Anyone who has been on a long term round of steroids (like prednisone) knows it’s no free lunch. However these wonder drugs are a miracle. My physician friend said they probably saved my life and I am so grateful. Since I am on them long term (until my immune system behaves) I am learning their curious effects I want to share.
Effects. That single word does not do justice for what I am experiencing. How about instead we call them “turbo charged mania with a side of productivity” instead? Who knew one could feel like they might spontaneously combust if they don’t organize and clean out the utensil drawers, change the toilet flappers and lay paver stones (all in the span of hours)? I have never done so many projects with such fervor in my life! I found myself ordering photos and frames, updating lighting and scheduling long over due paint jobs around the house. I even replaced a corroded toilet handle and hung old fashioned pinch pleat drapes (that was after whipping out the drill and hanging a new dowel rod as well).
Guest Room new decor with pending paint job
My poor husband begs me to go to sleep and stop “stomping” around the house at midnight looking for another task. I’m that Energizer bunny from the battery commercial but on Crack. It’s like an outboard motor is wide open inside me and I cannot pull on the throttle. It’s literally an out of body experience.
I have to find humor in the mundane and serious less I go crazy. I am now officially making fun of myself and my “prednisone projects.” Did I mention I hung a gallery wall of one particular artist? I’m fascinated by her work and consider myself president of her fan club. She is likely taking out a restraining order on me since I cannot stop purchasing and praising her work.
Jan Hill Miller Folk Art
I am so happy to be alive and still exist that I wonder what it will be like to reflect on this whole experience one day? Will I be gasping at the excess and flurry of activity? Will I miss it? I am concerned about getting the dreaded moon face side effect but figure it will mean I’m still here. 🌝 Perspective is everything, right?
Processing experiences takes time. Reflecting on them, their impact on us, and what they mean requires thought. The important thing is that we get to decide what something means and how we integrate it- if at all. Stuff happens all the time, both good and bad, and we get to choose what meaning we construct. This is powerful as it allows me to be judge of all the beautiful and terrible I experience in the world.
A few weeks ago, I shared a bizarre, medical journey from which I continue to recover. This involved a toxic Sego Palm giving me a scratch from Hell. I’m still processing it all. My hand almost functions the same post surgery and my DReSS Syndrome (nope, it doesn’t involve fashion) is presently under control.
Last week I found myself rattling off to medical billing that I had 6 ER visits, 3 hospitalizations, 1 out patient surgery and a month of Home Health care over a span of 6 weeks. The person then qualitatively added, “That sounds traumatic.” Her naming my experience as trauma never dawned on me and I’m the therapist intern! Was my experience traumatic? Since I had not considered it, I honestly didn’t know. Was it overwhelming? Yes. Was it painful? Yes. Was it devaststing? No. Would I use the word traumatic to define my experience? Probably not. It was a lot and it was very scary but I did not reach the point of despair. I admit I did decompensate on three occasions and bawled like a baby. That’s actually minimal in my humble opinion.
The one thing the whole experience DID provide was an urgency and laser focus I had not had prior. I began deleting emotional and physical distractions, discarding the irrelevant, and became more purposeful with the precious time the good Lord allowed. Specifically, I felt a sort of commissioning occurring. Wrapping up school and entering internship became my driving force. I didn’t realize I was actually embarking on a calling- not just a professional endeavor. Once internship began, it felt like the biggest AHA moment of my life. Everything that ever happened, including recent events, and all I have learned in my life brought me to this point in time. The clarity was astounding. The depth of my gratitude was at times embarrassing. I felt a deep seated contentment I did not know was even possible.
Would I have this laser focused, purpose driven existence prior? Probably not to the same level. Cutting the crap only occurred because I actually faced my mortality directly and realized there’s not a moment to waste. It’s now or never to live authentically, congruently as who God made me to be. I accept myself so much more now- quirks and complexities. I forgive my humanity and failings. I laugh way more at how absurd life is. I am more open and transparent. I notice beauty everywhere. I engage people like the Fed Ex dude who delivers to my home (Chris is married and kayaks). I talk to people and humanize them over using them. Life is in technicolor and I know who I am and what I’m to do. It’s a gift I would prefer to avoid ever again having to pay what I did to receive it.
Defining what cutting the crap means is also a personal construct. For example, using my grandmother’s 90 year old sterling flatware every day over old stainless was one definitive decision. This small change makes me smile every time I open the drawer.
Wallace pattern from 1936
Forrest Gump said, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You don’t know what you’re gonna get.” I am taking that further by adding, “make sure you bite into actual chocolate and be sure to cut the crap.”
I would have never seen any of this coming. I was super healthy, busy in graduate school, and on the cusp of beginning clinical work in marriage and family counseling. This had been a driving force in my life over the past three years and I couldn’t wait. Unfortunately, my earnestness could not overcome the bitter reality of circumstances beyond my control.
Sego palms are toxic
It all began one Monday afternoon returning home. My husband was planting fruit trees in his orchard and asked me to join him. My plan was to only keep him company and that was it. Of course, my tendency towards busyness got the best of me and I began picking up limbs and tossing them in the woods. After about 20 minutes we were done and I got on school work while he headed to the gym- nothing out of the ordinary occurred.
A few hours later he was watching “Jack Reacher” as I studied and I noticed a paper cut burning on my middle finger. “Weird” I thought to myself, but basically ignored it. The next day my entire finger was red and my husband suggested I dash to Urgent Care to be cautious. However, that MD sent me to the emergency room instead, and the real fun began. I was given IV antibiotics then discharged on oral antibiotics and sent home. No big deal, right? Well, I was wrong. The next day, having no changes or pain in my hand, I wrote a paper all day for class that began at 6pm. Right before I left to drive over, I changed the sheets on the bed and noticed the onset of spectacular pain that made no sense. From that moment, my hand inflamed with visible white matter palpable growing inside. It was strange and painful and concerning- but not debilitating. I noticed I was feeling overall weird and hurting but didn’t know what to do so drove to class an hour away. While there, things got worse. After taking the quiz, I could barely pay attention to the lecture. I tried to overcome how I felt, as I wanted to be there, but knew something was not right and was getting worse by the minute. I drove back to the ER where the same nurse asked me if I happened to come in contact with a Sego Palm in my yard the prior day? I told her yes and she said, “Oh no. We should have given you a different antibiotic because they have a toxin.” I had no clue what she was talking about as I’ve trimmed our Sego palms 25 years with no issues. Anyway, she said I was developing cellulitis and needed to be admitted to the hospital. By then I was crying and in a lot of pain and just wanted relief. However, I most certainly did NOT want to be an inpatient at a hospital! Tears and more tears were shed as I made my way there.
The next day I woke up feeling ridiculous having been hospitalized over a finger. I felt guilty taking up a needed hospital bed with such an insignificant (perceived) injury. The hand specialist orthopedist I needed was out so I received 4 days of IV antibiotics and got the dreaded PICC line surgically inserted and sent home on IV antibiotics. No big deal, right? I was dead wrong- once again.
After four days, I was discharged and referred to the orthopedic hand specialist. She informed me I had a serious tendon infection requiring surgery. Opening my hand and “washing out” the imbedded infection was indicated and she scheduled surgery the following morning. I got the surgery at another hospital and came home with the most gigantic, Lego-like block to keep it elevated. It’s so bizarre I have to show you.
New Accessory
Falsely perceiving I was now healed and that I was going to be fine, kept me on the path to finishing my last two weeks of a grueling semester. My two professors accommodated me to take exams and submit assignments online. This way I avoided taking an Incomplete from school. I’d worked too hard to be delayed in graduating and my clinical field assignment was two weeks away. I went so far as to type a 1700 word case study with one hand. I was not going to let a Sego palm beat me.
After another week or so, I asked the Infectious Disease MD if there were any other IV antibiotics less dangerous he might switch me to as I already lived with the outcome of Gentamicin toxicity from years prior. He said yes and that if insurance would cover it, he’d start it. It was a “big gun” but only needed one infusion a day for over 5 minutes. (Up to this point I’d been infusing over an hour and a half, three times per day.)
Believing life was looking up, I switched meds and relished the small, quality of life improvement. Surgery done (check), antibiotic infusions more convenient (check), feeling better (check), finished the semester with my first B (got over it and check). However, I noticed extreme fatigue and general malaise take over within 4 days. I was needing to lie down again and this meant digression. What was happening to me?
On Monday morning, my Home Health nurse noticed I had hives allover and gave me IV Benadryl. I was knocked out cold until the afternoon and awoke to attend Supervision via Zoom. I had a rash and fever but got through it. An hour later I had group supervision but needed medical help and called the doctor who advised the ER (AGAIN!). So I drive myself to the ER and sat and waited . I got checked in by someone with a tattoo on her elbow that read, “It is what it is.” I couldn’t help but comment at the timeliness of her body art yelling at me to stop panicking. I waited a couple of hours to see a doc who said I might be having “Dress Syndrome” and needed to be admitted for a potentially life threatening drug allergy. Once again, another setback. I wanted to cry. I had my first real clinic with my own 5 clients scheduled the following day and was devastated not to be there for them (or for myself). This was a long anticipated dream being dashed by every annoying, medical moment. And yet “It is what it is” scrolled like a headline across my conscience.
Three Times Daily Doses of IV Antibiotics
From there, I got admitted again to the hospital and started on steroids which brought immediate relief to my ailing body. I was hopeful my IV journey would end here. However, the doctor started a new antibiotic along with an old antibiotic I had prior. Not happy, but relegated to seeing treatment through, I allowed it. Within that hour, I had hives allover again and developed another drug allergic reaction. “This cannot be happening” became my newest headline to flash across my mind. After this news flash, unabashed tears exploded down my cheeks. I was done. I was done physically, emotionally and spiritually. I. Could. Not. Tolerate. Anymore.
I ended up being seen two more times by the infectious disease team that day who said it was no longer worth the risk finding more antibiotics to avoid recurrence of infection. My body had all it could take.
I used to really dislike the term, “It is what it is” since it seemed dismissive and minimizing towards someone’s experience. This time, however, it meant for me to not impart judgement or particular meaning to a miserable, four week journey of disappointment. I still don’t understand or like what happened. Yet I do believe it can eventually be used for good and woven into my experience adding credibility somehow.
I’m not completely well. It will be okay. I’m not happy my Practicum has started off like it has. It will be okay. I’m trying to take things moment by moment and look at the good. It will be okay. I don’t need to understand. This experience just is what it is.
I’m the oldest student in a masters program at a nearby university. In fact, I am older than the professors. I didn’t own a laptop when I applied nor did I have a clue what I was committing to. They say ignorance is bliss but I say ignorance was a necessity. It was 32 years since I completed my undergraduate degree in a completely different field. My education was also prior to the digital age. What was I thinking?
I applied at the university with my ancient transcript, had an extensive interview where I shared my dreams, and filled out all the required forms. I didn’t think to ask what would be required or the cost. I just knew I wanted a spot in their program.
What got me to this point was nothing short of God’s providence and intervention. I was working at our family agency as an office manager when two of our sons came on board. This put me in conflicting roles of boss, wife, and mother. Needless to say, it did not go well. I began wondering what I would do if I could choose a career for myself? I also questioned what God would want me doing?
By this point, all our children were out of the house and educated, I had fulfilled my goals of modernizing the insurance agency and was at the fortunate spot to question, “What now?
One sunny afternoon, while mulling over potential professions, I went to a local flower shop. Little did I know I would leave with far more than plants. I happened to overhear someone say we needed more counselors locally. That visit provided the seed that ended up taking root.
During this same time, we were teaching Sunday School with another couple. I randomly mentioned one Sunday I was interested in going back to school for a counseling degree. My co-teacher said, “You know I am Dean of that college, right?” I was flabbergasted. No, I didn’t. All that time being with them I never knew where he worked or what he did.
Coincidentally, one of our class attendees had shared she was miserable where she worked and wanted to find a new job locally. Incredibly, she had a degree in Business Administration. We decided to offer her my position and she accepted.
There is no way in the world I could have orchestrated all of the above details. It was as if God opened a door and rolled out the red carpet. Everything happened within 3 months and I was headed back to college for a Masters Degree after a 32 year hiatus from education. I had no clue how to navigate their school’s digital platform nor how much schooling would be required. Looking back, it is comical how ignorant I was regarding paperless education, program requirements, cost, etc. I even recall asking my professor how to find the class syllabus online. I was indeed an old dog attempting new tricks.
I admit it was daunting learning so many new things at once. I had to learn a new way of writing (lifelong writing in MLA had to change to APA) and I also had to figure out how to study again. But I love every bit of it. Yes, I get overwhelmed at times, but I tell myself if a 21 year old can do it, I can too (after all, I have more than double their life experience 🤓).
I am going to graduate next year with a masters degree in Marriage and Family Counseling. Sure, I might be older but I’m definitely not interested in retiring. I am just now getting started.
I love New Orleans, the “Big Easy.” We happened to be there New Year’s Eve for the Sugar Bowl football game. My husband and I were also celebrating our anniversary as it was where we had our Honeymoon 33 years prior. We had excellent reservations at two reputable restaurants and good tickets for the game at the Superdome. A hometown young man was quarterback for Notre Dame and we wanted to participate in all the JOIE DE VIVRE! 🥳
If you have not experienced New Orleans, you might not grasp how unique a place this is. History and cultures blend seamlessly to generate their own. The food is out of this world with a blend of much that interfaces to create arguably the finest food on the planet. I am not a “foodie” and I think I had some of the best wagyu of my life at Herbsaint Restaurant, “the Jewel of the South.” We also went to my husband’s grandfather’s favorite, Galatoires, New Years Eve. Who would have thought 8 hours later tragedy would strike outside this legendary establishment in the heart of the French Quarter?
Herbsaint Restaurant
The Jazz music, chill vibe, assortment of specialty shops, and innumerable bars and restaurants ensure a place for everyone. Something spectacular is spontaneously meeting strangers and striking up colorful conversation over a crafted cocktail. We met so many wonderful people that way- including a set of Notre Dame football parents at our hotel pool.
Notre Dame Custom Sneakers
The Mississippi River flows along the city banks and you can hear steamboat horns and trains regularly. My husband prefers a view of the river to recall his other grandfather’s sayings since he worked along it as a Merchant Marine. Our children loved coming to the Aquarium and zoo here many times. You could say I have a sentimental sense of connection to this special place that one man’s actions will not change.
The Joy of living, or “Joie de Vivre,” has not been lost despite hurricane after hurricane, flooding, the ruthlessness of the pandemic, and now terrorism at its epicenter. No, New Orleans will not be defeated. Families and friends celebrating, and joyous occasions are still yet to be had.
Galatoires Restaurant est. 1905
I would like to add that all law enforcement were exemplary maintaining order and calming nerves as they got their investigation concluded and determined the Sugar Bowl would be played one day later. We decided to stay and attend in solidarity with others against the evil that was intended to instill fear. And our hometown player won!
The Superdome Sugar Bowl Game
Yes, we will be back soon. New Orleans, thank you for all the extraordinary experiences we have had…so far. 😉
Since we are in the Christmas season, it would make sense this title would refer to Santa Claus but that’s not who this is about. It’s about the baby we will be celebrating having been born to redeem us all. It’s about Jesus, His example, and why I follow Him.
C S Lewis wrote, “I believe in the sun not because I can see it, but by it, I can see everything else.” His statement also depicts how I believe God sent His Son, born to a young Virgin, to provide us an example of how to live. By having faith in not only the historical fact of Jesus but also having a relationship with Him, my life is much richer and more meaningful. I “see” differently now.
Try answering hard questions from a college student who is taking a World Religions course. This occurred a few years back when I was alone with my son while traveling. He wasn’t sure about his beliefs anymore since he’d recently discovered there were many options to religion and faith. He had read about sects of Judaism, Buddhism, Hindi and others. He kept grilling me on exactly why I chose to have faith in Jesus Christ over those. I prayed silently for the correct answer since I knew a lot was riding on my response. After being quiet a few minutes, I simply stated, “Because I like it and it works for me.” That might sound simplistic, but it was the right thing at the moment because had I chosen doctrine or beliefs, a major debate would have ensued.
I realize everyone does not believe what I do and that we all have free will. But I’ve found my identity, fulfillment, direction and solutions due to choosing Christianity. It has sustained me and provided for me long before I understood what “it” was. This is my center that helps me keep perspective and balance in life.
I’m grateful I have my faith as a constant refuge. As I’ve aged and had my faith tested, it’s only become stronger. I recall times of difficulty and fear that nothing short of a miracle was going to improve matters. God came through for me and guided me. He has never let me down. This has created a deep contentment that is otherwise known as peace. I cannot live without it now and wouldn’t try.
This Christmas I will be thinking about the reality of baby Jesus being sent by a Father who loved me enough to send Him for me (and all). Being omnipotent, God knew what mankind would eventually do to this precious gift. Yet, His journey, His life here, was worth it. The end of His life, which marked a new beginning for all, was worth it. God thinks and thought we all are worth it. I believe.
I love the sight of a fully bloomed orchid. It’s luscious, thick, green leaves and it’s colorful blooms are awe inspiring. Usually it’s when I am at the florist or grocery store where I might find one in gorgeous bloom. Once purchased and placed in my home, however, this visual wanes over time. I’m typically left with an empty arm of a plant with no blooms and few, healthy leaves. The number of orchids I’ve doomed to a withered existence saddens me. Yet, recently, I think I figured something out about them and incidentally, myself.
When I first purchased this tropical plant, I inquired of its maintenance. “Only place two ice cubes per week at its base and forget it. Actually, ignore it. Then, it will thrive,” I was instructed. Once in Hawaii, I saw many natural orchids on the stalks of trees high on a mountain. Obviously, the heat and humidity made them thrive. But curiously, they weren’t planted in soil, they were just literally hanging out around the tree. Why did they thrive naturally there and shrivel in my care?
The environment of these beauties plays a critical role in their survival. Just for fun, I took four destitute, orchid remnants and placed them in my laundry room window. I did this to get them out of the way more than salvage them. I watered them for a few weeks (yep, I cheated and bypassed cubes for straight water). And here I must interject that I have NEVER had one of the numerous orchids I have owned rebloom. Once, as a personal challenge, my husband called his landscape architect friend for instructions how to get one to rebloom. He told him to repot them in new pots with bark only and give the requisite watering. And it worked! The tiny bloom was far from succulent but it came back. I’ve never claimed a green thumb but nevertheless, kept my old orchids just in case.
After a few weeks, my laundry room leftover plants sprouted bizarre shaped appendages rising out of the bases. Then one day, tiny nodules formed on a lone branch. My orchid was attempting to bloom again! Three survived and thrived and I now have two reblooming. I did not do research yet still am finding their resurgence daily.
I realized this orchid experiment mirrors my faith walk. I can keep bad habits or can be obedient and disciplined allowing myself to thrive. My faith will expand or wither and it’s up to me. The fruits (or flowers in this case) will come or not. I just have to put myself in the right environment.
After two years of miraculously dodging the Covid bullet, the dreaded virus permeated my defenses and struck without warning. I thought that because I was triple vaxxed, I was somehow safe. How I was wrong! I first noticed a cough, then headache, then the sneezing. And I am talking BIG sneezing- as if you might need to check the adjacent wall for a lung or something. In 24 hours, I was in bed for a full day. This experience has changed my mind and made me aware of some Covid realities.
For instance, how on earth could someone two weeks prior have looked at me and called Covid “just a hoax?” The first night of my hoax was terrible, the second bad, the third tolerable and the fourth is to be seen. I consider myself healthy and figured if I ever got it, I’d probably never know it. What has struck me is how some people show no symptoms at all and others get long haul symptoms. Nobody knows how their body will respond. I attest it is definitely not a hoax. My 32 gallon bag of used Kleenex is my proof.
Another bizarre finding is that two people can share a car ride for hours and one test positive and another negative. My husband, who until today tested negative, swears I gave it to him on purpose (he tested positive today but is asymptomatic). He says that by moving the paper towels to where he had to use my contaminated kitchen knobs and my touching our utensils, that I gave him “Paper towel, spoon Covid.” He’s home quarantining and always ready to laugh. I can laugh too but I’m lucky, because I’m going to get better.
I also learned that I should have been more vigilant in wearing my mask in public places; washing my hands; and keeping my distance from others by 6 feet. Somehow I just willed it to be over- but it isn’t over. I don’t know where or how I got it. That’s scary. Anyone can be a carrier, not know it, and spread it everywhere they go. That includes to someone’s immunocompromised family member or elderly parent. I’d hate to imagine my 84 year old Dad or my elderly friends with it as sick as I’ve been.
We have conflicting directives on how to navigate and respond to positive tests. But I’ve come to realize that recommendations are just that- recommendations. Each person is responsible for their own health but also others’ welfare! Once enough time has passed to understand what we should be doing, then it will have likely dissipated. We cannot wait. If you are positive for Covid and feel perfect, stay home! You could inflict it onto someone else who ends up in the hospital or if lucky like me, just checking the opposite wall for a lung.
I’m a type A, goal-oriented person with a bit of OCD. I like things a certain way and completed when I want. This personality type is both a blessing and a curse. Life has helped me realize that my plans aren’t always best and interruptions can actually become meaningful interactions. I just have to be willing to let them.
I can remember when the phone would ring in the family kitchen and you actually had to stop what you were doing and go over to it and have a focused conversation because you could only move as far as the cord (a cord!) would allow. Now we expect to do multiple things while chatting if we actually speak to a person at all. “Chatting” now means something totally else. Regardless, a phone call can be an interruption or a pleasant interaction. It is my choice.
Going about my business, I can be annoyed or open to those in my path. I recognize it’s all up to me to embrace moments or hurry through them in my own, task-minded world. When I’ve made the slightest effort to be kind or helpful doing any minute act, I’ve found incredible, silent joy, however. Might be small or big, doesn’t matter.
I regret now times of being bothered with my childrens’ frequent interruptions. My ADHD brain would zoom ahead with unmet goals and I’d get tense all because I let myself. All I had to do was stop and embrace the moment. The lost moments’ potential will never be realized. I sometimes wonder what blessings I miss out on being too focused and busy now?
It doesn’t take a degree to understand and develop patience with interruptions, just mindful awareness. Of course, there are times when you cannot and should not stop, but I’m talking more about the mundane. If life is just a series of moments, I’m hopeful my fewer, future moments will be good ones.
I’m done wanting to be happy. Happy is a momentary, fleeting emotion that betrays at its first chance. Shifting like sand and slippery like ice, it doesn’t last. It’s awfully nice to experience but that’s where it ends- as an experience. No, I don’t even try to be happy anymore. If it happens, GREAT. But that’s not my end destination anymore.
What I have found far more reliable is peace. Deep-seeded peace like a baby- soft, cashmere blanket cocooning my being is what I earnestly seek. The peace of knowing who I am, what I choose to do and why I choose to do it far surpasses any momentary happiness. I know where I am going and feel grounded in what I believe. I don’t need others to validate or understand it either.
This is the best I’ve found. It’s finally quiet in my soul. (And yep, I know we all have one.) It doesn’t require money, beauty, possessions or other people. MY CIRCUMSTANCES CAN EVEN STINK. I have FINALLY determined how to be. Be! Did you get that? BE. I don’t need to perform, be liked, be successful or beautiful. I don’t need to be financially rich to have peace. Happiness? You possibly need some or all those to experience happiness- not peace- it’s free.
Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you.” I think I finally understand that’s what He wanted me to seek. He didn’t leave me happiness- He left me PEACE. It is mine and I’ll take it.
Fourundertwo 