Tag Archives: taking chances

Worse than Hallelujah – honestly…

15 Jan

It’s no surprise that I’ve found myself at a loss of words lately. After my trip to the ER two nights ago, I am again, left with an overwhelming sense of uncertainty in my life. Yes, it was a productive trip in that a new, additional diagnosis was made – which honestly comes with little to no comfort behind it. Although the news was not terminal, that I had zero support system beside me to reach out and hold my hand through it left me my own yet again to push through it “realistically”. Fuck. I am so exhausted of “being realistic”, “being the champ”, “being the inspiration”, “being the strongest person you know.” Let’s be clear here. I’m no one’s champ. I’m not strong now. And if I were an inspiration, it would be for what you should NOT to do, or feel or say…

My latest trip to the ER stared… Well truth be told, it was several weeks in the making, as my doctor deflected my repeated cries for help with honestly valid answers such as “it’s side effects of the extremely high dosage of prednisone”, “we tapered you too fast”, “you are going through withdrawal” etc. I can’t fault him. I was going through so much. This amazing man who I look up to (who is usually sarcastic to get you through the really hard days) has transitioned his care-taking strategy with me by now taking me by the hands and hugged me on more than one occasion over the last few months while I simply cry and break down at every single appointment for no reason at all.  Sure, it was obvious that the prednisone really was affecting me negatively. So I get his linkage and can’t even say he was deflecting my cries for help. He did encouraged me to use the pain management available to me. Telling me not to be worried about looking like an addict, I clearly needed it. But then when the call came in to him that I was bleeding, it was clear that the pills were to blame for slowing down my system a little too much… I just couldn’t win!

Anyway, my amazing dr stopped answering his cell this weekend, so I had to call the oncall DR this Saturday who was quick to simply put me on me on more prednisone. Ok. Great. He promised relief by morning. And guess what! I had relief… For the first time in almost 3 months I enjoyed my morning walk with the dog, I caffeinated up, ate and went to work decorating the craft nook and office walls!

Then the pain started to creep in and creep in some more. Shit.. Called the oncall DR again. He said to get to the ER, he had no advice. And click he was gone… Ok. Now it was time to try everything in my arsenal as the thought of the ER and another hospital admittance scared the living shit out me!  Out came the yoga mat, and some seriously earthy crunchy music. Nope. Ouch. Ballet stretches from my 15 years at the barre… Ouch. Hot bath.. The negative energy just intensified. Added Epsom salts. Stupid idea. Polish off the Dilaudid I had left (only 4mg) with some yummy hot tea, fluffy blanket, pillows and my entire petting zoo with music. Pain just got worse as the minutes ticked by.

Ok now that was all stupid . Now I am loopy and dizzy from drugs, it’s foggy and I need to get to the ER.. My pain has only intensified in the last 3 hours, and I am now in no shape to drive. Thankfully, a local friend agrees to take me with the promise he can drop me off at the door and avoid watching me fall apart inside.  Score.

Just as I expected, they immediately treated me as if I were a drug addict simply looking to score some pain meds for the night – even though I clearly had a bag packed with me ready to be admitted to the hospital.  I took my begging for a bucket to throw up into it, and bleeding out of the IV they started to take blood samples.  Don’t forget, they don’t actually GIVE drug addicts the drugs they so crave… So I was left with a dangling IV starter dripping blood all over me and my bed… awesome. .. I’ll spare you the real image… 3 hours later, a doctor finally comes in who seems to get it.  She states that my inflammation levels are indeed all over the charts as are other markers, so an IV is finally started – drains almost immediately.  Clearly I was dehydrated – couldn’t they have figured that one out by all the water I was asking for?  40MG of Prednisone administered moving me up to my dreaded 60MG (I’ll get into this within a different post).  Finally in comes the Dilaudid and anti-nausea meds.  Neither work.  They inject me 2 more times with Dilaudid… STILL NO RELIEF. You have to be kidding me.  I’m trying to walk around, trying to do stretches, crying… the nurses keep looking at me like I’m an idiot… I’m asking for them for recommendations to make the pain go away – they said to quit moving and lay still.  Oh sweet nurses, you have NO idea what this pain feels like!  Finally around 2am, the DR comes in and suggests a muscle relaxer.  I said OK – whatever you’ve got, I’m happy to try.  RELIEF!  I actually fell asleep sitting up!  It relieved the pressure around my joints enough to actually let the pain pills do their job!

They then checked me for the flu – since I was healthy, they decided the hospital was not a safe place for me (oh yes, then came a long lecture of why in the hell I would subject myself to the hospital during a flu epidemic… excuse me, did we not just go through HOURS worth of pain management trial and error and clearly my pain had risen from a 7.5 to a 15 in a matter of those hours?  Did they not see what had transpired in front of them?  Anyway, we agreed to send me home with all the medication they would have kept me on for a few days in the hospital… only guess what… she didn’t give me the one that was the key to it all… Valium, the muscle relaxer… honestly…

A dramatic taxi ride home (the taxi driver refused to take me to an ATM to get him cash then cussed me out in some language I do not know for not having cash when we got home – mind you after he drove past my house THREE TIMES, I eventually just got out of the taxi and said goodbye and walked home). I was finally home…

Then, onto the radio comes Amy Grant’s, Better than a Hallelujah… you have GOT to be kidding me…

“We pour out of miseries, God just hears a melody, beautiful, the mess we are.  The honest cries of broken hearts are better than a Hallelujah.”… Well… I guess God must just LOVE Crohn’s patients, because we sure are NOT out rejoicing.  We sure do give Him some pretty awesome melodies of miseries… Hope he enjoyed this one… Because I wasn’t enjoying singing this song.

Live like there is no midnight…

26 Sep

Cinderella gave the world some amazing advice through the powers of good ol’ Walter Elias Disney, to live like there was no midnight.  As a little girl, Cinderella was just a pretty pretty princess… but today, I reflect on the strength that Walt’s dynasty meaningfully bestowed in our nations youth and all that the glass slipper stood for.  Looking at myself from ten thousand feet above, I challenge myself to reflect on my own life.  Am I meeting each day with the strength necessary to live the life I had imagined?  I am I living the life I want?  Am I living my life to its fullest?   Am I living like there’s no midnight?

Probably not.

I’d like to think that I’ve had this attitude throughout my life – and the genuine answer is that I have.  I have risen up to many occasions and tackled countless obstacles.  I have scars emotionally and physically to prove it, and I have grown in ways I could never have expected.  But the reality of the situation is that  I’m just not there yet, and I find myself teetering on the edge because of this.  Am I embarrassed to not have it all together at 28?  Surely, that can’t be it… Am I really expected to have it all figured out already?  Seriously, why does life not come with a carefully planned out manual – detailing out the how, where and when to insert yourself into various life situations and how to know its done correctly.

Sure, I have accomplished a lot – over the years, over the past year, and over the last few months.  I’ve bought a house, paid off my debt (did I mention the car will be paid off this Friday?), tackled some serious turns in my chronic illness, called off a marriage that wasn’t right and bounced back from the relationship that I was sure was it.   But am I accomplishing much in “life”?   Does any of this get me closer to being fulfilled when the clock strikes midnight?  With the exception of buying my house, my answer is an embarrassing no.  Sounds like a lot of searching to be done…

When I named this blog years ago, I hadn’t then realized what an ongoing evolution Finding Litz could be.  I mean, come on, how hard is it to look in the mirror and find yourself?  Apparently, it takes more than 28 years of practice.  Thank you, Cinderella, for teaching me to give myself more credit than I do.  I will make sure my nieces know you too.

(Though, let’s be honest here and give credit where credit is due.  Walt Disney may have popularized the story of Cinderella – ’twas truly a Greek folk tale and her name was originally Rhodopis first formal documentation known in1st Century BC.  I opted for the widely popularized version – which was truly inspired by the release of Disney’s Cinderella on Blue-Ray next week….)

Fine Lines – Not everything is black and white.

23 Jul

So much of our lives is not clearly defined. Not everything fits into the “box” that we deem our lives. Not everything is black and white. So much of our lives is not visible through the clouds – bold or bright. Clearly outlined – standing out strong. Somewhere between the high and lowlights of our lives, we find shadows. Tiny little diagonal lines taking up the space of the unknown.

The question is, are we comfortable with the haphazardly place dashed in our lives? Do they throw us off course – forcing us to attempt to neatly organize the mess into a readable life story, shifting the lines to make up the words of the stories we will tell? Or do we simply accept the new acquired decoration on the walls of our minds as we stumble along the rocky path of life? Should we tie on our shock absorbing sneakers to cautiously navigate this rough road? Nervously checking our footing before each step. Or should we take it in stride, donning our most colorful heals? Accepting that we aren’t perfect, that we haven’t perfectly pre-planned every single motion, allowing ourselves to stumble and eventually fall down completely?

Is the fall worth it? The bumps, bruises. The dreary shadows of our worlds? Is it worth it to allow our arms’ contents to spill as we fall? Attempting to jump to a larger rock with the guts and gusto of a lion – but watching the glass shatter as it slams into the rock before us? Reaching out to catch the fruits of our labor only to smacked in the face by it? Is the victory and achievement of finally perching ourselves on that coveted rock worth it all? Or is it better to carefully remain on the smooth dull rock of yesterday?

Truth is – we will never know which is best. We make decisions, even when we don’t realize it, that affect every aspect of our lives. We will never know both what it is like to cower on the lower rock and to triumphantly stand above the waters. It is one or the other – black and white. But those fine lines that create our shadows will eventually find us in any location. In any situation. Sometimes the shade is cold. Sometimes it is a welcomed break from the heat and rush of life. In the end, it is the fine lines that hold us all together.

*Inspiration taken from Kent Moran’s “Fine Lines” – “There is a fine line between love and hate. The best decisions and the worst mistakes. A fine line between hope and fate. It starts with understanding…. It’s not so black and white, there’s a lot of fine lines.”

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