Turquoise Gates: hospital

Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts

A little shock

Just a note to ask for prayer. I was admitted to St. Cloud Hospital last night through the the ER after fainting multiple times. I went into shock, and experienced a severe drop in blood pressure. I had just been restarted on a medication for PTSD - Minipress (prazosin) - and even though I only took half the prescribed dose, it had the side effect of drastically lowering my blood pressure. If I had not followed my gut and had taken the whole dose, I would be in the ICU or dead right now. God is gracious! The medication is out of my system now and I am finishing up getting some more oxygen and IV fluids, then I should be heading back to my in-laws. I feel very run down and kind of dull mentally, probably from the physical shock. I just need some rest - and never to take Minipress again! - and I should be soon back to normal. Thanks in advance for your prayers!

Amy with the twin kittens the other day

Breathing

Beams of God's radiance glint off the plastic footboard of the hospital bed and send a rainbow of prismatic gold over the bleached white sheets I have pulled up to my chin. The window is cold and the draft sneaks under the blankets and cools my toes. Across the room, a roommate snores off her hangover and overdose. I stare up at the pock-marked Styrofoam ceiling tiles, lost in time.

The odd paradox of melancholy and joy has lived in my breast for a year now. I learn to name the constant ebb and wash of emotions with words like "disgust" for the acid burning, "shame" for the head-bent-low grief, "joy" for the sparkling champagne of the soul.

The days are long and quiet here, punctuated with an all too brief hour of Eminem and painting in the middle, meals like clockwork arriving cold from the bowels of the hospital. The first day, my brain races double time through the silence of my hospital room. By the second day, everything has slowed with a deep hollow bass tone, and I start to uncurl from the fetal position I've been stuck in, glued to the plastic mattress with a cold sweat of anxiety and the cheeks flushing with shame. Third day, I laugh for the first time, again. Day four, the doctor says I can go home. Home I go, chauffeured by beautiful country blond, to the house mourning the last days of a holiday studded with pain, to the children buoyant with the homecoming of Mama.

I sleep under the moon and the down comforter, sandwiched between my two men, husband and child. I wake up breathing slower than I have in a long time, to the sunrise and the wind whispering through the rattling leaves of the woods, the spring-like air, the owls hooting their last night songs across the valley. I am thankful for this week of rest, vacation from mental hypervigilance against darkness, a blank slate of mind that has been so busy fighting through December's bog.

Tabula rasa. I start again with a clean slate. Benigno numine. By the favor of the heavens. Bendictus que venit. Blessed is she who comes in the Lord's name. Dabit Deus his quoque finem. God will bring an end to this. Deo adjuvante non timedum. With God's help, nothing should be feared.

Cruce, dum spiro, fido.

While I breathe, I will trust the Cross.

God is looking for people through whom He can do the impossible. What a pity when we plan only the things we can do by ourselves.” -A.W. Tozer

A set-back

I just arrived home from a 4-day stay at the hospital for continued treatment of depression and other mental health issues. I am feeling better than I was Tuesday, when I was admitted. I would appreciate prayers for the coming week and a half with my family prior to my next separation from them for a cancer scan on January 18. Thank you, dear friends!

Amelia in the hospital again

My dear sweet third daughter, my Amelia Irene, is back in the hospital again. Almost exactly 2 years since she was hospitalized with life-threatening encephalitis at the University of Minnesota, I ended up bringing Amy to the local hospital because she had a fever for three days, was increasingly sleeping throughout the day, and suddenly this morning developed a stiff neck and back pain, headache, and vomiting when repositioned. A few hours in the ER told us her liver wasn't working exactly right, her heart was slightly enlarged, and yes, she had all the signs and symptoms of another spinal or brain infection.

Because of the liver abnormality, her doctors at the local hospital weren't comfortable doing diagnostic tests because of the increased risk of bleeding. The last thing she needed was a bleed into her spinal column. So she was brought by ambulance to St. Mary's hospital in Rochester, part of "Mother Mayo". In the ER there, she had some tests run, which actually looked a little more hopeful. The pressure around her spine was not as high as it was two years ago.

So for now, she is admitted to the hospital with a working diagnosis of bacterial meningitis. She continues to sleep and is very quiet and talks very little when awake. She will be hospitalized for at least 48 hours for IV antibiotics. She needs urgent prayer.

Think you've gotten maximum sympathy as a cancer patient when you finally shave your head? Nope. Walk into an ER with your deathly ill daughter and everyone realizes you've been given a lot to handle. My mother handed me a little note that made me cry:

"Sufferings arising from anxiety, in which the soul adds to the cross imposed by the hand of God an agitated resistance and a sort of unwillingness to suffer - such troubles arise only because we live to ourselves. A cross wholly inflicted by God, and fully accepted without any uneasy hesitation, is full of peace as well as of pain. On the contrary, a cross not fully and simply accepted, but resisted by the love of self, even slightly, is a double cross; it is even more a cross, owing to this useless resistance." ~Francoise de la Mothe Fenelon

You can see the sun-dog to the left of this photo, just barely (it's a cell phone pic).

And God sent me two little winks on the way down to Rochester. In Wabasha, Minnesota, we caught up with the ambulance and followed directly behind all the way down to the hospital. What a gift to be so close when I was feeling so very far away from my sick little girl! Then, as we entered town, for just a moment there was a sun-dog, a tiny little rainbow in the clouds that lasted not even a minute. I remembered God's covenant with Noah, and I thanked Him for this small visual covenant with me. Not that I believe it means she will be miraculously healed - or even perhaps survive - but it was His covenant with me that I will survive this newest entrance into the refiner's fire, my soul intact and His love never-ending.

Out of sync

A life raft made of spheres and oblongs, a handful of pills to chase away sadness, chase away the chaotic mind, smooth the anxiety out like wrinkles on a dress shirt, float me into peace at night and drift me out of flashbacks by day. I feel angry at these pills, angry at my need. I long for the day I throw the bottles out forever, when my personal demons are finally hushed to a whisper and the armor of God is once more light enough to carry.

I knew lament so deeply as a nurse working with terminal kids. The bereft, uncomprehending shock of the loss of a child. I heard from those parents that for a while the earth seemed shifted off it's axis, flowers blooming when there should be ice forming, sun instead of rain, beauty instead of desolation. Their souls in gray and unchangeablely out of sync with life spiraling around them.

I paint a gray wash for the background of my first oil painting. I have been in the hospital four days again, sequestered in the quiet routine and lack of temptation there. I ignore the screw in the mirrors with which I could scrape pain away like the rubbish on my kitchen island. I look past erasers that I could burn myself with. Then they say I am better, and I can go home, and home I go. A lovely, bright, pleasant place, filled with children's laughter and the busyness of making meals, cleaning house, bathing brown dirt covered bodies before bed. I feel alien, and retreat to the porch for quiet. But even the outdoors conspires against me, and I frown at the sun.

My prayers, too, are gray. But somehow there is still comfort there. He is a Man of Sorrows. He knows betrayal, he knows temptation, He knows the unfair physical pain and torture, and the anguish of mind it brings. He is my Brother walking hand in hand with me through the gray wash, supporting me underneath that raft of pills.

I was just a child, when I felt the Savior leading

I was drawn to what I could not understand

And for the cause of Christ, I have spent my days believing

That what He'd have me be, is who I am

As I've come to see the weaker side of me

I realize His grace is what I'll need

When sin demanded justice for my soul

Mercy said no

I'm not gonna let you go

I'm not gonna let you slip away

You don't have to be afraid

Mercy said no

Sin will never take control

Life and death stood face to face

Darkness tried to steal my heart away

Thank You Jesus, Mercy said no

For God so loved the world, that He sent His son to save us

From the cross He built a bridge to set us free

Oh, but deep within our hearts, there is still a war that rages

And makes a sacrifice so hard to see

As midnight fell on the crucifixion day

The light of hope seemed oh so far away

As evil tried to stop redemption's flow

And now when heaven looks at me

It's through the blood of Jesus

Reminding me of one day long ago

~Mercy Said No, CeCe Winans~

The moths, hovering

The clouds beckon the coming storm, and I rock in my chair and survey the grandeur. Yellow, orange, pink, purple...and every shade in between. I bask in the eye of the storm, waiting for sunset to fade it's glow melting the the evening sky to bring out it's lights of night. Waiting for the first mist of cold rain to come across the fields.

I've been in a storm since the beginning of April. My diagnosis is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and I am taking a slew of medication in an attempt to slow the anxiety and help me keep control of my impulses. I have gone 4 weeks now without hurting myself intentionally. One therapist pointed out that physical pain is helpful because it shunts electricity from one part of the brain (the conscious part that is running scared) to less intellectual parts of the brain. We came up with a list of things that "hurt" that I can do without truly hurting myself. Just in case anyone reading struggles with self-harm or suicide attempts, let me give you my list:

Walk on the gravel driveway barefoot
Clean your finger and toe nail beds
Put a piece of tape on your arm and rip it off later
Work out
Squeeze hands tight
Bite your lip
Chew your fingernails
Do some heavy lifting, boxes in your basement, etc.

My favorite is walking on gravel. When I walk down our driveway, I am not thinking about anxiety or depression or the bad things that happened in my life, I am thinking only about the stones digging into my tender feet.

The sky darkens, but the beauty remains. Whether you are in a season of life that is full of sunshine or roses, or you are walking through the darkest depths of the valley, there is beauty and joy to be claimed - actively claimed - if you lean on Christ and trust Him for what you need. He steps in and gives you a sunset, or a warm day, or simply the whispering breath of your child sleeping in your arms. Seek those moments, treasure them, hold them like precious jewels tight to your chest. In some ways they are the reward here on earth for the suffering. If you weren't walking through the night, you would never notice the beauty of the stars.

Don't let anything steal away from the feast

God has prepared in the presence of your enemies.

For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. (I Corinthians 15:53-54)

Lessons at the bird feeder

I identify with these anxious birds who flit in and out, buzzing busily, occasionally creating an outburst if another bird lands while they are feeding. Hummungbirds are a new discovery of mine, since buying an aesthetically pleasing feeder and a porch swing just under it.

So industrious they seem, as I rock in my chair, trying to clear cloudy thoughts, trying to push away hurtful thoughts, file them somewhere deep in the abyss of the mind where I will never go looking again.

I remember distinctly learning in science that hummingbirds never land, but fly always. Now that we have a dozen or so ambushing our porch day and night, I can honestly say they sit aLOT. But only when they're not anxious. When they're anxious, they flit and flicker here and there, emitting a strangled warble now and again. So like me, picking at my clothes, looking for something I can tear or a way to hurt physically...like the hummingbird, indecisive but edgy, unable to make her choice.

I flit about my home for a few days, the suicidal thoughts building. Finally they scare me into calling the doctor. Who, of course, says I need a tune-up. So as you read this, I'm probably being "tuned up", in the hospital where they can adjust meds more quickly.

"Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?" (Matthew 6:26)

"Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows" (Matthew 10:29-31).

Only love

I was discharged from the hospital again today. Please pray for peace of spirit, freedom from anxiety and flashbacks, and that the battle is won already.

Grace Potter's Only Love

music video with my drawings

I wake up with my hair on fire

I need something to water me down

I can’t keep walking on this wire

I gotta move, I gotta come around

What don’t kill you makes you stronger,

It’s only my soul, It’s only my heart

And it’s only love

It’s only love

I wake up with my mind unwinding

I got a strange tingle in my toes

I fall asleep and dream of finding

Somebody who really knows

I need to loosen my grip just a little bit

I feel this love like a stranglehold

But there’s something stopping me from losing it

There’s nothing harder than letting go

But it’s only love
It’s only love

The fallen sisters

I could talk about self-control, rightly so. I could talk about doing the right thing and what my conservative opinions of a Christian life should look like. I may even get a lot of encouragement from other well-meaning do-gooders. We could have our own club, totally separate from ‘the world’ and draw the shades to our heart while we enjoy how Christian we are. Meanwhile, we suffocate a fallen sister because our lives don’t offer hope, they offer moral standards. You know you’re sending the wrong message if one of your members leaves the group when they make a moral mistake. God set up grace so that He would never lose anyone. Set your life up that way, too. ~from the incomparable Serena Woods at Grace is for Sinners

I've known a thousand of them, women struggling. Women losing babies. Women saying goodbye to their dead children. Women struggling through pregnancy, or grief, loss, limitation. Women wounded deeply, ignoring their wounds and living in a twisted world. Women at odds with their families. Women deep in depression and plagued by anxiety.

Last week, in the hospital, I met so many fallen sisters, sisters who saw no reasonable excuse to continue their sad lives. Sisters who had overdosed, wounded their own bodies, carving out flesh for sins past, sins present, sins they dreamed their future filled with. I walked with them, as one of them.

How do we, the church, respond to fallen sisters? How to carry them through their grief, loss, pain, and dependence? How to help them see sunlight again? To feel the small and large joys that await each of us on this long walk we call life. How to let them know that life is not hopeless, nor are fallen sisters powerless or voiceless.

Like the glimmer of the yellow crocus petal, I feel myself in the world of fallen sisters, but rising for beauty. Beauty for ashes. Gladness for mourning. Praise instead of a faint spirit. (Isaiah 61:3)

Lord, help me walk back into the sunshine.

The story of this battle

Jesus took me on an amazing journey in the past 2 weeks. After struggling, struggling, struggling with depression for months, trying this medication and that, I was suddenly plunged into the depths of the dark pit of my own past sins and Satan's wrenching grip. God felt so far away, like a satellite makes it's slow orbit around the earth - He, making His silent orbit around me a million miles away, just checking in those darkest hours of the night. Faith fit me like a clumsy second-hand coat and I couldn't find my battle armor. Faith is lost, and is carried away out of their mouth (Jeremiah 7:28b).

I hurt myself, people who care deeply about me, loving and respecting and believing, sometimes, I think, in the "writer Genevieve", not the real and battle-worn Genevieve standing before them. The cost of believing in little snippets of joy is that sometimes the darkest sorrows spin underneath beyond the glimpse of anyone but yourself. I should have reached out for help much sooner. I never want to forget that. My past sins seemed to surround me, drowning out hope. You summoned as if to a festival day my terrors on every side (Lamentations 2:22 exc.).

And so, dying on the vine, hope squashed and faith seeming nothing but mirage, I asked God for heaven instead of this bleak earth. Those people I hurt - they were crushed this time. I broke the trust of my caregivers at the hospital where they tried to titrate medications to bring me out of the fog of disillusionment and grief. As I saw what I had done - laid waste to every dream I've ever had, forever scarred those I love best, traded ashes again for beauty - I never wanted to do that again.

A dear pastor came and spoke Truth into my weary head, and I began to sense myself re-entering the war for my body. My soul claimed long ago by the blood of the Cross, Satan was there to steal my body and my story so that I could never touch another person with the power of my life redeemed. My pastor pleaded with me, Beloved, I urge you as sojourner and exile to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. (I Peter 2:12)

But warfare is infinitely more difficult than giving in to Satan. Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. (Philipians 2:12-13)

I slipped again, and the pain was new for all surrounding me. In a solitary room, four green walls and a bed bolted to the floor with slots for restraints, without Bible or friend to comfort, just two red-eyed video cameras analyzing my every move, I praised God for His foresight as I had memorized Psalm 73:26 the night prior: My flesh and heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

I leaned on Deuteronomy 30:19-20a: I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying his voice and holding fast to him, for he is your life and length of days. However mindless and mind-numbing those days in the solitary room were, me pacing around the bed, stretching, doing push-ups, even singing at the top of my lungs in the corner ampitheater squeezed tight into what felt like a more private space - God was at work.

The day I chose life, when death was just another slice away, I sensed God knew my limitations, for He has promised that He is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it. (I Corinthians 10:13)

He stepped in to lift me up and fight for me. I felt like we were still flying low, but I could feel the wind in my hair, feel the flutter of the eagle's wing feathers as we floated above the battle and looked down at the vast sea of sorrow I had thought was so large. Now so little from the vantage point on His back. Yes, He seemed far away, as though He were the satellite in meaningless orbit just glinting in on the darkness of my days, as it says in Isaiah 45, In a surge of anger I hid my face from you for a moment, but with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you.

But hope was not far off on a distant shore over an uncrossable ocean of tears.

For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,” says the LORD, who has compassion on you. “O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted, behold, I will set your stones in antimony, and lay your foundations with sapphires. I will make your pinnacles of agate, your gates of carbuncles, and all your wall of precious stones. All your children shall be taught by the LORD, and great shall be the peace of your children. In righteousness you shall be established; you shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear; and from terror, for it shall not come near you. If anyone stirs up strife, it is not from me; whoever stirs up strife with you shall fall because of you. Behold, I have created the smith who blows the fire of coals and produces a weapon for its purpose. I have also created the ravager to destroy; no weapon that is fashioned against you shall succeed, and you shall confute every tongue that rises against you in judgment. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD and their vindication from me, declares the LORD. (Isaiah 54:10-17)

Torment fled from my nightmares, and terror from my flashbacks during the day. Turn to me and be saved, all the ends of the earth! For I am God, and there is no other. (Isaiah 45:22) I began to rest well again, enjoy my days, and smile. God gave me this verse on one of my last days in the hospital, as I prepared to move my new-found confidence back out into real life and beyond the cloistered walls of a monitored unit of the hospital. Restore our fortunes, O Lord...Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. (Psalm 126:4-6) Shouting for joy still sounds like a pipe dream but I do trust this God who once again showed up in my life in amazing ways.

It is well with my soul,

Thou has taught me to say...

To you, O Lord, I cry, and to the Lord I plead for mercy: What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness? Hear, O Lord, and be merciful to me! O Lord, be my helper!” (Psalm 30:9-12)

Excerpted from my gratitude journal, the weeks in the hospital, #312-541:
312. There is nothing in my room sharp enough to cut through skin
313. God only turns His face for a short time (Isaiah 54:8)
315. I am learning to ask for help.
317. I learned more about spiritual warfare now more than ever before
319. Being surrounded by the shields of faith of friends and family so fiery darts can't reach me.
322. What profit is there in my death? (Ps. 30:9-12)
324. A big bad biker dude borrowing my pink Bible to search for God
330. Scripture always ready on my tongue, even when I am a victim of the battle (thanks, Mama and God).
332. The gorgeous strawberry blond crowning the tired and lonely head of a teenager
335. The great, great God who stilled this anxious heart and fought for my life, sending terror far from me.
411. Souls won for Christ while I offer His words to them with my bleeding hands, spoon it into their chalk dry mouths and thirsty souls
537. Holding Mama's hand during my discharge planning meeting
538. Grandparents willing - nay, happy! - to help with my brood
539. Kristy always ready with a hand to hold and a prayer on her lips for me
540. The sweetest sentences I've ever read, from my Dad-in-law and Nate York
542. Sweet Sara picking me up with belly laughs and delight

Pasque Flower

I grew up on the prairie, ten years of my childhood.

It is a long way from characterless; "overpowering" would be a better word. The horizon a dozen miles away is as clean a line as the nearest fence. Across the immense sky move navies of cumuli, fair-weather clouds, their bottoms as even as if they had scraped themselves against the earth. These prairies are quiescent, close to static; looked at for any length of time, they begin to impose their awful perfection on the observer's mind. - Wallace Stegner, Wolf Willow

Every year, on the prairie, the Pasque flowers were the harbinger of spring. A promise of growth, blossom and beauty. Rest for the weary eye after the stark, bleak prairie winter.

-Aaron

Battle Wounds

My past was a blur and didn’t feel real, my present was a screaming siren of war and my hope was swallowed in the darkness. One thing I have learned is that Satan has little power over the believer. He can have his way with a person only under the jurisdiction of God. He can attack, tempt or torment only with a nod from the Almighty. God has given Satan a certain amount of freedom, but if God is always with you, then there is never a time where Satan is acting against you without God’s supervision. A lot of his damage is done with smoke and mirrors. He’s a creative liar who plays on your fears and emotions to manipulate you into a place where you are worthless and unable to produce. He wants to steal your story because he’s scared of the power it contains. In the vision that John wrote about in Revelations he says that he saw the believers defeating Satan with the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony. If Satan can’t undo the crucifixion, then his ultimate focus is to be on what he can do, He wants to get believers to a place where they are no longer heard. — Serena Woods

Keep Breathing - Ingrid Michaelson

Cold is the water

It freezes your already cold mind

Already cold, cold mind

And death is at your doorstep

And it will steal your innocence

But it will not steal your substance

But you are not alone in this

And you are not alone in this

As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand

Hold your hand

And you are the mother

The mother of your baby child

The one to whom you gave life

And you have your choices

And these are what make man great

His ladder to the stars

But you are not alone in this

And you are not alone in this

As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand

Hold your hand

And I will tell the night

Whisper, "Lose your sight"

But I can't move the mountains for you

“Timshel” by Mumford & Sons

On Monday, I gave up. On Tuesday, God gave me the best day ever with my kids. On Tuesday night, I was admitted to the hospital. I re-engaged my will in this cosmic battle for my life. Life is dark, torment filled and fidgety. Pray for me, please. The battle rages on and I feel far, far away from God, with the claws of darkness so real and so close, digging in my back.

Back and forth

Illness is the night-side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place. ~Susan Sontag

My aunt was only sick a few weeks.

Her sons couldn't bear the sharpness of spaded dirt falling on her in the grave.

They dug with their hands instead,
leaning deep in the hole to drop gently on the beloved.

It's a different world, a different part of me whispered in the flat hushed land of the reservation. I think these men do intuitive better than most. Rules matter less here.

I remember them both...lovers in old age, uncle with the chaotic overgrown eyebrows and curly hair and twinkly eyes that I thought maybe my grandfather had also, though I never met him. Aunt with the quick laugh and the tiny, tight body and the curling linoleum kitchen.

At her funeral, my pacemaker went crazy and I fought for peace of mind on the long drive back to a hospital after the luncheon. Then let pill after pill of nitroglycerin burn the space under my tongue on the ambulance ride to a bigger hospital, as my heart flip-flopped in and out of a dangerous rhythm that had the paramedic silent and sweating.

Long ago, before children, I came to terms with this kind of thing.

But the terms have changed.

Four children and a husband later, the pacemaker is still not working right, and I bit my lip and stalled back tears of pain as my chest ached yesterday. The doctor tells me I have to come to the hospital every time that pain comes. But I can't live at the hospital. So I hide pain and try hard, and fail often. Last night, to the hospital I went at 1 a.m. with my mother and aunt as "someone nice for company". Slept peaceful with the pain gone once they gave me the nitroglycerin they refuse to send home with me (wouldn't it be easier without the I.V. and the million questions and the night on the uncomfortable cot?). Tomorrow I go back to the cardiologist with Aaron's presence to try again to sort out this mess.

I need protection. (my heart flutters dangerous sometimes)

I need strength. (I have never been so tired)

I need peace. (so I can give peace to these precious children)

Pray for me?