Sickness Begets Sickness

Remember in August when I was freshly 30?  I felt magical and confident.  I was queen of the hill.  And the little town below the hill.  And the whole world obeyed my commands.  I was the most beautiful girl in the land.  I was.... so... young and healthy.

That was a dream.

A few days before my birthday, and throughout the month of August I got laryngitis.  Which at first I thought was super sexy.  I just love me a woman with a low raspy voice.  It was super hot.  Until all my friends had heard it.  And I couldn't talk at all.  And it lasted for 4 weeks.
When my voice came back I started getting sick about once a week with the old pukies.  Just randomly I'd be sick.  And since I'm not on the super health-nut side of the scale.... I figured my body just didn't agree with a Big Mac AAAAAAnnnnd the 20 piece nugget.  and a large Cokey.  Or the next time it happened I figured the habeneros were a step too far and maybe I shouldn't have added them to my wing sauce.  I mean, come on.  Bear with me.  We all make dietary mistakes.  Coke and Froot Loops for breakfast constantly sounded good to me!
I am who I am.
All this vomiting climaxed a fateful day in October and I ended up in the emergency room.  They did emergency surgery to take my gull bladder out.  Which was full of gull stones and had collapsed upon itself.  Now, note.... I love saying "emergency surgery" because it makes me feel prominent and important... and, yeah, a little rich.  But I'm not foolin' anyone.  They treated me just like the next person with a bum gull bladder.
When the thing came out I felt a lot better.  I swore of Coke.  Still haven't had any.  I've been clean for 27 days.  Miss it like hell.
Anyha.
My high-rise to health... which was more of a hunched over, timid scuffle... you know... the incisions and what not.  It was short lived.
On Halloween I went trick or treating with my kids and had dinner with my sister.
Saturday morning I was back in the emergency room.
I thought I was having a heart attack.
They ruled that out.  And took like 15 more test before givin' me any meds.
I was sent home around noon being told I had Pleurisy.
Pleurisy is when the pleura around your lungs becomes inflamed and makes it extremely difficult to breathe.
They said after one painful week I'd be back to normal.
I would have given a sigh of relief but I couldn't muster up enough air.
Sunday I went back to the ER.  (Filling up my punch card.  I hear after 10 visits in a month you get a 5% discount.)  I had been throwing up about every 15 minutes for like.... 9 friggin hours.
After hours and hours of tests the good doctors told me I didn't have pleurisy.
I had a gull stone still floating around from my surgery and it had blocked my liver.  And all the bile was building up in my blood.
I was so relieved they knew what was wrong.  FINALLY!
I just started begging, "Put me under.  Put me under.  Put me under."
They refused.  Arrogant medical community.
I ended up getting jaundiced and none of those good good hospital drugs would help with the pain or the vomiting.
It was a rough day and a half.
In the morning they went through my mouth to remove the blockage.
When I woke up I felt like a new person.  Not pukey.  Not yellow anymore.  Just normal Patty.
Well... normal for what I gander an 80 year old would feel like.
I'm up to taking about 50 paces before I'm winded.
And sadly all those wonderful hospital drugs have worn off.

And I have a stinking zit on the inside of my ear.
But I'm hell bent on surviving clear to my thirty-FIRST birthday!
So don't you worry about me!

Halloween Through the Years

Clowns
Clockwise from top:  Krissy, Vicky, little Jules-a-Bug sucking her thumb, and Me!

Rich Ladies
We loved being rich ladies.... even when it wasn't Halloween.
Heck.  I still love pretending to be a Rich Lady.
Top Row:  Julie, Vicky, Krissy
Bottom Row:  Little Frenchie Andi, and Me rocking the side ponytail

Chiquita Banana Girls

 The True Meaning of Halloween

Flowers
Krissy, Vicky, Me, and Mom (pregnant with Julie!)

Cruella
1999 (?)

 

Mad Scientist
1998 (?)

Vagabond/Roamer/Started Out as a Gypsy/Got a Little Grittier
2013

Maid, Arise.

Sometimes we lose something- we very much needed.
It could be lost hope.  Lost faith.  Lost confidence.
Maybe you lost a friend, or your job, or your child.
The hurt is deep inside of us.  And we don't want to share it.  With anyone.
It's an actual physical pain.  And it's hard to breathe.
Or feel like yourself. Or be happy.

When we're hurting...
When we have a terrible loss....
We want more than anything for everything to go back to normal.
Back to the way they were before.

But they will never be the same.

Pain changes us.
And we try to find the way to tell someone that it's changed us.

But when someone asks if everything is okay...
.... we say "Yeah.  I'm fine."
But we're pleading.  Pleading....

I feel heavy inside... it hurts by my heart.
I can't hope for things anymore.
I feel like I'm on a boat.  By myself.  And I don't know anything about boats.
I'm terribly sad.
My heart is...is... not the same.
I'm grieving for...something.
I feel like everything in me has crushed.

I've never been able to find the words to really express the pain you feel when you lose... everything.  When you lose all emotion. When you're completely empty.

Then I found it.
In Jacob 2:35

"... many hearts died. Pierced with deep wounds."

"Hearts died."  That's it.  A heart can die.  My heart died.  It pushed too hard until it couldn't push anymore.  It couldn't take anymore bad news.  It couldn't survive.  The hurt and the pain was too much.  My heart couldn't keep going.
And.
It died.
If that happens you no longer feel recognizable as the person you were.  My body is still alive.  I'm still functioning.  But it's motions.  It's a well trained routine.
When your heart dies- it can't pump life into you anymore.
And you're just... there.

I've been thinking this for a couple weeks.
There is no other option to death.  No way to come back from it.
It's final and irrecoverable.
When your pain is that severe.
When you've lost everything that made you hope or believe...
...that's it.


But then, I thought, Jesus raised people from the dead.

His friend, Lazarus, was dead four days.

 "Jesus wept.  Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him!...  Jesus cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth.  And he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with graveclothes: and his face was bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him, and let him go."

John 11

 Jarius' Daughter

  "Thy daughter is dead; trouble not the Master.  But when Jesus heard it, he answered him, saying, Fear not: believe only, and she shall be made whole.  And all wept, and bewailed her: but he said, Weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth.  And he put them all out, and took her by the hand, and called, saying, Maid, arise.

And her spirit came again, and she arose straightway."

Luke 8

The Son of the Widow of Nain

"Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow: and much people of the city was with her.  And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not. And he came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise. And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. And he delivered him to his mother."

Luke 7

I remember the day my heart was pierced with deep wounds.  And over time it slowly died. But when I found these stories... I knew that Jesus has wept because my heart died.  And He's been saying, "Weep not."
But with a heart that has died isn't it hard to hear compassion?

My favorite scripture is in 2 Kings 20:5
"I have heard thy prayer, I have seen thy tears: behold, I will heal thee."

If Christ can bring people back from the dead I know He can bring hearts back from the dead.
He can heal.

I know He can take my heart in His hands and say, "Maid, arise."


More thoughts:
One Year Ago
Surfacing
I'm A Survivor

Looks

There's a lot of information about how to lose weight and eat right and get fit.  Professionals, psychologists, teachers, friends, normal people.  Everyone has a theory or a trick or something they're trying.
You know what there's not a lot of?
Information on how to gain weight.


I've got a few secrets to looking the way I do.

For breakfast I drink a Coke and have something sugary.  It could be a doughnut.  A PopTart.  A Little Debbie Snack Cake.  The trick is to make sure you've got a couple stockpiled just in case you're still hungry after the first one.
Your next step here is to invest in some loose waisted pants.  There's lots of fashionable options.  You don't have to buy the Walmart baggy sweats with the tapered ankles, but I do because they really keep the heat in.
For lunch hit up McDonald's.  The Dollar Menu really has I think like 25 options?  Yeah, pretty sure about 25 options.  I recommend the Hot n Spicy McChicken sandwich.  And order up a large coke with no ice.  It's only a dollar and if you don't get the ice there's more room for the Coke-y.
Have a sensible dinner.  To keep your body regular.  And to avoid stomach aches and lots of trips to the bathroom.... if ya know what I'm sayin'.  heh heh.  YOU know what I'm sayin.
After dinner don't be shy with the snick snackies.  Munch.  Snack.  Grab a few Doritos.  Eat a handful of cookies.  Pop some popcorn and put in a movie.  Eat the whole 2 hours.

Within a week or two you'll notice a difference.
The key here is knowing when to stop.

Hints You May Have Gone Too Far:


Your chub hangs over your jeggings... which have no actual waistband.

When you put your bra on- it digs into your back fat.  Is there a name for that?  Bra Bulge?

You're shaped more like a triangle than an hourglass, or pear, or cylinder.

Your arms are like gorilla arms.

Here's the real secret.
Listen close.  I'm gonna whisper it.
 
No matter what you look like- you're still the same person.

The same lovable person.
You're funny.
You're going out of your way to help people.
You take care of your family.
You're the same person no matter what you look like.
You're still you.
I'm still me.
This girl

is the same as this girl.

Who is the same as this girl.

It doesn't matter if I have gorilla arms, pudge, bra fat, and thighs as wide as a combine.
I'm still me.

And I'm not switching to Diet.

Girl. You Better Work.

I had multiple fights/arguments/tiffs with each of my teachers last semester.  They all taught a section on classical conditioning which included a lesson teaching that, "Pretty people get what they want."  The teachers (and literature) explained that people who were pretty had more success in life, they got higher raises more often, they landed the job interviews, they got special treatment at restaurants and doctor's offices.  Pretty people are assumed to be trustworthy, friendly, and helpful.  Pretty people are likable.  This subject is driven home by research studies, psychological journals, statistics, and hours of lecture.

And it just gets under my skin.
I refuse to believe that pretty people get what they want based solely on their looks.

Then this happened:

My mom has a picture of my sisters and I on her desk.  A colleague stopped in, saw the picture, and asked about us.  My mom listed our recent accomplishments:

This one just won a Photoshop Guru Award.

This one ran a marathon this year and is editor of TABLE magazine.

This one has practically started a DIY enterprise with her blog

This one is single-handedly raising her 3 kids and really focuses on meditation and inner peace.

This one is at The University of Utah and just made the Dean's List and she's my favorite.
(That last part was about me and I elaborated on it a little.  Wert.)

She ended with something like, "They are all very successful women."
To which the other teacher responded:
"Well.  That's because they're pretty."

Stop.
Right.
There.

"They're pretty?"  Really?  "They're pretty."  And THAT'S why they're successful?


Pretty's got nothing to do with it.

You want a job?
You kick ASS on your resume.
You prep for your interview.
And you dress the part.

You want a raise?
You put in the hours.
You work harder.
You don't mess up.  Ever.
You be polite.
You don't procrastinate.
You earn it.

You want the big house?  The picket fence?  The pool?
You save your money.

You want a date with someone?
You ask them.

You want people to like you?
Be yourself.
Help out.
Tell the truth.

The way I've built my life was on purpose. 
I chose the man I married.
I asked him out.
I'm at the school I want to attend.
Getting the degree I want.
Getting the grades I want.
I ask questions.
I pick up new hobbies.
I sweat it out.
I push and I push and I push.
Kindly.
But I push.

I have dug in my heels over and over again.
I.  Don't.  Give. Up.

I work for it.

If that's a GPA, a job, or belting out some Cher on karaoke night.
I know I have what it takes.

You have what it takes too.
So, quit selling yourself short.

Quit saying, "They get their way because they're pretty."
That's insulting.
To me.

Because I have substance.

If you put this much more work into it.
If you tried.
You'd be amazed.

There's nothing more annoying than hearing, "I could never do that" and "I don't have the time."
Because 1.  Yes you can.  If someone can, you can.  If no one ever has... you still can.
And 2.  Everyone has the same amount of time. 24 hours.  You have the time.  Quit being lazy.

So the next time you call me pretty... and I say "Thanks"... know it's because I assume you also know that I am wickedly smart.  I am talented.  I've got a lot more to offer than just my billion dollar smile.


 

On a test last semester the following question was posted:

You are in charge of planning the debate for your political party's campaign this Saturday afternoon.  The topics are heavy and not very interesting.  Based on what you've learned about Classical Conditioning who would you pick to be your speaker?

A.  A non-attractive person who is funny but does not know the material very well.
B.  An non-attractive person who does not know the material very well.
C.  An attractive person who may or may not know the material.
D.  A person who knows the material very very well.

The correct answer was "C."  I put "D."  And wrote under it, "You'd be stupid not to."

Me and the Kids..and Strangers

I feel constant pressure, constant gazes, constant spoken and unspoken opinions about what I'm doing as a mother.  There's news articles, entire magazines, blogs, and forums all about how to be the best mom.  How to throw the best party.  How to "do it all."  How to cook gourmet with toddlers.  How to paint murals with the help of your kids.
They'll tell you what to put it your diaper bag.  What NOT to put in your diaper bag.  The optimum speed to drive for kids to sleep in the car.  The perfect age for potty training.  The best time to start play dates.  The minimum and maximum time limits for sleep, reading, TV, and learning.
How long meals should last.  How to effectively use time-out. How to decorate dinner to make it look like a clown face.  How to make your own Halloween costume and host a neighborhood costume party for 300+ people.  
Then there are humans with their advices. "You're so smart for bringing toys to the sandbox."  "Oooo, you should have brought more water."  "Oh, you let your kids pick their own outfits?"  "If he were my kid I wouldn't let him use markers yet."  "Trust me, counting to 3 never works."  "Your kids are so well behaved."  "Church is really hard with little ones, you are so brave."  "You can let him play with your iPhone, you know."  "You need to read more to them."  "They should be outside more."  "You need to spend more time teaching." "Take more time for yourself."  "You're playing with them too much.  Make them play alone." "You should put his shoes on him if he's going to play outside."


I don't know if it's because I'm young.  (Not that young peeps.)  Or because I look like I need advice on rearing children minute by minute.  Or if people just know I'm polite and am good at making them feel good about themselves at the cost of my own feelings being hurt.  But this is alllllll the time.  And I just want to say, "It's my OWN backyard!  I know where all the broken glass and used needles are!  He doesn't need shoes!  Lee-me-alone!"


Ugh.
*sigh*
I've had enough of it.

My kids are well-loved.  They feel love all day and all night.  They like being close to me.  They like being held and snuggled.  Kole will pick 15 books, snuggle on my lap, and not move until all 15 are read.  Joey smiles every time we make eye contact.  He rubs his head against my leg like a little puppy when he wants picked up.  I know when their cries means hungry, tired, there's been an injustice, or finger stuck in drawer, respond quickly.  I know that Koley needs physical touch, lots of hugs and smooches, and chuggy chuggies and cuddles to feel loved.  I know Joey needs one on one play time to feel loved.  Well, ha, that and applause.  He's such a lime-light lover. 

And you know what I just figured out?

Kole and Joey love me.  That's why they are always smiling at me and laughing at me when I fall off of my chair on purpose.  That's why they want to be as close to me as they can be.  That's why they are always handing me things... trains, trucks, things they broke, garbage they found, crusty old food pieces.  They are sharing with me because they love me.  They copy my dance moves out of love.  Kole corrects me when I call a backhoe an excavator because he loves me. 

That's what matters.

I don't care what your opinion is of how I raise my children.  I'll listen to it because you'll say it loudly and to my face (and because I am a moral giant).  But it's not going to sink in.

My boys love me. 
They think I am the best Mom ever.
And they are what matters to me.

A Fundamental Code

"[Their] instant liking for each other had been rooted in their mutual recognition that the other was a woman like herself....  They shared a fundamental code, and were therefore secure in each other's company in a way that they were not with other women."
-A Casual Vacancy, J.K. Rowling

I've just experienced this in my life.

It doesn't matter that you like chocolate and candy in your icecream and she prefers fruit.
It doesn't matter that you're 4 or 9 or 13 years younger.
It doesn't matter that you never exercise and she runs marathons. (And halfs.)(And 5ks.)

It doesn't matter that you recommend book after book and she doesn't read.  Ever.
It doesn't matter that you root for opposing teams in sports, politics, and Twilight.
It doesn't matter that you don't like any of her favorite TV shows.
It doesn't matter that your kids are different ages and genders.
It doesn't matter that you love the smell of cigarettes and she is appalled by them.
It doesn't matter that your house is smaller, your car is older, and your bank account is tinier.

It doesn't matter.

She is like me.
And realizing that means I'm like her...(sigh) made my heart explode.

One Year Ago

On this day last year I got the MRI results that confirmed my brain tumor. It seems like a long time ago.
I remember when the doctor first told me she thought something was wrong. She didn't know what it was but she confirmed my feelings that something wasn't right. I was given order after order for an executive panel of procedures and tests. I arrived at Quest Diagnostics for the first of my tests. I was ushered back to the lab room. I saw the needles. Somewhat longer and thicker than ones used for normal tests. As the nurse rubbed iodine on my arm I asked, "Will it hurt?" She wasn't truthful and told me no.
Looking back I have thought if before I came to Earth if I asked Heavenly Father, "Will it hurt?" He would have said, "Yes, it will hurt."
I have learned that life hurts. Sometimes something happens. And your heart breaks. Something happens that threatens all sense of logic or hope or certainty... sometimes- even faith. You don't feel like a whole person. Something happens and no matter how you emerge, nothing will ever be the same. Your life is changed forever not only by the pain but by facing your need to heal. Healing hurts. Healing beings only when we face the hurt in its full force and then grow through it with all the strength of our soul.
I need to be healed. I am learning that you cannot simply take a day off and return healed. Although I wish I could. Healing is a 5-step process. Maybe more. I'm up to 5 so far.
The first thing I have learned is healing is active.
I have to participate. Ken, my mom, my friends cannot do it for me. You have to face the problem. And the pain. To begin healing you must acknowledge and feel the hurt. You must realize that Heavenly Father is going to help you. That was my first hurtle. I have always had an intense faith in God. Never shaken. I knew God still did miracles. I had seen it happen to other people hundred of times. But had it ever happened to me? Why would God help me?
I found a scripture in Mark.
Mark 9:24- "And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."
I went to God in tears with the same plea. Help thou mine unbelief. Please. The world was silent. I waited for God to help me. And, in time, He did. Once God confirmed that He would help me I was ready to be cured. I prayed for God to cure me. I asked for a blessing so God would cure me. But the blessing I received said nothing about being restored to perfect health. I was blessed with a knowledge that God loved me and was aware of me and was well pleased. I was blessed with patience to deal with the doctors I would see. I was blessed to stay strong and to be able to endure what lied ahead. I was blessed to rely on my husband. The blessing did not even allude to being cured or healed. Curing and healing are not synonymous.
Cure is medical. Clean, scientific, relatively quick.
Healing may involve a lifelong process of recovery and growth. In spite of- or perhaps because of- enduring physical or emotional pain. It requires time. I prayed for a cure when I really need healing. Whether for cell reconstruction, for emotional recovery, or for spiritual forgiveness, we all need healing. And it takes time and energy.
The second thing I have found is healing is private.
The hymn, "Lord, I would Follow Thee" describes "hidden sorrow" in a "quiet heart."
When I was diagnosed- I didn't want to tell anyone. I didn't want help. I didn't want sympathy. It was a terrible blow. I was so afraid. Afraid of what was going to happen. Afraid of how people would react. Afraid of how my life was going to progress. Or not progress. I couldn't even say the words. The small words brought fear into my life I had never experienced before. I spent a lot of time with hidden sorrow in my quiet heart.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught:
There is, in the suffering of the highest order, a point that is reached- a point of aloneness- when the individual must bear it... alone. Even the faithful may wonder if they can take it any more or if they are in some way forsaken.
I first had to face the pain alone. I had to face the hurt alone. I had to face the truth... alone. It was absolutely necessary to do so. I would look in my mirror at home and tell myself my diagnosis and all the facts I knew about it. I wrote it down. I repeated it in my head like a mantra. I kept it inside of me and I faced the pain. It was weeks before I could talk about it. Once I could I felt ready to venture out. I wanted to tell someone. I felt a need to share my hurt. But I didn't know how and I was still too afraid. Hurt is personal. So personal the thought of sharing it literally paralyzed me with fear. I came across my next stepping stone scripture in John.
John 14:27
Peace I leave you, me peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
...Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
My heart swam with confidence. Confidence in God and in myself. I was healing again. Instantly. I was healing again. Healing happens quietly, while you face the pain. It happens over time as you live, work, study, and accept from others. I do not think private healing can happen without the help of others.
This was the third thing I learned.
Once Heavenly Father calmed my troubled heart I opened it to those around me. The outpouring of hope and love was beyond my belief. It was sincere. People honestly cared and possessed the faith I needed to see to carry on. Help came through phone calls, notes, e-mails, blog comments, messages on Facebook, photos, visits, packages, gifts, and my favorite--- treats! I needed people. Friends. To help me heal.
When we have a terrible loss... Or pain. We try to get back to normal. Back to the way things were before. But they will never be the same. Pain changes us.
But, Healing changes us. The fourth thing I leaned is Healing changes us. Healing can help us become more sensitive and awake to life. Healing inspires repentance and obedience. Healing invites gifts of humility and faith. It opens our hearts to profound complexities of truth, beauty, divinity, and grace.
Orson Whitney said:
No pain that we suffer is wasted. It ministers to our educations, to the development of patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All the suffer..., especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable.
When you feel pain or hurt or loss, and you make it past the initial shock or fear. You see your life in a new way. I saw my life in a new way. My life is a gift not a burden. Not a trial. I am in charge of my life. I call all the shots in my life. Am I calling the right ones?
Then, change that.
Become new, and fresh, and lovely again.
The fifth thing I have learned is I'm not the only one hurting right now. Someone is hurting. Someone is afraid. Someone is disappointed. Someone feels inadequate. Someone needs a friend. Someone needs to be noticed. Someone needs healed. Sometimes I think that "someone" is only me. But it's not. I can help that someone heal. I can give encouragement and hope and love to that someone just like people are giving it to me. It is necessary for me to help others in order to heal myself.
When Jesus was on this earth his mission was devoted to healing. When He called the twelve apostles, He specifically gave them the power to heal and told them to use their gifts freely. Use the gift to heal freely.
It doesn't always feel that way though, does it?
Now, after a year of medical treatment I wasn't cured like the doctors though I would be. I'm not healed either. Maybe the curing and the healing are going at the same pace. It's hard. Sometimes I feel like I just got the news for the first time. But I'm working on it. Every day. I am working on it. I know that Heavenly Father is going to heal me.
I know because of this scripture:
2 Kings 20:5
"... I have heard thy prayer, I have seen thy tears: behold, I will heal thee."
I will be healed.
I know God lives and I know He will heal me.