I sat there, 5 years ago, stuffing a piece of bread in my mouth. That was all the energy I had for that moment in time, returning from work, exhausted. I looked back at my blog entry from that day. I wrote, "Everyone is tired. I'm REALLY tired - I hope I make it through the day. I may be calling my doctor ... because I am tired from MS attacking my body and I'm about to go on steroids." Presumably then I started falling all over the place and on June 10, 2010, I went on steroids.
But this is not about that piece of bread or that moment in time. About a month and a half after that, I started taking Ampyra, and I've been moving forward ever since. No steroids. Just continued improvement from a medication that is not supposed to stop MS. Never say never.
A year later I wrote this blog: http://msandfaith.blogspot.com/2011/06/reflections-on-year.html
Summary: I was improving. Life is good. "It's amazing to me - a year without MS attacks. When I have an MS attack, my legs collapse - I hit the floor - I'm totally exhausted. When I go on steroids I get a rush - then I get angry - it's a roller coaster ride. But now it's been a year without this. And a year without the roller coaster ride of steroids - I am grateful. It's because I'm on Ampyra - nothing else makes sense. I used to have attacks every 5 to 6 months. Given the stress I've had at different points during the last year, I should have had several attacks."
Today (2015) my daughter remembers the steroids and one day said, "Remember when you went on the drugs that made you so mad?" Those were not fun times.
Fast forward to 2012. (http://msandfaith.blogspot.com/2012/06/two.html) (The excitement, and the amazement continued. I wrote: "Almost two years on Ampyra, the drug supposed to help with walking, not with MS attacks. Two years of improvement with walking, sitting, standing, and much more. Two years I thought would never happen. Two years of exploring what is next. Two years of change. Two years of being glad I hadn't given up. Two years with God beside me as I traveled down a different road."
The miracles continued. By this time I had new Bioness leg devices which help me walk. No evil steroids.
And then, 2013. (http://msandfaith.blogspot.com/2013/06/downside-up.html) "All I can say is wow. It has been 3 years since I have had to be on steroids for an MS attack. Wow. For 3 years I have been able to wake up each day and get up, even though each day I sit on the edge of my bed, wondering, before rising, if my leg muscles will work. For 3 years I have continued to improve on the medication called Ampyra. In those 3 years, my world has been turned "downside up," meaning life has become so much better, manageable, possible, less overwhelming, amazing, wonderful, and the list could go on. It hasn't been easy - what I have never is. It doesn't make any sense - other therapies haven't worked, have caused allergic reactions, have had side effects - and this medication comes along and works - and then neurologists say an MS diagnosis doesn't really fit me - and on and on - and I try to make sense of what does not seem to make sense to so many - including me - the impossible as possible - downside up."
The miracles continued.
2014 (last year) (http://msandfaith.blogspot.com/2014/06/4-miraculous-wonderful-years.html): "I have come so far. I started taking Ampyra. Ampyra is not supposed to alter the course of MS. But as soon as I started taking Ampyra, my MS halted completely. 2 days after I started taking it, I knew something was different. I could stand longer. A few months later, I started physical therapy (PT). Ampyra and PT have taken me to where I am today. I moved from using "AFO" braces to investing in Bioness. AFOs allow muscles to atrify. Bioness builds muscle. I wish more people realized this, especially physicians. I have come so far. Legs with big AFO braces would swing out and around for the 50 feet I could walk. Gradually with the Bioness my legs can go straight, one in front of the other."
And so we come to today. It has been 5 wonderful, glorious, miraculous years of God walking beside me along a path of uncertainty. I am so grateful. I am grateful at the progress I have made and continue to make. I am amazed. I have dreams of me running that I love. I have wonderful, supportive family and friends. And I continue to try to push forward, trusting that God will be with me no matter what road I choose to follow.
There have not been moments in time when I stuff bread in my mouth. There have been many moments of time of amazement and happiness.
Will you be grateful? Be grateful that you can walk; grateful that you can write. Be grateful for all those things you can do and never, ever, take them for granted.
Peace.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
(Don't) Lean In
Lean In is the title of a book that has nothing to do with this blog. It just came to mind and has been sticking.
In learning to walk again, I watch other people walk and see amazing thing. First and foremost, walking looks so easy, and standing looks so easy. Beyond that, I notice that people seem to just move their legs when walking - the upper body just sits on top. People don't have to lift their legs much at all, and walking is smooth and flowing. I try to learn some things from how other people walk. When people walk uphill, they actually lean a tiny bit uphill; when people walk downhill they relax a bit. If you can walk, think about it sometime. I even ask my daughter to walk certain ways sometimes! She even explains how this easy walking works for me.
I walk with a walker. First and foremost, it's not easy; and standing starts easy but then my body likes to bend. Beyond that, I throw my whole upper body into walking; my upper body sways or jolts from side to side when I walk. I feel like when I walk that I am lifting my legs to the sky; if my Bioness (electronic device that helps me lift my heel) isn't working, then I feel like I am pulling my leg through mud and flinging it forward at the end. Walking is smoother and more flowing than it used to be, but it's not smooth and flowing. When I walk uphill, if I am not already leaning, I lean at a 90 degree angle. I try to work on not leaning; that is the biggest part of learning to walk again - getting vertical. When I walk downhill I am afraid my walker brakes may fail, so I lean forward even though that is not necessary at all. I don't relax going downhill; I tense up. I am always thinking about walking. My daughter shows me how I used to walk, how I walk now, and then I know I am improving and I know there is so much more to learn.
I'm focused on leaning now. The swaying of my upper body is huge, but as my physical therapist says, I can't work on everything at once. Per previous posts, I torture myself twice a week on an "Alter G" treadmill that supports 25% of my body weight which allows me to walk straighter.
The treadmill provides support for core muscles. At first, the physical therapist set the support level very high on my body. Gradually, she has brought the support level down and it's now at "9" which is the lowest it will go and where it offers the best support.
When I walk on the treadmill I zone everything out and focus on walking. I started a year ago at .5mph and am now walking for 15 minutes at 1.7mph.
But here is the thing. As the support level dropped, what I have found is that I cannot lean forward onto the treadmill. For some reason, it just doesn't work. At 1.7 mph, I can't lean forward at all. I know this because for some reason I was leaning today, was having trouble, and told myself to stand straighter. At this level, I have to grab a bar that is next to me, and I have to walk like I see other people doing, with just my legs. And for those of you who can walk, you have stronger stomach muscles than you know because I tense my stomach muscles when doing this. I am going to get a "6 pack" of stomach muscles by walking at a whopping 1.7mph! Go me!!
And the point of this post is in the title: Don't Lean In. It's critical on the treadmill. When I go walking and see my reflection in a window, I work on not leaning. Leaning while walking is tiring, but the first thing that tires for me is my core area which causes me to lean.
A couple other things on the treadmill... I have learned that my left leg likes to drag behind. On the treadmill, both legs have to go the same speed. There is a camera I watch and I can see my legs, so I use that to train my leg to move when it reaches a certain point. It's not at all natural. Then my leg learns and I can go faster. My right leg has another issue. It doesn't like to kick forward as well. So I think of it kicking although most of the time it can move like a robot, without me thinking.
So there it is, me on the treadmill. I'm thinking of walking straight and grabbing the bar; I'm thinking of when my left leg needs to move forward; and I'm thinking of kicking my right leg. Beyond that, I'm trying to remain calm as I go faster. My therapist doesn't always come to ask if I am ok, which is good, because then I have to keep going. At the end, I collapse and take a few moments before getting off the treadmill. Then I sit and drink cold water until my body temperature drops enough for me to walk to my car.
And there are so many moments with God during the 15 minutes, and right afterward. It's quite a torture session. Someday soon hopefully I'll have a runner's high again. I had that back at 1.5mph. And then on other days I might walk on a bikepath to a bench, where I sit and think of how I didn't used to be able to walk this far. I feel the breeze; the sun; the air; the strange presence of God; if it's not God, it's something else. It's emotional, too, because no one ever thought something like this would happen - that my walking would get better. And I don't take any of it for granted. Ever.
Peace.
In learning to walk again, I watch other people walk and see amazing thing. First and foremost, walking looks so easy, and standing looks so easy. Beyond that, I notice that people seem to just move their legs when walking - the upper body just sits on top. People don't have to lift their legs much at all, and walking is smooth and flowing. I try to learn some things from how other people walk. When people walk uphill, they actually lean a tiny bit uphill; when people walk downhill they relax a bit. If you can walk, think about it sometime. I even ask my daughter to walk certain ways sometimes! She even explains how this easy walking works for me.
I walk with a walker. First and foremost, it's not easy; and standing starts easy but then my body likes to bend. Beyond that, I throw my whole upper body into walking; my upper body sways or jolts from side to side when I walk. I feel like when I walk that I am lifting my legs to the sky; if my Bioness (electronic device that helps me lift my heel) isn't working, then I feel like I am pulling my leg through mud and flinging it forward at the end. Walking is smoother and more flowing than it used to be, but it's not smooth and flowing. When I walk uphill, if I am not already leaning, I lean at a 90 degree angle. I try to work on not leaning; that is the biggest part of learning to walk again - getting vertical. When I walk downhill I am afraid my walker brakes may fail, so I lean forward even though that is not necessary at all. I don't relax going downhill; I tense up. I am always thinking about walking. My daughter shows me how I used to walk, how I walk now, and then I know I am improving and I know there is so much more to learn.
I'm focused on leaning now. The swaying of my upper body is huge, but as my physical therapist says, I can't work on everything at once. Per previous posts, I torture myself twice a week on an "Alter G" treadmill that supports 25% of my body weight which allows me to walk straighter.
The treadmill provides support for core muscles. At first, the physical therapist set the support level very high on my body. Gradually, she has brought the support level down and it's now at "9" which is the lowest it will go and where it offers the best support.
When I walk on the treadmill I zone everything out and focus on walking. I started a year ago at .5mph and am now walking for 15 minutes at 1.7mph.
But here is the thing. As the support level dropped, what I have found is that I cannot lean forward onto the treadmill. For some reason, it just doesn't work. At 1.7 mph, I can't lean forward at all. I know this because for some reason I was leaning today, was having trouble, and told myself to stand straighter. At this level, I have to grab a bar that is next to me, and I have to walk like I see other people doing, with just my legs. And for those of you who can walk, you have stronger stomach muscles than you know because I tense my stomach muscles when doing this. I am going to get a "6 pack" of stomach muscles by walking at a whopping 1.7mph! Go me!!
And the point of this post is in the title: Don't Lean In. It's critical on the treadmill. When I go walking and see my reflection in a window, I work on not leaning. Leaning while walking is tiring, but the first thing that tires for me is my core area which causes me to lean.
A couple other things on the treadmill... I have learned that my left leg likes to drag behind. On the treadmill, both legs have to go the same speed. There is a camera I watch and I can see my legs, so I use that to train my leg to move when it reaches a certain point. It's not at all natural. Then my leg learns and I can go faster. My right leg has another issue. It doesn't like to kick forward as well. So I think of it kicking although most of the time it can move like a robot, without me thinking.
So there it is, me on the treadmill. I'm thinking of walking straight and grabbing the bar; I'm thinking of when my left leg needs to move forward; and I'm thinking of kicking my right leg. Beyond that, I'm trying to remain calm as I go faster. My therapist doesn't always come to ask if I am ok, which is good, because then I have to keep going. At the end, I collapse and take a few moments before getting off the treadmill. Then I sit and drink cold water until my body temperature drops enough for me to walk to my car.
And there are so many moments with God during the 15 minutes, and right afterward. It's quite a torture session. Someday soon hopefully I'll have a runner's high again. I had that back at 1.5mph. And then on other days I might walk on a bikepath to a bench, where I sit and think of how I didn't used to be able to walk this far. I feel the breeze; the sun; the air; the strange presence of God; if it's not God, it's something else. It's emotional, too, because no one ever thought something like this would happen - that my walking would get better. And I don't take any of it for granted. Ever.
Peace.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Balance
Yesterday I told someone that today would be 22 years since I was diagnosed with MS. (I didn't tell her that also means I've had MS for over 25 years, because the diagnosis took 3 years, and it was a diagnosis of "lesions consistent with a demyelinating disease; probable MS" - which is still the case today). She asked why I remember the specific date - why do I want to remember the specific date, when it wasn't a good day, said in a critical tone which was irritating. And she also asked, in the same tone, if I also know the specific date when I started learning to walk again. Clearly only good memories are ok.
I thought of another friend of mine who has a spinal cord injury and she once told me, "Beth, we all have _our_ days," meaning that many people with disabilities know of the specific date when an injury caused their disability, or they were diagnosed with something. People remember the dates when loved ones die. Dates do not all have to be happy.
But today actually isn't a bad day. It is a good day. You see, I spent 3 years, between ages 17 and 20, which as a side note makes me a bit bitter because those ages should not be spent how I spent them, not knowing what was wrong, 3 years of thinking that what was happening was not real but was in my head, 3 years of not knowing whether every physician was really taking me seriously, 3 years of medical test after medical test after medical test with no answers, and 3 years of continuing to ask God what was wrong and when would I know? Near the end, there was a letter from my neurologist to my doctor at school saying basically, "Here is the plan. We have very few tests left. If these come back normal I will be at a loss as to what is wrong with Beth." There was great uncertainty. And on this date, I had so many more tests, because the tests that began the day changed when something was found - so it was more of a double test day. It felt like while everyone was experiencing college, I was experiencing a personal hell, and the year I was diagnosed, my roommate and I had a small, dark dorm room on the fourth floor, down the hall from some girls who liked to party.
Late on the date of test after test after test, my neurologist told me they thought I had MS but needed more bloodwork to rule out other things. That was difficult, but when I came home for spring break, my high school orchestra teacher said it best, "Beth, isn't it good to know, finally, what is wrong?" And yes it was. It wasn't in my head, physicians would now take me seriously, and the tests were finished. February 11 is a good day. It is a day when I can move forward. It is a day I can let go.
After this day, one of the first things I did was to go talk to the minister of the church on campus. I had an instinct to talk to him. And that was the right instinct. He helped me to know that everything would be ok, that life would continue. There is a balance. There is MS, and there is living life without dwelling on MS, no matter how difficult it may be. We didn't talk specifically about that. We prayed. I suppose we handed MS to God. And God held me.
Throughout the years, there has been the balance of living a life with MS and living a life not defined by MS. I am an athlete. How does one find balance when the favorite part of life seems to be slowly stolen?
While other people who were my age, 20, tended not to go to church during this time in their lives, but to sleep in on Sundays, I continued to go. I found balance at church. Church was a place of peace, a place where I could somehow consider the balance between MS and not being defined by MS, of finding myself as an athlete when I lost the physical component of athletics. Church was stability when so much was not stable. Church gave me balance.
As to the other question - do I remember the day when I started learning to walk again? Not exactly. I remember the last day I went on steroids - June 10, 2010. And sometime shortly after that, I started taking Ampyra, and learning to walk again. I just looked it up. I first took Ampyra on Saturday, July 31, 2010. On Monday, I felt a difference. By Tuesday I was already walking better. Life is good. There is balance.
Today marks 22 years of knowing, of balancing, of losing the ability to walk with each attack I had, and then one summer, of standing at my kitchen island and realizing I had been standing there a long time, and of realizing that not giving up had left the possibility of walking and perhaps running, wide open.
Thanks be to God, for all the good times, and all the bad, for walking with me through these 22 (or 25) years.
Peace.
I thought of another friend of mine who has a spinal cord injury and she once told me, "Beth, we all have _our_ days," meaning that many people with disabilities know of the specific date when an injury caused their disability, or they were diagnosed with something. People remember the dates when loved ones die. Dates do not all have to be happy.
But today actually isn't a bad day. It is a good day. You see, I spent 3 years, between ages 17 and 20, which as a side note makes me a bit bitter because those ages should not be spent how I spent them, not knowing what was wrong, 3 years of thinking that what was happening was not real but was in my head, 3 years of not knowing whether every physician was really taking me seriously, 3 years of medical test after medical test after medical test with no answers, and 3 years of continuing to ask God what was wrong and when would I know? Near the end, there was a letter from my neurologist to my doctor at school saying basically, "Here is the plan. We have very few tests left. If these come back normal I will be at a loss as to what is wrong with Beth." There was great uncertainty. And on this date, I had so many more tests, because the tests that began the day changed when something was found - so it was more of a double test day. It felt like while everyone was experiencing college, I was experiencing a personal hell, and the year I was diagnosed, my roommate and I had a small, dark dorm room on the fourth floor, down the hall from some girls who liked to party.
Late on the date of test after test after test, my neurologist told me they thought I had MS but needed more bloodwork to rule out other things. That was difficult, but when I came home for spring break, my high school orchestra teacher said it best, "Beth, isn't it good to know, finally, what is wrong?" And yes it was. It wasn't in my head, physicians would now take me seriously, and the tests were finished. February 11 is a good day. It is a day when I can move forward. It is a day I can let go.
After this day, one of the first things I did was to go talk to the minister of the church on campus. I had an instinct to talk to him. And that was the right instinct. He helped me to know that everything would be ok, that life would continue. There is a balance. There is MS, and there is living life without dwelling on MS, no matter how difficult it may be. We didn't talk specifically about that. We prayed. I suppose we handed MS to God. And God held me.
Throughout the years, there has been the balance of living a life with MS and living a life not defined by MS. I am an athlete. How does one find balance when the favorite part of life seems to be slowly stolen?
While other people who were my age, 20, tended not to go to church during this time in their lives, but to sleep in on Sundays, I continued to go. I found balance at church. Church was a place of peace, a place where I could somehow consider the balance between MS and not being defined by MS, of finding myself as an athlete when I lost the physical component of athletics. Church was stability when so much was not stable. Church gave me balance.
As to the other question - do I remember the day when I started learning to walk again? Not exactly. I remember the last day I went on steroids - June 10, 2010. And sometime shortly after that, I started taking Ampyra, and learning to walk again. I just looked it up. I first took Ampyra on Saturday, July 31, 2010. On Monday, I felt a difference. By Tuesday I was already walking better. Life is good. There is balance.
Today marks 22 years of knowing, of balancing, of losing the ability to walk with each attack I had, and then one summer, of standing at my kitchen island and realizing I had been standing there a long time, and of realizing that not giving up had left the possibility of walking and perhaps running, wide open.
Thanks be to God, for all the good times, and all the bad, for walking with me through these 22 (or 25) years.
Peace.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
In the midst of chaos, there are miracles
It's the time of year, the time when we celebrate the birth of a miracle child, a child who came in the midst of chaos. In our own lives, we may search for signs of Jesus in the midst of chaos. Advent. Watch and wait.
Over a month ago, a series of viruses started in my family. It was the chaos of our lives during Advent.
Sore throat. Sniff. Cough. Elephant on chest.
"Mom, my ear hurts. It really hurts."
(Clinic): "You have waited patiently for 2 hours. We can see you now."
"I can't hear you. My ears are clogged. Can you speak up?"
"I can't speak up. My voice is gone."
(From the outside) "Haven't you had this for awhile?"
"It's ok, Beth. 2 other people can't come to work today. They are also home sick."
"Can you look in my eyes to make sure I don't have pink eye?"
"I can't make physical therapy tomorrow. I was ok yesterday but this morning I have a slight fever."
"I can squeak out a D when singing, but that won't allow me to sing the Christmas Cantata."
"Well, I am trying not to get any of this." (husband) ............2 days later. "My throat hurts." Sniff. Cough. Elephant on chest. "Wow, my ear hurts. It feels like I am in outer space."
It's Advent. Time to search for Jesus in our lives. Where do we see Jesus? Jesus is holding our hand as we struggle to get through this difficult time. But other glimpses begin to occur.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
3 weeks after I got the nasty mystery virus, I went to physical therapy (PT). How I bounced back I don't know. On Tuesday, I walked 1.3 miles per hour (mph) with no problem. That felt very strange.
So on Friday, I asked, "Can I try to walk 1.4 mph just for a few seconds?"
15 minutes later, I had continued that walking at 1.4 mph for the whole 15 minutes.
And not only that, but at 7:30, I felt a miracle. It's there. Yes, I am certain that this is what I remember. This is runner's high. I am now 42 years old. The last time I had a runner's high was when I was 19.
I remember that last time. I was coming back from an 8 mile run with my college cross country coach and my good friend who was with me when I was diagnosed with MS at age 20. She told me there was no way I could beat "Coach" going downhill to the end of the run. But I loved running downhill. Watch out! I took off and felt like the wind - nothing could stop me. Back then it was an amazing feeling.
And now? The feeling that I could keep going forever was even more powerful. On the treadmill, I suddenly realized I had that awesome feeling that can't be described. I finished my workout and proclaimed with great joy that I just had a runner's high. I'll never forget that. MS can take a lot, but it can't take that brief, amazing period. Later that day I cried tears of joy.
Today, Tuesday again, I had my end-of-year speed test. About 2 months ago I walked a third of the speed of an average person. Today I walked about half the speed of an average person. That means (humor inserted here) I could make it halfway across a street in one light cycle. I could make it across in just 2 cycles, stopping in the middle. That is something.
I saw another woman working out today and said, "Wow, she is doing really well."
"You will get there, Beth."
I don't know/. It's a long way to go. There will be so much in between.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This random awesome walking occurred in the midst of chaos, where so many people are sick. And for some, it doesn't mean anything.
But for me, it's one of those times I find Jesus. I found Jesus. I found Jesus in many other small ways also - not necessarily where something went right.
Watch and wait. The time is almost here. And if we look, we will find our own moments.
And in the midst of chaos, there is a baby born in a manger.
Peace.
Over a month ago, a series of viruses started in my family. It was the chaos of our lives during Advent.
Sore throat. Sniff. Cough. Elephant on chest.
"Mom, my ear hurts. It really hurts."
(Clinic): "You have waited patiently for 2 hours. We can see you now."
"I can't hear you. My ears are clogged. Can you speak up?"
"I can't speak up. My voice is gone."
(From the outside) "Haven't you had this for awhile?"
"It's ok, Beth. 2 other people can't come to work today. They are also home sick."
"Can you look in my eyes to make sure I don't have pink eye?"
"I can't make physical therapy tomorrow. I was ok yesterday but this morning I have a slight fever."
"I can squeak out a D when singing, but that won't allow me to sing the Christmas Cantata."
"Well, I am trying not to get any of this." (husband) ............2 days later. "My throat hurts." Sniff. Cough. Elephant on chest. "Wow, my ear hurts. It feels like I am in outer space."
It's Advent. Time to search for Jesus in our lives. Where do we see Jesus? Jesus is holding our hand as we struggle to get through this difficult time. But other glimpses begin to occur.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
3 weeks after I got the nasty mystery virus, I went to physical therapy (PT). How I bounced back I don't know. On Tuesday, I walked 1.3 miles per hour (mph) with no problem. That felt very strange.
So on Friday, I asked, "Can I try to walk 1.4 mph just for a few seconds?"
15 minutes later, I had continued that walking at 1.4 mph for the whole 15 minutes.
And not only that, but at 7:30, I felt a miracle. It's there. Yes, I am certain that this is what I remember. This is runner's high. I am now 42 years old. The last time I had a runner's high was when I was 19.
I remember that last time. I was coming back from an 8 mile run with my college cross country coach and my good friend who was with me when I was diagnosed with MS at age 20. She told me there was no way I could beat "Coach" going downhill to the end of the run. But I loved running downhill. Watch out! I took off and felt like the wind - nothing could stop me. Back then it was an amazing feeling.
And now? The feeling that I could keep going forever was even more powerful. On the treadmill, I suddenly realized I had that awesome feeling that can't be described. I finished my workout and proclaimed with great joy that I just had a runner's high. I'll never forget that. MS can take a lot, but it can't take that brief, amazing period. Later that day I cried tears of joy.
Today, Tuesday again, I had my end-of-year speed test. About 2 months ago I walked a third of the speed of an average person. Today I walked about half the speed of an average person. That means (humor inserted here) I could make it halfway across a street in one light cycle. I could make it across in just 2 cycles, stopping in the middle. That is something.
I saw another woman working out today and said, "Wow, she is doing really well."
"You will get there, Beth."
I don't know/. It's a long way to go. There will be so much in between.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This random awesome walking occurred in the midst of chaos, where so many people are sick. And for some, it doesn't mean anything.
But for me, it's one of those times I find Jesus. I found Jesus. I found Jesus in many other small ways also - not necessarily where something went right.
Watch and wait. The time is almost here. And if we look, we will find our own moments.
And in the midst of chaos, there is a baby born in a manger.
Peace.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Remembering Charlie
Earlier this week, I randomly decided I needed to hear a song that is on a CD player in my car. It is a song given to me as background music for a DVD of me skiing. I needed to email him a picture that showed me skiing the way he taught me. I really needed to do that before ski season started again. But just a few days later, I got an email that Charlie had died.
There are those people in our lives who help us do things we didn't believe we could do. They have a unique ability to connect with us; to simplify things in order to make those things possible. Charlie was one of those people.
Charlie was my ski instructor for many, many years, and Charlie taught me to handcycle. Without him as a teacher, I would never have really understood handcycling. Without him as a ski instructor, I would never have understood how skiing works. Although what I do for a living involves a lot of thinking, I often tell people that outside of work, I need very simple explanations for things. Charlie took skiing and handcycling down to the simplest level, and that is how I learned. To this day I have Charlie's voice in my head when skiing and handcycling, telling me to "look downhill!" or sarcastically asking me, "Where you lookin?"
One summer Charlie convinced me to come to a handcycling camp up in Keystone. "I can't really handcycle," I said. "I don't get it." Charlie showed up at that camp and I asked him, "So, who are you going to teach?" "Well," he said, "that would be you. Someone has to do it." I got on a handcycle that morning, determined that 2 previous attempts at handcycling had failed so this wasn't going to work either. But then Charlie said, "it's just like skiing. It's all about moving your hips to turn." So I used my hips, which started to help a bit, and then he said, "it's just like skiing. You can't just tilt your neck to the side and expect your body to follow." A ha! This really was like skiing. Before the morning was done, Charlie had chased me around a small circle tons of times, yelling at me to use my hips and not my neck. I got it. That afternoon, Charlie and I rode together, me on a handcycle and Charlie on a recumbent bike. I bought my own handcycle; I rode up Vail Pass on it; and Charlie was there to meet me. Charlie was a definite father figure to me.
Handcycling started after skiing. I had skied before Lori was born but not too much. After she was born I really grew to love skiing. Charlie was my first instructor in skiing, and for many years, I would request to have him as an instructor. In fact, I didn't need to request him because everyone knew it was a good fit. I never had thought I would ski on my own, off tethers, until Charlie said, "let's try this top part without the tether on." Tethers keep sit-skis attached to instructors, so instructors can correct things that sit-skiers might do wrong.
But what?!! Seriously? And so I was coaxed down the hill. Charlie was very good at skiing backward. He would get in front of me and then ski backwards, telling me to follow his tracks. Just like handcycling, hips are used to turn when sit skiing. If you use your eyes and neck, it doesn't work. In moments of panic, I would look in the direction I wanted to look and crane my neck in that way. "Look down here!" Charlie would yell. It was often too late; I would find myself falling and looking at the sky. He would ski back to me and proclaim, "Now, where were you looking?"
Charlie would also tell me when to turn and where. I found this annoying and would sometimes do my own thing, which generally ended in disaster. That would be followed by, "Why did you go that way?"
Once Charlie got me going down a green (easiest) slope on my own, he really tried to get me to ski blue slopes on my own, always emphasizing he wanted me to be independent. And I did get through some of those blues. When a photographer for USA Today came to take pictures, Charlie skied backward down a more difficult part of a green slope, telling me exactly where to turn. I got my photo in the USA Today. No one knew it was with Charlie, right there.
Besides instruction, Charlie was a great friend. We would eat lunch together in the middle of the ski day. He always had radishes, carrots, and soup. I always found that to be a bit odd.
Charlie videotaped me skiing and then put a whole season of ski videos to music on a DVD. Who does that?!! Cutting and pasting a bunch of skiing to songs took time. Once my daughter started skiing, she said she wanted him to videotape her skiing and put it to music. And he did. We still have those DVDs.
Charlie also made calendars every year for certain people. I was one of the people. He was a great photographer and the pictures in the calendar were stunning pictures of flowers or mountains. One year he made the calendar of pictures of me skiing and handcycling. I still have the calendars. They are beautiful.
And so the story goes. Charlie and I never discussed religion, strangely, because we discussed so much on the lift rides. He would always joke that at work I was the boss but would never have that title. I tried to get him to tell me about his family, but that seemed difficult for him. As the years passed, it got easier. No matter what, I could tell that he loved his daughters. At one point he discovered he has grandchildren and he was very happy about that. He had a few other jobs besides being a ski instructor, but he loved ski instructing the best, I think. He had his own sit-ski because he had bad knees. And he loved his motorcycle which he could ride in the off-season. He couldn't wait to get it out in the spring.
And so Charlie is gone. I didn't get to send him that photo. I didn't get to tell him how much easier handcycling is with increased core muscle strength. I didn't get to touch base. And for some reason that is hard.
But I still have the DVD and the main song (even though I hate country music) that had the things below to say. As I come out of the main (Eisenhower) tunnel, I always listen to this song to try to get ready, mentally, for skiing. It tells me to make the most of what I have today, that today will not last forever, but that I have come so far to get to the unanticipated today (even though it doesn't seem like it). And past today, I will get even further, even while I'm spending my time "like it's going out of style."
Thank you, Charlie, for the many gifts you gave me. I will miss you but I know you will always be on the slopes and bike paths with me, telling me to look down the hills, and when I don't get it right, asking me where I was looking. We had some great times. We really did. I can handcyle. I really can. You, my friend, are remarkable.
Peace.
How can we know how far,
The long way can be?
Looking from where we are,
It never seemed that long to me.
I've many miles behind me,
Maybe not so much ahead.
It seems I made good time,
With the directions I misread.
So I'm gonna spend my time,
Like it's going out of style.
I'm moving the bottom line,
Farther than a country mile.
I still have hills to climb,
Before I hit that wall.
No matter how much time I buy,
I can never spend it all.
Funny thing, that time:
We're always running out.
I'm always losing mine,
There's not enough of it about.
An' though it's always here,
It will always come and go.
The days become the years,
That'll be gone before you know.
So I'm gonna spend my time,
Like it's going out of style.
I'm moving the bottom line,
Better than a country mile.
I still have hills to climb,
Before I hit that wall.
I won't go quietly into that dark night.
There'll be no more burnin' daylight.
I'll be living in,
Every moment that I'm in.
Oh,I'm gonna spend my time,
Like it's going out of style.
I'll only use what's mine,
I've been savin' for a while.
I still have hills to climb,
Before I hit that wall.
No matter how much time I buy,
I can never spend it all.
No matter how much time we buy,
We can never spend it all.
I'm gonna spend my time.
I'm gonna spend my time.
There are those people in our lives who help us do things we didn't believe we could do. They have a unique ability to connect with us; to simplify things in order to make those things possible. Charlie was one of those people.
Charlie was my ski instructor for many, many years, and Charlie taught me to handcycle. Without him as a teacher, I would never have really understood handcycling. Without him as a ski instructor, I would never have understood how skiing works. Although what I do for a living involves a lot of thinking, I often tell people that outside of work, I need very simple explanations for things. Charlie took skiing and handcycling down to the simplest level, and that is how I learned. To this day I have Charlie's voice in my head when skiing and handcycling, telling me to "look downhill!" or sarcastically asking me, "Where you lookin?"
One summer Charlie convinced me to come to a handcycling camp up in Keystone. "I can't really handcycle," I said. "I don't get it." Charlie showed up at that camp and I asked him, "So, who are you going to teach?" "Well," he said, "that would be you. Someone has to do it." I got on a handcycle that morning, determined that 2 previous attempts at handcycling had failed so this wasn't going to work either. But then Charlie said, "it's just like skiing. It's all about moving your hips to turn." So I used my hips, which started to help a bit, and then he said, "it's just like skiing. You can't just tilt your neck to the side and expect your body to follow." A ha! This really was like skiing. Before the morning was done, Charlie had chased me around a small circle tons of times, yelling at me to use my hips and not my neck. I got it. That afternoon, Charlie and I rode together, me on a handcycle and Charlie on a recumbent bike. I bought my own handcycle; I rode up Vail Pass on it; and Charlie was there to meet me. Charlie was a definite father figure to me.
Handcycling started after skiing. I had skied before Lori was born but not too much. After she was born I really grew to love skiing. Charlie was my first instructor in skiing, and for many years, I would request to have him as an instructor. In fact, I didn't need to request him because everyone knew it was a good fit. I never had thought I would ski on my own, off tethers, until Charlie said, "let's try this top part without the tether on." Tethers keep sit-skis attached to instructors, so instructors can correct things that sit-skiers might do wrong.
But what?!! Seriously? And so I was coaxed down the hill. Charlie was very good at skiing backward. He would get in front of me and then ski backwards, telling me to follow his tracks. Just like handcycling, hips are used to turn when sit skiing. If you use your eyes and neck, it doesn't work. In moments of panic, I would look in the direction I wanted to look and crane my neck in that way. "Look down here!" Charlie would yell. It was often too late; I would find myself falling and looking at the sky. He would ski back to me and proclaim, "Now, where were you looking?"
Charlie would also tell me when to turn and where. I found this annoying and would sometimes do my own thing, which generally ended in disaster. That would be followed by, "Why did you go that way?"
Once Charlie got me going down a green (easiest) slope on my own, he really tried to get me to ski blue slopes on my own, always emphasizing he wanted me to be independent. And I did get through some of those blues. When a photographer for USA Today came to take pictures, Charlie skied backward down a more difficult part of a green slope, telling me exactly where to turn. I got my photo in the USA Today. No one knew it was with Charlie, right there.
Besides instruction, Charlie was a great friend. We would eat lunch together in the middle of the ski day. He always had radishes, carrots, and soup. I always found that to be a bit odd.
Charlie videotaped me skiing and then put a whole season of ski videos to music on a DVD. Who does that?!! Cutting and pasting a bunch of skiing to songs took time. Once my daughter started skiing, she said she wanted him to videotape her skiing and put it to music. And he did. We still have those DVDs.
Charlie also made calendars every year for certain people. I was one of the people. He was a great photographer and the pictures in the calendar were stunning pictures of flowers or mountains. One year he made the calendar of pictures of me skiing and handcycling. I still have the calendars. They are beautiful.
And so the story goes. Charlie and I never discussed religion, strangely, because we discussed so much on the lift rides. He would always joke that at work I was the boss but would never have that title. I tried to get him to tell me about his family, but that seemed difficult for him. As the years passed, it got easier. No matter what, I could tell that he loved his daughters. At one point he discovered he has grandchildren and he was very happy about that. He had a few other jobs besides being a ski instructor, but he loved ski instructing the best, I think. He had his own sit-ski because he had bad knees. And he loved his motorcycle which he could ride in the off-season. He couldn't wait to get it out in the spring.
And so Charlie is gone. I didn't get to send him that photo. I didn't get to tell him how much easier handcycling is with increased core muscle strength. I didn't get to touch base. And for some reason that is hard.
But I still have the DVD and the main song (even though I hate country music) that had the things below to say. As I come out of the main (Eisenhower) tunnel, I always listen to this song to try to get ready, mentally, for skiing. It tells me to make the most of what I have today, that today will not last forever, but that I have come so far to get to the unanticipated today (even though it doesn't seem like it). And past today, I will get even further, even while I'm spending my time "like it's going out of style."
Thank you, Charlie, for the many gifts you gave me. I will miss you but I know you will always be on the slopes and bike paths with me, telling me to look down the hills, and when I don't get it right, asking me where I was looking. We had some great times. We really did. I can handcyle. I really can. You, my friend, are remarkable.
Peace.
How can we know how far,
The long way can be?
Looking from where we are,
It never seemed that long to me.
I've many miles behind me,
Maybe not so much ahead.
It seems I made good time,
With the directions I misread.
So I'm gonna spend my time,
Like it's going out of style.
I'm moving the bottom line,
Farther than a country mile.
I still have hills to climb,
Before I hit that wall.
No matter how much time I buy,
I can never spend it all.
Funny thing, that time:
We're always running out.
I'm always losing mine,
There's not enough of it about.
An' though it's always here,
It will always come and go.
The days become the years,
That'll be gone before you know.
So I'm gonna spend my time,
Like it's going out of style.
I'm moving the bottom line,
Better than a country mile.
I still have hills to climb,
Before I hit that wall.
I won't go quietly into that dark night.
There'll be no more burnin' daylight.
I'll be living in,
Every moment that I'm in.
Oh,I'm gonna spend my time,
Like it's going out of style.
I'll only use what's mine,
I've been savin' for a while.
I still have hills to climb,
Before I hit that wall.
No matter how much time I buy,
I can never spend it all.
No matter how much time we buy,
We can never spend it all.
I'm gonna spend my time.
I'm gonna spend my time.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Getting my legs back
"I hate this €{?.€~*!!! thing!" I exclaimed recently, when struggling to put on my old black, ugly, obnoxious AFO brace before work. I was using it instead of the right side of my Bioness, because the controller for the right side of the Bioness had developed a crack, rendering the whole right side non-functional, making me frustrated and angry after discovering the replacement part was on back order in Israel. I mean, really? It's October... the best training month for me. It's training time! Why did a crack have to develop now, and why were they on back order in Israel? What a disaster. Poor me. It seemed that my right leg was in Israel, and I didn't know when I might get it back.
Bob was what I named that AFO brace, what I used before the Bioness, "Nessy." Since I started using Nessy, I had developed a deep hatred for Bob. Bob was hidden in a closet. Bob used to help me lift my toes. When I first used Bob, he gave me enough control of my right leg to walk down a hill without falling. I remember being so excited by that. I could walk my dog down a hill again! I loved Bob!
But as I learned to use Nessy, I discovered that Bob was much different, and old-fashioned. Bob was designed to compensate for certain muscles which didn't work quite right. But over time, in using Bob to compensate for muscles, those muscles atrophied, so while Bob seemed to help, Bob wasn't, in my mind, the best choice to help with walking. But Bob and other AFO braces were what was available then.
That day, I was trying to put on a shoe plus Bob. It's not the best fit. In fact, most times putting shoes on with Bob results in swearing and yelling. With Bob, I can't stand straight at all either, because Bob is designed to not allow the knee to lock. More frustration. I also had Nessy on the left and Bob on the right... Awkward! Nessy triggers a leg muscle which causes the foot / leg to kick. Nessy is all about the leg. Bob? Bob compensates. Effectively using Bob involves lifting the hip. If walking didn't look awkward previously, it sure did with Nessy and Bob together! This wasn't fun at all. It did something to my back, so I had a huge self-pity party going with Nessy, Bob, and a sense of being "off." Poor me. I wanted things to equalize, so my gait pattern was the same on both sides.
Sooner than expected, a new Nessy controller arrived! Life was good. Bye, Bob. Well, he's part of my Halloween costume, so I am letting him hang out this week.
Recently I saw an article criticizing devices which may only incrementally help a person's gait. It seemed to indicate things like Nessy aren't worth it. The problem with these observations, done by people with limited thinking, in my opinion, is they look at, say, 16 weeks. A ha! In 16 weeks Nessy may not be much better than Bob! Why pay for these small increments? And the answer, of course, is time. My Nessies are 3 years old. It has taken 3 years, but my legs don't swing around like they did with Bob. My feet now land between the wheels of Bart (everything has a name!), my walker.
It's very similar to Ampyra. It was evaluated for short length of time to get approved, and it only helped a small percent of people (about 35 percent). Over time, like Nessy, Ampyra seems to build in effectiveness, and yet people do not seem to recognize this.
Recently, there was a series of articles on specialty drugs, discussing who should pay and how it should be determined which drugs are most effective. The study concluded by saying that policy-makers, pharmaceutical companies, and insurance companies would need to work together to figure things out. Who is missing? Where's the physician, the physical therapist, the consumer? Where are those voices, the voices that can give benefits over time?
My voice can tell you that over time, these new things are incredible. My voice can tell people it takes years, or may take years, to see huge benefits, to see the frustration of having to briefly go backward when we have come so very far. We need to continue to pursue these important things.
And so, out of experience, I try to follow this advice: "First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight, then you win." (Gandhi)
I have Nessy, my leg, back. Now it's time to show how important it is.
Peace.
Bob was what I named that AFO brace, what I used before the Bioness, "Nessy." Since I started using Nessy, I had developed a deep hatred for Bob. Bob was hidden in a closet. Bob used to help me lift my toes. When I first used Bob, he gave me enough control of my right leg to walk down a hill without falling. I remember being so excited by that. I could walk my dog down a hill again! I loved Bob!
But as I learned to use Nessy, I discovered that Bob was much different, and old-fashioned. Bob was designed to compensate for certain muscles which didn't work quite right. But over time, in using Bob to compensate for muscles, those muscles atrophied, so while Bob seemed to help, Bob wasn't, in my mind, the best choice to help with walking. But Bob and other AFO braces were what was available then.
That day, I was trying to put on a shoe plus Bob. It's not the best fit. In fact, most times putting shoes on with Bob results in swearing and yelling. With Bob, I can't stand straight at all either, because Bob is designed to not allow the knee to lock. More frustration. I also had Nessy on the left and Bob on the right... Awkward! Nessy triggers a leg muscle which causes the foot / leg to kick. Nessy is all about the leg. Bob? Bob compensates. Effectively using Bob involves lifting the hip. If walking didn't look awkward previously, it sure did with Nessy and Bob together! This wasn't fun at all. It did something to my back, so I had a huge self-pity party going with Nessy, Bob, and a sense of being "off." Poor me. I wanted things to equalize, so my gait pattern was the same on both sides.
Sooner than expected, a new Nessy controller arrived! Life was good. Bye, Bob. Well, he's part of my Halloween costume, so I am letting him hang out this week.
Recently I saw an article criticizing devices which may only incrementally help a person's gait. It seemed to indicate things like Nessy aren't worth it. The problem with these observations, done by people with limited thinking, in my opinion, is they look at, say, 16 weeks. A ha! In 16 weeks Nessy may not be much better than Bob! Why pay for these small increments? And the answer, of course, is time. My Nessies are 3 years old. It has taken 3 years, but my legs don't swing around like they did with Bob. My feet now land between the wheels of Bart (everything has a name!), my walker.
It's very similar to Ampyra. It was evaluated for short length of time to get approved, and it only helped a small percent of people (about 35 percent). Over time, like Nessy, Ampyra seems to build in effectiveness, and yet people do not seem to recognize this.
Recently, there was a series of articles on specialty drugs, discussing who should pay and how it should be determined which drugs are most effective. The study concluded by saying that policy-makers, pharmaceutical companies, and insurance companies would need to work together to figure things out. Who is missing? Where's the physician, the physical therapist, the consumer? Where are those voices, the voices that can give benefits over time?
My voice can tell you that over time, these new things are incredible. My voice can tell people it takes years, or may take years, to see huge benefits, to see the frustration of having to briefly go backward when we have come so very far. We need to continue to pursue these important things.
And so, out of experience, I try to follow this advice: "First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight, then you win." (Gandhi)
I have Nessy, my leg, back. Now it's time to show how important it is.
Peace.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Doris
"Hi. What is your name?" I said.
That question was greeted with mistrust. But 10 minutes later, I learned the name Doris. Doris has Alzheimer's, a disease which can change a person's personality while at the same time, the person's memory fades, and family and friends learn to live "in the moment," capturing glimpses of the person we know and quite possibly have known for our entire lives.
Today a group from our church spent time with a group of people who are living with Alzheimer's. For me, it was a tough day, because although we caught glimpses of people and their lives, I knew they were glimpses, glimpses which become less frequent as time passes; glimpses I saw in someone I knew since birth, someone who was there when Lori was born; and someone whom I noticed, earlier than other non-family, that something was wrong.
Doris, at first untrusting, grew to trust me. She reminded me of the special person I knew. As Doris' sentences began but then trailed off, as she struggled to find the words. In those moments, I found myself again nodding as if I knew what she was saying or where she was going with her words.
She stood. She didn't want to sit. People would offer her a seat, but what I had first noticed about one of the most important people in my life, when things just didn't seem quite right, was that my offers for her to sit in my car were not really noticed. Eventually she sat. Eventually Doris sat. And neither person seemed to be cognizant that they were being offered a seat. That is, years ago, how I knew something was wrong with a person who cared for me more than anyone except my parents.
Lori also came to the center where people with Alzheimer's live. Lori volunteered for every potential role she could have, volunteering to sing, to lead, to introduce. She was herself, which was great to see, and she found moments with the residents in between times when she led us all through the visit.
And so tonight I found myself sitting on our deck, which is where I often find myself pondering things. I cried at the unfairness of Alzheimer's - how we see the personality of those we love change; how we see memory fade right before our eyes; how we search for moments that bring the person we know back to us, and how those memories fade with time.
And then there were other tears on the deck. They were in a sense tears of joy mixed with sadness. The joy was found in seeing Lori be herself; seeing Lori really step up, volunteer for everything, be in the middle of everything; seeing Lori absolutely love that role.
The tears came because it's been a tough summer for Lori, and in turn, for me. In so many places she has been told she is talented, to please come back because she is naturally gifted. In the midst of this summer of success she was told if she did x, then she would get y. She did x. She did not get y. And as a mother, I can't change promises from other people that are not true. All I can do is feel like someone continues to jab me with a knife, knowing that honesty is so important to me, and knowing I passed this importance to Lori.
Where do we go from here? I honestly don't know. For all the times this summer when Lori has been told she is talented at everything, to keep doing everything, it has all been overshadowed. To see her confidence today made me want to believe she will get over the difficult summer. And yet, it is not that easy. She and I both struggle, and while we want to keep going despite what has happened, it is very difficult.
As I sat on the deck, I wondered where God is in the midst of all of this. We watch and lose our loved ones to things like Alzheimer's; we find joy in success; and we find mystery and hardship in life when it takes unexpected, negative turns. People with Alzheimer's do not get better. We live in the moment with them. Ideally, we taken those moments and bring them to other areas of our lives where perhaps we are struggling. Then sometimes it can be very difficult to find moments of happiness amidst the chaos. We continue to ask God to help as we struggle through various parts of our lives. We continue to ask God to pull us through the difficult parts, where we feel we are being stabbed, and there seems to be no way out. God?
Peace.
That question was greeted with mistrust. But 10 minutes later, I learned the name Doris. Doris has Alzheimer's, a disease which can change a person's personality while at the same time, the person's memory fades, and family and friends learn to live "in the moment," capturing glimpses of the person we know and quite possibly have known for our entire lives.
Today a group from our church spent time with a group of people who are living with Alzheimer's. For me, it was a tough day, because although we caught glimpses of people and their lives, I knew they were glimpses, glimpses which become less frequent as time passes; glimpses I saw in someone I knew since birth, someone who was there when Lori was born; and someone whom I noticed, earlier than other non-family, that something was wrong.
Doris, at first untrusting, grew to trust me. She reminded me of the special person I knew. As Doris' sentences began but then trailed off, as she struggled to find the words. In those moments, I found myself again nodding as if I knew what she was saying or where she was going with her words.
She stood. She didn't want to sit. People would offer her a seat, but what I had first noticed about one of the most important people in my life, when things just didn't seem quite right, was that my offers for her to sit in my car were not really noticed. Eventually she sat. Eventually Doris sat. And neither person seemed to be cognizant that they were being offered a seat. That is, years ago, how I knew something was wrong with a person who cared for me more than anyone except my parents.
Lori also came to the center where people with Alzheimer's live. Lori volunteered for every potential role she could have, volunteering to sing, to lead, to introduce. She was herself, which was great to see, and she found moments with the residents in between times when she led us all through the visit.
And so tonight I found myself sitting on our deck, which is where I often find myself pondering things. I cried at the unfairness of Alzheimer's - how we see the personality of those we love change; how we see memory fade right before our eyes; how we search for moments that bring the person we know back to us, and how those memories fade with time.
And then there were other tears on the deck. They were in a sense tears of joy mixed with sadness. The joy was found in seeing Lori be herself; seeing Lori really step up, volunteer for everything, be in the middle of everything; seeing Lori absolutely love that role.
The tears came because it's been a tough summer for Lori, and in turn, for me. In so many places she has been told she is talented, to please come back because she is naturally gifted. In the midst of this summer of success she was told if she did x, then she would get y. She did x. She did not get y. And as a mother, I can't change promises from other people that are not true. All I can do is feel like someone continues to jab me with a knife, knowing that honesty is so important to me, and knowing I passed this importance to Lori.
Where do we go from here? I honestly don't know. For all the times this summer when Lori has been told she is talented at everything, to keep doing everything, it has all been overshadowed. To see her confidence today made me want to believe she will get over the difficult summer. And yet, it is not that easy. She and I both struggle, and while we want to keep going despite what has happened, it is very difficult.
As I sat on the deck, I wondered where God is in the midst of all of this. We watch and lose our loved ones to things like Alzheimer's; we find joy in success; and we find mystery and hardship in life when it takes unexpected, negative turns. People with Alzheimer's do not get better. We live in the moment with them. Ideally, we taken those moments and bring them to other areas of our lives where perhaps we are struggling. Then sometimes it can be very difficult to find moments of happiness amidst the chaos. We continue to ask God to help as we struggle through various parts of our lives. We continue to ask God to pull us through the difficult parts, where we feel we are being stabbed, and there seems to be no way out. God?
Peace.
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