My Own PTSD

I have a cousin.  This cousin has served over seas in the military.  Sacrificed his time and talents for our country.  Risked his life on a daily basis.  Been targeted and shot multiple times.  He’s been witness to horrific scenes and unfortunately, is now a victim of what’s called PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  And it’s only due to my own personal experience that I had the wonderful bonding opportunity to sit with him and share what we both describe as ‘the scarriest days of our lives’.

My cousin was stationed right behind enemy lines.  He told me gruesome stories of his friends being blown to pieces or decapitated right before his eyes.  He told me of the times he’d been shot, and the searing pain he felt once the adrenaline had worn off.  He also explained how PTSD had taken hold of his life for months following his return home.  How he couldn’t sleep at night because the nightmares were too intense.  Or how he couldn’t watch war movies because the sound of shooting guns and firearms would throw him into a panic.  It’s been years since he went overseas and I believe he’s doing much better.  After all, time is the ultimate healer.  But I will never forget the time we sat down to talk. I knew he could understand the panic and anxiety I felt on a daily basis after my incident in July of 2010.  He offered me hope, telling me it would get better. And that eventually, things that created crippling fear inside my mind would soon have little to no effect on me.

I don’t know why, but last night as I was about to post a completely different topic on my blog, I felt like I needed to write this story.  Maybe it’s for my own benefit, maybe not.  Maybe someone else needs to hear it.  I don’t know. Nevertheless, for the first time I’m writing in detail what took place in January of 2010, and putting it out there for all to see.  I believe I mentioned this incident in a post a LONG time ago, but never could I write the details.  Doing so forced me to relive it, and that was something I was NOT going to do, until now.

Most people know I have what’s called an ICD.  An Intro-Cardio Defibrillator.  It acts as a pacemaker and if need be, a life-saving defibrillator.  It was placed under my left shoulder when I was in 8^th grade.  It acts as a ‘guardian angel’.  It watches my heart’s every move.  And as a heart disease patient, I was at the point where having one was very necessary.  With my disease, the risks are ‘sudden death’ and/or heart failure.  And yes, sudden death sounds dramatic, believe me I know. Frankly, I never use the term.  But I’m corrected by my doctors every time I just say “pass out”.  In fact, when I went out to the Mayo Clinic in August to get surgery I was in a consultation with a cardiologist when she asked me, “Now, how many times have you experienced sudden death?” and I said, “Do you mean how many times have I passed out?” and she said, “No, we use the term sudden death.  Because you die suddenly.  Understand? Now, how many times.” So, needless to say I guess I was put in my place.  And whether I agree with it or not, that’s the correct term, and that’s why I have an ICD.  When I ‘die suddenly’ the ICD does exactly what an external defibrillator would do.  It shocks my heart back into a normal rhythm, keeping me alive.  

This picture is an x-ray of an ICD.  It's not my x-ray, I copied it off the internet, but it gives you an idea. The wires sticking out of the ICD travel down and screw into the heart.

 

When a patient receives an ICD they are given a small, donut shaped magnet.  This magnet is to be carried with the patient at all times in case the ICD starts to administer inappropriate shocks.  In which case the patient would place the magnet over their skin where the ICD is placed and the magnet will then shut off the device.  This RARELY happens but if it does, I think the inventors of the ICD knew a patient would want it shut off because being conscious for a shock is extremely painful.  Before I experienced a conscious shock of my own I was told it would feel like being kicked in the chest by a horse.  The pain would be intense but it would be short lived.  And since it was such a rare occurrence for a patient to be awake (or alive) when a shock was necessary, I never really gave it a second thought.  And just like most other ICD patients, I never carried my magnet with me.  It was such an inconvenience.  It was too heavy to carry in your pockets, AND if it was placed anywhere near electronic devices or credit cards, it would completely destroy them.  And as a teenager I would’ve much rather had my cell phone around than a ‘useless’ magnet.  So it wasn’t until my accident that I valued that small donut shaped piece of metal.  And since then, I don’t go ANYWHERE without it.  I have one in my car door, in every room of my house, and at my job.  And here’s why.

This incident took place when I was five months pregnant with Sophie.  That piece of information is important.  I’ll explain why later.  One night I was sitting in my mom’s room, talking to her as she was getting ready for bed.  It was about eleven p.m.  I remember just lying there, talking mid-sentence when an extremely loud bang went off in my head.  My ears were ringing, the room was suddenly spinning and my chest felt like it had just been crushed.  It came out of nowhere and my body jolted as I screamed at the top of my lungs.  My mom, horrified, jumped onto the bed and cradled me onto her lap trying to get my attention.  I remember looking at her face with absolute terror, wondering, “What in the hell is happening to me?” (excuse my language, but those WERE my exact thoughts)  And to be completely honest, if you ask my mother or I about that first shock we’ll both tell you we thought I was being possessed.  Sounds crazy, but the way my body jolted and deformed, and the confusion that followed led us both to think something was SERIOUSLY wrong.  Which it was, just not exactly what we initially thought.  So, after I finally caught my breath I screamed, “Mom, something’s wrong!” and right after that another one hit.  My body did the same thing it did the first time, and the pain was even more intense.  And that’s when I clued in.  That’s when I knew I was being inappropriately shocked.  I screamed at the top of my lungs for someone to run to the kitchen and grab the magnet off our fridge.  Before another shock hit me, my sister came running in with what should have been my saving grace.  I placed the magnet over my chest and waited to hear the ‘beep-beep-beep’ of the device shutting off.  By this point my entire family had run into the room to see what was going on.  I just lay there praying to God I never had to feel that pain again.  For a couple seconds I heard the beeping, but then it stopped, and I looked up at my mom. Both our faces read, “OH NO.” And that’s when it came again.  This shock felt like someone took a sledgehammer to my brain and threw me against a concrete wall.  My dad immediately called the ER and told them we were coming.  We live only a couple blocks from the American Fork hospital so we knew it’d be faster to just drive ourselves.  My mom helped me off the bed as my siblings ran to grab my coat and shoes.  I was terrified to move.  I felt like moving would aggravate the device and shocks would surge in one after the other.  Well I was right.  Every few steps another shock would go off and I would collapse to the floor pleading with God to make it stop.  I was sobbing, the pain was unlike anything I could have imagined.  And that pain mixed with the fear of uncertainty that we were all experiencing was throwing me overboard. My brother Brayden helped me walk out to the truck as my parents got it going and hopped in first.  From our front porch to the truck I was shocked three more times.  Each time Brayden had to pick me up off the ground and drag me the rest of the way.  I screamed each time and I found out later that our neighbors heard and called the cops because they thought someone was being attacked. Oops….. Anyway, as I was getting into the truck it happened again, and before we could even close the door, my dad started backing out.  He drove through every stop sign and light and we made it to the hospital in under 30 seconds.  He even drove over the round-about in the hospital parking lot.  We wanted help as soon as we could get it, and I think they were just as terrified as I was.  During the drive there I started drifting off, I knew the pain was making me pass out, and quite frankly I was hoping it would.  I turned to my mom and said, “It’s too much.  I’m passing out.  I hope I do.  I don’t want to feel it again.” and all she could say was, “You’re gonna be okay ShaNae”.  When we arrived at the ER, they already had staff waiting for us with a roller bed.  The doctor said, “We need you to transfer yourself to this bed.” But honestly, I was frozen with fear.  I didn’t want to move.  I told him, “I can’t.  If I move it will shock me.” and he said, “I think it’s going to shock you anyway until we get it turned off. You need to get inside.” And I just shook my head.  But then I received another hit, and I hurried onto the bed.  At that point I decided it was useless.  Nothing I could do was going to make it stop. I needed their help.  So they rushed me into a room and suddenly the ER was utter chaos.  People were talking to me, to my parents, others were on the phone trying to get ahold of my cardiologist.  Someone ran to get the cardiologist that was in the hospital.  The nurses were asking me questions and I would try to answer in between shocks but every time it happened, which at this point was at least every 30 seconds, I couldn’t help but scream and beg everyone to make it stop.  There were nurses holding my body down, and my mom laying over me holding the magnet, trying to make it work, HOPING it would somehow start working and shut it off.  I saw my dad just standing there, his face in complete horror.  I knew he felt helpless and it was killing him.  I started screaming, “Just put me to sleep!!! PUT ME TO SLEEP!!” At which point the doctor leaned over my head and looked right at me saying, “ShaNae, you’re pregnant.  We can’t put you to sleep.  But we are going to give you some sedatives to try and make you relax.” The nurses had already started an IV, thank heaven.  I remember tasting blood and asking my mom, “Am I bleeding?” And she said, “Yes, ShaNae.  You bite your tongue every time you’re shocked.  Your mouth is bleeding.  But it’s okay, don’t worry about it” I couldn’t believe what was happening.  It was a total nightmare.  And no one knew what to do.  This had NEVER happened before.  The last thing I remember is the doctor coming back to tell me I needed to calm down.  That giving birth was going to be worse than this.  And let me just say that had I been capable, he would have been knocked cold.  I would have ATTACKED him with something, I was BEYOND furious when he said that to me.   My mom was too, I saw it in her face.  He had NO IDEA what it felt like, and had I been able to speak at that point I would have told him to lie on the bed next to mine and have a nurse shock him with a hospital defibrillator each time I was shocked.  THEN he could tell me if I still needed to calm down.  And before I go on I have to say, I did give birth, four months later.  It was painful of course, but NO WHERE NEAR what I experienced in that ER.  

Anyway, the rest of my time in the ER is history.  I don’t remember it.  The medicine they gave me caused me to lose most of that memory, which I’m grateful for.  But I do know what took place leading up to my next memory, which was waking up inside a hospital room at IMC in Murray.  Turns out the only guy with the machine to turn off my ICD was up in Riverton.  So, they got a hold of him and he booked it down to American Fork within twenty minutes.  Once he was there he tried for at least ten minutes to shut me off, but it wasn’t working.  When it finally did work, the machine showed I only had a couple minutes of battery life left.  In other words, had he not arrived in time, the shocks would have stopped soon anyway because the ICD was almost completely out of battery.  The machine showed I had been shocked over 75 times in the course of an hour.  My body had been worn to its limits from the inside.  I lay there completely asleep for the next day and a half.  I was told that before that man arrived, my dad had called in my Uncle Blake up from Orem and my Bishop to come in and help him give me a blessing.  They administered one amidst all the chaos as I was being electrocuted.  My uncle and Bishop had to leave the room as soon as they were finished.  They said it was too hard for them to watch.  My dad was the same.  He couldn’t stay in the room and watch what was happening to me.  His urges to grab a scalpel and cut out my defibrillator were too strong.  Or so he says…So anyway.  Once things died down in the ER they transferred me up to Primary Children’s Medical Center where we were quickly turned away because I was pregnant.  Duh…that was all just miscommunication.  If I had been awake I would have told them to take me straight to IMC.  That’s where I had been seeing my OBGYN and cardiologist for the pregnancy.  And like I said, I woke up a day later in a hospital bed with my mom sitting in the room.  

I remember taking a minute to come to my senses and remember what had happened and where I was before something hit me.  I turned to mom to scream, “She’s alive, please tell me she’s alive!” I had an overwhelming fear that all those electrocutions had somehow killed the baby growing inside me.  Little did I know that the amount of fluid inside my belly was exactly what saved her.  My mom said, “No, ShaNae.  She’s fine.  I’ll even get the nurse to come in and let you listen to her heart if you’d like.” Of course I nodded my head YES.  Not long after that did a nurse have a tiny device on my stomach that echoed the sounds of my baby’s heartbeat.  Only then did I calm down and start to take notice to the pain radiating throughout my left side.  I looked down at my left arm.  It was HUGE! And multicolored! My entire left side ached like I had been in a fight.  I looked the part too.  I was badly bruised.  A doctor came in and explained that the shocks had badly damaged all the nerves in my left arm up to my shoulder.  And the multi-coloring was just bad internal bruising.  I could barely use my left arm, I couldn’t even squeeze my fist.  Part of that was due to nerve damage but also because my fingers were so swollen they practically touched each other when spread apart. They predicted three months until my arm would shrink back to its normal size.  And several years until I would regain all the feeling in my arm and hand.  They gave me a few stress balls that I would practice squeezing for the next several weeks to regain the feeling in my hand.  When everything was explained to me I was just grateful Sophie was alive, and that the damage done to my insides wasn’t permanent.  

The next day the doctors who had been consulting on my case came into my room and explained my three options. The first, was to have my defibrillator taken out and refuse a new one and still go through with the pregnancy even though my risks (especially without a defibrillator) were extremely high.  The second was to take it out, receive a new one from a different company (that was my special request), and move forward with the pregnancy as planned. And the third was to take it out, refuse a new one and terminate the pregnancy to eliminate risking my own life during delivery. I was heart broken.  None of my options sounded ideal.  I was ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED of these devices and wanted it out of me, FOREVER.  The very thought of putting one back inside my body made my stomach churn.  They tried to reassure me that an incident like mine had a one in a billion chance of happening again, to anyone for that matter.  They said the leads (the wires that hooked from my ICD into my heart) were in recall, which I was unaware of.  They also said that my magnet should have worked.  They had no answers for me as to WHY any of it happened.  They hypothesized that my recalled leads fractured and the ICD was placed too far beneath my shoulder muscles for the magnet’s strength to reach it.  But that is still just a theory. So, with no answers to give me total and complete reassurance I had to convince myself that God knew I knew what it felt like to be shocked, and that to feel it again would be completely unnecessary:)  So, I opted for choice number two.  The next day I was given a new device and discharged from the hospital 48 hours later with SIX of my new best friends…donut-shaped magnets:)

My dad and I were discharged from IMC just before midnight because I threatened to walk out if they didn’t sign my discharge papers.  Upon which they said our insurance wouldn’t cover a penny if I did.  So I tore everything they had me hooked to and sat in my doorway until they got me out of there.  It was their mistake I didn’t get out earlier anyway.  My doctor said I’d be out by six p.m. but due to lack of communication the papers never got signed and they told me to just stay overnight.  I wanted to be home SO bad.  Sounds cheesy, but I wanted my Mom too.  I NEEDED my mom.  So, my nice and helpful male nurse made sure he got me out, even after hours.  The drive home was quiet.  My dad and I didn’t say a word.  I cried silently as I thanked my Heavenly Father over and over again for saving my life and sending me home. And then I asked Him to bless all the nurses back at the hospital who had to put up with me, praying they would forget my trouble and have a nice, easy remainder of their shift.  As we pulled into our drive way I immediately fell into an unexpected panic.  I started to relive the last night I was home, I even began to shake.  I was doing pretty well until I walked up our front steps and remembered falling there as Brayden tried to lift me to the truck.  Then my mom opened the door and I literally just collapsed into her arms and sobbed and sobbed forever.  My mom has a habit of being able to purge my emotions and make me cry.  I couldn’t help it.  The tears just came and didn’t stop.  She walked me to my room and sat next to me on my bed until I could speak.  We only talked for a bit before I was exhausted and fell asleep.

A few days later I met up with my cardiologist at Primary Children’s to go over what happened and run a few tests.  She really just wanted to see me and make sure I was okay and that my arm wasn’t getting worse.  I’ll never forget that meeting.  It was then that she informed me of the miracles I had been unaware of.  First she told me that going under anesthesia for surgery while pregnant is a huge risk for anyone.   But that if a woman is to require it at any time, the exact number of weeks at which I was at was the most ideal for me and the baby.  Had it been any other time, the risks would have been deadly.  But more importantly, Sophie had saved my life.  The fluid that surrounded my heart at that point in my pregnancy had created a barrier that protected my heart from the shocks of my ICD.  Had that barrier not been there, my heart would have literally been fried from the inside out.  I couldn’t believe what she was telling me.  Sophie had already saved my life, by changing me completely.  But here she’d done it again.  She was a miracle baby and I knew it.  I don’t like to say it was all meant to happen because I don’t think God ever intended me to make those kind of mistakes.  But I can’t help but think that because I did, and pregnancy followed, God took it into His own hands to weave a special story with experiences I’ll never forget.

Now, two and a half years later I still hate my ICD. Only because I’m scared of what it can do.  When I first got home from the incident I struggled with sleep for over a year.  I would have terrible nightmares about being shocked and I’d awake in a panic. If I thought about my ICD at all I would get anxious and scared to move.  I would often stop breathing and get dizzy without realizing what I was doing. For a long time I was terrified of going places. I didn’t want to experience another shock at all, but the thought of doing it in public made it sound ten times worse.  I sought help from a therapist who really changed my life.  She was wonderful.  She helped me recognize my PTSD for what it was, and learn how to deal with what happened.  She taught me ways I could keep my anxiety under control and even methods that helped me sleep without nightmares.  I don’t know what I would have done without her.  No one in my family knew how to deal with me or help me.  Quite frankly, my parents needed the help too.  They experienced a form of PTSD themselves and walked on eggshells around me for a long time.  Anytime I heard a loud, sudden BANG I would start to panic because the noise was reminiscent of what I heard in my head each time I was shocked.  I remember one time, only a few weeks after the incident, my dad dropped a pile of books on our hard wood floor.  I didn’t see what happened, I only heard the noise and boy did I panic.  My dad tried earnestly to calm me down and promised he’d be more careful.  My parents and siblings were a little traumatized from what took place.  And we all needed the help I brought home from my therapy sessions.  I can never thank my therapist enough for what she helped our family through.  

I did a little research on PTSD after my incident and found lots of stories online that helped me feel like I wasn't alone.  I needed reassurance that what I was experiencing didn't make me 'weird' or a 'freak'. When I was able to sit down with my cousin and relate with him about panic attacks, nightmares, and strange agoraphobia it really helped me understand that millions of people have experienced one form or another of PTSD and I could move past it at my own rate.  I sometimes get angry when I think about that night. To this day I don’t understand why any of it had to happen.  But to be honest I can’t imagine my life without that story in it.  I can now empathize with that many more people.  I can now connect with that many more lives.  I learned SO MUCH.  I’ve built bridges between myself and lots of other networks because of what took place.  And maybe someday those networks will be exactly what I need in a time of crisis.  We’ll just have to see.  I’m grateful for what I learned and who I met.  When I focus on that the experience seems a lot less traumatizing and I feel much more gratitude over grief.  And like the words in the quote below I value this experience because I know it's not what I asked for, but I learned so much, I can't help but think maybe it's what I needed.

Just.For.Fun.

I’ve been wanting to write another post for awhile now.  And I’ve had lots of ideas for what to write about.  But I think I’ve finally decided that most of them can wait.  Right now, I wanna show my readers a little more ME.  I want to ‘let my hair down a little bit’ and write about something less serious.  Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time journal writing, scrapbooking, and quote collecting.  It’s put me in that whole ‘let me re-examine my life’ mode.  I’ve started to really enjoy the simple things.  It’s amazing what you notice when your life slows down.  One of my favorite quotes says, “If you’re always racing to the next moment, what happens to the one that you’re in?” I’ve always thrived off being busy, doing a million things at once.  And that led me to miss out on a lot of life’s simple joys.  And I knew it, but I was never willing to change.  In fact, I would still probably be the same if I hadn’t been forced to slow down and take a chill pill with my heart surgery.  So, it’s been good.  To finally decompress, and think about where I’m going.  I’ve been able to spend a lot more time with friends and family.  More time to cook and expand my culinary skills.  More time to play the piano and practice my guitar. More time to send thank you cards and ride my bike.  And definitely more time to spend those Saturday nights at the Sticky Shoe movie theatre with a large bag of way too buttery popcorn.  It’s been different, but it’s been fun.  

And over the past couple weeks I’ve been making a list.  A list of things I’ve noticed about me, people I know, or just simple realizations that have come to light.  And I think I’d like to make the world privy to this list, to illustrate more of my TRUE identity (I realize that sounds so cheesy).  Not that anything I’ve ever posted is false.  But what you should know before reading on is this list is RAW.  Meaning unedited, mildly inappropriate at times, but straight up ME.  Those who know me well, know I’m all about reality.  So much so, that I have a REAL hard time being around people I don’t like cause I can’t fake my feelings.  And if you ask me how I’m doing as a form of small talk, I’ll tell you exactly how I’m feeling.  Even if it means I have to curse in order to provide the most accurate response.  Basically, I like authenticity.  And I’d like to share some of that because I know blogs get too formal and serious sometimes.  Take this as my attempt to loosen things up a bit.  Hope it works!

1. When I use the microwave, I try to accomplish way too many things before the timer says 0:00.
2. It’s true…my cat owns me, not the other way around.  Which is why she takes up ¾ of my bed each night.
3. Sometimes the only way I can fall asleep is by blasting music through my headphones and imagining myself as the main character in an epic story or dance scene.
4. I think it sucks that women have to experience PMS, pregnancy, periods, and menopause.  It’s all beautiful and all (in a sense) but let’s get real, I question its complete necessity. 
5. I think all people over 55 years old should be required to retake the driver’s test every five years to retain their license.  I’m not hatin’ I’m just sayin…all y’all start gettin’ blurry eyed and stuff and quite frankly start to suck at driving.  IT’S DANGEROUS! I get nervous for senior drivers:S
6. At times when I feel my life is spinning out of control I usually cry, throw things, break something, take a drive, scream, and then realize I probably just need a nap….and the nap works every time:)
7. How do make-up companies make any profit off their merchandise? Don’t they know that all their overpriced $12 eye shadow is getting snatched off the shelves by money-less teens? Loss prevention teams are really slacking these days…
8. I know politics are the talk of the town.  It’s an election year. And trust me, I’m highly political, I just keep it on the DL unless I’m at home or with friends.  But right now I have only one thing to say…GO ROMNEY!!!!!
9. I have the BEST friend in the whole world.  Thanks for being so wonderful and patient with me Spenser.
10. One day, I was thinking a lot about how the world must view me.  And how largely inacurate I must view other people.  And I thought of this quote.  “The world judges me by the decisions I make, never does it see the options I had to choose from”
11. Realization: When I look at a person, any person, I need to remember that everyone has a story.  Everyone has gone through something that has changed them.
12. The older I get the more I realize my mom is the best friend I’ve ever had.  I.LOVE.MY.MOM.
13. I’m addicted to searching through these three categories on pinterest: quotes, recipes, and tattoos.
14. The truth about my family, from ME: My brother Brayden is most likely one of the funniest, most talented people I’ve ever met. My sister Sabyn never shuts up and she’s a hot mess, but I love her to death.  My brother Jason is a lazy genius, and he’ll make millions someday.  I don’t think my brother Clint understands half of who I am or where I’ve been but he’s a lover not a fighter, and he will make one lucky woman very happy someday. My dad and I have never gotten along but not every family is perfect and he’s always been supportive.  And my mom, you already know how I feel about my mom:) 
15. I have a tattoo, on my right side.  Don’t be too shocked.  And no, it’s not one of those nasty colored ones that make no sense. I got it two years ago.
16. I stole this one but I’ve thought it myself on more than one occasion: HOW THE HECK ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO FOLD A FITTED SHEET!?
17. “I can’t tell if I’m dealing well with life these days or I just don’t give a shiz anymore. “ – Spenser and I had a good laugh with that one:)
18. Three topics I get OVERLY heated about: the amount of money that is WASTED on celebrities and professional athletes.  How worthless and vulgar most music on the radio is these days (a five year old could write better!).  And how ridiculously over priced international adoptions are (there are so many orphans and so many couples, why the 40K?!)
19. Is EVERYONE supposed to have a birth mark?  Cause I don’t…
20. The religion of Scientology utterly baffles me…don’t they know that God too is bound by the laws of science?  And He’s never tried to convince us otherwise…?
21. Five greatest movies OF.ALL.TIME: Surf’s Up, Easy A, Baby Mamma, She’s the Man, and What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
22. I too have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger
23. My eyeballs attract more fuzzies and dust specks than has ever been necessary
24. A couple weeks ago I picked up a Glamour Magazine and it said women are either: plus-size, straight up and down, big-busted, pear shaped, petite, or tall. I think I’ve qualified as all of the above at different points in my life…way to be versatile;)
25. And lastly…shouldn't you have to pass a urine test to get a welfare check since I have to pass one to earn it for you? Just sayin...

And there you have it.  My list of 25 random thoughts/statements/realizations or whatever.  I could go on and on but let's get real.  25 was plenty.  Anyway, so next time I write it will probably be a bit more concrete and topical.  But for now, as I said, I needed to loosen things up.  If not for anyone else, than at least for me.  See ya on the flip side!

This Dream of Mine

Last night I had an incredible dream.  One that woke me with hopeful, happy tears and a sense of wonder for my own future.  The dream was simple, yet emotionally riveting.  And it was one that, unless you were me, would have held little significance.  In this dream I was at my high school’s track.  I was dressed in runner’s clothes and had on a nice, comfortable pair of jogging shoes.  The dream was through my eyes and as I looked up into the football stands I noticed they were full of people.  I made eye contact with my family and many others whom I had loved and known throughout the years.  In the dream I knew why they were all here.  I didn’t even have to wonder.  They were here to watch me run.  To support me as I ran my first mile…ever.  My sister held a little white flag at the start line and my brother was there with a video camera.  I smiled at them and nodded, giving them my go.  Then, a whistle blew and I was off.  I could hear people screaming and cheering me on, feeding the adrenaline rush that had already begun.  I could feel my heart beat faster and faster as I picked up the pace, anxious to finish.  I made it through the first two laps without skipping a beat.  Only two more to go.  I pushed forward knowing I was halfway there.  My heart was starting to ache and my chest hurt but in this dream I knew I could go on.  Nothing could stop me this time.  So I looked up as I passed the stands for the third time and I saw my mother’s face.  She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Go ShaNae! Don’t stop! You can do it!” And that’s all I needed.   I hit full throttle for the last lap, determined to see this through and before I knew it the finish line was just feet away.  For a split second, the world went silent.  I heard my heart beat, healthy and strong. An unfamiliar yet comforting sound.  I looked at the stands, and saw tears in my daddy’s eyes.  And then I was back, and I sprinted those last few steps across the finish line.  My heart exploded with relief.  And a joy that I cannot even begin to explain rushed through me like fire.  Tears swelled in my eyes and came streaming down my face as I collapsed myself to the floor, trembling with gratitude and overwhelmed by tears.  I felt my sister and brother at my side shaking my shoulders and yelling, “You did it! Can you believe you really did it!” Pretty soon everyone who knew my story was by my side offering hugs and congratulations, a show of support that meant the world to me.

And then, I woke up.  Crying.  It took me a second to realize what I’d just seen and once I grasped the emotion it hit me again, with full force, and I continued to cry. And I bet there are a few reading this wondering, “Why? What’s the big deal? This sounds like an over exaggerated story.  She ran a mile, so what?”  Well, let me explain.

For those who don’t know, the possibility of running a mile, even one lap for that matter, has been a distant dream of mine since I was ten years old.  Basically, for as long as I can remember.  I was born with a cardiac genetic defect called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (HCM). This disease has been the thorn in my side all my life, keeping me in a cage when all I’ve ever wanted to do was fly.  I love sports, I love dancing, I love hiking, climbing, and so on! And I love travel! All of these things have proven to not only be impossible, but life threatening over the years.  When I was medically evacuated from Africa this summer, I hit a really low point.  And I started to think that maybe this was it.  I’d tried everything, and nothing ever worked out.  I always ended up hurt.  I’d hit my breaking point, and I made that very clear with God.  I was so hurt and broken at that point that I chose to make Him aware of what His trials were doing to me.  I’d had enough and didn’t think I could take anymore.  At least not for a while. Year after year something would go wrong and I always took it in stride.  I never felt like I couldn’t move on.  But for some reason this time I did.  And that scared me.  I knew something had to give or I was going to be in a whole lot of psychological trouble.  

So, when the day came that we heard I was now a candidate for this new procedure under investigation over at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota, we were thrilled.  I couldn’t believe it.  Could there really be a cure after all? One that would allow me to walk up a flight of stairs without being completely winded? I tried to picture such a life, but decided it was best to expect the worst and hope for the best.  That way, I wouldn’t get hurt, again.  So, we waited week after week for more information to come flooding in and this is what the final deal was.   A certain Cardiovascular Surgeon at the Mayo Clinic had been performing an investigational surgery for eight years now, with only an approximate number of fifty patients who underwent the procedure.  The long term results and success of this procedure are unknown, due to its short existence.  Some of the patients were unable to feel a difference after surgery and continue to struggle on a day to day basis.  Others received optimal results and can now perform activities they’ve never done before.  However, good or bad immediate results give no heed to what long term looks like.  The doctors and surgeons couldn’t tell me what this surgery would do to me ten years down the road.  But they could tell me that even with good results, my heart muscle could still ulitimately fail ten years from now and require us to re-evaluate my situation.  Basically, it was a gamble.  But once we reviewed my options and knew my only other choice was heart transplant, it felt right.  And completely worth the risk.

So, on August 8^th I underwent my first open-heart surgery.  The operation took about six hours and went very well.  Turns out, my surgeon was able to remove more diseased muscle than he thought he would.  In the ICU, I remember waking up gagging, trying to remove the tubes that were down my throat.  Someone’s voice told me, “ShaNae, we can’t take those out until you can stay awake.  Stay awake.” So I tried.  But I couldn’t.  I drifted in and out of sleep several times, gagging and cringing at the pain every time I awoke.  But finally I managed to fight the leftover anesthesia and they removed the tubes.  Now that was painful.  And even now, ten days later, my throat is raw and I sound like a man.  But what a small price to pay, so no complaints here.  The next three days were spent in the hospital.  I had wonderful nurses who worked with me to keep my pain under control and make me as comfortable as possible.  Though I can’t say I ever felt comfortable when awake.  Turns out that opening your chest cavity places extreme pressure on your neck and back, resulting in emanating pain for months.  And I HATE pain pills.  They make me sick so I opted not to have them and toughed it out.  The recovery has so far been what I expected.  Really painful, nauseating, and extremely tiring.  But hey, at least I have a cool scar to look at whenever I get bored.   

  I was able to be discharged three days after surgery.  We spent the next few at a nearby hotel.  Those days were a living hell.  I can’t explain them and quite frankly never want to go back there so, moving on.  Once we left the hotel we drove a couple hours away to a small town just outside the Twin Cities.  Most of my blog readers know I have a daughter.  A beautiful little girl named Sophie that I placed for adoption when she was born.  Typically I dedicate my posts on this blog to adoption so  I hope that fact of my life is pretty clear.  A month before I left for Africa her parents informed me that they would be moving.  I was DEVASTATED.  For lots of reasons but mostly because I thought the change would tear us apart.  Well, I got over myself and I’m extremely happy for them and excited to see what’s in store.  I mention all this because Sophie and her family just so happened to be moving to Minnesota.  The same week I was due for surgery.  Irony?  I don’t think so.  Blessing is more like it.  They made it to Minnesota two days after my surgery and managed to stop by and say hello.  Talk about a Saving Grace.  Hospital rooms are miserable, so seeing them completely made my day.  So anyway, that small town we drove to after leaving the hotel was Sophie and the Fam’s new hometown.  We got to stay with them our final few days in Minnesota.  It was a tender mercy for sure.  We had lots of time together and watching those kids run around and play was all the entertainment I needed.  I myself wasn’t much fun for the kids so thank goodness my mom was there.  She kept them entertained and loved on all she could.  Sophie was sure my mom was just full of surprises.  Whether it was painting her nails, or putting pretties in her hair, there was no end to the fun my mom could produce.  I was over whelmed with gratitude for the Mathesons’ and their willingness to let us stay in their home.  We had so much fun and I can’t wait to go back when I’m acutally healthy and able. 

So! Speaking of healthy and able.  Now, I just wait.  I won’t be able to tell what the surgery did for me for at least two months.  I have to get past recovery and get my stamina back before I’ll be able to get active again and see what I can and cannot do.  So, am I anxious? YES! And these dreams of running and dancing and climbing fill my sleep each night.  I pray every day thanking my Heavenly Father for this miracle. Ten years ago, this surgery wasn’t even an option. Modern medicine is developing every single day.  Cures are restoring patients’ dreams each year. And even if this surgery doesn’t help me, it gave me hope.  And I can thank Him for that.  It’s amazing to me how He never gives up.  I can kick and scream and say I’m done but He knows I’m not and He does everything He has to for me to see that. He taught me that life is so complex.  There are so many things at work in our day to day lives that we don’t even know about.  And I'm just grateful to be here to see it all play out.  

Yesterday I had some wonderful friends stop by for a visit.  And they came bearing gifts! Look at this oh so creative care package I received!  It brightened up my day more than they know.  Just seeing them was enough and made me grateful for good friends.  They really are blessings from Above.