The results of the echocardiogram are in: Slight tricuspid and mitral valve insufficiency. Not enough to cause a whole lot of problems. Otherwise, the heart looks really good. The doc is thinking the chest weirdness was maybe something muscular or anxiety related (though I don't consider myself to be an anxious person. Maybe I am, and instead of manifesting outwardly, it goes inward. Who knows?) I'm supposed to monitor it and if I don't feel better, come back in for some more testing. No more action is needed at this point, and my activities are not restricted. I can get back to working out!
Hallelujah!
This is good news. I've been a little nervous about it, but not too much since the Echo tech didn't run screaming from the room, and because they didn't call me right away. I'm glad it doesn't seem to be anything serious. If you were praying or thinking of me, thank you.
I hope you all are having a fantastic Easter. He is risen, indeed! ALLELUIA!
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Adventures in Hypochondria
Well, friends. Today has been an interesting day. It all started last week...
I woke up with the flu or something on Friday morning; body aches, headache, chills, sore throat, and nausea. I'm pretty sure I had a fever, but not having a thermometer, I don't know. I took it easy Friday and Saturday, and thought that would be that.
So...Saturday night, I was lying in bed, when all of a sudden, my chest started to feel funny. It didn't hurt. It wasn't even really uncomfortable. It just felt...funny.
A couple more days went by, and the chest weirdness continued, and also spread to my back. So, with my family history of heart disease, I decided to call the doctor and get an appointment. I felt a little silly, what with not even being thirty years old, but I thought, "rather silly than dead."
I thought I would go in, talk with the doctor for a few minutes, and hear her say that I pulled a muscle or something. When I got there, I was talking with the doctor and I told her I felt silly for coming in, and she told me that it's not silly. That's one of the great things about my doctor: she doesn't treat me like a hypochondriac, even when I feel like one. It's not like I think I have every illness and problem out there. I don't think that at all. But, it seems like I've had a bunch of problems this past year or so.
So, she listened to my heart and asked me some general questions and all that good stuff. Then, she suggested that we have an EKG. I thought that I'd be heading over to the hospital, but she pulled out a hospital gown from the exam table and told me we'd be doing that in the office. So, she left and the nurse came in and did the EKG. When we were done, she told me to wait and the doc would be back in to talk about what she saw.
I waited. And then, she came back in, and I could tell by the look on her face that all wasn't well.
She sat down and said, "The EKG was abnormal. Basically, the line went down in places where the line should have gone up. I am ordering a Troponin blood test to see if you are having a heart attack, or if there is other acute damage happening right now. Sheri will be in to take you to the lab." I asked her what I needed to do after the blood test, and she said, "Come right back here. I'm not letting you leave my office until I see those results!" (She tried to keep it all light. She wasn't being an alarmist or anything, even if my writing makes it seem that way). She then told me that it might be a little while until the results came in, but that I needed to wait.
So, Sheri took me to the lab (Just a short walk down the hall. The doctors' offices are connected to a rehab hospital, and they share a lab). I got my blood drawn, and then I went back to the exam room and...waited...
I waited, watched out the window as the ambulance service came and took one of the rehab patients to the main hospital for a procedure (my congregant!), and waited some more. About half an hour later or so, the doctor came in and told me the good news that I DIDN'T have a heart attack or other acute damage, but that she would like me to have an echo-cardiogram next week so she can see the mechanics of how my heart is working so she can see what we're dealing with.
So, echo-cardiogram is scheduled for Wednesday at the main hospital. I'm hoping that this ends up being something stupid, but if you would like to offer some prayers, I'd appreciate it. I'm a little nervous about it; not overwhelmingly so, but enough. Doc said that if I feel worse before then that I should go to the hospital. Thankfully, for the most part, things are staying the same. Just weird feeling.
I guess I am glad that I was willing to look silly. The doctor asked me again about my family history; about when my parents started having heart problems. Since my dad had his first heart attack when he was 44, I think that sealed the deal for her to pursue this more. Plus, my total cholesterol isn't that great. She said since my HDL (good) cholesterol is great though, that she feels pretty okay about where I am at. Plus, I exercise, try to consume a lot of fiber, and try to avoid cholesterol, trans, and saturated fat.
The point, I suppose, aside from asking for your prayers, is to say that if you're having bizarre symptoms, RISK LOOKING SILLY. Now, this echo could come out benign, and if it does, I'll be happy, but it won't change that I'm grateful that I finally sucked it up and got an appointment. Our health is important. YOUR health is important. Be well, Friends.
I woke up with the flu or something on Friday morning; body aches, headache, chills, sore throat, and nausea. I'm pretty sure I had a fever, but not having a thermometer, I don't know. I took it easy Friday and Saturday, and thought that would be that.
So...Saturday night, I was lying in bed, when all of a sudden, my chest started to feel funny. It didn't hurt. It wasn't even really uncomfortable. It just felt...funny.
A couple more days went by, and the chest weirdness continued, and also spread to my back. So, with my family history of heart disease, I decided to call the doctor and get an appointment. I felt a little silly, what with not even being thirty years old, but I thought, "rather silly than dead."
I thought I would go in, talk with the doctor for a few minutes, and hear her say that I pulled a muscle or something. When I got there, I was talking with the doctor and I told her I felt silly for coming in, and she told me that it's not silly. That's one of the great things about my doctor: she doesn't treat me like a hypochondriac, even when I feel like one. It's not like I think I have every illness and problem out there. I don't think that at all. But, it seems like I've had a bunch of problems this past year or so.
So, she listened to my heart and asked me some general questions and all that good stuff. Then, she suggested that we have an EKG. I thought that I'd be heading over to the hospital, but she pulled out a hospital gown from the exam table and told me we'd be doing that in the office. So, she left and the nurse came in and did the EKG. When we were done, she told me to wait and the doc would be back in to talk about what she saw.
I waited. And then, she came back in, and I could tell by the look on her face that all wasn't well.
She sat down and said, "The EKG was abnormal. Basically, the line went down in places where the line should have gone up. I am ordering a Troponin blood test to see if you are having a heart attack, or if there is other acute damage happening right now. Sheri will be in to take you to the lab." I asked her what I needed to do after the blood test, and she said, "Come right back here. I'm not letting you leave my office until I see those results!" (She tried to keep it all light. She wasn't being an alarmist or anything, even if my writing makes it seem that way). She then told me that it might be a little while until the results came in, but that I needed to wait.
So, Sheri took me to the lab (Just a short walk down the hall. The doctors' offices are connected to a rehab hospital, and they share a lab). I got my blood drawn, and then I went back to the exam room and...waited...
I waited, watched out the window as the ambulance service came and took one of the rehab patients to the main hospital for a procedure (my congregant!), and waited some more. About half an hour later or so, the doctor came in and told me the good news that I DIDN'T have a heart attack or other acute damage, but that she would like me to have an echo-cardiogram next week so she can see the mechanics of how my heart is working so she can see what we're dealing with.
So, echo-cardiogram is scheduled for Wednesday at the main hospital. I'm hoping that this ends up being something stupid, but if you would like to offer some prayers, I'd appreciate it. I'm a little nervous about it; not overwhelmingly so, but enough. Doc said that if I feel worse before then that I should go to the hospital. Thankfully, for the most part, things are staying the same. Just weird feeling.
I guess I am glad that I was willing to look silly. The doctor asked me again about my family history; about when my parents started having heart problems. Since my dad had his first heart attack when he was 44, I think that sealed the deal for her to pursue this more. Plus, my total cholesterol isn't that great. She said since my HDL (good) cholesterol is great though, that she feels pretty okay about where I am at. Plus, I exercise, try to consume a lot of fiber, and try to avoid cholesterol, trans, and saturated fat.
The point, I suppose, aside from asking for your prayers, is to say that if you're having bizarre symptoms, RISK LOOKING SILLY. Now, this echo could come out benign, and if it does, I'll be happy, but it won't change that I'm grateful that I finally sucked it up and got an appointment. Our health is important. YOUR health is important. Be well, Friends.
Thursday, February 02, 2012
Hard doesn't mean bad.
Here I am, about six months into this whole "being a pastor" thing. It's pretty amazing most days, for sure. I'm called 3/4 time at BLC, but I still keep really busy.
Some of the things I do as the pastor are that I develop confirmation lessons and then teach them; I write prayers and sermons; I visit people in the hospital and pray with them before and after surgery, and during illness; I attend council meetings and talk about what's been going on; I go to text study with other area religious leaders so we can "talk about what we're going to talk about;" I go to my youths' sports and musical events; I visit people in their homes or occasionally at the cafe or at their place of work; I visit people in nursing homes; and I lead worship at one of the memory care communities in Bismarck.
I am amazed at the ways people have let me into their lives, and I give thanks for community in Christ.
When I was in seminary, we talked about our "FOOI," which means,"Family of origin issues." We ALL have them, which isn't necessarily a BAD thing, but it IS important to be able to be aware of them and how they affect the ways we minister. Obviously, one of my FOOIs is that both my parents are dead. My dad has been dead since 1995, and while I still grieve his loss, it's a little less poignant by now. However, my mother has only been gone for not quite two years. She was sick for a LONG time with dementia, which was very hard to see.
So, what's the deal? Where are you going with this, Trish?
Well, here's the thing-I'm finding it to be difficult work to minister among the cognitively disabled people. At the memory care community, I give thanks that "my" person always knows me, but I also grieve that some of the other people I see repeatedly don't remember. They have no clue who I am, other than I am a pastor (they know because I wear my clerical shirt when I lead worship there). AND, it's hard to see their cognitive decline, too. I really like these people, see, and I don't like that I "know" what's coming for them, and I don't like that it's ACTUALLY happening (and isn't an abstract "someday" thing). Every time I leave there, I am sad. BUT, I also leave with gratitude that I can minister to them. These people are so amazing. They sing the song I pick with exuberance. When I say, "The Lord be with you" they reply, "And also with you!" When I start, "Our Father," they chime RIGHT in. When I move around the table to administer Holy Communion to them, they stick out their tongues so I can place the wine-soaked wafer in their mouths. And then they say "Thank you." Now, I know "Thank you" isn't a "proper liturgical response" but I can't help but be humbled that they think they have to thank ME for administering what Christ freely gives for them. I'm humbled that they let me come and preach and preside in their midst, and I'm humbled that they are so warm to me when I stick around to visit after worship.
So, when I leave, I pray a lot for them. And I find myself saying a lot of, "God bless these beloved people. God bless 'em!" It's hard work, ministering in a memory care community, but hard doesn't mean bad. The wounds I still nurse in reference to my mother are still pretty fresh, but I think she would be glad to know that I can go because of these two things: The Holy Spirit's work within me, and my love for her.
It's weird; you don't expect a horrible, dreadful, no-good, rotten, memory-stealing disease to have ANY good come out of it. Don't get me wrong, I would STILL punch dementia in the face if it were a person, but dealing with dementia up close and personal has helped shape me into someone who really cares about these beloved ones who are afflicted with dementing illnesses. I can listen to the man who says the same sentence over and over. I can nod at the person who speaks non-words. And I hardly flinch when the F-bomb drops out of a sweet old lady's mouth like she's saying "chicken pot pie." It's hard work, but it's not bad work.
Some of the things I do as the pastor are that I develop confirmation lessons and then teach them; I write prayers and sermons; I visit people in the hospital and pray with them before and after surgery, and during illness; I attend council meetings and talk about what's been going on; I go to text study with other area religious leaders so we can "talk about what we're going to talk about;" I go to my youths' sports and musical events; I visit people in their homes or occasionally at the cafe or at their place of work; I visit people in nursing homes; and I lead worship at one of the memory care communities in Bismarck.
I am amazed at the ways people have let me into their lives, and I give thanks for community in Christ.
When I was in seminary, we talked about our "FOOI," which means,"Family of origin issues." We ALL have them, which isn't necessarily a BAD thing, but it IS important to be able to be aware of them and how they affect the ways we minister. Obviously, one of my FOOIs is that both my parents are dead. My dad has been dead since 1995, and while I still grieve his loss, it's a little less poignant by now. However, my mother has only been gone for not quite two years. She was sick for a LONG time with dementia, which was very hard to see.
So, what's the deal? Where are you going with this, Trish?
Well, here's the thing-I'm finding it to be difficult work to minister among the cognitively disabled people. At the memory care community, I give thanks that "my" person always knows me, but I also grieve that some of the other people I see repeatedly don't remember. They have no clue who I am, other than I am a pastor (they know because I wear my clerical shirt when I lead worship there). AND, it's hard to see their cognitive decline, too. I really like these people, see, and I don't like that I "know" what's coming for them, and I don't like that it's ACTUALLY happening (and isn't an abstract "someday" thing). Every time I leave there, I am sad. BUT, I also leave with gratitude that I can minister to them. These people are so amazing. They sing the song I pick with exuberance. When I say, "The Lord be with you" they reply, "And also with you!" When I start, "Our Father," they chime RIGHT in. When I move around the table to administer Holy Communion to them, they stick out their tongues so I can place the wine-soaked wafer in their mouths. And then they say "Thank you." Now, I know "Thank you" isn't a "proper liturgical response" but I can't help but be humbled that they think they have to thank ME for administering what Christ freely gives for them. I'm humbled that they let me come and preach and preside in their midst, and I'm humbled that they are so warm to me when I stick around to visit after worship.
So, when I leave, I pray a lot for them. And I find myself saying a lot of, "God bless these beloved people. God bless 'em!" It's hard work, ministering in a memory care community, but hard doesn't mean bad. The wounds I still nurse in reference to my mother are still pretty fresh, but I think she would be glad to know that I can go because of these two things: The Holy Spirit's work within me, and my love for her.
It's weird; you don't expect a horrible, dreadful, no-good, rotten, memory-stealing disease to have ANY good come out of it. Don't get me wrong, I would STILL punch dementia in the face if it were a person, but dealing with dementia up close and personal has helped shape me into someone who really cares about these beloved ones who are afflicted with dementing illnesses. I can listen to the man who says the same sentence over and over. I can nod at the person who speaks non-words. And I hardly flinch when the F-bomb drops out of a sweet old lady's mouth like she's saying "chicken pot pie." It's hard work, but it's not bad work.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
This is me...Updating my blog...
Hello, Dear Readers (if there are any of you left!!!).
Something has been on my mind a lot lately, due to various circumstances in the lives of some of my friends (the joy of keeping track of people due to Facebook and other social media!). This thing on my mind is, "What happens to people when they die?"
I hear a lot of the sentiment that when someone we love dies, they become our "guardian angel." My intent here is not to be a gigantic jerk-wagon, but instead to look at this idea a little bit.
I do not believe that people die and become an angel who looks after their loved ones. Why? For several reasons. One of the reasons I don't think this is what happens is because angels are a horse of an altogether different color. We are HUMANS. Angels are ANGELS. In some places in the Bible, angels are described as having multiple sets of wings, though at other places, they are described as being human-looking. I don't know exactly what angels look like because to my knowledge, I've never seen one. The point is, though, that there IS a difference between humans and angels. They have a similar purpose, I think, and that is to give glory to God, but I think they do it in different ways. Anyway, that's a whole other post.
The main reason I think that we do not become angels when we die is because that would insinuate that human beings aren't "good enough" in God's eyes. Sure, we're not good enough in our own right, but because of CHRIST, we are made holy in God's sight. Jesus came to live among us as "Emmanuel," as "God with us." That means that God came as a human being in Jesus the Christ. That means that "regular old humans;" humans like you and me, are redeemable and worthy to God. God makes regular, sinful human beings into beloved children because of Jesus, who came, not as an angel, but as a human. And Jesus REMAINS as a human today. When he ascended into heaven, he remained human. Today, Jesus sits at the right hand of God as a HUMAN. This is an AMAZING thing. This is a humbling thing. This is a loving thing.
I don't mean to be a jerk and dash all the thoughts about "Grandpa being my guardian angel" or anything of the like. What I DO mean to say to you is that Christ is FOR you, even and especially as a human. You don't need to become "extra holy" by becoming an angel when you die. Christ redeems all things, including what we are as flesh and blood.
I figure that the people I've been thinking about when I wrote this won't be reading this blog post. But, I still wanted to think about this subject a little more, and get it out there. What do you think?
Something has been on my mind a lot lately, due to various circumstances in the lives of some of my friends (the joy of keeping track of people due to Facebook and other social media!). This thing on my mind is, "What happens to people when they die?"
I hear a lot of the sentiment that when someone we love dies, they become our "guardian angel." My intent here is not to be a gigantic jerk-wagon, but instead to look at this idea a little bit.
I do not believe that people die and become an angel who looks after their loved ones. Why? For several reasons. One of the reasons I don't think this is what happens is because angels are a horse of an altogether different color. We are HUMANS. Angels are ANGELS. In some places in the Bible, angels are described as having multiple sets of wings, though at other places, they are described as being human-looking. I don't know exactly what angels look like because to my knowledge, I've never seen one. The point is, though, that there IS a difference between humans and angels. They have a similar purpose, I think, and that is to give glory to God, but I think they do it in different ways. Anyway, that's a whole other post.
The main reason I think that we do not become angels when we die is because that would insinuate that human beings aren't "good enough" in God's eyes. Sure, we're not good enough in our own right, but because of CHRIST, we are made holy in God's sight. Jesus came to live among us as "Emmanuel," as "God with us." That means that God came as a human being in Jesus the Christ. That means that "regular old humans;" humans like you and me, are redeemable and worthy to God. God makes regular, sinful human beings into beloved children because of Jesus, who came, not as an angel, but as a human. And Jesus REMAINS as a human today. When he ascended into heaven, he remained human. Today, Jesus sits at the right hand of God as a HUMAN. This is an AMAZING thing. This is a humbling thing. This is a loving thing.
I don't mean to be a jerk and dash all the thoughts about "Grandpa being my guardian angel" or anything of the like. What I DO mean to say to you is that Christ is FOR you, even and especially as a human. You don't need to become "extra holy" by becoming an angel when you die. Christ redeems all things, including what we are as flesh and blood.
I figure that the people I've been thinking about when I wrote this won't be reading this blog post. But, I still wanted to think about this subject a little more, and get it out there. What do you think?
Friday, October 14, 2011
Remembering the Beginning of the End
On this date in 2006 was what I call, "The Beginning of the End."
I remember because October 13, 2006 was a Friday and a man died at Restaurant.
Anyway, so October 14th was a Saturday. I was at Sis's house and was sleeping in "my" room when I woke to hear sirens going down the street a few blocks away. I absent-mindedly thought, "I hope that is no one I know." Just then Sis burst into my room saying, "Get up! We have to go to the hospital!" I thought, "OH CRAP! Did BiL electrocute himself!?" (He's an electrician).
Anyway, Sis said that Mom's friend called from the Emergency Department to tell us that she had taken Mom there. Mom had blood in her urine (a symptom called "hematuria). Mom's Friend drove her to the hospital where they performed some tests and then referred her to a urologist.
Fast forward to the urology appointment a few weeks later. Mom was diagnosed with bladder cancer. It ended up being Grade (not stage) 4. Grade speaks to how fast and aggressive a cancer is while Stage speaks to how advanced it is. So, she had a weird Grade 4, probably stage 2 or 3 bladder cancer. The doctor took a scope and burned the tumors off at first. That's how he staged and graded it. The next course he tried was intravesical chemotherapy, which is different from systemic chemotherapy. Systemic is what you're probably thinking of where a person gets an IV for a while and then usually they feel sick and often lose their hair. Intravesical chemo is such that the doctor inserts a syringe into the person's bladder, puts the chemo in the bladder, and then it sloshes around for at least 20 minutes before it is eliminated. After the four treatments were done, a follow up appointment was scheduled.
Just after her chemo ended, I moved to Seminary. I had taken care of her in the best way that I could while I could, and felt called to a new venture. The chemo treatments hadn't been TOO hard on her...They certainly seemed easier than when she'd had breast cancer and had endured systemic chemotherapy. I had driven her to all her bladder appointments and had handed the baton to my siblings.
I probably hadn't been at Seminary for more than a week or so when YS called and said that Mom had more hematuria. I suggested she call the urologist to see what he thought. So, they went back, he burned off more tumors with the scope thing, and it was decided that "Big Surgery" was the only way to get rid of the cancer. So, we convinced Mom to have the surgery, and so it was scheduled.
She had her surgery on March 21st. The procedure is called a radical cystectomy, in which the surgeon did a complete hysterectomy and bladder removal. At that time, the doctor guided her ureter to a stoma on the outside of her body. That's how people without bladders eliminate waste...The ureter goes to the stoma which then empties into a bag that is attached to a person's side. The adhesive gets changed about once a week or so, and a person empties the bag as often as it starts to fill.
But the thing is...Mom had dementia even then. And when she woke up, she was never the same. Looking back, and having talked with some professionals, it seems like she may have had a stroke while under anesthesia. Post-Surgery Mom was drastically changed from Pre-Surgery Mom.
So, that's a long post to basically share a short sentiment-Dates are important for those who grieve. It's been a year and a half since Mom died, and yet I still grieve. I think about her every day, and especially on days like today that hold significance for me and for our family. This date marks "The Beginning of the End" for Mom's earthly pilgrimage. It marks the "jumping in point" for really having to face dementia head on. I'm still learning from this, but also still grieving. I hope that in another five years, I'll have more time and more peace with it all. Peace to you wherever you are in your own grief journeys.
I remember because October 13, 2006 was a Friday and a man died at Restaurant.
Anyway, so October 14th was a Saturday. I was at Sis's house and was sleeping in "my" room when I woke to hear sirens going down the street a few blocks away. I absent-mindedly thought, "I hope that is no one I know." Just then Sis burst into my room saying, "Get up! We have to go to the hospital!" I thought, "OH CRAP! Did BiL electrocute himself!?" (He's an electrician).
Anyway, Sis said that Mom's friend called from the Emergency Department to tell us that she had taken Mom there. Mom had blood in her urine (a symptom called "hematuria). Mom's Friend drove her to the hospital where they performed some tests and then referred her to a urologist.
Fast forward to the urology appointment a few weeks later. Mom was diagnosed with bladder cancer. It ended up being Grade (not stage) 4. Grade speaks to how fast and aggressive a cancer is while Stage speaks to how advanced it is. So, she had a weird Grade 4, probably stage 2 or 3 bladder cancer. The doctor took a scope and burned the tumors off at first. That's how he staged and graded it. The next course he tried was intravesical chemotherapy, which is different from systemic chemotherapy. Systemic is what you're probably thinking of where a person gets an IV for a while and then usually they feel sick and often lose their hair. Intravesical chemo is such that the doctor inserts a syringe into the person's bladder, puts the chemo in the bladder, and then it sloshes around for at least 20 minutes before it is eliminated. After the four treatments were done, a follow up appointment was scheduled.
Just after her chemo ended, I moved to Seminary. I had taken care of her in the best way that I could while I could, and felt called to a new venture. The chemo treatments hadn't been TOO hard on her...They certainly seemed easier than when she'd had breast cancer and had endured systemic chemotherapy. I had driven her to all her bladder appointments and had handed the baton to my siblings.
I probably hadn't been at Seminary for more than a week or so when YS called and said that Mom had more hematuria. I suggested she call the urologist to see what he thought. So, they went back, he burned off more tumors with the scope thing, and it was decided that "Big Surgery" was the only way to get rid of the cancer. So, we convinced Mom to have the surgery, and so it was scheduled.
She had her surgery on March 21st. The procedure is called a radical cystectomy, in which the surgeon did a complete hysterectomy and bladder removal. At that time, the doctor guided her ureter to a stoma on the outside of her body. That's how people without bladders eliminate waste...The ureter goes to the stoma which then empties into a bag that is attached to a person's side. The adhesive gets changed about once a week or so, and a person empties the bag as often as it starts to fill.
But the thing is...Mom had dementia even then. And when she woke up, she was never the same. Looking back, and having talked with some professionals, it seems like she may have had a stroke while under anesthesia. Post-Surgery Mom was drastically changed from Pre-Surgery Mom.
So, that's a long post to basically share a short sentiment-Dates are important for those who grieve. It's been a year and a half since Mom died, and yet I still grieve. I think about her every day, and especially on days like today that hold significance for me and for our family. This date marks "The Beginning of the End" for Mom's earthly pilgrimage. It marks the "jumping in point" for really having to face dementia head on. I'm still learning from this, but also still grieving. I hope that in another five years, I'll have more time and more peace with it all. Peace to you wherever you are in your own grief journeys.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Thankful
I recently got a haircut. I really love when "haircut day" rolls around, which is usually about every 4-5 weeks, since I wear my hair short. The time before this haircut, I tried a different style, but I couldn't style it the way the cosmetician did, and so gave up on trying that one. So, this haircut was a smidge overdue.
The thing was, I am really cheap. I wanted to wait at least a month to get my new haircut. Then I ended up waiting a little bit longer because I had a doctor's appointment.
What? Why should that matter?
I have been having headaches every morning on the top left of my head. They're not horrible, but they're bothersome, especially considering they've been going on for 2 months. So, I finally went to the doctor. After listening to me describe the headaches, the doctor wanted me to have an MRI to make sure it wasn't a brain tumor. This was the second time in about 9 months that the words "brain tumor" have been spoken to me, so I was a little nervous about it all. And, still cheap.
Cheap, because I didn't want to get a haircut BEFORE the MRI in case I DID have a brain tumor and would need surgery. After all, they would have just shaved my head anyway. Why spend twenty bucks if the hospital would just shave my head in a few days, anyway?
So, last Tuesday, I had my MRI. I have had MRIs before, so I knew what to expect. I just tried to chill out in the tube, and then waited anxiously for the results. Finally, on Thursday, the doctor's office called and said it was clear. What a relief! How thankful am I that these persistent, nagging headaches are not something malevolent growing inside my brain.
So, the day I got my results, I got a haircut. Even though it seems that I'm thankful for the simple thing of getting a new haircut, I think it's something more profound; a gratitude that I could GET a haircut and not have to worry about getting my head shaved. It's a gratitude that I am still pretty healthy, even though I have no answers as to why I have these headaches. But, it's not a tumor. And so, I am thankful-for health and for haircuts.
The thing was, I am really cheap. I wanted to wait at least a month to get my new haircut. Then I ended up waiting a little bit longer because I had a doctor's appointment.
What? Why should that matter?
I have been having headaches every morning on the top left of my head. They're not horrible, but they're bothersome, especially considering they've been going on for 2 months. So, I finally went to the doctor. After listening to me describe the headaches, the doctor wanted me to have an MRI to make sure it wasn't a brain tumor. This was the second time in about 9 months that the words "brain tumor" have been spoken to me, so I was a little nervous about it all. And, still cheap.
Cheap, because I didn't want to get a haircut BEFORE the MRI in case I DID have a brain tumor and would need surgery. After all, they would have just shaved my head anyway. Why spend twenty bucks if the hospital would just shave my head in a few days, anyway?
So, last Tuesday, I had my MRI. I have had MRIs before, so I knew what to expect. I just tried to chill out in the tube, and then waited anxiously for the results. Finally, on Thursday, the doctor's office called and said it was clear. What a relief! How thankful am I that these persistent, nagging headaches are not something malevolent growing inside my brain.
So, the day I got my results, I got a haircut. Even though it seems that I'm thankful for the simple thing of getting a new haircut, I think it's something more profound; a gratitude that I could GET a haircut and not have to worry about getting my head shaved. It's a gratitude that I am still pretty healthy, even though I have no answers as to why I have these headaches. But, it's not a tumor. And so, I am thankful-for health and for haircuts.
Sunday, August 07, 2011
Realization
I was just reading some older posts and realized I missed some more stuff...
First off: The awesome family related news I alluded to in February...YS got ENGAGED on Valentine's Day! She and her man decided to get married on April 30th at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas! All my siblings except for OB went. It was SO awesome, and I'm very glad that they took the leap. YS's husband is a very awesome guy, and I am excited that he's officially my brother in law. He treats her well, and they seem genuinely happy together.
The other big thing: I broke my wrist in March. Some friends and I went roller skating in SeminaryTown, and within 15 minutes, I had fallen. A roller rink employee was right there when I went down and she said, "Are you ok?" I was afraid of getting into trouble, (odd, I know) and so I just said, "Yeah, I'm fine!" Then I got up and started skating around again, thinking that I had just bumped it a bit. But then, the roller rink announcer said that there were no shoes or coats or sweatshirts allowed in the skate-putting-on-area, and so my friends and I all went to move our stuff to the cubby holes. I sat down and my wrist was still really hurting, and I felt like I was going to pass out. I mentioned that I was really in pain and one of my friends asked if I could move it. I could, though it was sore. So, as I got more and more light-headed, they told me to lie down. I asked, "Do they have free water here?" (I have a penchant for asking stupid water-related questions), and then one of my friends came back with a bottle. Another employee came over with a bag of ice, and looked at my wrist a little. Then, my friends said, "It's time to take Molita to the hospital!" So, we got up and were walking out when the guy who took our money came up and said, "You hardly got to skate, so here is your money back." So, we took our money, loaded into the car, and made the drive across town...
AND BOY, WHAT A DRIVE! Every bump hurt like you would not believe. It didn't really, REALLY start hurting until we got into the car, but man...Yikes. I was saying words that are not befitting for a seminary student to say. Oh, and I was laughing hysterically because I am not very good at crying. So, there I was, laughing and swearing profusely, amusing all my friends on the trip.
When we got to the Emergency Room, I was still laughing, and when I went to the window, I told them my name and that I fell down and hurt my arm. I took a seat by all my friends and we waited. When we got to the hospital, I stopped swearing, but I was still laughing and saying fake swear words (Fudgesicles, shoot, frick, and the like) because there were little ears around. Finally they called my name and my friend Sarah walked with me back there. I was having a hard time breathing well because it hurt so bad and the lady told me I needed to breathe better or my face would get numb. So, they got me a wheelchair to sit in because every time I moved, my wrist would hurt more. Sarah pushed me back to the waiting room after the receptionist took some of my info. Then, some dude came and Sarah took me back to talk insurance. At that point, I was mentally cursing whomever chose to put square tiles down in the hallways because each groove caused me serious pain.
When I was done giving insurance information to that guy, Sarah pushed me back out to the waiting room to wait with Meganne and Matt. Some other guy was waiting for his wife, too, and I think he was thoroughly amused by me. All the laughing, I think, was odd for people to see. While we were waiting, one of the seminary employees came out of the ER with stitches in her face. She'd been at a hockey game and had gotten smashed in the head with a puck! So, we are ER buddies now.
Finally, they called me to come back. And so, Matt, Meganne, Sarah, and I went back to a room. Matt and Sarah were classmates of mine, and Meganne is a music therapist, so I said they were my "Spiritual Care Team." We waited and waited and waited, and Sarah took photos of me on her phone and uploaded them to FaceBook. Before long, people were commenting and the like. Another couple of friends saw the pictures and Sarah's status update and asked if we needed anything. So, about half an hour later, they showed up, Matt went and got them out of the waiting room, and they brought bottles of water, some cookies, and a never-been-chewed doggie toy to replace the decimated water bottle I'd been squeezing for the pain. It.was.EPIC!
By that time, I'd had X-rays, and the nurse practitioner (I guess broken bones don't require a doctor) had talked to me. Medical people who were around would occasionally glance in to see what all the laughter was for, and I think that my laughing made them under appreciate the immense pain I was in (really, you wouldn't think a broken wrist would hurt that bad, but it DOES. It REALLY does)! Finally, about ten minutes before it was time to go, they came in and gave me a splint, and asked if I wanted something for the pain. I said, "YES!" The nurse asked if I wanted a pill or a shot. Meganne chimed in and said, "She wants a shot! It'll work faster and she's in A LOT of pain." It was funny, but Meganne does know about these things since she was a music therapist for Hospice (We even started to write a song about my pain and the experience of it all...She says it helps). So, the nurse came in and I got a lovely pain killing shot, and then was discharged with instructions to go to the bone doctor later that week for a cast. Matt and Meganne and Sarah and I went directly to the WalGreens and got my Vicodin, and when we got back to Seminary, Sarah put me to bed.
Having a broken wrist is not pleasant, but the experience was helped by friends who helped me when I couldn't do things for myself. I am very blessed to have such considerate people in my life. I had people to take me to the bone doctor since I wasn't allowed to drive my own drugged-up self (Thanks, Jealaine and Sarah!). I had people to do my dishes so I didn't have to stack them up for a month. I had a neighbor who would open things I couldn't, and another friend who bought me some bath supplies that would help me be able to bathe more easily.
But, I think one of the other highlights of having an awesome orange cast, was the fact that I got so many awesome people to sign it! The day I got it on, my new bishop was at the seminary to meet me and the other WND assignee and his family. So, in addition to many friends who signed it, Bishop Mark Narum also signed my cast. And then, the president of the seminary and his wife ALSO signed it (He's an ex bishop and his wife is just freaking amazing anyway). AND THEN!!!! Because the president was new, he had to be inaugurated in early April. And WHO does the inauguration of a new seminary president? THE CHURCHWIDE BISHOP!!! So, when that day rolled around, I walked up to Bishop Hanson and I lifted up my arm and I said, "Will you sign my cast?" He said, "Sure!" And I handed him my Sharpie and he signed it right in the palm, where I had conveniently left him a space. It was so funny and awesome for me. I mean, how many people can say that Bishop Mark Hanson has signed their cast? I almost wish I'd saved the thing when they took it off...Almost.
So, that is what has been happening in my life. I hope things have been good for you all, and that none of you have broken any bones lately. And if you have, my sincere sympathies are with you.
First off: The awesome family related news I alluded to in February...YS got ENGAGED on Valentine's Day! She and her man decided to get married on April 30th at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas! All my siblings except for OB went. It was SO awesome, and I'm very glad that they took the leap. YS's husband is a very awesome guy, and I am excited that he's officially my brother in law. He treats her well, and they seem genuinely happy together.
The other big thing: I broke my wrist in March. Some friends and I went roller skating in SeminaryTown, and within 15 minutes, I had fallen. A roller rink employee was right there when I went down and she said, "Are you ok?" I was afraid of getting into trouble, (odd, I know) and so I just said, "Yeah, I'm fine!" Then I got up and started skating around again, thinking that I had just bumped it a bit. But then, the roller rink announcer said that there were no shoes or coats or sweatshirts allowed in the skate-putting-on-area, and so my friends and I all went to move our stuff to the cubby holes. I sat down and my wrist was still really hurting, and I felt like I was going to pass out. I mentioned that I was really in pain and one of my friends asked if I could move it. I could, though it was sore. So, as I got more and more light-headed, they told me to lie down. I asked, "Do they have free water here?" (I have a penchant for asking stupid water-related questions), and then one of my friends came back with a bottle. Another employee came over with a bag of ice, and looked at my wrist a little. Then, my friends said, "It's time to take Molita to the hospital!" So, we got up and were walking out when the guy who took our money came up and said, "You hardly got to skate, so here is your money back." So, we took our money, loaded into the car, and made the drive across town...
AND BOY, WHAT A DRIVE! Every bump hurt like you would not believe. It didn't really, REALLY start hurting until we got into the car, but man...Yikes. I was saying words that are not befitting for a seminary student to say. Oh, and I was laughing hysterically because I am not very good at crying. So, there I was, laughing and swearing profusely, amusing all my friends on the trip.
When we got to the Emergency Room, I was still laughing, and when I went to the window, I told them my name and that I fell down and hurt my arm. I took a seat by all my friends and we waited. When we got to the hospital, I stopped swearing, but I was still laughing and saying fake swear words (Fudgesicles, shoot, frick, and the like) because there were little ears around. Finally they called my name and my friend Sarah walked with me back there. I was having a hard time breathing well because it hurt so bad and the lady told me I needed to breathe better or my face would get numb. So, they got me a wheelchair to sit in because every time I moved, my wrist would hurt more. Sarah pushed me back to the waiting room after the receptionist took some of my info. Then, some dude came and Sarah took me back to talk insurance. At that point, I was mentally cursing whomever chose to put square tiles down in the hallways because each groove caused me serious pain.
When I was done giving insurance information to that guy, Sarah pushed me back out to the waiting room to wait with Meganne and Matt. Some other guy was waiting for his wife, too, and I think he was thoroughly amused by me. All the laughing, I think, was odd for people to see. While we were waiting, one of the seminary employees came out of the ER with stitches in her face. She'd been at a hockey game and had gotten smashed in the head with a puck! So, we are ER buddies now.
Finally, they called me to come back. And so, Matt, Meganne, Sarah, and I went back to a room. Matt and Sarah were classmates of mine, and Meganne is a music therapist, so I said they were my "Spiritual Care Team." We waited and waited and waited, and Sarah took photos of me on her phone and uploaded them to FaceBook. Before long, people were commenting and the like. Another couple of friends saw the pictures and Sarah's status update and asked if we needed anything. So, about half an hour later, they showed up, Matt went and got them out of the waiting room, and they brought bottles of water, some cookies, and a never-been-chewed doggie toy to replace the decimated water bottle I'd been squeezing for the pain. It.was.EPIC!
By that time, I'd had X-rays, and the nurse practitioner (I guess broken bones don't require a doctor) had talked to me. Medical people who were around would occasionally glance in to see what all the laughter was for, and I think that my laughing made them under appreciate the immense pain I was in (really, you wouldn't think a broken wrist would hurt that bad, but it DOES. It REALLY does)! Finally, about ten minutes before it was time to go, they came in and gave me a splint, and asked if I wanted something for the pain. I said, "YES!" The nurse asked if I wanted a pill or a shot. Meganne chimed in and said, "She wants a shot! It'll work faster and she's in A LOT of pain." It was funny, but Meganne does know about these things since she was a music therapist for Hospice (We even started to write a song about my pain and the experience of it all...She says it helps). So, the nurse came in and I got a lovely pain killing shot, and then was discharged with instructions to go to the bone doctor later that week for a cast. Matt and Meganne and Sarah and I went directly to the WalGreens and got my Vicodin, and when we got back to Seminary, Sarah put me to bed.
Having a broken wrist is not pleasant, but the experience was helped by friends who helped me when I couldn't do things for myself. I am very blessed to have such considerate people in my life. I had people to take me to the bone doctor since I wasn't allowed to drive my own drugged-up self (Thanks, Jealaine and Sarah!). I had people to do my dishes so I didn't have to stack them up for a month. I had a neighbor who would open things I couldn't, and another friend who bought me some bath supplies that would help me be able to bathe more easily.
But, I think one of the other highlights of having an awesome orange cast, was the fact that I got so many awesome people to sign it! The day I got it on, my new bishop was at the seminary to meet me and the other WND assignee and his family. So, in addition to many friends who signed it, Bishop Mark Narum also signed my cast. And then, the president of the seminary and his wife ALSO signed it (He's an ex bishop and his wife is just freaking amazing anyway). AND THEN!!!! Because the president was new, he had to be inaugurated in early April. And WHO does the inauguration of a new seminary president? THE CHURCHWIDE BISHOP!!! So, when that day rolled around, I walked up to Bishop Hanson and I lifted up my arm and I said, "Will you sign my cast?" He said, "Sure!" And I handed him my Sharpie and he signed it right in the palm, where I had conveniently left him a space. It was so funny and awesome for me. I mean, how many people can say that Bishop Mark Hanson has signed their cast? I almost wish I'd saved the thing when they took it off...Almost.
So, that is what has been happening in my life. I hope things have been good for you all, and that none of you have broken any bones lately. And if you have, my sincere sympathies are with you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)