I've Got Gall (For Now)

Cartoon from iheartguts.com, which I encourage you to take a look at. It's my kind of funny.

Saturday evening treated me to an internal surprise the likes of which I had never before experienced. One minute I was happily minding my own beeswax and the next I was hit with an indescribable pain I could not pinpoint. It started in my upper back, just between the shoulder blades, and quickly spread to my shoulders, chest, rib cage and stomach. I began to feel queasy and panicked and exhausted all at the same time. The pain was unbearable and nothing worked to help it subside.

Allen and I took a little drive to the Instacare where they had us sit and fill out some paperwork and then wait for 15 minutes (which seemed closer to ETERNITY) before calling us back. The doctor asked me to describe my pain, asked a few other questions and determined that I was in excellent health. The doctor asked what my pain was on a scale of 1 to 10, and although I wanted to scream TEN!!TEN!!TEN!! I couldn't help but think of Brian Regan's comedy bit about the pain scale so I settled on an 8. I was immediately sorry I did not give myself a higher number. I was not crying (at least not on the outside) and I worried that this may have been misleading so I calmly told the doctor something along these lines:

It hurts when I stand, it hurts when I sit, it hurts even more when I lay down - and I really, really want to lay down because I am exhausted beyond comprehension. Something is wrong, and I really want to do whatever is possible to make this excruciating, constant pain go away so I can go to sleep and stop feeling like I'm going to throw up. I have had NINE babies, two of them without pain medication, and this hurt I am now experiencing is the worst possible pain I have ever felt. I feel like my entire upper body is in labor pain times INFINITY. If it were possible for me to have an upper-body epidural right now, I would donate a kidney and chop off my left foot for that to happen.

I think he got the gist of what I was saying. He started to press along the bones and muscles in the various areas where I was feeling pain, searching for the central location of it, to no avail... until he pushed beneath the right side of my rib cage: BINGO. It was my gallbladder. Unless I wanted to take a trip to the ER (I did NOT) he said they could give me some medicine for the pain and the nausea and I could get an ultrasound on Sunday morning. I could not fathom there being any possible medication that would reduce the pain enough that I would make it until morning, but I was willing to give anything a try to avoid the dreaded ER.

The medicine was administered via shot (oh, how I hate needles!) along with a dose of loopy, apparently, because as the night progressed I got loopier and loopier. Initially, the pain slowly ceased - enough that I could function normally and foresee eventually falling asleep. Except that my arms and legs were restless, enough so that I could not resist flailing them around every so often. At one point I said something to one of the kids and Allen laughed and asked if I had cotton in my mouth. The loopiness was taking effect, and between my blathering nonsense and my body doing the hokey-pokey spontaneously, I had some small understanding of my loopiness so I put myself to bed.

The next morning I went for my ultrasound, feeling pain-free but still extremely exhausted. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary was discovered, except that I had 8 gallstones. The doctor told me that 1/3 of all people would have gallstones if they went for an ultrasound so it was not absolutely necessary to have it removed; however, this was something I should consider in the future. He left the choice entirely up to me.

I chose to keep my gall. (You go, Gall!)

I plan to test myself out. See if it was a fluke or if it happens again. Because I'm not a big fan of removing stuff from my innards that doesn't necessarily have to be removed.

However, I can pretty much guarantee you this... if I have another Attack Of The Gallbladder episode that is anything like the one I had on Saturday, that sucker's history.

My Little Missionary

I am not sure what it is exactly that holds me back from sharing my religious views with others. Perhaps it is the idea that I may be perceived as preachy or overbearing. Maybe I am afraid of offending someone. Regardless, I have a son who has never felt any of this kind of apprehension. He has a zest for life and when it comes to sharing his faith and beliefs regarding our religion, no one is exempt.

When Allen and I returned from our trip on Sunday, All-a-Boy told us of his latest missionary experience.

On Saturday All-a-Boy was riding his bike around the neighborhood when he was greeted by two missionaries getting into their car. They asked how he was doing and then inquired if he knew of any people in our neighborhood who were not members of our church. All-a-Boy immediately responded, "Sure I do! Just follow me!" The missionaries jumped into their vehicle and slowly followed behind All-a-Boy's bike as he led them around the block to the home of our neighbors across the street, a friend that All-a-Boy has invited to church on numerous occasions - with no luck. All-a-Boy went to the door with the missionaries and knocked. When his friend S~ and her mom answered, he said, "Hey, S~! I wanted to introduce you to the missionaries."

Greetings were exchanged and small talk was made - and then S~'s mom joked, "Well, All-a-Boy, since this whole thing was your idea I'd expect you to have a story or something to share with us." So he did. He launched into a re-telling of the prophet Elijah and his "sacrifice burning contest" with the prophets of Baal. He then recounted a story of Wilford Woodruff on his mission in England and how he converted a constable who was sent to arrest him.

The visit ended with All-a-Boy sharing his testimony with S~ and her mom about what makes our church different from others and why he loves it so much. Before leaving, All-a-Boy asked if they would like to come to church with our family next Sunday. S~'s mom told him that they could probably come in two weeks.

All-a-Boy was beside himself with excitement as he shared this story with me.

I was beside myself with amazement at the conviction and determination of my boy.

I want to be more like him.

One Step At A Time

(Photo from West Torrance High School cross-country team, 1989)

I used to love running. It has served me well at many stages of my life. It was an easy way to fit in somewhere as I transitioned into high school, providing me an instant family of sorts, and my affinity for it seemed to grow from there. Running was something I could do easily, something I was naturally good at. It built up my confidence and boosted my self-esteem in the years I needed it most. As life continued, I slowed down. A lot. I became a wife, then a mother. I had other responsibilities and rarely made the time for exercise in any form. But running remained a way to clear my head if something was bothering me.

The last time I really ran it was a way to deal with grief... and I over-extended myself.

So I stopped running. I had injured myself physically and emotionally. Running was something I now associated with sadness and pain - something that I did not want any part of.

That was 8 years ago, and I have been pretty lackadaisical about my lack of exercise. Except that lately there's been this one thing on my mind: I am getting older, and keeping my body healthy is not going to get easier.

Let me dispel one common misconception: being thin does not equal being healthy. For me, being thin just means my metabolism is amazing. This is something we don't hear much about because, let's be honest, when a thin person says they are out of shape and need to exercise others pretty much just roll their eyes and hate them. But I'm going to say it, because it's true: I need to make my health a priority. There is so much I need to change, but I am always at a loss as to where to begin. Diet? Exercise? Eating habits? The easy route was to put these concerns at the back of my mind, so I did.

Until last Friday.

I read a post on this blog that gave me a change of perspective. I read about true determination. About reaching a milestone & achieving a goal. And amidst tears I thought... wow. What an inspiration. And then... you know what? I can do hard things. I can set goals. I can make myself a priority.

I can run again.

So I did it. I ran on Monday morning for the first time in 8 years. It was a 2-mile loop, and I had to stop numerous times to walk and catch my breath, but I did it. I have run every day since then and plan to run consistently until March when my goal is to complete a local 5K race without walking.

I can do this, and I will. One step at a time.

Once Upon a Time...

I love to read, and today was no exception. I found a book I hadn't read in a long time and sat down to enjoy some quality reading time. Only, the story was different than I remembered.

The main character of the story was really starting to annoy me.

She was shallow, inconsiderate and dense. She made stupid decisions based on nothing. She hurt people without realizing it. She was a complete jerk. All unbeknownst to her.

I was screaming inside! "Are you really that stupid?! How can you NOT realize what you're doing!!" I wanted to pull her out of the pages of the book and give her a serious talking to about the reality of her situation, to turn back time and undo all the things she did that were driving me insane!

I had to put the book down. It was torture to read it.

I started thinking... how often do we do things and make decisions without realizing the impact it has on others? This girl, this silly teenager with a head full of dreams and plans, was so clueless (yet in tune) with what was going on around her! At least, she was aware enough to record these things in her journal - yet still remain removed from the truth of it all. How? How can that be?

As the girl grew older and more mature, the memory of these things was much more rose-colored. And then, as an adult, she wanted to read the pages of her journal once again - to read about what she remembered as fun times and funny stories... only to discover the truth of who she really was.

I prefer my story the way I remember it, not the way I recorded it.

We're supposed to write in our journals, right? And keep them for our kids to read someday?

It's a good thing we don't have a fire pit in our backyard or this notebook would be ashes by now.