Does this struggle serve a purpose? Can I please get up off the ground and stay off the ground? Its freezing out here as I walk hand in hand with my husband. The walk up to Le Bonheur Children’s hospital is like, a mile. At least it feels like it when your breathing is restricted and you have a mess of a chest. Nothing like a 6 AM stroll with your husband in 20 degree weather on a Friday morning. As we neared the hospital my hands got clammy and I felt like I was going to throw up. Holy cow. Dee (my husband) is a Physician and very serious and quiet in times of stress or anxiety. Say something husband. One of my best friends Marianne kept telling me last year as we neared the hospital that we were going to Cabo. She turned on some music and I thought ok we are going to Cabo. My dear sweet quiet husband. He did hold my hand tightly, and that is probably what I needed most. I just want to get off the ground. Off the ground. That was the first thing I thought of when 2 ½ weeks ago I kissed my husband goodbye as I was rolled away down the hall with my surgical team. At least they let me pick out a stuffed animal and so far my band aids that hold my IV’s are all mickey mouse and dinosaurs. I soon felt the all too familiar coldness of the OR, and the buzz of 10 margaritas by the time I got there. Let me tell you what. I love margaritas. I’ve never been able to have more than 4 without feeling it the next day. So for one split second I’m going to count another blessing. The blessings of whatever the IV drug is that makes you feel like you have had 10 margaritas in 1 minute, with no hang over. Cheers to that.
When I woke 6 hours later in recovery, everything was all too familiar. Pain. Crying. Nurses. Boy, I sure could use some more of those margaritas. Ok, back to the not so fun stuff.
So yeah…I guess in a way I’m starting over. “ You have been through the worse already Kayla” my surgeon said ( who by the way might as well be my guardian angel) and I don’t disagree with him. Having my chest potentially cracked in half and my bones resected doesn’t sound THAT bad I guess I laughed to myself.
The season in which you find yourself may puzzle you, but it does not bewilder God. God will use your mess for good. That’s at least what I read in a book that my dear friend Molly Shumate gave me. When she gave me the book ( along with a bottle of wine that I dreamt about that night) I opened it and there the words were loud and clear. I smiled amidst the pain, knowing that all along this mess, this pain, this screeching halt in our lives has been for good.
Friday a few of my girlfriends kidnapped me and took me to one of my favorite restaurants. The place was slammed, and there was only one seat at the bar. My girlfriends sat me down and we waited for a round of delicious margaritas. Once again, oh how I love margaritas. As I sat down the young lady next to me said “ hi, I am not trying to creep you out, but is your name Michaela?” This has happened at least once a week since my story was published, but this setting was different. I replied “yes, guilty”. This young lady was put in my path Friday night for a reason. She was put there to remind me of my purpose right now. She went on to tell me how life changing my story is, and how she is blown away by how I am able to be so raw and vulnerable. A few days later her friend she was sitting next to emailed me as well, telling me she had read my story and what it did for her. The reason I am telling this story is because we so quickly become selfish. We so quickly forget that so much of the time, OUR MESS CAN BE FOR THE GOOD, AND THAT OUR STRUGGLE CAN SERVE A PURPOSE. I have realized how much people actually watch you and listen to you. That what you do and say can truly push someone to keep fighting, or to give up. At least that’s what I thought when I read a email from someone telling me they had thought about ending their life, but found new hope and faith in my story. We are such powerful humans, and we are equipped with so much fight in us. Sometimes we don’t know it until we have two options. To fight or to stop. For me, If I had stopped fighting in that CVICU room last year on day 2, I would not be here. For me, 2 ½ weeks ago I had two options once again, barely a year later. Fight or stop.
Let’s rewind. Let’s go back to days when I did stop fighting. The days I decided I was done. That the pain was too much and I was dying anyway it felt like, so just come on and end it angel of death. Let’s go back to the days following, when I could not feed myself, lift a fork to my mouth. Let’s go back to me not being able to dress myself. Let’s go back to the days when I looked like a 10 year old little girl because I was so thin. Let’s go back to my ass wipe club. Man those girls have been busy this year with me. Girls. Wow. You guys have some unconditional love . I would give a kidney for y'all. Anything actually .
Let’s go back to three weeks ago when scans showed that my Nuss bars had basically broken my upper body. I was in so much pain I couldn't think straight . The bars has eroded through my ribs on the right, and fractured several places down my left. Some of the breaks were old. We realized within hours of the bars being put in, my ribs started fracturing slowly. No wonder I almost didn't win this fight . My surgeon said when he opened me up his heart broke seeing the mess inside and the pain I must have had the last 13 months. For a little bit I felt defeated, I felt angry, I felt exhausted, and I felt helpless. I felt like screaming and crying all at the same time when I was told the bars needed another year, but that they had to come out now. All that for nothing? Mentally I was exhausted. I could not even think of going through another surgery . 24/7 torture for nothing the last 13 months? Losing months and months of intimate time with my little girl, with my husband and step kids? I have not been able to sit in our living room for a 13 months. Couches were too painful. My bars would stick out and dig in to the furniture I would sit against or on. I have not sat with my husband and watched a movie or show on the couch in 13 months with him. If we watched anything I had to be in bed. 13 months of not getting to act like a kid with my kids, not being able to run with Sophia on piggy back? Not being able to do simple things that you take for granted like being able to walk in to a pool and it not make you feel like your chest is going to pop from the pressure? As I sat feeling so helpless, I remembered something. Difficult times demand decisions of faith. I had to remember that this was in God’s plan. That this was for the good. I also had to remember the person I was the first time I was wheeled in to that operating room the first time to have the bars put in. That girl never came out of that OR. While the new girl who came out of that OR wasn’t at all what you would call beautiful, strong, or courageous, she was something that seems to be pretty rare now days. She was broken for ALL to see. She was delicate. She was vulnerable. She was 100% powerless. From a fitness cover girl, to barely 90 lbs with hair falling out, she had finally been broken. I truly think that until something breaks you, there is a part of you that is so undiscovered, arguably the strongest, most incredible parts about you. There is a fight in me now that I wish I had possessed so long ago. There is a light in me that NO ONE can dim, because it is God’s light. I find joy now in the smallest things. Every day I wake I am just so happy to be here. I once shouldered lots of un-forgiveness. I held people in my heart that I couldn’t let go because they had not said they were sorry yet. I let them go, lovingly. That allowed more love to come in to my heart. How amazing that felt. If today’s post can urge you to do one thing, this is what I would like for you to do. FORGIVE someone who has hurt you. Release them. Can you feel it? How good does that feel. Sit for a moment with your eyes closed and just feel it. Feel that power? That peace? I learned what true power is. Man, once you learn what true power is you will hold on to it so tightly.
Last but not least, I have stopped controlling my life. That’s easier said than done, especially when that is a survival tool. But, the peace you find with letting go and letting God is so worth it. I don’t have an easy solution or a magic wand. There are days that I have had to pull up this blog and remind myself of my words, of fight I must not give up. I still have to pick up that skirt on my closet floor that I threw there Sunday out of anger because it fell off me when I tried it on. Those precious pounds took forever to gain back. I still need to get over the fact that I have 2 more incisions/scars now. Eh never mind I take that back I’m over it, I should punch myself in the face for caring about that. I have found something- Someone far better. He is in every crisis. He is in all days.
Next week I have my CT scans. Is my heart beating faster just saying that? Yes. Did I stay up staring at the ceiling last night until 1 Am because I was freaking out feeling the sink hole that seems to be developing again in my chest? Yes. Am I relishing the fact that I was laying DOWN though? Yes. It may only last a few months. I have a 50/50 chance of having to have another intense operation in the next few months. But for now, I can enjoy sitting on furniture without feeling like an alien off of star wars. I don’t cry all day. I don’t get pain headaches. I can walk up the stairs without getting light headed. I can LAY DOWN on my SIDE for a few minutes at night. I am not falling asleep every night at 7 due to pain and exhaustion. I am able to sit on the ground and play with the kids. 2 ½ weeks post op and I am off all pain meds at the moment ( thank God for wine). Once again , I am speechless when it comes to the people and shooter system that is around me . I cannot name you all. But you all are precious to me . You all have breathed life in to me . I am forever grateful and in awe of your love .
