Femoral Repair No. 2

Rewind a bit. Spring 2004, Salt Lake City, Utah somewhat freshly out of High School and thrown into the real world of work and school. I had known that I would be moving to Arizona some time in May, so for the time I found a job as a hostess and set out to make new friends.

During this time leg aches began in the right leg and I wondered what on earth could be causing the pain. It came at first as merely a nuisance, that same throbbing that was somewhat similar to growing pains. Then the point came where walking from the parking lot and up any stairs increased the pain. Speaking with my mom, she wondered if maybe there was a problem arising with the repair that had been done back in 1992 when I was 7 years old.

When May came and the move from SLC to Arizona was finished, I quickly settled into a routine, yet the leg aches never eased up. After seeing a doctor and receiving advice to continue to go throughout daily exercise to increase exercise, I enrolled in dance at the college. The leg continued to be a painful part of every single day. There were times when hip, thigh, calf and the foot would be so sore (lack of oxygen) that it would become debilitating. It is odd how I don't remember much of this, but I have it written in my journal. And I'm grateful I do.

Finally, in December of 2004 when my parents and I went in for a check-up of the leg and to discuss options with the cardiologist and receive a referral to a surgeon, we were informed that the heart needed another surgery. This is when the fifth heart surgery, previously written about, happened. Though the leg was causing a lot of misery, it had to wait.

While on my honeymoon, just a week after getting married, I received a call from my mom. We were to go home early because the doctor had called my parents. I needed to get back for surgery as soon as possible. I was married July 16th and had my pre-op evaluation and tests done on July 22nd and surgery on July 25th. A big worry was the breathing tube for this surgery as my voice had only been back for a month. If there was trauma to the one working vocal cord, I could very well be a mute forever. We discussed the concern with the surgeon and a smaller breathing tube was used.

This was a 6 week recovery and brought with it one scar laterally down my leg about 3 inches long. A second scar from above the hip wrapping down around my abdomen nearly 8 inches long. When I awoke the wound was extremely swollen and sore, yet I was happy to eventually heal and have the ability to walk and no longer be in pain.

Within 1 week after the surgery I received a call from Wells Fargo offering me an interview. A HUGE blessing. We (my husband and I) had been praying that I would be able to find a job with health benefits for myself and for him as our biggest goal was for me to forego going to school at the time and support us financially so that he could finish his bachelors and then continue into a masters degree.

I didn't know what to say to the manager on the phone, but went with the truth, "I just got out of the hospital from having a surgery done on my leg and can't sit for very long. I really want this job."

The manager didn't mind one bit. I wasn't allowed to drive for six weeks, and so my aunt picked me up on interview morning and drove me in. The interview went very well and on the spot they offered me a position. We discussed different start training dates (I had to drive to Phoenix and train). I was able to wait to train for a month and when I began I was fully healed.

This was an incredible blessing and I look back and am amazed how Heavenly Father had such a huge role in providing for me and my new husband at a difficult time.

Recoverying the Heart

Once home from the hospital, 5th open heart surgery completed, the time came to heal. Due to the intense, long recovery ahead, I had not enrolled in college for the semester. It would take at least six weeks to begin to feel strength return.
At the time I lived at home, my two younger siblings still attending High School, and shared the 'tall' bed with my younger sister. It quickly became apparent that getting in and out of a high bed post chest surgery would not work. My mom transferred me to the lower bed.
For more than two weeks my mom would dress and undress me. Shower me. Poor my milk in my cereal. Help me to lie down in bed and to get out of bed. Basically, everything I did was with assistance.
I remember thinking that lifting a gallon of milk wasn't such a big deal and so with my 'Hulk-like' strength I wrapped my fingers around the handle and began to lift the jug to pour. The gallon felt like a 50pound anchor super-glued to the counter and I dropped the gallon, spilling milk everywhere. My grip strength wasn't even strong enough to hold on. My sternum stretched and seemed as if it were on the verge of ripping in half. I stayed away from proving my strength, or lack of, and tried to heed the doctors orders from there on out.
In the evenings and sometimes in the nice afternoon, my dad and I would take little walks up and down the sidewalk moving at a record slow, even for a snail, pace. "We went further that time, dad." I would say. He would nod, "you're doing really well, Shel," and then with exhaustion I would turn around and go back in the house where I would slowly lower myself into the chair.
The doctor put me on anti-depressants for after the surgery, and I thought such a thing was ridiculous. Until I realized the trauma. The heart is many things - literal and figurative. It is the VERY heart of the body physically, and it is figuratively the HEART of the body. It is the Soul. With the trauma of physically handling the heart, there comes a lot of emotional trauma.
The blues set-in with such heaviness at one point that I found myself staring for hours at the walls, wanting to go on no more. Life had no meaning. Here I was almost like a baby, unable to take care of myself. My mom would set up a lawn chair out on the patio before leaving for work (my dad was home during the day) and say, "When I get home I will ask you if you went outside and got sunshine. You better say 'yes'."
So...doing as mother told me, I would trudge outside and ever-so slowly lower myself into the chair and stare at the sky. I suppose it was better than staring at the walls. In all honesty, I did not handle recovery well emotionally.
There was one of the wires inside that began to poke from beneath the skin. The cardiologist advised that there are cases where a wire has come loose and poke through the skin. Around the wire, the skin became translucent and it frightened me to think that the wire could come through. Still to this day, if I lay on my belly on a floor, the wires closing the sternum are so close to the skin that I can feel them against the flooring. Putting a pillow between myself and the floor seems to help.
When the body began to rid itself of the extremely heavy doses of medication, my body went in to a withdrawal. The headaches came on gradually, until one day the throbbing was beyond any headache I had ever known. There are people that suffer from debilitating migraines, and I honestly do not understand how they cope. The pain of this headache debilitated me and then intensified so quickly that I began vomiting. With each heave, I held the bowl with one hand and placed the other firmly against my sternum. The seams of my freshly glued skin felt as if they were tearing.  I had a priesthood blessing for the headache and within minutes it was completely gone.
At night in my sleep, my sister later told me (post recovery) that most nights she would wake-up to me crying. She would look over and see that I was still asleep, yet I was crying and muttering, "It hurts. It hurts."
I don't remember the exact pain anymore, just the vivid thought over and over, "if I ever have to do this again, I think I would rather die." To say that the pain was the worst pain experienced by the human body would grossly exaggerated, however, it was enough to bring me to tears many of the days.
During this recovery my voice was also greatly damaged still. Most of the time my voice was a hoarse whisper, and when I tried to use it too much, it would go away completely. I tried to communicate by writing but got very impatient and ended up hurting myself worse by trying to force the speaking. I got in to a habit of taking tiny sips of water, holding it in my mouth, then preparing and swallowing. This was to avoid immediately vomiting the water back up as it would go down my wind pipe if I wasn't careful.
After about 4 weeks I started attending my parents church family congregation, then around 8 weeks started going back to the Young Singles Ward with my fiance.
I am not sure how people go through a procedure like this, or similar, without the support of family and without the support of the Lord. It was, up to that point in my life, one of the most difficult and painful experiences.
Now as I look back, I know that the physical pain of the body can never compare to the emotional pain of the body. One thing that amazes me is how much our Spirit can hurt, badly enough that at times feels as if our heart is breaking.
This pain of the spirit and emotional heartbreak would come later in my life, but not much.

What Storm Does She Walk Through?

*Disclaimer: I realize that my posts are HEAVY. This memoir was not written with the need to life vomit all the hard things in an effort to prove something, but to lay out what I have learned/experienced throughout thirty years. Never have I or will I ever believe to be an expert. Also, sometimes I skip writing days because I don't want those reading this to become bogged down. My attempts at keeping a positive story-telling, if you will, of my life events must also be accompanied by the raw truth of these things. I have never been one to sugar coat, and I won't ever be. So, know that I am a grateful, happy woman of incredible faith in God, and that my main purpose is to let someone else know that they are not alone. With that being said...

We are unaware of what others are suffering, what their world looks like inside the four-walls of their home. It is human nature to judge, tear down and to criticize. For some people this behavior of judgment is done whimsically, without thought or care of the depth of suffering or heartache of what that stranger, friend or family member is experiencing. Other times the tearing down of one another is done with malice.

My message today is from the experience of both sides.

A while back I was working out at the gym. I saw this beautiful girl around my age with a super cute figure. Always noticing the regulars I thought, "She looks like she would be stuck-up. I wonder if she's nice?"
A few weeks after I was talking to a friend who mention
ed this girl, she knew her and I asked if she was a nice girl. They told me that she had had a horrible scare, almost died. She had several brain tumors and the surgery ended up really affecting her. At this time I began to scold myself. How horrible to pass judgment. How un-Christlike to assume something of someone I know NOTHING about. This was eye-opening. I should not have compassion on someone just by learning of their difficulties, but have compassion on them BEFORE ever knowing. Compassion towards a stranger is a sign of character, and I needed to improve my character.

The other experience of life in being torn down from the other side is one I will not delve into much. It is sensitive for all involved and most importantly one that should be done so in the most respectful and appropriate manner. It is not my intention to destroy anyone's reputation or give 'a bad name' but to share something that may be helpful because it is from other people sharing that helped me.
What I will say is that I have been the victim of abuse for a decade. When you are a victim of abuse, you begin to lose parts of yourself as a coping mechanism and to shield yourself - this is how we survive. 

The experience of being torn down for so many years has given me the eyes to see with compassion and to speak with kindness (though it is still a work in progress at times - it is for everyone). Now I have trained myself to think when seeing a stranger, 'if they are going through anything like I have/am, how desperately they will need kindness.'
We do not know details of peoples lives, even if we THINK we know. Those within my most trusted circle had no idea of the struggles I was facing - because those that are hurting the most are sometimes the best at hiding it!!

The best message I can get across from this post is how greatly your life will be changed for the better when you begin to see others without judgment, and in doing this there will no longer be a frivolous need to tear down, but instead a heartfelt desire to BUILD UP!

A few Resources:
Caroline Abbott (Christian Abuse Blog)
Healthy Place

Hospital stay

Due to the doctors concern with my heart condition and the increase risk of infection, they kept me for a week in the ICU, monitoring vitals closely. There were staples starting from the bottom of my open heart surgery scar and continued clear down the length of my abdomen, wrapped around my belly button and ended just after. The first time I sat up I made sure the staples didn't go flying out, leaving my torso wide open for all those organs to spill out. Yes, even at 13 years-old my imagination ran wild at times.
I do remember my bishop (ecclesiastical leader) and his counselors coming to visit and bringing with them a Blizzard. What a kind gesture.
Unfortunately, most of the time I was so horribly nauseated that I didn't want yummy things such as ice cream with giant candy bar chunks or the ginormous cookie basket wrapped with yellow ribbon. However, my siblings were definitely the recipients of all tasty things and enjoyed themselves quite thoroughly.
I specifically remember one night that I could not sleep. In all my time in the hospital it had to be the most difficult night. The nurse came somewhat promptly after the giant 'help me immediately' button was pushed. She listened intently as I cried about how sick and horrible I felt, that I just needed my mom. In minutes my mom flew through the hospital doors. Relief. After that the memories are quite foggy, but she calmed me instantly. Sometimes all you need is your mommy!

When the time came to leave, the time also came to remove those staples. From my belly. So all my organs could spill out. I. Was. FREAKING. Out!
Aunt Sandy was in there, with my mom, and they both were prepared to rip the metal from the skin with crazy-looking scissors (staple removing scissors as the nurse said in a very professional, calming voice). Only few staples were stubborn, but for the most part, those two ladies became experts in a matter of seconds. Left along each side of the scar were little dots were the ends came out. And my organs even stayed in!

Once home, I got settled into my parents room on the bed with a movie. And then within just a few hours things started to turn a bit sour. My mom ran a bath for me to soak my legs saying, "A nice warm bath fixes almost everything!" Well...it usually does. Unless you end up with Clostridium Difficile or as it will be lovingly referred to as A Horribly Foul Infection of the Intestines - C-diff.
Read here:
C. difficile infection can range from mild to life-threatening. Symptoms of mild cases include watery diarrhea, three or more times a day for several days, with abdominal pain or tenderness.

Now that we have gotten really comfortable with one another, let's just say that I got C-diff really, really bad. As in life-threatening. Things progressively worsened over the next few hours, which meant that my mom forced me back to the hospital to find out what was going on.

Once diagnosed the doctor admitted me promptly back to another room, in the ICU, where the stay lasted another week.
Much to my disappointment.
If you have ever stayed in the hospital, the nifty shape-shifting beds, funny bed-pans, and interesting food is only exciting for about three hours tops, and then home seems like a distant memory, so far away, yet only two miles down the road. A place where people giggle and join hands singing about that twinkling little star up so high in the sky. Where families eat all of your goodies because you can't, and enjoy a peaceful night rest in complete darkness and silence.
Home.
I want to go to there.

The second stay was much harder than the first, only because at that point I missed my family more than I imagined possible. I missed their noises, their comings and goings, and especially the feeling of being in that place of comfort.

The time finally came to return back to my home, finally having recovered from C-Diff (A Horribly Foul Infection of the Intestines). I was about fifteen pounds lighter but all-in-all so incredibly blessed and grateful to be living and breathing. To have experienced a miracle of God that spared every life in that accident. Where ten out of eleven people were ejected and several received scrapes and bruises and no one died has absolutely nothing to do with luck, because there is NO such thing as luck. There are only blessings of God and miracles of God. And this accident was both. A divine blessing. And a miracle. And I feel fortunate and grateful to this day that I was given the opportunity to experience something so powerful and life-changing, as scary as it was at the time, looking back these eyes see just how prominent God's hand is in each and every one of our lives.

Some interesting facts:

Here is a list of the injuries of those involved in the accident:
crushed foot
broken collar bone
2 broken legs
2 broken backs
broken elbow
compression fracture of the back
massive cuts from glass and bruises
lost tooth (never found)
cracked pelvic bone
hairline fracture in neck
coma(head injury) with no feeling or movement in legs (this returned after accident)
lots of bruises and scratches
ruptured spleen

Three were thrown out the windshield. Seven thrown out the back window.

Farmer recently removed barbed wire fence and plowed up the fence line.

Per the woman watching in the oncoming car, 2 bodies were thrown in front of the rolling suburban. One of the boys watched as it came rolling towards them. It came to its side and immediately stopped before crushing both of the boys.

Memories that Stick

This next post is one that has been running around wild in my mind, trying to find a way out through the maze and roadblocks of embarrassment, shame, pride and fear. Embarrassment and shame because it is a very sensitive subject. Pride because it is something that will put me in an extremely vulnerable place. And fear because I do care how people view me (to a certain extent). I'm in no way the person I used to be, these experiences throughout the years have reshaped weaknesses into a burning strength. They are events that were incredibly traumatic as a young girl/teenager and brought with them a downward spiral of severe depression during the mid to latter teenage years.

These are shared only because I KNOW without a doubt that there are others out there who have had similar experiences and seek to find a sense of worth and knowledge that they're indeed NEVER alone. How many billions of people are in this world - past, present and future - and so many have been through much the same parts of life? With this comes increased empathy, broadened knowledge, and a shoulder for someone to cry on. We are all, in fact, going through life together.

In the young mind as a 9,10,11 year old, everything happening was stored away, locked up tight. At times the frustrations were vocalized to my mom and dad, and their love and compassion surely helped get me through, but unfortunately, much of the time I vowed to travel this desert alone, without a master guide. To wander the wilderness alone, to refuse water, shelter and help from a guide is dangerous, even deadly.

If the time could be pinpointed when my mind shifted from that carefree child to a traumatized young girl, I would like to go back and see with these experienced adult eyes, to transfer this knowledge and understanding to that little girl. But that cannot be. The past is the past, and all the can be done is to move forward.

My mom would pick me up from school, and together we would drive to Boise (in the early years) or Twin Falls (in the later years) for the yearly check-ups for my heart. My cardiologist, an AMAZING, TALENTED man, was the kindest soul. He was a pediatric cardiologist, and a phenomenal one at that. One of the best if I do say so myself!

The perspective of a young girl in the midst of recognizing her body changing and going through the beginning stages of adolescence has a difficult time seeing the true intentions of great doctors. I still remember the thoughts and the feelings I experienced in these times. I felt myself shut down on the road to the check-ups, in my mind the thoughts were so bombarding and overwhelming everything inside wanted to explode.

The nurses that prepared me for exams were mostly male and to me they were perverts. In my mind, every single one was there to take advantage of me.
One time specifically comes to mind, I have NEVER been able to forget it.
I lay on the exam table, being prepped for a heart catheter. I was a bit older, I remember this because the nurses came over and moved the gown in preparation to shave my upper leg/groin so that the heart catheter could be placed. (I was still having heart catheters in the right damaged leg, but through the bypass). I found a place to stare at in the lights, my back hurting from the hard board, cringing at the touch of their hands, recoiling that they were looking at MY body, my SACRED body that wasn't supposed to be exposed to just anybody.
I wanted to die right there. The tears welled up, pooling in my eyes. I can still hear his voice as he spoke to the other nurse, "Hold this here. Hand me the razor." Folding my body in half, I tried to sit up to see what was going on, and how much of my lower half was exposed. They kindly pushed my shoulders down. "Sweetie. You need to lie flat." A simple procedure prep by trained professionals who were kind was not seen as such by these young eyes. Instead, they were molesting me, and I could do nothing but lie there and let them.
Older and now wiser, I can look back and recognize the error of my thoughts and perception. But at the time, no amount of explanation from anybody, not even my parents, would ever suffice. I was being taken advantage of, it happened every check-up, and I began to LOATHE male doctors/nurses.
I would sulk in the car on the way, crying to my mom, "They're all perverts. They only become doctors to molest young girls. They don't care about me. They just want to take advantage of me."

After this specific heart catheter (I was there to have a balloon procedure into the valve as it has narrowed and needed intervention.) my cardiologist came out and informed my mom that a miracle happened. The valve that had been blocked was wide open. Everyone in that room was shocked by the outcome. There was no balloon procedure done, what a blessing. When my mom told me the news it validated my feelings that all these people wanted to do was take advantage of girls like me. "See, nothing was even wrong! I hate them all!"
These were extremely trying years for my mom and dad.
The incredible doctors, nurses, and healthcare professionals throughout the course of my life saved me on many occasions, however, I was so absorbed in the trauma that I could not see the many miracles of God. Not until now.
I still have glimpses of these moments. Lying still as possible for an ECHO, having been mid-development, and the male tech reaching into the gown to move the wand across my chest. I remember the many tears that trickled down my face during those procedures. It felt as if ants were crawling all over my body, the touch of the gloved hands almost too much to bear.
And yet there are wonderful moments that pop up. One of a nurse carrying me into what had to have been the O.R. (I had to have been less than 5 years old) and asking if I wanted cherry or bubblegum sleepy medicine. He was so kind.

Anyone that has experienced these moments knows the trauma, the embarrassment and shame that comes with them. Thankfully, there comes a time that we can recognize these moments for what they actually were, see the miracle of modern medicine, and find gratitude for the love and kindness of amazing people who have a gift for healing. Unfortunately, these hard things come with the territory of a CHD - and many other health trials that others experience - but all things have opposition, and with the difficult parts there are ALWAYS many great things to learn.
Thankfully God gave me the BEST parents, and thankfully they NEVER gave up on me.