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Vampire Diaries 2

Published on September 2, 2016March 29, 2017 by Jesus is for the WoundedLeave a comment

hebrews, Hebrews 13:5, abandonment, promises of God, alone, loneliness, scripture, depression, sorrow, loss, illness, sickness, hope

Tears going up and down a lot this day

On the roller coaster of emotion I find myself on:

Help cometh x2 but test results won’t satisfy

As here I sit with my neck aching all through my brain.

I tried. I really tried to figure it out and failed.

The symptoms that remain still taunt my peace

Leaving scars, leaving woes, leaving loss behind the hope

And yet my breath prevails so in and out I will also go today

To match the pull of the vampire’s teeth left in my chest wall.

The infusions continue instead of a long-desired break

The bank will love us less, the medical folk perhaps more

Whilst someone’s Mercedes payment will be made

And my saga continues on Big Box Store hamburger.

Hope always seems just one more day out there somewheres

Leaving me here beat up from this morning’s episode of torment

A snuggle with my husband got transformed into caregiving

And more hours were lost in the aftermath once again.

At least my dog seems to understand as she nudges her nose at the leash. “Can’t we go now?” her soft brown eyes contend.

Relief might come in the mail soon

Or maybe not; it’s hard to tell

So I’ll keep calling on my Jesus for now

His calling card never leaves and never fails any of us anyways. JJ

The Dad that never left

Published on June 21, 2016June 21, 2016 by Jesus is for the WoundedLeave a comment

Perhaps it is more of a blessing than anything else that I have more time for reflection these days. After the double-loads of laundry, medical management, treatment-and-recovery, self care, and various household duties are completed, there are generally more hours than in my past to think about the stuff of life. On Father’s Day yesterday, I started to notice some new parallels between my past and present. It went something like this.

I was posting a picture of my Dad and me on Facebook when I realized how his generosity when he stepped back into my life has become an important part of my current recovery from serious illness. His gift about 6 years ago allowed me to create a garden oasis in our backyard. Here are two of my favorite areas:

And the landscaping is all grown up now creating a lovely oasis. So grateful!

Creating the flagstone patio area required graph paper, a ruler, tape measure, and endless gazing from all angles to make the kidney-bean shaped layout meet the vision the Lord had given me. In the next 2 years the process continued with a pair of 8-foot custom steel trellises then a “secret garden” area (basically a re-purposed dog pen!). The planting beds came later as I decided that we needed more privacy from our neighbors behind us and that I wanted to have a garden-view beyond each room of the house. The bed on the right in the 2nd picture is largely of native plants and a key component in earning a Sustainable Garden designation from our local cooperative extension office. The aqua custom shade sail was an incredible find from the “sale” page of a company by the same name. Now that the design is complete the plants have matured and my heart is home.

Dontcha know that my mom was a gardener? She would hunt down the groundskeeper at the local zoo if needed to obtain a plant start of a specimen she just needed to have in her yard. Composting, vegetables, a mounded hill, hanging baskets around the hot tub spa . . . she had all the elements that made her heart happy out there in her suburban back

Mom in Spa

yard. Her creation came together because of the generosity of her parents too. Some may call it an inheritance. I call it the chance to create something beautiful from the sorrow of a lost family member. And I think it’s o.k. to spend some of it to make the process of going on without him or her a little nicer. Do something that makes your heart happy!

Flash forward 4 years from when the “bones” of our own garden were installed and I am exceedingly grateful for what the Lord has allowed me to design, to create. Lying sickly on that chaise lounge last summer when it looked like there would be little hope for recovery, brought solace of sorts. Lying sickly on that same chair this summer after taking treatments that are slowly giving me my life back is bringing hope and the flow of some new creative juices. My husband, Steve, just smiles a bit when I talk like this. He knows that could mean a little more trimming around a new garden bed or hauling of something heavy to make it happen. Oh how he loves me so! Well I’ll let ya all know how it turns out for sure!

Steve brought me to see this home on our fourth date. He wanted to know, “if things worked out between us could you see yourself living here?” Talk about pressure! I was visiting him in Indiana for the first time from the Chicago suburbs and certainly was not about to make a decision on the spot. At least out loud, that is! But I knew that the bush in the front-and-center of the bay window was a Miss Kim Lilac and just like the one I had lost with the townhome when my former spouse left me. I also knew that the bush next to it was a burning bush that gets a magnificent, fiery shade of red in the Fall and just like the one I . . . well you can see where this is going. It’s like when I viewed Steve’s profile on Yahoo Personals and saw a picture of him with a radio-controlled airplane that reminded me of the flying competitions in which my dad and brothers flew line-control planes when we were kids. Of course I knew that the house was a great idea; I just wasn’t going to tell Steve anything just yet. The home he purchased before we were married became a blank slate for me in remaking so many years that the locusts had eaten . . . . (Joel 2:25)

So I hope you can see how a simple thingy like some flower and vegetable gardens can be so meaningful to someone like me. The draftsman in my Dad has become the designer in me. His surprise generosity allowed me to create a living oasis that was an interest I shared with my mom when I became an adult. Finding a loving place to realize these gifts would come in a way like never before when I found my intended beloved in the arms of my Stevers. Solace, restoration, and hope were all set in motion regardless of my life’s circumstances according the plans of my Heavenly Dad, my Heavenly Husband; He knew all along the seeds He had planted in my heart long before I could ever dig in the dirt of life myself. And just as life on this green earth began in the Garden of Eden, so do our own lives thrive in the planted spaces in which we are tilled and turned, watered, pruned, and nurtured until beauty bursts forth in scented color, in hope beyond that which we can see.

How can I be sad about the losses in my life when my Heavenly Dad has always been there with me? From my garden bench I bid you a “Happy Father’s Day,” Gentle Reader. I pray that you, too, will live in the fullness of life that grows more grand with each passing day: a garden oasis in your soul where the One Who knows us so well can make everything meaningful, anything beautiful in the noon day sun or under the shade tree too. JJ

Dad & me at his trailer

Be true to who you are

Published on December 12, 2015December 13, 2015 by Jesus is for the Wounded2 Comments

This song will make the point of this post more clear. Have fun as you listen to this upbeat tune from the Beach Boys!

<img class=”alignnone size-full wp-image-4432″ src=”https://jesusisforthewounded.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/beach-boys.jpg” alt=”Beach Boys” width=”480″ height=”360″

“Just like you would to your girl or guy. Be true to your school. Rah rah, shish boom bah!” And Gentle Readers I submit that this also applies to US TOO!

In a recent trip to the Emergency Room (yeah same story, different day) I was received by the male nurse who did my initial evaluation less than a month ago. I remembered the gooley, inappropriate look on his face as he handed me a hospital gown and asked me to change clothes then waited for me to do so right in front of him. He had the gown opened just below his eye level. His eyes were staring at my chest. The expression on his face was blank. And I didn’t buy it one bit.

I really don’t know how I had the presence of mind in the middle of non-stop convulsive episodes and a struggle to breathe to ask him for some privacy. He paused for a moment then looked up at me. “Of course,” he said or something similar and handed me the gown. He pulled the hospital curtain and continued typing on the portable computer just beyond what is also called the “privacy curtain.” My beloved husband, Steve, assisted me in changing my clothing thank you very much! My dignity in an extreme moment of vulnerability was spared. Thank you Lord.

I know that this nurse is a medical professional. He has probably seen thousands of naked bodies and women a lot better endowed than yours truly. In a time of crisis, the medical professional assists a patient in changing clothes as a part of the procedures. Yeah but they are not to do so while acting in an unprofessional manner. He was not going to help me in that moment unless I was dead! Period! The rest of that visit went more cordially and more appropriately. I changed clothing on my own after the assessments and treatments were completed about four hours later, thank you very much.

Flash forward to this past Tuesday night. Mr. un-Wonderful was working the p.m. shift again in the ER and begins his nursing evaluation. I cringe. This time it was a petite, blonde nurse co-worker who asked me to donn a hospital gown. The dude was within arm’s reach of the gurney upon which I am lying. I felt his eyes upon me. In that moment, shaking violently with convulsive episodes and struggling to breathe, I was glad that I had been trained as an occupational therapist and muttered as much. As such I know more ways to dress and undress than the average person with virtually any disability that you can imagine. I laid the gown over my clothing, covering my personhood, and struggled then succeeded to doff my own clothing and get into the approved garb. Steve might have helped some; I don’t know as my eyes were closed. The nurse wasn’t happy but I was. And in doing my own thingy, I remained true to myself.

The rest of the ER visit went as they usually do. After about 750 cc of fluids, IV Rocephin, and a shot of Morphine (my first ever!) I was feeling better. While the second bag of IV fluids diminished the severity of the episodes, the tremulous part of the episodes didn’t stop until after the Rocephin. And that improvement lasted for about a day with barely a tic attack here and there. Yeah God!

Now I am in the aftermath of trying to decide what to do. The prescription Keflex (same cephalosporin drug class as Rocephin) has begun irritating my stomach. While there were findings of a urinary tract infection in the ER, the urine culture was negative. There are still fewer and less intense episodes overall: the hell that plagues my life and keeps me clinging to the Cross of Christ for hours every day. My Doc says to stop the Keflex. I held the herbal Biocidin (anti-microbial) after the ER visit to avoid an interaction with the new prescription drug. What shall I do now? Hmmmmmmm.

I know what my gut is telling me to do: be true to myself. I will pray for the Lord to guide my very wise husband and me. I will strive to be respectful to those trying to care for me with as much courtesy as I can muster in any given situation while protecting my own privacy and integrity when it is all that I have. In due time we will figure all of this out and be much better for the journey the Lord has allowed for His purposes and our good. Of this I am still sure.

And if anyone tries to tear down my alma matter, Mott High School and the mighty Marauders, well then I will be “true to my school” as well. “Go team,” I will shout on high! Lord willing, we are going to win! JJ

Treatment Update

Published on November 23, 2015November 24, 2015 by Jesus is for the WoundedLeave a comment

outnumbered

The concept of negative numbers to me is as mind-boggling as that of anti-matter. If something can be measured on an integer scale then I suppose the values could go up just as easily as they could go down. But when they go below zero, which is nothing, how can anything be less than nothing?

Perhaps the answer depends upon to what subject the scale is being applied. Ha! I would love for my personal scale of symptoms to be at zero. I would love for the intangibles wreaking havoc in my life to be less than nothing as well. But that is just not how it is. This past Fall was very bad, indeed.

More days this past Fall than any other time since I got sick over 4 years ago, did I write “Sick Day” on my calendar as the activity that characterized the entire day. That means that over 8 daytime hours were spent in bed due to an inability to perform any goal-directed activity: about 3 days each week. That stinks. I had three trips to the emergency room when exasperated with noxious symptoms, more variety in the traumatic nature of seizure attack episodes, an increase in triggers of episodes (which were unclear more of the time), and less ability to perform my activities of daily living. Steve had to physically care for me (from toileting to feeding) about four times each week. This year was the first time that I was unable to complete both my Spring and Fall clean-up chores for our gardens. An occasional meal out with Steve has ceased. There even was a blow-up with my Doc in which he suggested I might work with someone else. He admitted that he doesn’t know what to do. Fine. But who else would that be?

So here is my status:

Results of blood tests and stool tests are now pending to identify microbes that may be keeping me from getting well. Flare of systemic Candida is one possibility.
Chronic Lyme disease is back on my radar as a possibility so for these first two items I have started to take an anti-microbial supplement every day.
Mercury burden is significantly reduced yet its role in ongoing illness is still unclear.
Dehydration is a daily battle regardless of how many fluids I ingest or receive via IV.
Continuous daily seizure attacks total 2 to 5 hours every weekday and often increase to 8 hours at least one day per week.
Social isolation continues to be a problem. I am grateful for a weekly Skype Bible/prayer time with fellow bloggers and may add a telephone support group soon.
An extremely restricted diet (sugar/sweetener-free, dairy/mold/gluten-free, low oxalate/copper/meat) only becomes more restrictive as time goes on than more permissive. There are often episodes after eating and I do not know why.
Physical therapy has generally helped to reduce neck and other pain yet the 30-minute convulsive episode at the end of nearly every visit is burdensome. I bring my own sheets and graciously they avoid fragrances around me. They are saints!
Generally I am only able to leave the house for medical appointments, grocery shopping, etc. twice per week, remaining homebound the other days. Recent exceptions: two wakes!
Physical exercises and activities, including my P.T. home exercise program, are rare due the likelihood of triggering episodes.
Travelling, even with our super clean travel trailer, increases sickness too much to bother for awhile. Setting it up takes me 3 weeks and cleaning it afterwards takes 3 weeks as well! Oy vey.

So now my pity party is over and I have nothing left to say. I am praying constantly for the Lord to keep my heart from bitterness yet I fear that I am losing the battle. Crying comes forcefully during the setbacks and I am concerned that it is more a manifestation of illness progressed to my brain than true grief. My husband Steve carries the burden of all of this in his own way. He is a saint and my hero. Thankfully he has a great support network at church and work, his athletic activities, and lots of social outlets to keep him going. Steve is an amazing man surely one after the Lord’s own heart.

I am hopeful that the anti-microbial treatment will help me; sometimes it even stops the episodes. Yeah God. However I am very stressed about the upcoming holidays. Maybe there will be a “Christmas miracle” at our house too? Lord willing, the numbers in my life will improve in a positive direction. In the meantime I will be hanging tough. It’s the best I can do. JJ

senior numbers

Six Deer and a Skunk

Published on October 26, 2015October 26, 2015 by Jesus is for the Wounded1 Comment

We were heading south along a remote section of a newly created road when six deer, one by one, carefully stepped across the road in front of my truck. My husband was driving and proclaimed that he was glad that he saw them just in time to slow down! My proclamation was the awe of the gentle animals crossing our path on a night when the witness of God’s creation in the dark was the last thing from my mind . . .

Yes, we were on the way to the Emergency Room again. After the third night in a row where convulsive episodes escalated with the setting of the sun coupled with unusual right, lower abdominal pain, we decided that our threshold had been reached. The decision to drive off to the ER is never and easy one. Am I really that bad? If I am not dying should I just wait and see a little longer? Now that our sixth trip in four years has come and gone we both agree that having an evaluation in the middle of the night is no worse than the alternative. This trip was unusually unpleasant, however.

We waited almost 2 hours before being escorted back to exam room 22. During that time we witnessed the collapse of a young woman in a wheelchair whose urine bag tube dangled over the edge of the leg rest and two family members looked on with worry. We prayed for them. Moments later one of the several children in the expansive waiting area spontaneously vomited all over her mother and the floor (about 15 feet away from us). The mother and a nurse-type staff person whipped into action including spraying everything with a sure-to-be-aromatic cleaner. In my heart I prayed and in the moment we moved to another section of the ER as I donned my mask so as to avoid the fumes and vomitus aerosols from further exacerbating the convulsive episodes. In the distant section in which we landed was a double-wide chair that made a makeshift bed for my own weakened frame. We later discovered that by the end of our tenure at the hospital there would be EIGHTEEN car accident victims that would filter through the emergency department that night. Lord have mercy!

My own challenge was significant yet still I was filled with gratitude that it was not as bad as those around me. Much later and somewhere after the halfway mark of the IV infusion of sodium chloride, the convulsive episodes subsided. Yeah God! Then came the abdominal CT scan and pelvic ultrasounds. Each were laden with their own versions of torture just for me. I guess I’m just “sensitive,” right? (If I hear that phrase one more time I’m going to scream!) No matter, the noxious symptoms accompanying these tests mixed with tears and additional pain were bonuses upon which I had not planned that night. For example, I had planned ahead and brought my warmest fleece jacket for covering up in between procedures. It just wasn’t enough to counter the cold life-size tongue depressor gurney of the refrigerated CT scanner! Another episode added to the collection. And for me, pelvic ultrasounds are very painful. I was there for abdominal pain, right? Oh yeah. “Just breathe deeply honey. You’re doing great . . . ”

Sometime later the nurse assigned to me returned. She had already navigated through the comfort and pain medication options that I could tolerate then brought the latter in the wrong form for a person whose stomach was empty. I declined. Pain management Plan B never arrived. Later I was sobbing after the ultrasound (US). The US technician activated my call light requiring me to ask for my own pain medication to which a nursing assistant responded. Someone beyond the closed glass doors and pulled curtain decided that a relaxant for the gut would be a good choice for me. Perhaps that was indicated? But the nurse appeared with an 8-inch long syringe including a 4-inch needle that was bigger than those I had become acquainted in my lifetime! I thought surely she would administer it into the IV line. Nope. She started to pull up the sleeve of my hospital gown. With horror I wondered how so many cc’s of fluid from that big of a needle would ever penetrate my deconditioned arms. “It has to be given intramuscularly,” she instructed. “How about my hip?” I replied. And as I turned to reveal the warmth of my skin buried beneath 2 blankets and a flimsy gown I began to freak out.

“No.” “I don’t think the pain is bad enough to endure the pain of an injection like this,” was all I could blurt out. She said “fine” and some trained nursing replies as she discarded the second drug that I wondered if or not would be added to our massive bill that night. She left the room. And then I began to cry and cry and cry. I just couldn’t take the whole ordeal anymore. I wept some more.

Within the hour we were making our way to the all-night cafeteria in that large Regional Medical Center. My beloved, Steve, and I scarfed down more food than we had in a long time! French fries are a great comfort food at 2:30 in the morning! The salads were reasonable too. At last my brain and personhood began to revive.

Steve drove us home into the dark and near-drizzly night. Perhaps he was a bit cautious as we went, knowing the numerous auto accident victims that were our unseen neighbors in their own suites at the hospital. “How bad were they injured?” I wondered. Oh my Lord, please comfort them too. My mind drifted to the half-dozen deer that welcomed us before the bright red lights of the “EMERGENCY” entrance had illuminated our path 4 1/2 hours earlier. I felt so much peace when I had seen them. It was like the Lord was showing me that things were going to be alright. Then again, their crossing was followed by the stench of a skunk! What on earth could that mean? Who knows?

Maybe the deer were “skunked” before they crossed the road. Hunting season has begun dontcha know? Maybe Steve and I we were somehow skunked too. We made our best decision and ventured out to the hospital instead of what most couples do on a Saturday night. And through it all, my beloved Steve was a champ the entire time. He always is, dontcha know?

Some of you know that in about a month the number of years that I have been sick will exceed the number of years that I have been well during my marriage to Steve. When presented with this observation Steve never flinches and repeats his vow of promise to love me forever on either side of the road of life. Sigh.