and I came up with a plan. It felt really right until I was handed the bottom line by the billing girl. There is no way in heck we can afford this treatment, which may or may not lead to wellness. Since then, my husband and I have looked hard at options, even considering selling stuff and moving. 

If we had the kind of money needed to pursue the therapies my doctor and I discussed, I would rather use it to send my husband and kids to Disneyland anyhow.

I thought of other modalities and felt overwhelmed about mobilizing myself toward new things that may or may not work. 

I'm tired of a lot of things. Of the way we live without a functional wife and mother. I fake it less and less all the time. 

If I'm going to suffer, I might as well do it  for free. So I'm quitting. Maybe it's a sabbatical, maybe it's for good. I hereby quit worrying about the options, coordinating my care, getting myself places, and spending the money. 

...at least for today. 

I quit. I'm done trying. I hate this game. 

On Friendship

For many moons, I have tried to maintain friendships and my lifestyle all at once. The natural divergences of life over time (changing interests, location, family dynamics, etc.) have made it so difficult. But I have been desperate for companionship and have spent a thousand hours wondering how to be a friend.

I am not as responsive as I wish I could be. I have passively let friendships slip because I couldn't grip well enough. My mourning has been profound.

The important thing I've had to realize is that any relationship we have here also exists in the spiritual realm. I think of someone I love who was an excellent father until illness took hold of him and changed him in so many ways that he seemed completely altered and unable to function anymore. Yet the bonds he formed with his little children were sacred and still exist. Even if they were to grow bitter, and he resentful, those deep connections would still exist. I firmly believe this. Our relationships are defined in such temporary, earthly ways here...but if we zoom out to look at eternity, the best parts of our relationships still live and breathe.

If you are my friend or family member (ahem, ALL of you), and I have been inattentive, I. Am. Sorry. Will you please forgive me?

What we have once held between us still exists and is precious, even if I can't act on it right now. I still love you, even if I have a funny (or absent) way of showing it.

Don't be afraid to reach out. I'm a spaz, but I love getting your voicemails and love notes. I'll try to be better.

Waiting for Labs

I have drafted about a dozen blog posts that have gone unpublished. I think it's because I've been having a midlife crisis and have felt protective of some of my budding opinions.

Yes. A midlife crisis at my age. I reckon you're allowed more than one.

Today I want to give an update about the lab tests results I'm waiting for. But first, some background...

On Christmas Eve 2014, I had endured three months of IV therapy through a PICC line in my upper left arm. My skin is so fair and sensitive on the inside of my arms that it hated adhesives and skin cleansers and not being able to breathe. By the middle of therapy, I had open, weeping sores riddling my upper, inner arm. It stung around the clock. I went to the hospital every other day to get rewrapped with a roll of sterile gauze--certainly an infection hazard because it wasn't airtight, but simply the only way to keep the PICC line in to finish my treatment. 

The minute I could get the line out that Christmas Eve, I did. I was so sick. My doctor had me rest and recover from the antibiotics and other therapies for three months. We retested my numbers in March, and my Lyme markers had more than doubled. I still felt awful. We hadn't hit it hard enough. I had my second PICC line placed right away to start a more rigorous treatment, but it went in the upper right arm. 

This time, I had a homecare pharmacy deliver my infusions and supplies so I could take care of myself at home instead of 45 minutes away. It worked wonderfully (except when I had a horrible allergic reaction to one of the new drugs--but I'm a nurse, so I handled it). I infused until summer arrived. The PICC line skin issue emerged slightly later than the first time around because we prophylactically tried a wound dressing called a Mepilex instead, but I was wrapped in gauze again before the second month ended. My poor skin. We pulled that PICC out with glee when the three months of four-days-a-week infusions were up. 

Believe it or not, we never rechecked my Lyme levels. It's a $340 test, and I thought if it was hardy enough to have survived those drugs, maybe it deserved to kill me. It couldn't be that tough, not after what I'd poured into my body. I wanted to deny its existence and move on with my life. I wanted to have my body back, be able to drive again, and to not need a wheelchair for outings. It would be all up from there, baby.  

My doctor got me started on the LDI injections and let my system recover from the second three months of IV antibiotics, and boy did I need it. I went to a GI doctor once, and she had me get a bunch of liver tests (including imaging) because it was so shot. I started to feel kind of awesome in August though; I did some house cleaning and some driving and some good mothering. It lasted about three weeks before I began to slump again. 

Thinking it may be hormonal, I hoped I would have a repeat of the good feelings and increased vitality in September. But it didn't come. Not in October or November either. I even tried to fake it. I told people I thought I was getting better, when they asked, because for awhile I believed it. 

This year (2016), it's been bugging me that I am so horrifically fatigued all of the time and just feeling worse, with new crazy symptoms like tremors and migraines and psych issues. The critters may be munching on my brain after all. 

I literally spend all day in bed except for maybe two times per month (examples: I went on a field trip with my daughter's class; we have my sister's wedding coming up; family tradition days or when people in town I drink caffeine and go). I attend church every week. I get out a few evenings a month for this and that. And other than that, I'm really at home. In bed. Trying not to bemoan my situation. 

I have had LDI injections to treat viruses as well as Lyme. The idea is that sometimes a virus (like Epstein-Barr and cytomegalovirus) can weaken your immune system and create a situation for latent bacteria, like Lyme, take over. That is one theory of what may have happened to me. My doctor has treated for viruses as she has hypothesized that my Lyme has diminished with the continued LDI injections (of which I have undergone twenty rounds!). I've agreed with her. The viruses she suspects are fatigue-causing beasts. 

Lately I have had this unsettled feeling that I needed to get blood work done. So last week, I requested it: a follow up on my Lyme numbers, a virus panel, and anything else my doctor felt necessary. I filled several tubes with blood and went home nervous as heck. 

That's how I feel every time I let my mind wander. I feel nervous. 

Possible outcomes of my lab results:

--Everything is negative, and we are left befuddled. More testing. $

--Something unimportant is positive and serves as a red herring we get to chase around. $$

--My Lyme is back with a vengeance, and I get more IV therapy in whatever form, but longer and more aggressive than last time. $$$

"See kids? This is why we can't have nice things."

If the latter is the case, I'm getting a port. A port is a little button that is implanted under the skin of your chest with an IV line that dumps into your superior vena cava, like a PICC line. You access it with an actual needle connected to tubing. The needle stays in your skin for a week at a time, but I'd wager I'll only need it up to five days a week. Swimming and showering and letting my skin breathe will be wonderful for me. I should have gotten a port the first time around, but I didn't know much about the circus I was joining back then. 

My skin can't withstand dressings. My peripheral veins can't stand the scarring. And I can't stand getting myself to an IV center when I feel like death. I can access and deaccess a port from home. It is the path of least resistance, and all signs point to DUH. 

No matter what the labs show, I am already horrified at my prospects. I don't want to be scared. But I don't have the money or energy to pour into chasing illnesses forever and ever. But also, I just want to KNOW. It's as bad as when I waited to see if I got into BYU's nursing program. Bring it!!

I feel exigence to treat myself. It's so real. I can't deny this urgency. 

Another test I'll need soon is a follow up MRI on the cyst in my brain. We just need to make sure it isn't changing. 

There is a lot more I could write about, but if I stop now, I'll be more likely to post. 

It's going to be a weird summer. I hope my kids don't get tired of sidewalk chalk and weeding the garden, because that's going to be their summer thrill this year. They are such good little people. Mom ruins everything!

We Are Cyborgs

I have written at least a half dozen unpublished blog posts since I last blogged. I am so disenchanted with talking in first person, sharing my guts, and keeping up this one-sided, abstract relationship that is me vs the Internet.

Originally, I had thoughts to share. I hoped to put minds at ease as to how I was doing, inspire and help people to smile, and share myself in a way that didn't involve stacking chairs or visiting the needy (can't fill others' buckets if yours is empty, donchaknow).

It's eerie to put myself into the universe without mutual human interaction coming back. It is weird. It is unfulfilling. The Internet is impersonal. These electronic interactions are unprecedented in the history of planet Earth, and I am unsatisfied with them.

If chronic illness wasn't so morbidly isolating to me, I would have done away with these interactions years ago and just gone out to be social with actual humans. But this is how I have often had to see the world from my sickbed--through the Internet. It's also how I've let people know I'm still around.

I am not a good friend because I can't be a good friend. I don't have emotional capacity to help or physical capacity to reciprocate. It's sad. I think about this every single day. So the Internet gives the allusion of "friends," but often they are made of zeroes and ones.

I forget about the the *CHRONIC* in my chronic illnesses sometimes. When I remember, I am disappointed that I can't be normal human who exists to people outside of the Internet.

It would be grand to not validate my life's experience by electronically letting other humans know I'm living. It would be grand to be actually living, instead.

I'm this close to breaking up with the Internet, and to live that reserved, introverted life that my grandmothers lived.

Because there aren't many humans left; we are cyborgs with touchscreens for hands, living in an abstract, cyber world.

Inches

When I lived in Texas, there was this cool kid who proudly went by Inches on account of his size. He was smart: he knew he wanted to be around the ladies from an early age, so he decided to take up the flute. He and I were in marching band together, and he was adored by all of us. We loved Inches. 

That story has nothing to do with this post. 

Really, what I wanted to talk about is growth. We mark a door jamb with our children's heights on their birthdays. Aside from running out of lap and having to rotate their clothes to bigger sizes, their growth is undetectable to me. Yet, when we measure them, they have sprouted inches every year! It's amazing. 

A few weeks ago, my doctor did an inventory with me. She zoomed way out, and we talked about my progress. I thought I hadn't made any since I am still so devastatingly fatigued most of the time. But as we reviewed my supplements, activity level, mood, diet, labs, and overall outlook, I was positively astonished. I have (figuratively) grown inches this year! I was so very, very ill a year ago, and I am clearly healthier than I used to be!

I feel very grateful for this revelation. I am happy that I can care for my children and put dinner on the table sometimes. I am amazed that my organs are doing so much better and that I am tolerating a greater variety of foods. I am thrilled that we do things as a family sometimes, and that I can date my husband. It's fantastic that I don't have to give my only functional hours every week to church, because I often have good hours daily. I have the concentration to read and the endurance to do projects once in awhile. Guys! Do you feel the changes like I do? What a swell deal.  

Someone kindly suggested that I have progressed and am on my way to getting back to my old self, but I stopped holding my breath ages ago. Maybe I don't want to be my old self. I like who I am becoming because of my difficulties. 

Whatever growth I am experiencing, the changes are imperceptible day to day. And that's kind of exciting, am I right? To not know who I'll be in a year? I think it's simply riveting. 

Fire Alarm

Today we had a dress rehearsal for my daughter's upcoming dance concert. This is her seventh event like this; it is old hat for our entire family. Even my son, who tags along for dress rehearsal and performances, knows exactly what to expect. 

The routine may be old hat, but my daughter's group got their own tent backstage for costume changes. All this time, she has had to change with her groups in adjacent rooms, but now she is backstage with all the big girls. Everyone was excited. 

I made sure my son had his school backpack full of books so he would be entertained during dress rehearsal. Because we were in a new place, he had a hard time figuring out where to settle down and read, especially since the tent was rather small for all the moms and dancers to be in at once...and a stray little boy. 

The dancers lined up in front of the tent to go onstage, and we were even more displaced. My son was pushed all the way to the door on the cinder block wall. 

I looked towards my daughter, who was warming up in line, and glanced down just as I saw little five-year-old fingers perfectly follow the instructions on the fire alarm pull. Push in, pull down. 

Too late. The alarm blared.

He didn't realize it was him. "Buddy, that was you!" I said. "I didn't know! I didn't know," he cried. I didn't believe him at first. And then I remembered that my little boy doesn't lie. 

We had to evacuate. I told a stage person that my son tripped he alarm. Dancers shivered in the January outdoors. My son and I went around the corner and sat on a curb, away from the anxious crowd. I felt sick, but my son was simply devastated and bawling. 

"Did you know that was a fire alarm?" 

"No! I didn't know!"

"Remember when we were in church once, and the same thing happened when a kid pulled the alarm, and everyone had to go outside?"

"Yeah."

"That's what you just did. It called the firemen. They have to make sure everything is safe before anyone can go back in."

He broke down with a new wave of understanding. Though interested in the real firemen who came to check out the building, he wasn't happy. 

I wasn't either, but I didn't say so. 

But then I heard a group of moms talking just around the corner. 

"Is this for real?"

"I hope not!"

"This is ridiculous. They're going to get so far behind."

"I hear a little boy pulled the alarm."

"What was he thinking? I hope this blew his ears out!"

I was shocked. I was mad. I wished I could see who said that so I could stomp on her foot. 

We apologized to the owner via email. I offered to pay for the firemen or whatever I could do to fix it. But I couldn't look at the other moms, not with my boy in tow. 

A girl of about nine or ten came up to us, a conspicuous mom-boy couple on the curb. "Do you know who pulled the fire alarm?" she jeered between an awkward mix of permanent and baby teeth. 

"What?" I blinked. 

"Do you know who it was?" she repeated, eying my boy. 

I stared meaningfully at her with widened eyes. "Do you need to know?" I asked. 

This time she blinked. "No," she said, and walked away. I didn't see her again. 

Amidst the jabber and jumping jacks, someone finally made an announcement that I couldn't hear. There was general murmuring. A man near us said, "Ha! They're going to want to have that kid's fingerprints after this." Again, if I'd know who it was, he might have gotten an elbow to the solar plexus. 

It was either a good thing or a bad thing that I kept my eyes down. I don't think my son heard anything.

We fetched my son's backpack and went to the car to wait. My daughter tried to suppress tears so her makeup wouldn't run since I am always there to help her set up a costume change routine. 

She went on stage only nine minutes late, and miraculously they made up the entire delay by the time she was done. She did well setting up her own routine. Thank goodness this is all old hat. 

Meanwhile, my son and I snuggled in the front seat of the car. We texted my husband for awhile. My favorite thing my son texted was the title of a children's book we own: "It's okay to make mistakes."

Then I praise his little broken heart into confidence. 

"You know what I think is cool, buddy? You followed the directions on that fire alarm EXACTLY. Now if there is ever a real fire in a building, you will have already practiced! You'll start seeing them everywhere you go--at church, school, stores--every building except houses. And I noticed they put it right on your eye level, and you could read every single big word on it. The only words you didn't see were the little ones at the top: 'in case or fire.' That's pretty awesome that you can read words so well. If there's ever a fire, I hope you're with me so you can pull the fire alarm, because you're one of the only people I know who has ever done it before!" I went on and on. The tears dried up, leaving salty stains beneath his eyes. The pink blotches that characterize his sad face faded away. He was still shaken up, but I think he felt a little better. 

The person I appreciated the most was this mom with purple hair who stopped me as we evacuated the building. She must have stolen a glance when my son reacted to the initial blare. "Hey, just so you know," she said with a toss of purple over her shoulder, "my son did the same thing a few years ago." Then leaning towards my son, she said, "It makes for a great story later!"

It wasn't reassuring at the time. But I thought of how kind her relatable confession had been as my son and I walked toward our curbside seclusion. 

I vow that if the fire alarm is ever accidentally pulled somewhere and we are evacuated, I will dull the blades of sharp words before they can leave me. I will be the woman who stomps on insensitive jeers. I will elbow petty jokes. I will confess my own experience being the mortified mom of the bawling boy. I will look the mom in the eye and smile. 

And I will never be ashamed with my son. I will keep my eyes up and stay in plain sight, even if my outwardness belies how sick I feel. I'll deal out metaphorical stomps and elbows if I have to, even widening my eyes at rude glances, because my boy doesn't like trouble. He wants to be good and avoid reprimand. He didn't know. 

And I believe him. 

Book Reviews 2016: 1-5

This year, I have a goal to read 52 books (one per week). I am ahead of schedule, but I'm sure it will make up for a dry spell later on. The following are my brief reviews of the first five books I have read this year. 

1) Me Before You 

By Jojo Moyes

This was my first time reading a book by Jojo Moyes. Her wit is so fun. I wanted to put some beautifully-crafted sentences in my pocket for safekeeping. The first-person protagonist was hilarious and sarcastic. This story took place in an English village, and I am OBSESSED with England, so that worked well for me. 

This book deals with a high-power (single) financial prodigy in his mid-thirties who tries to adjust to life with quadriplegia after being struck by a vehicle in the street. A disenchanted underachiever of a young woman takes a job of being his companion during the daytime and, at the request of his mother, keeping the man's spirits up after his accident. Several moral questions follow, such as whether village life is good enough for a young person with massive potential; whether the safety of an unfulfilling, but predictable, relationship is more valuable than confident celibacy; and (SPOILER) the ethics of assisted suicide. Therein lies the struggle. 

Struggle isn't bad; it helped me evaluate my opinion. I feel more confident knowing my views, having read this book. 

I gave this book 3.5 stars, knocking off an entire star for the ten-ish f-bombs I scratched out of my copy of the book, and another half star just because. It's subjective, naturally. There was a lot of swearing and taking of the Lord's name in vain, which made me squirm (leave my Savior alone, please!). 

I'll wait for a glowing review of one of Moyes' books from a trusted friend before reading more of her works, unless I am in the mood for some controversial soul searching and have a scratching pen at the ready. Overall, I am glad I read this book. 

2) The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are 

By Brené Brown

This is my first Brené Brown book. Is it self help? Is it spiritual? I don't know. But I highlighted a lot of great one-liners in it. 

I learned a lot from this book. It's a playbook for lay psychology nerds like me, who like to know how we build our stories and process emotions and stuff. I'm making it sound technical, but it's not. There are plenty of anecdotes from the author, admissions of her own folly, and conversations she has had with her own therapist. In this way, I felt like the author, a researcher, did not always seem authoritative on her own subject. But I appreciate her candor in expressing her continuing work toward loving herself as she was made. 

There are ten "guideposts" for embracing one's imperfection. I found these interesting and wanted to study them more. Overall, I feel like the book gave me an extra nudge to heed the inner wisdom I was already sensing, but was afraid to act upon. 

Read other reviews to get a sense for this book because I am doing a rather poor job. But I decided that if I ever take a trip somewhere, this is the kind of book to take with me on the plane. I think I could make it a serious study for a few weeks, no problem. 

I gave this book four stars because I wanted to love it, but things like foul language and select juvenile diction and lack of authority kept it from wowing me. I would still recommend it. 

3) Out of My Mind by Sharon M. Draper

This novel is about a ten-year-old girl whose body prevents her from expressing her inner genius as she is unable to talk or walk. (It is later revealed that she has cerebral palsy, which is what I was sensing.) This girl expresses her frustration at being labeled and being unable to speak for herself. Her intelligence is later discovered, and we get to see what she is able to accomplish with her able-bodied peers. The adjustment is fraught with frustrating difficulties, which I feel is reflective of disabilities in general.  

I really appreciated this book as a look into a perfectly functioning brain within a handicapped body. It made me happy that I have worked with people using the same tone of voice, no matter how old or how intelligent. The girl in this book wanted to be included. Is that so hard to do with people we meet?

The author, a mother of a handicapped child, recommends that when we see someone who isn't, say, usual, that we should say hi and introduce ourselves instead of pretending not to see. This book drilled that thought into me. I hope to look at everyone with more love from now on. 

I gave this book four stars. I really liked it. 

4) The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis

This book is legend, right? This was my first read-through. It was fine.

This book is a collection of letters by Screwtape, a master demon, written to his nephew Wormwood, a newer demon engaged in trying to persuade a certain male, mortal "patient" to get on the road to hell through numerous, oldie-but-goodie-type demon tactics. Screwtape sometimes praises, sometimes chastises, but always closely appraises the patient's status and tells Wormwood how to use Christian strengths to turn the patient from "the Enemy" (Christ) and toward "Our Father Below" (Satan). 

It really was a fascinating two-hour read. If it had been my own copy of the book, it would have been dog-eared by the time I finished. You see easily that Satan, though tricky, is not very interesting with his tactics, though they are successful if one isn't careful. 

I was invested in the well-being of the patient, as war had just broken out after he become a Christian. Would it be too much? Was it all "a phase?" Would Wormwood succeed? I couldn't wait to find out. 

Truly, I had a hard time listening to a demon talk for nearly 200 pages. Maybe it was a negative energy I assumed. Maybe it was a sudden vulnerability I felt. Maybe I was hormonal and tense. But I was relieved when I finished. I gave this book four stars. If I hadn't felt that shift in energy so acutely, perhaps it would have gotten a perfect score and gone in my private collection. 

5) The Dollmage by Martine Leavitt

I only discovered Martine Leavitt's works last fall, and I am forever altered. Every book I have ever read from her just rocks my world, and The Dollmage is no different. It got a perfect five stars and is going into my exclusive private collection of favorites. 

The Dollmage is the village's wise woman and storymaker. She creates people and things before they happen, using carefully selected materials and adding them carefully to her secret miniature model of the village. As she has now aged and childless and her powers wane, it is time to find a successor. On the day appointed for the successor to be born, two very different girls arrive, both with Dollmage power. But the village can only have one Dollmage. Who will it be? Through years of training, the question remains. 

Told by the aged Dollmage as a legal testimony to her people before a village member's execution, this story is told by a deeply flawed character in fascinating prose. I was sitting around the fire with everyone else. 

Leavitt is a gifted wordsmith, and her nuggets of timeless wisdom are poetry. She looks where others will not look and damning insecurities become merciful gifts in her carefully-crafted offering. She somehow turns weaknesses into strengths within her characters. It's really beautiful. 

As is The Dollmage. I don't think it is in print anymore; I had to buy a used copy from Amazon...but the one penny I spent almost represents how priceless this work really is. Highly recommend.