Mountains to Climb

A Facebook memory popped up this week with a picture of me smiling, hiking down a mountain with a pack on my back.  This was me 7 years ago, embarking on a four-day hike down the Grand Canyon.  My first thought as I looked at the picture, as with many of my previous memories, was envy of my former self—a longing for days gone by when I could wear a pack and hike a mountain.  These days, with my autoimmune issues and POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) just climbing a set of stairs about does me in (stairs are my nemesis!). 

However, there's much more to this picture than meets the eye. I had no idea of the grueling ordeal that was soon to come in the days after this picture was taken.   

I have always had a love for history—there’s a lot of lessons to be learned and parallels that can be made by examining the past, and this particular story is no exception.  This Grand Canyon trip ranks among the toughest physical challenges I’ve had.  I’ve alluded to it a few times in other posts, and although I could summarize in much less detail, I think it’s a story worth re-telling to the full effect, so here it goes:

Hiking the Grand Canyon

To set the stage, let me just say that I have never been super outdoorsy—Yes, I loved to ride my bike on the groomed trails around the lake, or go for day hikes in the mountains, but camping (and going multiple days in the dirt without showering) has never had much appeal to me.  So agreeing to go on a four-day back-packing trip through the Grand Canyon was kind of a stretch out of my comfort zone.  Also, I had just had a third laparoscopic surgery a couple months earlier (trying to cauterize my painful endometriosis, once again).  So going into this trip, I hadn’t been able train as much as I would’ve liked post-surgery and probably wasn’t as prepared as I should have been.

Things started out fine, but a few miles in to our descent I stepped on a baseball-sized rock that rolled underneath me.  My ankle went one way and my knee went the other.  Surprisingly, my ankle was fine, but my knee was tweaked a bit.  I rested for a few minutes to “shake it off” before continuing on.  In all honesty, it seemed pretty minor and had I not hiked another 5 miles at a very steep decline with a 40-pound pack on my back, I probably would’ve been fine.  But by the time I reach the bottom I was cringing with each step.  (A trip to the doctor after arriving home confirmed a pretty bad knee ligament sprain). 

Day two at the bottom of the Grand Canyon was beautiful.  Although it had been cold and snowy at the top of the canyon, it was 65 degrees and blue skies at the bottom.  Our party took a day hike out to a waterfall, but I opted to stay close to camp and let my knee rest.  With the beautiful weather, I enjoyed the day and thought, “I can totally do this camping thing.”

My dad returned from the waterfall hike not feeling well and shortly after started vomiting—whether a stomach flu or severe dehydration we weren’t sure, but he continued to get sicker, weaker, and more dehydrated throughout evening.  I was worried.  He’d had a heart attack several years earlier; I was terrified that all the exertion and the sickness would bring on similar problems.  He was still sick when night fell and had to stay close to the bathrooms (amazingly, and thankfully, there are flush toilets at the bottom of the Grand Canyon), but they were not very near to our camp.  I was worried about letting him stay there by himself.  What if he had a heart attack and no one was around?  Not that my limited CPR skills would be much good if needed, but, nonetheless, I sat on the cold ground outside the bathroom with my dad for the better part of the night. 

By day three our beautiful weather had disappeared, and a cold wet drizzle descended upon us. Although we were supposed to be starting our hike out that day, our group decided it was best to wait one more day and let dad rest and recover.  We sought out some park rangers and asked if there were any other options to get dad out of the Canyon—mule, helicopter, etc.  We were told that unless he actually did have a heart attack, in which case the cost to be air-lifted out would be an astronomical amount that we’d be paying off the rest of our lives, the only way out was to hike. 

I was dead tired after my night of no sleep.  I went back to my tent to take a nap.  When I woke up, I was completely soaked!  The tent had leaked.  Not only were my sleeping bag and pack wet, but my shoes had filled with water too.  I burst into tears!  I was so tired and cold.  My knee still throbbed, and now everything I owned was soaked through and there was little chance of being warm or dry for at least few more days. 

That evening the park rangers sought us out to tell us that a huge storm was heading in and they wanted everyone out of the camp as soon as possible.  Due to the steepness of the trail, we had planned to take a longer, somewhat less steep, trail out of the canyon and to split that hike up into two days.  However, with the storm, we decided that it’d be best to make the two-day trip all in one day, leaving the following morning.

The rain continued to worsen throughout the night.  We had to double up like sardines in the remaining “less wet” tents and, needless to say, it was another long sleepless night. 

Morning finally came and we packed up our muddy tents in the rain, put on our sopping gear, and started our trudge up the mountain.  The trails had turned into little streams, with the water carving them down into a V shape with steep sides.  We had to hike with our feet awkwardly sloshing and slipping at odd angles through the mud on either side of the V-shaped trail.  You can imagine how great that was on my sprained knee.  At times we had to wade through calf deep streams that had completely washed over the trail.  Sometimes my foot would sink so far into the mud, I had to physically use my hands to help pull my leg up out of the mud.  More than once, my foot emerged, but my boot stayed firmly rooted in the sludge.  (I won’t even go into detail about the blisters and lost toe nails from that day…)

About half way up, we stopped to eat soggy granola bars for lunch.  After resting for those 15 minutes, I tried to walk again, but my injured knee had locked up.  It refused to go any further and every step on the muddy trail was torture.  I burst into tears once again.  How the (insert expletives) was I going to get up this mountain?  I was so tired, so wet and muddy and cold, and my knee hurt so bad! 

After letting myself cry for a few minutes with my husband standing by trying to be reassure me, but with little he could actually do to help (he’d already taken much of the weight from my pack for me), I finally had to pull it together and remind myself that there was no way out except to hike (trudge, trod, slog).  So I finally took a deep breath, told myself, “I can do this,” turned on my iPod, and started back up the trail.

Not much further up the rains turned to heavy snow and ice—a blizzard.  As everything we owned and wore was already soaking wet, we pretty much turned to ice as well.  The mud mixed with slush and patches of slick ice.   As we hit the last few miles with endless steep, icy switchbacks, I tried to keep my eyes on the prize.  “I just have to make it to that next bend, then I can take a little break.”  And at the next bend, I’d look to the next bend and repeat the same thing.  Most of the time when I looked up, I couldn’t see the top—just more endless rows of switchbacks.  How much further did this mountain go?!  Would it ever end!

At one point my iPod shuffled to the Matchbox 20 song, “Let’s See How Far We’ve Come.”  I stood at a bend in a switchback.  While I couldn’t see how far I had left to go, I looked down the mountain and could see how far I’d come—miles of trail unwound below me.  Wow!  Had we really come all that way?  I took courage and strength in that sight while my own personal sound track was playing.  Instead of focusing on what we had left, I kept repeating over and over again, “See how far we’ve come!” 

As we hiked I thought a lot about the pioneers.  I suddenly had a much greater empathy for them.  This was just a four-day trek.  I couldn’t imagine the feats they had been through over weeks/months.  Additionally, I knew that I had a restaurant and a hotel room waiting for me at the top of the mountain with a juicy burger and a warm shower.  The pioneers had arrived to an empty valley where they still had to build their own homes and grow their food.  If they could do that, I could certainly do this!

As long as this blog post is now becoming, it is not nearly as long as that 10-hour hike up the canyon.  But, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, I did eventually make it out alive (and, in case you are wondering, so did my dad, who later confessed to me that he was, indeed, having chest pain for most of the trip.  Thank heavens nothing major happened!). 

Lessons Learned

For the sake of brevity (oops, sorry, too late for that!), I’ll just point out a just few of the lessons I’ve been reflecting on as I’ve revisited my Grand Canyon memories. 

1   1.  Rose Colored Glasses

So back to the present day, as I mentioned, when my Grand Canyon Facebook photo popped up, my initial thoughts were of envy with the reminder that I once had the ability to hike, walk, climb, run, etc—something that I can no longer do (at least not without constant fear of passing out).  Yet in reality, that was a harrowing experience and not a challenge that I would ever like to face again. 

Sometimes when looking at the past, I find myself looking through rose colored glasses.  Because I’m still grieving for all the things I can’t do now, I often only see the “grass is greener” things from my past.  I forget about the struggles I dealt with then.  At the time of this hike I had actually been dealing with a lot of other trials.  I have already mentioned my multiple surgeries for the crippling endometriosis I dealt with.  I had also been struggling from years of infertility and failed treatments, and some intermittent depression as a result as well.  

My life in the past wasn’t as perfect as I sometimes remember.  Yes, I had more physical abilities than I do now, but I also have some things now that I didn’t have then (perspective, stronger faith, deeper friendships, greater awareness of others, time to write really long blog posts…). 

I can learn from the past, but it doesn’t do me any good to dwell on the things I can’t bring back or change.  I have to keep moving forward.

2.  If They Can Do It…

As I thought a lot about the early pioneers on my hike, I similarly gain strength today by knowing that “others have done it.”  Maybe they don’t have the same problems I have, but since my illness, I have become so much more aware of the trials that those around me have.  I am in awe of the strength I see in my friends that are battling cancer, other health problems, financial struggles, or loss of loved ones.  Their fortitude and courage in the problems they face help me in mine… if they can do that, then surely I can do this! 

     3. I am Stronger Than I Think I Am

From that hike, I found strength in myself that I didn’t know was there.  It was one of the hardest things I had done, and I survived.  It was a testament that I really could do hard things.  Additionally, in remembering the dozens of silent prayers I sent up with each step of my journey, I would be foolish to not recognize that it wasn’t just my own strength I was relying on, but the strength of the Lord to help me through that ordeal as well.

Doing hard things is not just about physical strength, but mental and spiritual stamina as well.  One of my favorite talks of the same title, “Mountains to Climb,” by Henry B. Eyring, reminds us that “If we have faith in Jesus Christ, the hardest as well as the easiest times in life can be a blessing.  In all conditions, we can choose the right with the guidance of the Spirit.  We have the gospel of Jesus Christ to shape and guide our lives if we choose it… We can live with perfect hope and a feeling of peace… The Savior has promised angels on our left and on our right to bear us up.  And He always keeps His word.”

I have felt those angels, both heavenly and earthly.

4   4.  Let’s See How Far We’ve Come

Today I still climb mountains—my mountains are just different.  My mountains are making it through a painful and lousy day/week/month while trying to hold on to a positive outlook and not lose hope or faith.  There are days where I break down and cry, “How the (many expletives) am I going to make it through this?”  But just like on the trail of the Grand Canyon, I realize that I don’t have many options.  I can sit down and wallow in the mud, or I can keep trudging, keep trying, keep seeking out something that is going to help as I continue to work on my faith and endurance.

 

And some days, I can only look as far as the next bend and tell myself “I just have to make it through today!” 

Although I can’t see the top of the mountain or the end of this journey, I can look back at the path I’ve come and gain strength and hope from seeing the trail I’ve traveled.  It’s been a rocky road, but I’ve come a long way.  Although there have been a lot of ups and downs, I have seen improvement since my first diagnosis (when I couldn’t even walk from my bed to the bathroom without collapsing, and I certainly wouldn’t have had the cognitive ability to write this ever-increasing lengthy post).  I have also made progress on the road to acceptance and emotional healing.  Although there may not be a true summit and complete physical healing for my condition in this lifetime, I can keep climbing, have faith, and try to take heart in the plateaus and vistas along the way.

My Hallmark Movie: What Matters Most

What do you do when you are stuck in bed for the better part of 15 months?  Watch an awful lot of lot of Hallmark movies, of course. While they are certainly predictable and perhaps a little too saccharine at times, they are low intensity, don’t require much thought, and upbeat—all things that work well for me right now. Having seen dozens of these movies the last year, I’ve discovered they all follow the same pattern. 

It goes like this:

• Life is going well
• A sudden change turns everything upside down
• Main character slowly starts to adjust and find happiness again
• Another dramatic plot twist occurs that generally requires the main character to make a tough decision, reflecting on the deep, heartfelt lessons she has learned over the course of the show and what really matters most in life, and oftentimes choose between her old life and new
• A decision is made and the best possible outcome emerges.  Everyone lives happily ever after.

One common subplot of the Hallmark movie is the dream sequence.  The main character wakes up to find that her life has totally changed—for better or worse.  At the end of the movie, she awakens, once again, to realize the “new life” was somehow just a dream and she is able to go back to her old life with a new found perspective to enrich and improve her life.

****

About a month ago I attended my son’s Eagle Court of Honor.  He has been working diligently on getting his Eagle Scout award for the last 5 years, including earning numerous merit badges and culminating in a 40+ hour service project that involved his family, neighbors, and community.  I was so proud of his accomplishment and so eager to attend his Court of Honor.  Yet, I showed up and was immediately overwhelmed by the light, noise, and chaos around me.  I started to crash and ended up passed out on the couch in the foyer.  (Fortunately, I was able to make it back in just long enough to see him be given his award, before my husband promptly wheeled me out and back home.)

I came home upset and discouraged, once again, at my limitations.  The thought occurred to me, “Why can’t my life be like a Hallmark movie?  Why can’t I just wake up and have my old life back!? (And, of course, still remember all those great heartfelt lessons I’ve learned from the past year.)”

Totally plausible, right?

Fast forward a couple weeks.  I had a good day!  I was able to go sit in the temple for a few minutes.  (For anyone not familiar, the LDS temple is a house of worship where sacred ordinances are performed and instruction received.  Everything in the temple is light, white, and bright.  People speak and act in reverent tones, and feelings of calm and peace prevail).  I had been unable to go to the temple for over a year, and while I couldn’t participate in any ordinances, I was so pleased to just go bask in the peaceful atmosphere for a few minutes. 

With my POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), my tachycardia and excess adrenaline always make me feel somewhat frantic when I am sitting or standing.  And while those symptoms were still present, there was certainly a layer of calmness there that I have been craving.

As I sat in the celestial room, I reflected on my life circumstances and found myself caught up in silent prayer.  The thought came clearly to my mind that I have everything that matters most.   Yes, I dearly miss our family adventures—traveling, exploring, hiking, and biking.  Yes, I miss being able to go out with friends and throw or attend parties.  Yes, I miss wearing the nice clothes and jewelry hanging in my closet (yoga pants and t-shirts are my staple now).  Yes, I miss shopping the aisles of Target, Kohls, and Hobby Lobby looking for those great deals that give me a temporary high.  Yes, I miss helping at my kids’ school, going to their programs, and even cooking and cleaning for them.  Yes, I miss having the independence to go where I want when I want and not having to leave the house in a wheelchair or live in constant dread of passing out in public.  But, in the eternal scheme of things are those the things that really matter?

My family’s basic needs and wants are met.  I have an incredible, loving, and compassionate husband.  I have four amazingly sweet and healthy children.  I have family, neighbors, and friends that I love and that love me in return.  I have faith in Jesus Christ and His gospel.  I have everything that matters most.

****

Fast forward one more time to this past week.  On Christmas Eve I wasn’t feeling well (chalked it up to typical POTS stuff, plus straying from my restrictive diet).  However, by Tuesday my symptoms had escalated greatly. I was in more pain than I have ever been (including labor).  A trip to the doctor and, later, the ER proved fruitless as, after blood work and scans, no apparent problems could be identified.  For most of the week I have been curled up in bed with my pain level hovering at a 9/10.  It has been excruciating and unbearable.  I haven’t been able to eat, and even drinking water sparked intense pain that nothing could touch.  I sobbed from the pain, but also the terror that this might be my new reality. 

Miraculously, this weekend, the doctor’s office called to report that the initial screening that showed no infection was a false negative, and I did, in fact, have an infection.  (Hallelujah for an answer!).  After a heavily dosed antibiotic shot, I am extremely grateful to already be feeling some relief.  Although I’m not totally out of the woods, and still have further scans and tests next week, I am so grateful for any relief and pray that the intense level of pain does not return (and appreciate any additional prayers on that front as well!)

In some ways, I guess my life is a little like a Hallmark movie-- a sudden life change last year, working to find happiness again with my new conditions, even a dramatic plot twist this week.... Perhaps this past week is similar to the dream sequence (I hope I’m now fully awake from the nightmare and that it’s not a tell-tale sign of things to come).  It has certainly given me more room for reflection on what I am grateful for.  Although I am not a stranger to chronic pain, it has given me more compassion for others that live with constant levels of such high pain.  My typical POTS symptoms, though awful, seem like a walk in the park after the last week I’ve had.  I have seen proof of the saying, “Things can always be worse,” and regained perspective and gratitude for the seemingly lesser problems I have.  As I move forward facing the sometimes bitterness of reality, I cling to the sweet reminder I was given that I have everything that matters most.

Strengthening Marriage: Being the Kind of Spouse I want to Have

I was recently asked to write a talk about marriage.  I’ve appreciated the opportunity to take a closer look at things I can do to improve my relationship with my husband, despite my current state of health.  The following is geared towards everyone that seeks to improve their marriage relationship. 

Maintaining a Strong and Healthy Relationship with Your Spouse

  

Henry B. Eyring has said, “There is no more important commitment in time or in eternity than marriage."

And yet, life sometimes gets in the way.  I know there have been many times in my life where after dealing with work, kids, school, extracurricular activities, house, laundry, church responsibilities, and more, that my poor husband is the last person to receive my attention.  Currently, with my illness, my time of feeling “good” is so limited, I have to be so picky about what my priorities are and how I spend my time, as I can only do so much in a day.  

So amidst our chaotic lives, how can we make marriage a priority and how can we strengthen and maintain a good relationship with our spouse?

A piece of advice often given to those who are single is to be the kind of person you want to marry.  This advice shouldn't end once we've found our companion, however.  

We should strive to be the kind of spouse we want to have.  

The golden rule most certainly applies to marriage.

So what is the kind of spouse we all want to have?  I have thought about this a lot the past week, and have come up with a rather long, yet I'm sure not all-inclusive, list of things I seek or treasure in my spouse.  Thus, I know these are the things I need to work on for myself, as well, in order to improve my marriage.

1.      I want to be a spouse that is kind.  Why is it that we are often kinder to strangers than we are to our own family whom we love?

2.      I want to be someone who takes time for and listens to my spouse.  We need to go on dates, share the exciting and mundane details of our days and, with the age of electronic devices in full force, put down our phones and have quality conversations and connections with no self-inflicted distractions. 

3.      I want to be a spouse that shows empathy and seeks to understand.  We may not always have the same opinion or point of view, and that’s okay.  But we shouldn’t discount our spouse’s point of view because it isn’t the same as ours.  As Stephen Covey has counseled, “Seek first to understand, then to be understood.”  

4.      I want to be someone who is quick to recognize my spouse's accomplishments and show gratitude for his actions.  So many of the mundane daily tasks in our lives may start to seem commonplace—but don't let them go unnoticed!  Show gratitude often.  I'm amazed at how much more willing I am to cheerfully serve my family when I know they recognize and appreciate my efforts. 

Additionally, if we can focus on the positive things each other is doing, it helps us to avoid dwelling on the things they aren't doing or we wish they would do-- which only leads to negative feelings and frustration.

Linda Burton said, "The nature of male and female spirits is such that they complete each other.  We are here to help, lift, and rejoice with each other as we try to become our very best selves.  Barbara B. Smith wisely taught, ‘There is so much more of happiness to be had when we can rejoice in another’s successes and not just in our own.’  When we seek to “complete” rather than “compete,” it is so much easier to cheer each other on!”

5.   Along these same lines, I want to be someone who apologizes and also forgives.

Linda Burton posed a question that helps put this principle in perspective.  She asked, "When was the last time I chose to be happy rather than demanding to be ‘right’?"

Steven Snow said, “Unnecessary pride can dissolve family relationships, break up marriages, and destroy friendships. It is especially important to remember humility when you feel contention rising in your home. Think of all the heartache you can avoid by humbling yourself to say, “I’m sorry”; “That was inconsiderate of me”; “What would you like to do?”; “I just wasn’t thinking”; or “I’m very proud of you.” If these little phrases were humbly used, there would be less contention and more peace in our homes.

6.   I want to be someone who thinks often about the needs of my spouse and how I can help.  While I may not be able to physically help him with every trial, sadness, or stressor in his life, I can always, always pray for him.

7.      I want to be someone that is happy and strives to make my spouse and others happy. 

Gordon B. Hinckley said, "Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured."  I also love Russel M. Nelson’s recent talk where he said “we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives.”  We can be happy, even if life is not going the way we planned.  That is certainly a lesson we have learned in our family this past year, and I am so grateful for my husband who helps me smile and laugh every day.

Take care of yourself so you can take care of your spouse.

In addition to concentrating on these areas of improvement, there are two other principles of focus that I feel are important for a strong marriage.  The first is to take care of yourself.  I know this sounds counter-intuitive when talking about marriage, but I would assert that if your basic needs are taken care of, it will be easier for you to take care of the needs of others.

Barbara Smith said, "The state of our health affects every facet of our life—our feeling of personal well-being, our approach to work, our social interactions—even our service to the Lord.” 

One of the bumpiest times in my marriage was after our twins were born.  They were preemies and slow to eat-- you'd just finish feeding and changing them both when it was about time to start over. They were colicky and screamed for hours every night.  They got RSV (a respiratory infection) early on which had lingering effects for almost a year after.  And it seemed like they never, ever, EVER slept at the same time or for more than an hour or two at a time.  Thus, we also rarely slept and merely coexisted in a state of constant exhaustion.  Needless to say, the frazzled ends of our patience tended to ignite much faster than should have— not because we didn’t care about each other, but simply because our basic needs (particularly that of sleep) were not being met.

There is a well-known health theory called Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.  Imagine a pyramid with five tiers or levels.  The bottom level is your most basic physiological needs-- such as food, water, and sleep.  The second tier is safety, then friendship and belonging, esteem and respect, and at the very top is self-actualization, or feelings of fulfillment-- something we all want to achieve.

The premise of the theory is that it is hard to reach a higher level of the pyramid until the needs on the lower levels have been met.  For example, if you were hungry enough, I imagine you would be willing to risk your safety (in the second tier) in order to obtain food.  Similarly, how much harder is it to give or receive kindness, patience, love and compassion when you are hungry, tired, and stressed?

Jeffrey Holland has said, "Fatigue is the common enemy of us all--so slow down, rest up, replenish, and refill."

If we take the time to take care for ourselves through rest, a healthy diet, exercise, and mindfulness, it will enable us to better attend to our marriage.  We can also help our spouses do the same-- which may mean giving them time to exercise or encouraging them to refresh by getting out of the house to spend time with friends, focus on hobby, or walk the aisles of Target alone without any needy children.

Trust in the Lord

Of course, despite our best efforts, we can’t fully eliminate stress or exhaustion in our lives.  But Todd D. Christofferson has assured us that, “Much that is good, much that is essential--even sometimes all that is necessary for now--can be achieved in less than ideal circumstances.”

So that is where my final words of advice come into play: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.  In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct they paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)

Source: http://www.crosscards.com/cards/scripture-cards/trust-in-the-lord-tulips.html

We are told that we can do all things through Christ.  Moroni 7:33 says, "If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me." 

Marriage is ordained of God. He wants us to be successful, and He has promised to help.  Pray for and with your spouse.  Rely on your Savior as you strive to strengthen your relationship with each other.  In so doing, we can follow the proverb “Thee lift me and I’ll lift thee, and we’ll ascend together.”

Happy (?) Anniversary: A year with POTS

This week marks the one-year anniversary of being crippled by POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome).  Although I’ve suffered from health problems for much of my life, everything changed dramatically last year after I passed out in Disneyland and never fully recovered.

The day before my life changed!

In most connotations, the term “anniversary” is thought of as a happy occasion.  Wedding dates, years at work, or even time dedicated to a cause are all reasons to celebrate.  Even the anniversary of my mother’s death, which was an extremely heartbreaking occasion, we have used as an opportunity to celebrate and remember my sweet mom.  We order a cake from her favorite bakery, look at pictures of her, and reminisce about fond memories.  Although I miss her so much, it’s been renewing to use that anniversary to celebrate her life, rather than mourn her death.

As my one-year anniversary with POTS has been approaching, I have had a sense of increased anxiety and dread.  The meaning of chronic illness has set in more deeply.  I have moved through the stages of grief, once again, as the profound realization of the long-term loss of my life as was (and as planned for the future) has settled on me.  

I have thought a lot about the last year that I have spent in bed.  This is not an accomplishment I wish to celebrate.  However, I cannot look back over the past year without also recognizing the tender mercies that have been shown to me and my family.  And so, in this anniversary week, I choose to push down the waves of despair and, instead, focus on and celebrate all the good that has come into my life or been accentuated this past year. 

1.      God has a plan for me.  This concept has been made known to me multiple times in my life and has become evident again this year.  Ten years ago we lived in another state, hundreds of miles away from any of our family.  We loved it there, yet after a few years, and with no forethought of leaving, I had a distinct prompting that we needed to move closer to home.  Although I was not at all happy about the idea, we followed the impression and moved our small family back to Utah. 

Over the past decade I have seen numerous examples of why we needed to be here—most of which have included being close to family and meeting people that have influenced our lives for the better.  Additionally, this move and associated events have put us in a situation that has better prepared us for this year’s changes.  

Just months after our big move, my husband admitted that he was not happy with his new job.  I was also not happy.  Earlier that same year I had started my own curriculum company, but was working at it part time as the kids were napping or asleep at night.  It was gaining a lot of traction, and I just didn’t have the time I needed to commit to work and to the kids.  However, we were both dedicated to the fact that we didn’t want to send our kids to daycare if we could help it.  With a lot of thought and prayer, we took a huge leap of faith.  Even though my business was not yet in a position to support us financially at that time, Kelly quit his job and made a career change to become a realtor so that he had more flexibility to be home with the kids as needed.  I started working full time, expanded my business, and even hired on others to help.

It was a struggle, and there were many times that we wondered what in the world we were doing.  Over the years I have often questioned my decision to give up being a full time, stay-at-home mom.  However, I have always felt that we were on the path we needed to be. 

This past year has been incredibly hard figuring out my priorities and how to continue to juggle spending the time with my kids and managing my business with my limited time, energy, and abilities.  In addition to having some great people pick up the slack for me at work, I have been blessed to be able to work a bit from bed.  The bigger miracle, however, is that Kelly is home to help with the kids.  While I can spend a few hours a day on my computer, I am certainly not able drive my kids to school and activities, make their meals, or do a lot of the day to day care they require. 

What a tender mercy, and how obvious the hand of the Lord in our lives!  He knew what our predicament would be at this time and prompted us to make the changes years ago that would make life sustainable today.  I can’t imagine what we would have done this last year if Kelly wasn’t available to take care of me and the kids!  I’m grateful for the constant reminder that the Lord has a plan for us (even if we don’t always know what it is!).

Chillin' in bed with my cute kiddo!

2.      I have AMAZING people in my life.  I could write pages and pages about this and provide so many specific examples of the HUNDREDS of kindnesses that have been shown to us by others.  Referring back to blessing #1, we have felt guided to each home and neighborhood we have lived in.  It has become quite obvious to me all the amazing people we have met and the associations and friendships we have made.  I have been in awe over and over again by the out-pouring of love and support from my sweet neighbors, friends, and family.  Being sick in bed is a lonely place to be.  Yet I can’t believe how many people have stepped in to bring meals, cards, treats, flowers, words of encouragement, etc, etc, etc.  It’s amazing how even a text of from a friend just checking in can buoy my spirits.  Although I have always striven to befriend and serve others, my small contributions seem unworthy of what we have received in return.  I know this is not a typical scenario for many people in similar conditions, and I am beyond grateful for the good hearts of so many incredible people that I am lucky enough to call friends!

3.      Swimming.  As we met with my doctor repeatedly last winter, he reiterated the need to exercise and the benefits of swimming (horizontal positioning with lessened effects of my enemy, gravity).  At the time, however, there was no way I could make it to a swimming pool, actually swim, and make it home again—it was just out of the question.  So we started discussing putting in our own pool.  Despite my initial hesitancies, having a pool has been a source of joy in my life.  Although I’m not able to swim with my kids often (due to the commotion and my lack of robust processing skills), I’m grateful that it has brought fun family time to our house all summer, especially where I could not get out to take my kids on exciting summer adventures.

The pool has been great for me physically.  When I first started swimming I would swim a lap, float for a few minutes, swim a lap, float.  Now, on good days, I can swim for 30 minutes straight (not fast or hard, by any means, but still a great accomplishment).  Any amount of muscle tone is great to help increase my circulation, and I have noticed the positive effects.   

Additionally, the pool has brought as much emotional strength as physical.  My happy place used to be riding my bike around a nearby lake, getting the exercise endorphins, and taking in the vistas of the reflective water with a gorgeous mountain backdrop.  It was hard to give that up.  But I now have a new happy place!  Floating in our salt water pool, gazing up at the beautiful evening or night sky with no distractions has truly brought a sense of zen into my life.  Although I’m currently going through withdrawals now that we have closed the pool up for the winter, this has been a huge blessing in my life.

4.      Renewed Hobbies.  I have always been a go-getter and a person that needs to feel productive.  One of the hardest things about my illness has been my inability to get up and do things.  However, being stuck in bed has also brought about new (or renewed) opportunities.  I have picked up some old hobbies that I haven’t had time to focus on for a while, such as writing (for myself, not just for work), crocheting, and listening to audiobooks.  I shouldn’t mention the hours I also spend on less productive phone apps such as Netflix, Facebook, or Candy Crush, but I am, nonetheless, grateful for these forms of mindless entertainment and distraction when my body and brain aren’t capable of much else.  Additionally, Facebook at least gives me a glimpse into the outside world and keeps me in touch with all the amazing people I never get to see anymore.  So while I’d rather be out of bed doing other things, I’m grateful for these hobbies and distractions that have kept me sane this past year.

5.      My husband is incredible!  I can’t create a list of blessings without including my amazing husband.  Although he was previously used to doing more home-based tasks than a lot of men I know, he has had to take on so much more the last year—including all of child chauffeuring, cooking, housework, laundry, bedtime routines, and much, much more.  Not only is he taking care of the house and kids, but he’s had the extra burden of caring for me as well. 

Mr. Amazing putting kids to bed.

I think back to what a naïve college student I was when we got engaged and married.  I knew Kelly was a good man and that I loved him, but I had no idea how incredible he really was.  Once again, the Lord was watching out for me then and now!  I’m grateful for my extraordinary husband and his tireless work to help me and our family without complaint.

Obviously my life is not perfect, we don’t often have all our ducks in a row, and there’s a lot of things I still regret missing out on.  However, despite the dread I have been feeling about the anniversary of my illness, there is still a lot about my life that I can celebrate!  And despite the long length of this post, this is just a small part of a much larger list of blessings.  Just writing this all down has, indeed, filled my heart and changed my views as I’ve taken a closer look at everything that is going RIGHT in my imperfect life.  I have an awful lot to be thankful for!  Happy Anniversary!   

I Can Do Hard Things (Accepting the Adventures I'll Never Have)

I have been feeling awfully nostalgic lately.  I somehow feel homesick, even though I am home and surrounded by my family.  I think it is a mixture of a few things: 1) My youngest kids (twins) started kindergarten last month—reminding me how fast time is going by.  2) Those darn Facebook memories keep popping up in my feed to remind me of “better” days that were not all that long ago.  (Although, I really do love seeing the Facebook memories, especially because my twins as toddlers were so stinking cute.)  3) I am coming up on my year anniversary of being homebound and often bed bound with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome).  

When I got sick last year, I never imagined that a year later I wouldn’t be back to my old self.  Even though I knew what the prognosis was, I was sure that I would be the one to defy the odds and see a miraculous cure (note: over a 7 year Mayo Clinic study, only 18% of POTS patients recovered).  Yet, here I am, a year later and not a whole lot better--I have seen improvement, but still very disabled. 

I feel like everyone is in the fast lane of life—my kids keep getting older and bigger without my consent.  Yet, I am stuck in the slow lane, also getting older (and bigger, as weight gain is an unfortunate side effect of taking steroid medications and being fairly sedentary).  It seems that I am going at snail’s pace with my hands tied behind my back just trying to keep up.

The days are long, but the months fly by.

I know when looking back at the past there is a certain element of seeing through rose-colored glasses —I mostly remember the fun times and happy moments.  The years of infertility followed by postpartum depression, sleepless nights being up with colicky babies, and the countless mom fails of my past seem to have dimmed and blurred a bit.  It somehow doesn’t keep me from looking back and longing for what once was. 

Just a few weeks ago one of my aforementioned Facebook memories popped up reminding me that six years ago I ran the Hood to Coast 200-mile relay race.  I remember it being so hard, but feeling such a rush of accomplishment.  In all honestly, I never really enjoyed running, and I probably wouldn’t do the race again whether I was healthy or not.  But the point is, I was physically ABLE to do it.  I could push myself physically, even though it was hard.  I miss that!

That same year I pushed myself to do a lot of things I had never done before.  For example, I went on a four day back-packing trip to the floor of the Grand Canyon and back out.  Other than childbirth, this was one of the most physically taxing things I’ve ever done (which has a lot to do with a sprained knee, a rainstorm turned blizzard, and a 12 hour hike the last day up steep, muddy/icy trails in said blizzard—great story for another time!).  But I was still able to push through and do it!   

That year has been officially dubbed our “Year of Adventure.”  We worked hard, played hard, and accomplished a lot of goals.  My husband and I went to Hawaii and body boarded, rode bikes down the volcano, snorkeled with sea turtles, zip-lined over the rainforest, and hiked O’heo Gulch past the seven sacred pools and through a bamboo forest to reach the amazing waterfall at the top.  (It really was as magical as it sounds!)  We took our kids to Disneyland.  We went hiking and went on weekly family bike rides around a nearby lake.

I’m saddened to think that there is a very real possibility that I may never be able to do these things again.  The many future adventures I’ve dreamed of may never come to fruition—and after almost a year, I am just now beginning to grasp that reality.

I can still remember vividly one of the family bike rides we went on a few years ago.  My daughter was probably 6 or 7 at the time and on her little purple one-speed bike.  It was several miles around the lake trail we were on and by the half-way point she was more than ready to give up.  Well, at that point you really don’t have much of an option.  Whether you go forward or go back, you have to keep riding because that’s the only way to get back home.  I went slow with her and we took a lot of breaks.  I’d say to her, “Repeat after me: I am strong.  I can do hard things.”  She would look back and say.  “I can’t do it.”  So I would repeat myself again until she finally repeated me as well, and we eventually made it around the lake and back home.

“I can do hard things” has been a family and personal motto for many years now.  As a former fitness instructor, “I can do hard things” often meant pushing my body to its limit and then going beyond.  Any exercise enthusiast knows the only way to become strong is to break down your muscle and let it rebuild.  When you feel the weakest is often when you are making the greatest gains.

Although the five words have stayed the same, this personal mantra has taken on a very different meaning in the past year.  “I can do hard things” in the past has generally meant pushing myself physically.  But the game has changed and I can no longer test my physical limits.  (There IS no pushing through anymore; attempting to do so just means kissing the floor after I’ve collapsed because my body ceases to cooperate.)  Forget the adventures, I can no longer even do most of the mundane things I used to do, like go to the grocery story, pick up my kids from school, deep clean my bathroom (okay, I don’t miss that one!).

Right now, “doing hard things” means NOT doing hard things.  It means letting go of all the things I want to do, and being content with the things I can do.  

As I look back on all my fun memories from the past, I feel homesick for what was as I am still coming to grips with the reality of what is.  I have to admit that my life isn’t all bad now-- I recognize that I have a many things to be grateful for.  It’s just different, and sometimes accepting “different” is hard.    

Some days I feel closer to acceptance than others.  Some days I echo the words of my daughter and say “I can’t do it.”  But then I pick myself up off the floor (literally), and remind myself that emotional and spiritual strength builds the same way as physical; when you feel at your weakest is often when you are making the greatest gains.  So although I am not always successful in my daily battle with POTS and with life, I know I can accept and even be happy in my circumstances because... I know I can do hard things. 

Burns and Beliefs: Lessons My Kids Learn from My Illness

In Utah the 24th of July is a state holiday-- Pioneer Day.  A day to remember and celebrate our ancestors and pioneers that crossed the plains to settle the Salt Lake Valley.  In terms of celebration, it's really just another Fourth of July-- parades, BBQs fireworks-- the whole shebang. 

Prior to my illness (autoimmune disorder and POTS), my husband and I loved to entertain.  Our house was often the central location for celebrations, parties, and last minute BBQ's.  But, it's hard to try and coordinate anything these days, as I never know if I'm going to feel good or not.  And, even if I do feel good, I can't both prep for a party AND attend the party.  Even if I just attended, I would still have only have about a 30-60 minute limit, until my body tells me it's done.  This has obviously put a damper on our social life.  And, while that is definitely something that I miss, it is certainly not my biggest problem.

This most recent Pioneer Day (just earlier this week) I was faced again with the crippling reality of the things I DO miss the most.  We opted not to host any parties, just our own small family.  My husband pulled the propane fire pit into the driveway so we could roast marshmallows.  We followed that up with some small fireworks, including sparklers.

My kids, especially my five year old twins, were loving the sparklers.  They were getting especially creative in their ninja fighting stances while wielding the flaming sticks.  We had given them all the safety tips, and they were doing a great job.  Unfortunately, they were in their jammies and bare feet because their parents (mom fail!) didn't have the foresight to have them put on shoes.

I'm sure you can see where this is going….Long story short, part of a sparkler fell and my cute boy, Jack, ended up with a third degree burn on the bottom of his foot.  (I'm now wondering why I have not previously questioned the sanity of  taking a short stick burning at 1000° with sparks flying everywhere and handing it to a young child…)

My poor boy started screaming and shrieking like I have never heard before.  It was awful! 

Now, one of characteristics of my condition is that I overproduce adrenaline.  Noise, light, movement, and stress all contribute to my over-stimulation and adrenaline surges.  Even without provocation sometimes, my adrenaline will shoot up.  When it hits a certain level it actually puts me in a seizure-like state.  I collapse to the ground and start shaking and jerking uncontrollably and become unable to talk or communicate -- often for anywhere from 20 minutes to two hours.  At one point these massive episodes were happening 6-8 times a day.  Fortunately now, with medication and a lot of life modifications (i.e. I never go anywhere or do anything), it's down to a few times a week.   

Well, I was already hitting my limit for the evening when the accident happened.  As you can imagine, I quickly hit overload.  I'm usually the calm one in an emergency, but I turned into a mess.  I couldn't do anything.  I couldn’t run to my son.  I couldn't help him.  I had to rely on my husband to scoop him up and rush him inside, grab some ice, collect his wallet, help move everything out of the driveway so he could back the car out of the garage and take Jack to the hospital.  The whole while Jack was screaming like a banshee.  And, I was helpless.

Not only helpless, but a liability.  My husband could see I was about to crash.  He was worried for me, but had to leave.  He yelled to our teenage son, Andrew, to help me into the house.  I stumbled inside in a daze and somehow made it to my room before crashing.  It was devastating.  Not only could I not go to the hospital with my son, but I had just left the rest of my kids, who had also viewed this traumatic scene, to fend for themselves. 

I could hear James (Jack's twin) upset in the other room.  I couldn't help Jack, and now I also couldn't comfort James or my other children either.   The overflow of stress and emotions did not help my physical situation.  I was so angry-- angry at myself for not making my kids put shoes on, angry at my illness, and angry, once again, that I couldn’t be the mom that I wanted to be-- that my kids needed me to be. 

In the past year, I have grieved a lot over my situation.  I will feel like I finally hit a point of acceptance of my circumstances-- where I am able to appreciate all the many blessings I do have and feel happiness and joy again.  But, then something comes along to regurgitate those feelings of saddness, anger, and inadequacy and I have to fight my way back to peace.

It's been a few days since this incident and I've fortunately been able to regain some perspective.  (It helps that my son is doing well and healing nicely).  I've had a lot of time this last year to reflect on my inadequacies as a mother and wife.  This most recent incident has brought those thoughts to my mind again.  Here are some of the questions I've asked myself and some of my conclusions:

1. Before I was sick, did I always feel like the best mom?  Was I always the mom I wanted to be?  When I look back through my rose colored glasses at my pre-sick self, of course I think I was a better mom then.  But, if I'm totally honest with myself, the answer is no.  I'm not sure that there is any mom in this world, sick or not, that doesn't feel some kind of inadequacy.  For some reason being a mom comes with a load of love and a load of mom-guilt.  I may not be the same mom that I was before, but perhaps there are other ways that I have improved.  I know that I certainly cherish the time I have with my kids more.  I try to take time to listen to them, snuggle with them, sing them songs, and give them hugs-- because those are the things I can do right now.

2.  What will my kids learn to appreciate?  It's so easy to take things for granted when everything remains the same.  You often don't appreciate something until it's lost.  I think I have an interesting perspective because I am a mom that became ill in my mid-thirties, but I also grew up with a mom who became chronically ill in her mid-thirties.  So, I can see both sides.  I know what it is like to have a chronically ill mom.  I remember times when I resented my mom's illness.  I was upset when she didn't come to my vocal competition or a dance performance.  However, I also remember the things that she did attend, and I remember how much more it meant to me that she was there.  I knew it was hard on her and a sacrifice for her.  While I am sure there will be things my kids resent because of my limitations, I hope that somehow this can also help my kids gain a better appreciation for life, for the things we CAN do, and for the sacrifice of others.

3. What are my kids learning from this?  As parents we don't want our kids to ever have to face hardships or trials.  And yet, it is those hardships and trials that mold us into the people we are.  In addition to my current illness, I have suffered from trials such as endometriosis, infertility, post-partum depression and the loss of my mother.  While, I wouldn't choose to go through any of those experiences again if I had the choice, the lessons I have learned from each of them have been invaluable.  I have learned compassion for others that may be suffering similarly.  I have received service and kindness from others that has made me want to serve and show kindness in return.  I have learned to rely on my Savior in times when there is no one else that can help.

So, as I lay shaking in my room a few nights ago with Jack in the hospital and my other children in distress, I later learned that my oldest son had stepped up to the plate.  He took James onto his lap and comforted him.  They said a prayer together that Jack would be okay.  And, he stayed by James's side until I had recovered from my episode and Jack had returned from the hospital.

Despite not being a fan of life's teaching methods sometimes, I'm grateful that my kids are learning about compassion, patience, sacrifice, and many other good qualities that will serve them well in this life. 

I may still choose to be upset about my limitations at times, and I may not like the extra stress it puts on my family and kids, but I have to equally acknowledge that the greatest trials bring about the greatest growth.  So, not only will I learn and grow from my current trials, but I am hopeful that my kids will too.