Protection

Last Wednesday, I was at counseling with my favorite shrink.

She looked at me and told me to go to the doctor.

My face was not right, she said.

I told her it had been hurting, but that I was fine.

She reiterated that I was certainly not fine and that I needed to go see medical professionals.

Whatever.

I went.

To say that one of my character weakness is being stubborn would be like saying there is water in the freaking ocean.

Or that trees have roots.

Or that there is oxygen in air.

It's a fact, People.

And not looking like it's going to dissipate any time soon, so buckle up buttercup.

I went to InstaCare from the appointment.

They put my in a wheelchair right away and wheeled me down to the ER.

I hadn't realized that I had PTSD from the stroke until they made me sit in a wheelchair and wheeled me down the hall.

My brain and my body went into hyper-anxiety mode and I about lost my mind... internally.

Picture the Tazmanian Devil, only inside my head and body.

I wanted out of the wheelchair NOW.

IV on the first try.

Good work, ER Tech.

I may have kissed his hand.

MRI.

With ear plugs, foam padding, on top of foam padding, then the head lid.

Braxton by my side with his own PTSD the whole time.

Meds on board.

Appointment with my neuro team set.

Home we went.

Then comes the worst 3 am I have ever lived, I assure you.

To say that I was vomiting violently would be like saying that there is water in the ocean; oxygen in the air; and those Redwoods have roots.

Violently.

And it didn't stop.

For 48 hours it didn't stop.

I was drinking all I could, and it would just come back up in a shooting action.

I picture bows and arrows going in the same trajectory as my puke.

You're welcome.

The boys came home, found me collapsed over the toilet and Braxton loaded me in the car. 

Back to the ER we went.

Damnit.

This time - the IV didn't go in so smoothly.

Collapsed veins.

Infiltration.

Tears.

More vomiting ALL OVER.

Archery just might be my sport, People.

Then, my almost 18 year old warrior says, "If you cannot assure me that you will get this IV in on the first try then go get life flight or an anesthesiologist. This is not our first rodeo and I won't sit here and watch my mom be a pin cushion."

My sweet boys have learned to be my advocate when I cannot be.

They opened an IV bag of fluid wide open and dumped that stuff into my body full force.

Puke meds in.

Pain meds in for my darn face.

And me begging to go home.

So they let us.

To say that I was depleted would be the world's greatest understatement.

My body has been weak beyond words.

My mind fuzzy.

My mouth hurting.

My spirits a bit withered.

No solid food until yesterday when I ventured into grapes and mashed potatoes.

But, I feel something...

I feel that perhaps I have these trials to protect me.

What on God's Green Earth?!

Yes, I feel that perhaps I experience these moments of complete helplessness as a way for God to protect me from my temptations and my addiction and to remind me that without Him, I am nothing.

Perhaps He is reminding me that I am dependent on Him, or at least I ought to be.

Perhaps He is reminding me that I have everything I need right where I am - my four warriors (and, People, if only you knew what my boys do for me - especially when I am in moments like this - you would be awe-struck), my T, my brother, my ward, my Y sisters (and, they are like sisters - my Liss especially), my social media warriors. My goodness!

Heavenly Father is perhaps allowing me to have trials that almost seem like too much because they ARE too much for me alone, but they are doable with those who love me and surround me and uplift me and carry me - sometimes literally.

Perhaps it's protection.

Perhaps.