The One Year Anniversary

Today is the one year anniversary of when my back gave out, which led to events that changed who I am. From the outside I may not seem much different, but from the inside I hardly recognize the stranger from August 4th, 2008.

I know this seems like a silly anniversary to take note, but I will never forget this date. It changed my life just as much as each of my children's birthdays.

I remember days in October and November when I yearned for those first days of August, when I was oblivious of what was to come. I was jealous of my ability back then to carry my baby around, hold her when she was crying, and play with the girls.

I wish I could say that I'm glad I experienced the trials within the last year, and that I "would do it over again." But there is still too much scar tissue, both emotional and physical. I am definitely a stronger person in some ways, but there is also a bitterness that I desperately want to shed. I'm afraid that I am waiting for the chronic pain and back problems to disappear before I can say, "It was worth it." I am still having a difficult time following Elder Wirthlin's advice to "Come what may and love it."

That is probably the biggest lesson I have learned, and continue to work on: "Finding Joy in the Journey," as President Monson put it. During my worst moments, it was the emotional pain that wore me down. I hate to admit it, but these comments drove me crazy:

"You'll be so much stronger in the end"
"We have this life for trials"
"This too shall pass"
"Don't worry, this will all be over soon and you can get back to life."

Why? I know these comments were meant to comfort me. But as my bedrest and inability to mother dragged on, I couldn't just sit around waiting to be happy when it was all over. I'm so grateful for those two General Conference talks that I have mentioned. They brought hope into my life, and I still cling to those teachings.



I didn't mean for this post to be so negative. That has been a very unfortunate effect of my trials that I am trying to work through. My bad temper and pessimism I already had is aggrevated by constant and ever growing chronic pain. I think I could write a book on the exhausting emotional effects of chronic pain. But the chapter, "How to overcome" would be missing. :)

While I am still dealing with emotional scars, I would be an ingrate to not appreciate valuable lessons learned:

1. I try hard to appreciate the physical ability to mother my children- from changing their diapers, to putting them to bed, giving them meals, and being able to sing and dance with them. Every single day I give thanks that my body allows me to do that.

2. I am grateful for overall self-reliance, from being able to take myself to the bathroom and make my own meals, to exploring an entire town alone with my girls.

3. I am still brought to tears by the family and friends that have helped me, and continue to do so. I think am more sensitive to how others help me. Sometimes I want to give a big bear hug to the strangers that open a door so I can push through my double stroller.

4. I would hope that I am more keen to the needs of others, but I think I still have a ways to go. It is still difficult to see over the wall of my own pain and into the lives of others. That is embarrassing but true to admit.

5. I only sit when it is the only socially acceptable thing to do. I will probably never again be a leisure sitter, which is fine by me.

6. My phone is practically another appendage to my body. I live in constant fear that I will relive my experience from a year ago today, and be unable to move to call 911 or take care of my kids. My phone is my safety net, just in case.

7. For the sake of priorities, I have completely redefined my definition of necessity. I am very careful about what work, and how much I force my body to do. I have rethought necessities like, "Why make a new, unusual and time-consuming recipe when the whole family will be so much happier with spaghetti?" or "Do the girls really need an excursion every single day, when there's so much we can do/learn here at home?" I guess you could say that I'm learning to simplify.

8. Here is a valuable lesson I have appreciated just recently.

Having stayed at the hospital a few times, I have a fresh memory of life as a patient. Now that Janson is a resident and is asked to work long hours at the hospital, I am not as upset by this as I expected. I remember what it was like to sit on my hospital bed waiting all day for the doctor to come in with a new diagnosis, or those words like "You can finally get up and go to the bathroom yourself," or even better, "You can go home!" When I was impatient and ready for change, the nurses would say, "I'm sure the doctor will come in soon." And that "soon" always ticked by too slowly.

And when Janson jokes about patients that just don't seem to care and walk around with their little bum hanging out of their backless gown, I remember how easy it is to lose your dignity in a hospital. And I just can't laugh. Not yet.

So when Janson tells me about his old lady patient that sees his elbow near her door and says, "Oh Dr. Holm, oh Dr. Holm, please come here!" I fully understand. When I was in the hospital, I had my family on "doctor watch-out" for anytime they saw my doctor in the hallways.

And when Janson is three hours late, I remember when I begged my doctor to stay "just one extra hour in case symptoms changed." And he did stay, and the symptoms did change, and he released me from the hospital instead of making me stay through the weekend. His sacrifice of an hour got me out of the hospital three whole days early. (Which, in hospital time, is three whole decades.) I am grateful for the extra hour that doctor gave me, so I cannot complain when Janson works an extra hour with his own patients.

My favorite doctors were those that would sit down, learn my name, and not just tell me what was going on, but answer my questions. I know this took up valuable time, but when Janson is late coming home, I am hoping that he is being like my favorite doctors.

I am now learning how to share my husband. I can empathize with those I share him with, which makes the sharing a little easier. And when he tells me about treating an ingrown toenail so the man can once again go back to work and support his family, I am happy to share. I loved the health care professionals that understood when I said, "I just want to get home to my girls!" I know that sometimes Janson probably thinks that same line, "I just want to get home to my girls!" but I am glad he sticks it out, for us and for those I share him with.