Fishing

When my mind wanders, it wanders to this place. A place where my Dad and I used to work as security guards. One of my duties was to check the outdoors. On a break I decided to capture some beautiful scenes. This is one of them. A clear sunny day. On a day off take a boat out on the lake and cast into some of the deeper areas where the bigger fish hide. A nibble, a bite, STRIKE! Gotcha! Fish fights, out of excitement I try not to lose the fish. In the end, the fish is hanging from the line and we're staring at each other. Descent size fish. Now I have to get out the hook and let it go. There, all done. I set the fish back into the water and watch it swim away.

I feel satisfied. Boastful even. I caught a fish! Okay, conquered that challenge. Time to go back in. But not so fast. The lake is quiet. A stillness falls over it. A peace. I sit there for several minutes taking it in. The scenery, the colors, the trees, the color of the water, the grasses and other water weeds surrounding the edge of the lake. Then I see the red dock.

I row myself back to the dock, tie up the boat, unload the gear and load up the car. But something stops me from leaving. It's as though I'll miss something. I sit in my car looking at the scene again. And then I remember. My Dad and I went fishing here. He caught the large mouth bass, I caught the small mouth. It was one of the last times we did something together alone before he died. That memory was probably in the summer of 2003.

And I hang onto it like it was yesterday. Since I was a little girl he taught me everything I needed to know about having a hobby that's relaxing and challenging, one can be done in solitude - one that can clear your mind.

Fishing...quiet times spent with Dad.

God Doing's

A long time ago when our family began recovery from the effects of alcoholism, my mom came up with this saying, "God Doing's." They're events He puts along our path to remind us He's got our back, His angels are with us and to be encouraged because He'll never forget about us or or needs.

Here's a God Doing I sent out in an e-mail:

The other day I was at my doctor's office for the 5mm kidney stone I was passing. I needed more Darvoset and wanted to talk to her about what was found on the lower abdomen scan. I told the front desk I was not insured at the time but as soon as I received the Social Security I would pay the outstanding balance and today's visit. That seemed to be fine. When the nurse called my name, I thought it was to see the doctor. Instead I was told if I didn't have a payment that day I couldn't see her. I began to cry and said, "Do you want the $8.23 that's in my checking account?" They said they could make a payment arrangement but they had to have a payment that day. Now I'm so upset I can barely speak. Here I am, leaning on my cane, telling the truth about how I don't have money to make a payment toward my balance nor pay for the visit and their telling me I can't see the doctor. So now I'm crying and the nurse is trying to coax me into the exam room to talk about it in there. I told her no because I don't have the money to pay for it.

I walked out of the office and back into the waiting room where my friend and driver Pam was sitting. She saw me and asked what happened. I told her they won't let me see the doctor because I can't make a payment and now I can't get the medicine I need as the stone passes. You see, I had $20 from a friend to get the medicine but I couldn't give it to them because then I couldn't get the pain killers. So I'm standing there leaning on my cane still crying when a man tucks something between my hand that's holding my cane and says, "This should help with most of it" and walks away. I'm so caught up in the hurt that I don't know what just happened. Pam says, "Amy, what did he just give you?" "I dunno," so I hand it to her." She opens the money. There's a fifty dollar bill. Then there's a one hundred dollar bill. One of God's angels showed up and more than took care of my need.

I walked over to the window to the girl who was being nasty to me. She opened the window, I'm still sniffling and I threw the $150 at her saying, "Is that enough? Someone just gave that to me." She said, "I'm sorry" with a snotty tone and if I'd had enough strength I'd have popped her one with my cane. But I didn't. I simply walked away and sat down.

What happened after that isn't important. I was truthful, not deceitful, not exaggerating my situation and if I hadn't met with my doctor I never would have known about the two surgeries I need and which one I need to have first as soon as possible.

I'm scared about what's happening but I have no worries because God is taking care of me every step of the way.

May God Bless You and Keep You Safe,
Love Amy

Dang that hurts!

A BIG kidney stone.
A trip to the Emergency Room AGAIN.
Heavy drugs. Yum.
Need I explain why I'm not writing?
I didn't think so.
It would be like writing about contractions.
Pointless until the baby arrives, mom is prepped for the photo shoots and the stats are all in.

In this case, there will be no pictures. I know it's a girl, she came from the right kidney and she's 5mm in size. No, there will not be any cigars to "pass out" celebrating her arrival. Just a Ziploc bag that holds the toddler that made my life miserable for 5-7 days so the doctor can tell me what type it is. For those inquiring minds, it's shaped like a mushroom with a pointy tip.

Are there more? Oh yes. I have twins in the left and triplets in the right. I have to buy a bigger stroller. Oh, and I'm beginning to have back pain on the right side again. Could it be another one? Kill me now.

Update 2/4/09: In 9 days, I passed three stones. Since then, no pain in the kidney area or kidney traveling route. Praise God! Seems the triplets are out.

For those interested in seeing the type of procedure I'll be having to remove the other two big ones, this is fascinating.

Garbage Day

As a kid, I always thought the guys on the back of the garbage trucks had the best jobs. They got to ride around on the outside of the truck, jump off to empty cans, throw the cans back onto the lawns, then jump back on until the next house. Sometimes, they walked to the next house and kept on dumping those cans into the back of the truck until it was full.

Then came the really cool part. If you were lucky enough to be there when it happened, you saw them pull that big red lever and hear the loud noise as the huge white metal mouth came out and ate all that garbage! It was pulled into a secret part of the truck because when it was finished, all of that garbage was gone! The guys would jump back onto the back of the truck, hang onto the metal handle, wave good-bye to us kids and ride to the next block. Wow, that was exciting growing up in a small neighborhood.

As an adult there are times I am dragging my cans of garbage out to the curbside when I think to myself, "I wish I could get rid of the garbage that stays stuck inside of me." For years now, I've been in therapy, recovery groups for this problem and that problem, friendships and bible studies but inside lurks hidden wrappers and dirty trash. They're sins of secrecy and pride.

Not wanting to talk about pain. Not wanting to cry in front of others. Not wanting to admit I need help (especially right now). Not asking for help. Feeling like a burden when I do ask for help. Not wanting to admit I can't do certain things like walking more than a block or sometimes around the house without a cane. Knowing someday I'll need a walker. Seizures that are unpredictable. Sleeping so much. Trying to deal with people looking at me as I use a cane. Looking into their eyes, smiling and saying, 'Hi' so they know I'm normal. Or maybe it's so I know I'm normal. It's hard to write because of the tremors but typing today seems to be okay. Unresolvable physical problems. Some need more testing. A lumbar puncture looks to be in my future because the spinal fluid probably holds the secret. I don't have MS or Lyme's. I haven't had a stroke. I don't have a brain tumor. But what do I have? Garbage.

I still like the sound of the garbage truck. It brings back good memories. It reminds me that Jesus takes all my garbage daily and can help me overcome the garbage that's hiding in the dark corners of my heart. That's what he does best. (And yes, in case you're wondering, today is garbage day in Wauconda!).

227 and 128

So there it is in black and white.
My heaviest weight in October 2008.
My lightest weight in 1992.
Fluctuating in between for 16 years.

Too heavy. Too light. A 99 pound difference.
Now meeting with a dietitian who has asked me to trust her to keep my weight a secret until I reach my goal weight or have lost enough that I am encouraged to push forward to the finish line. Goal is to lose 1-2 pounds a week. See you same time next year!

I'm losing stamina, had some motivation at the beginning of the program until seizures became more frequent. Now medical and mental have become more difficult to bear. Just want to sleep. Sleep all day and all night. Watch movies. No therapy, no talking, no visitors. See family, my friend Pam, no conflict, no crap from former employer, no more worries.

Wishful thinking. So I make notes in the food log. Deal with depression by sleeping. Acknowledge no appetite. Try to eat something to keep metabolism moving. I don't think skipping breakfast then having a candy bar for lunch is what Dr. Sarah has in mind so I guess protein and other stuff is what I have to find. Maybe this is a slim fast day.

I'm in a cocoon. Wrapped up in my sleeping bag. Nice and tight. Warm and cozy. A seizure would be great to have right now....slip away for a time.

The Cloak of Hope

The hemorraging woman.
The cloak of hope.
Pushing her way through the crowd.
"If I can just get close enough to touch it."
Her fingers touch the hem.
He stops.
"Who touched me?"
Is the question because he does not know?

Or is the question because he wants to hear the faith of the woman who reached out?
Does he want to hear the words of the woman who believed?
To have the ears around him listen to her deep seeded faith?

The touch of his cloak.

The daily bleeding that smelled offensive to herself and others.
It kept her away from close relationships.
Perhaps a marital relationship.
It embarrassed her.
It tormented her for years.
There was no cure in those days like there is today.
He was her only hope.

The touch of his cloak.

Healing poured out.
He felt it
She felt it.
They shared a moment.
She shared a moment with the Savior who would one day arise.
Then one day return and bring her home. Amen.

Purely Percussion

Stomp - Stomp Out Loud




Blue Man Group with Venus Hum - I Feel Love



Hip Hop Drummers

Celebrate Recovery

Last night, I attended the Celebrate Recovery meeting being held at Long Grove Community Church from 7-9:30 on Wednesday nights. It felt good to be among other believers who struggle with not being perfect yet strive to please God in the imperfect areas of their lives.

Recovery takes guts, courage and action. If there's an area in your life that is unmanagable and controls choices that afterwards make you feel worse about yourself, consider attending one of these groups.

Find a group that meets near you, fellowship that will embrace you and God's healing that will free you.

http://www.celebraterecovery.com/?page_id=7

Does It Get Easier?

This is the knife I purchased back in the summer when I was fishing. I had no intention of using it to hurt myself. In fact, my therapist asked where it belonged. I told him in my tackle box. I thought it would be easy to put it there but it wasn't so easy.

During the month of August, I had 2-3 acute movement disorders. Two of them landed me in the emergency room where doctors ran tests but found nothing was wrong. They labeled it as anxiety and post traumatic stress disorder. I was not the same afterwards. I felt differently in my head and I knew something was off in my brain function but to try and explain it to others was also a side effect.

I reached a point of despair on October 7th where a message from a prior therapist tipped over what I was trying to hold up. It wasn't her fault (completely). I was in a sensitive place, she knew that, and neither one of us had that fact on our brains. When I heard her voicemail, I grabbed that knife and as some of you may know, slashed my left arm 50-75 times in sheer anger. I was careful near my wrist so I wouldn't cause real suicide but it was in my mind to kill myself. That's when I was admitted into the hospital for 20 days.

As I write this message, the trauma of horrific abuse, terror and sleeping in my closet with dirty clothes and my blanket are now flashing through my psyche as I sleep. I resume the position of being curled into a ball, shaking, trembling, CPAP mask is whipped off because I can't breathe, I heard myself cry out the other night which scared me even more. I see shadows in my mind of my dad looking for me in my bedroom. I can see him because there are slits in our closet doors. The shadow is looking and looking but cannot find me. I am hidden, I am buried, I am not going to be found because I am silent. I do not cry, I am by myself, I do not have any help.

When the shadow leaves, I stay in the closet or I crawl to my bed. If I crawl to my bed, I curl into a ball with the comforter wrapped tightly around me. A wedge of it rests on my face, my cheek, and I hold it like I'm a little girl. I protected myself the only way I knew how.

I hid my body. I danced the dance of fright by disassociating and putting my mind in another world, in another state of being, in another person inside of me who could protect me. Erik.

He's my hero. Some of these pictures are graphic in nature due to the topic of cutting.

Reflection 2008

2008-A year to remember.
Cathy's death in February.
Dad's death 9 days later.
Mental Illness and difficulties.
Tracy and Bill's wedding.
Hospitalizations.
Unable to drive.
Maryla's death in November.

Crying most days.
In bed most of the day.
Pain in my body.
New food/meal plan.
Losing weight at a good pace.
Hard not to skip meals.
Need to buy a cane because of the balance issues.
Doctors don't know what's wrong but are treating what they can.
Have to go in for two procedures unrelated to the brain.
No news on the disability but God continues to provide for my needs.

I don't feel like a person anymore.
Most days I don't feel like I exist.
Talked to my psychiatrist about thinking voice mail
people were real conversations.
Told him how I've had suicide and cutting ideations while dreaming.
He asked where I was in the dream. I was already in the psych ward.
He smiled.