Limping along together

Last weekend, my dad was trying to do some work outside. I am not entirely sure how everything played out in the story, but the end result is that my dad's left ankle is massively swollen. His toes on his left foot are all black and blue. The poor guy has not gone to the doctor. Instead, he says he can move his toes; he did not break anything. He limps along wherever he goes.

This morning, I woke up and I had a twinge of pain in my left lower leg. I ignored it. When I put weight on the leg, the pain intensified. I again assured myself it was nothing. When I went back to bed, my leg exploded in a fit of pain! First is was my ankle. Then it was my calf. Then my knee hurt also. I suddenly felt something like a bolt of electricity shoot from my leg to my heart. My chest erupted in pain! Slowly the pain lessen in intensity.

As the day progressed, three areas on my left leg hurt. I called my doctor. I am to have imaging done on my leg next week.

I laughed when as I was limping along, my dad passed me limping along. We both are nursing our left legs. I thought to myself, "He should come with me next week to have his ankle and foot examined. Maybe we can get a two for one deal at the clinic." May we both find healing soon.

The constant challenge: Health does not equal intelligence

There was once a time I lived in which people never questioned my intelligence. When entering a store or having a conversation with a stranger at church, it was always assumed I had the ability to speak and think like any other person.

When I needed to use a wheelchair, the world suddenly attached my inability to walk with an inability to speak and think. When I was out in public, people frequently spoke to the person pushing my wheelchair instead of conversing with me. When I needed to use a ventilator to breathe, suddenly my intelligence dropped even more. Now folks would talk to me, but they would speak to me as if I was a baby. They would use exaggerated hand gestures and often pat me on the head and tell me what a good girl I was. I used to be annoyed by these erroneous assumptions, but as time has progressed, I have learned to accept them.

Recently, though, I had three days in a row in which people offered me tremendous compliments. A woman attended a Bible study with me. After the study, she gushed to my parents (and later to me also) about all she learned from me during the study. Praise and compliments spilled from her mouth as she spoke about me.

Shortly after this, a woman I do not know contacted me on Facebook. She is part of an online community we both subscribe to. Many, many months ago, I posted one of my blog posts which discussed Mitochondrial Disease to the online forum. The woman wrote me a private message expressing how much she liked my blog post.

And finally, a doctor said some precious words to me. Folks in the world of medicine sometimes give me the benefit of the doubt that I may be able to speak and may have normal intelligence. This physician, however, bluntly told me, “You look smart.” I nearly fell out of my wheelchair at hearing these words. No one ever assumes I am smart. I always have to fight to prove to people I possess enough mental comprehension to sign insurance forms or have the ability to speak. But here is a man who believes not only am I average, but that I might actually possess some intelligence! My jaw dropped, and my heart nearly stopped. I had nearly forgotten what it is like to not have to constantly show people I have more mental capacity than a rock.

Trust in the midst of a nightmare

As I lie in my bed shaking in pain, I wonder how long these symptoms will last. I have taken strong pain medication. The pain only grows worse. I take anti-nausea medicine. I now have severe pancreas and abdominal pain. My chest is exploding in pain. It feels as though my chest is being squeezed and crushed. The pain radiates to my left shoulder, jaw, neck, left arm and left hand. It feels as though I have a knife in my back and someone is pulling the knife down my spinal cord. My head aches and spins any time I lift my head off the pillow. I try desperately to get comfortable, but every time I move, my heart races and makes the chest pain so much worse.

I am absolutely exhausted. After going to a cardiology appointment in which the doctor told me I am young, and young people do not have heart problems, I go home only to become extremely dizzy while trying to bring my ventilator equipment into the house from the car. Pain explodes in my chest. My heart races out of control. I cannot get a breath in. I collapse into a heap on the floor, shaking, screaming, gasping for air.

After fighting through the intense symptoms for two hours, my mom calls the ambulance. I am taken to the local hospital. The doctor never enters my room. No one listens to my heart and lungs. A chest x-ray is taken. I am told I do not have pneumonia. A rapid troponin test is done. I am told I am not having a heart attack. I am released home, despite having a fast resting heart rate, high blood pressure and gasping for breath. When I exit the hospital gurney, I collapse to the floor. I need several nurses to lift me into a wheelchair. I am shaking uncontrollably in pain. The nurses tell the doctor I am in a bad state. The doctor snaps back as he is quickly passing the collection of nurses in the hallway (this is the first time I actually see the doctor) I am to go home. My tests were fine. I was not having a heart attack. I only am having chest wall pain.

I am slumped over in the wheelchair. Nurses lift me into my parents' car. I am shaking. I am gasping for air. I think my chest is going to be crushed from the vice which seems to be squeezing my heart with every heart beat. I cannot sit up. I lie across the backseat. My parents get out of the car and demand I need medical attention. I am in worse shape than when I came to the hospital. A physician comes outside to speak with my parents. His countenance radiates arrogance. He yells at my parents that I only have chest wall pain. I am not having a heart attack. That is the only thing they are worried about. He tells my parents he read my medical chart and did not need anything else to make a diagnosis. My parents are furious. But they cannot make any headway with the pompous physician. My parents leave and take me home.

Upon arriving home, I am too weak to move. My father helps me into my wheelchair. He pushes me to my room. I do not have the strength to transfer into my bed. Instead, I fall forward on to my hands and knees to the floor, where I collapse on to my stomach. I lie there in severe pain, too tired, too sick to move. My mom collects some pillows and gives them to me. I lie all night on the floor.

Sleep is fleeting. The constant chest pain keeps me awake. My head throbs. My heart races any time I move. I eventually drift in and out of a restless night of sleep.

When the morning rays of the sun enter my room, I open my iPad and turn on a teaching from one of my favorite preachers. As I much as I want to drop off into deep despair and yell at God for making me go through such a terrible ordeal, the preacher's words float through the air: "Remember in whatever situation you face, do not let your emotions get in the way. Honor God in everything. Do not speak evil of others even if it is true. Do not allow your emotions to steal your joy. God is still on the throne. God is still in control. Honor Him in all that you say and do. Be patient. Blessings only come through obedience."

Instantly the tears which were fighting all night to come down my cheeks are dried up. The battle which was about to happen between me and God disappears. Calm and peace fill my soul as I remember whatever God wants for me, He will make happen. I need to just be obedient. If I am to get medical treatment elsewhere, He will make it happen. Trust is the hardest thing to have, but by it our faith is tested.

"Trust in the LORD with all you heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight." (Proverbs 3:5-6)

There's still time. It's not too late.

Recently, my Facebook feed has been flooded with people having babies. It is so heart warming to see the first photos of these tiny creatures. A number of the mothers are older than I am. This gives me hope.

As the calendar months flip, the hope of ever recovering continues to slip from my grasp. I know God can heal me at any time, but as I age, the hope of ever meeting prince charming and being able to start a family grows dim.

There are a number of issues impeding my search for Mr. Right. First, the places I frequent are emergency departments (ED) and doctors' offices. I suppose I could meet someone here, but usually I am sick when in the ED and at the doctor's office. I am not exactly in the mood for finding a husband when visiting medical facilities.

Second, I have major health issues. Who wants the burden of caring for someone from the very start of a relationship? Moreover, my medical bills are massive. I would never want to impose this financial strain on anyone (unless he is extremely wealthy and forking out a million dollars a year to charity is pocket change to him).

Another stumbling block is I lack boyfriend experience. Yes, that is right. This girl has never held a boy's hand or been kissed. Several weeks ago a man on my YouTube channel told me I was pretty. That made me blush because I think it is the first time a male has ever told me that. With all that said, even if I did meet my prince, I would be reluctant to accept an invitation to go on a date because I lack experience in boy/girl relationships.

But as I see these new mothers who are older than me have children, a little bit of hope renews. There is still time. There is still time to recover. There is still time to meet a husband. There is still time to start a family.

Tears of Blue: RIP Officers Garza & Chavez

Saturday, July 11 2020, was a day just like any other day. Police Officers Garza and Chavez left their homes, left their families to go to off to work. During their shift, the police officers were sent to sort out a domestic disturbance call. The police officers talk with family members. They were concerned about one of their relatives. The police officers went to the home of the relative. The officers knocked. The door opened, and Mr. Caramillo ambushed the officers. He fatally shot both officers. Neither officer had time to react--they were not able to draw their weapons; they were not able to call for help.

When Officers Chavez and Garza failed to report back to the dispatcher, two additional officers were sent to the scene as back-up. The back-up unit stumbled upon their colleagues. They were unresponsive...they were dead. A standoff with Mr. Caramillo ensued. Ultimately, Mr. Caramillo turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.

As news of this horrific event ripped through the community, support from around the state poured in. A make-shift memorial was created. Scores of officers and civilians saluted the fallen officers as they made their way from the medical center (where they were pronounced dead) to a funeral home. Amazing Grace was played off in the distance on bagpipes as the caravan slowly made its way through the streets.

When it seems the rest of the nation is on fire and is in mass chaos, it is comforting to know there is at least one area of the country where honor and respect still exist.

Yesterday, the fallen heroes were laid to rest. The large auditorium was completely full. The news media covered the event. Never has there been a finer celebration of life for two amazing officers, fathers, husbands, sons and men of valor.

It deeply grieves me that this horrible incident occurred--one which did not need to happen. But I am proud the community has rallied together to help these police officers' families and the police department as they mourn the death of loved ones. Tragedies are devastating, but together we can build on sorrow to create a better tomorrow.

In loving memory of Officer Chavez and Officer Garza.

The struggle: to film or not to film

I sit in the kitchen trying to brainstorm the topic for my next YouTube video. My mind is blank. I ask my mom for suggestions. She gives her input and her words trigger a memory from long ago.

I am in a health foods store. I am trying to buy ginger pills to alleviate the constant nausea I am experiencing. With the help of a saleswoman, I find my item on the shelf. I zip to the check out. I am exhausted. My heart is racing from standing. I think I may pass out. I think I may throw up. I just want to get out of the store as fast as possible. The clerk rings up my purchase. I swipe my credit card. I patiently wait for the woman to give me my item. She places the bottle in a bag and then holds my bag hostage.

I endure a very lengthy speech by the saleswoman about her daughter's health issues. My head spins. I am trying desperately not to pass out. I wait and wait for the woman to finish speaking. When she finally ends her story, she insists I tell her why I need the ginger pills. Why do I have nausea? I quickly summarize my GI health. I can see from the woman's face she is stunned I have so many GI issues. She finally seems to acknowledge I have more medical challenges than her daughter. My pills finally see their moment of liberation as the woman hands me the plastic bag. I flee the property. I immediately lie down as soon as I get home.

As I think over this memory, I know what the topic for my next YouTube video should be: "Who has it worse? Don't play the game." The game of "who has it worse" happens when people try to compete for the imaginary title of having a worse situation than the other person(s) in the conversation. This is the game the woman at the health food store was playing. It is always a destructive contest. It does not build people up, but only tears them down. Even if you "win" the game, you will feel very low and depressed you have such a terrible situation.

I quickly write a script and put the video together in my head. I begin pre-production, making slides and uploading screenshots of them into my movie editing program. The days pass. I refine the script.

The night before I am going to film the video, I have a lot of anxiety about the video. What if the topic comes off as negative and is not well received by the audience? I wrestle with the subject matter. It is an important topic, but will others have the same opinion? I frantically try to create a new video in my head--one with a different topic. But, I am too tired. I fall asleep.

The day I am to shoot the video, I again struggle if I should make the film. I finally record the video. It comes together nicely. I watch the final version of the film. It seems to be upbeat. I show the media creation to my mom. She tells me she really likes it. I sigh. I think to myself, "Maybe this won't be a complete failure after all." I upload the video to YouTube and pray my video brings encouragement and blessings to all those who watch it.

To watch the video, please click here

"Anxiety weighs down the heart, but a kind word cheers it up." (Proverbs 12:25)

Time lessens the intensity of pain

It is nearly 6:30 p.m. It is almost time for Bible study. My mom insists I watch a YouTube video. I am anxious. I am in scruffy clothes. I need to change. I try to hurry and watch the video. Finally I tell my mom, "I need to get ready for Bible study." I zip off to my room. I frantically look through my closet. I find a dress. I can throw that on quickly. My mom yells, "Someone is hear for Bible study." I zip up my dress and slip on some shoes. I race to the living room.

As I move in the dress, I nearly howl in pain. The straps on the dress press against the place on my chest where I used to have my port-a-cath. Although it was removed over four months ago, the area is still very tender. I greet some of the Bible study attendees. I then excuse myself as I flee back to my room to find something else to wear. I see a light-weight shirt and a skirt. I throw those on. I am relieved the shirt does not exert any pressure on my port-a-cath site. I quickly make my way back to Bible study.

For the rest of the study, I try not to move my left arm too much. My left arm and chest are still aching from the dress. As the night passes, I praise God the pain lessens. Soon, I forget about my pain and allow God's word to soothe my soul.

It is amazing over four months have passed since my nightmare experience with getting a port-a-cath. How can a "painless" procedure still inflict so much pain in my daily life? I sigh and thank God again. Although the pain was intense, it only lasted a short time. When I was able to change clothes, the pain soon went away. As I think back to January through March of this year when medical crisis after medical crisis threatened my life, I am grateful four months have passed since these episodes ended. Although the anguish and anxiety from these experiences still exist, the constant torment is less and less as more and more time passes.

I am so grateful and thankful I have made it this far. I am so thankful and grateful God allows the sharp edges of memories to become smooth over time. The memory may always exist, but the intense emotions ease over time.

"For I will restore health to you and heal you of your wounds," says the Lord. (Jeremiah 30:17)