What Is It About Me?

In so many ways, I am becoming Ebeneezer Scrooge.  Certainly not in the more-money-than-I-know-what-to-do-with way, or the mean, stingy, miserly way.  No, I am becoming Scrooge-like in the generally-hating-the-holiday-season way.  As much as I appreciate the birth of the man who would willingly die on the cross for my sins, I've never been much of a birthday celebration person.  And with all the hype and hoopla surrounding the anticipation of the holiday season, the day itself always seems anticlimactic, like is was far more work and worry than it was really worth.  But more than the seeming aggravation of the season, it is the obligatory family shin-digs that I dread the most.

Anyone who knows me or has been following my writing is aware of the strained relationship I tend to have with family members.  If not, a brief whirl-wind tour of family history may illuminate the rest of this story: my brother broke my leg, my sister got me turned in to Children's Services, and my father forgot he had daughters.  Sounds like a fabulous family get together scenario, yes?  Don't get me wrong.  I am capable of loving my family in spite of their perceived ills because they are family.  That doesn't mean I particularly enjoy spending tons of time with them.  Which works out for everyone because I seem to be little more than an afterthought to them in most regards.  For example...

My brother lives in a very small town where everyone knows everyone and it seems like everyone gets along.  The neighborhood collectively has a big brew-ha every year for Halloween, and for years now the family has been invited.  Except for me.  Well, that's not entirely true.  Several years ago, I was told in advance this was happening and was actually able to make it.  Since then, I have known this tradition continues, and I have known that the rest of my family attends, but I have never received another invite.  Pretty much yearly, after the fact, my sister mentions that the kids missed seeing us at the Halloween event.  Well, maybe if I had been given information about when it was I could have been there.

This is just one of MANY such scenarios, as is evidenced at every family shin-dig I am obligated to attend.  As I am sure happens at most family gatherings, memories and reminiscings of good times past are enjoyed around the table.  In my family, this is the point in the conversation that I fall quiet because I have nothing to contribute to the happy memory being shared since I have no idea what they are talking about.  Birthday parties and bon fires past are remembered with great fondness while I am reminded yet again that I am out of sight and out of mind.  Listening to the kids talk about when they have had overnights with my brother or sister causes me to question why my own kids were never offered the same experiences.  Watching my sister's kids fawn all over my brother while they hardly seem to recognize me drives the point home.  Overhearing about comical interactions over facebook reminds me that I have more FB friends that are in-laws than blood.

But why?  What is it about me that makes me so invisible, so unnoticed, so forgotten?  Is it simply a matter of the so-called "middle child syndrome"?  Is it because both my brother and sister were wild kids and therefore demanded parental attention and, since old habits die hard, that is simply where the attention continues to be focused?  Actually, in my heart of hearts, I believe I know the answer.  But even if I am correct in my supposition, I still don't understand why it makes me a black sheep.

So as if the holiday season itself weren't stressful enough, I am doubly burdened by the knowledge that I will be forced to endure the hurtful reminders that for the rest of the year I am not even on the family radar.  Sometimes I wish they wouldn't feel obligated to include me in holiday events, since, with the exception of my sister's invites to her kids' birthday parties, they feel no obligation to include me in anything else.

Garbage, Ghost, or Guardian Angel

In my line of work, I come across some characters.  Conversations have the potential to be unusual and thought-provoking, or plain old down-right weird.  For example...

At the chiro's office, there was a patient, Bill, who was a recovered cocaine addict and a born-again Christian.  As a fellow Christian, I never judged, but considering the documented effects of long-term cocaine use I DID take some of the things he said with a grain of salt.

Bill usually had morning appointments.  During one of his treatments, the hot stones were set up in one corner of the room heating for a later appointment.  We didn't keep the stones set up in the room when they weren't needed since they took up valuable work space and the appointments for the service were few and far between, so this was the first time Bill saw the set up.  Bill was a chatter, and during the course of the conversation he asked more about the hot stone service.  Then he said very matter-of-factly, "The spirit in this room doesn't like the stones being in that corner.  That's where he hangs out."

I beg your pardon.

Bill went on to explain that he had the ability to see spirits, call them angels if you prefer, and that there was always the same spirit standing in the corner of my treatment room.  He said he got the impression that the spirit was nothing to be afraid of; instead, it was watching over the room, as if it were a protector ~ a guardian angel.

Huh.  Really?  There's a guardian angel in my treatment room?  OK.  If you say so.

I wondered aloud if the property had been some Native American holy ground or ancient burial site, then the conversation turned to other topics.

I had all but forgotten about this episode until very recently when I was back in the office for a massage trade with my former coworker.  We were trading 90-min massages, so we were in the room for the better part of the morning.  At some point, the lights in the room dimmed and re-surged a couple of times and my coworker said, "That was weird," When I mentioned that this used to happen periodically when I worked there, she jokingly added, "Must be the ghost in the room."  I knew she'd said it in jest, but it sparked the memory of the conversation I'd had with Bill years earlier.  I asked if she had ever treated him and told her about the conversation we'd had.  She said she did remember him because he had mentioned to her that the spirit was not in the room when she was working, and he figured that the spirit was not attached to the room, but to ME specifically.

Wait.  What?  The spirit doesn't watch over the room, it watches over ME?  I'm not sure how I feel about this.  Who is this spirit?  Does it watch me workout?  Does it watch me take a shower and get dressed?  Does it watch when I'm intimate with my husband?  Should I be creeped-out here?!

Then I thought about the time I was running on the Scioto Trail and heard a very real, audible voice tell me to turn around.  And the time I was riding on the Olentangy Trail and heard yelling in the woods along the riverbank but was told to keep going.  Joshua thinks this spirit is the guardian angel that rides in the car with me to keep my aggressive driving from causing harm.

OK.  I suppose I shouldn't be unnerved by this spirit following me around ~ if there really is a spirit following me around.  Call me crazy, but I'm not ready to fully rely on the word of an eccentric recovered drug addict.  Besides, what make me worthy of my own personal guardian angel?  I'm not complaining, just doubting.  Why me?  Why is there not a spirit attached to my coworker?  Or every believer, for that matter.  What makes me more deserving of this protection that anyone else?

I do seriously doubt whether or not there is a guardian angel that is continuously at my side.  Yet, I must admit that I am comforted by the idea that someone ~ or something ~ is constantly looking out for me.  I wonder if Bill saw whether this spirit is wearing a jet pack in order to keep up with my driving.

Holding On To A Promise

Since January 2008 I have:

~ Dislocated ribs T8, 10, and 11 in the back; ribs T2, 3, and 4 in the front; and my collar bone at both ends - all on the right side.
~ Dislocated the left wrist 3 times in 3 different places.
~ Partially dislocated the L2 vertebrea
~ Dislocated both SI joints.
~ Dislocated both kneecaps.
~ Partially dislocated 3 different joints in my left foot - all at the same time.

This list doesn't even scratch the surface of the myriad of injuries sustained throughout my earlier life due to the maddening joint hypermobility I deal with or the developmental quirk that causes sciatic pain in my left hip.  Am I a train wreck, or what?  I feel like the embodiment of the the passages in the Gospels, "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

I haven't slept well in weeks due to the pain in my hip and shoulder preventing me from getting comfortable.  I toss and turn most of the night, jockeying to find a position that doesn't cause pain, tingling, or numbness somewhere in my being.  Lying on the left side hurts my hip, lying on the right hurts my shoulder, and lying flat on my back not only hurts my low back, but also causes tingling in my forearms and hands due to the way my elbows hit the mattress.  So more often than not, I end up in an uncomfortable looking twist, with my upper-body flat and my arms resting on my abdomen so the elbows don't hit the mattress, and my lower body twisted to the right with knees bent so there is no pressure on the left hip or low back.

My ribs have been bothersome for several days, and I've worn my brace more than once this week.  When the ribs are out in the front, muscle tension creeps up my neck into my jaw and ear.  When the ribs are out in the back, muscle tension radiates from my bra-line all the way up to the base of my head.  Today has been particularly rough as I woke up with muscles so bound up that I couldn't turn my head to the right without pain.  After several hours of wearing my brace, a few rounds of utilizing the heating pad, and a regular regimen of 30min on/30min off with the TENS unit, I can once again look to my right shoulder, but tension remains ~ and will, I have little doubt.

I'm too young to hurt like this.  I sometimes envy my "little old ladies", as I like to call a few of my patients who are in their 80's, who live very active, independent lives with little or no pain to speak of.  Here I am, less than half their ages, and I am completely falling apart.  I have a "Bucket List" a mile long that includes things like hiking the Appalachian Trail, hiking El Camino in Spain, and taking bicycling tours of foreign countries.  But, given how I feel at this exact moment, I doubt whether my body will hold up long enough for me to do any of it.  It truly sucks being held back by one's own physicality.

My spirit is more than willing ~ in fact, it yearns ~ but the body is less than cooperative.

My only solace is the faith and hope that one day my spirit will no longer be confined to this decrepit body, that one day my spirit will be free, with a new heavenly body that will never hurt, never feel pain, never be limited by the confines of mortal flesh.  In the meantime, I believe in a God of miracles, so I will continue to pray for one.  I doubt my worthiness and His willingness to answer in my favor, but it never hurts to ask.  Right?

What Do You See?

Look at me.
What do you see when you look at me?

Do you see beauty?
Do you see mischievous eyes and defined cheek bones?
Do you see full lips in a sly smirk?
Do you see sun-damaged white spots among freckles?

Look at me.
Really look at me.

Do you see a confidence?
Do you see triumph over adversity?
Do you see leadership?
Do you see authority?

Look at me.
What do you see?

Do you see a confused little girl?
Do you see the baggage of molestation?
Do you see wariness?
Do you see fear?

Look at me.
REALLY look at me.

Do you see exhaustion?
Do you see weariness?
Do you see sadness?
Do you see depression?

Look at me.
What do you SEE?

Do you see ugliness?
Do you see anger?
Do you see spite?
Do you see obstinance?

Look at me.
Really LOOK at me.

Do you see love?
Do you see compassion?
Do you see forgiveness?
Do you see a healer?

Look at me.
What DO you see when you look at me?

Do you see a strong will trapped inside of a weak body?
Do you see frustration?
Do you see resentment?
Do you see determination?

LOOK at me.
Really look at me.

Do you see dark under-eye circles?
Do you see droopy breasts?
Do you see a saggy paunch decorated with the Silver Medals of Motherhood?
Do you see chubby thighs?

Look at me.
What do you see when you look at ME?

Do you see the war for my soul raging within my flesh?
Do you see the mercy of God?
Do you see the love of Christ?
Do you see the touch of the Spirit?

Look at me.

Do you see me at all?

Psalm 23:4

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.  Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”  Psalm 23:4

            I grew up in faith, learning at an early age that I was a beloved daughter of God and believing that Christ was my Lord and Savior.  Yet, as a strong-willed, spiteful teen, I walked away from the church of my youth.  Though I never stopped believing in the existence of God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit, what I believed about them became skewed.

            I left the church just before beginning my senior year of high school.  By graduation, I was pregnant ~ and devastated.  All of my hopes and dreams for the future had just been dahsed.  What had I done to deserve this?  How many of my friends were far more promiscuous than I was and not being punished this severely?  I truly believed that God was enjoying torturing me for some hideous sin that I was not aware of and therefore could not repent of.  I prayed that if he would just reveal to me what I had done I would repent so He could make this all go away.  These were the first few steps into “the valley”.

            It was also the beginning of my decent into the deep, dark abyss that is suicidal depression.  I would spend the next 3.5 years at the bottom of this abyss, during which time I almost killed my son twice and planned the ending of my own life while selfishly taking him with me.  It can only be attributed to the grace of God that either of us survived this very real “valley of the shadow of death”.

            But because I was not walking with the Lord at that time, I did fear.  I feared the evil inside myself, the horrible person I believed myself to be.  And though I did believe that I was being disciplined, there was no comfort, because I felt as if God was abusing me for His enjoyment.

            Though I was eventually treated for the depression, my twisted beliefs about God remained.

            Several years later, our family ended up again in a significant “valley”.  Amongst other trials and tribulations, we were being kicked out of the house in which we were living, my husband was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and panic attacks, and I had gotten into a physical altercation with my brother that left me with a cracked shin bone.  It felt as if our lives were caught in a wildly out of control downward spiral. 

As I lay with my broken leg propped on the couch in our new living room while in the throes of an insomniac attack, I had a sudden clarity of vision.  I had spent 9 years running from God, and all the while He had been chasing me.  He hadn’t been torturing me; He had been trying to get my attention.  Now, in the midst of this particular “valley”, He had it, and I did an about-face and sprinted into His loving arms.  God didn’t change my situation; He didn’t make it all go away.  But He held me tight and reassured me that He would guide me through this valley.

A few years later, I found life again to be overwhelming and was again treated for depression.  This time, however, I was walking with the Lord and believed that He would use this experience to grow me.  After a time, I felt inspired and well enough to end my treatment, though, admittedly, I did not go about it in the smartest way.  I stopped my medication cold-turkey.  I was woefully unprepared for the severity of mental, physical, and spiritual side effects of this incredibly irresponsible decision.  In my weakened physical and disconnected, loopy mental states I had opened myself up to intense spiritual attack, the likes of which I have never experienced before or since.  It was an onslaught of menacing faces and evil voices.  My mind had become a battlefield.  This was truly a “valley of the shadow of death”, the death of my soul.

Yet, I knew the Lord was with me, leading me through this valley.  By focusing on the Lord and His promises, I was able to regain my footing and push forward through the battle.  It was a very LONG valley, but I never feared, for He was with me every step of the way.  I was comforted knowing that when I became weary from the battle He would carry me.  And when He brought me to the other side, I gave Him all the glory.

I’d like for you to consider this quote from Perry Noble, Head Pastor of New Spring Church and author of Overwhelmed:  Winning the War Against Worry.  “Those times when we walk through the valley of the shadow of death can be precious, because they remind us that He is the author of life.”

Morning Run as Lesson In Humility ~ Take 2

If you read my last post, you are pretty much up to speed in my running world.  If you haven't, well, either go back a step, or continue on and try to keep up.

The Run Like a Girl event is just around the corner, and I am registered for the 1/2 marathon.  According to my self-designed-due-to-injury running schedule, I was due for a 10-miler.  Having just returned from a 4-day retreat where I spent the most of the time sitting, my foot was given a lengthy rest and was feeling pretty decent.  I wanted to attempt this last long run on pavement, since that is the terrain I will be traversing during the 1/2, and quite frankly, I am sick to death of my treadmill.  I planned my route as a 5-mile loop to run twice.  Strategic parking allowed for the passing of my car 3 times during those 2 loops, allowing for the possibility that I may need to cut the run short, and there are several other access points to the trail from neighborhoods it passes through, providing easy access to anyone who may need to come to my rescue.  I texted my husband as to my whereabouts, mostly to give him the heads-up in case I did need rescuing, and set off down the trail.

The first 1.5 miles went well.  The foot was holding up and my pace was promising.  I came to the first turnaround point and headed back.  Not long after that, I felt a stab in my knee.  Knee pain is nothing new to me, and sometimes if I slow the pace but keep moving whatever is going on in there will work itself out.  A few steps later I realized this is not familiar knee pain.  This felt like bone striking bone.  Still, I was hopeful that if I kept moving, it might work itself out.  On level ground, I felt nothing.  But the slightest incline or curve in the trail that caused a change in my heel-strike resulted in a stab that nearly buckled me.  By the 4 mile mark, I was just praying to make it back to the car.  At 4.5, I couldn't run another step.  Angrily, I resigned myself to walking the last half-mile to the car.

This, folks, was a "come to Jesus" experience.  And come to Him I did ~ with every once and iota of frustration, anger, and upset I'd harbored during the last year and some change.  I dare say this was one of my darker moments as I cursed God.  It is a cruel irony that He has given me a strong will trapped inside a fragile body.  And I promise I will bitch-slap the first person who refers to Matthew 26:41 or Mark 14:38.  I am well acquainted with these verses.  MY will is not HIS will.  Miraculously, my body seems to hold up just fine when it's regarding HIS will.  Only when it's regarding MY will does my body seem to fall apart.  Way to be fair, there, God.  I am strong enough to do what YOU want, but not what I want?  Thanks.  I must have looked like an utter loon walking down the trail crying ~ more from anger than pain ~ and talking to no one who was visible.

More than once over the last year, in conversation about the physical quirks I live with, it has been suggested that I may have a "non-specific" autoimmune disorder, or possibly EDS (Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome).  From what I have read, EDS results from a chromosomal mutation and can be inherited.  Since I have inquired of both sides about family members who may have dealt with hypermobility and come up with bupkis, if EDS is the culprit, I apparently have the dubious honor of beginning the lineage of damaged genes.  Go me.  And considering that both of my boys are hypermobile, it seems also that I have passed on my broken chromosome.  Sorry guys ~ truly.  The only severely tarnished silver lining to EDS is that I have found nothing to indicate that the syndrome is progressive ~ unlike an autoimmune disorder.  Generally, with an autoimmune disorder ~ for example, rheumatoid arthritis or HIV ~ one's own immune system continues to attack their own cells.  In other words, the damage that has already been done is only the tip of the iceberg.  If an autoimmune disorder is at fault, my connective tissue will continue to sustain damage, more than likely to result in increasingly lax joints and possible damage to vessels and valves of the cardiovascular system.  Oh, the possibilities!!

As I came to Jesus after that failed run, I also had to come to terms with the physical defects and limitations I have been denying for years.  As I have witnessed my own body deteriorate with increasingly numerous and frequent dislocations, sprains, strains, and circulatory hiccups, I have refused to believe that my body was weak in any way.  Since the mantra of my life seems to be "This, too, shall pass", I believed that I could overcome every new ache, pain, or injury by sheer determination and will.  That belief is beginning to waver.  But what is more is that I have lived the last few years in constant fear of injury.  Already there are so many things I want to do but do not for fear of re-injury, now I need to worry about injuring myself at all?!  Why bother getting out of bed in the morning?  Why give me the desire without a way to obtain the means?  Again we come back to the cruel irony.

Someone once accused me of having no tolerance for weakness.  The comment caused me a moment's pause to decide whether or not it was true, and what I determined was that I have no tolerance for weakness in myself.  And yet, here I am, trapped in what I perceive to be a weak body.  The ultimate humility.

Some might remind me that there are scores of folks in the world who have it far worse than I, and that I should leave the pity-party-of-one, put on my "big girl panties", and be grateful for what I do have.  True.  And I am grateful.  But please remember, that you do not live inside this body, fight these internal conflicts, or war with these demons.  Each are my own, and the battle tends to make one weary.  So as I wallow in the weakness of my body, please forgive me the momentary weakness of my spirit.  I promise I'll be back to my cast-iron bitch self soon enough.

A Day Without Pain

Strong-willed.  Bull-headed.  Stubborn.  Italian.  I prefer "determined".

Call me what you want (as long as it's not derogatory, if you actually expect me to answer), but the simple truth is that once I set my mind on something, few things short of an act of God will keep me from it.  For example, at age 16 I knew I wanted the man who is now my husband, and I spent a year chasing him.  Yes, I pursued him.  Were there others guys more easily accessible?  Probably.  But I didn't notice, nor did I care, because I knew who I wanted and set my mind to making him mine.  In my 20's, I ended up with a cracked shin bone and crushed cartilage in one knee.  When given the all clear from the orthopedist, I asked if I could go back to tae kwon do, kick boxing, and running.  I was advised that in order to stave off knee replacement for as long as possible, I may want to consider lesser-impact alternatives.  Though I was willing to give up tae kwon do and kick boxing, I was not willing to completely give up running.  It took several years, and enough setbacks to discourage a weaker spirit, but I ran my first half marathon last year.  Clearly, there are some instances when being persistent pays off.

In the spring of 2013, my sanity took a temporary leave of absence, which allowed me to register for a 10 mile running event.  In the process of training for this 10 mile event, my sanity went on another unauthorized vacation when I came across a promo for a women's only 1/2 marathon.  In my insane state, I thought, "If I can run 10 miles in September, surely I can run 13 in October," and I registered.

On August 28, 2013 ~ 11 days before the 10 miler and 5 weeks before the 1/2 ~ I took a tumble down my front steps and landed rather gracelessly on the asphalt driveway, resulting in a bruised tailbone, and then went backward against the steps, knocking both of my sacroiliac joints (where the spine and hip bones come together) and L2 vertebrae (mid-back-ish) out of place.  In non-anitomical terms, I thoroughly jacked up my hips and back.  Not exactly the most conducive condition for running.

Though hindsight is usually 20/20, I knew even as I was doing so that continuing to train was not going to speed my healing.  To be honest, I knew that continuing to train would be detrimental in most respects.  But, being "determined", I pushed through the pain and continued to train.  And it was only by the grace of God was I able to run and complete both events.  But not without ramifications.

The injuries sustained during that fall caused much grief for many reasons.  Pain aside ~ though, make no mistake, there were huge amounts of pain ~ living with a condition known as hyper-mobility makes recovery from dislocations (even partial dislocations, or subluxations) a very long, arduous, and frustrating process.  My hyper-mobility presents as abnormally loose ligaments (the bands that connect bones to bones within a joint) which, therefore, results in abnormally loose joints.  Not only do loose joints tend to dislocate much more easily, they do not hold very tightly or well when realigned.  When I dislocated a rib in 2008, it took 2 years to stabilize.  The wrist dislocation in 2010 took 18 months.  So the fact that my L2 is still not quite stable 12 months later is really not surprising ~ frustrating, to be sure, but not surprising.

But it was the SI joints that were the real pain.  I have battled hip and sciatic pain since I was a freshman in high school, so one would think I would be accustomed to having a permanent pain in my ass.  Yet, this was a new level of pain and aggravation.  It started in my low back, which makes sense since that's where the SI joints are located.  Then the pain moved to the groin area, which took me a while to figure out.  It eventually occurred to me that one of the muscles that crosses the SI joint attaches to the front of the thigh bone, and it was probably working overtime trying to keep the subluxed joint stable.  Yea.  Once that was under control, the pain moved square into the (very) fleshy part of my rear.  Lucky me.  It was the end of March 2014, 7 months after the fall, that the pain reached a tolerable level that no longer interfered with my daily life.

Then ~ wouldn't you know it? ~ in April, I injured my foot.  Are you kidding me??!!  Not sooner had I gotten the back and hip pain under some sort of control then the newest malady presented itself.  At first, I wondered if there was a connection between the foot pain and the uneven hips that resulted from the fall.  Maybe I was striking that heel harder when I ran.  Then it occurred to me that the foot pain began when I transitioned from running on a treadmill to running on the trails.  Could it have more to do with the uneven running surface? 

Being "determined", I pushed through the pain to continue to train for the 1/2 marathon I'd already committed to run.  Ice and ibuprofen became my best friends.  Then, on one of my trail runs, 4.25 miles in and less than a 1/4 mile from the parking lot, as it hit the ground, a searing hot, stabbing pain shot through the bottom of my foot.  "That's not a good sign," I thought.  I tried a few more steps and said, "Nope.  Ain't happenin'," and then I limped the rest of the way to the car.  The next morning, I limped into the office for an adjustment and was informed that I had a significant sublux between the heel bone and another that it works with, probably resulting in a sprain of the ligaments between the bones as well as the tendon of the muscle that connects there.  When I hurt myself, I go all out.

So here I am, just passing the one year anniversary of when it all began.  It dawned on me that I have not had a single day without pain for the last year.  Admittedly, a wounded healer is more effective and empathetic than one who has never experienced sickness or pain, and this experience has definitely given me new appreciation for people who live in far worse pain than mine.  But as my husband once observed, I don't like being restrained, and in that regard this pain has been a maddening and frustrating experience.  On the other hand, it has also been an incredibly humbling experience as it has required me to rely less on my own capabilities and more the the grace of God.  In spite of daily pain, I have still been able to accomplish a few rather significant fetes.  Sometimes we need to be broken down in order for God to build us up.  At least, that's the hope I'm holding onto through the rest of this healing process.