What about yesterday?

It sucked.  It caught me out of the blue, off guard and I'm still wiping my eyes.  It feels like I have gallons of tears behind my face, and as they fall, a little more anxiety, fear, guilt, and embarrassment goes with them.

That's something I've learned on this rollercoaster- it's okay to cry.  It's actually necessary to cry and say "I AM NOT OKAY... I need help with this."  I think I've learned that lesson... maybe I'm still working on it?  I don't know.

Yesterday a lot of old demons flared up.  And it was terrifying.

I've been having a lot of sinus pressure behind my face and head.  My left eye started to do the crazy big pupil thing.  I had about three days of the pressure and vision problems.  But I was okay!  Everything was FINE.  I was medicating with CBD, rest, water, and it was ALL okay...   Until it wasn't.

It took just a second- a split second. I felt fine (I mean other than the headache & eye pain I'd had for 3 days) but one second I was rescheduling our Midwest trip (thanks Dorian) and the next second I was showing Ryan blood clots.

A few weeks ago I passed two kidney stones and I immediately thought that was the cause.  I was hoping that was the cause.  But then I remembered I was on blood thinners.  And one of the HUGE
warnings on the packaging that comes with my coumadin is "go to ER immediately if there's any unexplained bleeding."

AWESOME.  AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME.   That's all I could think on my way there.  I was so freaking ticked.  I kept saying, "Well isn't this just great?  This is how I wanted to spend my Sunday..."

I was SO angry.  I don't think I even said bye to my kids- I just walked out the door and told Ryan I'd be back later.

Flagler hospital.

It's a place in itself that holds too many emotions.  It's where I watched my grandma pass away.  And its also where Ryan and I welcomed Estella June and Rosie.  Such highs.  And SUCH lows.

It was my fault for going there, and not driving an extra thirty minutes to Baptist.   But I wanted this to be taken care of quick.  I had things to do.

I don't know the word for it- ironically?  Horrifying?  But when the nurse took me into the back, she led me into the same room where I had held my grandmas hand as she stepped into heaven.

I stopped at the door and asked why I wasn't being "fast tracked."

Our ER basically has two "lanes."
The "fast track" where you're pretty much in & out (meaning nothing was seriously, seriously wrong) and there was THIS lane- the one in the back, with monitors, and beeping, and noises.  Nurses hustling around, doctors being paged, etc.  This is where you get admitted.  This is where you get scans and tests.  This is where fear lives.  This is my where my anxiety plays and freaking PREYS on me.  It zips this way, and that dragging me down into rabbit holes.

I asked to go to the fast lane.  Actually, I asked to go home- any anger I had felt about being there dissipated into an eerie lull.  I just wanted out of there.  It was too dark.  Too loud.

She said because my heart rate and BP were up they wanted me on a monitor, and I'd probably need some kind of scan.

She handed me a gown and I started bawling.

It was the first time in a VERY long time I had put one of those stupid things on.

It was as awful as I remember it.  Cold, and unforgiving- flapping open in all the wrong places, at all the wrong times... ugh.

I shivered and cried under the blanket, waiting for the doctor.  And then "stuff" started to really hit.  I started to remember all the terrifying times I'd been here.  I thought of the nights spent there alone.  I remembered the fear of not knowing anything, but needing to know it.  I remembered all the pain, and weakness that place poured into me.  The doubts, and the rock bottoms, that weren't really rock bottoms-   I remembered everything far too well.

Guys- I wanted out so bad.  SO bad.  Not just out of that room, or out of that hospital.  But I wanted OUT of my skin.  I wanted out of my head.

The hospital was prepping for a hurricane. You could feel the nervousness.  There were lots of people running all over, confirming this and that.  Nurses and doctors were trying to tie things up to get home.  Others were getting ready for a long stay; the hospital is going on official lockdown whenever the winds hit 45mph. In short, the ER was chaos.  And it's the closest thing I can think of to describe what was happening with my mind- chaos.

Everything had gotten out.

Things I had tucked away in boxes- never to be seen again, were out in full view.  Memories I've worked so hard on forgiving myself for, pounded  at my brain.

By the time the doctor came in all of my vitals were up- so of course he wanted to rule stuff out.

-((((Hold up one second- I've had a LOT of doctors.  A LOT.  And I've had a lot of ER doctors.  The one I had yesterday was top notch.  He was awesome.  He listened.  He didn't jump any guns.  He was calming.  Reassuring.  I didn't catch his name (oops) but when I was discharged I told my nurse to make sure he knew what a great job he had done.)))))-

Anyways, he said because I was on blood thinners, and I'd had a headache for 3+ days I should get a scan to rule out any bleeding.  It was the safe thing to do.  And as much as I hated signing for the CT scan, I did.  He also checked my INR (clotting number) and a bunch of other labs right away- so we knew exactly what was on our plate.  My INR came back low, but my hemoglobin came back fine.

He was vigilant in checking my pupils (which were being so weird) , and he was very concerned with making me comfortable.

I knew what that meant.

Which meant I had to explain "it" to him.  I told him I don't do well with pain medication, and I needed to go home- get out of here ASAP. I was embarrassed as heck for having to say that but he treated me with so much respect- and dignity.  He took my concerns and fears, and eased them, letting me know I didn't need to do ANYTHING, and I was free to make my own choices.

I chose to have fluids and anxiety meds.

Yep.  Anxiety meds.  Ativan to be exact.

To be honest, I still feel guilty I succumbed to Ativan- but that's a discussion for my therapist & I on another day.

I got my scans, 2 rounds of fluids, a bunch of blood work up.

The doctor came in and explained that he would like to admit me- especially because of the hurricane.

I texted Ryan (he had been at home with the kids), "Get here ASAP- I need you."

And then I fell asleep.

When I woke up Ryan was there, and I LOST it.  LOST IT.  (I'm actually really surprised they didn't admit me for crying like a crazy person) It  was like everything in me just caved, seeing Ryan.  I sobbed and sobbed, and begged to go home.

We talked with the doctor for a lonnnnng time.  I told him I couldn't stay in the hospital- I just couldn't unless it was 100% necessary.  I couldn't take any of the "ruling this or that out."   With Ryan there, we were able to schedule some follow up appointments and blood work (again- major shout out to Dr. K for being so awesome)  And I was able to come home last night.  I wasn't admitted. I'm HOME- with no prescriptions.
 PRAISE GOD!  PRAISE GOD!  PRAISE GOD!

The upcoming appointments and scans are ahead of me, and yes, there's a lot of anxiety there.  But I'm doing this one day at a time.  One minute at a time.  One foot in front of the other.  A constant climb.

I think its something that didn't totally sink in before yesterday; Yeah I got out of that patch of scary health and hospital darkness, but it doesn't mean smooth sailing forever.  And I knew that- subconsciously I knew that-  I KNEW I couldn't get away without ever being in a hospital again.

I've said this a thousand times to y'all- AND myself- nothing is assured (especially our health).  NOTHING.  Not even your next breath.  As morbid as that sounds, its 100% true.

I was SO angry with God yesterday.  SO angry, and disappointed.  I felt let down.  I felt lost.  I felt like I'd been dropped.  I thought, "REALLY?  AGAIN WITH THIS???"

And I went to bed angry, just assuming I'd wake up to another day.

I did.  I fell asleep and thankfully woke up this morning, like every other day.

God gave me another day here.
 Another day to try.  Another day to figure stuff out.
Another day to watch my kids zip around the house.
Another day to feel love.
Another day to poke around on facebook, another day to talk to friends.  Another day to bake hurricane cookies.
Another day to be held by Ryan.
Another day to celebrate life here.

It's a kid verse- and one everyone knows, but seriously- "THIS IS THE DAY THE LORD HAS MADE-  I WILL REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT!"  Every day- even the ones that are hard as heck, are DAYS.  And I think if we can take those "hard as heck" days, squeezing out the lessons to be learned, and COMPLETELY surrender to the fact that we don't have control over much, we'll be able to stack up more & more of the good days.

With more good days, the inevitable crash is a lot softer and easier to handle.  Ryan was just saying, "You're so much healthier now, that when something does knock you down, you're stronger- both mentally and physically."  It's true.  And I'm thankful for my glass half full guy,

It takes a TON (for me anyways) to surrender.  I like to think I've learned this or that lesson a million times.  But then a day like yesterday pops up and I'm served a HUGE slice of humble pie.

This morning I woke up, cried for a bit with Ryan about yesterday.  And then said, "I'm writing about this." -not like there's some golden information in here or anything.  But I wanted to write for me, and anyone else who is struggling with health crap... I want to push the words out of my fingers, about how HARD that was, and how hard this continues to be.  There isn't a dang shortcut and I SO wish there was.


Along with baking hurricane cookies, blogging, and watching my kids recreate a hurricane inside (YIKES), I'm also taking a heavier lean on His truth, and promises.  Because there is nothing HERE that will take any of this away.

And today?  That's okay.  I'm okay.
Whatever His plans are, five minutes from now, or a year from now, I am 100% confident there is purpose in those plans.  I won't lie and say that's an anxiety provoking thought for me... and my first instinct is to withdrawl; Tuck myself in and hibernate with the bad thoughts until that feeling goes away.  

But I know better.  I know more today, because of yesterday.

Yesterday was awful.  But its over.  I didn't do anything to cause my blood to clot, or my INR to plunge- it just HAPPENED.  

It's life.

And I'm thankful I get the opportunity today to reflect on that. :)

As always, thank you for reading, and hearing my heart friends.  You have no idea how impactful your messages, and thoughts have been.  

THANK YOU.

xoxo

"What Are YOU DOING??"

I'm pretty sure we were asked that question, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" about a hundred times when we started talking about homeschooling.

The answer is pretty simple:  We're homeschooling because we can.

Both Ryan and I stay home (thank you YOUNG LIVING)!  Last year was filled with me getting better, gaining strength (physically & mentally) and learning to live without medications.  I was definitely too consumed with getting better to be able to focus on other stuff.

I feel like last October I really turned a corner... We had just gone to Disney, and I had practically ran through the entire park... vs. the previous year when I was being pushed in a wheelchair.

I felt so strong and good- I just wanted (and continue to want) to build on that goodness.

Kind of like stacking blocks.

If you think about it, we're always stacking blocks, right?

At one point I was stacking everything on top of me; causing anxiety, fear, and so much darkness,

And then I started to lift each one off, stacking it in another pile, or tossing it all together.   The important thing, is that heaviness was off of me.

 I am obviously still sorting & stacking.  But I have a really big pile of "good stuff" right now.  And by continuing to eat clean, treating things naturally, and staying in His TRUTH, I'm continuously adding to that "good" pile.

Does that make sense?

Anyways, with homeschooling- Ryan and I both knew what a radical life change this would be.  Kids with us 24/7.  Us, teaching. A lotta sacrifice.   Etc. etc. etc.  

But every conversation we had it came down to the question, "Why NOT?"

There wasn't a thing stopping us- not one roadblock.  Not one "we'll have to work around this or that"- nothing.

I feel 100% up to the job (even if I don't know what I'm doing).

So we jumped in.

We don't really know what each day holds- I mean, were only a week in.  But we've had a few REALLY great days where it feels like I can see every color of beauty in the choice we made.  And there are other days when I accidently give Rosie, Stella's math homework.  Or I give Maeve a history TEST vs. a quiz.  (Yeahhhhh…… both of those things have already happened)

Going into week 2, I feel more confident with what my role is.  Ryan's feeling pretty good as the "math guy."

Things feel a little more settled.

The kids know what's expected of them because we ran boot camp last week.

They know if they do the work correctly, the first time, they finish WAY sooner.

We all know we're on a ride.  We're calling it an "adventure."  We know there's gonna be awesome days and horrid days.  But WE are going to do this- TOGETHER.

Last night I caught Henry reading to Stella.  It made my heart burst.  Henry dislikes reading... and he normally dislikes Stella.  So it was pretty sweet to find them together, reading Stella's new chapter book.  <3

This morning, I was on hold with Abeka (the curriculum we're using) and I couldn't help Rosie with her math.... so Maeve did.  I watched my sweet 6th grader work through Rosie's K5 lesson.  Ryan and Henry were working together, and I had Stella snuggled up to me, doing her math.  Every time she got an answer correctly, I'd give her a little squeeze and a big thumbs up.    It was perfect.

The six of us, working through our day together.  

We've been blessed with FREEDOM.  We have an incredibly unique position; being able to stay home full time, and travel.

I know this is going to be hard.  I know its going to be trying.  (right now I'm finishing up this blog post as Rosie & Stella "clean up"/smash playdough into the ground).

But... we'll clean it up.  Finish language and history.  And then eat a big lunch.  Maybe take a walk to the park....

Whatever we do, we're ALL in this together.
(high school musical style:)

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))
.
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 :)