Season Two of A Series of Unfortunate Events just came out. Once again, the series has reminded me to consume media and use social media platforms in a responsible way.
Several years ago, following some kind of national tragedy, a classmate posted something on Facebook that I’ll never forget. (Disclaimer: by that I mean, “I’ll never forget the gist of it,” not that I have it memorized or something.) The classmate said something to this effect: one of their family members once passed away in a violent incident. People of all different political views seized the incident to promote their preferred political causes. The classmate said that while all of these people had points, using this classmate’s family member’s death to promote their own agenda was incredibly insensitive and interfered with the family’s grieving process. Basically, the classmate suggested that we not use tragedies that didn’t personally affect us to further our political causes. At least not right away. There should be a space that’s private and only for grief before political rallying begins.
That perspective deeply affected me. Over the years, I've come to agree that space is needed for people to grieve after tragedies. In fact, I would argue that maybe the political rallying should never begin. Obviously there's value in talking about the meaning of things, but is it our place to decide the meaning of someone else's personal experience? Is that really okay?
When my classmate shared their feelings on the topic, another classmate retorted that they believed the personal is political. It's okay to believe that, and it's okay to use our own personal experiences to promote our political agendas if that's what we want to do. But it's not really okay to decide for other people that their personal experiences must be politicized.
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Thursday, March 22, 2018
Five Years and Some Changes. Or Not.
On March 22nd, 2013, I wrote these words in my very first blog post:
For five years, I've striven to tell you "what I'm all about." I've told you of my friends, my family, my travels, my obsessions, what I believe and why I believe it. I've waxed philosophical, melancholy, and hyper. I've written some stuff that I'm really proud of and some stuff I don't really like.
I hope you've learned something. I know I have. It's been a good run.
When I began this post, I had every intention of announcing that I was going to cut back on blogging significantly. That is, decrease the blog's output by half—average one post a week instead of two. Start to phase things out. It seemed like time. And I'm so busy.
But.
I don't feel right about that. I don't think it is time.
I guess I'll give it another year.
After five, what's one more?
Well, here I am. And here you are. And here's the blog.Now what indeed.
Now what?
I'm here because a post on an LDS blog said something that really struck me. The post reminded me (in a loose paraphrase) that people are wondering about the LDS Church right now. They want to know what we're all about. If I'm not willing to tell people what I'm all about, then someone else will. And the things that someone else says about me and about my church--well, they might not be true or fair.And so it began.
That's why I'm here. I'm here to represent.
For five years, I've striven to tell you "what I'm all about." I've told you of my friends, my family, my travels, my obsessions, what I believe and why I believe it. I've waxed philosophical, melancholy, and hyper. I've written some stuff that I'm really proud of and some stuff I don't really like.
I hope you've learned something. I know I have. It's been a good run.
When I began this post, I had every intention of announcing that I was going to cut back on blogging significantly. That is, decrease the blog's output by half—average one post a week instead of two. Start to phase things out. It seemed like time. And I'm so busy.
But.
I don't feel right about that. I don't think it is time.
I guess I'll give it another year.
After five, what's one more?
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
How to Survive a Crisis
If you're facing a real crisis, like an earthquake or a fire, then I can't help you. You're dead.
Sorry!
But if you're facing an emotional crisis (like An Interpersonal Crisis), then I might be of some help.
So...in case of a non-earthquake and non-fire crisis, here are some helpful tips:
Take care of the basics. Have you eaten? Have you slept? Have you had a glass of water to replace all the liquid you lost through your tears? Have you brushed your hair? Have you fed your cat? Or your child? Make sure you do those things. They're the last things you want to do right now, but if you do them you'll have a higher capacity to face what you're facing. Promise.
Do what you normally do. Get yourself out of bed and go about your business. I know your world is spinning out of control. I know everything is terrible. But guess what? Routine helps. Usually. As awful as it is to do mundane tasks when you're completely devastated, it's arguably more awful to sit around and think of how devastated you are.
But don't overdo it. If you absolutely cannot do what you normally do, give yourself a break and relax. Go to your favorite Chinese buffet and read a book and pig out. Watch your favorite TV show. Read something uplifting and inspiring. The only caution with this is to be reasonable about it. You can't avoid your real life until you feel better because chances are you won't feel better for a while. But you can give yourself one evening—one day—one weekend where you do nothing except what you feel like doing. You just have to be disciplined enough to return to normalcy after your one whatever is over.
Surround yourself with people who care about you. Sometimes that involves actively seeking out friends and family. But. You'll be surprised at how many people can scent your troubles and will come flocking to you with little to no effort on your part. They will say nice things, visit you, bring you gifts, and hopefully let you vent to them. Be warned: some of them will give you advice. Some of the advice will not be applicable to you. Try not to be offended. They undoubtedly mean well.
Do things that make you happy, and plan things to look forward to. Again, be disciplined. Don't spend money you don't have; don't eat a ton of stuff that's bad for you or shirk your normal life in the pursuit of numbing pleasures. But...splurge a little. Live a little. Go out of your way to enjoy yourself. You need it.
Think about someone else. It sounds trite, but it really helps to lose yourself in someone else's problems. For one thing, it helps you feel valuable. For another, it keeps you from becoming completely self-absorbed and molasses-bitter.
Cut yourself some slack. You'll feel good for a few days. Maybe even a few weeks. Then something may happen that reminds you of your crisis, and you'll just fall to pieces. Guess what? You're grieving. The pain's going to come in waves, in fits and starts. Accept this. Learn to deal with it.
In other news, supposedly good fortune is coming my way.
Yes please.
Sorry!
But if you're facing an emotional crisis (like An Interpersonal Crisis), then I might be of some help.
So...in case of a non-earthquake and non-fire crisis, here are some helpful tips:
Take care of the basics. Have you eaten? Have you slept? Have you had a glass of water to replace all the liquid you lost through your tears? Have you brushed your hair? Have you fed your cat? Or your child? Make sure you do those things. They're the last things you want to do right now, but if you do them you'll have a higher capacity to face what you're facing. Promise.
Do what you normally do. Get yourself out of bed and go about your business. I know your world is spinning out of control. I know everything is terrible. But guess what? Routine helps. Usually. As awful as it is to do mundane tasks when you're completely devastated, it's arguably more awful to sit around and think of how devastated you are.
But don't overdo it. If you absolutely cannot do what you normally do, give yourself a break and relax. Go to your favorite Chinese buffet and read a book and pig out. Watch your favorite TV show. Read something uplifting and inspiring. The only caution with this is to be reasonable about it. You can't avoid your real life until you feel better because chances are you won't feel better for a while. But you can give yourself one evening—one day—one weekend where you do nothing except what you feel like doing. You just have to be disciplined enough to return to normalcy after your one whatever is over.
Surround yourself with people who care about you. Sometimes that involves actively seeking out friends and family. But. You'll be surprised at how many people can scent your troubles and will come flocking to you with little to no effort on your part. They will say nice things, visit you, bring you gifts, and hopefully let you vent to them. Be warned: some of them will give you advice. Some of the advice will not be applicable to you. Try not to be offended. They undoubtedly mean well.
Do things that make you happy, and plan things to look forward to. Again, be disciplined. Don't spend money you don't have; don't eat a ton of stuff that's bad for you or shirk your normal life in the pursuit of numbing pleasures. But...splurge a little. Live a little. Go out of your way to enjoy yourself. You need it.
Think about someone else. It sounds trite, but it really helps to lose yourself in someone else's problems. For one thing, it helps you feel valuable. For another, it keeps you from becoming completely self-absorbed and molasses-bitter.
Cut yourself some slack. You'll feel good for a few days. Maybe even a few weeks. Then something may happen that reminds you of your crisis, and you'll just fall to pieces. Guess what? You're grieving. The pain's going to come in waves, in fits and starts. Accept this. Learn to deal with it.
In other news, supposedly good fortune is coming my way.
Yes please.
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Humility, Diligence, and Faith
I mentioned last summer that I was rereading The Work and the Glory. On Sunday, I begged, pleaded, coaxed, cajoled, and finally convinced Baby Brother to watch the first movie with me. I think he liked it more than he thought he would. Interestingly, I don't care much for the movie version portrayal of the Prophet Joseph, but I feel like Nathan Steed is the most well-cast book-to-movie character ever. He's pretty much perfect.
To give a little background, the series follows a fictional family by the name of Steed. In the first book, the oldest brother, Joshua, becomes estranged from his family, while Nathan, their mother, and their siblings all join the newly organized church. Their father follows in book two. In book three, Joshua becomes un-estranged from his family, but he's still not a big fan of Mormons. In book six, the Prophet Joseph dies, and in book seven, everyone heads West under the direction of Brigham Young. Joshua decides to go with to help his family, but he leaves his own wife and children back in Illinois.
I wanted to quote a few pages from book eight, where Nathan goes to consult President Young about some interpersonal problems with Joshua. When I was rereading the series, this section really jumped out at me.
To give a little background, the series follows a fictional family by the name of Steed. In the first book, the oldest brother, Joshua, becomes estranged from his family, while Nathan, their mother, and their siblings all join the newly organized church. Their father follows in book two. In book three, Joshua becomes un-estranged from his family, but he's still not a big fan of Mormons. In book six, the Prophet Joseph dies, and in book seven, everyone heads West under the direction of Brigham Young. Joshua decides to go with to help his family, but he leaves his own wife and children back in Illinois.
I wanted to quote a few pages from book eight, where Nathan goes to consult President Young about some interpersonal problems with Joshua. When I was rereading the series, this section really jumped out at me.
"...but it wasn't really agency I was thinking about. I was thinking more along the lines of faith."I love that. It was something I needed to hear (see?) when I read it over the summer, and it's something I needed to hear (see!) when it came to my mind on Sunday night. If it's something you need, then I hope it will help you, too.
Nathan caught himself. "Faith?"
"Yes, faith. Did you happen to be in the meeting last December where I read to the people a letter from Elder Orson Pratt? It was his farewell letter to the Saints in the East, including those that would be taking sail on the Brooklyn."
"I guess not."
"Well, Brother Orson was exhorting them to come west and join us—or take the ship around the horn of South America. And he said something like this: 'Do not be fainthearted or slothful, but be diligent and courageous. Be prayerful and faithful and you can accomplish almost anything that you undertake. What great and good work can we not do if we have faith and ambition?'"
Brigham's eyes were pensive now as he tried to recall the exact words. "'We can do almost anything, for our Father is heaven will strengthen us if we are strong. He will work according to our faith. If we say we cannot go west, God will not help us. But if we say, in the name of the Lord, that we will go, and set ourselves to do it, then we will go and he will help us.'"
Nathan was nodding vigorously. "Exactly. If Joshua had even a touch of faith, there wouldn't be any problem. And that is really troubling to me. He's seen so much....So why can't Joshua believe? He's a good man, President. You know that, but he's just so darn stubborn."
There was an enigmatic smile on the senior Apostle's face. "Actually, Nathan, when I referred to faith, I wasn't thinking about Joshua's faith—or lack of it."
Nathan blinked in surprise. "Oh?" And then he saw Brigham's expression. Nathan's eyes suddenly widened. "You're talking about my faith?"
"Or lack of it," Brigham answered gently.
"But..." He sat back, completely astonished.
"Nathan, you said you came to me for counsel."
"Yes, I did. I—"
"Do you remember what Joseph always used to say? When he was asked how he governed his people, he said 'I teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves.'"
"Yes, I remember that."
The wry smile that made Brigham seem suddenly more like a young boy broke out again. "Actually, I've thought that what Joseph might have said was, 'We teach them correct principles, and we teach them correct principles, and we teach them correct principles, and then they govern themselves.'"
Nathan laughed aloud at that. How true that was!
"Be that as it may. Rather than counseling you, Nathan, let me teach you a principle or two, and then you can decide for yourself what is best....There was a revelation given back in eighteen thirty-four, I believe. You remember back then, Nathan? We were still building the temple in Kirtland. We had hundreds of people coming with nothing but what they carried. They expected the Church to help them. We had no money. No resources. And there we were, building this massive building to our God....Well, near the end of this revelation the Lord said a remarkable thing. Joseph and the Church were deeply in debt at that time, so the Lord started out by saying, 'It is my will that you should pay your debts. When you think about it, that alone is a little strange. This is God, remember, and it was his house that we were building. He could have simply said, 'Don't worry about paying back those worldly men who have given you money. All things are mine anyway, so forget about paying it back.' But he did not. He said that it was his will that Joseph pay off his debts. Then what follows is very profound. I've thought about it over and over....The Lord says, 'It is my will that you humble yourselves, and obtain this blessing'—and by that I assume he means the blessing of getting out of debt—'and obtain this blessing by...'" Brigham stopped and looked directly at Nathan for a moment. "Think about that for a minute. Joseph and the Church are in debt and the Lord says that he can obtain the blessing of being freed from that debt by something. What would expect to come next?"
Nathan's brow wrinkled. "I'm not sure."
"Well, if you came to me and told me you were in debt, how would you expect that I would counsel you?"
"Well, the usual ways, I suppose. Work harder. Be more frugal."
"That's exactly right. There are only two ways out of debt, or so you would think. One is to increase your income. The other is to reduce your outgo."
"Yes, that's about it."
"But that's the point, Nathan. Those are not the only solutions. Listen. This is what the Lord says. He doesn't tell Joseph to work harder or to be more careful with money. He says, 'It is my will that you humble yourselves, and obtain this blessing by'"—Brigham held up his hand and began to tick the items off on his fingers—"'by your humility and diligence and the prayer of faith.' Note that. Three things. Humility. Diligence. Prayer of faith."
"I understand."
"No, you don't understand, Nathan. And neither did I. The great lesson is in what comes next. 'And inasmuch as you are diligent and humble, and exercise the prayer of faith, I will soften the hearts of those to whom you are in debt, until I shall send means unto you for your deliverance.'"
He stopped, watching Nathan closely to see how the words were registering.
Nathan did not notice his gaze. The words hit him in a way they had never done when he had read those words before. "So there is another way."
"Yes!" Brigham was exuberant now. "And we have to be very careful that we don't assume that our ways are the only ways to solve a problem. What the Lord is suggesting is a whole different dimension, Nathan. In many ways you're like me, Nathan. Independent. Ambitious. Determined not to be a burden on others. So when you face a problem, what do you do?"
"I look for a solution."
"Right. You try everything you know how to do to work it through. And that is good. I believe the Lord expects that of us. I think that's what he means by diligence."
"But—"
"But that's not all. He listed three things, remember. Diligence. Humility. The prayer of faith. So in addition to our diligence, if we turn to the Lord in humility and ask for his help in faith, then we have brought him into the process. We are getting his help in solving the challenge....this is how he concludes the passage. 'And if ye are humble and faithful and call upon my name, I will give you the victory.'"
Nathan was nodding ever so slowly.... "And you think that's my problem?"
"Yes." It was said with great love and tenderness. "You have been diligent, Nathan. But you've forgotten to bring the Lord into this." He held up his hand quickly. "Oh, I know you've been praying, but you've only been praying to know if your solution is acceptable to the Lord. Don't seek to counsel God, Nathan. He knows what to do. He knows how to work his work."
"But—" And then he bit it off. There were no buts. That was exactly what he had been doing. He had worked out a solution and now wanted the Lord to ratify it. Or to have Brigham ratify it for the Lord. He felt deep shame wash over him. "I think I understand."
...."It's a lesson I'm learning anew every day, Nathan. It's so easy to get caught up in the work—His work, mind you!—and yet forget that it is He who best knows how to work that work." He was peering deep into Nathan's eyes now. "And that's true of Joshua too, Nathan. God is pleased that you are so deeply concerned about helping him. But it is the Lord who knows best how to help him. So what you need to do is have more faith in the Lord."
His face softened as he saw the pain on the younger man's face. "You need to know, Nathan, lest you be too hard on yourself, there are not many men I know who are faithful enough to be told that what they lack is faith." He laughed without humor. "Sounds like a contradiction, doesn't it? But you think about it. If you weren't a man filled with faith, I would never have dared tell you that what you need is more faith."
Friday, March 16, 2018
Bedtime
Every night, when I go to bed...
ME: I have time to read a little bit!
ALSO ME: Maybe check my email...
ME: Check out this Facebook page...
ALSO ME: Read some fan theories about whatever nerd thing I'm excited about right now...
ME: Watch part of an episode of Kim Possible...
ALSO ME: How is it three a.m.?!
ME: I have time to read a little bit!
ALSO ME: Maybe check my email...
ME: Check out this Facebook page...
ALSO ME: Read some fan theories about whatever nerd thing I'm excited about right now...
ME: Watch part of an episode of Kim Possible...
ALSO ME: How is it three a.m.?!
Saturday, March 10, 2018
Life After Surgery
Before I got my appendix out, I was not doing well emotionally.
I'd been down in the dumps basically since Christmas. Then came An Interpersonal Crisis. I try not to share other people's private stuff on the Internet, so all I'm going to say was that I lost someone who, although we had our differences, I thought would always have my back.
Everything felt impossible. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. Like, do you remember the Phineas and Ferb special where Phineas, Ferb, Candace, Isabella, Baljeet, and Buford get stranded on a deserted island? And Phineas is all, "There must be something we can do!" Even though they have literally a rubber band, a couple of trees, an oversized map, and a big fat ox. Which are things that don't seem to work well together, especially in the context of escaping from an isolated island.
That was me. I felt stuck in a terrible situation. When I took stock to see what I could make of things, I felt like I lacked resources and thus lacked recourse. I distracted myself by go-go-going and immersing myself in my calling and trying to help others and such. And hey, at least it seemed like things couldn't get much worse.
But then my appendix had to go and get taken out. And I had to drop everything and face what I was feeling. I don't know your life and I don't know what your lows are like, but my lows now involve a complete emotional breakdown over An Interpersonal Crisis while lying helpless in a hospital bed awaiting an appendectomy, and them lows are pretty low.
BUT ANYWAY WHERE WERE WE?
Oh yeah...surgery.
After I blacked out from the anesthesia, the next thing I remember is trying to take off my oxygen mask.
I was vaguely aware of being in a "recovery room," where there seemed to be rows of hospital beds full of people waking up from surgery. I was one of the people. I tried to pull off my oxygen mask. I also tried to sit up. A new episode of Star vs the Forces of Evil was coming on Saturday, and as I slipped back into consciousness most of my brainpower found itself theorizing about what was going to happen in the episode. Which, obviously, would be waaaay easier if I didn't have a dumb oxygen mask on my face and I could sit up! I attempted to take it off twice before someone just gave up trying to stop me and removed it.
When I was more awake, they wheeled me back to my private room. I was hungry but also nauseated (not a good combination). Even though I was nearing the 24-hour mark of no food in my tum, they wouldn't let me eat anything more substantial than strawberry Jell-O (which admittedly ended up being delicious). Also, I had to get a nurse's help any time I wanted to go to the bathroom. And my stomach was uncomfortably covered with gauze and tape and other things I couldn't see because of the gauze and tape.
They let me go home that night. However. Because the surgeon was back and forth on whether I'd be returning home or staying over, she never got me a prescription for pain meds before releasing me. On the one hand, I don't like narcotics, and it seemed like a bad idea to give me happy pills when I was feeling so low. On the other hand...
Ouch. I did just have my entire stomach cut open in three places. And I was feelin' it.
So there I was, lying on my parents' couch, in terrible physical and emotional pain. People came to see me. They checked up on me and brought me trinkets and treats. If there's one thing I've realized since my Interpersonal Crisis, it's that there's a lot of people who care about me and who will go to great lengths to show it. #blessed. But people aren't interchangeable, and I felt like a huge part of my support system was missing. I didn't know how I would pick everything back up and keep going.
My mom could tell that I was sad and kept asking me what she could do to make me feel better. Um...nothing? Everything was outside of her control.
Finally, though, on my last day off work, she turned to me and said something like, "You were feeling bad before this happened, and now you feel worse. That's normal. You just had major surgery. Things will get better, and you'll feel better, every day."
Guess what? She was right. Physically, I feel much better now. Most of the pain is gone. Emotionally, I feel a little better, too. That pain remains...but things have a way of coming out right. We'll see what happens.
I'd been down in the dumps basically since Christmas. Then came An Interpersonal Crisis. I try not to share other people's private stuff on the Internet, so all I'm going to say was that I lost someone who, although we had our differences, I thought would always have my back.
Everything felt impossible. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. Like, do you remember the Phineas and Ferb special where Phineas, Ferb, Candace, Isabella, Baljeet, and Buford get stranded on a deserted island? And Phineas is all, "There must be something we can do!" Even though they have literally a rubber band, a couple of trees, an oversized map, and a big fat ox. Which are things that don't seem to work well together, especially in the context of escaping from an isolated island.
That was me. I felt stuck in a terrible situation. When I took stock to see what I could make of things, I felt like I lacked resources and thus lacked recourse. I distracted myself by go-go-going and immersing myself in my calling and trying to help others and such. And hey, at least it seemed like things couldn't get much worse.
But then my appendix had to go and get taken out. And I had to drop everything and face what I was feeling. I don't know your life and I don't know what your lows are like, but my lows now involve a complete emotional breakdown over An Interpersonal Crisis while lying helpless in a hospital bed awaiting an appendectomy, and them lows are pretty low.
BUT ANYWAY WHERE WERE WE?
Oh yeah...surgery.
After I blacked out from the anesthesia, the next thing I remember is trying to take off my oxygen mask.
I was vaguely aware of being in a "recovery room," where there seemed to be rows of hospital beds full of people waking up from surgery. I was one of the people. I tried to pull off my oxygen mask. I also tried to sit up. A new episode of Star vs the Forces of Evil was coming on Saturday, and as I slipped back into consciousness most of my brainpower found itself theorizing about what was going to happen in the episode. Which, obviously, would be waaaay easier if I didn't have a dumb oxygen mask on my face and I could sit up! I attempted to take it off twice before someone just gave up trying to stop me and removed it.
When I was more awake, they wheeled me back to my private room. I was hungry but also nauseated (not a good combination). Even though I was nearing the 24-hour mark of no food in my tum, they wouldn't let me eat anything more substantial than strawberry Jell-O (which admittedly ended up being delicious). Also, I had to get a nurse's help any time I wanted to go to the bathroom. And my stomach was uncomfortably covered with gauze and tape and other things I couldn't see because of the gauze and tape.
They let me go home that night. However. Because the surgeon was back and forth on whether I'd be returning home or staying over, she never got me a prescription for pain meds before releasing me. On the one hand, I don't like narcotics, and it seemed like a bad idea to give me happy pills when I was feeling so low. On the other hand...
Ouch. I did just have my entire stomach cut open in three places. And I was feelin' it.
So there I was, lying on my parents' couch, in terrible physical and emotional pain. People came to see me. They checked up on me and brought me trinkets and treats. If there's one thing I've realized since my Interpersonal Crisis, it's that there's a lot of people who care about me and who will go to great lengths to show it. #blessed. But people aren't interchangeable, and I felt like a huge part of my support system was missing. I didn't know how I would pick everything back up and keep going.
My mom could tell that I was sad and kept asking me what she could do to make me feel better. Um...nothing? Everything was outside of her control.
Finally, though, on my last day off work, she turned to me and said something like, "You were feeling bad before this happened, and now you feel worse. That's normal. You just had major surgery. Things will get better, and you'll feel better, every day."
Guess what? She was right. Physically, I feel much better now. Most of the pain is gone. Emotionally, I feel a little better, too. That pain remains...but things have a way of coming out right. We'll see what happens.
Friday, March 9, 2018
No Brother Is an Island
My trusty iPod's charging cord frayed about a year ago, and I just barely replaced it. As I was perusing old notes on the iPod, I found this gem that was originally supposed to be part of this post (it immediately precedes Dad's interjection).
BABY BROTHER: (lays upside-down and balances a package of Milky Ways on his feet) I am on a tiny island the size of me and there's lava all around and you're dying in the lava and if my Milky Ways fall into the lava I'll shout "NOOOOO!" and die because they're the only thing I care about.
MILKY WAYS: (fall)
BABY BROTHER: NOOOOO!
BABY BROTHER: (lays upside-down and balances a package of Milky Ways on his feet) I am on a tiny island the size of me and there's lava all around and you're dying in the lava and if my Milky Ways fall into the lava I'll shout "NOOOOO!" and die because they're the only thing I care about.
MILKY WAYS: (fall)
BABY BROTHER: NOOOOO!
Monday, March 5, 2018
Tales of My Appendix
I ended this post by saying I was going to bed.
But I didn't. I laid awake for two more hours, feeling crummy and discouraged. Eventually, I forced myself to get up and get ready for bed...because my stomach hurt and I had to use the restroom.
Like most people, my stomach hurts from time to time. Sometimes I wake up with a stomach issue and have to medicate. It's usually not a big deal. This time, though, I decided not to medicate. I just went to bed like I'd promised my blog audience I would...albeit belatedly.
Two hours later, I woke up. Because nausea. I went to the restroom, thinking that if I used the toilet or threw up, I'd feel a lot better and everything would be okay. But it turned out that I couldn't use the toilet or throw up...not for lack of trying. I was on my knees on the cold tile, forcing myself to dry heave over the toilet bowl, when I realized that I wasn't nauseated anymore. My stomach just really...hurt.
I thought back over the last few hours. Come to think of it, eating dinner had been a chore because I wasn't hungry. I'd assumed that was because I'd eaten the same thing for every meal for a week straight (one of the joys of cooking for one and having leftovers), but maybe I'd actually been sick? Food poisoning? After eating the same thing for every meal, it seemed unlikely that food poisoning would be striking now. And food poisoning usually meant vomiting, not intense pain...
I grabbed my phone and entered "intense stomach pain below belly button." A few results came up, but only one caught my eye: "appendicitis."
And for some reason, I was like, "Yup. That's it. That's the one. I'm going to have to get my appendix out."
Cool as a cucumber with intense stomach pain (which is not that cool, tbh), I called my mom. It was three a.m., but she still answered.
I explained my symptoms and said something like, "What if I have appendicitis?"
She told me to go back to bed and that if I still felt the pain in the morning, she'd take me to her clinic for some tests.
"What do you mean by morning?" It was, after all, three a.m.
"Whatever time you normally get up." She told me not to eat or drink anything. Not that I was going to do that, anyway. Once again, medicating did not seem like the right course of action, and the only reason I'd eat or drink was to medicate. I was distinctly not hungry.
I hung up and, calmly, lay back down. I was in too much pain to sleep. After about forty-five minutes, I texted my mom to let her know that the pain had moved exclusively to the right side of my stomach. After an hour and fifteen minutes, I realized that I wasn't tired at all and that the temple would be open in the next forty-five minutes or so. I'd desperately wanted to go to the temple all week (re: feeling crummy and discouraged), but I wasn't sure I'd be able to. This could be the perfect time! I excitedly got to my feet to get ready and then realized that standing was a mistake. I got back into bed and realized that was a mistake, too. Any time I moved positions, I hurt. The only thing I could do was lie on my back quietly and hold very still. Nix to the temple.
Eventually, I drifted off for an hour or so. Then it was time to get up.
I'm blessed with a rather hyperactive imagination. I wouldn't say I'm a dramatic person, but I do sometimes entertain extremes, probably because extremes are far more interesting than moderation. Because I know this about myself, I have a habit of counterbalancing my extremes. As I got ready to leave the house, I reminded myself that I didn't know if I had appendicitis, that this could just be a bad stomachache, that I could be jumping to conclusions, and so on and so forth. When I emailed work to let them know I wasn't coming, I said nothing about my appendix. When I dropped my car at the mechanic's (as I'd been planning to do that day for a week), I explained that I would probably be unavailable as I was going to the doctor and possibly the emergency room. It was only after the mechanic pressed me for details that I said I might have appendicitis. When I got to my parents' house, I listened to my mother's medical spiel.
"Hmmm," said my mom. "You don't have any release pain, which is unusual for appendicitis." She mentioned a couple other symptoms I was lacking or that I had but which didn't jive with appendicitis.
I listened to her, because she was the medical professional. But I was surprised by her commentary. I still had a feeling that I couldn't shake that told me I was suffering from appendicitis.
I went to my mom's clinic as soon as it opened. As the nurse on duty, she ran some tests. She also made me put on a hospital gown, which was a new thing that has never happened to me.
The doctor then showed up to poke a little and prod a little and tell me what my tests said. The tests did not say, "You have appendicitis and should go to the ER." They said, "Normal. Normal. You're completely normal. Your white blood cell count is at 11, which is at the high end of normal. The only slightly abnormal thing is that 85% of the white blood cells in your body are cells for fighting infection."
Again, I was taken aback. Because my gut feeling still told me (in more ways than one) that appendicitis was the answer. But maybe I was crazy? Or just not a doctor. Maybe I was just being a big ol' wimp about a big ol' stomachache.
The doctor said, "You have two options. You can go to the ER now and just have them double check things. Or you can go home and see if your pain gets any worse and then go to the ER if it does. Are you okay with that plan?"
And I was all, "Sorry, but which one of those things did you want me to do?"
The doctor hesitated. I've met some of the doctors my mom works with. Let me tell you, they are not humble people. This doctor seemed different, because he opened his mouth and said something not at all based on medical science: "If it were my daughter, I'd want her to go to the ER just to be safe."
So off I went to the ER, frantically texting along the way. Letting all interested parties that I had to go to the emergency room. Still not saying anything for sure but dropping phrases like "suspected appendicitis" just to prepare everybody in case my feelings were right.
I got to the ER and checked in. They give me a nifty little ER bracelet. My dad, who'd left work to come with me, didn't get a bracelet. But he didn't have to put on a hospital gown, either. Or get hooked up to 10,000 different machines. Or have to answer a lot of invasive and repetitive questions about health issues. Happily, I was able to say that apart from an abnormal year of migraines, ankle deformities, and UTIs, I am spectacularly healthy.
The questions unearthed a few things. Namely that it still looked like I didn't have appendicitis. There were the underwhelming blood test results...the lack of release pain...the fact that I endured the pain quite well without meds...the fact that the pain was ebbing and flowing somewhat...no fever...huh.
But I was in the ER, where they pinpoint a diagnosis at all costs, so they tucked me under a warm blanket, gave me some morphine, and told me to wait because I was going to have a CT scan in the near future.
Some people like narcotics because they make them happy. I knew from experience (wisdom teeth removal) that narcotics do not make me happy. All the morphine did was give me some kind of throat-swelling panic attack (?) and then make me slightly groggy. It didn't even seem to help much with the pain. It also made the CT scan feel a little surreal. I remember being wheeled in my hospital bed to the CT scan room (it was like a roller coaster! but in a bed!), but the CT scan itself is something I can't recount with confidence.
I do remember that not long after, the doctor came and said, "I hope you're not too attached to your appendix!"
The CT scan confirmed: it was inflamed and had to come out!
I don't know how to explain how I knew I had to get my appendix out long before medical science showed it. It was unlike any other spiritual impression I've ever had. It didn't come because I'd inquired of the Lord, and it didn't come with warm fuzzies. It was just...there. It didn't even really feel very spiritual. My mom said she had a similar experience. While my dad was sitting with me in the ER, my mom was making arrangements to leave work and come take his place. She wanted to be with me when I went in to surgery.
In any case, if I'd waited until my pain was more symptomatic of appendicitis to seek treatment, my appendix probably would have ruptured. I would then have had to be rushed to the ER and may not have made it through. I was definitely being watched out for.
So there I was, miraculously already in the ER to be treated preemptively. I had also miraculously not eaten anything since the night before, so I was ready for surgery whenever they could squeeze me in. The downside was that since I'd come in before the danger was imminent, my emergency surgery was not-so-emergency. I ended up waiting a good fourish hours, and they were loooooong. I passed the time by texting (almost) everyone I knew and by getting up to speed on the surgery, which was laparoscopic. Which sounds kind of like a Christian denomination and not a surgery. But it really just means that instead of giving me one long incision, they were going to cut me open in three places and insert a camera for visibility. I was informed that it should be clean and quick since my appendix was unruptured. Also that the surgeon was going to adjust the anesthesia since the drug usually used had a marginal relationship to a drug I'm allergic to.
They were very nice to me while I waited. They moved me to a private room and assigned me some nice staff members. Mom and I were both bored out of our minds, but presently I was wheeled down to surgery. I was introduced to my surgeon and the anesthesiologist, whom I liked and trusted immediately. I didn't have too much anxiety about the surgery itself...until we went to go do it. Then I was seriously reconsidering whether I could just live with an inflamed appendix. (Medical science says I probably couldn't have. Medical science doesn't know how I am when I set my mind to something.) Anyway, the anesthesiologist said it was his job to watch me the whole time and keep me safe, and I felt okay about commending my life into his hands.
They wheeled me to the operating room and helped me move onto the operating "bed" (a squishy table covered with paper and two pillows, one under my head and one under my knees). They started hooking me up to things.
The anesthesiologist put an oxygen mask over my face. I remember thinking that I did not feel tired at all and wondering when the anesthesia would kick in. That's the last thing I remember before the surgery took place.
But I didn't. I laid awake for two more hours, feeling crummy and discouraged. Eventually, I forced myself to get up and get ready for bed...because my stomach hurt and I had to use the restroom.
Like most people, my stomach hurts from time to time. Sometimes I wake up with a stomach issue and have to medicate. It's usually not a big deal. This time, though, I decided not to medicate. I just went to bed like I'd promised my blog audience I would...albeit belatedly.
Two hours later, I woke up. Because nausea. I went to the restroom, thinking that if I used the toilet or threw up, I'd feel a lot better and everything would be okay. But it turned out that I couldn't use the toilet or throw up...not for lack of trying. I was on my knees on the cold tile, forcing myself to dry heave over the toilet bowl, when I realized that I wasn't nauseated anymore. My stomach just really...hurt.
I thought back over the last few hours. Come to think of it, eating dinner had been a chore because I wasn't hungry. I'd assumed that was because I'd eaten the same thing for every meal for a week straight (one of the joys of cooking for one and having leftovers), but maybe I'd actually been sick? Food poisoning? After eating the same thing for every meal, it seemed unlikely that food poisoning would be striking now. And food poisoning usually meant vomiting, not intense pain...
I grabbed my phone and entered "intense stomach pain below belly button." A few results came up, but only one caught my eye: "appendicitis."
And for some reason, I was like, "Yup. That's it. That's the one. I'm going to have to get my appendix out."
Cool as a cucumber with intense stomach pain (which is not that cool, tbh), I called my mom. It was three a.m., but she still answered.
I explained my symptoms and said something like, "What if I have appendicitis?"
She told me to go back to bed and that if I still felt the pain in the morning, she'd take me to her clinic for some tests.
"What do you mean by morning?" It was, after all, three a.m.
"Whatever time you normally get up." She told me not to eat or drink anything. Not that I was going to do that, anyway. Once again, medicating did not seem like the right course of action, and the only reason I'd eat or drink was to medicate. I was distinctly not hungry.
I hung up and, calmly, lay back down. I was in too much pain to sleep. After about forty-five minutes, I texted my mom to let her know that the pain had moved exclusively to the right side of my stomach. After an hour and fifteen minutes, I realized that I wasn't tired at all and that the temple would be open in the next forty-five minutes or so. I'd desperately wanted to go to the temple all week (re: feeling crummy and discouraged), but I wasn't sure I'd be able to. This could be the perfect time! I excitedly got to my feet to get ready and then realized that standing was a mistake. I got back into bed and realized that was a mistake, too. Any time I moved positions, I hurt. The only thing I could do was lie on my back quietly and hold very still. Nix to the temple.
Eventually, I drifted off for an hour or so. Then it was time to get up.
I'm blessed with a rather hyperactive imagination. I wouldn't say I'm a dramatic person, but I do sometimes entertain extremes, probably because extremes are far more interesting than moderation. Because I know this about myself, I have a habit of counterbalancing my extremes. As I got ready to leave the house, I reminded myself that I didn't know if I had appendicitis, that this could just be a bad stomachache, that I could be jumping to conclusions, and so on and so forth. When I emailed work to let them know I wasn't coming, I said nothing about my appendix. When I dropped my car at the mechanic's (as I'd been planning to do that day for a week), I explained that I would probably be unavailable as I was going to the doctor and possibly the emergency room. It was only after the mechanic pressed me for details that I said I might have appendicitis. When I got to my parents' house, I listened to my mother's medical spiel.
"Hmmm," said my mom. "You don't have any release pain, which is unusual for appendicitis." She mentioned a couple other symptoms I was lacking or that I had but which didn't jive with appendicitis.
I listened to her, because she was the medical professional. But I was surprised by her commentary. I still had a feeling that I couldn't shake that told me I was suffering from appendicitis.
I went to my mom's clinic as soon as it opened. As the nurse on duty, she ran some tests. She also made me put on a hospital gown, which was a new thing that has never happened to me.
The doctor then showed up to poke a little and prod a little and tell me what my tests said. The tests did not say, "You have appendicitis and should go to the ER." They said, "Normal. Normal. You're completely normal. Your white blood cell count is at 11, which is at the high end of normal. The only slightly abnormal thing is that 85% of the white blood cells in your body are cells for fighting infection."
Again, I was taken aback. Because my gut feeling still told me (in more ways than one) that appendicitis was the answer. But maybe I was crazy? Or just not a doctor. Maybe I was just being a big ol' wimp about a big ol' stomachache.
The doctor said, "You have two options. You can go to the ER now and just have them double check things. Or you can go home and see if your pain gets any worse and then go to the ER if it does. Are you okay with that plan?"
And I was all, "Sorry, but which one of those things did you want me to do?"
The doctor hesitated. I've met some of the doctors my mom works with. Let me tell you, they are not humble people. This doctor seemed different, because he opened his mouth and said something not at all based on medical science: "If it were my daughter, I'd want her to go to the ER just to be safe."
So off I went to the ER, frantically texting along the way. Letting all interested parties that I had to go to the emergency room. Still not saying anything for sure but dropping phrases like "suspected appendicitis" just to prepare everybody in case my feelings were right.
I got to the ER and checked in. They give me a nifty little ER bracelet. My dad, who'd left work to come with me, didn't get a bracelet. But he didn't have to put on a hospital gown, either. Or get hooked up to 10,000 different machines. Or have to answer a lot of invasive and repetitive questions about health issues. Happily, I was able to say that apart from an abnormal year of migraines, ankle deformities, and UTIs, I am spectacularly healthy.
The questions unearthed a few things. Namely that it still looked like I didn't have appendicitis. There were the underwhelming blood test results...the lack of release pain...the fact that I endured the pain quite well without meds...the fact that the pain was ebbing and flowing somewhat...no fever...huh.
But I was in the ER, where they pinpoint a diagnosis at all costs, so they tucked me under a warm blanket, gave me some morphine, and told me to wait because I was going to have a CT scan in the near future.
Some people like narcotics because they make them happy. I knew from experience (wisdom teeth removal) that narcotics do not make me happy. All the morphine did was give me some kind of throat-swelling panic attack (?) and then make me slightly groggy. It didn't even seem to help much with the pain. It also made the CT scan feel a little surreal. I remember being wheeled in my hospital bed to the CT scan room (it was like a roller coaster! but in a bed!), but the CT scan itself is something I can't recount with confidence.
I do remember that not long after, the doctor came and said, "I hope you're not too attached to your appendix!"
The CT scan confirmed: it was inflamed and had to come out!
I don't know how to explain how I knew I had to get my appendix out long before medical science showed it. It was unlike any other spiritual impression I've ever had. It didn't come because I'd inquired of the Lord, and it didn't come with warm fuzzies. It was just...there. It didn't even really feel very spiritual. My mom said she had a similar experience. While my dad was sitting with me in the ER, my mom was making arrangements to leave work and come take his place. She wanted to be with me when I went in to surgery.
In any case, if I'd waited until my pain was more symptomatic of appendicitis to seek treatment, my appendix probably would have ruptured. I would then have had to be rushed to the ER and may not have made it through. I was definitely being watched out for.
So there I was, miraculously already in the ER to be treated preemptively. I had also miraculously not eaten anything since the night before, so I was ready for surgery whenever they could squeeze me in. The downside was that since I'd come in before the danger was imminent, my emergency surgery was not-so-emergency. I ended up waiting a good fourish hours, and they were loooooong. I passed the time by texting (almost) everyone I knew and by getting up to speed on the surgery, which was laparoscopic. Which sounds kind of like a Christian denomination and not a surgery. But it really just means that instead of giving me one long incision, they were going to cut me open in three places and insert a camera for visibility. I was informed that it should be clean and quick since my appendix was unruptured. Also that the surgeon was going to adjust the anesthesia since the drug usually used had a marginal relationship to a drug I'm allergic to.
They were very nice to me while I waited. They moved me to a private room and assigned me some nice staff members. Mom and I were both bored out of our minds, but presently I was wheeled down to surgery. I was introduced to my surgeon and the anesthesiologist, whom I liked and trusted immediately. I didn't have too much anxiety about the surgery itself...until we went to go do it. Then I was seriously reconsidering whether I could just live with an inflamed appendix. (Medical science says I probably couldn't have. Medical science doesn't know how I am when I set my mind to something.) Anyway, the anesthesiologist said it was his job to watch me the whole time and keep me safe, and I felt okay about commending my life into his hands.
They wheeled me to the operating room and helped me move onto the operating "bed" (a squishy table covered with paper and two pillows, one under my head and one under my knees). They started hooking me up to things.
The anesthesiologist put an oxygen mask over my face. I remember thinking that I did not feel tired at all and wondering when the anesthesia would kick in. That's the last thing I remember before the surgery took place.
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