Why Get Up?

I'm taking a little diversion from what I normally write. That's what's so great about having my own blog--I get to write what I want:)

I'm going to share a piece of my life with you today. Very personal. I'm not sure what you'll get out of it. But, my intent is that you find hope in whatever ails you. That when you're knocked down, flat on your face, you can find the willpower to stand up.

********

I have two children, ages 13 and 9. Pregnancies for both were extremely difficult. However, the 2nd almost killed me. 

Discovering I was pregnant at week 4, I was elated, yet nervous that this time would be as bad as the last. I had done everything I knew to prepare. Met with countless doctors, herbal practitioners, chiropractors, anyone I felt could help me avoid the pain of the first pregnancy. Years before, I had cut out added sugars, trans fats, and other harmful preservatives and tried to eat as fresh and organic as my budget would allow. I exercised regularly, took my vitamins, and crossed all my t's. I braced for that dreaded 6-week mark.

I remember the day I hit 6 weeks quite clearly. I was in the middle of doing a yoga video when all of a sudden the room started spinning. I literally dropped to the couch right then with an intense wave of nausea. Seconds later, I stumbled into the bathroom vomiting, crying, vomiting, and crying. "Not again. Please God. Not again." 

A day later, after nonstop vomiting and severe dehydration, I was admitted to the hospital for one of many visits. Did the whole IV thing, took a bunch of meds and tests. Then sent home with no answers. Hyperemesis perhaps. But, mine was different. So much more extreme, violent, and even deadly. They had never seen such a case like this before. My own OBGYN told me in all his 30 years of practice, he had never seen a patient so sick.... Not encouraging at all.

After 3 days in the hospital, I went home and immediately started throwing up. Just as I walked into the house, my 3 year old daughter ran up to me for a hug and I lost it. Her touch, her smell, the light from the window, the sounds of people talking in the room overtook me. 

The next day I went back to the hospital and went through a series of more tests. They sent me to the high-risk pregnancy floor where still...no answers. They couldn't figure out why my body was in such turmoil. One doctor prescribed me a steriod (temporarily) he hoped would slow down the vomiting. If that didn't work, a tube would be put in my stomach.

After that visit, I was sent home where a nurse inserted a pic line into my left arm. (And that's a whole other story. Almost bled to death in my bed because she couldn't get it in the right vein. Found out later she was the trainee, after the head nurse showed up and rescued me.) That way I could hook myself up to 4 IV bags during the day and inject various drugs and vitamins into my body through the tube. I was on IV therapy for at least 4 straight months.

Soon after the first hospital stint, I moved in with my parents so they could help care for my daughter. I lived in a dark windowless room in their basement, where the door was always closed, keeping out any source of stimulation that usually ignited the attacks: light, sound, smell, movement. I stayed in there day in and day out for weeks at a time, rarely coming out, laying on my back, looking up to pitch black nothingness and fantasizing of either white sand beaches and crystal blue water or a gunman coming to my room and shooting me dead. I know. Extreme. I'd vacillate between hope and despair some days.

It was hell. I was imprisoned in my own body and couldn't escape. One day my daughter came bursting into my bedroom bringing a ray of sunlight, giggles, and chatter with her. In an instant, my mother dashed into the room, grabbing my precious Tatiana and pulled her out screaming and crying, "mommy, hold me. Please!! I want my mommy!" It broke my heart. I couldn't hold my child, let alone be near her. I wanted to die.

This carried on for the whole 9 months. I broke down in hysterics many times feeling so trapped and helpless. I could not remember the last time I had felt well. There were moments I believed I would be stuck in that prison forever, in my body in that dark room in the basement. 

But, somehow I made it through! How? In between fantasizing about beaches and being shot to death, I was praying. Constantly. And yes, I believe God sustained me, emotionally and spiritually. Even though I was literally knocked off my feet and couldn't physically get back up, I had a strong will to keep going. Many times I would tell myself, "This pain is brief. And there is a miracle at the end of it. You are strong. You are brave. You can do this!" I fought hard to stay positive for me, my husband, and my daughter. I would tell them, "I'm Ok. It's just temporary. Just love Tatiana for me. Tell her I'm going to hold her again very soon."

A week before the due date, my son Asher was born. As soon as he came out, I felt an instant rush of relief. No more pain. (I remembered that I liked cheeseburgers and french fries!) While at  the hospital I had both my "babies" in bed with me, holding and kissing them. What a gift. I had made it through! And I had two very precious pearls after all that suffering. I felt and still feel so incredibly blessed to be their mother.

After that pregnancy, I knew I could handle anything. Though my body was in ruins (60 lb weight gain and no muscle, strength, or energy), my husband had lost his job, we were losing our house, and were dirt poor, I was ok. I had my family and my beautiful healthy babies. I was happy.

********

Since that time years ago, I've been knocked off my feet many times. Some have been atomic-bomb worthy, almost killing me. I didn't want to get back up. I thought, just finish me off. The pain is too much to bear and I'm going to just lay here until I die. Yet, I found the will to get back up. I don't ask God anymore, why me? Why again? I take my trials, my scars, as badges of honor as I look back and see what I've survived. I did that! I made it through. I'm better, wiser, stronger, happier today because I chose to get up out of that sh** and fight.

We all have battles, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual. And if you think you're the only one who has problems, you're dead wrong. So accepting the fact that life is hard sometimes, what do we do? Do we run and hide? Do we stuff it and pretend it's not there? Or do we face it, head on?

I'm reading the book, "The Road Less Traveled," by M. Scott Peck, M.D. Extremely profound and eye opening. Has helped me deal with a lot of emotions and difficulties in my present. This is one of many excerpts that ring true for me:

"Problems are the cutting edge that distinguishes between success and failure. Problems call forth our courage and our wisdom; indeed, they create our courage and our wisdom. It is only because of problems that we grow mentally and spiritually. When we desire to encourage the growth of the human spirit, we challenge and encourage the human capacity to solve problems....It is through the pain of confronting and resolving problems that we learn. As Benjamin Franklin said, 'Those things that hurt, instruct.'"

I've been lucky to know many courageous men and women in my life who have walked through the center of their pain and emerged valiantly on the other side. They didn't take short cuts. They didn't run and hide. They fought, believing that their fight was worthy because they had hope for better things to come. For a life enhanced, clearer, more peaceful and authentic. I've watched many of these good people get knocked down repeatedly only to get back up and face their dragons with defiance. You are not going to get the best of me! I am of value. I am of worth. I will fight.

Fight for what? For truth. For peace. Clarity. Goodness. Love. Integrity.Virtue. I don't think we ever truly arrive, yet the journey can be just as fulfilling, eye opening, and beautiful.