Seriously?! Where did January go? This right here is exactly why I needed my word of the year to be PURPOSE.
Long story short, I choose one word each year. Lots of thought and prayer goes into my decision. And then I try to let that word guide my year. I never know how it's going to play out; there are always interesting surprises.
My word for 2017 is purpose.
It can be tough to explain why I choose the word I do. Sometimes it's totally clear. Other times it's pretty ethereal. Usually writing it out helps. Let's see what happens this time.
People who know me, people who are close to me, know my life is never boring. That's the nice way to put it. My life is often quite complicated and difficult. There are so many areas of my life that go nuts on a regular basis like a drop of water on a hot, greased skillet.
I often feel like I'm dancing on a moving floor. Things are rarely predictable. Try as I might, I rarely feel like I have my footing. Like I'm running my own life.
But it's been worse lately. My life has definitely been running me. A lot! Flinging me around like a dog with a rag doll in its teeth. And I feel it.
I've spent way too much time lately feeling in tatters. Like my dress is shredded, I'm missing a shoe, and one of my eyes is hanging loosely from the socket. (Still a rag doll metaphor. Not blood and gore.)
I'm running around putting out fires. I'm doing this or that because I HAVE to. I'm the flotsam and jetsam on the ocean, flung wherever the waves take me.
It's not a happy way to live. It's not peaceful at all. And peace is always my main goal for my life.
So as I pondered my word, my heart went this direction. Just as a feeling. A sense of what I wanted. But without the words. And then the word came. Purpose. I need purpose.
It's not that I need purpose in my life, overall. I have that. I have oodles of that.
I need purpose in the moments. In the days. In the plans. In the relationships. In the decisions of my life.
I need to steer my life.
We're two weeks into February. I wanted to write this on January first. Guess how well I'm doing so far.
I do have moments. I've chosen to dedicate my runs (or hikes or whatever) to people in my life. Once in a while, someone will be on my mind and in my heart. So I take them with me when I run. Not always, but frequently. When the run gets hard, I remember whom I'm running for and why. Usually gratitude floods over me in that moment. How blessed I am that I can run!
And there've been other moments. Moments I remember to stop. Think. Choose.
But not nearly enough.
Today was kind of an over-the-top kind of day. I was slammed on all sides. Stress. Stress. A little more stress. Some anxiety. And how about some STRESS? Some irrational demands. Some innocent demands hitting on top of everything else. Text. Text. Text. Phone call. Phone call. Phone call. Request. Request. Request. All day long. And some gut-wrenching struggles for people I love, people I need to take care of.
I was not in control for much of the day. And then I was. And it was better.
And tomorrow it will start all over again.
Lots of opportunities for growth. Lots of chances to find my purpose.
Showing posts with label Peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peace. Show all posts
Monday, February 13, 2017
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Monotasking - Oh my gosh, it's so hard!
I was once talking to a woman who said she admired my ability to multitask so well. She just didn't work this way. She was only able to work on one thing at a time, focus on one thing at a time.
Many thoughts went through my mind as she said this:
- What would it be like to just work on/think about one thing at a time?
- I wish I could think about just one thing at a time and shut my brain up a bit.
- I bet she could multitask if she worked at it; it's a skill just like anything else and can be learned.
- How can she get anything done by working on just one thing at a time?
See? Even in that second that followed her comment my brain was jumping around.
According to my Buddhist meditation DVD, that's called the monkey mind. It's part of our nature. And the way to peace is to learn to calm it.
So why is it so hard to focus on just one thing at a time?
I think a big part of it is that our society rewards multitasking. Many of us struggle with I'm-busier-than-you syndrome. I know I've bought into this way of thinking. Busy is good. Busy is productive. Busy is something to be proud of and wave around like a flag of accomplishment.
How many times have you written a Facebook post that says "I have to do this and this and this" - which is partly complaining and partly bragging? How many times have you been talking to someone and done the same thing? How many times have you heard someone rattle off their list (in the same feigned griping way) and felt like you had to match or top it by complaining of your day? Or felt like you couldn't talk about your day because you only did one thing or didn't have anything really to do that day?
Seriously, when did having a light schedule come to mean you were lazy? When did a day of peaceful rest or strolling through the park or reading for hours become something to be ashamed of? When did doing one thing instead of five things come to mean you were a slacker? Why is chewing gum and walking considered more intelligent than just walking?
Studies have shown that monotasking is more efficient (but since I can't reference any of them I'm not going to talk about that anymore).
I'm going to talk about the value I see in doing one thing at a time. Seriously think about it for a minute. Just. One. Thing.
Now, if you're a reader you might do this already. I know I can't do anything else while I read. Except laundry. Or the dishes. Or run errands and then come back to it. Each of these interruptions makes our reading less efficient. It takes us a few minutes to get back into what we're reading. We lose the cohesiveness of the content. And if it's a story, we pull ourselves out of the moment the characters are having. In my mind, that's a less enjoyable story.
All this is to say I believe monotasking is more efficient and more accurate (okay, so I'm going to talk about its efficiency a bit). If we jump around from thing to thing to thing the power of focus on just that one thing is lost. There's a rev up factor to most tasks. If we have to rev up again and again because we did something else in between, it takes that much longer.
And if we're giving something our full attention it will be more accurate. Do you think your taxes will be more accurate if you're concentrating on that task alone or if you're having a conversation while you're working on them? Is your driving safer when you concentrate on that task alone or when you're also texting or talking on the phone or arguing with someone in the car? Would you like your surgeon to focus just on his task at hand while operating on you or would you like him to also be consulting on another case with another doctor as he cuts into your body?
I believe monotasking allows us to enjoy the full flavor of a moment. If you glance at the sunset as you drive to the store and note how pretty it is, that's nice. But if you pull over and take a few moments to just examine the sunset, the multiple shades of multiple colors, the wonder of the earth, the feeling it gives you, isn't that a different experience? A better experience? Imagine how this would change your experience at church. At the temple. With your spouse.
And that brings me to my next point. Imagine what it does for the person you're with when you pay full attention to them. When you're not also playing on whatever device is at hand. When you're not checking text messages. When you're not answering calls. How do they feel when you are just with them, completely?
Imagine the stillness it can bring. Not just physical stillness, although I would argue some of us need a bit more of that. But the mental stillness. The emotional stillness. The spiritual stillness. To just be in that moment.
I heard a podcast many years ago that has stuck with me. It was a Quaker woman. She talked about how the Quakers strive to devote each action to God. When they are sweeping, they are only sweeping. And they are doing it for God.
Maybe you have no intention of sweeping for God, but what if all you did was sweep? What if your brain weren't running all over the place trying to solve the problems of your life? What if you focused on that moment instead of just rushing through to get to the next chore? What if you focused on the sound of the broom on the floor? The feeling of the muscles in your arms and hands maneuvering the broom? The sight of the cleanliness that emerges as you sweep? What if you just swept in stillness?
I think even sweeping could be rejuvenating that way.
And that brings me to my final point. I believe monotasking can be rejuvenating. I believe it relieves our minds and bodies of the constant back and forth that is so draining. I believe it lets our muscles relax a bit, both mental and physical. I believe it's good for us.
And, yes, this was a long way to describe mindfulness. A powerful way to live life (even just moments). A way to soothe depression, anxiety, stress, high blood pressure, and many other struggles. A way to feel more peace.
Because couldn't we all use a little more peace?
But just because I believe it's good for us doesn't mean I'm good at it. I'm working on it. I'm still often uncomfortable doing just one thing at a time. I still find myself listening to an audiobook while cleaning the house. I still find myself playing solitaire while watching something on Netflix. I still have trouble calming my monkey mind. But I'm trying.
Many thoughts went through my mind as she said this:
- What would it be like to just work on/think about one thing at a time?
- I wish I could think about just one thing at a time and shut my brain up a bit.
- I bet she could multitask if she worked at it; it's a skill just like anything else and can be learned.
- How can she get anything done by working on just one thing at a time?
See? Even in that second that followed her comment my brain was jumping around.
According to my Buddhist meditation DVD, that's called the monkey mind. It's part of our nature. And the way to peace is to learn to calm it.
So why is it so hard to focus on just one thing at a time?
I think a big part of it is that our society rewards multitasking. Many of us struggle with I'm-busier-than-you syndrome. I know I've bought into this way of thinking. Busy is good. Busy is productive. Busy is something to be proud of and wave around like a flag of accomplishment.
How many times have you written a Facebook post that says "I have to do this and this and this" - which is partly complaining and partly bragging? How many times have you been talking to someone and done the same thing? How many times have you heard someone rattle off their list (in the same feigned griping way) and felt like you had to match or top it by complaining of your day? Or felt like you couldn't talk about your day because you only did one thing or didn't have anything really to do that day?
Seriously, when did having a light schedule come to mean you were lazy? When did a day of peaceful rest or strolling through the park or reading for hours become something to be ashamed of? When did doing one thing instead of five things come to mean you were a slacker? Why is chewing gum and walking considered more intelligent than just walking?
Studies have shown that monotasking is more efficient (but since I can't reference any of them I'm not going to talk about that anymore).
I'm going to talk about the value I see in doing one thing at a time. Seriously think about it for a minute. Just. One. Thing.
Now, if you're a reader you might do this already. I know I can't do anything else while I read. Except laundry. Or the dishes. Or run errands and then come back to it. Each of these interruptions makes our reading less efficient. It takes us a few minutes to get back into what we're reading. We lose the cohesiveness of the content. And if it's a story, we pull ourselves out of the moment the characters are having. In my mind, that's a less enjoyable story.
All this is to say I believe monotasking is more efficient and more accurate (okay, so I'm going to talk about its efficiency a bit). If we jump around from thing to thing to thing the power of focus on just that one thing is lost. There's a rev up factor to most tasks. If we have to rev up again and again because we did something else in between, it takes that much longer.
And if we're giving something our full attention it will be more accurate. Do you think your taxes will be more accurate if you're concentrating on that task alone or if you're having a conversation while you're working on them? Is your driving safer when you concentrate on that task alone or when you're also texting or talking on the phone or arguing with someone in the car? Would you like your surgeon to focus just on his task at hand while operating on you or would you like him to also be consulting on another case with another doctor as he cuts into your body?
I believe monotasking allows us to enjoy the full flavor of a moment. If you glance at the sunset as you drive to the store and note how pretty it is, that's nice. But if you pull over and take a few moments to just examine the sunset, the multiple shades of multiple colors, the wonder of the earth, the feeling it gives you, isn't that a different experience? A better experience? Imagine how this would change your experience at church. At the temple. With your spouse.
And that brings me to my next point. Imagine what it does for the person you're with when you pay full attention to them. When you're not also playing on whatever device is at hand. When you're not checking text messages. When you're not answering calls. How do they feel when you are just with them, completely?
Imagine the stillness it can bring. Not just physical stillness, although I would argue some of us need a bit more of that. But the mental stillness. The emotional stillness. The spiritual stillness. To just be in that moment.
I heard a podcast many years ago that has stuck with me. It was a Quaker woman. She talked about how the Quakers strive to devote each action to God. When they are sweeping, they are only sweeping. And they are doing it for God.
Maybe you have no intention of sweeping for God, but what if all you did was sweep? What if your brain weren't running all over the place trying to solve the problems of your life? What if you focused on that moment instead of just rushing through to get to the next chore? What if you focused on the sound of the broom on the floor? The feeling of the muscles in your arms and hands maneuvering the broom? The sight of the cleanliness that emerges as you sweep? What if you just swept in stillness?
I think even sweeping could be rejuvenating that way.
And that brings me to my final point. I believe monotasking can be rejuvenating. I believe it relieves our minds and bodies of the constant back and forth that is so draining. I believe it lets our muscles relax a bit, both mental and physical. I believe it's good for us.
And, yes, this was a long way to describe mindfulness. A powerful way to live life (even just moments). A way to soothe depression, anxiety, stress, high blood pressure, and many other struggles. A way to feel more peace.
Because couldn't we all use a little more peace?
But just because I believe it's good for us doesn't mean I'm good at it. I'm working on it. I'm still often uncomfortable doing just one thing at a time. I still find myself listening to an audiobook while cleaning the house. I still find myself playing solitaire while watching something on Netflix. I still have trouble calming my monkey mind. But I'm trying.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
A Year of Creating
2014. It's almost over. Where did it go? And so fast. It's done and gone so fast.
And what do I have to show for it?
I love to look back on the year and see what's changed. What did I get done that I wanted to and what plans fell in the gutter? I especially love this look back since I've started choosing ONE WORD to guide my year (explained here).
Last year my word was CREATE. I had so many great plans, while still leaving things open to the natural flow of my life and whatever the world would bring my way. Some of my plans came to fruition. Others, not so much.
I wanted to draw more. I did, but not as much as I had planned.
I wanted to create the yard I'd been dreaming of. I made progress, but not as much as I had planned (thank you hysterectomy).
I wanted to make my room a haven. I did really well at this (although maintenance is tricky).
I had a list of words as part of my plan. Some with obvious meaning, others more ethereal. I created a vision canvas to help guide me. I hung it on my closet door and referred to it often, to just kind of check in with myself.
I wanted to create:
- peace
- stability
- strength
- refuge
- dragonflies*
- healing
- haven
- space
- calm
- wellness
- sanctuary
- satisfaction
- fortitude
- oasis
- happiness
- gargoyles*
- garden
- structure
- dragons*
- wholeness
- atonement
- shelter
- freedom
- health
- joy
- self
- focus
- safety
- divinity
- dreams
- escape
- order
*I didn't want to create dragonflies, gargoyles, or dragons; I wanted to incorporate them into my life. I love them in a magical way. They sing to my heart. I did learn to draw a basic dragonfly that I'm happy with. I'm still searching for just the right gargoyle(s). But as for the dragon, I'm not there yet. I wanted to learn to draw one. I have some ideas, and a tutorial for a basic one, but no finished product. I still have today and tomorrow. Maybe I'll get it done before the year is over.
As for the others on my list, I have had a certain measure of success on all of them. And that's why the ONE WORD idea works for me. I don't have to be perfect (perfectionism is a struggle I have). I keep it very open, loosely defined. It's a guide, not a restriction. Even with all the struggles and health issues I had this last year, I'm calling it a win!
I'll keep my vision canvas for CREATE up for a while. I love the ideas it contains and it makes me happy. And I'm eager to create one for my new word for 2015. It's just the perfect word for my life right now. That will be my next post.
And what do I have to show for it?
I love to look back on the year and see what's changed. What did I get done that I wanted to and what plans fell in the gutter? I especially love this look back since I've started choosing ONE WORD to guide my year (explained here).
Last year my word was CREATE. I had so many great plans, while still leaving things open to the natural flow of my life and whatever the world would bring my way. Some of my plans came to fruition. Others, not so much.
I wanted to draw more. I did, but not as much as I had planned.
I wanted to create the yard I'd been dreaming of. I made progress, but not as much as I had planned (thank you hysterectomy).
I wanted to make my room a haven. I did really well at this (although maintenance is tricky).
I had a list of words as part of my plan. Some with obvious meaning, others more ethereal. I created a vision canvas to help guide me. I hung it on my closet door and referred to it often, to just kind of check in with myself.
I wanted to create:
- peace
- stability
- strength
- refuge
- dragonflies*
- healing
- haven
- space
- calm
- wellness
- sanctuary
- satisfaction
- fortitude
- oasis
- happiness
- gargoyles*
- garden
- structure
- dragons*
- wholeness
- atonement
- shelter
- freedom
- health
- joy
- self
- focus
- safety
- divinity
- dreams
- escape
- order
*I didn't want to create dragonflies, gargoyles, or dragons; I wanted to incorporate them into my life. I love them in a magical way. They sing to my heart. I did learn to draw a basic dragonfly that I'm happy with. I'm still searching for just the right gargoyle(s). But as for the dragon, I'm not there yet. I wanted to learn to draw one. I have some ideas, and a tutorial for a basic one, but no finished product. I still have today and tomorrow. Maybe I'll get it done before the year is over.
As for the others on my list, I have had a certain measure of success on all of them. And that's why the ONE WORD idea works for me. I don't have to be perfect (perfectionism is a struggle I have). I keep it very open, loosely defined. It's a guide, not a restriction. Even with all the struggles and health issues I had this last year, I'm calling it a win!
I'll keep my vision canvas for CREATE up for a while. I love the ideas it contains and it makes me happy. And I'm eager to create one for my new word for 2015. It's just the perfect word for my life right now. That will be my next post.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
My Facebook Fast
A week ago tomorrow I was done. Absolutely finished. I couldn't stand one more minute on Facebook. So I decided to take a break.
I didn't start out planning to be off for a week. Just a few days to cleanse my system. It was making me anxious. I was feeling social pressure (that probably wasn't even there but was just in my own head). I felt compelled to like this or comment on that to make sure she knew I was reading her stuff or he knew I still paid attention to his life or she felt like I liked her. Seriously, it was ridiculous.
I was not feeling peace. I wasn't acting; I was reacting. I wasn't being true to myself. And I am not okay with that.
So I announced my departure and went away.
And very soon I was anxious about being away. I missed it terribly. And I started to wonder why. I started to examine my feelings and their causes. Why was I uncomfortable being away? What was it that Facebook was fulfilling in me that pulled me back even though it had been causing me negative feelings?
So I spent the next few days watching my own behavior and paying attention to the pull.
This is what I learned.
The thing I missed most was knowing what was going on in my friends' lives, especially within my own neighborhood. I missed knowing when a friend was having a bad day or hurting. I missed knowing who was having a birthday that day. I missed knowing when someone in my neighborhood needed help. Facebook has opened up communication in a way that just wasn't there before. People share more. I can get the info immediately or whenever it's convenient for me. We can have a communal conversation over several days. It's awesome like that.
But the flip side of it is over sharing or people sharing things I just don't want in my life. Political/religious disagreements. Posts with the F word. Griping/whining in a victim-y way, with the same complaints over and over with no intention to try to make their own world better. Pity parties. Sexual images and/or status updates. Non-stop selfies. Contentious behavior of all kinds. And certain people who just rub me the wrong way no matter what whom I hid from my feed but then they show up anyway because one of our friends in common likes or comments on their post. I didn't miss those things.
Of secondary importance, I felt like I lost my voice. My ability to communicate with the world was severely diminished. Many times a day I wanted to share something and didn't. I think this was the most important area for me to evaluate and an area I still need to work on.
I've always been curious. I find many things interesting and always have. Growing up I used to talk all the time -- ALL THE TIME! I made people crazy. I could sometimes sense it but didn't understand why. The things I was saying were so interesting (I thought). I don't remember how old I was when I finally understood (but it was probably much older than I should have been). I don't remember what happened to precipitate it, but I remember distinctly realizing that I didn't need to share every thought that popped into my head. In fact, it made people crazy that I did that. It was truly an awakening moment for me. It's taken years for me to learn to be quiet, because my brain never shuts up. (It was many more years after that before I learned that other people want to share, too, and it's so important to listen.)
Facebook has been this lesson all over again. I find so many things interesting in a day. I have so many thoughts that I think are incredibly clever. So many observations I find fascinating. So many news stories I think are noteworthy and/or important. I want to share them all. And some days I know I'm sharing more on Facebook than others want to read/know, but I just can't stop myself. I can hear people rolling their eyes at me when I post the third news article in a 15 minute time span. To all of you who are my Facebook friends, please know I do try and I do censor and you aren't getting half the things I want to share. You're welcome.
And it would be bad enough if that were my only sharing problem, but it isn't. I started paying attention to the status updates I wanted to post. So often this last week I found myself wanting to post snotty or complaining status updates. The kind of communication that has become so much a part of our society. The kind of communication that takes place on so many of today's TV shows that it's just become how we communicate with each other. The kind of communication that's flippant and sarcastic, that we've all come to accept as appropriate humor. The kind of communication that isn't Christlike or kind or sincere.
I don't want that to be my communication style.
Facebook is just too easy and quick and removed. I don't have to think through, censor, or see the reaction to my thoughts the way I should.
I also missed seeing the updates from my daughter who is on a mission and knowing she's still okay. That was hard on my heart.
There are lots of other things I missed and lots of other things I didn't miss at all.
So am I ready to get back on? Kind of.
I still don't feel sure of my ability to regulate my behavior in a way that will bring me peace. So I'm going to ease into it. Tomorrow I will begin reading Facebook again. I will communicate through the private message system about important things. I will like my missionary daughter's posts so she knows I'm seeing them. But I will not "like" any other posts. I will not comment on any other posts. I will strive to be an observer for a while as I continue to examine my thoughts and feelings.
When I feel like I can be true to myself and behave in a way that brings peace to my heart, I will participate fully again. Until then, I'm going to practice observing and listening.
I didn't start out planning to be off for a week. Just a few days to cleanse my system. It was making me anxious. I was feeling social pressure (that probably wasn't even there but was just in my own head). I felt compelled to like this or comment on that to make sure she knew I was reading her stuff or he knew I still paid attention to his life or she felt like I liked her. Seriously, it was ridiculous.
I was not feeling peace. I wasn't acting; I was reacting. I wasn't being true to myself. And I am not okay with that.
So I announced my departure and went away.
And very soon I was anxious about being away. I missed it terribly. And I started to wonder why. I started to examine my feelings and their causes. Why was I uncomfortable being away? What was it that Facebook was fulfilling in me that pulled me back even though it had been causing me negative feelings?
So I spent the next few days watching my own behavior and paying attention to the pull.
This is what I learned.
The thing I missed most was knowing what was going on in my friends' lives, especially within my own neighborhood. I missed knowing when a friend was having a bad day or hurting. I missed knowing who was having a birthday that day. I missed knowing when someone in my neighborhood needed help. Facebook has opened up communication in a way that just wasn't there before. People share more. I can get the info immediately or whenever it's convenient for me. We can have a communal conversation over several days. It's awesome like that.
But the flip side of it is over sharing or people sharing things I just don't want in my life. Political/religious disagreements. Posts with the F word. Griping/whining in a victim-y way, with the same complaints over and over with no intention to try to make their own world better. Pity parties. Sexual images and/or status updates. Non-stop selfies. Contentious behavior of all kinds. And certain people who just rub me the wrong way no matter what whom I hid from my feed but then they show up anyway because one of our friends in common likes or comments on their post. I didn't miss those things.
Of secondary importance, I felt like I lost my voice. My ability to communicate with the world was severely diminished. Many times a day I wanted to share something and didn't. I think this was the most important area for me to evaluate and an area I still need to work on.
I've always been curious. I find many things interesting and always have. Growing up I used to talk all the time -- ALL THE TIME! I made people crazy. I could sometimes sense it but didn't understand why. The things I was saying were so interesting (I thought). I don't remember how old I was when I finally understood (but it was probably much older than I should have been). I don't remember what happened to precipitate it, but I remember distinctly realizing that I didn't need to share every thought that popped into my head. In fact, it made people crazy that I did that. It was truly an awakening moment for me. It's taken years for me to learn to be quiet, because my brain never shuts up. (It was many more years after that before I learned that other people want to share, too, and it's so important to listen.)
Facebook has been this lesson all over again. I find so many things interesting in a day. I have so many thoughts that I think are incredibly clever. So many observations I find fascinating. So many news stories I think are noteworthy and/or important. I want to share them all. And some days I know I'm sharing more on Facebook than others want to read/know, but I just can't stop myself. I can hear people rolling their eyes at me when I post the third news article in a 15 minute time span. To all of you who are my Facebook friends, please know I do try and I do censor and you aren't getting half the things I want to share. You're welcome.
And it would be bad enough if that were my only sharing problem, but it isn't. I started paying attention to the status updates I wanted to post. So often this last week I found myself wanting to post snotty or complaining status updates. The kind of communication that has become so much a part of our society. The kind of communication that takes place on so many of today's TV shows that it's just become how we communicate with each other. The kind of communication that's flippant and sarcastic, that we've all come to accept as appropriate humor. The kind of communication that isn't Christlike or kind or sincere.
I don't want that to be my communication style.
Facebook is just too easy and quick and removed. I don't have to think through, censor, or see the reaction to my thoughts the way I should.
I also missed seeing the updates from my daughter who is on a mission and knowing she's still okay. That was hard on my heart.
There are lots of other things I missed and lots of other things I didn't miss at all.
So am I ready to get back on? Kind of.
I still don't feel sure of my ability to regulate my behavior in a way that will bring me peace. So I'm going to ease into it. Tomorrow I will begin reading Facebook again. I will communicate through the private message system about important things. I will like my missionary daughter's posts so she knows I'm seeing them. But I will not "like" any other posts. I will not comment on any other posts. I will strive to be an observer for a while as I continue to examine my thoughts and feelings.
When I feel like I can be true to myself and behave in a way that brings peace to my heart, I will participate fully again. Until then, I'm going to practice observing and listening.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
My Hysterectomy
I will be using proper names for female body parts and bodily functions in this post. There will also be pictures of my belly after surgery. It's going to be long because I want to get the whole story out in one post. If any of these bother you, please skip this post.
**********
So, twelve days ago I had my surgery (to read why, go here). A total hysterectomy and oophorectomy. He removed my uterus, cervix, ovaries, and fallopian tubes. He cut the parts away laparoscopically using a DaVinci robot and delivered them vaginally. He then sewed up the top of my vagina to keep everything inside from falling out. I think that's the gist of it.
This is a picture from the internet of the DaVinci robot:
And this is what it looks like in action:
The surgeon is that guy over on the left with his head in a box who looks like a ref watching instant replays in a football game (I'm pretty sure that's not what he's really doing). That piece is separate from the robot. Some of the internet pictures have it up close to the robot, some have it across the room. No idea how close it was during my surgery, obviously. The surgeon uses controls to maneuver the robot and do the laparoscopic part of the surgery (kind of like the crane game). The advantage to using the robot instead of traditional laparoscopic surgery (according to my surgeon) is that with the robot he has full 360 degree rotation and with traditional he only has 180 degree rotation. My feeling was this -- if he's the one doing the surgery I'd like him to use the method he is most comfortable with and has the most faith in. I trust that he knows better than I do.
And this is how it all went down.
I went in the Friday before my surgery for a blood and urine test. They look for anything that could be a reason not to do surgery or a situation to monitor. They do a pregnancy test -- because, duh, taking my uterus. At this time a nurse also reviewed my health and medication history. I signed several forms, including one that said I understood that after my surgery I wouldn't be able to give birth anymore. Apparently, some women haven't understood this in the past. Oops.
I got a call later that night telling me there was a questionable result on my urine test. It was possible that I had an infection, but not definite. The nurse asked if I had any of the symptoms of a urinary tract infection, as she named them. I didn't. She said they were incubating a sample and would let me know if there was a problem, but it was probably just a contaminated sample. Like maybe I touched something I shouldn't have in the collection process. Anyway, I never got a call back on that so I guess it turned out okay.
My surgery was on Monday, June 30. I was to be at the hospital at 11:00am to begin the whole process. Shortly after we arrived (my husband and I) they took us back to pre-op. The nurse came in and went over the flow of the process with us. Pre-op, holding, operating room, post-op, room. They had a board with the estimated time of things and I was instructed to let them know if the time passed and things hadn't happened as she explained them. I think that was an important thing for me. I tend to be extra patient and would probably just wait. The surgery did start later than expected, but she had come in and told us it would and gave us a revised time, which was accurate.
She then reviewed the pain scale. It looked something like this:
She asked me where on this pain scale I would normally take something for the pain. I said probably around a 6 or 7. She said that wouldn't work in the hospital. They want to know when my pain is about a 4 or 5. I'm pretty sure I looked quite incredulous. I said I would do my best to pay close attention and tell them at that point, but I sometimes don't notice it at that level (due to my chronic pain, I've had to learn to ignore most pain). They took more blood and urine to test. She hooked up my IV. She hung an antibiotic on the IV post and said they would start that when they started my surgery. And we waited. How long did we wait? I'm not sure. We got there at eleven. My surgery was scheduled to start at twelve thirty. It was pushed back to one forty-five because the one before me went a little long. I don't know how long the nurse's stuff took. They took me back to holding at about twenty after one (if I'm remembering correctly, which no one should really count on). My husband gave me a kiss and we went our separate ways.
In holding it was just a nurse working at a computer and me. The room looked like it could hold several beds, I'm guessing six or so, but there weren't any others in there for most of the time. This is where my surgeon and anesthesiologist met with me prior to surgery. It's also where I presented this picture to my surgeon, who left it with my chart so the anesthesiologist and nurses could see it:
I explained to my doctor that I was pretty sure this was the creature that was chewing and clawing it's way from my body. I wanted to make sure he recognized it when he found it. He, the anesthesiologist, and the nurse each got a chuckle out of it.
Both doctors explained (in their separate visits) what they were going to be doing. They asked if I had any questions. They were both very kind. They both seemed sincere in their concern for me. My heart felt calm in their presence. I felt safe in their hands, which was very important to me.
I spent about fifteen minutes in holding, give or take a few minutes (there were clocks visible everywhere so I could keep track). Then they wheeled me to the operating room.
I don't remember a ton about the operating room. I remember thinking it had a lot of equipment in it. It also seemed like there were a lot of people in there. They put my bed up next to a narrower bed and had me skootch (totally a real word) over to the smaller one. There were no rails on this one like there had been on the other one. I had a slight feeling that I could fall off. But not for long because then they put a strap over my hips and secured me to the table. The anesthesiologist told me he was giving me something in my IV to relax me (although I was amazingly calm, much more so than I expected to be). Then someone, I'm guessing it was the anesthesiologist, told me they were going to give me oxygen and put a mask on me.
The next thing I was aware of was a man trying to wake me up in post-op. I was very nauseous and worried that I would throw up, which was a concern I had prior to surgery. I told whoever the man was waking me up that I felt like I was going to throw up and could he give me something. He told me he'd already given me three things for nausea (if I remember correctly) but would give me something else. He also handed me a cool blue bag with a round plastic neck in case I did throw up. I kept this bag with me throughout that first day.
Through my still sedated haze I could see that there was a clock on the wall. I fought through the medication to clear my vision enough to read it. My daughter is on a mission and only gets to communicate home through email once a week. I knew she would be doing so some time between 4:00pm and 5:00pm. My other daughter was supposed to email her info on how the surgery went as soon as my husband got word and called her. I wanted to make sure we hit that window. I knew the surgery was supposed to take a couple hours so we might be cutting it close.
When my vision cleared enough to see the clock I saw that is was about four fifteen. I asked the man if my husband had been given an update and explained to him why it mattered how quickly it was done. He said my husband had been told and he would go find him to see if my missionary daughter had been told. He came back shortly to report that communication had gone back and forth with my missionary daughter and she had the info. Then I relaxed a bit.
I was moved to my room shortly after that. We passed my husband in the hall, who joined us. I think he waited in the hallway while they got me situated in my room.
He stayed with me until about eight that night, when I sent him home to sleep. I wanted him to be rested when he took me home the next day. My three younger kids (15, 17, 19) and a friend who's like our kid visited. My parents visited (after receiving permission). They can sometimes be stressful for me, but I understood that they needed to see that I was doing okay. Their visit was short and nice. And I was doing fabulously! Every nurse commented that they just don't usually have people who are that happy on their floor. I guess I threw off the anesthesia quicker than most. And because all the anxiety I'd had before surgery was gone, I was very happy. I had pain, but that I can handle.
I pretty much asked for the meds on schedule. They gave me morphine to begin with. I think that was every two hours. Then they added something else; I want to say Tramadol, but I'm not sure. Whatever that second one was, it was longer between doses. Six hours maybe. I was on a clear liquids diet, which was fine because I was still nauseous. I got strawberry jello and a couple things of grape juice. And water. The nurse warned me to sip, no matter how hungry/thirsty I was. Good advice! I didn't want anything coming back up.
After my husband left I played hand solitaire and tried to find something to watch on TV. I don't generally watch commercial TV, so it was tough. I found a channel with old shows and watched some Murder She Wrote and later watched O, Brother, Where Art Thou? I also went for four laps around the nurses station. The nurse walked next to me, but I was stable enough on my feet to do fine just holding the IV stand. The nurse was thrilled with my efforts; she said usually she can't convince people to even get out of bed and try walking.
I barely slept, which I knew would happen. I listened to an audio book of Harry Potter on my mp3 player (I always listen to Harry Potter when I sleep because I am such a light sleeper; it's my white noise). The nurses did their best to keep the interruptions to a minimum and keep the lights off to help me sleep. It just wasn't happening. When the phlebotomist came in at 3:00am to draw my blood I was awake. (I guess my hematocrit had been low prior to surgery and they wanted to check that).
I had a little trouble with my catheter. I still felt like I needed to go to the bathroom, which is a sign that it's not in right or is kinked or something. And there wasn't as much output as would be expected from what I was drinking. The nurse worked with it a couple of times. It worked okay for a bit and then struggled again. The other nurse had told me that since I was doing so well she would take the catheter out at six if I wanted her to. Otherwise, they'd wait until I woke up. I said six would be great. It ended up that the nurse was in my room around five for something else, medication or IV or something. I asked when she could take the catheter out. She thought for a second and then said she could do it right then if I wanted. I definitely wanted! So she took it out and told me I had seven hours to pee on my own. If I couldn't by then they would do a scan and see if they could figure out what was wrong.
On the information board in the room they write what the goals are for the patient. The main goal was pain management. Then she added "urinate by noon." I can honestly say I don't think I've ever had peeing as a goal. I had no problem meeting that goal. I was able to pee all by myself within an hour or so of her removing the catheter.
She switched me to a soft solids diet some time during the night. After the catheter was removed I was finally able to get a few hours of sleep. When I woke up I ordered breakfast. I was so excited to be on a soft solids diet because it meant I could have milk! Milk is what I usually use to soothe my nausea at home, so I was glad to have it. I had pancakes, hashbrowns, two cartons of milk, and some tapioca pudding. I wasn't a fan of the tapioca, but I ate everything because it had been so long since I'd had real food (fasting for surgery, of course). I showered and put on a clean gown and underthings. I went for another walk, without an escort. Five laps this time. I also asked for something other than morphine, since it was making me itch. They added Percocet in its place (every four hours). And the nurse applied an estrogen patch to my abdomen, to wear for seven days before switching to pills.
My husband and oldest daughter (23) came over around nine. My 19-year old daughter is a nanny and brought the kids she cares for to visit.
My doctor had told me I would get to go home after one night in the hospital. Since I've taken care of many family members and a few friends while they were in the hospital I knew it wouldn't be until after the doctor made his rounds, which are usually done in the morning. We hadn't heard anything by about noon so we asked our nurse to check on it. He said he'd seen my doctor on the floor so he didn't know why he hadn't come to see me. My nurse came back shortly and said the doctor had started his rounds but was interrupted by an emergency. He would return when that was taken care of.
He came around one. As he washed his hands I asked, "Did you get him?" (meaning the creature). After only a slight pause he said, "Yeah, I ran him out of there." He said he'd been getting a report from the nurse and been told I was hopping all over the place. A wonderful report. He asked how I was doing (fabulous!) and gave me instructions. He asked if I had any questions. I had typed my questions into a text message to myself in my phone so I wouldn't forget.
I asked how much it mattered if the pain meds made me itch (Percocet does a little). He said as long as I could breathe okay, he wasn't worried about it. And he said I could take Meclizine (which I had at home) with the Percocet for the itching if I wanted to.
I asked about yoga. I have been wanting to start, but was waiting until after my surgery because I'd been hurting so much. He said he didn't want me doing anything straining. Yoga is out for a while.
Then I told him I have a high tolerance for pain and since I have chronic pain I just usually ignore it. I asked him how much I needed to respect this pain. He said my toughest struggle would probably be wanting to do more than I should because I felt so good. We agreed that I would take the pain meds on schedule for 72 hours rather than according to my pain. I agreed to not do dishes or laundry for two weeks. I agreed to not lift anything over 15 pounds or spend too much time on my feet.
The nurse asked the doctor if he could take my IV out then, if he was done with it. The doctor said yes. But I'd been watching the clock and I know how things go as someone leaves the hospital. It was almost time for my next dose of IV pain meds. I asked if we could wait fifteen minutes and give me that last dose before removing it. The doctor said that would be a good idea.
He left. I got packed up. The nurse gave me my last dose and removed the IV. I got dressed. The nurse came back with discharge papers. He said someone had to accompany me out but I didn't have to ride in the wheelchair if I didn't want to. That made me very happy. I hate being pushed in a wheelchair, especially when I feel fine. I signed all the papers and got the ones he was sending home with me. The nurse shook my hand and thanked me for making his day fun.
Soon a lady came with a wheelchair. I told her the nurse had said I didn't have to ride in one. She said I could just put my stuff in it then, which is what I did. As we walked to the elevator she asked what I'd had done. I said, kind of embarrassed because of how well I was doing, that I'd had a hysterectomy the day before. She said, "Wow. You're doing great!"
The valet brought us our car and we were on our way.
I had amazing nurses the whole time. In fact, everyone I interacted with was awesome, right from the first phone call. Seriously, I couldn't have asked for kinder people.
I was sent home with a prescription for Percocet, prescription Ibuprofen, estrogen pills, and a stool softener (which was actually over the counter). I took them on schedule for three days. I took my last Percocet Friday morning, four days after my surgery. I took the Ibuprofen (one at night and one in the morning) through Sunday.
Monday afternoon I got a call from the surgeon's office checking on me. How are you doing? Great! Any trouble urinating? Nope. Doing great. Any trouble with bowel movements? Nope. You're able to go okay and without straining? Yep. We don't want any straining because you could pull your stitches. Nope, no problem. And how's your pain management? Great. What are you taking for the pain? Nothing. Really?! You're not taking anything? Nope. And you're great? Yep. Well, okay. I see you're already scheduled for your follow up and you say you're great so I guess we're done.
I've really been so much better than I expected to be. My friends and family have been amazed at how well I am. One friend said I seem so much better, they must have gotten something that was making me sick.
And I do feel so much better than I did before surgery. Did it cure the problem? It's hard to know for sure because there is still some pain in the same area that was hurting before because that's where they cut parts of my body out. But I think so.
And this is what it looks like after:
They make four incisions for the robot, including one in my belly button. The incisions have surgical glue on them. I think the doctor said the glue was over stitches, but I could be wrong. It might have been in place of stitches entirely. I never saw any stitches. That white thing on the lower right is the estrogen patch. To do the laparoscopic surgery they inflate your abdomen so they can see everything and maneuver. I have no idea how long it takes for all of that air to leave, but my belly definitely still felt swollen for several days.
That bruise on my belly button got bigger and darker for a few days. The surgical glue started pulling up around the edges by this time.
The bruises are mostly gone by this point. I took the estrogen patch off that morning, but the skin there was a little sensitive so I decided not to worry about the glue left behind from the patch until the skin there healed a bit. The surgical glue is gone from everywhere except my navel. It didn't rub enough to loosen it and that area was a bit tender so I left it alone. You probably can't tell, but the incision on the left isn't healing quite as quickly as the two on the right. It's possible that I might have encouraged that glue off a little sooner than it was ready. Don't do that! If you do, it's possible that the wound will weep a little and glue itself to your clothes and then when you move quickly you will tear off the scab and start bleeding and it will hurt. Don't ask me how I know this is a possibility.
Bruises almost completely gone. Surgical glue gone. Skin under patch healed enough to scrub clean.
Oh! I forgot to mention vaginal bleeding. I expected to bleed more. I wore a pad for a few days (no tampons allowed because of the danger of infection). The day of surgery I had some bleeding. Not much though, like a light to moderate day of period bleeding. The second day it was less. By the third day I wasn't really bleeding anymore, just had some pink when wiping. By the fourth day I was done. It's kind of crazy that there wasn't more blood. I bled a lot after having babies; I kind of thought it would be like that as things healed. I guess it makes sense that things would heal much faster when they do it surgically and sew things up and cauterize them.
I am still on the same restrictions I was given when I left the hospital. I see my surgeon Monday for my two week follow up. At this visit he will check my abdomen to make sure that's all healing well. We will also discuss which restrictions I still need to live by and which can be lifted. I see him again around six weeks post-op. At this visit he will do a vaginal exam to make sure everything is healing properly there, that I haven't pulled any stitches, and that nothing is falling out. He expects that all restrictions will be lifted at this appointment except for one. No vaginal penetration until eight weeks post-op.
I'm really feeling great. I'm so glad to have it over with. Everyone who took care of me was fabulous. I even received a thank you card from the nurses who took care of me thanking me for letting them care for me and wishing me swift healing.
I can't imagine anything in the whole process going any better. And I'm so grateful!
**********
So, twelve days ago I had my surgery (to read why, go here). A total hysterectomy and oophorectomy. He removed my uterus, cervix, ovaries, and fallopian tubes. He cut the parts away laparoscopically using a DaVinci robot and delivered them vaginally. He then sewed up the top of my vagina to keep everything inside from falling out. I think that's the gist of it.
This is a picture from the internet of the DaVinci robot:
 |
| DaVinci Robot - cool looking, huh? |
 |
| DaVinci robot in actual surgery, but not my surgery |
And this is how it all went down.
I went in the Friday before my surgery for a blood and urine test. They look for anything that could be a reason not to do surgery or a situation to monitor. They do a pregnancy test -- because, duh, taking my uterus. At this time a nurse also reviewed my health and medication history. I signed several forms, including one that said I understood that after my surgery I wouldn't be able to give birth anymore. Apparently, some women haven't understood this in the past. Oops.
I got a call later that night telling me there was a questionable result on my urine test. It was possible that I had an infection, but not definite. The nurse asked if I had any of the symptoms of a urinary tract infection, as she named them. I didn't. She said they were incubating a sample and would let me know if there was a problem, but it was probably just a contaminated sample. Like maybe I touched something I shouldn't have in the collection process. Anyway, I never got a call back on that so I guess it turned out okay.
My surgery was on Monday, June 30. I was to be at the hospital at 11:00am to begin the whole process. Shortly after we arrived (my husband and I) they took us back to pre-op. The nurse came in and went over the flow of the process with us. Pre-op, holding, operating room, post-op, room. They had a board with the estimated time of things and I was instructed to let them know if the time passed and things hadn't happened as she explained them. I think that was an important thing for me. I tend to be extra patient and would probably just wait. The surgery did start later than expected, but she had come in and told us it would and gave us a revised time, which was accurate.
She then reviewed the pain scale. It looked something like this:
 |
| Pain Scale |
In holding it was just a nurse working at a computer and me. The room looked like it could hold several beds, I'm guessing six or so, but there weren't any others in there for most of the time. This is where my surgeon and anesthesiologist met with me prior to surgery. It's also where I presented this picture to my surgeon, who left it with my chart so the anesthesiologist and nurses could see it:
 |
| The creature |
Both doctors explained (in their separate visits) what they were going to be doing. They asked if I had any questions. They were both very kind. They both seemed sincere in their concern for me. My heart felt calm in their presence. I felt safe in their hands, which was very important to me.
I spent about fifteen minutes in holding, give or take a few minutes (there were clocks visible everywhere so I could keep track). Then they wheeled me to the operating room.
I don't remember a ton about the operating room. I remember thinking it had a lot of equipment in it. It also seemed like there were a lot of people in there. They put my bed up next to a narrower bed and had me skootch (totally a real word) over to the smaller one. There were no rails on this one like there had been on the other one. I had a slight feeling that I could fall off. But not for long because then they put a strap over my hips and secured me to the table. The anesthesiologist told me he was giving me something in my IV to relax me (although I was amazingly calm, much more so than I expected to be). Then someone, I'm guessing it was the anesthesiologist, told me they were going to give me oxygen and put a mask on me.
The next thing I was aware of was a man trying to wake me up in post-op. I was very nauseous and worried that I would throw up, which was a concern I had prior to surgery. I told whoever the man was waking me up that I felt like I was going to throw up and could he give me something. He told me he'd already given me three things for nausea (if I remember correctly) but would give me something else. He also handed me a cool blue bag with a round plastic neck in case I did throw up. I kept this bag with me throughout that first day.
Through my still sedated haze I could see that there was a clock on the wall. I fought through the medication to clear my vision enough to read it. My daughter is on a mission and only gets to communicate home through email once a week. I knew she would be doing so some time between 4:00pm and 5:00pm. My other daughter was supposed to email her info on how the surgery went as soon as my husband got word and called her. I wanted to make sure we hit that window. I knew the surgery was supposed to take a couple hours so we might be cutting it close.
When my vision cleared enough to see the clock I saw that is was about four fifteen. I asked the man if my husband had been given an update and explained to him why it mattered how quickly it was done. He said my husband had been told and he would go find him to see if my missionary daughter had been told. He came back shortly to report that communication had gone back and forth with my missionary daughter and she had the info. Then I relaxed a bit.
I was moved to my room shortly after that. We passed my husband in the hall, who joined us. I think he waited in the hallway while they got me situated in my room.
He stayed with me until about eight that night, when I sent him home to sleep. I wanted him to be rested when he took me home the next day. My three younger kids (15, 17, 19) and a friend who's like our kid visited. My parents visited (after receiving permission). They can sometimes be stressful for me, but I understood that they needed to see that I was doing okay. Their visit was short and nice. And I was doing fabulously! Every nurse commented that they just don't usually have people who are that happy on their floor. I guess I threw off the anesthesia quicker than most. And because all the anxiety I'd had before surgery was gone, I was very happy. I had pain, but that I can handle.
I pretty much asked for the meds on schedule. They gave me morphine to begin with. I think that was every two hours. Then they added something else; I want to say Tramadol, but I'm not sure. Whatever that second one was, it was longer between doses. Six hours maybe. I was on a clear liquids diet, which was fine because I was still nauseous. I got strawberry jello and a couple things of grape juice. And water. The nurse warned me to sip, no matter how hungry/thirsty I was. Good advice! I didn't want anything coming back up.
After my husband left I played hand solitaire and tried to find something to watch on TV. I don't generally watch commercial TV, so it was tough. I found a channel with old shows and watched some Murder She Wrote and later watched O, Brother, Where Art Thou? I also went for four laps around the nurses station. The nurse walked next to me, but I was stable enough on my feet to do fine just holding the IV stand. The nurse was thrilled with my efforts; she said usually she can't convince people to even get out of bed and try walking.
I barely slept, which I knew would happen. I listened to an audio book of Harry Potter on my mp3 player (I always listen to Harry Potter when I sleep because I am such a light sleeper; it's my white noise). The nurses did their best to keep the interruptions to a minimum and keep the lights off to help me sleep. It just wasn't happening. When the phlebotomist came in at 3:00am to draw my blood I was awake. (I guess my hematocrit had been low prior to surgery and they wanted to check that).
I had a little trouble with my catheter. I still felt like I needed to go to the bathroom, which is a sign that it's not in right or is kinked or something. And there wasn't as much output as would be expected from what I was drinking. The nurse worked with it a couple of times. It worked okay for a bit and then struggled again. The other nurse had told me that since I was doing so well she would take the catheter out at six if I wanted her to. Otherwise, they'd wait until I woke up. I said six would be great. It ended up that the nurse was in my room around five for something else, medication or IV or something. I asked when she could take the catheter out. She thought for a second and then said she could do it right then if I wanted. I definitely wanted! So she took it out and told me I had seven hours to pee on my own. If I couldn't by then they would do a scan and see if they could figure out what was wrong.
On the information board in the room they write what the goals are for the patient. The main goal was pain management. Then she added "urinate by noon." I can honestly say I don't think I've ever had peeing as a goal. I had no problem meeting that goal. I was able to pee all by myself within an hour or so of her removing the catheter.
She switched me to a soft solids diet some time during the night. After the catheter was removed I was finally able to get a few hours of sleep. When I woke up I ordered breakfast. I was so excited to be on a soft solids diet because it meant I could have milk! Milk is what I usually use to soothe my nausea at home, so I was glad to have it. I had pancakes, hashbrowns, two cartons of milk, and some tapioca pudding. I wasn't a fan of the tapioca, but I ate everything because it had been so long since I'd had real food (fasting for surgery, of course). I showered and put on a clean gown and underthings. I went for another walk, without an escort. Five laps this time. I also asked for something other than morphine, since it was making me itch. They added Percocet in its place (every four hours). And the nurse applied an estrogen patch to my abdomen, to wear for seven days before switching to pills.
My husband and oldest daughter (23) came over around nine. My 19-year old daughter is a nanny and brought the kids she cares for to visit.
My doctor had told me I would get to go home after one night in the hospital. Since I've taken care of many family members and a few friends while they were in the hospital I knew it wouldn't be until after the doctor made his rounds, which are usually done in the morning. We hadn't heard anything by about noon so we asked our nurse to check on it. He said he'd seen my doctor on the floor so he didn't know why he hadn't come to see me. My nurse came back shortly and said the doctor had started his rounds but was interrupted by an emergency. He would return when that was taken care of.
He came around one. As he washed his hands I asked, "Did you get him?" (meaning the creature). After only a slight pause he said, "Yeah, I ran him out of there." He said he'd been getting a report from the nurse and been told I was hopping all over the place. A wonderful report. He asked how I was doing (fabulous!) and gave me instructions. He asked if I had any questions. I had typed my questions into a text message to myself in my phone so I wouldn't forget.
I asked how much it mattered if the pain meds made me itch (Percocet does a little). He said as long as I could breathe okay, he wasn't worried about it. And he said I could take Meclizine (which I had at home) with the Percocet for the itching if I wanted to.
I asked about yoga. I have been wanting to start, but was waiting until after my surgery because I'd been hurting so much. He said he didn't want me doing anything straining. Yoga is out for a while.
Then I told him I have a high tolerance for pain and since I have chronic pain I just usually ignore it. I asked him how much I needed to respect this pain. He said my toughest struggle would probably be wanting to do more than I should because I felt so good. We agreed that I would take the pain meds on schedule for 72 hours rather than according to my pain. I agreed to not do dishes or laundry for two weeks. I agreed to not lift anything over 15 pounds or spend too much time on my feet.
The nurse asked the doctor if he could take my IV out then, if he was done with it. The doctor said yes. But I'd been watching the clock and I know how things go as someone leaves the hospital. It was almost time for my next dose of IV pain meds. I asked if we could wait fifteen minutes and give me that last dose before removing it. The doctor said that would be a good idea.
He left. I got packed up. The nurse gave me my last dose and removed the IV. I got dressed. The nurse came back with discharge papers. He said someone had to accompany me out but I didn't have to ride in the wheelchair if I didn't want to. That made me very happy. I hate being pushed in a wheelchair, especially when I feel fine. I signed all the papers and got the ones he was sending home with me. The nurse shook my hand and thanked me for making his day fun.
Soon a lady came with a wheelchair. I told her the nurse had said I didn't have to ride in one. She said I could just put my stuff in it then, which is what I did. As we walked to the elevator she asked what I'd had done. I said, kind of embarrassed because of how well I was doing, that I'd had a hysterectomy the day before. She said, "Wow. You're doing great!"
The valet brought us our car and we were on our way.
I had amazing nurses the whole time. In fact, everyone I interacted with was awesome, right from the first phone call. Seriously, I couldn't have asked for kinder people.
I was sent home with a prescription for Percocet, prescription Ibuprofen, estrogen pills, and a stool softener (which was actually over the counter). I took them on schedule for three days. I took my last Percocet Friday morning, four days after my surgery. I took the Ibuprofen (one at night and one in the morning) through Sunday.
Monday afternoon I got a call from the surgeon's office checking on me. How are you doing? Great! Any trouble urinating? Nope. Doing great. Any trouble with bowel movements? Nope. You're able to go okay and without straining? Yep. We don't want any straining because you could pull your stitches. Nope, no problem. And how's your pain management? Great. What are you taking for the pain? Nothing. Really?! You're not taking anything? Nope. And you're great? Yep. Well, okay. I see you're already scheduled for your follow up and you say you're great so I guess we're done.
I've really been so much better than I expected to be. My friends and family have been amazed at how well I am. One friend said I seem so much better, they must have gotten something that was making me sick.
And I do feel so much better than I did before surgery. Did it cure the problem? It's hard to know for sure because there is still some pain in the same area that was hurting before because that's where they cut parts of my body out. But I think so.
And this is what it looks like after:
 |
| July 2, two days after surgery |
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| July 3, three days after surgery |
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| July 9, nine days after surgery |
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| July 11, eleven days after surgery |
Oh! I forgot to mention vaginal bleeding. I expected to bleed more. I wore a pad for a few days (no tampons allowed because of the danger of infection). The day of surgery I had some bleeding. Not much though, like a light to moderate day of period bleeding. The second day it was less. By the third day I wasn't really bleeding anymore, just had some pink when wiping. By the fourth day I was done. It's kind of crazy that there wasn't more blood. I bled a lot after having babies; I kind of thought it would be like that as things healed. I guess it makes sense that things would heal much faster when they do it surgically and sew things up and cauterize them.
I am still on the same restrictions I was given when I left the hospital. I see my surgeon Monday for my two week follow up. At this visit he will check my abdomen to make sure that's all healing well. We will also discuss which restrictions I still need to live by and which can be lifted. I see him again around six weeks post-op. At this visit he will do a vaginal exam to make sure everything is healing properly there, that I haven't pulled any stitches, and that nothing is falling out. He expects that all restrictions will be lifted at this appointment except for one. No vaginal penetration until eight weeks post-op.
I'm really feeling great. I'm so glad to have it over with. Everyone who took care of me was fabulous. I even received a thank you card from the nurses who took care of me thanking me for letting them care for me and wishing me swift healing.
I can't imagine anything in the whole process going any better. And I'm so grateful!
Monday, February 10, 2014
When God Isn't There
All my life I've felt God's presence near. From the time I was a small child, as young as I can remember, I knew He was there. As clearly as I can feel it when someone is standing behind my chair, I knew God was with me. I knew He had my back.
I didn't do anything to seek Him out or work to have Him near. It was just a gift. It was a part of me. Just the way I was made, like my green eyes. Just who I am.
I think sometimes when we have gifts (of spirituality or intellect or athletic ability or whatever) we have difficulty understanding why those things are harder for other people. Sometimes to the point of arrogance. "They could do this, too, if they really tried." Something like that.
I can admit I sometimes had that problem with my gift.
It was like I could see something standing right before both of us but you couldn't see it and I thought you just weren't looking hard enough.
As a child I didn't know not everyone experienced it. As children do, I assumed everyone was like me. I was often confused at the things people chose to do and say, wondering how they could do those things when God was so near.
As I grew, I heard people describe their search for God. What? Um. He's just there. Why do you have to search? I really couldn't wrap my brain around it.
Then I had long, gut-wrenching conversations with people who said they'd never felt God in their lives. They'd never felt His love for them. And, honestly, I wondered what they were doing wrong. What gospel truth were they missing? What were they neglecting? These were good people; why couldn't they feel Him? Why didn't they know Him?
Because He's just there. Until He isn't.
A little over a month ago, when I got slammed with whatever mental health bomb hit me, I noticed I couldn't feel Him anymore. He wasn't there. I couldn't connect. I didn't understand why. I tried to reach out. I tried all the things that have ever brought me closer to God in the past. Nothing.
I didn't doubt He was still there. I've had too much evidence in my life to the contrary. I didn't believe He had pulled away and was refusing me. I know too much about His nature to believe that. But for whatever reason, I could no longer connect to God. I was alone in a way I'd never been before.
It was such an awful state to be. It hurt. It was scary. It was lonely. It was traumatic. It made my heart ache.
At first I just thought of myself. I floundered like someone drowning, splashing and flailing trying to stay alive. Trying to want to stay in this world that had suddenly become so dark.
Eventually I thought of others. I sought for what this could teach me. I questioned all those judgments I'd made throughout my life.
I had done nothing wrong, but I couldn't connect to God. I was doing everything possible to find Him again, but I still couldn't do it. Maybe the same was true for the people I'd judged. Misjudged.
That was last night. I started letting myself feel what others have felt without being afraid of it. Without trying to make it stop. I wanted to let it teach me what it could. And when I prayed before bed last night (which has been very different and much more difficult without feeling connected to God) I accepted it. I told God I didn't know if this was an assignment or just a coincidence, but I was willing to accept it and learn what He'd have me learn from it. I spent last night and today trying to feel what all those people feel who haven't felt God.
I can still only guess. Even when it was all so dark, I had my past experience to rely on. I had my testimony through experience to assure me He was there even if I couldn't feel Him. I had my understanding of His nature to let me know He still loved me and would watch over me even if I wasn't aware of it. And even with all of that, it was terrifying.
I can't imagine how anyone gets through this life without knowing God is there and loves them and watches over them. I just can't process it. But I have a glimpse. And I am so sorry for all the times I've judged people as unworthy or unwilling to try. I was so wrong.
I don't know why I had this experience. It wasn't the medication because it started before I took anything. I don't know if it was caused by the anxiety and depression or if it was the other way around. Maybe they were triggered by the loss of God.
Tonight, as I was getting ready for bed, I thought about how lonely I've been without God. I pondered on what I've learned. I knew I had to write this post.
And as soon as I committed to write this post, His love came rushing back. I was flooded with it. Surrounded and overwhelmed. Soon I was on my knees, sobbing, thanking Him. Thanking Him for what I'd learned, but mostly for allowing me to be in His presence again. To have Him with me. He reminded me of our previous conversation, "You can't do the work I need you to do if you feel better." I remembered accepting that assignment. I reaffirmed my acceptance of it. I will go through what He needs me to in order to do what He needs me to do.
I don't know if my latest mental health episode is over, but right now I feel peace. So much peace it is almost overpowering. And I am so grateful for it.
I know there are those of you reading this who haven't felt His love. It makes me sad. I don't know how you will find Him. But I offer you my experience that maybe you can rely on it until you have your own.
God is real. He loves you. He is aware of you and your struggles. He will reach out to you, in whatever way is best for you. Watch for it.
I didn't do anything to seek Him out or work to have Him near. It was just a gift. It was a part of me. Just the way I was made, like my green eyes. Just who I am.
I think sometimes when we have gifts (of spirituality or intellect or athletic ability or whatever) we have difficulty understanding why those things are harder for other people. Sometimes to the point of arrogance. "They could do this, too, if they really tried." Something like that.
I can admit I sometimes had that problem with my gift.
It was like I could see something standing right before both of us but you couldn't see it and I thought you just weren't looking hard enough.
As a child I didn't know not everyone experienced it. As children do, I assumed everyone was like me. I was often confused at the things people chose to do and say, wondering how they could do those things when God was so near.
As I grew, I heard people describe their search for God. What? Um. He's just there. Why do you have to search? I really couldn't wrap my brain around it.
Then I had long, gut-wrenching conversations with people who said they'd never felt God in their lives. They'd never felt His love for them. And, honestly, I wondered what they were doing wrong. What gospel truth were they missing? What were they neglecting? These were good people; why couldn't they feel Him? Why didn't they know Him?
Because He's just there. Until He isn't.
A little over a month ago, when I got slammed with whatever mental health bomb hit me, I noticed I couldn't feel Him anymore. He wasn't there. I couldn't connect. I didn't understand why. I tried to reach out. I tried all the things that have ever brought me closer to God in the past. Nothing.
I didn't doubt He was still there. I've had too much evidence in my life to the contrary. I didn't believe He had pulled away and was refusing me. I know too much about His nature to believe that. But for whatever reason, I could no longer connect to God. I was alone in a way I'd never been before.
It was such an awful state to be. It hurt. It was scary. It was lonely. It was traumatic. It made my heart ache.
At first I just thought of myself. I floundered like someone drowning, splashing and flailing trying to stay alive. Trying to want to stay in this world that had suddenly become so dark.
Eventually I thought of others. I sought for what this could teach me. I questioned all those judgments I'd made throughout my life.
I had done nothing wrong, but I couldn't connect to God. I was doing everything possible to find Him again, but I still couldn't do it. Maybe the same was true for the people I'd judged. Misjudged.
That was last night. I started letting myself feel what others have felt without being afraid of it. Without trying to make it stop. I wanted to let it teach me what it could. And when I prayed before bed last night (which has been very different and much more difficult without feeling connected to God) I accepted it. I told God I didn't know if this was an assignment or just a coincidence, but I was willing to accept it and learn what He'd have me learn from it. I spent last night and today trying to feel what all those people feel who haven't felt God.
I can still only guess. Even when it was all so dark, I had my past experience to rely on. I had my testimony through experience to assure me He was there even if I couldn't feel Him. I had my understanding of His nature to let me know He still loved me and would watch over me even if I wasn't aware of it. And even with all of that, it was terrifying.
I can't imagine how anyone gets through this life without knowing God is there and loves them and watches over them. I just can't process it. But I have a glimpse. And I am so sorry for all the times I've judged people as unworthy or unwilling to try. I was so wrong.
I don't know why I had this experience. It wasn't the medication because it started before I took anything. I don't know if it was caused by the anxiety and depression or if it was the other way around. Maybe they were triggered by the loss of God.
Tonight, as I was getting ready for bed, I thought about how lonely I've been without God. I pondered on what I've learned. I knew I had to write this post.
And as soon as I committed to write this post, His love came rushing back. I was flooded with it. Surrounded and overwhelmed. Soon I was on my knees, sobbing, thanking Him. Thanking Him for what I'd learned, but mostly for allowing me to be in His presence again. To have Him with me. He reminded me of our previous conversation, "You can't do the work I need you to do if you feel better." I remembered accepting that assignment. I reaffirmed my acceptance of it. I will go through what He needs me to in order to do what He needs me to do.
I don't know if my latest mental health episode is over, but right now I feel peace. So much peace it is almost overpowering. And I am so grateful for it.
I know there are those of you reading this who haven't felt His love. It makes me sad. I don't know how you will find Him. But I offer you my experience that maybe you can rely on it until you have your own.
God is real. He loves you. He is aware of you and your struggles. He will reach out to you, in whatever way is best for you. Watch for it.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Beginning to CREATE
This is the year. 2014 is the year I begin to create the world I need. The world of peace for my heart and mind. This is the year I figure out what I want and how to make it happen. With my heart and mind and body, it will. -- These are the words that create the border of my vision canvas.
My word for 2014 is CREATE (explained here).
My year got off to kind of a rough start. Horrendous headache that won't break for a couple of weeks. Nasty anxiety. And the ever present struggle to figure out when to medicate and when to wait it out. Knowing there will be drawbacks in either case.
So I had all these glorious ideas and then watched day after day go by without being able to fulfill them. But not entirely.
I've been able to tangle some. Finish a couple of projects. One of which is my vision canvas (like a vision board, but tweaked for my purposes). Just pigment pen with pencil shading on a 9"x12" watercolor paper.
So, even though I never use photos on my blog, today I will. And probably more in the future. At a minimum I plan to create a sketchbook tab for my tangles.
Here's the first one I'm sharing. My vision canvas:
It started with the word CREATE, because that's what it's all about. Then I drew a string with some loops (in pencil, later erased). I used this to add more words. Not necessarily all things I will accomplish this year. More like shades of words to color the idea. There are more defining words in the ribbon. In case you can't read them all they are as follows: peace, stability, strength, refuge, dragonflies, healing, haven, space, calm, wellness, sanctuary, satisfaction, fortitude, oasis, happiness, gargoyles, garden, structure, dragons, wholeness, atonement, shelter, freedom, health, joy, self, focus, safety, divinity, dreams, escape, order. Then I tangled in the various spaces and shaded with pencil.
I'm very new to this art form, Zentangle. I started about a week before Thanksgiving. So far, I am loving it. And I love that I am learning something new. Learning is always energizing for me emotionally.
In addition to tangling, I have found other ways to incorporate CREATE into my days, even when I'm down. I have tweeted a quotation about creating every day. And I have questioned myself more. Because figuring out what I want is an elemental part of creating.
When I woke up last Sunday and began hoping for a good day at church I stopped myself. I spent a few moments asking myself what I wanted my experience at church to be. I focused my thoughts and heart that direction. I prayed for assistance. It changed my day.
I've done this a few times since. For different events. For me, I haven't been able to define my whole day with one choice yet. But I can define different experiences and activities, or moments, throughout the day. I think part of this is because I haven't been well. I think it's also because I'm learning to use new mental muscles. Anytime I learn something new, it takes time to become skilled at it.
Onward and upward. More creating to do. I'm finally starting to feel a bit better. Ready to tackle my little corner of the world.
I leave you with my favorite tangled work so far. It's a piece I created for a friend. The only guideline he gave me was free flowing, kind of like The Grateful Dead. He wants it colored, so I will be water coloring it. For now, this is it (9"x9" on watercolor paper):
I hope you're all finding wonderful ways to experience 2014.
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Since I'm new to photos on my blog, please let me know if there are display problems for you and what platform you're using to view my blog.
My word for 2014 is CREATE (explained here).
My year got off to kind of a rough start. Horrendous headache that won't break for a couple of weeks. Nasty anxiety. And the ever present struggle to figure out when to medicate and when to wait it out. Knowing there will be drawbacks in either case.
So I had all these glorious ideas and then watched day after day go by without being able to fulfill them. But not entirely.
I've been able to tangle some. Finish a couple of projects. One of which is my vision canvas (like a vision board, but tweaked for my purposes). Just pigment pen with pencil shading on a 9"x12" watercolor paper.
So, even though I never use photos on my blog, today I will. And probably more in the future. At a minimum I plan to create a sketchbook tab for my tangles.
Here's the first one I'm sharing. My vision canvas:
It started with the word CREATE, because that's what it's all about. Then I drew a string with some loops (in pencil, later erased). I used this to add more words. Not necessarily all things I will accomplish this year. More like shades of words to color the idea. There are more defining words in the ribbon. In case you can't read them all they are as follows: peace, stability, strength, refuge, dragonflies, healing, haven, space, calm, wellness, sanctuary, satisfaction, fortitude, oasis, happiness, gargoyles, garden, structure, dragons, wholeness, atonement, shelter, freedom, health, joy, self, focus, safety, divinity, dreams, escape, order. Then I tangled in the various spaces and shaded with pencil.
I'm very new to this art form, Zentangle. I started about a week before Thanksgiving. So far, I am loving it. And I love that I am learning something new. Learning is always energizing for me emotionally.
In addition to tangling, I have found other ways to incorporate CREATE into my days, even when I'm down. I have tweeted a quotation about creating every day. And I have questioned myself more. Because figuring out what I want is an elemental part of creating.
When I woke up last Sunday and began hoping for a good day at church I stopped myself. I spent a few moments asking myself what I wanted my experience at church to be. I focused my thoughts and heart that direction. I prayed for assistance. It changed my day.
I've done this a few times since. For different events. For me, I haven't been able to define my whole day with one choice yet. But I can define different experiences and activities, or moments, throughout the day. I think part of this is because I haven't been well. I think it's also because I'm learning to use new mental muscles. Anytime I learn something new, it takes time to become skilled at it.
Onward and upward. More creating to do. I'm finally starting to feel a bit better. Ready to tackle my little corner of the world.
I leave you with my favorite tangled work so far. It's a piece I created for a friend. The only guideline he gave me was free flowing, kind of like The Grateful Dead. He wants it colored, so I will be water coloring it. For now, this is it (9"x9" on watercolor paper):
I hope you're all finding wonderful ways to experience 2014.
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Since I'm new to photos on my blog, please let me know if there are display problems for you and what platform you're using to view my blog.
Friday, August 2, 2013
When I Don't Get What I Want
Sometimes I don't get what I want.
I'd like to be all mature and say that I see these moments as growth opportunities and I'm happy for the person who did get what I wanted. I'd like to say that I roll with it and get all zen and peaceful and wish the universe well in its grand plan. I'd like to say all those things, but then I would be lying.
Oh, I've learned to be a good sport when I lose at a game. Or when we don't go to the restaurant I want. Or even when someone wakes me up when I wanted to sleep. (Not all the time, but usually.)
But sometimes I stare the universe in the eye and say, "I want my life to be like THIS. Exactly like THIS. Pay attention to what I'm telling you -- make it like THIS!" I feel like the universe and I understand each other. I see the universe nodding in agreement. And then the universe goes and does whatever the heck it wants.
Seriously, it sucks.
I thought the universe and I were friends. I thought the universe had my best interests at heart. I thought we were in this together.
But I didn't get what I wanted. I feel ripped off and picked on. By the entire universe.
And you know what's worse? Do you know what the real slap in the face is? That stupid universe is right. Like, every single time.
It never fails. I am sure I've got it figured out. I am sure I know what is best for me. I'm sure I've got the upper hand in my battle with the universe this time.
And before too long I am looking at the universe with its slight, Mona Lisa smile. And the universe knows it has won again. It does not brag. It doesn't need to. Its power is evident for all to see.
And I am forced to not only humble myself and say, "You were right." I find myself bowing my head time and again saying, "Thank you." (But I still mumble under my breath, "Stupid universe.")
I'd like to be all mature and say that I see these moments as growth opportunities and I'm happy for the person who did get what I wanted. I'd like to say that I roll with it and get all zen and peaceful and wish the universe well in its grand plan. I'd like to say all those things, but then I would be lying.
Oh, I've learned to be a good sport when I lose at a game. Or when we don't go to the restaurant I want. Or even when someone wakes me up when I wanted to sleep. (Not all the time, but usually.)
But sometimes I stare the universe in the eye and say, "I want my life to be like THIS. Exactly like THIS. Pay attention to what I'm telling you -- make it like THIS!" I feel like the universe and I understand each other. I see the universe nodding in agreement. And then the universe goes and does whatever the heck it wants.
Seriously, it sucks.
I thought the universe and I were friends. I thought the universe had my best interests at heart. I thought we were in this together.
But I didn't get what I wanted. I feel ripped off and picked on. By the entire universe.
And you know what's worse? Do you know what the real slap in the face is? That stupid universe is right. Like, every single time.
It never fails. I am sure I've got it figured out. I am sure I know what is best for me. I'm sure I've got the upper hand in my battle with the universe this time.
And before too long I am looking at the universe with its slight, Mona Lisa smile. And the universe knows it has won again. It does not brag. It doesn't need to. Its power is evident for all to see.
And I am forced to not only humble myself and say, "You were right." I find myself bowing my head time and again saying, "Thank you." (But I still mumble under my breath, "Stupid universe.")
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Standing in Holy Places in Difficult Times
This will be a long post. Please feel free to skip it without fear of offending me. Also, it's a religious post. It's taken from a talk I gave in church a couple of weeks ago. It contains scriptures from The Book of Mormon in addition to scriptures from The Holy Bible. It's based on a scripture from The Doctrine and Covenants (another book of scripture in the Mormon church): D&C 87:8 "Stand ye in holy places, and be not moved."
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2. It’s beyond my control.
3. I have to do it alone.
4. I should be happy all the time.
The first one, it’s my fault. I spent many years thinking I wasn’t trying hard enough. If I were more righteous I would be happier. I should be able to choose happiness (because everyone says happiness is a choice). If I were only stronger or more positive, I could force myself to choose happiness. I could have peace in my heart all the time. I would no longer find myself trapped in the darkness. I believed it was my fault when I went into a depression because I wasn’t a better, stronger person.
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As we’ve discussed standing in holy places this year, we’ve
talked about many important places.
We’ve discussed the temple and church.
We’ve talked about dedicated sites and memorials. We’ve also talked about how we can make any
place a holy place if we are striving to keep ourselves holy.
I’d like to expand on that a little bit. Sometimes a holy place is an actual place. Sometimes it’s a state of mind. And sometimes it’s a lot of work to find a
holy place within myself during a difficult time.
To me, a holy place is anywhere I am physically or
emotionally that allows me to connect with God.
A place that I can understand His will and strive to do it.
2 Nephi 2:25 says, “Adam fell that men might be; and men
are, that they might have joy.”
This life, this experience, is supposed to bring us joy. God’s will is that we have joy.
Many people read this and see it as an excuse to play
more. Others read this and see it as a
reason to not worry so much. Still
others read it and want to get into the ever-ongoing debate between happiness
and joy to prove that “wickedness never was happiness.”
Sometimes when I read it, I take it as an assignment. One that I have a tough time with.
I struggle with clinical depression and PTSD. I have for most of my life. And sometimes when I read that scripture –
“men are that they might have joy” – I feel like a failure.
I believe this is because I’ve bought into four powerful
lies Satan uses:
1.
It’s my fault.2. It’s beyond my control.
3. I have to do it alone.
4. I should be happy all the time.
The first one, it’s my fault. I spent many years thinking I wasn’t trying hard enough. If I were more righteous I would be happier. I should be able to choose happiness (because everyone says happiness is a choice). If I were only stronger or more positive, I could force myself to choose happiness. I could have peace in my heart all the time. I would no longer find myself trapped in the darkness. I believed it was my fault when I went into a depression because I wasn’t a better, stronger person.
Please let me say, I do believe happiness is a choice. Most of the time. But I also know that our bodies are
complicated things. Chemistry is
powerful. And genetics matter. Clinical depression and Post Traumatic Stress
Disorder aren’t my fault any more than multiple sclerosis is someone’s
fault. It’s not a sign that I’m not
righteous enough. It’s not because I’m a
bad person. It’s not because I don’t
have enough willpower to snap out of it.
Those are thoughts and beliefs from fifty years ago that just aren’t
true. It’s biochemical. It’s physical. It’s environmental. Much of it is beyond my control.
But not all of it. And
that brings me to the second lie, it’s beyond my control.
I often don’t see it coming.
I am good one day and the next I am so completely not. My heart is overtaken by a darkness so deep
it seems to swallow me whole. Or I am fine
one minute and the next I am filled with fear and have no idea why. I want to hide, even from the people I
love. Even from the people in my life I
know are safe. It is so intense, so powerful when it overcomes
me. No matter what I’ve tried, it keeps
happening. I believed the only choice I
had was to surrender and wait for it to pass.
I spent years thinking it was beyond my control because I didn’t know
how to stop it.
But the fact that I didn’t have any answers didn’t mean
there were no answers to be had. I still
can’t stop it entirely, but sometimes I can make it less powerful. I can do things to protect myself. Let me tell you what I’ve learned.
· The most important thing I need to do is plan. I need to write out a plan when I am
well. Because when I am not, it’s too
late. I can’t think clearly enough in
those moments to choose well. But if I
have a written plan of healthy coping strategies, I have something to direct
me, to help me make better choices. Choices
that will help me heal, not make me feel better for a moment but ultimately
drive me deeper within the darkness.
· I also need to take care of my soul. D&C 88:15 says, “And the spirit and the
body are the soul of man.” I need to
take care of my body. I need to eat
healthy foods. I need to get enough
sleep – for real. I need to stay
hydrated. And I need to exercise. It’s easy to think that these things are less
important than working on what’s in my mind, but depression and PTSD affect the
whole soul. I can’t neglect half of it
and expect to be well. I also need to
take care of my spirit. This means
reading scriptures, praying, attending church, fulfilling my calling. The basics.
It’s easy to think that working on therapeutic things are all I need to
do to feel better. But my spirit is part
of my soul. If I am not taking proper
care of it, I will not be strong enough to continue the fight. And I will not be close enough to my Heavenly
Father to receive the help I need.
And that leads me to the third lie I bought into, I have
to do it alone.
We live in a society that glorifies independence. And I’m not just talking about the
world. We in the church sometimes get
this wrong. We teach self-reliance and
think that means we shouldn’t have to ask for help. If we’re doing everything right, we shouldn’t
ever have to ask for help. We help
others. We give. We serve.
But so often we are ashamed if we ever have to receive.
We are meant to be with others. We need each other. We are supposed to. How selfish it is to only serve and give but
to never open our hearts and lives to others and let them serve us. How prideful to only show the wonderful
things in our lives to the world and to never let on that we have weaknesses,
too. What a loving thing it is to
occasionally show the dysfunction in our lives so others know they are not
alone.
Thinking we have to do it alone is one of the most dangerous
lies we can believe. It is a lie Satan
uses to keep us from leaning on our Savior and partaking of the atonement. John 14:6 reads, “Jesus saith unto him, I am
the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
Without the atonement we are lost. We would all remain in a fallen state. Always separated from our Heavenly Father. Satan pushes the idea of independence on us
so that we will not turn to God or to one another. How dangerous it is to think we can do it
alone. How grateful I am for the
struggles that have shown me this is a lie.
We are not meant to be independent. We are meant to be interdependent. To do all we can for ourselves and then turn
to God and to each other. We are told to
"gather together oft" (Alma 6:6). We are
constantly asked to strengthen each other, to lift each other up.
· Mosiah 2:18 “Behold, ye have called me your
king; and if I, whom ye call your king, do labor to serve you, then ought not
ye to labor to serve one another?”
· D&C 88:118 “And as all have not faith, seek
ye diligently and teach one another”
Would we be told to serve and lift each other if God wanted
everyone to “pull themselves up by their own boot straps?”
We are frequently prompted to turn to God, to ask for help.
· Proverbs 3:5 “Trust in the Lord with all thine
heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
·
JST, Matthew 7:12 “Ask of God; ask, and it shall
be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”
Would God tell us these things if He wanted us to become
fully independent of Him?
We are meant to turn to each other and to God. In my case, turning to God brought me further
wisdom and more resources. I was
directed to therapy. And to my
bishop. And to trusted friends. Sometimes we don’t know the answer, but that
doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Asking God
doesn’t always mean He will give us the answer.
Sometimes He will direct us to the person who knows the answer.
And sometimes, even after all of this, I am still not
happy. Sometimes all of this still isn’t
enough to fend off the darkness.
That brings me to lie number four, I should be happy all
the time.
This is a world of sorrow.
Sad things happen. Grief is
important. And sometimes biochemistry
takes over. Being sad in a moment, or
for a few days, doesn’t mean I am doing something wrong. It doesn’t mean I’m choosing poorly. It might just mean this is my time to be sad.
The beautiful chapter of Ecclesiastes 3 (vs. 1) says there
is a “time to every purpose under the heaven.”
Even, “A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time
to dance.” There are times to be sad.
And sadness has led me to some of the most holy times of my
life. Sadness drew me to my Heavenly
Father when my heart was breaking and I didn’t know how to go on. Sadness drew me to the Savior and to partake
of the Atonement as I learned to forgive others and myself. And those times when I am able to visit with
someone whose heart is breaking, who thinks their life is over, who sees no
light through their dark world – those are some of the most holy times of
all. Sitting with a friend on my healing
porch as her soul aches is a very sad time.
But it is also a very holy time.
Because sometimes it’s time to be sad.
I am not trying to discourage anyone from seeking
happiness. I am encouraging you to
forgive yourself for being sad sometimes.
This is a tough world.
But it is also a holy place. This
world has a divine purpose and we have a divine purpose in it.
I am a happy person.
I have a wonderful life. And even
in those moments of darkness, there is peace because I know God is there. I know He has a plan for me. I know He loves me. I know He knows me well enough to send
exactly the right trials to strengthen me, to make me who I am meant to
be. I am grateful for depression and
PTSD in my life. They have taught me
important lessons I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. They have kept me connected to God. And that is a holy place.
Your trials might not be the same as mine. But you will have trials. And I hope that no matter what they are, you
will find a holy place within yourself to help you through them. I hope they will bring you
to God. I hope you will allow them to
change you and strengthen you.
And please remember verse five of the thirteenth psalm, “Joy
cometh in the morning.” The joy will
come.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Seeing in the Dark
A couple of weeks ago my PTSD was triggered. Enough that it was making my life difficult. I was putting on a good front, but inside I was in turmoil. There was intense fear, uncertainty, lack of direction, inability to communicate, and an overwhelming desire to hide. My mind was obsessed with thoughts of an experience from my past. It was trying to process things that still aren't clear. And I was in a state of panic that I couldn't get out of.
I spent a couple of days in this state. I tried to relax my mind and focus on other things. I tried to distract myself out of it. I tried various calming techniques, including meds. But it wouldn't go away.
And in the back of my mind I kept thinking, "Maybe you should try to see this."
My word for the year is see. While I did my best to define it in that post, there is more to it than I was able to say. There is an element that can't be explained but is understood in my heart.
Finally, on the third day out, I decided I was ready to try. But I didn't really know how. When I'm trying to see a positive moment I try to be more present. More in the moment so I can see and feel the things I was missing that I want to experience.
But the memory that triggered me was something I didn't want to be more present in. It was something I didn't want to experience more. How could I see it?
When I know I'm headed in the right direction but am not sure how to proceed, I pray. I ask Him to help me see the next step. Then, whether I understand or not, I take that next step. It's worked beautifully for me many times throughout my life. But I only ask if I am really willing to take the next step no matter what it is. That's why it took me three days. I wasn't ready until then.
This is a deep and powerful experience for me. I will try to share it in a way that is honest but also respects the sanctity I feel about it.
I knelt in prayer and conversed with God. I told Him I was afraid but was willing to see and know what I needed to in order to heal. I opened my heart in willingness to learn more and take whatever step was directed. I expressed my fear. He expressed His love.
And I saw that past experience with new eyes. With new understanding. It only took a few moments with God to find the peace I'd longed for.
It doesn't always work this way. Often my prayers are one-way communication, usually due to my rushing and being disconnected. Sometimes prayer after prayer seems to go unanswered. Or I don't see the answer. But other times I open my heart enough that we are truly together in conversation. I pour out my heart and then He fills it. This was one of those moments.
I was filled with calm. I knew I was on the right path. And he told me something I needed to hear, "Your role is so important."
I think that will get me through just about anything.
I spent a couple of days in this state. I tried to relax my mind and focus on other things. I tried to distract myself out of it. I tried various calming techniques, including meds. But it wouldn't go away.
And in the back of my mind I kept thinking, "Maybe you should try to see this."
My word for the year is see. While I did my best to define it in that post, there is more to it than I was able to say. There is an element that can't be explained but is understood in my heart.
Finally, on the third day out, I decided I was ready to try. But I didn't really know how. When I'm trying to see a positive moment I try to be more present. More in the moment so I can see and feel the things I was missing that I want to experience.
But the memory that triggered me was something I didn't want to be more present in. It was something I didn't want to experience more. How could I see it?
When I know I'm headed in the right direction but am not sure how to proceed, I pray. I ask Him to help me see the next step. Then, whether I understand or not, I take that next step. It's worked beautifully for me many times throughout my life. But I only ask if I am really willing to take the next step no matter what it is. That's why it took me three days. I wasn't ready until then.
This is a deep and powerful experience for me. I will try to share it in a way that is honest but also respects the sanctity I feel about it.
I knelt in prayer and conversed with God. I told Him I was afraid but was willing to see and know what I needed to in order to heal. I opened my heart in willingness to learn more and take whatever step was directed. I expressed my fear. He expressed His love.
And I saw that past experience with new eyes. With new understanding. It only took a few moments with God to find the peace I'd longed for.
It doesn't always work this way. Often my prayers are one-way communication, usually due to my rushing and being disconnected. Sometimes prayer after prayer seems to go unanswered. Or I don't see the answer. But other times I open my heart enough that we are truly together in conversation. I pour out my heart and then He fills it. This was one of those moments.
I was filled with calm. I knew I was on the right path. And he told me something I needed to hear, "Your role is so important."
I think that will get me through just about anything.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
In the Moment
My goal for 2013 is to fully experience life more. To see the things I've been missing. To not just pass through life but to suck the marrow from each experience.
I'm new at this, but I've begun trying.
For my birthday my two adult daughters sent my husband and me away for the weekend. Just a couple towns over at a motel, but it was wonderful. As part of our weekend away they'd also provided us with tickets to The Life of Pi, a movie I'd been wanting to watch. And this is where my experience began.
It started out as a normal night at the movies. We got snacks. We found our seats. We watched the previews. I was there to watch a movie. That's all.
But it became more. The movie was so beautiful visually. It was eye candy. Many scenes like something out of a fairy tale. As I was marvelling at the colors and effects that made it so magical, I remembered to see.
At first I was seeing the movie. The details. The texture. The flavor of the film. The movie was delicious.
But then I was seeing the moment. With more senses than just my eyes. I was seeing it with my heart. My arm was laced through my husband's arm. I noticed the feeling of his skin on mine as I rested my hand on his forearm, the tingle I still get when we touch. I felt the shape of the muscle as he turned his hand. And the outside of my arm was resting against his stomach. I noticed each slow breath. In and out in such a mundane way. Something that happens over and over. But in this moment I noticed the power of what that meant. That meant my husband was healthy. He was filled with the breath of life. He was at peace, as shown by the slow tempo of his relaxed breathing. I felt the heat of his body warming mine through the simple touch of our arms. I knew he was happy to be there with me. We were together in a very real way. We were sharing a moment and I was seeing that moment.
You might think noticing these things distracted me from the movie, but it didn't. It enhanced it. It was like turning up the brightness. The colors were stronger. The glory was more intense. The fairy tale nature of the moment with my husband slipped into the fairy tale of the movie. The peace and joy of the moment brought contentment. Which fit with the nature of the main character as he told his story. He radiated peace. He was happy in his life. He was content. And so was I.
Pi and I were together in that moment. Both in the moment we were meant to occupy. And filling up every bit of the space within it. I can't wait to learn more.
I'm new at this, but I've begun trying.
For my birthday my two adult daughters sent my husband and me away for the weekend. Just a couple towns over at a motel, but it was wonderful. As part of our weekend away they'd also provided us with tickets to The Life of Pi, a movie I'd been wanting to watch. And this is where my experience began.
It started out as a normal night at the movies. We got snacks. We found our seats. We watched the previews. I was there to watch a movie. That's all.
But it became more. The movie was so beautiful visually. It was eye candy. Many scenes like something out of a fairy tale. As I was marvelling at the colors and effects that made it so magical, I remembered to see.
At first I was seeing the movie. The details. The texture. The flavor of the film. The movie was delicious.
But then I was seeing the moment. With more senses than just my eyes. I was seeing it with my heart. My arm was laced through my husband's arm. I noticed the feeling of his skin on mine as I rested my hand on his forearm, the tingle I still get when we touch. I felt the shape of the muscle as he turned his hand. And the outside of my arm was resting against his stomach. I noticed each slow breath. In and out in such a mundane way. Something that happens over and over. But in this moment I noticed the power of what that meant. That meant my husband was healthy. He was filled with the breath of life. He was at peace, as shown by the slow tempo of his relaxed breathing. I felt the heat of his body warming mine through the simple touch of our arms. I knew he was happy to be there with me. We were together in a very real way. We were sharing a moment and I was seeing that moment.
You might think noticing these things distracted me from the movie, but it didn't. It enhanced it. It was like turning up the brightness. The colors were stronger. The glory was more intense. The fairy tale nature of the moment with my husband slipped into the fairy tale of the movie. The peace and joy of the moment brought contentment. Which fit with the nature of the main character as he told his story. He radiated peace. He was happy in his life. He was content. And so was I.
Pi and I were together in that moment. Both in the moment we were meant to occupy. And filling up every bit of the space within it. I can't wait to learn more.
Monday, October 29, 2012
My Therapy Necklace
My first day of therapy was difficult. I'd known for years I needed therapy. I wanted to find peace, to settle my heart, to make the fear stop. But I was scared.
I'd gone to therapy with my husband many times, as his coach. I was there to help him in his battle against OCD and the toll it was taking on our family. I liked his therapist. I trusted him. And he's the one I chose to see when I finally found the courage (or the desperation) to fight my own demons.
As my therapist explained it, that first visit was about assessment. We take off the bandage, he examines the wound, and we see how bad it really is. It starts with me telling my story.
I hadn't ever told my story. Not all of it. A few pieces to my husband, but that's all. I had just lived with it. Embarrassed and ashamed. For so many years.
That first session was so hard. I told my story. Very linear. Without much emotion, just facts. I'd quit feeling about it a long time ago. I wasn't anywhere near finished with the story when our hour was up. (It ended up taking three full sessions to get the whole thing out. Which ended up not being the whole thing because there was still a lot I wasn't ready to tell.)
But the session was over. He said I'd done well. He said you can tell how often a person has told their story by how long it takes them to tell it. The more you tell it, the less detail you need and the faster it goes.
He validated that I was wounded. He said I should be proud of myself and celebrate the good work I'd done. I was clueless. I don't celebrate well. Definitely not my own accomplishments. He suggested treating myself. Again, clueless. He told me some things others had done. He suggested that I find a way to mark the moment because it mattered.
I told him I would think about it and see what I could do. Thus, my therapy necklace was born.
I went to the charm store. I found a charm to represent everything important in my battle for peace.
* A simple black cord just long enough to position it right over my heart. Tied in a knot so I can add or remove charms.
* A charm to represent me, at the center of the cluster. Initially this was very nondescript. It was about an inch in diameter, circular like a washer, pounded dark metal, rough edges. An undefined shape that each person could interpret differently. Kind of like I felt about myself. Undefined. Interpreted differently by different people. Nondescript. This has since been replaced.
* A charm that says PEACE. This is what I'm searching for. This is what the work is for.
* A small book that opens. On the cover it says My Story. This was to mark the fact that I'd finally reclaimed my story as my own and chosen to tell it. It's my story to tell.
* A charm that looks kind of like a small metal tablet, rough edges. It has a zodiac sign on it. This charm represents the boy who repeatedly abused me as a child. This is his sign. I have done the work. He no longer has power over me. This is to symbolize my victory over that part of my past.
* A charm of two clasped hands. They could be seen as a handshake, but when I look at it I see one hand reaching down to grasp the hand of another and help them out of a dark hole. Adding strength to the cause. Lifting me up. This charm represents all those who helped me in my dark times. My therapists. My ecclesiastical leaders. My friends. My husband. My kids. People in my group therapy class. All those who made my burden a little lighter, sometimes just by believing in my ability to carry it.
* A starfish charm. This charm represents a special friend. A woman I found at just the right time. A woman who understands and reaches my soul because she has experienced much of what I've experienced. She has an affinity for things of the sea. She calms me in a way others can't.
* A charm of my own making. An amalgam of several charms connected to make one. This charm represents the spiritual element to my healing. It contains a star of David to represent God; a cross to represent Jesus Christ; and a bird to represent the Holy Ghost. God is guiding me in this healing process. He wants me to succeed. Each member of the Godhead plays an important roll. Without Them, I would not heal. It helps me to remember that They are with me in my quest. On this charm there is also a pair of hands in prayer. This represents my grandmother. She taught me to pray. She was the spiritual strength in my life for so many years. Without her guidance, I may never have developed the connection I have with God which facilitates my growth and healing.
* And the new charm which represents me. The old one broke. Rather symbolically for me. The undefined me was replaced. I now have a charm I earned completing a religious program. It brought me closer to God. It helped me understand who I am and the role I am to play. It helped me understand my value. And it reminds me that I can do hard things -- because I am divine.
A black cord with a cluster of silver charms. Probably less that $20 to create. But priceless to me.
There will be more charms. I have other things yet to overcome, demons to fight. And my therapy necklace reminds me that I am powerful. I am strong enough to face whatever comes my way. And I don't have to do it alone.
I'd gone to therapy with my husband many times, as his coach. I was there to help him in his battle against OCD and the toll it was taking on our family. I liked his therapist. I trusted him. And he's the one I chose to see when I finally found the courage (or the desperation) to fight my own demons.
As my therapist explained it, that first visit was about assessment. We take off the bandage, he examines the wound, and we see how bad it really is. It starts with me telling my story.
I hadn't ever told my story. Not all of it. A few pieces to my husband, but that's all. I had just lived with it. Embarrassed and ashamed. For so many years.
That first session was so hard. I told my story. Very linear. Without much emotion, just facts. I'd quit feeling about it a long time ago. I wasn't anywhere near finished with the story when our hour was up. (It ended up taking three full sessions to get the whole thing out. Which ended up not being the whole thing because there was still a lot I wasn't ready to tell.)
But the session was over. He said I'd done well. He said you can tell how often a person has told their story by how long it takes them to tell it. The more you tell it, the less detail you need and the faster it goes.
He validated that I was wounded. He said I should be proud of myself and celebrate the good work I'd done. I was clueless. I don't celebrate well. Definitely not my own accomplishments. He suggested treating myself. Again, clueless. He told me some things others had done. He suggested that I find a way to mark the moment because it mattered.
I told him I would think about it and see what I could do. Thus, my therapy necklace was born.
I went to the charm store. I found a charm to represent everything important in my battle for peace.
* A simple black cord just long enough to position it right over my heart. Tied in a knot so I can add or remove charms.
* A charm to represent me, at the center of the cluster. Initially this was very nondescript. It was about an inch in diameter, circular like a washer, pounded dark metal, rough edges. An undefined shape that each person could interpret differently. Kind of like I felt about myself. Undefined. Interpreted differently by different people. Nondescript. This has since been replaced.
* A charm that says PEACE. This is what I'm searching for. This is what the work is for.
* A small book that opens. On the cover it says My Story. This was to mark the fact that I'd finally reclaimed my story as my own and chosen to tell it. It's my story to tell.
* A charm that looks kind of like a small metal tablet, rough edges. It has a zodiac sign on it. This charm represents the boy who repeatedly abused me as a child. This is his sign. I have done the work. He no longer has power over me. This is to symbolize my victory over that part of my past.
* A charm of two clasped hands. They could be seen as a handshake, but when I look at it I see one hand reaching down to grasp the hand of another and help them out of a dark hole. Adding strength to the cause. Lifting me up. This charm represents all those who helped me in my dark times. My therapists. My ecclesiastical leaders. My friends. My husband. My kids. People in my group therapy class. All those who made my burden a little lighter, sometimes just by believing in my ability to carry it.
* A starfish charm. This charm represents a special friend. A woman I found at just the right time. A woman who understands and reaches my soul because she has experienced much of what I've experienced. She has an affinity for things of the sea. She calms me in a way others can't.
* A charm of my own making. An amalgam of several charms connected to make one. This charm represents the spiritual element to my healing. It contains a star of David to represent God; a cross to represent Jesus Christ; and a bird to represent the Holy Ghost. God is guiding me in this healing process. He wants me to succeed. Each member of the Godhead plays an important roll. Without Them, I would not heal. It helps me to remember that They are with me in my quest. On this charm there is also a pair of hands in prayer. This represents my grandmother. She taught me to pray. She was the spiritual strength in my life for so many years. Without her guidance, I may never have developed the connection I have with God which facilitates my growth and healing.
* And the new charm which represents me. The old one broke. Rather symbolically for me. The undefined me was replaced. I now have a charm I earned completing a religious program. It brought me closer to God. It helped me understand who I am and the role I am to play. It helped me understand my value. And it reminds me that I can do hard things -- because I am divine.
A black cord with a cluster of silver charms. Probably less that $20 to create. But priceless to me.
There will be more charms. I have other things yet to overcome, demons to fight. And my therapy necklace reminds me that I am powerful. I am strong enough to face whatever comes my way. And I don't have to do it alone.
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