Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends. I took a long , long sabbatical from writing, which was definitely necessary. My health went FUBAR and life as a result got pushed to the side along with many other things that make my heart happy.
I have had some time to give this careful contemplation and I want to try to be a force for good, educational, and in some kind of service to the Lord. I’m not sure exactly how things will ‘morph, but forthcoming is a reboot of the things I go through, that interest me and hopefully interest you as well.
Feel free to reach out and drop me a line. I’m listening.
My gastroenterologist provided me with a prescription of vile tasting laxative that I’m supposed to start drinking around 6pm and then have the second dose at 10pm. Welcome to the first day of my “relaxing weekend” otherwise known as Monday.
This isn’t my first ‘scope rodeo. This will be the 3rd or 4th colonoscopy and my first endoscopy. I took some “gentle” OTC laxatives Sunday at work about 3pm and then again about 8pm to get the ball rolling because sometimes with the meds I take, it takes a while for the bowels to warm up. About 9pm the ball was oh so slowly on its way. Then I woke up this morning to the subtle rumbling in my bowels. Progress?
Not yet.
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1137 hours.
So…I’m moving the RX stuff up a bit. Instead of taking the meds at the prescribed time, I’m going to take them at 2pm and 6pm. I know from previous experience how “clean” that 5 feet of bowel needs to be. The RX laxatives are meant to speed up this process to warp 9. Scotty may be giving her all she’s got, but lemme just say, I haven’t even hit light speed yet. Heck, I haven’t even left the loading docks or the tarmac.
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First bottle of Plenvu prep with 2 things of water – one of which has some Miralax in it, David’s tea and Dr. Pepper. The tea makes the best chaser.
1815 hours.
I’ve finished the prep. Blech. I’ve consumed at least 120oz of water and other clear fluids and I’m still drinking in hopes to flush the waste from my system.
Nothing yet.
Nada. Zero. Zilcharoo…
Jehovah Rapha, Heavenly Father… please have mercy on your humble servant and let this night pass quickly. I think I made a funny, Lord. Pass. Get it? Lol. Abba, I hope you got a chuckle out of it. Amen.
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1930 hours.
I can no longer tolerate sitting. The abdominal pain, bloating and cramping are pretty horrific. I can stand, walk around or lay down and try to get the liquids dispersed. Sitting anywhere (let alone on the throne) is darned near impossible. I’m waiting for “something” to happen. Sigh… 2 more glasses of water.
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At least this time in the loo has given me more time to read my Bible and despite the possible outcomes, I have faith everything will be ok. (Jeremiah 29:11)
This has also given me some alone time to work on a @joycemeyer @enjoyingeverydaylife Bible study on fear. It’s an excellent 10 day study that is taking me longer to do. I’m actually studying fears and how to overcome them from a Biblical perspective. It’s been good to me.
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2030 hours.
I’ve yet to have a bowel movement. I’m so bloated from liquids I think I’m going to have to beach myself. I really AM the Walrus. Koo koo ka choo.
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2247 hours.
Oh what new level of hell is this??? I have been painfully bloated for hours and just in the past half hour biohazards have finally started the evacuation of my body. It’s almost like a scene out of “Alien” minus Sigourney Weaver.
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2357 hours.
My legs are numb and asleep and I’ve been in the bathroom for over an hour. I don’t know which is worse, being bloated and having cramps or the non-stop volcanic activity shooting out of my nether-region at Mach 5.
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Captain’s Log
Stardate 08.11.20 Tuesday
0017 hours.
It’s raining.
I hear it through the open bathroom window that I can only hope is sucking out this wretched stench. Hopefully the bowels will be cleaned out by my 0845 procedure time. But the stench…. gads. I should have remembered to add Vick’s to my “bathroom bag.”
The “bathroom bag” has my iPad, smaller Bible w/highlighters, a notebook of sorts, Carmex, Flushable wipes, an extra water bottle, a pair of clean undies and a couple of “doggie poop bags” in case things go amuck. Get it? Amuck? And I also have a pillow so I can lay my head against the wall if needed. This stuff I packed up because I didn’t know which bathroom I might be stuck in for a while.
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0141 hours.
Just. Make. It. Stop.
I’m exhausted, dehydrated, slightly hungry, yet extremely nauseous, and Mt. Vesuvius still insists on spewing forth with no end in sight. (Fortunately it appears those in Pompeii met their demise a lot quicker than this prep is going.) However, the moment I think I might be able to leave the bathroom for a few minutes, my fluffy assets gravitate to the commode as more foulness rushes forth.
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0156 hours.
Just when I think I might be able to leave the 5X5 cell (not including the shower), the poop returneth. I’m exhausted.
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0247 hours.
I’ve snuck out of the loo and I’m going to try to sleep.
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0422 hours.
Shit. (Literally.)
The second wave of what feels like Montezuma’s Revenge hath cometh über unexpectedly. There I was sound asleep.
Not great sleep, but it was sleep.
Then boom!
All over the place.
Thank God Almighty for “padding” which caught most of the onslaught of excrement as I quickly, yet gingerly, made for the repository of all things bowel related.
Funeral services will be held for a pair of panties later today; the shorts I had on are in critical condition in ICU.
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0502 hours.
I’ve resumed my post in the master bathroom and I’m chugging water like it’s the end of the universe. Obviously my bowels are far from “clear.”
Eff.
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0602 hours.
I know before too long I’ll once again be in residency in Dante’s 7th level of hell. All I want out of life at this moment is to stop pooping and to be rehydrated.
I have to be there at 0845 and things still aren’t “clear.”
Not even close.
I tell you this though…
I started this whole prep thing earlier than the directions stated.
Sunday at 1800 hours to be exact. It was a full 24 hours prior to the “big event.”
No food.
Liquid diet.
The instructions called for everything to begin at 1800 hours Monday.
If I had done that there wouldn’t be a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the procedure done and right now it’s still iffy at best.
I’m. So. Tired.
But here I sit guzzling more water and listening to my stomach make sounds that are just wrong.
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0813 hours.
Called the doc as things STILL aren’t as cleaned out as they should be.
Not even close.
Seriously.
Not even joking.
The nurse advised me to take 1/2 of the Miralax I had left and another 8oz of water as quickly as possible.
I chugged both down.
Yay me?
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0907 hours.
Another foul smelling bowel movement.
I refuse to surrender.
I’m NOT doing this again.
Ever.
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0932 hours.
Nurse calls and I’ve been able to dump some more waste into the city’s sewer system. I was told to be there at 1030.
Praying for at least one more massive bowel movement. I just don’t think things are as clean as they can be.
Next colonoscopy I’m going for the 5 day Miralax/Dulcolax combination. This RX stuff is for the birds.
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1025 hours.
Kyle is hauling ass across town to get me to the center for the procedures. I still don’t think my bowel is clean enough. I’m pretty freaking sure it will be an indescribable mess. I don’t know. We’ll see I suppose. Ok. I won’t see, but I’ll find out after I wake up.
My stomach is gurgling and I can only pray for the best at this point.
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Just modeling the latest in hospital gowns. This one is actually made from a thick material and not half bad.
1502 hours.
Remember the adage never say never. F. M. L.
I now have to repeat the colonoscopy- this time with additional meds (Linzess) and a gallon of GoLytely.
Seriously – a repeat performance.
Remember… I started this whole procedure a day earlier than was told to. “Just in case…” Yeah. No.
Apparently I now have to start SIX days prior to the next one – to be done in two weeks.
The news from the endoscopy is pretty much what I expected. Not great news by any shot, but I have an answer.
This prep all totaled: 9 Dulcolax, 3/4 bottle of Miralax, all of the freaking RX Plenvu and liquids… and they could only get the scope halfway up the outer corridor.
I’m tired. I’m defeated. I’m 7 pounds lighter.
I will live to fight again.
Side note: It’s now Wednesday. I have a migraine and in bed. I’m still passing enough gas that I’m probably a bit dangerous around an open flame. I can’t freaking wait to do this whole thing over in 2 weeks.
There is a deep trembling in my soul as I see the world around me descend into madness.
I, sometimes am unsuccessful, but usually make the attempt to study the Word of God daily. I’m not talking about 10 minutes and a quick prayer of gratitude, but hours spent listening to and watching sermons given by some true women of faith and kingdom men.
And I’m not belittling 10 minutes. It’s exactly how I started drawing closer to my Abba and honestly, sometimes all I have is ten minutes. But if I purposefully give The Almighty Father ten minutes, He multiplies it in my life exponentially.
Not so long ago, I asked God to burn away the chaff in my life. I knew then and know now I need(ed) it done, but I knew not the ramifications of what I thought would be a simple request.
Chaff refers to useless things, grain husks and fine-cut straw, or light-hearted spoken exchanges. Trash that you do not want is an example of chaff. Wheat grains found after threshing is an example of chaff.
Many times chaff is carried off by the wind. But I specifically asked my Lord, not for a wind-winnowing, but a conflagration. Okay, I asked Him to “burn away the chaff.” It’s turned into a conflagration.
I feel the war for my soul deep in the marrow of my bones. This point was brought home today while listening to a sermon by Dr. Tony Evans: the Jesus Challenge / A Challenge to Greater Convictions.
In Revelation Chapter 2, Jesus speaks to the church at Pergamum. They were commended for keeping the faith, but were criticized for their lack of conviction and compromise. Ouch! How many times have I acted much like the members of this church? I know it’s too many to count.
In a world of ever-growing hostility toward those who follow Jesus Christ, I’ve got to really take a look at my heart, my mind and overall character and commit to an uncompromising faith in the Lord.
The war over my soul this past week has brought me to tears, raised my anxiety to new heights and left me utterly exhausted, yet I’m not defeated. Instead of the dark one pulling me down, he’s pushed me closer to God. As a result, I feel the onslaught of the arrows aimed by the great deceiver all the more. I also feel the shield of faith absorb the impacts of the evil one.
Beth Moore has a brilliant 4 part teaching called “Unshakable.” I believe these two teachings came to me at the right time and for the right reason. Sometimes we need to be shaken from our false assumptions, thoughts and convictions; we need the chaff burned away to take part in God’s finest blessings.
I have a long way to go, but I pray to become more Christ-like daily. The closer I am to God, the less the petty things of this world bother me. Everything I have ever wanted and ever needed is found in God alone, through His son, Jesus, and the Spirit who gives wings to my prayers and speaks to the Father for me when I have not the words.
Well, it has been a while since I have written. Congested into the past six months has been a turbulence and turmoil I had not quite anticipated. Had there been a glimmer of the mayhem to come, I might have been better suited to deal with the pandemonium. Alas, I never caught a glimpse of it. Thus, the delay in writing. My most humble apologies. Toward the end of December I spoke of the pending move. Yoda was transferred to the Metroplex and so it began. I could go into all the gory details, but seriously, there isn’t enough time and carpal tunnel would kick in long before I’m done. But here’s the gist: We sold the house, which wasn’t even on the market, in about a month open to close. The buyer’s lender insisted the close date be moved up two weeks. Because of the freakin’ weather, we were having the outside painted and the little house reroofed almost simultaneously. The paint wasn’t even dry on the final inspection. And that doesn’t even include the other little repairs that were made during that time.
What Yoda didn’t bring to DFW was thrown into storage during the sale of the house. The remainder of the items was thrown in literally at 8:51pm the day before we closed on the house. The storage unit locked down at 9:00pm. I have a feeling I’ll never figure out all the things that were thrown out, given to charity or are tossed in boxes here and there. (And as a side note – paying rent on storage just irks me. I want a house again. Obviously I’m feeling a bit materialistic. Maybe I need to get over that.) So the kids moved into an apartment – the lease was signed a few days before closing on the house. Begging, borrowing and stealing came to mind when it came to the pet deposits as two of the dogs are there and one is in the Metro. Seriously… why are pet deposits so blooming high? Meanwhile my sister-in-law/sister of my heart entered the hospital over 350 miles from her home because she had to undergo a more rigid cancer treatment – diagnosed in November with leukemia. My mom-in-law for the most part moved with her to Dallas and moved into her hospital room and helped her so much as my SIL was so weak and miserable. I mean nursing staff can only do so much, eh? This started mid-March. Birthdays and holidays came and went and I still hadn’t heard back from the job I applied for. You heard that right. I applied for one. It’s a specialized field and the hiring process is incredibly long. So long that I didn’t go down for an interview etc for a while. However, after all this, that and the other they must have thought I could do the job because I started the second week in June. Normally, this is cause to celebrate; however, I LOVED my old job. I had planned to retire from it. This obviously didn’t happen. So while I’m mourning my old job, I move down on Sunday and start work three days later Wednesday 6-11-14. Obviously God had his reasons for the timing of the madness. My Yoda, dearest Yoda… He was a half-match for a bone marrow transplant. In the entire registry, he and his brother were the only ones. The transplant took place just days before he helped me move. The process made him feel “blah” to say the least. But he has the biggest heart and I’m richly blessed. But my SIL didn’t improve much after the transplant. Apparently you have to bide your time and wait for the cells to kick in. Meanwhile, my MIL still stayed with her and cared for her. She only left the hospital for maybe a total of 2-3 weeks between mid March and June. Wow. She’s such an amazing woman. Saturday the 14th we went to see her in the hospital after going to church. Darling SIL didn’t look so hot. I mean, sporting a hospital gown theoretically could be a sexy look. On cancer patients, not so much. However, her bald head was beautiful and her smile still so sweet. But you could tell something wasn’t quite right. She was rather “out of it” and slept most of the time we were there. The long story short is the excrement hit the proverbial fan. I don’t remember how many calls and text messages flew back and forth over the next week, but too many to count. There were prayers lifted for my SIL all around the world. But she lost her fight to that ugly disease called cancer on Monday, June 23rd. Now the texts and calls fly because of funeral arrangements and all I can think about is that I just want to pick up the phone and hear her voice. I want to get her advice on some things and I can’t do that. I feel bloody selfish. I feel bloody miserable. Tomorrow I leave for “home” again – a quick trip. My new supervisor allowed me the day off if I work next Friday (which I was supposed to have off), but I’m not allowed to use vacation days, sick leave etc for the first six months of employment. And a SIL doesn’t apparently qualify for any kind of bereavement leave. I don’t know that I understand, but there’s no arguing the point. I feel like a stranger in a strange land. I am in a pretty dark place right now and I have a feeling it’s going to be a bit before I’m feeling “normal” again – whatever that is. I believe I will feel better after my SIL is laid to rest and we all gather to celebrate her life. For now, all I can do is rely on my Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ, to carry me when I’m weak and lift my heart from the darkness to the light. May this letter from my new home find you in a better place than I am emotionally at this time. Always…. C
I normally start all my blogs with a quote. Today – not so much. I’m going to try to keep this simple and honest. No pretty pictures. Just raw and honest about a few things.
When I was a kid, I had all the unrealistic expectations you would expect a child to have. As I became a teenager, I had a couple of lofty ambitions. I expected I would become a journalist, the next Woodward/Bernstein, or I would work for Rolling Stone or Time magazine – travel the world and see the sights and hear the sounds the world has to offer. But I grew older and I settled for less and I settled down. I got used to routine and the day-in/day-out became comfortable.
I never stopped to wonder why.
The time has come to take everything I have known and disenfranchise myself from my hometown and take on “new adventures.” It’s harder when we get older. Even though I remind myself I’m not old, right now – this very moment – I feel old. And afraid.
There. I said it. I’m afraid of starting completely over.
I’m afraid of moving to a new place that’s not so comfortable. This town is like a well-worn pair of jeans. But I’m scared to see if that pair of jeans is just hanging on by a thread and if my underwear is starting to show.
I’m afraid of trying to find a new job. I’m afraid of not finding a job. I’m afraid of looking for a new place to live. I’m afraid of homelessness. I’m afraid of finding new doctors because mine know me so well. I’m afraid of not finding doctors that have a clue. I’m afraid of driving in a place I know nothing about that has a crap-ton more traffic. I’m afraid of getting into an accident. I’m afraid of not fitting in. I’m afraid of people not understanding my warped sense of humor. I’m afraid of being “alone” in a place with thousands of people. I’m afraid of wanting to come running “home” and home just not being home anymore.
I never thought that my fearless teenage self would be sitting in front of a computer at middle age afraid to embrace change. But there it is in stark black and white. Simple and honest.
Words are as air… one cannot survive without them.
The Air I Breathe / Celeste High 