coping with chronic illness – Jesus is for the Wounded

He said I was tough

Published on August 25, 2015August 26, 2015 by Jesus is for the Wounded4 Comments

Lying in the dusk immobile on the asphalt was not the place I had intended to be on Sunday night. It was only the second time I had attempted to ride my bike this year and it ended in a bit of a disaster when my toe clip malfunctioned . . .

Lying on my chase lounge icing my sore, bruised, scraped elbow the next day came with a pretty view of our garden. Both the clematis and the wisteria had started climbing the 8-foot trellises that flanked the flagstone patio. From every angle but this one, their foliage plus the hydrangea, Japanese maple, dwarf mugo pine, and two goldenthread cypress blocked the view of the neighbors. Perhaps in another year the landscaping plan will have achieved its goal of complete privacy!

Lying on the grass after dizziness set in post-crash last night, all I could see above me was a few buzzing mosquitos against the early night sky. I had no idea the extent of my injuries. How would I make it home? We were two blocks from our house and I had not yet moved my left arm in searingly sharp pain. Steve hovered nearby, having dismounted his road bike, waiting for a word from me.

Lying in bed this morning, the wretched convulsive episodes were particularly long. They jarred my tender left arm and beaten-up spirit. The tears flowed easily: the big crocodile type ones that come from deep within. “How much more trauma could my broken frame handle?” I wondered. Probably “all of it” would be the Biblical answer but definitely not in my own strength! The Lord breathed life into me once again and helped me get up out of bed when my world stopped shaking. It was afternoon: time to get breakfast I guess.

Lying on the treatment bed in physical therapy today, I was glad that my PT was a competitive cyclist. Like my husband, he had crashed his bike a couple of times as a consequence of the toe clips of his cycling shoes not disengaging from the pedals. Jason made it sound like a normal occurrence. When you must stop suddenly and the quick turn of your ankle fails to disconnect the cleat that attaches your foot to the pedal, you can do nothing to brace yourself from falling. You simply fall straight down sideways to the hard asphalt or concrete below you. Your elbow usually ends up taking the brunt of the impact. Yup. For me this was followed by my knee, hip, shoulder and head. Thank the Lord for my helmet!

Sitting after dinner talking with my beloved Steve this evening, we reviewed the accident. There were misunderstandings between us that needed to be clarified and a plan put in place should an acute situation like this come our way again. This incident was unlike the medical episodes I encounter every night that often require his physical assistance or supervision. Yet it was very difficult to separate the two types of stressors. We agreed: all we really wanted was a nice activity that we could share together. Instead something went terribly wrong . . . again! So sad.

Reliving the whole ordeal yielded two truths that made this experience significant for our future times together. First, when I was crying in pain I was also scared not knowing if I had any serious injuries (as I still couldn’t move my left arm), struggling to get myself up off the ground the second time, and unsure how to position myself to walk home with my bike. Steve had offered to go get my truck to bring me home. Some other ideas he had ended up stirring some resolve within me to force myself to do as much as I could on my own. Even in this time of mini-crisis, I would not fall victim to another major setback in my health. I cried and groaned in agony for two blocks, stopping periodically as needed. I was going to make it home under my own power no matter what! This attitude carried me though the pain of later dressing and icing my wounds. (Gratefully nothing would be broken or even sprained!)

The next morning was difficult as already mentioned. The second truth was realized as I later was able drag my way through my daily routines. For many of us those routines might mean interacting with real people. For a largely homebound person that means checking social media! And what I found under my brief post on Facebook about the accident and my gratitude for no serious injury . . . was as humbling as it was empowering. My beloved made a comment in which he called me a “tough one.” Really? Yes really! And yes, I guess I am! He added a thought this evening that not everyone can keep on going with all of these struggles going on at once. His words meant the world to me. The person closest to me in this time of unbelievable struggle believes in me. He said I was tough!

Now you and I both know, Gentle Reader, the source of the strength that lies within me. It is not my own, it comes from the Lord. I embody His strength when I have none of my own. When my resolve can bring me no further, my Jesus’ hand covers mine over the handlebars and together we roll that crazy thing home. And when I had to wash open wounds it was the Lord showing me what to do, giving me the courage to do it too. My beloved helped me apply the compression bandages to keep down the swelling and pain. It was my Heavenly Husband who gave me the idea to use this kind of dressing of which I had never used before and was incredibly effective. Wow.

Lying in bed later on tonight I will have much praise for my Lord and for my beloved husband. My arm is working fairly well a day later and I will recover fully. I have learned a little more about the physical toughness that goes with the mental toughness of recovery from serious illness or accidents. Both will happen in this life to all of us. It is my prayer, Gentle Reader that no matter what situation you may find yourself in someday that you too will find the Giver of strength available to each us that knows no boundaries. I’d love to hear about your travels with Him too. Kind of like a bicycle built for two, eh? JJ

woman on a bike, woman riding a bike, bicycling, biking, recreational riding, cycling, winter cycling, winter biking — First ride this year: that’s me taking a quick ride around the campground, January 2015

Lost in Space

Published on July 23, 2015July 25, 2015 by Jesus is for the Wounded2 Comments

I’ve been up late several nights in a row now, updating my eBook whilst blogging on home safety for my new company: Two Step Solutions LLC. While that may appear wildly productive the timing is just too odd for it to actually be that way for me. I am discovering a few unusual things as I examine this new work, this current blog that you are reading, and the tragedy of illness resistant to treatment.

First, my professional writing lacks clear focus. I add too many words and the flow is not there. Oh the subject matter gets covered yet it is not yet up to par. The short articles I am putting out there are intended to build credibility in my profession and an audience for the time when I want to launch my home safety product. Perhaps I need a check-n-balance system before publishing each piece? Yes, something like that.

I am so very dry with ideas to write about that aren’t a re-hash of the saga, the illness. Sure, I have tried to end each blog with something reflective, insightful, Biblical, creative, humorous or otherwise useful. It is simply getting harder to do so when the head-banging that accompanies convulsive episodes goes on FOR HOURS EVERY DAY! You have heard about all of the test results pending. I continuously try new treatments that make sense to me. The outcomes continue to be disastrous. Sure there is hope on the horizon. But for now it is AWOL!

And if a test showed a particular course of treatment that worked, one could be encouraged as he or she ingested/applied/bathed/drank/swallowed it. As for me, hundreds of remedies, diets, treatments, scans, procedures, therapies, adjustments later . . . I am discouraged. Tens of thousands of dollars later . . . I am discouraged. Moving about while beat up on 3 hours of sleep is virtually impossible yet I was called to do it today anyways. My will has tanked. Yes, I am broken and discouraged.

Lost in space. There is no real sense of time here. It comes and it goes with little of meaning to measure it by. The foam in our bed is permanently dented in both places from my dwelling there. Steve and I pray. I cry a lot. I hear that others pray out there somewhere and yet do not contact me anymore. I am invisible for the most part. And that’s just how it goes when you have dropped out of life for a few years. Even blue jeans from Walmart start looking good when I can finally get out of the house on Wednesdays. Eeeek! I am an Eddie Bauer gal dontcha know?

I probably should not publish this. Well stay tuned. I am bound to bump into some kind of life eventually, eh? JJ

Wide-eyed and bushy tailed: Part 2 of 2

Published on August 4, 2014 by Jesus is for the Wounded1 Comment

So our great adventure really happened: about 350 miles, 2 cities in Michigan north of us in Indiana, one cooler of drinks-n-foods, and lots of excitement as Steve literally flew through the air! My beloved thought we were going sailing after multiple gift clues and our plans changing 5 times! Of course he only know about the date changes . . .

I love you Steve. So grateful to share your special day with you. Just Julie

P.S. I am pooped! :J

Bears Rule

Published on June 19, 2014December 3, 2016 by Jesus is for the WoundedLeave a comment

Yes: bears do solve some kinds of problems! While in the comic strip above it appears that sometimes they can cause them too, this is not the case with a “bear” I happen to know personally. I just picked this cartoon because it has a furry creature in it of the grizzly variety. The one of which I am particularly fond is my River Bear: my beloved Steve! He’s my hero and an amazing athlete too (cycling and kayaking).

Steve in his Mohican surf ski at the 2013 Wildcat Creek Race

I am grateful to the Lord to be blessed with a man after the Lord’s own heart, smart, respected, handsome, personable, athletic, and loved by many especially his four children. He is my kinsman redeemer: the one whom the Lord provided as my husband, my intended beloved for the rest of my days. Steve has risen to the challenge of helping me through some very ugly aspects of a biotoxin illness. Amazingly while he feels for my suffering it never seems to affect his love and care for me. Sure he may be tired from staying up late with the wretched episodes but I never feel any less loved. His care and confidence in me never changes. His devotion transcends our situation. He is my Jesus with skin on for sure and I am exceedingly grateful.

I love you Steve. And I thank you Lord for your incredible blessing in my Stevers. Lead him and protect him, grant him wisdom and your grace as he fulfills the call you have placed in his life. Strengthen him, sustain him, and help him to continue to shine for your glory. In Jesus name, amen.

The Burger on the Bathroom Floor

Published on June 8, 2014June 8, 2014 by Jesus is for the WoundedLeave a comment

Sometimes there’s a bride carried in the front door at the same time there’s another bride carried out the back door . . .

Hi there. My name is Julie and I have a wacky life. Not that my life has ever been boring, mind you. Lots of difficult things have kept me on my toes (or on my knees before the Lord) for a good portion of my days on this earth. I used to say it was like cooking with all of the burners on the stove cranked up to the highest setting. Then there was this network marketing book entitled, Mach 1 with your hair on fire that described things pretty well for me too. Helen Keller wrote in her book The Open Door, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” O.K. You get the picture. There is no rest for the weary so get over it, get on with it, and better get right with Jesus to see you through!

So what’s up with the burger on the bathroom floor, you ask? Balancing my blood sugar is a key part of managing this crazy biotoxin illness that came on the heels of Lyme disease that came in through the backdoor of fibromyalgia many years ago. Actually hypoglycemia came first followed by hypothyroidism, fibro, yada, yada, yada. This all requires me to carry a protein snack and water with me virtually everywhere I go. Popcorn doesn’t cut it very long. I cheat sometimes with fatty veggie chips when grocery shopping only to follow-up with a chunk of lunchmeat from one of those ziplock bags from the deli counter usually at a stoplight when driving home. Whatever. Who needs a knife and fork anyways?

Dressed up for the wedding of my husband’s son yesterday and our friends’ son today, I opted for the bigger black leather purse (to match my shoes of course and the only other purse I own). I could stash a butternut squash coconut muffin, some coconut cream, and a burger-lettuce roll-up secured in a Ziploc baggie in there and look like all of the rest of the women with maybe a little extra, er, baggage, if you know what I mean. Who would know that I could survive an invasion of body snatchers for at least a day with no more than a twinge of hunger when it was all over? I would be ready. Unfortunately I did not plan on a wardrobe malfunction (a term coined in the USA after an egregious moment by Janet Jackson during the Super Bowl Half Time Show a few years ago. I won’t go into it here). Or rather a leather purse malfunction. I barely made it through my own snafu with my dignity!

The D.J.s were cranking up the music at the Light Guard Armory to add some ambiance to the large plain, cinder-block walled room with metal doors pained beige to match and linoleum flooring that had been waxed for more years than I have seen the light of day. The host families had done their best to decorate the place with table adornments inspired by nature and set up a simple, yet respectable snack table for later munching. I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to eat any of it (can you say M&Ms and Reeses Pieces for dessert?) so I settled into the scene comfortable with the stash in my purse. Surely the burger was o.k. unrefrigerated for a couple of hours. The only problem was that I was getting very hungry!

What’s a gal to do waiting with all of the other guests for the wedding party to arrive, dressed up in her Sunday best with low blood sugar looming and a burger in her purse? Well I learned a long time ago that if you need a moment of solace you can always escape to the bathroom. No one usually questions your actions in there! It’s a little different story, however, if you are a gal since gals tend to chat while tinkling, primping, washing their hands, and adjusting their bra straps not necessarily in that order! How do you fit in whipping out a burger in your purse? Answer: you don’t.

The next level of defense is to squirrel away in a bathroom stall, quietly unwrap the nourishment of choice, and snatch a few bites while crouched between the open areas on either side of the door. If someone “accidentally” sees you wiping your fanny through the crack by the hinge it’s o.k. but eating in there? EWWWWWW! No way! But who really cares anyways if you haven’t used the toilet just moments before and the place is clean. I mean my hands were clean. Oh yes, and one must make sure that no one else has camped there in the past hour either, if you know what I mean! Once you have your sequencing down, you can hide your medical self care in this way if you so choose just like a diabetic might do the same when administering insulin in a public place. Sometimes it’s just better to take care of it in the one private place to which you can always retreat.

I did not count on what happened next. I was one large bite from finishing my life-giving, 1/2 burger wrapped in Romaine lettuce with a wedge of coconut spread when the burger went tumbling onto the floor. Oh my goodness! Not my precious sustenance! Suddenly I became acutely aware of how really wrong it is to bring food into a bathroom. Then trying to eat it there even in secret no longer seemed like a good idea. Years of preserving my sense of social graces came to a screeeeeeching halt! There’s a burger rolling on the bathroom floor and it came from my direction!

Of course I did not count on what happened next either. Just then I heard what seemed like a gaggle of women entering the restroom. Holy crap! (Pun might be intended here.) In a flash I made a dash to pick up the chunk o’ meat, rinse it off in the sink, hide it in my hand, murmur something like, “excuse me my stuff is in there,” and retreat back into the stall with whatever style and grace I could preserve in my moment of horror. How could I ever have explained a burger rolling on the floor? Never mind. Nothing came to mind. I stuffed the once delectable beef/bison griller into the open piece of Saran wrap in my purse and zipped it closed. Snack time was over. I would have to survive on the bites consumed thus far. I thought I would be o.k. with that so I walked “looking normal” out of the stall to wash my hands then leave. The two unsuspecting witnesses left with their curious glances, having never stopped their conversation during their porcelain activities. Cool beans. I was now in the clear and free to leave as well.

Sigh. Some things in life are strange at times. You just gotta do what you gotta do and laugh about it if you possibly can. Gentle Reader: the next time you grab a burger off the grill try not to think of me munching somewhere in a bathroom stall, k? It just might change your appetite a bit. If you do try adding some more spicy mustard and you will be fine. I promise. JJ