On my heart... Part 1

I wrote this post on April 3, 2009 sitting at a table looking out the top floor of a carriage house of the Corinthian Bed and Breakfast in Dallas, TX. I was scheduled for some surgical procedures on my heart a few hours later at Baylor Heart and Vascular Hospital in Dallas. The view from my room was beautiful. My family was still asleep but I arose very early that morning and began this post. I had a lot on my heart and on my mind and I wanted to share with you and get it off my chest. The following is only a part, the rest will follow (no promise on when) in subsequent posts. The internet failed that morning and I never had the chance to finish... it has taken me four months to begin blogging again.


Jesus meets us where we are. He stands in the gap for us. He is my All in All. He bears our burdens. He is a father to the fatherless and a mate to the mateless. He is so much more than we could ever ask for. He loves the unloved. He cares for the uncared for. He finds beauty in ashes. In Him, the incomplete are complete. Sinless, he died for the sinner. No matter how bitter and broken we are, He calls us His and loves us unconditionally. He loves us, He has called us by name, we are a child of His. He calms our fears. No matter what we are going through, He is right there with us ... carrying us all along the way. He bore the burdens of the world. He is a constant in a inconsistant and constantly changing world. He is the same yesterday, today and always. He is the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End. He is so much to so many.



I love my Jesus and He loves me.



I strive to be a godly woman, a godly wife and a godly mother and a godly friend. I fail miserably over and over, but He loves me just the same. I want to be like Him. I try to pick up and carry my cross daily. Some days I forget, some days are a struggle, but He gives me strength.



Because of Him I live and I can face tomorrow. Because of Him, I know my sins are forgiven. Because of Him, I know I am loved. Because of Him, I am living and walking and breathing.



Almost six years ago, my family was at my grandmother's house. I named my grandmother Mimi when I was a little child. Somehow, Grandmommie came out Mimi and she was my beloved Mimi ever since. I lost Mimi a little over three short yet long years ago. But I digress. The family was helping Mimi move. Mimi had been a widow for several years and lived alone at the lake. She was facing kidney dialysis at some uncertain time, only God knew when. So many weekends were filled with packing up a lifetime of accumalated belongings and an attic-full to boot. My precious aunt and her family were there many more times than we were but we all pitched in as a family and did our part.



We boxed and threw away and gave away and yet there was always a bounty to take home. One of these weekends, My husband and I were upstairs wrapping a plastic film around something (my memory fails me to what the object was) in order to protect it during the move to my Aunt and Uncle's home. I felt weird, then was flush, sick to my stomach, then it happened -- I fainted.

And there begins my story. Somewhat of a secret, somewhat known, but always mysterious.



I just didn't feel right after the fainting spell. As soon as Mimi heard about it, she made me rest and lie down on the sofa. I felt bad because there was all this hustle and bustle going on around me and all I could do was keep my back on the sofa cushions. I tried to get up too soon but back down I went. More resting. Still felt weird. And this continued. More and more symptoms were added as the days went by.



That particular trip, we were given the organ. The organ that was my great-grandmothers. The organ of many fun musical performances of mine during my childhood. I loved playing that huge thing made of dark wood and a plethora of weird knobs that I could pull out and push in for different sounds. We brought it home with us that trip. As we were moving it in the door, down I went. Another fainting spell. Heart racing. Still feeling weird.



Days passed. More kept happening to me. I would stumble as I walked. It was as if one foot wouldn't always work. I went to a chiropractor that does more than just adjustments. He had helped with other family ailments, so I thought I would give him a try. His diagnosis was I was allergic to canteloupes and had hypoglycemia. Uhmm, okay. It didn't seem right but we gave it a try. I had never had a reaction to canteloupe before. Yes, I had some that weekend but only a few bites. I ate a few small pieces to be polite. I had taken several canteloupes to Mimi. We served them at one of the meals. I never really cared for the taste of canteloupes so I usually stayed away from them. This is how the allergy to canteloupes was diagnosed.



Days turned into weeks. More fainting spells. I was standing against a wall at a funeral of a dear friend that had suddenly passed away. I had not shared with anyone what was happening to me. I was standing against that wall because I was dizzy. Then more weirdness happened. I felt a weird electricity going through my heart and through my body. A friend came over to check on me and said I didn't look well. I told her what I was experiencing. She brought me something to drink and made me sit down. She asked some questions and was very concerned. She had experienced a brain tumor years ago. We talked a bit and I filled her in on the details of what had been happening in my life. She went and found my husband and made him take me home because she knew I wasn't well.



We didn't tell anyone else still. We didn't know what was going on and decided to wait until we had a name to put with the symptoms. There wasn't much to say, other than I feel weird, I can faint at a drop of a hat, I have weird electricity go through me at times and I am gaining anywhere from a pound to five pounds a week. Time passed, I felt worse, my dear husband and children became more concerned. I felt weaker and was pretty tired all the time but I kept pressing on.



I had some kind of appointment with my regular doctor (meaning ob/gyn) because I hardly ever went to the doctor other than for those reason. I detested going to the doctor -- other than when I was pregnanat, I gladly went then.



I shared with him my new tricks that my body suddenly seemed so keen on displaying. If I wasn't fainting I was tripping over air. He referred me to an internal medicine doc. He wasn't the most understanding doc. He thought it was no big deal that making a lasagna and french bread made me so tired I had to take a nap. He didn't understand that I always made lasagna three at a time and homemade french bread to go with it along with a huge salad and homemade dressing. Many times, one lasagna was going to a family with a need or in a crisis at the time (surgery, family member in hospital, death in family -- you get the picture) along with the brread, salad and dessert. I made the same for my family and would put one lasagna in the freezer. Countless times I did this. All of a sudden, this was too much for me - making one lasagna was way too much. I knew something was going on but he dismissed it "because making lasagna from scratch is hard work. You should just go to Sam's a buy the lasagna there, it's much easier and it's good too." His words, not mine. He ordered a few tests and hooked me up with a neurologist and cardiologist. "Should be something simple, but you're worrying for nothing."



He wasn't my docotr for long. He started picking on my cholesterol levels. They were below the "too high" mark but he felt cholesterol medicine would cure all my woes. Really now!! Fired him, on to next doc. My birthday that year was marked by several hours at the neurologist office, a good 30 minutes with him covering the bases, but a lot of time waiting. I had 2 MRI's the next week and a bazillion blood test. Too bad I couldn't donate all the blood I've given for blood test over the years. 5-7 vials at a time really adds up. EEgs, EKGs and a myriad of alphabet soup tests awaited me. Thousands of dollars at a time racked up. Still no answers. I was losing money and gaining weight.



The neurologist really thought I was having seizures. He ran this one test where they put this gum and butter mixture all throughout my head, only on a clump of strands of hair and hook up electrodes to them. My dear husband and my sister went with me. They got to sit on a comfy couch and watch me try to sleep on demand, blow a pinwheel and endure these funky disco lights. Really, how can one sleep on demand, especially with your little sister snickering and laughing and whispering. It was odd and no I never went to sleep.



On to the neurocardiologist. Endured a tilt table test that almost killed me. No, I am not being facecious. I thought my heart was going to explode and after twenty minutes of joking around with the nurses, I was suddenly begging them to stop the test as I didn't know if I could endure any more pain. I was watching my heart rate and blood pressure plummet. Pain. Pressure. Blackness. Total blackness. A white light. I was dressed in a white robe. Jesus was standing behind me, also dressed in a white robe, with his hand on my shoulder and we were reading something I was holding in my hand. Then, pain, excrutiating PAIN. Weakness, hurting, grogginess. When I awoke (read revived) carts, trays, apparatus were scattered about the once orderly room. I was wheeled back to a room where my unsuspecting dear husband had been directed to. I was so weak I could hardly speak. My poor husband had no clue what had just happened. This was supposed to be a no-big-deal test and the doc didn't even want my huband there. Huh?! Yep, he said there was "no need." Whatever! He drove me. We are so glad he did.



The doctor walked into the room, evidently I was strong enough to give him a really dirty look. His reaction was,"What, you look at me like I am the devil." My response:"Well, you're pretty close right now." He went on to inform us that "He almost lost me ... and had trouble getting me back." Okay, and I was supposed to show up to this test by myself. Daignosis:Neurocardiogenic syncope. Okay, first diagnosis. I continued with this doc a few more months. Visits every two weeks, all he did was prescribe me medicine and check my blood pressure. I showed him my toes, there were purple. No big deal, that's normal. Huh?! I was barely able to walk during this time. It was a great day if I could make it from the bed to the recliner. No, the blue/purple toes had nothing to do with it. Weakness and dizzness were the norm for me. My new skin color was gray. I wasn't eating but I sure was packing on the pounds.



It was a rare occasion when I could muster up enough strength to go to church. People prayed for me, but for some reason I wasn't healed because they prayed. Somehow, my body was not made aware of some time table that exists from the time they prayed to my supposed-healing time. I lost friends during this time. No one came to see me. Vanished, like Dorothy's house in the Wizard of Oz, I guess they were carried off to some far off place -- because they certainly weren't around anymore.



My dear husband and children rallied around me. We drew our strength from the Lord, Jesus Christ. My husband made deals with God. He begged God to heal me, to take my infirmaties away. My children felt responsible, so did my dear husband. Every Sunday they went to church. Usually, one child was left to watch over me. Countless Sundays occured where Dear husband left for church and I was left lying in bed with heart palpitations and chest pains. This was a hard time for my dear husband. He felt like if he was a "good christian" by going to church, somehow this would be payment enough for God to heal me and make me better or lead me to a medical doctor that would heal me and make me better. Instead, I was left in pain wondering how I would call 9*1*1 if the pain got any worse. As my dear husband has matured in his Christian walk, he has realized that God doesn't make deals and it certainly doesn't make your wife better.