You Call Me Out Upon The Waters..

((today))
***forward note- I was talking to Ryan this morning about how excited I am to write again.  Then I said, "It's like baking.  And painting rocks.  And traveling.... homeschooling.  It's like LIVING life."  Because before, when I was on medication I didn't enjoy much.  I couldn't feel much... so I didn't have much to write about.  Ryan said, "Yeah its like you were gone.  And now you're back."  It wasn't that I couldn't write when I was medicated.  I did... I did a lot of things.  I just did them on autopilot.  And I dropped everything "extra" in my life, to make up enough room- to save enough energy to do the things I had to do, like be a mom.  And somedays, it was simply surviving.  I can't tell you the vast difference in life 2 years ago.  You can see it apparently- I've been told more times than I can count that it looks like I have "LIFE in my eyes."   I used to take that compliment and be like "Holy moly- HOW BAD WAS IT?????"   But now, I'm like "shine on eyes!"  You can also see it in my physical appearance.  Two years ago, I was on handfuls of different medications.  I was bloated from opioids and steroids.  I've had many people make comments about how much weight I've lost... it's because my body was SO. SICK. Detoxing off of meds, helped shed probably thirty pounds. Continuing to heal my gut,  my body,  AND mind- naturally- has kept me at my "ideal" healthy weight (for my height).  Physically, and emotionally I feel strong.  I feel SO strong.  And most importantly, I feel like my spirituality is on fire.  There's a song I used to play when I was in the hospital; "Blessings in disguise"  I'd have it on repeat at the dark hour of  2AM.... and the lyrics go, "what if a thousand sleepless nights is what it takes to draw You near?"  I took hold of that lyric.  And it wasn't until crawling out of the haze that I realized I had spent more time talking to Jesus, more time in His word, than ever before in my life.  Which leads me into the actual blog post (yes this is still the intro to the actual post)…

Another song I love and continue to listen to is "Oceans."  I'm sure you know the lyrics- but in case ya don't: "You call me out upon the waters, the great unknown where feet may fail.  And there I find You in the mystery, in oceans deep my faith will stand."

 For a VERY LONG time, I've been trying to figure out how to "start" blogging again, but without saying "it." I knew I couldn't write truthfully, or honestly until I told my story.    And yes, I'm still working through so much- I don't think I can ever stop working on myself; I don't think anyone should.  There's always room to grow, and learn.  Knowing I can write openly, and vulnerably here- sharing the victories, the set backs, and the mundane, makes me smile so big.

With all that said, I've had this post (below) written for awhile... and I think there are about 7 drafts of it.  It might sound super similar to the FB & Insta post I shared the other day- and its because I've written this over, and over.  On countless pictures, facebook posts, I have "drafts"- trying to make this sound pretty.  Or different- but its never going to be pretty and its never going to sound different.

So here it is:










((March 2019))
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I keep asking Ryan, "What should I post?   What should I say?   How should I say it?"  And he keeps telling me, "Just write it out.  Just write it all out.  And then we'll piece it together"

The thing is, it's not easy stuff to tell.  It's something that will forever be etched onto me.  There's no redo, rewind, start over.  It is what it is.  I messed up.   I have literal and emotional scars that are slit across me; forever reminding me of "then."

When I was pregnant with Maeve, I developed anxiety.  After her birth I was in THE DEPTHS with depression and anxiety.  I've blogged about all of that before... it was bad.  About a month after Maeve was born I was put on Zoloft and Xanax.  The Xanax worked- in that it put me to sleep, and I wasn't in complete panic mode.  I couldn't tell a difference with the Zoloft so my doctor transferred me to a specialist.

Things were so bad around this time, I wasn't even driving- I couldn't drive.  I had it in my head that if I drove the car, we'd crash- it would be a catastrophic event, etc. (warning- I can take a HECK of a leap from A-Z).

My sweet hubs would drive me to my weekly appointments, and sit out in the car with baby Maeve. My new psychiatrist adjusted my medications; 60mg Prozac a day, and up to 4, 1mg Ativan as needed.

Ativan got me through.  So don't for a minute think I'm knocking modern meds, or doctors- I wouldn't be here with out either.  God has truly gifted some doctors with the ability to perform miracles on earth.  I've seen it happen, time and time again.

Anyways.... after being on Ativan and Prozac for a year, I found out I was preggo again.

My psychiatrist at the time suggested an abortion because I wasn't ready to be off of medication yet.

I don't remember the rest of that appointment, or day; just slamming her door shut and saying "ADIOS!" to that gross psych center.  (side note- that "suggested abortion" is Henry.  My beautiful, incredibly smart, sweet Henry).

Fast forward to Rosie (I know its a big time jump) but while I was pregnant and breastfeeding I didn't take my medications full time.  So.... for basically 5 years I was hopping on and off of anxiety medicine as needed.  I was young.  I was living in that time of "if the doctor says to take it, take it. "  I had no clue other options existed.  I was uninformed, and desperate to feel "normal."

 About six months after having Rose I started to develop a TON of neurological problems that in turn, caused some CRAZY things to happen.  Before I knew it, I was weaning Rosie from breastfeeding, so I could hop on every medication under the sun.  My reasoning was that the doctors know best; for some reason, I didn't weigh any of the side effects.  I leapt right to "WHAT IS HAPPENING MAKE IT STOP."

 My kidneys started to do weird things; stones and constant infections.  I had 3 kidney stone removals, countless cystoscopies, and one particularly brutal infection that landed me in the ICU.  I remember counting the bags of medication, hanging on the IV stands; it was staggering- 7,8 bags?  I can't recall the exact number.  I just remember thinking "WOW that's a lot of stuff going in me."   2014  was a rough year.

And then the back pain- flank pain- started.  It was chronic.  It never left.  And it was awful.  I went undiagnosed with it for at least a year.  Finally my doctor ordered a bunch of scans- more invasive tests because I needed answers.  I remember a doctor coming into my room and saying "I think I found what's going on."  He showed me scan after scan of my liver, and the giant tumor protruding from it. The reason for the chronic pain was because it was pinning my right kidney to my back wall. I had a ton of thoughts; um.... how the heck is it that big.... and HOW are we just now finding it???  How do I get it out???

 I was referred to Mayo.  We talked to a group of specialists who said the best thing to do would be a liver resection.  They explained to me; they'd remove the entire tumor, including the area of my liver where it was growing.  Then they'd take my severed liver, "resection it" and wallah!  A new, healthy liver!  God bless those liver doctors- they literally saved my life in the operating room.  I think I had every complication you could have during a big surgery.  The doctors had told us how vasculated the liver was; and there was a "tricky" area where my hepatic artery intertwined with the tumor a bit.  I was still thinking "I'm young.  This is going to be a hiccup in my life.  I can do this.  I'll be out of here in a few days."

Obviously I don't  remember surgery at all.  And I don't remember "recovery."  Because I had so many complications, I was just kept sedated.

I remember waking up a few times with a million doctors looking down on me. I was asking for my family.  And then I'd feel like I couldn't breathe and I'd fade out again.

It took almost a full 24+ hours for me to fully wake up.  And when I did wake up, I wanted to go back to sleep.  Or to wherever it was that I didn't feel this crazy pain.

For pain, I had a dilauded pain pump.  Every 7 minutes I could push it, and get relief.  Sweet, sweet relief.

They told me I needed to be bathed (no clue how many days post op this was- I want to say it was either day 1 or day 2...) and as the nurses went to help me turn, my entire body locked up in indescribable pain.  Listen.  I didn't make a peep when ANY of my kids were born.  But this pain made me wail.  I remember locking eyes with my sister and begging her to make them stop.  She couldn't even watch.  She left the room.  She joined my mom and grandma and sister Meghan- all whom were there, but couldn't stand to be in the room while this was happening.  I don't blame them. I pushed the pain pump.  I HATED to see them hurt so badly for me.  It might've been worse than the physical pain

Ryan was with me through it all...somehow he was juggling everything.

I nodded in and out for a few days; pushing my button.  I think they took my chest tube out on day 2... I had a heart episode that brought Mayo's finest heart docs down to my room- after a ton of tests they found that it was an interaction with my Prozac and the Zofran they were giving me for nausea.

Once they swapped nausea meds, all was well.  But I had to be monitored at the hospital longer.

My dad would visit me in the afternoons and evenings, and we'd talk about hard stuff.  But he made sure to leave me laughing.    

When I was able to sit and walk (with a walker) we had the kids come visit.  It hurt to see them hurt.  And I wanted to be at the park pushing them on a swing set.    Not showing them how I can do a lap with a walker around the 5th floor.  I was so embarrassed.  "Shame.  Not good enough.  Worthless."  It's an ugly mantra that I picked up during my liver surgery recovery.

It was always a relief to get back to my room so I could push my pain pump.

The hard thing about this situation is that I was having legitimate medical problems, which required legit medication.  Like... having your liver chopped apart and pieced back together absolutely warranted pain medication.  NO DOUBT.


But... it was like every time I was recovering from something, I'd get hit with something else.  The longer I stayed in the hospital, the sicker I got.  That's a fact.  And again- I'm not knocking hospitals.  My GP actually told us, for every day you're in the hospital, give yourself at least 4 weeks to fully recover.  Even if it was just an infection- or something dumb like my gallbladder.  Recovering from the hospital was no fun.

I would have some FANTASTIC weeks here and there, kind of polka dotting the year.  We'd say "Oh!  I think this is it.  We found the right doctor.  I'm on the right combo of  meds. I haven't been sick in a few weeks!" In fact, I was doing pretty well in the summer of 2016.  We had had an amazing summer, and I was starting to feel "steady."  Back on my feet-  back to me.  And then BAM- in August I got a blood clot in my chest.  And any resolve I had was washed down the sink.

I remember feeling overwhelming defeat as I sat in the ICU recovering from the blood clot.  And I also remembered how I could make that feeling go away.   I had access to pain medication again.

By the time 2017 rolled around, I was at an all time low.  Like- surviving from day to day was a challenge.    It hurt to simply take a breath- to breathe because I was so bloated on steroids.  I slept sitting straight up, because cramping my chest was too painful. I was having to self catheterize myself. Sometimes I'd have a cath bag attached to me because I was too weak to use the bathroom.   I had stomachaches so bad, I'd vomit blood requiring too many tubes up the nose to count.  I had migraines that would take days to go away- and that was WITH every pain medication under the sun.  I had no energy.  I had no drive.  I had no interest in life.  Every neuro test was coming back negative.  Nothing was connecting.  I had a list of chronic conditions and nobody could agree on an overall diagnosis.  (to this day- I'm still listed as a "suspected MS" patient- and trust me, there are times my mind goes there..)  I was obviously depressed, and getting fueled by the ugly monster of anxiety.  It (the anxiety) was demanding to know exactly what was going on.  Something in me, was insistent that we keep going; keep testing; keep figuring out this or that.   

Guys... it got so dark.  So, so dark.  

And I wish I could tell you exactly when and how this snowballed, and got SO out of control; but I can't because I was a steroid inflated shell of myself.  I was a zombie.  Overmedicated.  Overtreated.  Out. Of. Control.  Out of strength.  Completely weak.  I was so depressed and felt absolutely helpless.  Like an infant.  I told my GP I wanted to go to a pain doctor.

He referred me to a place in Jacksonville. The first time I walked in, I was scared; it was literally a waiting room of incredibly sick, overmedicated zombies.  

We met the pain doctor; he read my medical history, listened to me whine about needing it all to stop.  The migraines, the constant joint aching, the clot in my chest, the complete defeat I felt in every time I had to use the wheelchair... I didn't want to feel any of it.  

I'm sure you've heard a zillion stories that start like this- and I'm going to add myself to that list;  it started with Lortab.  A measly 5mg of Lortab.  And somehow within a year, I was on a fentanyl patch.

  

After  I developed not only a dependency, but tolerance for 5mg of Lortab.  Then it went to 10mg.  Then 20.  Etc.  Eventually, Lortab wasn't cutting it, so we bumped up to Oxycontin.  Then the Oxys just weren't doing it, so we switched to morphine- MORPINE?!? - and then my pain doctor prescribed me fentanyl. A fentanyl patch to be exact. Fentanyl.  For those who don't know what fentanyl is, its 80-100 times stronger than morphine   It's the drug that killed Michael Jackson, and Prince. It's  the drug that is now responsible for more deaths than car accidents.   I knew full and well what having a patch would be like.   I knew I was crossing a line; one that wouldn't be easy to cross back over. To put it quite bluntly, when I (ME) chose to say: "Yes, I'll wear the patch," my kids lost their mom.  Ryan lost his wife.  My parents lost a daughter.  My brothers and sisters lost a sister.    I lost myself, and so much else. Vacations, dance recitals, Christmas mornings, birthdays, precious moments. Gone. 

Along with the fentanyl patch, I was prescribed an additional 25mg/day of hydrocodone ( to take as needed- for breakthrough pain).   My psychiatrist who was absolutely aware of my pain medications, and the dosages, prescribed me benzodiazepines. "Up to 6mg/day" for my anxiety.  Sometimes when I needed scans or procedures, she'd prescribe me 10 mg of valium.  Like it was nothing.  It was easier to get than candy. Again- I am NOT blaming the doctors- I chose to take the pills.  However I DO feel like doctors should take some ownership when it comes to overprescribing.  And my psychiatrist was the queen of overprescribing.

 Everything was on autopilot.  I recall being pushed in a wheelchair at a Florida Gator's gymnastics meet, "nodding" in and out.  And I remember thinking "this is how my kids are going to have to look at me." I was always thankful for that "extra" as needed Lortab...it was ALWAYS "needed." The shame I still feel- (still working on/and through a lot) is indescribable.

My family has told me stories about me falling asleep at the dinner table.  I remember my dad picking my head up and snapping his fingers, saying "Ashley.... Ash.... ya with us?"  That should have scared the junk outta me. But in my mind, it was ALL OKAY, because I had a bottle with my name on it.

In February of 2018 Ryan and I were at my appointment and they showed us some paperwork; something about "Morphine Equivalency."  The nurse charted my dosages, added in the benzos and circled a number.  I can't remember the exact number.  It was a high number,  and I remember she circled it in red.  The doctor came in and explained because of my "number" I needed to own a  "Narcan kit."  The state of Florida says (because of my MME number) a Narcan kit is required at our residence.  I knew what Narcan was.  I watched intervention on TV.  I've seen the rescue videos on the news; drivers slumped over and Narcan being used to revive them.

I was genuinely shocked when the doctor told me this.  Like jumped back, tears in my eyes, wondering why I'd need a Narcan kit???    I wasn't like the people on tv.  I was prescribed medicine.  I was supposed to take this; I needed to take this.

That day at the doctor- he explained the dangers of the amount, and type of drugs I was on, the combination, and other factors, that put me at high risk for overdosing..  He still however wrote me a refill for the fentanyl and hydrocodone.  I had a new prescription to add to the shelf as well; "Naloxone."  I carried all three out to the car, looked at Ryan, and said "nope."  I never filled those scripts.  I never went back to that clinic.

I knew I didn't need that amount of pain and anxiety medication.  I knew it the entire time.  I completely abused it; taking Lortabs and klonopin like candy... when now, I know, there are about 300000 options between getting a headache and taking a Lortab.  And I knew it then too- but I was too lost- WAY TOO LOST to even think about it.

One of the most embarrassing parts of this, is my job.  A TON of  wellness sat literally under my nose- my sweet oils.  The ones that were great for diffusing, and worked wonders on my kids- yeah, we used them throughout all of this.  But I was in a different category.  I had "real" medical issues and I needed DOCTORS.  I had it in my head, there was no way to feel better unless I was taking pills.  I remember thinking, "Oh I miss those days, when I could take peppermint if my stomach was upset.  But now, I 'need' these pills."  I was sick.  So, so sick.
 
 Whether he meant to or not, the doctor's script of naloxone changed the direction of my life.

Ryan was driving home, and my wedding ring ALWAYS makes a teeny rectangle rainbow refection whenever the sun is at a certain angle.  I call it my own pocket of personal promises- I've taken pics of it tons of times :) I remember the colors covered the back of my prescriptions.  A rainbow; HIS promises.  And with fight like I never felt in my LIFE, I tore those scripts up, and said ""this is over."  There has to be a different way to live. And I surrendered.  I gave up control. Control I never had to begin with-  I gave up the "safety net" of medication.  I put my hands up, and surrendered- "Jesus DO this.  Jesus take this.  I can't do it.  But I want to.  I want to live.  I want to see my kids grow up.  I want to be the best me I can be.  And I can ONLY do that with YOU pouring into me."

And so I chose to detox;  it sucked. It sucked really bad, and there's no nice way to put it. But I made it through- and when the whole ordeal was done and over with, I remember thinking "Well... never doing that again!"  My head space started to become wayyyy clearer too- and it was good to "feel" again. I should rephrase that; it was good to KNOW I could feel again.  There were many times I would've loved to have taken the easy way out and gone crawling back to my pain doctor for relief.  But knowing I was right there- right at the cusp of crawling out, gave me so.much.motivation. to get ALL THE WAY out!

I started making appointments with different doctors, (specifically my script happy docs).... I found a homeopathic doctor who challenged me to eat RAW and CLEAN foods. My blood doc (oncologist- I've always hated that he's called that) challenged me to walk a mile by the date of the 1 year anniversary of my blood clot (did it-actually I was walking an average of 6 MILES/day)!  I also found a new psychiatrist, which was huge and scary... but one of the best things I've ever done.  She fed into my sickness... assuring me that in fact, I was too weak to do things without meds.  She would tell me  I needed klonopin to make me brave.  I needed it to get through things.  I needed it to "do life."

I started to wean off of other medications that were just "there"- like this one antibiotic- I was taking it to avoid infections, but as soon as I started eating different foods, moving around more, taking less medication, etc. a TON of those problems started to go away.  It was like the domino effect- once we got my migraines and joint inflammation under control via alternative medicine and therapy (lifestyle changes, CBD, acupuncture, oils, supplements, biofeedback, and vitamins) I was able to get rid of my nausea medicine.  Once I got rid of my nausea medicine, I was able to stop taking my steroid.  Then I was able to start weaning off the benzos and SSRI (which I am STILL weaning off of...)

Friends, I'm writing this for several reasons.

YOU are worthy of LOVING and LIVING life.  Yes- YOU. ARE.  God created us for a purpose.  We are here for a reason..  There is not one mistake about you being here.  Reading this.

If you're  walking on a dark road please know this; your walking has a purpose and a direction.  PROMISE.  And there are people that will WALK with you. Had I chosen the "the other road" and filled those scripts, I can't tell you if I would even be here.  In fact, the way my tolerance and dependency was growing, I feel safe to say things could have gone in a completely different, devastating direction.  

So while this post isn't fun AT ALL, and there are no unicorns to write about, I have to write this.  Because I'm HERE. I am here. I have four crazy kids running around, a husband who has more love, patience and compassion than anyone I know, and a family who is so darn proud of me- not for how well, or poorly I do my job, or how clean or messy my house is- but proud because I came back.  (that's how they describe it:)- "Ashley, it's like you're alive again... you're YOU."  It's a responsibility I feel I have now; to tell you the suffering and devastation my family and I have suffered because of the disease of addiction.  And it's my responsibility to tell you, I GOT OUT.  And YOU CAN TOO.

There is an epidemic in this country.  It's spreading quicker than wildfire and here's the terrifying part:  IT DOES NOT MATTER WHO YOU ARE.  It doesn't care.  It's not choosy; there is no immunity to addiction.  Don't for a second think, "that could never happen to me."  Because that's what I thought WHILE I was hopped up on pain medication.  "It's prescribed to you Ashley.... you're SUPPOSED to take it.  5mg, 10 mg- it doesn't really matter...however much I need to get through."

But there is SO much room for abuse.  ESPECIALLY when its medicine prescribed to you.  I was "allowed" to take up to 4 pills a day.  I didn't HAVE to.  I didn't NEED to. But when I took the extra hydrocodone ,I was able to get out of the bed, and be with the kids- even if it was just to eat dinner with them... before crashing, and needing another dose.  And the cycle went ON & ON.

I'm  also writing this because we MUST be 100%  aware of what we're putting in and on our bodies.  Just because a doctor says to take something, doesn't mean you HAVE to take it.  AGAIN- I'm not saying nix the doctor/hospital.   There is absolutely a place and need for those kinds of medications.    Skilled doctors saved my liver and my life when I developed that blood clot.  So please don't take it that way :)   I DO however, believe there is a ginormous problem with overprescribing.  And I don't blame the doctors for how things happened- they treated me like they were trained.  But I often wonder why there isn't more room for alternative medicine, and treatments.  Sadly, that answer comes down to money... and I think it always will come down to money.  And that just stinks.

Today I still check my blood regularly (my INR number/clotting factor) and I'm still on 7.5mg of Coumadin.    I've completely detoxed off of all pain medication and I'm over halfway done with weaning and detoxing off of Prozac and nearly done with klonopin.  Last year I was on "up to" 6  mg of klonopin.  Today I'm down to ONE mg.- if needed.... and guess what?  I rarely need it.

I still have a growth on my pituitary.  I get it scanned every 6 months or so.  For now its just causing some problems with my vision on my left side.  Again though, diet, lifestyle changes, CBD and alternative therapies have decreased 99% of my inflammation- so its not really a problem like it was.

I just got my "2 year" blood clot scan & workup back.  All is well.

I haven't had to cath myself since detoxing off of pain medication.

I have had two kidney infections this past year....compared to over 20 infections the previous year.  Both requiring antibiotics- neither requiring any kind of pain, or nausea medicine.

My gut is happy with good probiotics, and clean food.  (although I've been cheating on the food thing lately because of traveling).

And none of this was quick- none of it.

And it wasn't easy either.

I was actually in full detox mode on our trip to South Carolina in Spring 2018.  Sweating, puking, shaking, etc.  Lovely.

Eating healthy, and noticing significant changes took a solid year.   And my gut is still healing because I choose to eat too much ice cream.

I have 18 months worth of CBD and good stuff built up in me- cushioning the inflammation that used to leave me in bed.

Like I said, I am STILL weaning off of klonopin- (it's one of the hardest benzos to wean off of... UGH) and on the weeks where I jump down a notch, it's not that unusual for my friends to get a call from me, blubbering, "I can't do this.  It's so hard.  It's TOO hard."

But the people around me... they're everything.  They encourage me on days when I've thought "WHY AM I EVEN TRYING TO MANAGE THIS WITH STRANGE ALTERNATIVE STUFF? "

But then the day passes.  I rest.  And a new day begins.  And I'm able to stand up and put my feet on the floor and try it again.

Guys... for the longest time (like YEARS) I thought my "trial" in life was the postpartum stuff I had with Maeve.  And then I got sick.  And I thought, "okay- definitely this.  This is my trial in life.  Because what can be worse than being stuck in the hospital constantly?"  And then I entered into the world of pain management.  WOW.

Here's the thing.  I'm blogging, sharing my story, my testimony- thinking that THIS is my trial in life.  But we're not promised smooth sailing friends.  There are going to be storms; MASSIVE ones.  This life is constantly changing, spinning, and throwing us for loops.  Nothing is promised.  Nothing is guaranteed.  But I can tell you ONE person Who never leaves me alone at the miserable hour of 3 AM.  He's the same One Who walks (or dances:) with me through the awesome sunshiney days.  He is CONSTANT.  He is Jesus.   And He is life.

We need to take the stigma off of mental health; it needs to be put in spotlight.  We need our kids to know how real, and how dangerous drugs are, INCLUDING prescription drugs.  Because this ordeal is absolutely something that has and will impact my kids forever.  And I refuse to let those lost years be lost in vain.

There's nothing else to do; nowhere else to go.  I will never press quit.

I can sit here and beat myself up for days (weeks, years, etc.) or I can USE my days.  And that's what I've been doing... using these sweet, good days- making them count.

Filling them up with as much GOOD as I can.

This post is from my heart.

The most vulnerable pieces of my heart.

I am choosing to be bold and put this "out there."

I know judgements will be made.

I know things will be said.

And that's okay. :)

Because it my story can help one- JUST ONE- other person from feeling a little less alone, and a little more hopeful?

Then AMEN.

Life is too incredibly precious to miss out on.

LOVE YOU FRIENDS!

xoxo
Ash


PS- I feel like this was "the big elephant in the room"- and it feels good to address it.  With that said, I'm excited to start blogging about our homeschooling adventures... and a billion other thoughts on life :)