Enjoy The Time You Have

Today marks the 4 year anniversary of the death of my sweet Grandma. I was living in Nashville at the time, away from my family, so I was not prepared when I heard the words “Grandma died” when I had my weekly phone call that Saturday. Sure, we knew it was a possibility–I had flown home the week before when she began to seriously decline–but still. The helpless feeling that I experienced that day was intense.

Four years later and all I can seem to think about is the fact that I wasted so much time when my Grandma was alive. I was in and out of treatment centers during the last two years of her life, and when I was home, I was so depressed that I didn’t want to spend time with anyone. During the years when I was healthy, she was battling cancer. We just didn’t have enough good years together.

If I had known that my Grandma was going to die on September 18, 2010, I would have used my time with her more wisely. I would have talked to her more, asked more questions. I would have spent the night at her house more often. I would have cooked, baked, and enjoyed more food with her. If I could go back, I would have savored each moment. I would have taken pictures, written down memories. I would have spent more time learning how to paint and draw with her…she was an excellent artist. But I guess the would haves and could haves don’t do much good, because the time is gone and she has passed on.

Too often I go through the motions of life, forgetting that people do not last forever. There will be a day when I have yet another funeral to attend, and I will once again look back and think about my time spent with that person. Do I want to live with memories that were wasted because I took their life for granted? I don’t think so.

In my last conversation with my Grandma, she told me she loved me and that she would always be there for me. She said she hoped I would be able to get my life together and live freely instead of being a prisoner of my own mind and body. I wish she could see that she gave me the strength to push through, to overcome, to fight for my happiness. I wish I could give her one last hug, tell her I love her one last time.

Life is short. Don’t take one moment for granted. Take time to enjoy the little things, to call up a friend, to tell your loved ones how much they mean to you. Remember that tomorrow is not guaranteed, for yourself or for anyone else. Use the time while you have it, and give no attention to the meaningless things. You don’t want to look back and think of the should haves, would haves, and could haves. Make today count.

Enjoy the time you have. You never know when that time will be over.

{Grandma, I love you and miss you. I’m glad you’re not suffering anymore…I know you spent much of your life in pain as well. Thanks for the memories, and I’ll see you on the flip side.}

{Photo Cred: Pinterest}

Left Behind

It’s that season again…every time I open Facebook or check Instagram, there seems to be another “back to school” post or photo. I see pictures of people I’ve known since they were toddlers announcing the college they’re going to, showing the world dorm pics, and getting excited for new beginnings. I look longingly at orientation albums for new RA’s or other college leaders, imagining what it would be like if I were healthy enough to be part of the fun.

I’m starting my Senior year of college in just a few weeks. That itself is an accomplishment because of the crazy amount of school I’ve missed through the years. But when I see posts from fellow Seniors, especially the people I grew up with, a feeling of sadness pours over me. You see, while they are flaunting their upcoming internships, counting down to graduation, and becoming stars on their sports teams, I am sitting in my living room with barely anything to show of the past few years of my life.

When I started college, I had big dreams. I wanted to be an RA, become involved in different clubs and groups, and spend time working and volunteering at hospitals and other places. I hoped to find lots of friends, crossed my fingers that a special boyfriend would come into the picture, and imagined happy days spent in the company of others. I made goals to achieve high grades and study diligently. I thought college would finally be my respite from my hectic high school experience. But on the night of September 3, 2012, all those dreams sank to the bottom of the pond, along with my ability to walk on my own.

There are some days when I just can’t help but feel left behind in all the college/life experiences. I mean, here I am, entering my Senior year and living at home. Jobless. Boyfriendless. Not at all living out what I had imagined. I mean, I don’t want to throw some huge pity party, because trust me, I know things could be a lot worse. But I do think that it’s okay to allow myself to experience these feelings of loss and loneliness.

My resume might not include all sorts of crazy jobs, internships, and opportunities like my fellow Seniors. My hand may still be empty and ring-less, with crutches tagging along instead of a man. My cell phone may only feature texts from my mom and from the local grocery store advertising the latest sales. My heart and mind may contain more scars than memories. But somewhere deeper than grades and classes and careers lies a different sort of adventure.

I carry with me my own story. My crazy roller coaster of a life, complete with treatment centers, hospitals, and operating rooms. My tear-shedding journey to get to the point where I am now. So even though I’m nowhere near the point that I thought I’d be right now, I’m still here. I’m still breathing. I’ve made it this far, so I have confidence that I can keep going, reminding myself that the only person I need to be better than is the person I was yesterday. Who cares if I’m not as brilliant or as experienced as those around me? They probably didn’t have to leave school every other year, move to different states for treatment, or spend more time in physical therapy than with friends.

We each have our own story to tell and adventure to go on. So even though I may feel left behind at times, I have to remind myself that life’s not a race…it’s a journey.

 

One Year

It’s been a year since one of the most challenging, nightmarish, and growth-producing parts of my RSD/CRPS journey. This week I’ll be writing about that time, recounting the horrors, victories, and everything in between. Warning: The following posts contain real, detailed accounts of my life. Some things won’t be pretty and sugar-coated. After all, life isn’t all rainbows and butterflies. Read if you wish.

One year ago today, I was enjoying my summer and becoming increasingly excited about going back to school. I was invited to a barbeque at my friend’s house but ended up not going. Instead, I found myself reliving my worst nightmare: slipping on my crutches.

August 2, 2013, I found out who my college roommate would be for the year. We started to text each other, discussing dorm themes, likes/dislikes, and everything else we needed to know.

The next day, I decided to take a trip down to my basement to gather some items to pack. Sure, we still had a month until we were going to move in, but the excitement was getting to me and I just couldn’t wait! I was home alone that day so I didn’t want to go downstairs until someone else was there, just in case. That was one of the best decisions of my life. When my sister came home, I quickly went down and piled a bunch of miscellaneous items into a bag.

When I came upstairs, hands full of school supplies, I was thinking about how this would be a new year. I was feeling so encouraged by the fact that I was healthy enough to go back to school. I put down my bags for a second and started to walk away to grab something else. I didn’t expect the floor to be so slippery, and before I knew it, my crutches were sliding from beneath my arms. They crashed to the floor as I fell on my knees. I tried to use my hands to break the fall, but my attempts failed. I was soon laying on the cold, dirty floor, screaming for help.

My sister ran into the kitchen when she realized what had happened. My parents were at a wedding so we didn’t want to disturb them. In that moment, I had to assess the situation. How bad was my pain? Was this an emergency? Was it worth bothering my mom? My screams, which I’m sure were heard across the neighborhood, answered all of those questions. I begged for relief, even telling my sister to drug me up with medication if she had to, just so I could be knocked out. I was horrified, angry, and confused.

I try to avoid doctors and hospitals at all costs, so I made my sister call my mom before dialing 911. My mom rushed home from the wedding, then insisted that we call an ambulance. I was devastated but desperate for help. My sister called 911 as I remained sobbing on the floor, unable to move.

Within minutes, my kitchen was filled with emergency responders. None of them had any idea what RSD/CRPS was, which certainly didn’t help the already difficult situation. They asked me questions but I couldn’t answer, so my mom did the talking. I was soon lifted onto a stretcher and covered with blankets, my mom standing by to make sure nothing touched my legs or arms. My “pillow pile” was brought downstairs to prop my feet up and prevent them from touching the bed, and a team of medics brought me across the street and into the ambulance.

My mom was not allowed in the ambulance, so she had to drive behind us. I was locked into the back of the truck with a young Paramedic sitting next to me. He kept trying to ask me what was wrong. “I’m in PAIN!” I screamed. I told him that I had a chronic pain disorder called RSD/CRPS. I could hear the confusion in his voice as he relayed this to his partner. “She has some problem called RSD,” he said into his walkie talkie. Nobody knew what this disorder was. He strapped a blood pressure cuff onto my tender arm and tried to take my vitals. The pain was worsening with each squeeze. In an effort to shut me up, the medic grabbed a syringe.

“I’m going to give you some medicine that will make you fall asleep,” he said firmly. “No, I can’t have shots!” I fearfully replied. I begged him to wait until he talked to my mom before administering the drugs, afraid that the injection would cause my RSD to spread. I wanted him to try oral medication before resorting to this. “You’re over 18 so I don’t need your parents’ consent for anything. I’m going to give it to you,” he stated. I was in a vulnerable position because I couldn’t move or do much to stop him, so I soon felt the poke of the needle going into my arm.

Contrary to what he said, the medication did not take effect until long after I was in the ER. I felt every bump on the road, every turn of the truck, and every squeeze of the blood pressure cuff. My arms were becoming increasingly sensitive and painful as my legs remained burning and motionless. When we finally reached the hospital, I was taken out of the ambulance and into a room. I was given more medication and soon fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was in more pain than before. My arms were completely stiff, swollen, and on fire, showing the classic “claw” look of RSD. My legs were worse and I was still crying. The flashbacks from when I fell and my RSD went full-body a few years beforehand were unstoppable. I kept hoping to wake up from this horrible dream, but the pain reminded me that this was very real. My mom was talking to me, my aunt had come to visit, and my dad was in the waiting area. We waited for what felt like hours and soon I was taken to a room, where I quickly discovered that this nightmare was just beginning.

Check back tomorrow for part 2…The Worst Hospital Ever.

Throwback Thursday

I was looking through some photos on my computer yesterday when I came across this one:

Now, to most people, this looks like a typical photo of a girl having a good vacation, nothing more. But this picture has a story behind it. I’ve always known the significance of the story, but it wasn’t until yesterday that the full impact of the photo hit me.

This photo was taken in December of 2006. I was on a cruise with my family, which by itself was an incredible gift since I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go. I was with my parents, siblings, grandparents (including my Grandpa who passed away this week), and a large group of other extended family. In the photo I am on a horse, in the ocean, gazing at the gorgeous island of St. Maarten (which, unfortunately, you can’t see in this pic). At the very moment in which the camera shutter blinked and captured this image, I was one of the happiest girls alive.

You see, we had planned this extended family vacation for months, maybe even years. The excitement had grown strong and in September of 2006, I was eager to get through a few more months of school so I could relax on the beach. But a lot happened between September 1 and the day this was taken, and the possibility of a vacation was greatly compromised.

On September 18, 2006, I was in my 3rd month of being on crutches due to RSD/CRPS. It was a rainy day and I slipped while going into my neighbor’s garage. The minor fall led to the pain and agony of RSD/CRPS spreading throughout my entire body, from head to toe. I was taken to the hospital, where I stayed until Thanksgiving. During my hospital stay, there were many conversations about the cruise-I wondered if I’d be able to go, and my family talked about cancelling it due to the uncertainty of my health. I posted a picture of a cruise ship on my hospital wall to serve as inspiration to get better and work hard so that I could reach my end goal of cruising through the ocean.

Miraculously, I was indeed well enough to join my family on the cruise. I had become stronger and, although I was still using lofstrand crutches, I gained most of my functioning back. My Grandma planned for some of us to enjoy a horseback riding excursion, and I was ecstatic. I have always had a love for horses, even though my RSD/CRPS originally started at horse camp. When the time finally came to go to the stable and meet my horse, I could hardly control my excitement.

We went to the stable that day and I happily released my crutches to be stored while I enjoyed my experience. I hopped up on the beautiful horse and geared up for an amazing time. We rode through town and came to a mountain. I was nervous about making the trek up and down the large hills, but I trusted that my horse knew what he was doing. When we reached the top, the view was incredible. It took my breath away to see the clear blue water ahead, shimmering in the sunshine. We reached the ocean and I was surprised when our leader told us to go in the water! We tied our shoes around our necks so they didn’t get ruined and allowed our horses to lead the way.

You see, this photo represents freedom. It signifies overcoming that which I thought was impossible. While on the horse, I didn’t have to worry about crutches or medication or doctors. I was simply able to enjoy life and the beauty of the creation around me. I was surrounded by loved ones and had an inner feeling of indescribable peace radiating throughout my body.

Something that struck me today about this image is the fact that I was in water. My legs, which had been extraordinarily hypersensitive and burning with pain just weeks previous, were submerged in the salty ocean water, without anything protecting them. It’s hard to see in the picture, but there I was, on a horse, wearing jeans, in water, with a smile on my face. Wow.

I still think about that vacation and relive the beauty in my mind when I need to be cheered up. I remember the sunshine beaming down on my body, the crisp ocean breeze, and the love of family all around. Although we have had many other incredible opportunities to travel and experience new places since then, the symbolism of this trip will always be sacred in my mind.

I can’t wait until I can once again experience that inner peace and knowledge that I have overcome the impossible. I know that day is coming soon, and I’m sure that beaming smile will be right back on my face.