Remembered

We will be remembered for how we treated people, how we spoke to them, how we cared about them, how we encouraged them, and how we loved them.  Our actions and accomplishments aren't as everlasting as our character.

I spent a couple days listening to the achievements of some great people during an awards ceremony.  The slide shows celebrated their diligence, their willingness to make a difference in the lives around them, their willingness to give of their time and themselves.  We celebrated their steadfastness, work ethic and humbleness.  Their achievements were amazing, but it was their character in the midst of these achievements that everyone was honoring. 

Are you most proud of your character in the day to day, in the midst of difficult times or times when life takes a little more effort?  Or are you most proud of the list of achievements you can put on your resume?

Are you thankful for a day where you positively impacted people, encouraged them and helped them meet their goals?  Or are you more thankful that you met your goals?

Achievements are wonderful and they often drive us to move forward, but they aren't everything and they shouldn't keep us from having the kind of character that moves people, encourages people and gives people hope that they can overcome the difficulties, challenges and obstacles in life.  The people around you will believe in themselves because of you.

This doesn't happen through work.  This happens through living and loving and being your best even if your best doesn't feel all that great.

How do you want to be remembered?

Orange Story: Daily Reminder

About a week after the infusions I began taking MS medication.  I talked with my doctor about which one would work best for me. The directions for my medication made it very clear that it needed to be taken at the same time everyday, twice a day.  The more consistently it was in my body the better chance it had to be successful.

MS medication doesn't make a person better.  Its job is to reduce the attacks.  My immune system is attacking the protective covering over my nerve cells.  The medication reduces the amount of white blood cells that I have.  By reducing the white blood cells, we essentially reduce the size of the army that is attacking my nerve cells.  The medication can't take away or fix damage.  The hope is that it keeps away future damage.  Imagine a battle where the soldiers are attacking an unarmed castle.  The only hope the people in the castle have is that the soldiers will stop.  If there are fewer of them, the damage won't be as bad and maybe they can creatively keep them away.

Taking medication the same time twice a day meant that I had to set an alarm.  There are two alarms on my phone that go off every day reminding me to take my medication.  I've been taking my medication for over 2 years. At the very beginning, the alarm was a daily reminder that this new thing was part of me.  I couldn't escape it or forget about it because the alarm would ding and remind me once again.   I wondered if I would get used to it.  Today it's better.  It isn't such a glaring reminder today, just a quiet reality.

There is always a daily reminder of our weaknesses and short comings.  It comes in the form of an alarm for me.  Sometimes it's a nagging pain, sometimes it's a visible change, sometimes it's a memory.  How do we deal with those reminders?  Do we graciously accept that our weaknesses are not who we are or do we cringe and feel less than what we should?

I hope we remember that our weaknesses and difficulties and short comings are not our identity.  They simple are the things we overcome and grow in, making us amazing despite the difficulties trying to pull us down.

I Can

It's not about what you can't do.  It's about what you can.
It's not about your limitations.  It's about your achievements.
I don't want people to say she did well considering all her obstacles, I want them to say she did well and on top of that, look at what she overcame.

There may always be a list of what I cannot do, but I want to celebrate the list of things I can do,
I can walk, talk, listen, write and read.  I can do my job, take care of my family, and enjoy my friends.  I can make a difference in other's lives.  I can love.  I can care.  I can show up.

The list of things I can do is much longer than the things I cannot do.  I choose to celebrate and remember what I am still capable of and when something I can do becomes a cannot, I will still celebrate all the cans that remain.

I will celebrate my achievements and not focus on my limitations.  I can.

Orange Story: Listen to the Answer

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I chose not to share things with other people because I didn't think they wanted to hear or I didn't think they would understand. I would answer questions simply are rarely offer extra information.

My conversations with people about MS were more frustrating.  Most people aren't educated about what MS does.  I wouldn't have known anything if I hadn't done research when my dad was diagnosed.

I was becoming less gracious with people's statements to me.  I know they cared and didn't know what to say.  I think I was frustrated because they didn't listen, not because they didn't know what to say.

I would explain that I would begin medication soon.  I explained that the medication's purpose was to keep away new episodes like the one I had.  It doesn't make me better.  The most common response was, "You'll feel better when you get your medication." I had to stop talking.  They didn't hear me.  They didn't listen to what I was sharing.  They asked, but didn't listen.

My heart would sink every time.  I had to stop talking.  I just wanted them to hear my answer to their question.  I wanted to have the conversation they started.

I've accepted these things, but I hope that we can stop and hear those around us.  If we don't understand, ask a few more questions and listen to the answer.  Let that person know that you value their story enough to hear it.

Giving Christmas

This might seem a bit early, but as we near the end of October and the stores begin to put out their Christmas things, I remember a Christmas that was simple and beautiful.

Christmas 2012 was an extra giving Christmas.  My oldest daughter was 11 and my youngest daughter was 8.  That year, my girls were more excited to watch people open gifts they had given than to open their own gifts.  They took the time to find special things for people that they knew they would love. They saved their own money and did their own shopping.

Everyone was thoughtful this year and tried to give people things that fit them or they talked about. The key to good gift giving is listening to the person you are getting a gift for.  You have to listen to them all year not just in December.  You have to listen to what they like, what they need, what they would love to have but will never buy for themselves.  You have to listen to what is important to them.

It's my favorite when you happen upon that perfect gift that you know someone will love rather than hunting it down in a busy afternoon.  Those special gifts are the ones you are anxious for someone else to open.  No one gave gifts just to have something to wrap that year.

It felt like a very blessed Christmas. Blessed because of people, health and love, not because anything under the tree.

I hope that as we enter into this coming season that everyone will remember that it is about people and not things.  It is about thinking of others and not good deals.

Orange Story: Right Now

Once my infusions were complete, I had a couple of days to be home and to rest.  I managed to do a few household tasks and walk in the sun.  I enjoyed the sunshine on my face.  I felt like a flower soaking up the rays. 

I continued to feel nauseous those few days.  My nauseousness would come and go throughout the day. Even though I was no longer receiving infusions, I think the medicine was still making its way through me.  My arm was refusing to wake up. It felt like it hung limp at my side.  My collar bone and overall left side felt bruised to the touch.  I slept for over 10 hours and it didn't seem to make a dent in my problems. 

In order for me to keep from going crazy or getting depressed I had to be in the moment. 

In the moment, I had lost some use of my muscles on the left side of my body.  I didn't feel well and was tired.  Also, in the moment there was hope that I would get better. 

MS was not going to go away, but these symptoms may so I hoped and used that hope to stave off depression.  I know that when I have mobility back I will use it and be thankful for it.  Until then, I will hope and be patient and see and be thankful for what is right now.

On the Horizon

Today I was able to see the mountains clearly.  There was no haze or clouds to block my view.  They were majestic.  The blues and purples topped with patches of snow stood out against the grey sky.  As I looked at those mountains, I remembered our trip to the Oregon Coast not long ago.

Our journey to the coast takes us through Eastern Oregon then along the Columbia River.  We have traveled over the mountains that sit in northeast Oregon more than 20 times.  On this journey I spotted two mountains on the horizon I had never seen before.  I believe I was seeing Mt. Adams and Mt. Rainier.  Looking at the map, I was in awe at how far away these mountains were and I was able to see them from my vantage point atop the Blues Mountains. 

Those mountains have always there.  I've never seen them before because they were hidden behind haze that usually sits on the horizon.

Many amazing and beautiful and magnificent things are on the horizon all the time.  They are hidden by haze.  They are hidden by the clouds.  They are hidden by bad weather.  Now that I know those mountains are there, I will always look for them.  My eyes will be searching for any hint of them next time we travel that way.

Perhaps there is always something amazing and beautiful on the horizon.  Perhaps it is simply hidden.  I want to look expectantly for what might be hidden.  I want to remember to expect the amazing.  It may take awhile for it to appear, but I know it is there.  I know the magnificent is waiting for me.

Orange Story: I Am Okay

Once my infusions were complete, I did some reflections.  MS was not something I desired or planned on.  I noticed I began letting people come alongside me and help me.  I was letting myself be cared for, in part because I didn't have a choice.  My limp arm and lack of energy made everything difficult or impossible. 

I was thankful we had decided to move.  The actual move didn't happen until 2 years later, but we began the process.  I knew if I had any relapses like this one every once in a while I would need a smaller, flatter and more open house.  At the time, I had a two story house with a basement.  Each level had a multitude of rooms and doors.  Parts of the house had cramped furniture and I would run into it with my left side.  I seemed to be unaware of where the center of my body was.  I was doing okay with the stairs, but I had to be careful and concentrate.  I was acutely aware this couldn't last forever.

At the end of the day through the difficulties and the blessings I will be okay, or I will have the grace to be okay.  Either way, I am okay.

BE

A visit to the ocean is good for the soul.  While watching the ocean, the whales and the rain, I realized these thing's days aren't ruined by bad weather.  I sat by the fire and sought to have an easy going spirit like these things that just continue to BE regardless of the outside circumstances.

BE
The ocean doesn't care it is raining.
It keeps moving.
It keeps flowing.
The whale doesn't care it is raining.
It keeps swimming.
It keeps feeding.

The rain doesn't stop me.
It doesn't change my mood.
It doesn't ruin my plans.
I keep living.
I keep seeing.

The fire burns.
The waves crash.
The rain falls.
The dog rests.
I am here.

The dog doesn't care it is raining.
She keeps sleeping.
She keeps loving.
She knows I think of her and leaves the fire to sit at my feet.
It is good to BE.

Pain

Recently, I've been dealing with some intense pain.  When at it's worst, I want to cry.  When it is at bay, I want to stay still in the hopes I can keep it away.  I know many people deal with pain.  This is a reflection on what the pain was doing to me and what I was going to do about it.

PAIN
It won't leave me.
No shift helps.
No rest helps.
It pokes and prods.
It steals my smile,
Replaces it with a grimace.
I don't want to talk.
I don't want to think.
I want to hide from the pain,
But it follows me.
It stays close.
It demands my attention.
It won't be silenced or satisfied.

My pain is closes to me.
It forms me.
It tries to change me.
It tries to break me,
But I won't let it.
I will be me, pain and all.
They will say they had no idea.
They will be amazed at what I smile through.

It tries to make me sad.
Instead, I must be thankful.
Thankful for what is not pain.
Thankful for what is still good, what still works.
Thankful that strength will come from the pain if I let it.

Orange Story: The Last of the Medicine

I made it through my first full day of school on Friday.  I was diagnosed with MS on Monday and had gone home early each day since then.  I was beginning to feel tired at lunch, but food and rest gave me enough energy to finish the day.  It felt good to finish a day even if it beat me up a bit.

I had my last dose of steroids.  The cold saline I have to inject first gave me terrible chills.  Once the saline is complete, the medicine begins.  I spent time warming up the medicine so it isn't as cold.  The last 45 minutes of it were painful.  I felt like my veins were already worn out and agitated.  I had to finish with one more dose of saline, which was the most painful. It brought tears to my eyes.  Nothing could relieve the pain until it was over.

We carefully unstuck the tape surrounding the IV and my husband pulled it out without me feeling a thing.  I was worried about pulling the IV out, it turned out to be the easy part.  The relief in having a permanent tube, always waiting for more medicine, out of my arm was wonderful.  It still hurt, but I knew the pain would eventually subside.  It has been over 2 years since the IV was in my arm for those 3 days.  Sometimes, I will randomly have a bruise show up where it was located.  It is a reminder of what was and, I am thankful, is no more.

At this point, after all the medicine and the time to heal, I still had limited mobility.  I could almost guarantee anything held in my left hand would fall.  I was trying to move it and use it, but I didn't know if all the movement in the world would help until my brain released it.  I felt like my brain had decided to ignore my left arm and focus its attention elsewhere.  Until my brain decided that it would talk to my arm again, I would forever be dropping things and running into things.

I celebrated the freedom from the IV with some chocolate ice cream.  I slept a full 7 hours without waking and worrying about my arm.

Today, it is unnoticeable.  I know I'm a little slower and a little weaker on that side, but no one else would notice unless they were looking closely.  Either the inflammation around my nerves went down so that my brain and my arm could communicate again or my brain found a new way to communicate with my arm.  Either way, I am much improved from those days.

Breaking the Rules

Early on in my marriage I noticed that I put expectations on myself that my husband didn't have. I got frustrated with those expectations and I told him.  He reminded me that he didn't expect any of that from me.  I worked hard to keep the house clean.  I would put expectations on myself to dust at certain intervals, clean the floors regularly and keep the kitchen clean.  He didn't care if I did any of that.  I was getting frustrated at the rules I had put on myself.

It has taken me a lot of years to lighten up on myself.  I have to remind myself that I am the only one making these expectations and rules.  No one else cares if I do them or not.

I have made a lot of gains over the years, but I still fall into old habits of setting rules or expectations for myself and I am hard on myself when I don't measure up.

This past week, while sitting by the ocean, I did a lot of coloring.  I have those fun adult coloring books.  I have about 5 of them.  It takes days to color one page so I don't imagine I will run out of pages to color any time soon.  I began with a plan to color the page a certain way and struggled when it didn't look right.  I had a difficult time letting myself change my plans and use different colors.  I wanted to mix just the right colors together and it wouldn't always come out the way I planned.  I continued to battle against the rules I had set while coloring.

If I'm struggling to come to terms with my own expectations while I'm coloring, what is happening in other areas of my life?  Am I setting unrealistic expectations and not giving myself the freedom to change directions or change plans?

I started one page using only autumn colors.  Once the leaves were finished, I didn't know what to do. What color do I color the flowers?  It took a little bit and some prodding from my daughter, but I eventually used all the colors to color the flowers.  There were no more rules about autumn colors.

I was coloring every part of the picture one color.  Again, my daughter blended colors together.  After looking at actual trees that had green leaves in the center and orange leaves on the ends, I started mixing colors together. I was literally making myself color outside the lines.

I need to give myself freedom to change plans, freedom to do things differently than anybody, including myself, expects.  I need to be willing to break the rules that I set for myself.  I need to be willing to break away from the expectations that I unconsciously place on myself and think outside the box.  I need to think outside the lines and think about the different choices I have rather than sticking to what I expect I must do.

This battle won't be won in a day, but I will continue to fight it knowing that freedom is on the other side.

Orange Story: Blessed in Pain

What MS did to my body in the first days of my diagnosis was difficult for me to handle.  I cried each day for many reasons: pain, sadness, frustration, exhaustion, and the desire to be free.  I wouldn't anticipate a day without tears.  I did my best to move forward, be strong and be thankful.  I still had difficulty functioning with my left side.  I still had an IV in my arm.  The infusions were getting more difficult each evening.  I got extremely tired at work and would get worn out simply from talking.

I was excessively thankful for the people around me who supported and cared for me.  I was humbled by all the caring people. My principal sent me home to rest regularly.  My book club helped with food and cleaning.  They brought meals and came and vacuumed my house. They were so kind and generous. They asked what they could do to help and when I answered, clean my house, they didn't run away like all the other people did when I gave that answer.  Wonderful people who simply cared surrounded my family and me.

As difficult as this time was, I was also blessed beyond measure.  

Wave Watching

When we vacation on the coast we stay in a house that overlooks the ocean.  We have over 180 degree view from the house of beach, waves, and ocean.  My husband likes to stand on the deck and watch the waves come in.

The other night he was watching some surfers out on the waves.  From his vantage point he could see when the perfect wave came around the point.  He could see where the surfer needed to be, he could see when they needed to paddle and when they needed to pop up.  From 100 feet above the water he would tell them to paddle or wonder why they stopped paddling, sighing that they missed the perfect wave because they quit going for it.

He non-nonchalantly mentioned this might be how God feels.  I thought about that idea.

God can see what is coming in our lives.  He can see the opportunity that has just rounded the point. He can see that we are in just the right spot for it and as it comes our way instead of paddling hard and taking it, we stop short and let it pass.  I know I've done this.

We let it pass because we are afraid it might push us too hard.  We let it pass because we think we are too far ahead of it or too far behind it.  We let it pass because we think we might not be able to handle the force of it.  For me, I forget to think about the great ride I might get.  I forget that even if I don't get up on the wave, the worst that will happen is that I will fall in the water.

How many opportunities have I missed because of fear?  How many opportunities have I missed simply because I stopped paddling towards them?  How many times has the perfect wave come and in my fear, I let it pass?  How many times has an ideal opportunity come my way and I let fear keep me from it, I watched it pass?

I need to trust that the worst that will happen is I might fall into the water into the same place I was before.  I might get a little wet, but then I can get back up and be ready for the next opportunity.  A scary wave from my vantage point might simply be the opportunity of a lifetime.

Orange Story: Find Strength in Weakness

In order to repair my face and get the feeling back in my left side, I had to have infusions. The nurse came by the first night with infusion services.  She started an IV and showed us how to hook up all the medicines.  It's pretty amazing what they can do.  She had everything for us to use at our house so I wouldn't have to go anywhere, but I could still get the needed medication each day.

I had my first dose of steroids, 1000 mg of something that starts with an "S."  Before they injected the steroids, they needed to inject saline that cleans everything out.  The IV had to stay in my arm until all the doses were complete.  It would last about 3 days.

My muscles were twitchy the first night and I had a difficult time falling asleep.  I kept half waking up. I was always very aware of where my IV arm was.  I actually tossed and turned. I figured I would probably sleep great once the IV was removed.

I am often reminded that I take pride in my capabilities because that is my greatest humbling experience.  I am weak, He is strong.  I will lean on Him with all my might.  I will hold on tight and I know that He will hold tighter so if I am too weak, He will not let me fall.

I knew all this, yet I cried.  I knew that I would be okay.  I knew that God was strong enough for my weakness, but I still cried.  As I cried for my weakness, I knew I needed to remember His strength.  As Paul said, when I am weak, yet He is strong, I knew I would only make it through the day because He is strong.

I don't remember God's faithfulness until I am weak and falling.  I don't remember how He holds me up until I can't hold myself anymore.  Knowing that He has me all the time and not simply when I am struggling is something I need to remind myself to be thankful for.

Burnt Trees

There were many forest fires this summer.  One devastating forest fire burned to the edge of the highway we travel to go to our favorite vacation spot.  I knew the fire had been there so I was hunting for the signs it left behind as we drove.

The first thing I noticed when I found the charred and dead trees were the fully green and alive trees standing next to them.  One tree would be covered with dead, orange pine needles and the tree next to it would be completely green with only a little charred bark on its trunk.  This happened repeatedly.  It was difficult to see the fire's path because there were so many live trees mixed in with the damaged and dead ones.  I wondered, why do some trees stand strong while others are damaged beyond repair? What made that tree come out of the fire standing tall with its green needles while the one 10 feet away died and now stands only because its roots are still in the ground?

Was it resilience?  Was one tree more prepared for hardship than another? Did one tree have more strength or nutrients inside than the other?

Was it luck?  Did the path of the fire simply go around those healthy trees?  Did it burn smaller when it came near them?

Was it outside help?  Were the fire fighters able to intervene in some cases and save one tree, but not another?  Did the plane or the helicopter happen to drop the fire retardant in just the right place so that one tree lived and another didn't?

Or was it location?  Did some trees happen to be in a more direct path while others were on the outskirts?  Were some areas more densely populated with underbrush and the trees couldn't do anything else but burn because of the fire that burned around them?

Perhaps it was a little of everything.

We are often those trees.  We are battling fires all of the time.  All the same factors that affect those trees affect us.  The difference is that we have feet and we can have determination. A tree cannot.

We have a choice.  Perhaps everything is against us.  We are not resilient, we have bad luck, there is no one to help us, we are always in the wrong place at the wrong time.  If all of this is true we still have the ability to have determination.  We can choose to stand.  We can choose to walk to a safe place.  We can choose to survive and thrive.  We don't have to stand and take it like the trees and hope that we will make it through, we can choose that we will make it and we won't fall.

My favorite part about observing those trees on our trip was that right now the dead trees are camouflaged by the fall colors.  I was looking for them so I found them, but if you were simply driving along the road you wouldn't be able to pick out the dead trees because their orange needles help them blend in with all the other trees that are turning for the season.

Whether the trees were dead or alive, it was beautiful. We don't have to be perfect or all put together to be beautiful.

Orange Story: Spreading the News

The day after I was officially diagnosed with MS, I went back to work.  I was leading a meeting and began going through the agenda as if nothing was amiss.  Everyone was staring at me oddly.  I realized I had to come clean.  That is what it felt like.  I knew I was simply sharing my situation, but it felt like I was revealing a secret.  I explained what happened with me.  I explained my sagging face, the MRI and the official MS diagnosis.

I got a lot of prayer and sorry messages from everyone.  They were so kind and encouraging.  I only had one person tell me about someone else she knows who has been doing fine on MS for many years. I realized people say those kinds of things to make them feel better, they want to imagine everything will be okay and not have to worry.  They forget that at this moment I feel terrible so it doesn't matter if I will be fine in a month or not.  Their words only show me how far they are from knowing me.

Since I was talking funny, I had to tell my students what was happening.  They handled it as well as 9 year-olds handle news like that.  A few of them would continue to worry about me for the next few months.

It was exhausting to talk and walk and move so I left at 1:45.  My principal had made it clear that he would do whatever I needed, I just needed to tell him.  So, I walked into his office at a quarter to two and said, "I'm ready to go home now."  It took every ounce of humble pie to admit I was finished for the day.

I had tried lying down under my desk for a few minutes to rest, it only brought tears so I figured I should go home.  I bawled all the way home.  It is frustrated to be halted by your brain.  I tried to do things without realizing I couldn't actually do them. I was uncontrollably dropping things or running into walls because I didn't know where the left side of my body was.  I tried to scrape food off my plate into the trash and dropped my entire plate in the trash instead.  My daughter and I laughed.  She finished the job for me.  In the upcoming years she would continue to help me. I'm as grateful as can be that this happened to my left side and not my right side.

I cried over the loss of what I had. My dog, sensing my grief, licked my hand.  I would choose to venture down this path one day at a time just like all the other times.

How to Have a Good Day

I didn't think I had anything to say today.  I feel like I've said the same thoughts over and over.  I keep having the same thoughts.  I keep relearning the same lessons.  I keep learning what I can do and what I can't.  I keep learning what makes me strong and what makes me weak.  I keep learning and relearning how to be victorious over a day.

I suppose that is what I have to say.  Not every day will go well.  Not every moment will feel amazing. If we were to keep count, there are probably more tough days and difficult moments than the other way around, but that doesn't matter as much as the victory over the difficult moment or the strength we gather from the tough day.

It is a battle.  It is a battle to remain strong, to stand firm, to find joy, and to achieve victory.  We must not weary in engaging in this battle.  We must not weary in moving forward.  When our arms are tired from carrying the load, we have to learn what part of the load we can leave behind.  When are legs are weary from the climb, we must look for an alternate route that will still get us there, but not beat us up too much along the way.  When our mind is overwhelmed with the lists and the tasks, we have to learn how to rejoice in what we have accomplished rather than beat ourselves up over what remains on the list.

I say we, I am still daily learning how to successfully balance all these things and make my load just right for what I can do.  I am still learning which steps to take and which pieces to lay down. The only truly bad day will be the day that I didn't learn, try, or venture into the difficult.  Good days aren't the easy days.  Good days are the days where we didn't stop fighting.

Orange Story: Walking Through Tsunami Winds

Almost 2 years to the date of my final radiation treatment, I was diagnosed with MS on January 26, 2015.

It was another bump in the road that I would have to figure out, another thing to let God help me through.  He is faithful and always does.

After my doctor's appointment, my husband and I had breakfast.  He shared with me that I was his hero.  He said he wasn't used to people rising up in the face of illness, he was used to them laying down.  He said he was amazed by me.

I'm thankful God gives me the grace to be strong and to do the best with what I have.  I've always admired people who seem so strong and amazing when you know life is dealing them the worst hand and I've wondered if I could be that strong.  Could I stand and not be taken out?  Could I be gracious and steady in the face of adversity?

I called and gave my dad the news, he said he was sorry.  I'm thankful I can share this with him.  We have the same hair, same eyes and same disease.

My grandma was sad, my brother had questions, my mom thought I was having a more difficult time than I thought I was because I sounded funny on the phone.  I was still having a difficult time talking.

I knew I would be okay.  No one needed to worry.  At the time that I discovered I had MS, I felt that I would prefer MS to cancer any day.

The diagnosis, the initial information, is difficult to take.  The news wants to knock you over like a tsunami, but you know if you fall, you may never get back up.  If you fall, you may get left on the ground.  Everyone else is shocked too.  Everyone else is trying to hold themselves up.  The best thing to do is lean into the wind and keep moving one slow step at a time.  Eventually the wind has to let up a little.

October 1st

Yesterday was October 1st.  For most of the day I didn't think much about the date.  I was aware that it was the beginning of October which isn't my favorite month.  There are two many scary commercials, scary movies and scary costumes in one month.  I was disappointed the football players weren't wearing pink.  The date probably snuck up on them.

For a small second I remembered that it was 5 years ago yesterday that I was told I had breast cancer. I'm thankful that it was 5 years ago.  I'm thankful for all that I can do now that was a question at the time.

Most of all, I'm thankful that October 1, 2012 and the events that followed made me slow down.  They made me look and see and breathe.  They made me put myself first instead of last.  They made me become aware of what is most important and gave me the ability to choose what is most important rather than what was simply in front of me.

Orange Story: Moving Slowly

My face felt freaky.  It felt crooked.  Whether I wanted to or not, drool and tears leaked out of the left side of my face.  My left hand had trouble doing things without me concentrating.  It's very surreal to not be able to blindly move your body.  This whole thing was surreal.

I wasn't quite broken yet, a bit of me kept venturing down the path of, "Oh no, now what?" Then I came back and dealt with the present and reminded myself I was strong enough.

MS is essentially when your immune system attacks the protective covering over your nerves.  This covering is called the myelin sheath and it allows electrical impulses to transmit quickly and efficiently along the nerve cells.  The connection gets messed up when the protective covering is damaged.  The messages don't get where they are supposed to go.  I understood this, but at this time I was experiencing it. I couldn't control parts of my body, my arm and face, the way I was used to.  Fleeting seconds of freak out where quickly squelched by the reminder that I had to keep moving and any sort of panic wouldn't change my situation.  I didn't know for sure that MS was causing my issues, but it didn't matter.  I couldn't function the same way I was used to.

Don't take anything for granted: the ability to smile, to walk or run, to fold clothes, to hold something in your hand, to type, to talk, to swallow. . . I was much slower doing these things the day after I had been to the hospital.  My smile was crooked.  My left hand required concentration to operate, if I didn't concentrate it would do things like tip the cup I was holding or stop midway when trying to put my hair behind my ear.  Activities that I could do while doing something else were much more difficult.  I tried to type substitute plans, it was extremely difficult, my hand wouldn't obey me.

In my head I told myself it was MS, but it could have been something else.  Either way I was less capable.  I was crying yesterday because it was difficult to fold clothes.  I apparently still took pride in my capabilities because when they are taken away or reduced I am quickly humbled.

I was thankful it was my left hand and not my right.  I was thankful for loving family and friends.  I was also scared about the unknown, the future, tomorrow. . . I tried to make a phone call.  It was difficult to talk on the phone because I couldn't hold it to my ear.

I had to trust and know I would be okay whatever the ultimate outcome.