No Eyebrows

So this morning my little girl, that precious beautiful girl of mine, decided she didn't like how "dark" her eyebrows were. So she cut them off.

I, of course, was horrified.

I am just very grateful she has blond eyebrows and not brown or black.

I'm also hoping they grow back before school pictures.



Before (This picture was taken a week ago)
Look at those beautiful eyebrows.




After (Taken tonight)



Do me a favor and try not to laugh too hard.

HELLO MY BABY

"Hi there my little girl."


"Hi mom. Mom? Why are you taking these pictures?"
"I don't know baby, I just wanted to."


"Hi mom. You are weird."
"Yeah babe, I know. But you are so very cute."

MY STORY (Part 6) HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

(Fall 2004)

So today is the day. 5 years ago today I was in surgery. “I’ve made it” as some at work have said. But really, my journey at this new life has just begun.

And now, the rest of the story

By three months post surgery I was finished with my physical therapy. They told me I was as good as I was going to get. I was no longer walking with my cane and had gained about 70% of the muscle activity back into my left leg. It would always be the weak leg and it would always have loss of sensation. My right leg was doing much better; I had 90% muscle use back and I could feel the whole leg except for my toes and an occasional spot or two. I hated physical therapy with a passion, so I wasn’t too sad to see it end. However the “this is as good as you are going to get” comment scared me, because, well….crap….I walked like a slow moving duck and hurt like hell. So REALLY, “this is as good as you are going to get” really sucked.

However, I was alive and I kept reminding myself of that. I had at least gotten that wish.

Two MRI’s were taken that year. They showed my spinal cord had gone from a slim crescent moon shape to almost a half moon shape. There was fluid left at the surgical site and the surgeon suspected that is what was causing the electrical jolts, but I had permanent nerve damage and permanent spinal cord damage. He told me that my cord would most likely never return to a fully round shape but that we would watch it and see.

I spent that first year getting use to my new life. Along with learning how to walk, I had to learn how to deal with the pain. My regular doctor was very helpful in this, however, I didn’t want to become dependent upon strong medications so I tried to take as few as I could. In all honesty, I probably inhibited my recovery by not taking the medications prescribed to me, but I needed to work and I couldn’t work and take care of a four year old when I was zoned out on pain killers. So I dealt with the pain.

My daily routine was hard. When I woke every morning I would have to give my body time to get going. I woke most mornings to numb legs and if I slept with my arms out or above my head they too were numb when I woke. I went to work and tried to put in a full day but by three o-clock every day I was useless. The muscles in my back were tense and pulling by then and my back hurt like a bugger. I also had headaches and leg pains. After work I would pretty much lye on the couch in intense pain until it was my daughters’ bedtime; then I would take the strong pain meds and muscle relaxants. Mornings were the best time of the day but my evenings were awful.

My little four year old girl was a godsend that first year. She became my little helper. She learned to become so very independent and helpful and rarely complained. And her little prayers at dinner and bed gave me hope.

“and bless mommy’s back that it will feel better.”
“bless mommy’s back that it will feel better so she can play with me.”
There were lots of “bless mommy” prayers,

there still are

(fall 2004)

It was a tough year, and I still couldn’t walk well. I looked at my future that first year with a lot of anxiety. I was grateful for being alive, but I wondered how long before my body gave up and gave out. I missed a lot of work that first year. I never knew how my back and legs would feel when I woke up and there were many mornings I woke up to find myself in excruciating amounts of pain and with legs that wouldn’t hold me. I was determined that within 5 years I would have to leave my job and be on disability. It made me sad and fearful.

At the end of year one I had another MRI which showed my spinal cord was still misshapen. It also showed that my muscles had not attached in the manner they were supposed to. The surgeon told me they had attached themselves to the surgical patch instead of to each other and so every time I moved my back muscles I was irritating my spinal cord. This was what was causing the intense back pains and my muscle spasms. It couldn’t be fixed without further surgery and the risks for that were too high. I would have to live with it until I needed another surgery. He told me that my spinal cord was as good as it was going to get and that very rarely do they change shape after a year. He also told me that getting pregnant again with my spinal cord that way would not be a good idea.

I was crushed.

But I was also grateful. While I have always wanted more than one child, I was so very grateful I already had become a mom and it was a blessing she was here. While my pregnancy was a difficult one, I had gotten pregnant while the tumor was small. Had I gotten pregnant a few years later when the tumor was bigger it could have had a horrible outcome.

(Christmas 2004)

Between year one and year two things started to look better. I was missing less and less work. I learned how to run, even though it was really only just small sprints and I walked with much more confidence than before. I had learned to get used to the tingling sensations and was starting to be able to ignore the constant nerve and muscle pains. I tried many medications trying to find one that would help with the nerve issues but after a while I gave up and decided I needed to get used to it.

At the end of year 2 I had another MRI that shocked the surgeon and even shocked me. My spinal cord had changed from a half moon shape to a misshapen round form. It was still damaged but the shape meant that it would be stronger and that it was working better. It was great news.

Four months later I pushed myself even further by embarking on a new journey. I purchased a home, with a yard. It was a very happy time for me. I had come so far and been able to accomplish so very much.

I didn’t know if my body was strong enough to be able to do the mundane things that home ownership brings…like mowing the lawn and shoveling snow. But my daughter needed room to play and a place to put a swing. Plus she needed friends.

And remember, it is always for her! Plus I had made that deal with the Lord that I would be the best mom I could be. Part of that is providing a good environment and home for your child.

(Spring 2006)

So in December 2006 we sold our condo, packed our stuff and embarked on a new and scary life.

Life as a homeowner, not a condo owner.

When I decided to buy a home I had a list, most people do. However, my list was based not on what type of countertops I wanted or how big of a master tub I felt I needed. (I still dream about a large bubble tub….awww). Nope, my list was based on what I felt I could handle. This is what was on my list:

Little, or better yet, no stairs. (Stairs are still very hard for me.)
Small yard (I didn’t even know if my body could handle mowing)
If the home was two stories, the washer needed to be upstairs,
A garage, so I wouldn’t have to scrape my car.

There were a few other things on my list, but those were the most important. The home I bought was so far from my list that it is almost funny. Our new home was on just over a fourth of an acre, had four stories with the laundry at the bottom level and the bedrooms on the top. But it did have a garage.

What was I thinking?

(Dec 2006)

I don’t know what I was thinking. I fell in love with the home maybe that was it. But whatever it was, I bought a home that I didn’t think I could care for. And within the first month of moving in, I had fallen down the stairs 5 times.

Since that day, back in December 2006, my life has changed for the better. I found that I can mow the lawn, and while it hurt to do it at first, slowly my body got used to it and my muscles became stronger. I found that I can also shovel the driveway, although that task has not been easy and gets harder every year.

But working on my home, my yard, my gardens, has brought my life so much joy and through it all it has kept my body active and healthy. Plus I have gained some of my confidence back. Confidence that I “can do it” or at least I can try to do it. I needed that back, I needed to feel good about myself and my abilities again.

So today as I celebrate my five year anniversary, I feel almost whole.

Yes I struggle daily with things that others take for granted. My balance sucks, I still have very little sensation in my left leg and both legs still have constant tingling sensations. I also still have constant back pain and nerve pain. But I feel like I have my life back. I feel like myself again. It is a new me, but it is me.

While I’m not able to do many things I enjoyed before this journey began I have learned to accept what I can do and ask for help with what I can’t do. And those fun things I can no longer participate in, I try not to miss them. I have adjusted to my new body and my new life.

I have been able to enjoy my life the way it is. I can walk normal now, I can run again, I can exercise and participate in some activities.

But most of all I have succeeded at what I wanted most in life. I can be a mom. And a pretty darn good mom at that.

Plus there has been no new regrowth of the tumor and no new tumors found.

It has been a long five years. Filled with anger and tears but I have made it.

I no longer feel that my life is hopeless. Yes there may come a day when my situation will change for the worse and yes I still have bad days and even bad months and sometimes even multiple bad months in a row. But I look to the future mostly with hope.

And with gratitude.

I am so very grateful that I was born in a time when medical science could fix my problem. I am so grateful I was blessed with doctors who were given the gifts and talents that led them to medicine. And I’m grateful to my family and friends for being there for me through this journey.

Here’s to the next five years

Thank you for allowing me to share my story with you.

(Fall 2008)

CREAMY CHICKEN AND BROCCOLI CASSEROLE

Today's meal is brought to you by the letter "B"

B is for broccoli.

B is for broccoli that most kids hate and most adults love.

B is for bright green, my daughters favorite color (this month anyway)

B is for bright green broccoli that my daughter just picked out of her lunch.

B, B, B,

I love this meal, yes it takes a while to prepare (about 20 min) and another 25 to bake, but I just love, love, love the flavor.

We won't talk about the calories. Lets not talk about those little things.

Creamy Chicken and Broccoli Casserole
Serves 6

4-5 Chicken Breasts (cut up into bite sized pieces)
16 oz Frozen Broccoli
12 oz Can Evaporative Milk
8 oz Cream Cheese
1/8 Cup Chopped Onions
1/2 tsp Salt
1/2 tsp Garlic Powder
Pepper (as much or as little as you like)
1 Cup Grated Cheddar Cheese
1 tube Ritz Crackers

You will need 4 dishes for cooking this meal. 2 sauce pans (one for broccoli, one for the milk mixture) 1 skillet for the chicken and an 8x11 glass casserole dish

Empty crackers into a ziplock back and smash them. Set aside
Chop onion and set aside
In a medium sauce pan, over medium/low heat, heat evaporated milk and cream cheese until smooth
Add garlic powder to milk mixture.
While milk is heating, place raw chicken pieces in a skillet, add onion, pepper and salt to the chicken and cook until done.
While chicken is cooking, boil broccoli and then drain the water.
In an 8x11 glass casserole dish, layer chicken then broccoli. Pour milk mixture over the top. You may have to stir it to get milk on everything.
Top with cheese and crackers.
Bake at 350 for 25-30 min

MY STORY (Part 5) SURGERY

“Does anyone ever get all the way to number 1?” I said.
He laughed and said, “No dear, they rarely get to 99.”

I laughed and looked up into his eyes. Then I asked my second question.
“Will someone hold my hand?”

Those were my two questions. Really stupid questions if you think about it. Most people might ask. ‘Am I going to hurt?” or “What happens if I feel the whole thing and can’t tell you?” Or geez even “Do you think I will wake up?”

Nope, I asked if anyone had ever counted from 99 all the way to 1. See, I’m even a smart aleck when facing death. But while the first question didn’t matter in the scheme of life, the second one did.

A nurse held my hand while the anesthesiologist inserted his needle into my IV, putting me to sleep. He said I could start counting….and I never got the chance. I never made it to 99. He was right.

I woke up in a weird room 11 hours later. My surgery was supposed to be a seven-hour deal…not eleven. However the surgeon had taken his time and by taking his time he was confident that he was able to get the entire tumor out. At some point he came in and explained that he had gotten the tumor out, but that he had also had to remove some bones in my back and a nerve along one of my ribs…the nerve where the tumor had started.

I had hoped for a few things upon waking up. I wanted to be able to feel my legs, both of them…right down to my toes and I wanted to be able to walk normally again and I wanted to be able to run and lift my daughter.

I didn’t get any of those wishes, but I was VERY grateful that I did wake up.


(Sharing these pictures is really hard for me...just know that. Not because of the fat rolls...hahaha But because it hurts me to look at them. Anyway, the cool thing about the pictures are the markings on my back....Notice how they marked each of my vertebrae in purple marker.)

(Sorry for the pictures, but some of you asked for them. Here they are. I have some of the inside of my too. However, since I don't want to gross any of you out, I'm not posting them. If you want to see them, you will have to ask for them and I'll send you an e-mail.)

I spent nine days in the hospital with my mom by my side the whole time. Nine horrific days. I was told that on day three I needed to sit up and try to stand. This may seem like an easy task, but now I know better. My spinal cord had spent the last several years…smashed. My body was used to that and the nerves in my spinal cord had adjusted to being crushed. Now there wasn’t any pressure on them and they were going haywire. My feet were burning, my legs were tingling, my back was KILLING me and I was cold, so very very cold.

On day three a horrible man showed up. He was the physical therapist…and the only person who took care of me during my hospital stay…that I actually hated.

It took me several tries but I managed to sit on the side of the bed. The pain was so intense and I immediately got light headed. I sat there for a little while, trying to adjust to being upright and then I stood up (with lots of assistance). I was only up for moment before I had to sit back down, that was al I could handle.

That night he wanted me to walk. I kept trying to tell him that the doctor told me to take it easy, to do this slowing…at my own rate. This man had no idea what I had been through and what I was feeling…he also didn’t know the definition of “taking it easy”.

I still couldn’t feel my legs completely. Taking the tumor out didn’t bring all or even most of the sensations back to my legs. I could feel my right leg and except for the tingling in the toes my right legs seemed fine, however my whole left leg was filled with stabbing pains, and I could barely feel my foot. There were also those issues with my nerves freaking out and the intense pain I now had in my back.

However he pushed and kept pushing and through tears I tried to tell him how much pain I was in and that my leg had sharp stabbing pains and that I was feeling faint and nauseated. He didn’t care. Not one bit. He just kept pushing, acting like I was being a baby. Just take a step, just do it, he would say. I had my hands on the walker in front of me and I was standing up. I told the horrible man that I really didn’t feel well and that I was light headed, and he still pushed me to take that step. So what did I do?

I took that step

And I passed out. I was in so much pain and my spinal cord was going haywire, so I passed out. Even after that happened he still treated me as if I were faking it. Oh I hated that man.

The next morning a girl I knew from college named Leiloni (I’m not sure that is how she spelled her name), came into my room. She was a physical therapist and was there to help me walk. I had been saved! I knew this girl, I had gone to church with this girl years before while in college. I knew she had a big heart and I knew she would care. With her and another woman they taught me how to take those steps, at my bodies own pace. And they helped me to be proud of myself with every baby step I took.

There were a lot of things I hated about that hospital stay. I hated being in so much pain, I hated that I had no appetite, I hated that I was reliant on other people and I hated that I was away from my daughter. But the biggest thing I hated was the nightmares and day-mares. The morphine injections were causing me to have these horrific hallucinations during the day and my nightmares were so bad that I was afraid to go to sleep. There was one night that I stayed up talking to my mom almost all night…all because I was terrified to sleep. It was awful.

One of the other big things I hated about the hospital was that I was cold the whole time I was there. My room was an oven (my poor mom), but my body couldn’t or wouldn’t regulate my temperature, so I froze and kept asking my mom to turn the heat up.

My mom stayed with me the whole time I was in the hospital. She took better care of me than the nurses…in fact, the nurses probably loves having her there because they didn’t have to wait on me much. I loved having her there though. It gave me such comfort to know that I wasn’t left alone for long periods of time. I loved the company and I loved that my mom was willing to sacrifice so much to be there.

And she was sick the whole time I was in the hospital.

Learning how to walk again was one of the hardest things about my hospital stay and the months and years that followed. I had gone into surgery with no pain. Before my surgery I had experienced maybe 3 backaches in my entire life. I wasn’t used to being in pain because, well, I had never had to endure pain. Not to this extent anyway. And even with the strong pain pills I was given and the morphine injections, the pain was almost more than I could take. I had pain from the surgical site, muscle pain from all of the muscles being cut in my back, nerve pain on my side, nerve pain in my right toes and my whole left leg and I had a constant headache.

It was hell. I didn’t expect this going into surgery, no one had told me what to expect after. In a way I’m glad they didn’t because I wouldn’t have been so calm going into surgery if I had known what it would bring.

Or how long the pain would last…like forever!

I learned to walk, albeit with a walker. I could walk down the hall, past a fish tank and back to my room. When I could do that, and eat a cracker, they released me. They released me into my mothers care.

I spent nine days at my parents’ house with my mom by my side day and night. On day 18, post surgery I went home.




The next weeks and months were filled with frustrations, anguish and lots of tears. This wasn’t how I wanted my life to be. I felt like a cripple! I felt worse than when the tumor was there, and while I was glad it was gone, I was angry for what it had done to my body and what I was now faced with.

I pushed myself….hard! I had a little girl to take care of. I was quickly running out of leave time and we were almost completely out of money. I had a mortgage to pay and a job to do. So to prove myself I could do it. I went back to work.




The surgeon had told me I would be off work for 3-6 months. I went back to work part-time at 3 and a half WEEKS. I would go to work, get what I could finished, last as long as I could and then go home and crash for the evening. Looking back now I know with all my heart that if I hadn’t gone back to work so soon, if I hadn’t pushed myself so hard to get my life back to normal. I don’t’ think I ever would have.

I was also going to physical therapy at the time, I was back using my cane and trying so very hard to learn to walk without it. With the new limitations I had been dealt I was scared when I didn’t have that cane in my hand. My left foot was numb on the outside, so when I was walking I couldn’t feel when my foot hit the ground until I shifted my weight and the tissue and bones (which did have some feeling) told my brain I had reached the ground. So I tripped a lot, I misjudged surfaces all of the time and I fell….a LOT. It was humiliating and frustrating. When I did finally ditch the cane I walked really slow and stared at the ground constantly to make sure I didn’t misjudge. Because if I did misjudge and I stepped too hard, or I stumbled I would get these intense electrical shocks that traveled up my leg, up my back and to my brain.

And boy did they hurt.

Part 6 coming soon


(All of the pictures in this post were taken in the days and weeks after my surgery)

MY STORY (Part 4) DIAGNOSIS

“The good news is that you don’t have MS.” He said.
“Not MS?” I replied.
“No” he said and then he paused.

I think he must have been thinking ‘how do I tell her this, on the phone, and how is she going to react.’ It couldn't have been an easy conversation for him to make…especially on the phone.

There are just some things you don’t do on the phone. Break up with someone, tell your girlfriend/ boyfriend you love them…for the first time, and give someone bad news.

This falls into the bad news department. By the way, I have broken up with someone on the phone so I guess getting this news by phone was my comeuppance. Do unto others…and all of that.

“You have a tumor.” He said

(I’m going to take a small trip down memory lane right now. You can call it a commercial break, because whenever I think of this conversation, my mind replays a scene from Kindergarten Cop, with Arnold Schwarzenegger, where he says to the little kid… “It’s not a tumor.”)

For me, it was a tumor. Now back to our regularly scheduled program.

The Neurologist said. “You have a very large tumor on your spinal cord. The tumor has compressed your spinal cord to a dangerous level. That is what is causing your leg problems. It needs to come out NOW. I have sent your MRI over to a neurosurgeon by the name of Dr. Bryson Smith; he is the best surgeon to perform this surgery. He may call you today, or this weekend, but be prepared to have surgery on Monday.”

I don’t remember what I said in response to his statement, his diagnosis. I also don’t remember calling my family to tell them, but I know I did call them, and I’m sure hearing the news over the phone wasn’t easy to them either.

What I do remember was feeling numb, but at peace. I had a diagnosis and they were gong to “fix it”. Or at least they were going to try. After I hung up the phone I grabbed my daughter really tight and cried. Part of the tears were happy, happy that I finally had a diagnosis…the other half were sad.

That weekend was a family campout. The doctor had told me I needed to wait to hear from the neurosurgeon so I stayed home waiting while my family took my daughter and went camping.

I spent the weekend thinking and praying…lots of praying.

But no one called.

On Monday morning Dr Bryson Smith’s office called and wanted to see me. My mom met me at his office where he examined me, had me do some of the same walking tests the other doctors had done and then showed me and my mom the MRI slides.

If you have never seen MRI pictures on disk before you should. It was amazing how clear they were and how really advanced MRI’s are. I have disks and disks of them now…including the one he showed us that day.

He scrolled down the MRI, starting at the top of the T-spine. As he scrolled he pointed out my lungs, each vertebrae, the spinal sack and the spinal cord. When he got to T-9 something white appeared and he stopped.

“There is the tumor” he said. He then pushed buttons that made the screen colors lighter so we could better see the white tumor.

He looked at us and went to the next vertebrae, and the next, and the next. As he did, each time he used the scroll of the mouse the tumor got bigger…and bigger. He stopped on T-11 and said. “And this” as he pointed to the screen, “is your spinal cord.”

I’m thinking….’where?’
I didn’t see it, honestly I didn’t. He had to back up a few slides and keep his finger on it for me to see it. The reason I didn’t see the spinal cord is because it barely existed. The tumor had smashed my spinal cord from its normally round shape, into a very thin crescent moon.

He told us it was a nerve sheath/ schwannoma spinal cord tumor. Schwannoma tumors develop from wacked out cells surrounding the nerves. He said mine went from T 9 to T 11 and that it was most likely not cancerous (later I would find out that only about 2% or schwannoma tumors are cancerous). He said these types of tumors take a long time to grow and that if he had to guess he would say mine had been growing for 5-7 years.

5-7 YEARS…Holy sh…er…crap!

5 years ago I had been pregnant and had those weird leg pains.
4 years ago I had picked my daughter up, or tried to, and experience that stabbing paralyzing pain.

It hit me like a train………..wham!!!

The tumor had caused those things. All along the tumor had been the reasons for so many weird medical things that had happened over the past 5 years. I had had 2 MRI’s in the past 5 years, not including the full body one, and they hadn’t shown anything because the tumor was 2 vertebrae above the range of those MRI’s

All I could think was…. Holy crap!

He told us that the tumor started on a nerve that runs along one of my ribs and that it grew into my spinal column and down the cord. He looked at the screen again, once again pointing to the crescent shape that was my spinal cord and said he couldn’t believe I was still walking.

I couldn’t believe it either, but the truth is…I really wouldn’t have been walking much longer.

He said that because the tumor had grown slowly it had allowed my body to adjust until it couldn’t adjust any further, but that he couldn’t believe I was still as mobile as I was.

My mind was racing with all of the information he was giving me. But I could pinpoint the time in all of this when my body decided it couldn’t adjust any more and the symptoms of the tumor became noticeable.

I could pinpoint it to the day.

It had been almost a year ago….October 2003 while I was walking around the side of my condo building. I stepped in a shallow hole that most people wouldn’t have even known about and most bodies wouldn’t have even tripped on and my body said ENOUGH…I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t adjust enough to this tumor inside you anymore. I can’t hold you up anymore with fewer nerves working. I just can’t.

And so down I went…literally and figuratively.

The Neurosurgeon said the tumor needed to come out. That surgery was the only way. But that we had caught it just in time. If we hadn’t caught it when we did I would soon become paralyzed and then eventually the blood flow would be compromised……and then….well….I needn’t say more.

However he was worried about how bad off the muscles were in my legs. He didn’t think my body was strong enough for surgery; he wanted me stronger so he prescribed me some steroids and schedule surgery for August 20th…that Friday. Four days away.

I had a training I was in charge of at work all week, and I hated that I had passed the first day off onto my unsuspecting coworkers who had no idea what they were doing. So I actually breathed a sigh of relief and went back to work.

Sometimes, usually when looking back on a situation, I wonder what the crap I was thinking. This is one I wonder about. I laugh about it now, but geez, who in their right mind would go back to work when they had four days to prepare for a life-changing surgery.

Apparently I do.

That week I took the pills, noticing some changes in my leg sensations. But mostly I spent the week on the Internet looking up information on spinal cord tumors and getting my personal papers in order.

This wasn’t just an everyday, ordinary surgery. I had been told the side effects by the surgeon. They included things such as: Paralyzation and death. Plus I had learned on the Internet that spinal cord tumors really aren’t that common. The statistics I read said something like 8,000 cases a year.

I also read many posts that said most Neurosurgeons don’t perform these types of surgeries. Most people go to Johns Hopkins or the Mayo Clinic.

My surgeon hadn’t done one before….I found that out later…thank goodness.

With those side effects I knew I needed to make sure my will was up to date and that all of my other important papers were in place and that my doctors had a copy of my living will.

Sounds morbid doesn’t it, well…it is.

Wednesday night I received a call from my regular doctor. I guess when I went in for the MRI on Friday, they had asked me if I wanted the results sent to anyone else and I had said “yes, send them to Dr. Johnson”. He got them that morning when he came into the office. He was floored by the results.

Weren’t we all?

He had called to apologize for not asking for an MRI of my whole spine. He couldn’t believe he had missed the tumor by two stinkin’ vertebrae. I could hear the guilt in his voice; I could hear that he felt he had failed me. I could almost feel the self-kicking he was giving himself.

I tried to let him know that I didn’t blame him. I said things like “you didn’t know” and “you weren’t the only doctor to miss it” and “I wasn’t having pain in my T-spine, so how could you know?”

He is a doctor, he plays God everyday. I guess he expects perfection from himself. He shouldn’t but he does. To this day I can still see the guilt in his eyes.

He wished me luck on that Wednesday night, told me I was in good hands with Dr. Smith and hung up.

I wanted to ask him if he thought I would survive the surgery. But there were just some things I didn’t dare ask my doctors…that question was at the top of my list.

I really don’t remember much else about that week before my surgery. I was mostly numb, maybe with shock…I don’t know. But that numbness kept the scared feelings away and allowed me to be a peace with my life. So much at peace that on my day of surgery I knew that if I was called home to my Father in Heaven, that if my life on earth was over, I would be okay. As would my daughter.

I had lived a good life. Not mistake free, because geez…I am who I am. But I had lived a good life. I didn’t have any unfinished business. If it was to happen, I was ready.

I didn’t want to die though. I had a 4 year old daughter that I wanted the opportunity to raise. I wanted to live, if only for her.

Always for her!



And so on August 20th 2004 I walked into the hospital at peace, but with a prayer in my heart, a very large prayer.

“Lord, let me live through this, let them remove this tumor from my body and make me whole so that I can be a mom.”

A mom…

I promised the Lord that if he would grant me this wish I would live my life devoted to being the best mom I could be.

A mom…that was all I wanted to be. That is what I wanted most out of life. Have you ever thought about what you would want most if you were to make a compromise with God while staring death in the face?

Neither had I.

My mom, my dad and my grandma were with me at the hospital. They helped get me dressed and ready for surgery, all the while they stayed pretty quiet and talked about mundane things.

I was worried most about my mom. I’ve never asked what went through her mind that day. I know she was scared. I knew because of the questions she had asked the neurosurgeon. I’m sure someday I will ask her what she thought, how she felt on that August day. I can’t imagine being in her shoes and faced with a similar situation.

My mom is my rock. She had been with me for the past year through test after test and little did I know at the time but I would ask so much more of her…so much more.

We were all expecting a 7-hour surgery. We had been told that they would go in through my back. Cut the muscles to get to the spinal column. They would try to remove the tumor, most likely having to remove other nerves and some bone. They would then use a “patch” made from cow cartilage….*moooo*…to seal the spinal sack and then sew me up.

(Sorry, even after 5 years I still can’t help myself. I have to ‘moo’ when I talk about my surgery.)

I’m part cow now. Thank you little cow.

If Dr Smith couldn’t get it all or he decided it was too much of a risk, he would get as much as he could, cauterize the rest and sew me up.

I said goodbye to my parents and grandma and they wheeled me into the operating room. I had already said my goodbyes to my daughter. The night before the two of us had slept curled together all night longh

I know it may sound funny. But as they rolled me into the operating room I laughed.

I was thinking. “Those poor doctors.” hahaha
“Here I am lying on my back. They are going to have to lift me and flip me like a pancake before they can operate on me.”
I’m no lightweight, those poor doctors. hehehe

I just hoped they didn’t drop me.

The anesthesiologist came into the operating room and told me he would be with me throughout the whole surgery. He told me he was going to ask me to count backwards from 100 to 1 as he gave me the anesthetic, but before he did that, did I have any questions?
I lifted my head, looking over my toes and saw all of the nurses and doctors running every which way in the room. They were bringing in carts and trays filled with medical stuff. They were doing their jobs, getting ready to cut me open. (That isn’t a thought you want to dwell on for very long) It was cold in the room, but not uncomfortably so. I looked back up at the anesthesiologist, who was older than me by about 20 years or so and asked two questions.

Part 5 coming soon.

FAMILY FUN

Our family went on a picnic to Farmington pond today. We wanted to go to Willard Bay but it was so very cold this morning. So we went to the pond. It was a great time with the family.

First us women and the kids went on a nature hike.

Then did some fishing.

And then sat around the picnic table, ate and gabbed about nothing in particular.

This cute little girl came today. It is my new niece and she is so very very cute.

The kids had fun, as did us parents. It was a very relaxing way to spend a Saturday.

MY STORY (Part 3) TESTS, TESTS, TESTS

What did that EMG show? What did that little needle tell the machine?

My muscle wasn’t working. One muscle on one leg. That was it, that was all.

It wasn’t anything I didn’t already know. But I’ll never understand why it didn’t show more loss of muscle than that, because really, more than one wasn’t working.

I’m just glad it showed something.

However, it proved something that I already knew. For some reason the muscles in my legs were quickly shutting down. What had started with the ankle muscles on my right leg had turned into almost complete loss of sensation on the outside (skin) of my left leg and almost no feeling in my left foot. Then there were the stabbing and tingling sensations in both legs and the use of a cane. But even that cane was starting not to hold me up...my legs were quickly getting worse.

My general practitioner (Dr Johnson) sent me on to a Neurologist for further testing…still thinking I had MS.

In the car on the way to see the neurologist I was actually thinking it was time to buy a walker.

A walker at age 30! That is how bad it was.

My neurologist. A man by the name of Dr Sidiq met with me and my mom in August 2004. He had me perform some of the same walking and muscle tests my regular doctor had done, he looked at the results of the EMG test and then he too told me that I more than likely had MS.

That diagnosis scared me, because there really isn’t a cure and lets be honest here…I was 30 and didn’t like the prospect of continuing on the downward spiral until I was unable to walk and worse. I had many more years to live and really didn’t want to spend them being dependent upon my mom, who has Lupus and my daughter. I’m an independent sort…almost too independent.

He said to confirm his suspicions he was scheduling me for an MRI of my brain. But that he also wanted a full body MRI, not just the brain. I’m not sure of his reasons, I’m not even sure he HAD a reason, but It was that decision and that decision alone that I will be forever grateful for. Without that decision my spiral would have quickly continued downward towards being paralyzed and even death.

On Friday August 13th 2004 I found myself lying in a large metal tube with a horrible helmet thing holding my head still for over 2 hours while they performed four MRI’s. MRI’s of the Brain, C-spine, T-spine and L-spine.

I remember leaving the hospital exhausted, nauseated and tired. I called my sister, or was it my mom, to complain about how awful having an MRI of your whole body was and that I would never EVER do that again (little did I know, oh how little I knew that day).

I went to work after that test and then continued on with my day trying my hardest to forget the awful morning and being stuck inside a tube that is really way too small of a place to spend more than 5 minutes, let alone 2 hours in.

That night I left work, picked up my daughter, stopped someplace and then headed home. The answering machine light was blinking and the screen showed 3 messages, all three were from the neurologist. The third message said basically. It is urgent that you call me ASAP. I am leaving work, call my home at ###-####.

My heart started beating way too fast. They had found something- that was all I could think. They had found something and it was bad.

Really bad!

I called him back right away and tried my best to prepare myself for the news.

He answered the phone and proceeded to tell me that the radiologist had called him during the MRI because there was something serious on the scan. He and another doctor at the hospital had looked over the MRI pictures and that he had a diagnosis for me.

And it wasn’t’ MS.

Part 4 coming soon.

THE FAIR

We went to the fair last night. I've been taking Emmi to the fair since she was a little tike. Some years it is great, others I could do without. But my daughter keeps begging every year to go. She loves all of the animals. That is the real reason.

The past two years we have invited along a friend. This cute little brown haired munchkin is this years pick. I so need to birth a child with brown hair like this.

The girls rode a ride....

"Hi girls, look at the crazy woman taking pictures."

We saw a beautiful rainbow.

Then we went to the Rodeo. *sigh* Yeees,I know, we just went to a Rodeo, but we liked it so much we decided to try again. Plus I forgot to take my camera to the one a few weeks ago.

At the Rodeo you see lots of these...

and these...

Oh and best of all, lots of these...

This one had me doing major sighs..I hope he doesn't read this blog someday...Oh wait, no one reads this blog so I'm safe.

*sigh* Oh Wow! Double wow.

I think my parents say a prayer every night that I don't marry a cowboy.

They have been saying this same prayer for 20 years.

"One day mom and dad, one day I will find one who will rope me in and... "

Enough of my dream, now back to the Rodeo

*tap tap tap, is this thing on" "Anyone there?"

Okay so now for our Rodeo story...and my daughter would KILL me if she knew I put this story up for you to read.

Okay, Emmi picked REALLY good seats (according to her) at the Rodeo. So she chose some really close ones. They were second row and right next to the bull pins.......right next to them. She wanted to see all of the bulls and horses and cowboys. She is my daughter afterall.

So there we are, watching the bull riding and enjoying ourselves when the bull next to us is up for his turn. I guess as they opened the gates the bull decided to relieve himself. He started bucking at the same time and flung bull-sh*! (sorry mom, but that is what it is called) all over the three of us.

I busted a gut laughing and couldn't stop. Emmi is screaming 'get it off me, get it off, Mooooom, get it off me." And I couldn't because I was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down my face.

Oh man it was just too funny.

But the story doesn't end there Towards the middle of the rodeo Emmi turns to me and says."Mom, there is a naked cowboy over there."

Not something you hear every day, and I'm a sucker for cowboys...even clothed ones...so I turn my head and ...there really WAS a naked cowboy about 40 feet from my daughters little eyes. The guy I guess thought no one could see him strip down behind the bull pins...and we, umm, could. So there I am with two 9 year staring at a cowboy who is naked except for a long-ish button down shirt.

I, of course, told them not to watch, but really...they had already seen everything there was to see.

So did you know that some cowboys go commando under their jeans and chaps?....

Neither did I.

What a night

MY STORY (Part 2) DOWNHILL

There is no man in our home, therefore there is no one to pass off all of those I-don’t-want-to-do-it jobs. Come on women, you know you do it. You pass things to your husband that you are capable of doing but just don’t want to. Like killing bugs, unstopping the tub and…well…painting the walls. That is what I was doing on this day in June 2004.

I was painting the dining room walls in my condo and while doing so I stood on a kitchen chair to reach something. As I was up there a screwdriver must have rolled off of the table and onto the carpet, because as I was stepping off of the chair, I stepped right onto the screwdriver…which rolled under my foot… and I fell sideways onto the floor.

I lay there for a while. I wasn’t really hurt, although it did reinjure my right ankle, but I hadn’t hurt myself However I HAD grabbed onto the table on my way down, thus spilling green paint everywhere. So I got up, cleaned the paint off of the carpet and chair as best I could and decided to go shower the paint off of myself.

As I was standing in the shower both my right and left legs started to tingle more than usual, then the tingling turned into a stabbing pain and then nothing…they went numb… almost completely numb….from the knee down. As they went numb, I had slowly sunk to the bottom of the tub. I don’t remember if my back was hurting at the time, I just remember having the hardest time getting out of the tub, dragging myself to the dryer, which thankfully was in the bathroom, and getting dressed. I then drug myself down the hall and called 911.

I was a little embarrassed when the paramedics and fire engines showed up at the house. I was crying, scared and didn’t really know what to tell the paramedics other than that I had fallen and couldn’t get up. (hahahaha that is a good one.)

Anywho, they put me on a gurney and carried me down the stairs and into the ambulance.

My daughter, who was taking a nap at the time I called 911, had to stay with the fire department until my sister could rush up to my house. She got there just as they were loading me into the ambulance. After dropping my little one off with her husband she rushed up to the hospital to be with me.

The ER doctor didn’t really do much. In fact going to the ER was really a waste of time and money. He didn’t want to perform another MRI because I had just had one. So he did a lot of poking, prodding and I did a lot of waiting. And as time went on, slowly the feeling started coming back into my legs. At some point he released me and my sister took me home. I was scared, so very scared.

This incident made me fearful of going anywhere. I didn’t know if my legs would do that again and I didn’t want it to happen again. So I stayed in the house, reading books, watching TV and playing with my daughter.

Other than work I had made myself a prisoner in my own home.

The feeling never really came back into my legs completely after coming home from the hospital. I could walk, but my balance was awful and as each day wore on it got worse. I stopped lifting and carrying my daughter in fear that I would drop her and I started wearing shoes that were flat on the ground. No more heals for me.

In late June, while at a park with my family, my four year old daughter ran away form me.

Kids that age are always running, and it is usually AWAY from you.

I went to run after her as I had done since the day she learned to walk. However, while my mind told my legs to run…. They didn’t. I was stunned. I tried to run again and once again my legs moved at a slow walking pace. I couldn’t run anymore, it was the weirdest thing and it terrified me. I had a four year old who played outside and had one mode…fast. What would I do if she ran into the street or put herself into a dangerous situation?

As a mother, that made my heart jump. As a result I started keeping her inside and not allowing her to play out in the yard. I forced her to hold my hand everywhere we went. She hated that, boy did she hate that.

I was loosing the use of my legs, going paralyzed. I needed to accept that and come to terms with what was happening. I didn’t’ know why, but I knew what the end result would be. So in early July while at work I drove to a medical supply store and purchased a fold up cane. That night I went home, grabbed my daughter close to my heart and cried for hours

I went to see my doctor a few days later and with a lot of crying and well, sobbing really…. I told him I needed his help. I needed to know what was wrong with me. I wanted a name attached to what was happening to me. I wanted to know because I was hoping there was something I could do to stop it, or better yet…reverse it. I wanted my life back.

I have to tell you, I love my doctor. He is on the top of my list of people I admire. He is the type of doctor that if he doesn’t know the answer he will tell you he doesn’t know, he will then hunt down until he does know. He listens to you…he really does. And because he really listened to me and didn’t brush off what I said, he started the ball rolling that would lead to a diagnosis. While he feels guilt about how long that diagnosis took and that he didn’t do *blah blah blah* early enough, he doesn’t need to. Sometimes diagnosing someone is a crapshoot and a guessing game, especially when it comes to conditions doctors just don’t see. And he had never seen a case like mine. Even though he didn’t diagnoses me early enough to suite his conscience, he listened to me. He called for more tests and his actions led to my diagnosis.

I sat in his office that day, tears pouring down my cheeks while he performed test after test……and saw something that worried him. My feet didn’t seem to be equal when performing visual tests on the muscles. My left leg seemed weaker and I didn’t seem to be able to hold my left foot up. He listed off reasons for this but told me straight forward that because of how quickly this had all hit he suspected MS. He came right out and told me he had never seen anything like this before, but I think he was as scared as I was at how drastically downhill I was going. But before any more test were done he wanted to confirm what he saw visually. So he made an appointment for me with a doctor who could perform an EMG (Electromyography) test. This test is used to check the muscles and the nerves that control the muscles. This is done by inserting very thin needles with electrodes through your skin and into each muscle. The electrodes tell the machine whether the muscles and nerves are working properly.

I like to think of it as acupuncture with a purpose. They stuck something like 30 needles into each leg and expected me to like it.

Guess what…. I didn’t!

Who in their right mind would pay to have someone do that to you…not me, oh wait I guess I did pay for them to do that. Nevermind.

It was one of those needles. One stinkin’ tiny needle that was inserted into the bottom front of my left leg that showed something. And this something would be enough for Dr. Johnson to send me to a neurologist. And this neurologist would be the one to prescribe the test that would change my life forever.

Part 3 coming soon

CHARITY'S LASAGNA

It has been a while since our last recipe on here. I've been busy trying other peoples recipies on a new website.

I list this recipe for my little sister, who has been begging me for ...like...2 and a half years to "write it down" next time I cook it.

I'm horrible about writing my recipies down. I just make them, I don't really HAVE a recipe. but I measured the ingredients this time...just for you little sister.

And it HAS only been 2 and a half years...not four.

pbttttthhhhhhh

Charity's Lasagna
6 Lasagna Noodles
1 26 oz can or bottle Spaghetti Sauce (I use Hunts Traditional)

1 Lb Ground Beef
¼ Onion Chopped
1 T Parsley
¾ C Zucchini (chopped into small triangles)
½ C Corn
½ C Yellow Squash (chopped into small triangles)
½ C Carrots (chopped)
½ tsp Garlic Powder
1 tsp Red Wine Vinegar
1 T Brown Sugar
1 T Flour
1 ½ C Mozzarella Cheese (grated)
1 ½ C Cottage Cheese
1 Egg
Salt
Pepper

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Boil Lasagna noodles according to package directions.

In a small bowl stir together cottage cheese and egg. Set aside for later.

While noodles are cooking. In a deep skillet, on medium heat, combine raw ground beef, carrots, onion and parsley. Add Salt and Pepper to meat. Cook until meat is brown.

When meat is cooked add zucchini, corn, and yellow squash. Cook for 3 minutes stirring constantly.

Add Spaghetti sauce and stir.

To spaghetti sauce mixture add: Garlic powder, red wine vinegar, and brown sugar. Stir well.

Slowly add in flour. Stir well. Cook for 5 minutes.

Drain noodles and then layer in a greased 9x11 glass casserole dish as follows:

Lay three noodles on the bottom of the casserole dish, then use half of the spaghetti mixture and spoon over the noodles. Add half of the cottage cheese and then sprinkle with ½ cup of mozzarella cheese. Repeat again topping with the remaining cup of mozzarella cheese.

Bake for 40 minutes.

MY STORY (Part 1) THE BEGINNING

As I approach August 20th this year, I do it with mixed emotions. August 20th is an anniversary of sorts for me. It is the day my personal hell ended and the fight of my life began. It is the day I learned what real strength was and the day I learned that you really can be at peace when faced with the possibility of death.

But it was the day after when I learned that if you want something bad enough, you have to fight for it. And sometimes you don’t always win. It was the day after when I began to lean who I really was and just how much strength I had inside.

But to get to that day 5 years ago, I must tell you a story. I tell this story in the hopes that somewhere, someone will gain strength from reading this.

We all struggle in life and each of our struggles are different. If there is one thing I have learned on this journey…it is:

Laugh!

Laugh as often as you can and as hard as you can.

Laugh at yourself, Laugh at life, Laugh through your tears.

Just Laugh

And THIS is my story.

My story begins almost a decade ago, in January 2000 while I was pregnant with my daughter. At the time I was 25, single, and five months into the pregnancy. I looked like a giant marshmallow and pretty much felt like one too.

It had not been an easy pregnancy. I had pretty much survived on Apples and Hotdogs (and I hate hotdogs, so what does that tell you?). I was one of those pregnant women who never glowed…I looked green. It was awful.

So when I started to have sharp numbing pains that ran down both my legs I just chalked it up to one more thing on the long list of hellish things that pregnancy did to me. My doctor told me that sometimes babies position themselves in such a way that it can cause sciatic nerve pains. But by month eight, my pains were so intense and the sensations so weird that my doctor was scratching his head. I did the only thing I could. I laughed it off and dealt with it. But by week 38 of my pregnancy I could barely walk without crying with every step. I couldn’t wait to get her out.

After my daughter was born the leg pains disappeared and life went on. Until one summer day in July (I think) of 2001 when I bent over to pick up my one year old daughter and experienced the sharpest pain of my life that traveled from my lower back down both legs and sent me collapsing to the ground in pain. My doctor at the time (the LAST woman doctor I will ever have) sent me in for an MRI of the L-spine, telling me that it was probably a pinched nerve. The MRI came back showing no pinched nerve and I was told that I had arthritis in my spine that may have caused the pain. I would later learn that EVERYONE has arthritis in their spine and that it really wasn’t a good diagnosis).

Life continued with no problems or issues for several years. But then in October of 2003, the rollercoaster ride took a dangerous turn that started a downward spiral that I never thought would end.

On that October evening while checking on a small garden behind our condo building, I stepped into a small sink hole and twisted my right ankle. It sounds like a small thing, and in normal peoples lives it would have been a small thing, but for me it was the one defining moment in time that marks the start of the toughest battle I have had to fight in all my life.

The instacare doctor gave me one of those air cushioned foot braces for my ankle and sent me on my way. He told me to give it a few weeks and by then it should be healed, but if it wasn’t I needed to go see my general doctor.

I’ve heard those words before “If it gets worse, or isn’t better…” I just never thought I would have to use that advise. But a few weeks later the ankle wasn’t healed and I had to go see my general practitioner, a new doctor by the name of Dr. Johnson, and a few weeks after that I twisted it again and the darn ankle just wouldn’t get better, in fact I started to notice that the toes on my right foot were also starting to tingle.

It was a weird sensation. One that closely resembles the tingling sensation you get when your foot falls asleep and you are trying to wake it up. The tingles made it difficult to walk but I just laughed it off. (Next time your leg goes to sleep, try and stand on it and walk. That is my world….weird huh?)

Then one day in about February of 2004 as I was walking up the steps to my condo my left knee gave out on me. It just gave out, no warning, no pain, no nothing. I was walking one minute and the next I was flat on my face and my daughter was freaking out. So now my right ankle was loosing strength, my right toes were tingly and my left knee had just given out on me.

I ignored the knee and tried to go on with life. However, sometime in spring of that year, maybe April the tingling in my right foot turned to numbness in my right foot and the toes on my left foot started to tingle too. It was spreading slowly up my legs and my lower back was bothering me.

I made an appointment with my doctor again who then decided to perform an MRI on my L-spine to see if there was a pinched nerve. He mentioned that I had been diagnosed with “chronic back pain” a few years ago…which floored me… since when does one episode of back pain give you a “chronic” diagnosis. I told him about the incident with lifting my daughter and the last MRI I had received. He looked it up in the system (In Utah, IHC keeps everything in a centralized system so my doc was able to see what had happened even though he wasn’t my doctor at the time….I love it ) and then sent me for the MRI.

Anyway the second MRI was done and it showed that there had been no change since the last one except for something to do with a disk. (I honestly can’t remember what it was).

That was around May or June of 2004. Up until then I was concerned, but not overly so. I didn’t know what was happening but I guess I just hoped that one day it would all go away. But that didn’t happen. What happened next scared me so bad. It was this one incident that made me realize there was something wrong with me. Something that no amount of time waiting around, was going to heal.

Part 2 Coming soon!