Klutzy

I am a klutz. I am not graceful or poised. I am clumsy and about as uncoordinated as anyone could possibly be. I try really hard to walk without tripping and to cook without hurting myself. I try not to shut my fingers in doors, burn myself on the oven, cut my fingers while I chop veggies or grate my fingers with the cheese. Sadly, I do not always succeed. I often do damage to myself.

More often than not I trip over my own feet or over level ground. Sadly, sometimes my clumsiness results in real injuries. A few years ago, I had a heck of a time with clumsiness. It all started when I was making dinner one day. I was tired and not really wanting to cook, but I was doing it anyway. I had pulled a big, plastic cutting board (not the thin flimsy kind, the heavy thick plastic kind) out. Well, when I pulled it out, I proceeded to drop it... right onto my right foot. It crashed down onto my big toe. I was on the floor in tears. I had never experienced pain like that. My toe immediately turned purple and started to swell.

Popeye was at work so I called him and told him I needed to go to the ER when he got home. We went to the Emergency Room and they did x-rays less than an hour after it happened. The ER doctor said nothing was broken, but to go to my regular doctor in a couple of days if it was not feeling better.  So, a couple of days later when the swelling was still terrible and the pain was no better, I went to my doctor. They did more x-rays and found a fracture right along the joint in my big toe. It was decided that I needed to see a specialist so off I went.

The specialist said the swelling and pain were so bad because every time I walked in a regular shoe I was re-opening the fracture and any healing it had done. They put me in a huge walking boot for 6 weeks. The boot stabilized my foot and kept me from re-breaking my toe each time I walked around.

Well.... Four weeks after breaking my toe, I got my finger squished flat by a heavy metal door. Once again I was in tears and headed for the emergency room again, with my walking boot on still. The people at the ER laughed at me for breaking multiple bones. They put my finger in a splint for 2 weeks. It was so much fun trying to do stuff in a walking boot and with a splint on my finger. It was, of course, a finger I need to do useful things like cut stuff and write.

So for two weeks, I walked around in my walking boot and splint looking like a total klutz. Thankfully, that was the last time I broke bones, although I was reminded of this time when I dropped something on the same toe last week and wound up with a giant bruise and knot, but thankfully no injuries that have required actual medical treatment since the broken finger.

When Doctors Failed Me

In this day and age, we are raised to believe that doctors can and will diagnose and heal us. We are taught that when we are sick you go to the doctor and they can easily figure out what is wrong with you. Then, they prescribe medications to fix the problem and life goes back to normal.

One Day Before Little Bear was Due

As an adult, I learned that this is not always true. My first experience of this side of health care came when I was pregnant. I was newly married and living across the country from my family. The day I found out I was pregnant was also the first day I had “morning sickness.” For me, morning sickness was a lot more than normal people. When I say constant, I mean severe and extreme. The first time I went to the Urgent Care/Emergency Room on base, they asked how many times I had thrown up. I didn’t have an answer for that. I had not been counting. I just knew I was extremely dehydrated. After getting fluids I felt somewhat better, but nausea did not really abate.

Almost 15 weeks pregnant and spending a week in the hospital

The next day, I was sick as a dog again. After my first trip to the hospital, I started counting how many times I threw up each day. I usually gave up somewhere around 80. I made trips to the ER for IV fluids and IV nausea medicine multiple times a week for the first half of pregnancy. The staff recognized me when I walked in the door. My doctor’s appointments always went a little like this….
Doctor: “How are you feeling?”
Me: “Horrible, I am still throwing up all the time and needing IV fluids.”
Doctor: “Eat saltines in the morning before you get up and make homemade chicken soup for dinner.”
Me: “I wish any of those would stay down.”
Unfortunately, it took nearly 14 weeks before I was diagnosed with Hyperemesis Gravidarum which lingered my entire pregnancy.

January 2011 (About the time Gastroparesis Symptoms Began)

My first taste of medicine with a doctor who did not listen or care to find the cause or real answers for my problems was terrifying. It was just a trial run for what I would go through with later medical issues and doctors who did not seem to care about my well being.

The second time that I had this issue was starting in the fall of 2010. I had several stomach bugs that fall and winter and nausea and vomiting never went away. At the time I was going to the doctor on base and their response was always it must be stress or anxiety. It wasn’t. When tests came back normal they sent me to a gastroenterologist, also on base. They did numerous tests as well and found nothing so they continued to think it was stress. When I told them it was not stress, they asked if I had an eating disorder. I knew it was not that either, but they persisted with their stress or eating disorder ideas. After 15 months, moving and getting a whole new team of doctors, I was diagnosed with gastroparesis.   

April 2012 (After diagnosis and new medications for GP)

So what do you do when you are sick and your doctors are not helping you? You push onward. You advocate for yourself. If you cannot advocate for yourself, find a friend or relative that can help you fight. There were days when all I wanted to do was cry because I was tired of being ignored. There were days when I broke down in tears in the ER or the doctor’s office. There were also days when my husband had to be my voice because I was too sick and tired to speak up for myself.  You know your body better than your doctor does. You know how you feel and you know what is normal for you. If I had not kept fighting, I would never have gotten diagnosed with Hyperemesis Gravidarum or Gastroparesis. Keep up the fight! Get the answers and the help you need.

When It Rains It Pours Or A Really Bad Day

When I was a few months out of college, I got a job working for a college textbook company. I was hired as a manager trainee and knew that when I got finished with my training I would have to relocate. When it came time to relocate, I was sent to the Rio Grande River Valley. I was excited. Winter is really not a thing there and it was only about 5 hours from my family and friends.

There were several things I did not really realize when I moved. First, I didn't realize how hard it would be without friends or family nearby. Second, I didn't realize that I would be the only white person in the room most of the time. 

Well, on my day from hell, only a month after moving there, both of those things became extremely evident. My day started around three o'clock in the morning. My bed had gone crashing into the floor or at least one corner of it did, which jolted me awake. So, I proceeded to struggle with my mattress and box springs to fix things so they did not get ruined or break the three bolts that were still holding my bed frame together. 

This day I was filling in for a manager at our sister store across town and had to get up earlier than normal to be there. When I woke up it was raining cats and dogs. I have a tiny car and the streets were starting to flood. I made it to the store before the worst of the flooding started. Just after I got there and let myself into the building they started closing streets all over town. 

When I walked into the store, I was greeted by water all over the floor. The building was leaking in several places. There was water running in under the back door and water running down the wall and in the windows that lined one wall. There were textbooks sitting in boxes and piles on the floor getting wet. I quickly moved the books out of the water and then was left wondering how I could possibly get all the water that was left off of the floor and how to stop it from pouring in. While I was doing all this the power was flickering off and on constantly and resetting the computers.

Even worse the phone kept ringing as our regional manager called wondering if I had opened the store. He kept telling me to open the store and to clean up. I was trying, but his constant phone calls were not helping. The roads were closed so we would not have any customers until the road opened again, nor would we have any employees until the road opened again. The regional manager was flying in later that morning so I was rushing trying to get the disaster cleaned up. After mopping for what felt like hours and dumping hundreds of buckets of dirty water out the back door the floor was mostly dry and the rain had lessened enough that water was no longer pouring down the walls. 

The regional manager arrived and so did the other employee. After a lecture from my boss, I headed back to my normal store. On the way, yet another disaster struck. As I was making a turn something on my car snapped and I lost power to the car. I coasted into the parking lot of Peter Piper Pizza. Sitting in the car without power in South Texas is HOT. It was the middle of July and the rain had stopped which left everything more humid than normal. I called my insurance companies' roadside assistance that told me that it would be about an hour before the tow truck arrived. While I waited I crawled under the car and found a chunk of metal hanging down. Turns out it was some kind of important pulley and it had snapped in half. I put it on the seat of the car and walked into Peter Piper to buy a bottle of water. Just as I was getting back to the car a large Hispanic man came up and grabbed me by the arm and started to try to drag me to his car. The whole time he was talking to me in Spanish, which I only have a minimal grasp on. I could not get him to let go even though I was yelling and struggling. He finally turned towards me and I kneed him, right in the balls, and took off running for my car. I jumped in and locked the doors. He was in pain and kind of waddled the rest of the way to his car and left. 

So, I sat in the car with the windows rolled most of the way up waiting for another 30 minutes for the tow truck. I answered numerous phone calls from my boss who was asking when I would be back at my normal store. I continued to tell him it would depend on when the tow truck arrived and what happened with my car. He was not happy. When the tow truck arrived I got in (even though I was a little afraid to do so after my last encounter with a strange man). The tow truck driver asked where I wanted to go, and I said "I don't know. Somewhere that can fix my car today without costing a fortune." He made a phone call to a company that said they could do it and off we went. As we drove we quickly were driving through places I did not recognize and there were signs saying "10 miles to Mexico" and counting down quickly. The last sign I saw was only 2 miles to Mexico. I was starting to feel concerned again and then we finally pulled into the shop.

The shop quickly found the problem and then had a hard time finding the part. After two hours of phone calls, they found my part in a junkyard just across the border. I told them that was fine as long as it could get fixed that day. While they went to get the part I walked down the road to Subway for a late lunch. I was greeted by an employee who says "Wow, you look like hell." I responded with something like "Thanks, I guess." 

Thankfully after more than four hours, they fixed my car. When I got back in my car, the first thing I heard on the radio was a tornado warning and I would be driving straight through it. The bookstore was closing in 10 minutes, by the time I got there. I don't know when I have ever been so grateful for a day to be done. Flooding, car repairs, being drug towards a stranger's car, and a broken bed were more than enough bad things for one day.

In Honor of My Mom's Birthday - A Funny Story

In honor of my mom's million and third birthday (she is really not very old, I just love to pick on her), I am going to share one of my favorite stories. I am sure she would rather me share about the time we went to Alaska and flew in a helicopter to land on a glacier, but that is not my story for today.

A long time ago, when I was in high school, we went to North Carolina. It was a sort of last minute trip. My dad was going for business and had been gone an awful lot so he took the family with him. While he worked, my mom, my brother, and I went to see the sights.

One of our trips was to some kind of zoo or animal refuge. It was a small place that took in retired circus animals and animals that had once been pets. They had a lot of bears, monkeys, and apes. When you paid you could get food to feed the animals. They didn't come up and take the food from your hand, you kind of had to throw it into the cage.

We walked up to a cage of some type of monkeys. It has been a long time and in my old age, I cannot remember what type they were. We stood there and fed them for a while.... and then, my mom got tired of feeding them. When she quit one of the monkeys was not happy with that and he spit.... Right on her.

My brother and I found this to be the funniest thing ever and were laughing hysterically. My mom threw him another piece of food and then started to turn away. When she did he spit again and hit his mark. And let me tell you something about monkey spit, it is not as much like people spit as you would think. It is horribly stinky, it is slimier, and it has visible particles of monkey food in it, and I won't lie, all of those things made it seem even funnier that my dear mother got spit on by a monkey and not just once. Sometimes I wish it was in the days of cell phones so we could have taken a video to save forever. It always makes me laugh. Since it was long before those days, I will just share the story for all to read.

Happy birthday, Mom! Hope you have a glorious day and do not get spit on by monkeys!

STEM vs Liberal Arts... or Little Bear vs Mama Bear

STEM - Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math....

STEM is the in thing for education these days. All we hear about is STEM this STEM that. Little Bear's elementary school is always posting pictures of STEM projects on Facebook. I see the Chevron STEM for girls commercial on TV all the time. I get that science, technology, engineering, and math are cool, or hard, or something... but what about the arts.

Little Bear loves STEM. He has loved it before I heard the term STEM. Before elementary school, he was already looking at how things work and why. He was noticing the difference between the way a rocking chair moved and the way the footstool moved. He was building with Legos and creating new things. He was building with Legos and following the instructions on his own at an early age. He has always loved building and creating new projects and simple machines.

In school Little Bear loves coding. His gifted and talented teacher says he is a whiz at it. His favorite subject is math. He enjoys his math homework. When he picks up a book, he often picks up a non-fiction book about science or technology before he chooses a fiction book.

I am proud of him for having interests and for doing well at the things he loves, but it breaks my heart a little to see the focus of school turning more and more towards STEM and away from literature and history. I have a bachelor's degree in history. I am a freelance writer, a stay-at-home-mom, and a blogger.


My child has no interest in writing and little interest in history or literature. Don't get me wrong, Little Bear loves a good story and even a good non-fiction book from time to time, but his first choice is almost always non-fiction. He wants to learn things not be transported through words to a magical place with wizards and elves, knights in shining armor, or monsters under the bed. He doesn't get wrapped up in a story like I do. He doesn't feel like the characters in his favorite books are friends or long lost family members.

STEM is great. I am thrilled my son enjoys it and I pray he will always be better at math than I am. (I'm terrible at math, truly terrible.) I really wish there was more focus on literature, fiction, imagination, arts, and history in his school and in our modern world. I feel like the arts are being lost in our STEM-focused society.

Looking good or being sick? Can it be both?

Cleaned up and going to church

You look great! That’s something every woman wants to hear, right? Of course, it is. We all want to look our best. We all want people to see us as beautiful. I love to dress up. I love to look nice. With chronic illness looking great is a double edged sword.  

When I leave the house, I want people to see the good, but I also feel like getting dressed and looking nice is like putting on a mask. Few people know how bad I really feel on a day to day basis. When people see me out and about, they think I must be feeling better and maybe I am even well.

What they don’t see is that I barely dragged myself out of bed that morning or the more likely story, that my husband and son woke me up every 10 or 15 minutes reminding me it is Sunday and they are waiting for me so we can leave for church. I throw on a dress because most of the time a dress does not put pressure on my nauseated and bloated abdomen. (Thanks, gastroparesis.) Then, I put on just enough makeup to cover the bags under my eyes (thanks to chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia) and a touch of blush to cover the ghastly pale hue of my skin. Run the brush through my hair a couple of times and voila, I am walking out the door and usually running only a few minutes late.

On a bad day

On the 15 minute ride, I usually close my eyes and try to get a few more minutes of rest. Then, we get to church and I smile and talk to people and rarely does anyone know I am sick except for the few people who know me well and even those selective few rarely know the extent of how I feel on a daily basis. Then, when I get home from such a simple and relaxing outing as going to church, I lay down and rest for the entire afternoon and evening.

Just a normal day

That double edged sword of looking great and not looking sick can be nice for a couple of reasons. I don’t have to explain how I feel to everyone. I also get compliments that I look good, healthy, etc. Looking presentable also makes me feel a little bit down because few people know how I really feel. What makes it even sadder is that likely I have encountered plenty of people like me out there that I am neglecting because I have no idea they are sick either.  

When Being "Tired" Became More Than Just Tired

I always thought people that complained about “chronic” fatigue were just making a mountain out of a molehill. I thought if they wanted to do stuff they should suck it up and do what needed to be done. I thought fatigue was just tired.

I was so very, very WRONG. Last year, I started doing freelance writing. I loved working from home. And then, I got tired, more than tired. At first, I was just thinking “I must not be getting enough rest,” or “I must be coming down with something.” Then, no matter how much I slept my fatigue just kept getting worse and worse.

My fatigue was so bad that by January, I quit my freelance writing job, quit blogging, and started sleeping a lot. I couldn’t focus to write, I didn’t have the energy to do my housework, and when I woke up every day I was still exhausted. Even now, I usually get 12 hours or more of sleep. I wake up to take Little Bear to the bus stop and then I go back to bed for the morning. I still have no relief from the fatigue.

This fatigue is an overwhelming, unrelenting fatigue. It is a bone weary tired. It has made me so tired I have sat down on the shelves in the grocery store or Wal-Mart. I often get suddenly so physically fatigued I feel sick. Sitting through Sunday School and church often leads to me coming home and spending the afternoon laying on the couch. Yes, even sitting and listening is too much some days. Fatigue like this is not just tired. It cannot be fixed with normal sleep.

I have been to countless doctor’s appointments and specialists. My test results have all come back normal. I have been to my family doctor, neurology, hematology, and rheumatology. Finally, in July I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia. My fatigue is worse than my fibromyalgia pain. Thankfully, the majority of my pain is just an all over ache and at the end of the day my joints and muscles feel sore. The worst part is the lack of energy.

In some ways, I am happy to have a diagnosis, but I really wish it was a diagnosis for something they could fix or treat. Until someone researches and finds a treatment I will spend my days rationing energy.

The spoon theory is so much more a part of my life than ever before. I ration those spoons like never before. I get my groceries from a delivery service more often than not. I pay Little Bear to do more chores than before. I plan my chores and my activities so I can save energy for the weekend and enjoy family time without resting all day. I skip church more than ever because I don’t have the energy to get up and sit through Sunday School and the service. I am learning to walk the fine line between overdoing things and doing nothing. Believe me, I often overdo and it often means resting for a couple of days to regain some slight sense of normalcy.

When someone says they are having problems with chronic fatigue syndrome or seeing a doctor for fatigue. Don’t blow them off. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is not just plain tired or even exhaustion. Rest will not fix it and sleep will not cure it.

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