Just Shy

 Eulogy (Just Shy)

just shy of a funeral for my boy

really, almost

      so close

so much blood

and pain

but we are planning a LIFE here

not a funeral

then why?

why do I breathe in grief

and every exhalation is

       heavy 

with bitter tears

my mouth stretched 

wide to ripping

behind frail hands

        covering 

airless screams

but we are planning a LIFE here

not a funeral

then why?

why do I hear a dirge 

and a keening ululation 

echoing in my newly

      emptied

eviscerated heart

as I lay to rest the boy 

that was before

      before

before he did THIS

selfishly I weep

as I bury that boy

the one who was

who came just shy

really, almost

      so close

so much blood

and pain

and then I turn to embrace

this stranger 

   with his face

with the path

this LIFE before him

that I never dreamed 

or imagined 

or wished

O, God

O, angels attend

as I bury my sweet boy

who is gone

there is room for his lifeless body 

here, in my heart

so much room now

and I then will turn to my son

who is left

who is living

scarred and scared

but alive

We are planning a LIFE here

not a funeral

Stuff

 It's pretty great cruising through the old posts of this blog. So much of the childhoods of my kids. Some of whom are not kids anymore.

My darling Birdie is "Sister Chaos" now, serving a Mission and sharing the Gospel of Christ in Texas. She turns twenty in a few days.... and I will not be making her a cake or a trifle or a Pavlova or anything. For some reason this punctuates how "gone" she is, in a way that didn't even hit when we did this past Thanksgiving and  Christmas without her.  Not gonna lie, I'm a little desolate over it.

My LaLa girl will be an adult (18) two weeks later, and she is graduated from homeschool and working at Target. She drives herself to work and back and takes her little brother to the dollar store as Birdie used to do for her. She's looking at a digital media program at a college down south, and we'll see if either of us survives it come August. A nearly four hour drive away. We shall see.

Sweet Pearl has a drivers license and a FaceTime interview this evening at a local ice cream shop. It will likely be her second job, her first one having been a seasonal gig packing books for shipping over the holidays. She is super private and I'm not allowed to hear her play or sing or be privy to anything she has written, but she WILL watch coming-of-age shows on Netflix with me. Thank you, I'll take it.

Henry is as thirteen as thirteen years old can be. Dude. I'm 5'8" tall and he's several inches taller than I. His voice is already quite deep and yet is STILL cracking and changing daily. He codes and designs games and laughs at the kinds of things that adolescent boys find funny. I wouldn't say he's Beavis and Butthead level, but it IS a bit of a thing.... I'd say the 13 year old dude watchword is "Random" or maybe even "Silly," but I would not rule out "Gross."

I'm working on resurrecting myself here... I find that after 20 years of squashing myself to fit the needs of a growing family and get my day to days, and priorities taken care of, that I cannot recall some portions of "me." I'm betting that some are gone for good and "don't let the door hitcha on the butt on the way out," but some of who I am I think I really need back. I have a few years to track that woman down before a serious crash, but track her down I must.

Brain Death

 When I was a teenager and into my early twenties, I thought, for reals, that adults were numb. Numb to joy AND to pain, just sort of floating through their infinitely dull lives of banal nothing-burgers. I watched them for signs of life and judged them to be barely breathing.

Welp.

Here I am an adult, mom to three teenage girls and one dude who turns thirteen this December... I turn fifty-two in one week... and I think I might DIE of feeling, freaking EVERYTHING. I literally cannot drive alone down the street without having to either mop up the tears from my face to put everything back in order, or stuff down the expression of horror on my face. How on earth did I think the grown ups around me were on auto-pilot to brain death?! Possibly the boundless selfishness of youth?

I am heartbroken.

None of this is what I thought it would be. 

I can barely move, I hurt so much.

Hosanna!!!

Yesterday and today was the bi-annual General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. If it's your thing then you KNOW how amazing and satisfying the past few days have been... if not, then Imma keep that to myself... except. Just. Wow!

Hosanna!!

Also... a bunch of the young missionaries, as well as a married couple of the "senior" missionaries have all been sent home early from the mission fields. There are yet a few missionaries from our Ward stuck in the Ukraine and Peru, and some who are sheltering in place, but these Elders and Sisters who've been forced home have all come back in the past few weeks...

Usually we get to hear from each missionary upon their return, but Coronavirus. Today someone sent out a message on Facebook that we could all drive around the neighborhood honking and waving and calling out to the eight returned missionaries as they sat on their porch or stood in their yard. A time was chosen and signs of welcome and celebration were made with whatever paper or posterboard was on hand and the neighborhood lit UP!

Ya'll. It's almost ridiculous how much I needed that... to see and celebrate from a distance, the honking car horns and ringing bells and clamor of joy. My friends and neighbors and... everything we've been missing... y'know, from a distance!

Block!

Today.

Welp. 

It's Taco Tuesday and I decided that some Del Taco discount tacos are the way to go for dinner. Nevermind that one kid will only eat the burritos, the other kid will only eat a burger and the husband will only eat the fries.... it's Taco Tuesday dang it, and that's what we're calling what I got.

So there is a monster line... cuz "Coronavirus," and drive-thru is all that's available, and everyone likes to eat them some cheap tacos. The line is so long it actually cuts in front of one of the two entrances to the parking lot that serves the restaurant and the little strip mall next to it. I'm appalled at the dude in the black pick up just ahead of me who just pulls forward and blocks the entrance to the parking lot. 

Rude!

So I make sure to leave just enough room for a car to get in or out of the entrance and still be apparent that I'm next in line. Honestly? There are two more cars behind me, so it seems pretty much a no-brainer. I'm being polite.

Anyways, some jerk-head in a white truck pulls in off the street, he's moving slow and it sort of looks like he's gonna just get into the drive-thru line ahead of me, so I honk. Doesn't even look around, and sure enough blocks my way and just cuts the line. 

I just.

I cannot social-distance ENOUGH today. 

I also noticed that no one else behind me left a space after that. Blocked, baby, blocked!

Bug

Sooooo... Rented and streamed the newest movie version of Emma with the kids yesterday afternoon after all the school work was complete. It was delightful, although I'll admit the Mr. Knightly was not my all-time favorite Knightly. 

I literally wept for Emma and Miss Bates, both, at the Box-Hill debacle, and I don't think I've ever cried over any part of that particular Jane Austen tale in either book or movie format. It was just so bitter, her utter selfish fail. It broke my heart, I mean, I KNOW what that is like to feel slightly off and petulant and then to find that all your relationships have been tainted by one or two stupid things you did in a moment of pique.

Sometimes it seems that everything has gone dark. 

Yes, it WAS "badly done," but wow. Ouch. More than the reproof from her good friend or the social censure from the party in general, just knowing that you aren't the person you'd thought yourself all along? Bummer.

Perhaps I'm just weepy. Today I got the notification that my "Women on Weights" weight lifting class just got cancelled. I'd signed up for it a month early just so I'd FOR SURE have a place in the class. I can either get my money back or transfer to a class this September. I cried over that as well, but I guess I'll take the September class.

I think this is somehow the thing that has stung the most, and I'm not really sure why. I suspect it's just the cumulative of all the little losses together, it's obviously not that big a deal. 

Except... the freaking quarantine eating that I've been doing the past few weeks. Ugh. Looks like I'll just have to straighten up and eat right and figure out how to build some muscle on my own. In the middle of a quarantine, stressed to the gills, stuck right next to my kitchen 24/7.

Bug.

Transparency

I used to blog pretty regularly. I look back at it and it kinda blows me away that I was ever that transparent with the things that I thought and felt.

I assure you.... sometimes I'll lose my beans in a conversation and actually unpack some things that I think and feel, but that's the exceptional situation nowadays. There are reasons. Some of it's my fault, some of it's situational and some of it is frankly, cuz people are assholes.

Or perhaps it's cuz I'm the asshole.

Not actually proud of the fact that I've become so tightly zipped. In some ways it's a sign of cowardice.

Maybe I am a coward. 

But. 

I mean, I feel like I've taken a few hits lately. It's understandable that I'd be a little head-shy. 

Plus as a woman in her 50's, while I have a healthy respect for my own ability to think and put information and ideas together, I no longer consider myself as .... more "correct than most"? ... "right"... or even necessarily as "logic based"? as I once did. I have been wrong enough times, I have seen my own tribalism and bias enough times that I'm not in such a fat hurry to make statements and back them up to the death.

Plus given todays culture of ultra-tribalism and name calling... I'm too worn down to even bother most of the time. It exhausts me, the shredding of people I see so many indulging in online.

It's not all bad. A good portion of my blogging in the past was me thinking thoughts and having internal conversations while doing the more banal and mind-numbing parts of being a SAHM of young kids. Cuz really... kids can be entertaining, but they aren't what I'd call stimulating conversationalists. I have less of that kind of mind numbing scut work, and more of homeschooling conversations with teenagers and my one tween dude. Also thinking about homeschooling and DOING homeschooling. Not actually engaged in so much "boring stuff"nowadays.

But I do think about stuff.

Right now I'm thinking about mostly crummy stuff. Like how lonely I am. Like how I miss my walking buddies, my lunch buddies and my temple going buddies. I miss my sisters and my mom. Like how I'm stuck at my place of work for the rest of forever.... with Laundry and effing MATHS whispering little "your failing" sweet nothings in my ear. Constantly.

...and now with YARD WORK jumping in the mix. Last year I failed big time at the yard work thing. I may have killed my peach tree, most definitely I maimed it. I let it get over burdened with peaches and it nearly split in half. Several key branches simply buckled and sheared off. I can hardly look at it for the shame and sorrow of it all. I just cannot even with the garden boxes of endless burrs and sticker weeds. I'm tempted to Round Up nearly everything in that back corner and just start afresh next year.

But I'm also thinking about how much worse off we could be right now. I'm thinking about how much worse off so many people are, what with financial insecurity and health concerns and on and on. 

I am such a dreary schmuck.... I kinda hate myself right now.

I'mma post this anyway, and try again tomorrow.

The New Year

Looking at Instagram and Facebook with all the "sum up 2019 in a word" and "what I learned in 2019" posts.

I have tried on a few words and ideas.... but I really? Just. Can't. Even.

Words like "humiliation" and "rabid"... is "gaslit" a word? Perhaps "graceless?" I'm really tryna re-frame my experiences, and I do actually see the positives of what I went through last year, but so much of the upside has to be explained, put into perspective of how things went down and how I wish I'd been capable of doing it differently.

Like, how I wish I had more faith and grace and less scrabbling fear. This past year has really thrown up my weaknesses in stark relief. I am ashamed.

But.

Is it possible to have PTSD from lousy customer service? I kinda think so, if you do it in conjunction with a life threatening emergency. At the very least how IHC handled my situation, it resuscitated some of the mess I was left with from my abusive marriage to Thatguy. I'm actually not kidding or exaggerating here. Mr. Thatguy was good as gaslighting, and apparently so is IHC. That's Intermountain Health Care (hospitals and doctors) for those who don't live in Utah, and aren't subjected to the ubiquitous hellspawn that is the SelectHeath/IHC incestuous horror. 

...and BTW, I'm naming names now. SeletHealth is the health insurance company that screwed me over. The people reviewing my final appeals actually had the gall to congratulate me on writing up such a complete and easily readable summary of what happened and why. They were so impressed with how much time and attention I'd put into it, and then denied it without even thinking for two seconds. 

Really. What the flip is wrong with people to want to compliment me for obviously pouring time and effort, blood, sweat and tears into a worthless endeavor? Condolences would be more in line.

"You poor sod, what a waste!"

 It's all still here, the freakout, the rabidness, the grief, along with a goodly dose of humiliation. Because I have definitely lost my crap to random employees at IHC in trying to navigate their byzantine system. My only defense is the fact that it's a LOT of money on the line, and IHC has set it up so that you can never deal with the same representative twice, so every phone call is a minimum of two hours out of my life with the constant explaining.

Let's be frank here, however, it wasn't just SelectHealth/IHC. When something medical happens you get hit up for cash by the hospitals, the anesthesiologists, the surgeons, the ER docs, the CT guys... the list goes on and on. In the end, I got a 0% interest credit card and  offered to pay in-full any institution or doc that would give me a 25% or better discount. Had one anesthesiologist AND the ER doctor's billing companies come back on me and try to extort the DISCOUNT out of me a few months later. TWO separate medical billing companies. 

I swear I'm getting better.... and while the details of what this is costing is horrifying, it turns out that we can get it done. I really feel like it's a blessing on the one hand and a heartbreak on the other.... watching the money waltz out of our bank account and family finances. But as the terms of our payment plan is five years at 0% interest, this will be a nice little niggling reminder for the rest of what feels like forever. 

And we've kinda become one of those families. For Christmas we had several anonymous envelopes of cash show up on our doorstep for a total of a $1,000 that we'll for sure be putting in our medical account towards my bills. 

Now THAT I'd call humbling. not humiliating, but humbling. This little low-tech-mini-go-fund-me. I don't know who to thank, so I'll thank my God.

...and that's probably a good start for 2020.

Degree of Difficulty

Pardon my whining over here... but I'm drowning just a bit.

Bariatric patients often go through some crazy crap.... like when you are burning fat, you end up with copious amounts of hormones screaming through your system. Hormones that had been stored in your fat cells, now freed up to cause holy hell on your heart and your mood. 

And depression is a sometimes side effect as well. Thats a fun one to go along with the whole hair-loss bit. 

Honestly, I was looking forward to being lighter so that I could run, but I'm finding that when I'm walking, my left side hurts. Mostly when I'm breathing deeper. But it hurts, I would swear, near my heart. Not thrilled about that, and I'm only hoping now, that it lightens up by this summer... cuz right now running is out of the question. As is anything more strenuous than walking.

I also don't dare to try and figure out what the problem is... I literally cannot afford to go to the doctor. Probably.

I was looking forward to fixing the gigantic hernia above my belly button... but that's out of the question for years, perhaps. Depending on insurance and negotiations with the hospitals. 

I was also looking forward to wearing smaller sizes of clothes... I can afford to purchase second hand clothes only (again, in anticipation of things not going my way financially)... which, whatever. I live near some pretty great Thrift Store options and I'm not particularly proud. I've been a thrift store shopper from way back. I just feel a little dumb in my $5 Walmart bras. And not very sexy.

...and now that I'm feeling a little cuter, and a little more like myself, I've been eye-balling cute Dr. Marten boots. But really, I shouldn't get any even if I can find some cheap online, cuz my freaking FEET are getting smaller. For reals.

I really just hate how all of my free time is now spent making depressing and disheartening phone calls to representatives who don't know jack, and really, all they want to do is "set up a payment plan" and get you off the phone. I hate how I've been yelling at these hapless stooges. And crying. I hate the crying and how freaked out I'm getting over this mess. 

I'm sad and feel betrayed by my "employee advocate" who claimed that the insurance companies call her "the Bulldog" cuz she's so tenacious.  She isn't an advocate... she's a glorified Google. She's a professional "expectation manager." She had the gall to tell me that my main job right now is to heal and be okay and get better, when she knows that really, my main job is to try and mitigate the financial FUBAR that I'm facing. I have time deadlines. She knows that. Now is the time to do THAT.

I hate how it has to be me working through this mess. Not really sure why I'm so resentful of that. It IS my mess. But I am. Resentful. 

I would hope that no one that I care about ever has to navigate these dark waters of insurance and hospital billing, because no one.... and I mean NO ONE knows how to do it, least of all anyone who answers the phones at the Insurance or Hospital financial offices. The story is constantly changing.   

But mostly I hate how I weep at the drop of a hat. And yell. I yell about how stupid the system is and how ignorant and useless the people who answer phones are. I guess when I get a letter in the mail saying if I have questions, to call a certain number, I expect that the person who answers the phone when I call that number to be able to answer my questions. But they rarely can.

And now I'm yelling on my blog.

The degree of difficulty of just simply living right now is beyond me.

Dear "Insurance Company"

The following is the introduction portion of my first Appeal to "Insurance Company"

to reverse their decision to deny the butt-load of bills I have from all the recent medical hoorah.  The following will stand temporarily, with the name of my insurance withheld in case it affects my appeals process. I have just this past Saturday received the denial of my first appeal attempt. I have one more internal, and then a Federal External appeal to go. trust me... if I end up paying, I'll let ya know the name of the *%$#@ers who pulled this crap, and I'll do it loudly.

 We live in a complex age, the age of information. As a matter of fact, in some ways we live in an age of too much information. Google “information overload” and you are immediately overloaded with information: more than 7m hits in 0.05 seconds. Some of this information is interesting: for example, that the phrase “information overload” was popularised by Alvin Toffler in 1970. Some of it is mere noise. But it seems certain that there is too much information for the regular citizen to be aware of everything that is pertinent to their lives.

  Civil liberties lawyer Harvey Silverglate estimates that the average person unknowingly breaks at least three Federal criminal laws every day. Federal crimes!
If you use an iPhone or an Android based smart phone, then you have likely on the regular acceded to all sorts of things that you may not be aware of when you “agreed” to the terms and conditions just to be able to activate the device. Most people don't read what they are agreeing to, they simply  assume that there is nothing untoward or unusual in what they are agreeing to. They assume that they would hear through their fellow citizens if there was anything too burdensome or bizarre.

  When it comes to insurance, I have a basic understanding of what would and would not be covered. When I wasn't sure if Bariatric Surgery would be covered, I called the phone number on the back of my "Insurance Company" card and had a conversation with a representative. Before the conversation occurred, I was informed that the call would be recorded, and apparently it was. I mention this because it is important to know that my recollection of the conversation lines up with what was said, and more importantly what was not said in that recording. I assume you, the reader, will look up and listen to that call the same as has already been done by my client representative for Blahblahblah Insurance. You will hear me ask about my coverage for Bariatric Surgery and discover that it was not covered. You will hear me then ask if went the self-pay route, whether any of what I paid would be able to be applied to my deductible. I was told “no,” but nothing past that. Not one single mention of the very pertinent information that any and every complication from any self pay procedure or surgery would also not be covered by Selecthealth until a year had passed.

  You will hear me weeping in disappointment and frustration by the end of the call, and it is possible that the representative didn't want to give me any more bad news in that phone call. 

I can assure you, I would much rather have heard the full facts in that phone conversation, as opposed to when I heard them, looking at the first denials of coverage of hospital bills, after the fact.

  I was well aware of possible complications to the Gastric Sleeve surgery, I did after all, do my homework. In addition to doing my due diligence, I had eight years earlier, watched as an acquaintance had the VSG surgery, and found herself a little over a week later in the ICU for a month, with a leak. Her leak was especially bad, and very nearly killed her, and had she not had insurance to cover the bills, it would have ruined her family financially.

  Because of the failure of "Insurance Company" to inform me of the grave financial risk I was taking, when I asked them about self pay surgery in the phone call,  I made a decision I would not otherwise have done.

  It did not occur to me that such a policy was a possibility, and because of that lack of knowledge, I made my decision in good faith, thinking I had the best information from "Insurance Company". Like any modern American I trusted that the insurance company with whom I had a relationship and reasonable expectation of fair treatment, would have informed me of such a huge financial risk when I was actually asking questions about it on the phone.

  Because of the informational vacuum in which I made my decisions, I did go and get the Gastric Sleeve surgery on October 22, 2018. Interestingly, had I waited just a few months, I would have been covered by "Insurance Company", as apparently January first of 2019 the policy of not covering complications to surgeries not covered by "Insurance Company" has changed.

   The point to my appeal, is that even though it is apparently in my policy that "Insurance Company" will refuse to cover any and every complication for the Sleeve surgery that I’d had done, that I was treated unfairly in that this vital information was withheld from me. There was simply no other reasonable way for me to know of that policy if "Insurance Company" refuses to inform me of it when I call and actually ask for information about self pay bariatric surgery.

  If that is something that cannot be done, then I request that the new policy as of January first, of covering complications, please be extended two months to retroactively cover my situation.

Before, During and After....

In the hospital with Birdie before I got the Nasojejunal feeding tube.

The freaking tube.

The second drain and the fun of medical adhesive allergies! Open sores along the edges.




One regular sized hand and one fat hand from the IV! It actually took only 36 hours till I had matching hands again.

Christmas Eve with my beautiful girls... Everything is gone but the drain on the side you cannot see.

The "before" pic is from June of 2016... the "after" is today. It's been a little over three months and 60 lbs lost... although I think it's 75 lbs less than the "before" pic.

The Long and Dark Nights

Here is the goofy thing about the time I spent in the hospital and was laid out on the couch in the family room, feeling sick and generally not having much fun.... oddly, most of the time I was okay.

By that I mean, I wasn't too afraid and I wasn't too freaked out most of the time, even though what was going on with my body was painful, scary and freaky! Please to note, I say most of the time, because I am a human being, and that's how most humans roll!

I can tell you, I am not, nor will I likely ever be one of those people of whom is said at their funeral, "they never complained or were down!" Seriously, I hear that about folks who die of cancer and I just don't buy it. Pain sucks, and hospitals are scary and frustrating and if you ever hear that said about me feel free to call out whoever says it! I assure you, it won't be Dadguy saying that kinda crap. He knows me too well!

BUT.

The thing about what happened to me. I had prayed about getting the surgery before going, and received a very strong and clear answer to go and do it... right then- when I did, and right- there where I did. I don't often get that clear of answers, and when I do, it's usually a clear "NO!" So I was pretty sure that I was going to be just fine...

...and then when I wasn't just fine, I was pretty sure that I'd be just fine... eventually.

This knowledge opened up some very interesting doors for me. Especially amazing was what went on during the long and dark nights.

Up to this point the only nights I'd spent at a hospital were either for my daughter, Pearl, or in recovery from giving birth to my three girls, or the  C-section for the Boy-o. For Pearl I wasn't the one in pain or undergoing procedures. For the birth recoveries, that was simple, and frankly about five seconds after giving birth all four times I would feel so much better, I could dance a jig... stitches, IV pole and all! 

Okay...probably not the c-section. They dosed me up on morphine and I was on the nod for a few hours after the procedure! But the point is, I FELT pretty good!

The room I was in on the surgical unit was ridiculously tiny, there was really no place for Dadguy to stay, and I'd have sent him home even if there'd been room for him. The kids needed the continuity of having him home at night, and he needed to sleep. I knew enough to know that the nurses would be in multiple times a night, not great for getting rest. Hospitals are just not a great place to try and heal! Plus I was very sick and very weak, I needed to get as much rest as I possibly could.

So I was alone during the nights. 

Only I kinda wasn't. How to explain what went on when the lights went out? It was amazing! I was surrounded by Beings? Spirits? I was ministered to by these beings, watched over and prayed over by them. I knew my Granny only when she called me "dolly." There was also a very tall, raw-boned man with greying brownish hair who sat on my bed next to me. Those were the only ones that I could tell individually, but there were many others there, and they comforted me and helped to understand that this was all okay. I could tell they weren't mortal people, they didn't have regular bodies, but they were humans nonetheless. I could see and sense them moving around the room.

That first night in the hospital it began, and it continued every night, even when I went home. I was also having visions of traveling over the earth. I saw mountains and oceans from a birds eye view, but I was unafraid. It was the most natural thing to be traveling the way that I was and seeing snowy valleys and high peaks, to sense the living creatures, to sense the hibernating trees and plants. There was a sense of glory and awe along with the visions.

You may be thinking to yourself.... niiiiice! That musta been some good drugs! But I only ever took a single, two hour round of the strong stuff once a night four of those nights when I was in the hospital and never at home. The visions and the visits went on for hours.

Whatever I am supposed to learn and experience from this I hope I've done my part. But I can tell you for sure, I am grateful for the tender mercies I was shown. I don't think I will ever forget the feelings of peace and wonder of those long nights...

Now I'm starting to feel better, and it's on to the next trial and challenge. How the flying flippity are we gonna pay for all this!?! Seriously... if y'all are the praying type, pray for a miracle for the Chaos Family Finances! Who knows what might happen? 

I most def believe in miracles!

Where I Have Been?

Soooo.... last October 22nd I went to TJ, Mexico, and had a gastric sleeve procedure done. I'm not ashamed of it, I know why I chose to do what I did... but I did want to keep it more or less private. Some of my immediate family knew about it before hand, but that's about it.

I did my homework and had it done at Pompeii Surgical and I had an amazing experience! The staff, the doctors and the other patients were so fabulous. I felt great, I felt strong and when I came home on the 25th, I was tired but happy. That lasted till around Halloween.

I started running fevers with crazy-bad sweating, and had massive chills where I couldn't get warm and was literally shaking violently. I noticed on my apple watch that my heart rate was sky-high (tachycardia) but my fevers never got any higher than 101.

Finally on November 5th, after consulting with Pompeii, they told me that even though my fevers weren't high, that I should go in to the doctors. I got a doctors appointment at my PCP office and they tested me for influenza and a UTI. After both tests came back negative they sent me to the local hospital to get a CT scan... and there they found a huge abscess in my chest.

Privacy was now over.

I had a leak. It happens. Not often, but it happens and it sucks.

Spent the next 5 days in the hospital sick out of my mind having horrible things happen to me. I promise you, you do NOT want to know... just be aware that after one of the procedures I came back to my room and told poor Dadguy that I would rather die than ever have to undergo that procedure again.

Finally, weak and sick with a feeding tube down my nose, a stent in my stomach, and a drain coming out of my left side I was sent home to try and heal. Less than a week later the drain that was supposed to be draining the abscess failed, so they pulled it out hoping that it would be okay. It wasn't. A few days after the drain came out, the course of antibiotics was done. Less than a week later I was back in the hospital with an abscess possibly even a little larger than the first.

That procedure? The most horrible one I'd rather die than endure again? Yup. I had to do it again.

I spent all of November sick, either in the hospital or sleeping on the couch set-up in the family room,  that Dadguy had arranged for my convalescence.  I spent all of December sick, though a week or so into the month, after a CT scan, and an x-ray as well as the material they pulled out of my abscess showed that nothing was getting from my stomach to the abscess (though whether that was because the leak was healed or just that the Stent was doing it's job was unknown) the doctor started me on a liquid diet. He had to pull the nasojejunal tube (feeding tube down my nose) because I couldn't drink with it in; too nauseating. That was the first relief I had. I could all of a sudden talk, and read, and drink!

The next relief I had was December 20th they pulled the stent out via endoscopy. Oh! Sweet relief! That thing freaking HURT! Imagine a steel cage stapled into the lining of your stomach constantly holding the upper part of your stomach open, constantly pressing and burning inside your chest.

On December 26th, after nearly a week of eating and drinking (still mostly liquid diet) and no change in the material from the drain in my side, they pulled the drain. All of a sudden I could shower without a huge plastic sheet covering the drain site, I could sleep on my side (sort of) and the agony of the drain was over. If you think I'm being over dramatic, perhaps I should explain that I developed an allergy to medical adhesive a week after the second drain was places, and I had open sores all along where the drain was taped down. They had to remove the adhesive, meaning the drain was being primarily held in my body by a suture where the drain went into my side, along with the interior suture. That last week it was constantly shifting and pulling at the suture in my skin.

Also, it ought to be said that outside of the hospital there was no relief other than Tylenol, as the bariatric surgery meant no ibuprofen or NSAIDs, and I cannot handle most of the opiates that they are willing to prescribe (they make me sick), and the stronger stuff I wouldn't take even if they would prescribe it to me!

That Friday morning, two days later, I woke up pissing blood. Not a happy day, but I called my PCP and crossed my fingers that the simplest explanation was the most reasonable explanation. Both Dr. Google and I assumed I had a UTI. LOL! Nope... apparently I had one bugger of a yeast infection. Shocker, what with the two months plus of antibiotics I'd subjected my body to.

The next weekend, January 5th, I finished the last of my antibiotics and I settled in to wait. I've frankly, been half convinced that I would be back in the hospital with yet another abscess and yet another chance to experience the fun of being stabbed in the guts while still conscious. 

Today I finally dare to think that I really am done. Please, oh please let me be done. I mean... other than healing and recovering from two months of illness and loss of muscle tone. I guess there is all of that!

List of things I missed while in the hospital both times.... Pearls 13th Birthday, Henry's 10th Birthday, T'Amy's wedding. Blah!

*Up next... pictures of "Before, During and After"... "The Crazy Business That Went On During The Dark Nights".... also the continuing saga of "How The Flying Crap Are We Gonna Pay For This?!"

Snow Therapy

Two years ago I went to a therapist for the specific purpose of addressing the panic attacks I get around icy and snowy driving. It had gotten to the point where I was obsessively checking my weather app to monitor the forecast and temperature. I would hyperventilate (quietly as I could) when on the road in any kind of messy weather.

I did all this work with the therapist and in writing.... and then last winter it never really snowed. Like, at all. This year hardly at all either. So, I'm not 100% sure how much I got out of it. 

I don't check the weather nearly as often and not as obsessively... but I do tend to check several times a day when snow is somewhere in the 10 day forecast. I justify myself because the kids want some snow so bad. I'm keeping track on their behalf. 

Riiiight.

But if I'm honest, I'm specifically looking for snow or stormy weather forecast on Tuesdays, the night that Birdie drives herself to Salt Lake City for her guitar lessons and band practice. I'm delighted when I see snow forecast on weekends. Like, maybe we can get all the snowing done with on days where no one has to go anywhere.

Blogging is some good writing. I'm glad to do it when I can make myself do it nowadays... but daaaang, the writing I did for therapy. I'm using the back half of the notebook I used to write in as a food journal. I'm keeping track of calories and protein etc. I was thinking of snow this morning, and how nutty I probably still am, so I re-read what I'd written down two years ago.

Reduced me to tears within the first two pages. That stuff is the real business. Pure poison and pure truth. 

Wow.

Medical Cannabis

Sooooo... I'm about to get political and Utah-specific. 

 I'm still trying to wrap my head around what my Church has done/allowed to happen in regards to a Proposition that is going on the ballot to be voted on by Utahns in November. Proposition 2 is a long fought, and in my opinion, relatively conservative Act to legalize Medical Cannabis for Patients in Utah.  What my church has done is incredibly confusing and demoralizing to me on so many fronts, I'm almost at a loss as to how to write a blog post about it.

But here goes.

My Church has sent out an email specifically "urging" all members to vote NO on the Proposition. 

I find myself in the interesting position of the fact that my husband and I give cashy-money to Libertas Institute, the think tank lobbying group that helped Prop2 become what it is. We donate to them every month. I agree with darn near everything that has come out of the institute, and most of the things that Connor Boyack (head of Libertas) has done or taught. I have, in fact, paid tuition for three of my kids to take a class he taught last fall at a homeschool co-op. A class on Systems of Government. 

Connor has, along with a few State legislators, tried to get a medical cannabis bill passed for over four years. Efforts which have been stymied for years by a combination of elected representatives refusing to move on it, and the interference by the lobbying arm of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. My church.

The refusal of the Legislative body to move is extremely frustrating, especially since polls indicate that a substantial majority of Utahns support legalizing medical cannabis. Not just legalizing pot for recreational use, but only legalizing it for doctors (and only the doctors who also essentially have the right to also prescribe opioids) can have the ability to prescribe ("recommend"is the term because Cannabis is still illegal at the Federal level) cannabis as a therapeutic drug.  To be clear... this is not smoking pot. Smoking it is STILL illegal.

Look, I believe in personal liberty.

I come at this from the angle of a person who is a self-described drug addict/alcoholic in recovery. Coming up on 21 years clean and sober this October 7th, thankyouverymuch! I come at this as a person who has personal experience with the chemicals in question who now adheres to her Church's code of health and eschews use of any and all mind-altering substances, plus coffee, tea, and tobacco. 

I believe that keeping my faith's health code, the Word of Wisdom, is a great idea. But I also believe that making drugs, and I mean pretty much any and all drugs, illegal, makes the abusers of the drugs into criminals, and once criminal, they become our American Untouchables. It is hard to help someone who has to conceal their disease for fear of imprisonment. I see the USA's "War on Drugs" as a hellish travesty, one continuous, vile, overreaching  "unintended consequence."

I come at this as a person who has seen first hand the disaster that Opioid addiction (prescription primarily) has had on people in this valley as a Facilitator for the Substance Abuse Recovery Program of The Church Of Jesus Christ Of Latter Day Saints. I have seen the trainwreck it is for faithful members. 

I've seen this first hand through the struggles of my late Brother in Law. Every single struggle that man faced was exacerbated, not helped by his "criminal" status.

Two years ago I lost my nephew to Heroin overdose.  Honestly, this is a tender point for me. Please know that I'm fully aware of the costs of addiction. FULLY aware, and yet I fail to see how my nephew being a criminal in his drug use helped him one tiny iota.

I come from a medical history of rampant ignorance and harm done to me via medical doctors prescribing FDA "safe"medications and procedures to me that have trashed and permanently maimed my body. I've had surgeries that were complete cluster-cusses that ended up with medical doctors  giving me the equivalent of "erm, I dunno." I started far too late in trusting myself. I gave far too much trust to medical "science."  

On Friday of last week the church that I belong to sent out an email via their official church emailing lists, on official church email letterhead, so to speak. When I got the email I went into a tailspin. I desire to be obedient, and I desire to follow the word of my God as revealed through His ordained Prophet.... 

For me this is important. Of utmost importance. 

In the Book of Mormon, there is a story about a people who were bloodthirsty and violent. They thought almost nothing of murdering people, and they didn't believe in Christ, or that He (this was in approx 90 BC) would come. They were the enemy of the Nephite peoples, who believed in Christ.  The Lord sent missionaries to the Lamanites, and whole kingdoms of Lamanites were converted to Christ during some amazing and faith-filled events.  These people, in turning to the Savior and repenting, had a sore and difficult time of repenting of their many murders. So much so, that they literally buried their weapons of war.

They buried those weapons so far down, in the depths of the earth and in their Christian hearts, that they didn't pick them up to defend themselves or their families when an army of unbelieving Lamanites fell upon them. These believers allowed themselves to be slain by the sword as they knelt in a field. Over a thousand lost their lives that day, but an even larger number of the unbelieving enemy threw down their swords and joined them. These people who refused to pick up weapons, even in their own defense became known as the Anti-Nephi-Lehis. 

There are even more incredible stories about what happened to these people in the writings of Alma in the Book of Mormon, but my point here is that in some ways I consider myself an Anti-Nephi-Lehite. I have buried my weapons of war, and like them, I fear if I ever take them up again, I will never survive the repentance.  I dare not return to my weapons of war. My disobedience. My self will.  My favorite drugs. My favorite sins.

So here I am.... 

You should know also, that in recent years I have had a serious struggle, and I wrestle with certain points of doctrine that frankly, hurt my heart and confuse me. I have been wrestling for over three years and have found no rest, nor understanding past the answers that I have received to my prayers. The answers have been essentially "it is as it is, sorry you don't understand, and sorry you don't like it."

I am used to answers like this.

When I got the email, I was sure that this was another case of the above. As I wept bitterly, I hit my knees and prayed for guidance because everything in my mind and my heart says YESYESYES to Prop 2. I hit my knees, willing to be wrong. Willing to vote NO if that was the Lords will. Heck, the Church and the Gospel does all sorts of thing that I cannot wrap my head around, that hurt my heart even. I am okay with obedience. I WANT to be obedient. In many ways I must be obedient. 

I asked with a broken heart and received a personal revelation that I must vote YES on Prop2.  The answer was unmistakeable and unequivocal that I MUST. 

I know that the Holy Ghost requires me to vote what I know to be true, and I know it the same way that I know President Nelson is the Prophet of God on the earth, and the same way that I also know the the Church is for reals the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. His Church. 

I figured that this was enough. This was my answer, and only MY answer.  I sat in discomfort for several days before I finally asked if I was expected to say out loud and publicly what I have had revealed to me.

After all, I'm not a prophet. I certainly DON'T receive revelation for anyone but myself and those I have stewardship over.... basically my family. Plus I really don't want to make a target of myself. But I am seeing people all over the internet essentially saying that the email that was sent basically means that it is prophetic revelation from President Russel M. Nelson himself.

I don't believe that.

Why would I have received the answer that I did if it was?  I can hear people now, trying to convince me that I am wrong, or that I was mistaken in my answer. 

No. I know what I know, and I know the means by which I know it. 

It became clear, to my great discomfort, that I was required to speak.

But take my word for it? Please don't. I claim nothing past my stewardship, and I have zero stewardship over you.... but I do plead for you to do your homework. 

Here is the legal "analysis"  that the Church has based it's stance upon.

Here is the rebuttal.

plus more information.

This whole cluster-cuss is made even more complex by the fact that now the church apparently supports Medical Cannabis, but only if certain impossible standards are met. What exactly does this mean for faithful LDS members in one of the other 30 States that have legalized (and far more liberally, I might add) medical Cannabis, and are taking doctor recommended medication that contains marijuana? Does this mean they should stop? 

So as far as I can tell, my church has been the victim of some very poor information. Hey, back in the day they thought that Hitler was doing some pretty great stuff.... before the truth was discovered. Wayyyy back in the day, Joseph Smith practically bankrupted the Church and many members through his uninspired, non-prophetic and crappy money management. Not everything is Revelation. I'm sorry that they moved in the way that they have. 

I'm positive that this (email and stance of the Church) was not prophetic, yet if the Prophet does, in fact, come forward with an actual statement I will revisit the whole thing.

There. I have done what I was asked to do... If you choose to comment, please keep it above the waist. You should also know that I am COMPLETELY uninterested in anything that smacks of bashing my faith, my Church or my Prophet. I don't ask you to believe me, or agree with me, or vote any particular way. But if you are a member of the Restored Church, I would hope at least, that you'd take some time to educate yourself and ask the Lord your God. People are on the line here. Suffering and sick people who can be helped. 

Full disclosure.... I don't have a dog in this race. I have NO medical issues that Cannabis can help, neither do I have any family members who will be helped by having access to medical cannabis.