Category Archives: Encouragement

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Fear NOT the Change

Several months ago I wrote about fear and why we have it, why we need it, and what good it serves. Today I’m facing fear again and it leads me back to the same questions.

Once a week I sit down with a ziplock bag full of medicine, my green seven day pill box and a pill splitter. This morning I dumped out the bag of bottles and looked at the notes I scribbled months ago during a conversation with the doctor.  I knew the date was coming and it made me sick to my stomach to even think about it.  After four months of stepping down dosage of my main anti-seizure med and stepping up a new med, today starts the last phase of the weaning process. I will take a minimum dose of the medicine that sustained me for the last 6 years and the highest dose of the new delight (I nicknamed it that to convince myself that it’s fun). It raises so many questions when forced to depend on something new. Though I have been very slowly raising the strength of the new drug while even more slowly decreasing the old, fear of change remains. Will this work?

So when faced with fear I remind myself to turn more directly and look to my Creator, the One who molded and shaped me in His own image. I must trust Him to see me through this fear-filled time and carry me safely to my next great adventure.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, May 2012

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He Will Renew My Strength

“But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint.”  Isaiah 40:31

 

I waited. I hoped. I prayed. I tried to be patient. I was afraid I was too weak. Sometimes I wondered if I would ever be able to do it again. It’s been 3 months since I have felt secure enough to run alone. I missed the calm of my solo runs. I longed to soar like an eagle on a windy day.

It’s been 3 months since I felt that weird feeling in my stomach that I recognized as trouble on the horizon. I looked at my image in the rearview mirror and saw the twitching in my face and neck. I felt it moving down my shoulder into my arm. I felt the numbness in my face and lips and I knew what was coming. I got off the road immediately and turned the car off, pulled the keys out of the ignition and put them in the seat beside me and let nature take its course for the next little while. I’ve learned to handle life’s emergencies and not freak out. Hey, I don’t mind sitting on the furniture display in a store and waiting for my husband to come and get me either. Move along people, there is nothing to see here, and by the way, don’t buy this furniture because it is not comfortable, in case you wondered.

After the seizure several months ago there were 3 more over the next month. We added an additional medication and after playing around with the dosing, I think things are better under control, but it comes with new side effects. This time I’m not the devil’s twin sister, at least I don’t think I am (no comments from the peanut gallery please), but it does make me very dizzy, very very dizzy. I’m not afraid of working out at the gym because I’m in a class setting and the instructor knows about my health condition. I run with a group and they all know about my health issues, so I am safe when I run with them. But, I haven’t been ready to run on my own. I have always carried a cell phone if I am alone, but these new meds are different and this dizziness is different and I have to be sensible.

This morning I felt good. I felt strong. The hills didn’t seem quite so steep and the mileage didn’t seem quite so long. When we got to the 8 mile mark it was time to turn left and head back in. My two runner chicks were ready to head in, but my legs weren’t, and my head wasn’t. I guess my face showed it. Sharon, who first introduced me to running in 2004, saw it in my eyes because she looked right at me and said “You are not done are you?” I looked to my right, and the only place to run is uphill, and I knew I would be running solo for the first time in 3 months if I decided to do it. Hmm…. “Yeah, you two head in and I’m turning right and running up this hill and adding on a mile.”

As I turned and began running alone I only heard my breath, my footsteps, the swishing of my arms and legs. This was so different. Even though we may separate some as we run, I can always hear others nearby, but when we go in opposite directions there is complete silence. I was alone. For the first time in 3 months I was on a solo run. I was over 8 miles into my run, solo for the first time and feeling stronger than ever, heading up the dreaded Knox Hill, because I wanted to, because I could, and loving every minute of it. WHAT?! Who said that? Did I say that?

OK. Wait for it. Wait for it. This is the moment when I remind myself that I’m supposed to buckle my seatbelt, put on a helmet and HOLDFAST for a wild ride.  “But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint.”  Isaiah 40:31

On this beautiful windy February morning, God reminded me that I have put my hope in Him and He has renewed my strength. He gave me wings to soar like an eagle and I ran, and I ran, and I ran, and I was not weary, and I was not dizzy, and I did not faint.

I am blessed, because He has blessed me. It is that simple. He has blessed me.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, February 2012

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HOLDFAST

I believe God has a plan for each one of us. I believe He wants us to submit our will to His and allow Him to reign as the Lord of our lives. He wants us to live everyday knowing Him, loving Him and trusting Him.  He has a way of speaking to us and getting our attention. Sometimes He moves rocks and sometimes He moves mountains. Sometimes He speaks softly and sometimes He speaks through a megaphone held tight to our ears. Sometimes God gives us a glimpse of His power and sometimes He parts the seas. Sometimes He knocks us off a chair to get our attention and sometimes he knocks our feet out from under us and knocks us in (or on) the head. I also know that when God moves a mountain, speaks with a megaphone, parts the seas, knocks me off my feet and hits me on the head, I better buckle myself down and hold on.

When a friend called me at the last minute with a free ticket to hear Beth Moore in Charlotte on July 22nd and 23rd, it was an offer too good to pass up. Deep down I knew it was more than just a good offer. I recognize when God has arranged something much bigger than you or I can arrange. He knows my future, so He knows what I need before I know I need it. I knew God’s hand was all over this. This was His appointment, and I was probably going to need to buckle my seatbelt again, and I might even need a helmet.

I was in an odd place in the spring and early summer. I felt disconnected and something just wasn’t right. I know now that what I was experiencing were break through seizures, but at the time I didn’t know that. I had been managing my regular routine without too much trouble, but quietly, without anyone other than Johnny knowing it, I had been in touch with my neurologist. Let me stop right here and say that my neurologist is one of God’s gifts to me. I had tried, unsuccessfully, to see her after I fell in Target. Instead I saw a doctor that I dubbed “the idiot” who dismissed me and my symptoms. After my seizure in Gymboree (I told the idiot something was wrong but, NO, he wouldn’t listen to me) an ER doctor waved his magic wand and got me on her calendar for the very next week. Several months into my treatments with her I saw her Davidson diploma on the wall. She was a Psychology Major and in fact, was the recipient of the William Gatewood Workman Psychology Award. Yep, that means she was recognized as the most outstanding senior among the psych majors. Her husband is a professor at Davidson and knows my Mom well. I am not just a routine patient on her calendar. She genuinely cares for my overall health and well-being. God gave her to me in my darkest hour. When I had given up on finding anyone who could help me, God spread His fingers and allowed a seizure to sift through so that my path would cross with a doctor who would indeed help me. My doctor, my gift, came through the pain of a seizure and God’s hand was all over it. He protected me and He protected Hunter on that September day in Gymboree.

Back to the story…

I know my doctor dreads it when I call and say “I’m just not right”. Unfortunately my brain is not like Caterpillar equipment and you can’t hook me up to a computer and have it spit out a fault code. It takes some work to just get to a diagnosis and it’s not easy or fun. When it’s bad enough for me to let Johnny and my doctor know something is not right, then it has gotten pretty bad. We had talked over the phone and she was doing bloodwork, yada yada yada. I convinced myself that my disconnection was an oddity and would resolve itself. For the last few years my Epilepsy was fairly controlled. I was keeping up with the family, the house and training for the Chicago Marathon. Surely the doctor would confirm these episodes were flukes and I would just move along.

I was not at all prepared to hear her tell me that the episodes I had were break through seizures. This was the can of worms I wanted sealed shut forever. Seizures meant the medication wasn’t working which meant changing meds which meant new side effects which meant chaos. This was not the news I wanted to hear, but it was my reality. The words of my doctor on July 27th began to drown out and the phrase that had been repeated at the women’s conference just 4 days earlier began to ring in my ears. Perhaps Beth Moore’s microphone was connected directly to my ears “H.O.L.D.F.A.S.T. God has set His love upon me”. This was the message God had given her for Charlotte, or maybe just for Gatewood. Nevertheless, because of a last minute free ticket, I was sitting in that audience on the 20th row at the Charlotte Coliseum when she taught us this phrase and asked us to repeat it until we were tongue-tied. I listened for hours as she taught and participated as we were led in worship, but I really wasn’t connecting. I noticed people tearing up and I couldn’t understand why they were teary eyed. I remember thinking that I wished I was able to feel emotion, but I couldn’t. I also remember telling myself that God wanted me there and I was going to keep my seat belt fastened until the ride had come to a safe and complete stop.

As I look back at my notes from that weekend it’s clear that I wasn’t completely present and my brain was mush. After hours of her teaching I only have 3 short pages of notes, much of it just words or phrases on different pages throughout the program. There is no rhyme or reason to my method of note-taking (this is completely out of character for me as many of you know). However, through the mush, disconnection and confusion, here is a synopsis of what I walked away with, along with my own personal reflections.

H.O.L.D.F.A.S.T. God Has Set His Love Upon Me.

  • His affection is set upon you. He loves me. HE loves me. HE LOVES me. HE LOVES ME!
  • Only He is your praise. I can not depend on the pills in the medicine bottle to contain my epilepsy.
  • Loving Him awakens your true heart. I can’t know my own heart until I fully give myself to God and allow Him to open it.
  • Doing His will does us good. He reminds me that I have turned my personal pain into service for my family.
  • Fleeing to Him means fleeing with Him. He never leaves us.  I AM with you. The I AM is with me because He loves me.
  • Any tighter embrace will also replace. I have to wrap both arms around Him and leave no room for anything else.
  • Satan wants what I have. Satan wants my faith. If my arms are wrapped tightly around the I AM, Satan can not steal from me.
  • The Lord is your life. The Lord is my life. The Lord Jesus Christ is the Lord of my life.

So, was it God’s appointment that I hear this message? Clearly YES! This message of love and hope was given to me just 4 days before I buckled my seatbelt in this wild roller coaster that I have been riding for the last 4 months. I have clung to this phrase, reminding myself to hold on to God’s love. I have looked at my bracelet that I wear everyday with the word “Believe” that I had engraved after I took Beth Moore’s Believing God class right after my diagnosis. It was and still is my daily reminder to believe God for all that I need. I have reminded myself to HOLDFAST after 3 months of trying to start a new medicine have failed miserably and I’m right back where we started with the same old meds that might allow break through seizures again. When I curled up on the floor and cried for hours for no reason I had to HOLDFAST. When my anger exploded in verbal attacks on strangers and my family for no reason I had to HOLDFAST. When I was nauseated after morning meds I had to HOLDFAST. When I couldn’t sleep because my mind was racing with thoughts of the unknown I had to HOLDFAST. When I couldn’t get through a complete day without needing a 3 hour nap I had to HOLDFAST. When I wanted to give up but I couldn’t because I wouldn’t learn the lesson I had to HOLDFAST. When I saw the looks of confusion in my children’s eyes I had to HOLDFAST.  God has set His love upon me. He will carry me when I hold on to Him.

I don’t know when the roller coaster will finally stop. I am still buckled in but I am so over this ride. My doctor says my body has been through too much to try anything new right now. She told me to “hold on” for a few months until my body has stabilized and then we will try something else. My doctor actually told me to hold on. I think I heard God giggle when she used that phrase with me, but somehow I wasn’t a bit surprised to hear her say that. God and I have a little thing going back and forth you know. H.O.L.D.F.A.S.T. God Has Set His Love Upon Me.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, November 2011

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Chicago Recap

Another 26.2 is history! The Chicago Marathon was a tremendous success in every way possible! My friends and family, AKA Wookie’s Warriors, donated a whopping $4627 to support my marathon honoring my Mom!  The North Carolina Chapter raised $66,236 and the National total topped $990,000! Team in Training was well represented with 401 runners from across the country decked out in purple from head to toe. This was the biggest marathon I’ve ever run, with 45,000 runners and 1.7 million spectators lining all 26.2 miles! I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to digest the sights, sounds and emotions of the weekend that you made possible.
 
We arrived in Chicago on Friday and took care of race business and prep right away so we could enjoy some of Chicago’s sights.  Saturday evening we loaded up on carbs with TNT runners, coaches and Honored Heroes from all over the country.  Mom was even recognized on the big screen as our North Carolina Honored Hero!  The speaker was John “The Penquin” Bingham, whose quote “The miracle isn’t that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start” is a favorite among noncompetitive runners like me.  We also heard from the father of the Illinois Chapter’s Honored Hero. His son was diagnosed with aggressive leukemia at just 18 months old.  Now he is a healthy and vibrant 3 year old who screamed for his daddy and ran onto the stage in the middle of the program. I loved it!  It was a perfect example of why we had all worked so hard on behalf of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
 
As usual, there is never a dull moment when I’m involved in a race. As we walked back to our hotel after dinner, I was nearly run over by a skateboarder who lost control of his board. Thankfully Mari (my TNT coach and constant running partner for the last 10 months) heard the noise and saw him with enough time to scream for me to move and push me out of the way. I glanced back as his board hit a light pole and he stumbled behind me. We just had to laugh!  Seriously… Only I would come to Chicago to run a marathon and nearly get run over by a skateboarder!  I fear Johnny is going to start insisting I wear a helmet every time I leave the house if this keeps up! And so it goes…
 
Early to bed, early to rise. We met our group at 5:30 Sunday morning for the 1.5 mile walk to the starting line. Yes! We had to walk 1.5 miles to the start. I was quick to calculate that the walk home from the finish line would be close to 2 miles. I was certain I had only agreed to 26.2 miles and I wasn’t sure how those extra 3.5 miles got thrown in the mix.  Oh well, not much I could do about it then. Onward!  I finished up my traditional pre-run breakfast of orange juice, coffee, grits, yogurt, half a banana and 3 peanut butter crackers as we followed the masses headed to the starting line. The sun began to light up Grant Park and we made our way to the starting corrals where we lined up based on our estimated pace.
 
As the clocked ticked closer to 7:30 AM, we could make out the sound of the National Anthem and the applause began to flow back through the crowd. Here we go! The music started pumping and we finally began inching our way to the starting line. The slow, crowded walk to the starting line is my favorite moment of race day.  OK, well the finish is fabulous, but the energy and emotion at the starting line is spectacular. There is a little bit of everything going on in those minutes on the way to the starting line. I love to really breathe in the excitement, anticipation, anxiety and fear that surrounds me. This is the best people watching place in the world!  Every runner has a story behind their quest for the marathon medal and I always wonder what prompts each person to put one foot in front of the other and go for it.  Everyone looks sharp in their specially chosen race day attire. I can also spot the new runners right away and know that by mile 3 they will sorely regret their outfit of choice.  I love seeing the smiles, laughter, chit-chat, high-fives and fist-bumps as well as the tears, memorials and pictures. So many people, so many stories, so many places and yet all our paths have led to this one place at this one appointed time in our lives where 45,000 runners will cover the same distance on the same day.
 
It took us 15 minutes to make our way to the official start. By then the lead runners were already past the 5K mark, but I already knew my time wasn’t going to bring home the winner’s purse, so I didn’t let it hurt my pride. As we passed under the first tunnel and ran into the city streets I was overwhelmed. I have never seen so many people interested in runners! I knew my family and fellow TNT peeps back home would be tracking me online and receiving automatic text messages throughout the race when I passed various points, but I never dreamed thousands of people would get up at the crack of dawn to watch lunatics traverse the streets of Chicago! I’m used to dodging bikes, dogs and annoyed drivers who can’t stand waiting an extra couple of minutes to get to a drive-thru where they remain seated in their comfy cars waiting for an egg mcmuffin with a side of fried hash browns.  In Chicago, every part of the course was lined with spectators ringing cowbells, blaring stereos, screaming our names, passing out pretzels, oranges, skittles, cookies and cold water. Crowds were sometimes a dozen people deep with people perched on the side of bridges, hanging off balconies and standing on chairs. The entire city embraced the marathon in ways that I can not begin to describe. There were over 13,000 volunteers offering words of encouragement as they gave out water and Gatorade every mile or so (I even saw beer offered, but I refrained since that had not been part of my standard training practice).  Even the runners were cheering on each other. Several of us ran parts of the course together and we all had “Wookie” printed on the back of our shirts. People would see us and yell “Go Wookies!” How great is that?!
 
I saw lots of quotes on signs and on shirts in Chicago. My favorite of the day was “One day I will not be able to run. Today is not that day.”  It served as a constant reminder that I was running for those who could not, or one day would not be able to run. I was running for those who wished they were healthy enough to do what I was doing and I was making it count for a bigger cause than just myself.  I won’t deny that I needed to conquer Chicago to prove to myself that I’m bigger than Epilepsy. I needed my Chicago medal as proof that regardless of my circumstance I could still beat the odds. I knew that October 9th was NOT going to be the day that I could not run.
 
The highlights of the race came at miles 1, 11, 17 and 25. There she was, in this packed crowd of 1.7 million people. This wild woman wearing purple, clanging her TNT cowbell, screaming at the top of her lungs and waving a purple sign that said “Go Gatewood!” Yep! That’s my Momma! I have no idea how she made it around the city so quickly and managed to grab a front row spot every time. I don’t know how she was able to find me in a crowd of 45,000 or that I was able to find her in the crowd of spectators. Obviously the Gatewood sign helped, but still, there were lots of people and yet we always saw each other. At mile 25, when I was practically counting the footsteps that were left until the finish, I heard a familiar voice and looked off to the left side of the road. That wild woman again! Mom was standing out in the street waving and jumping and squealing. That sight made it worth it. Eight months of hard core training, an entire summer rearranged according to a training schedule, lots of early morning alarms, several pairs of shoes, six months of fund-raising and a lifetime worth of spaghetti. All of it was worth the chance to see my Mom, healthy and energetic, cheering me on in the final mile of the Chicago Marathon. This experience was what I had envisioned back in 2006 when I ran my first race with Team in Training. I’ve logged a gazillion miles and raised almost $15,000 for LLS since then and I have no regrets. It was worth every step (and every blister)!
 
When we got back to Charlotte, we took the elevator in the parking deck to our car. As we gingerly began the post-marathon limp towards the car, the lady beside me stopped and made eye contact with me. She pointed to my coach’s backpack logo and asked if we were with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I told her we were returning from running the Chicago Marathon to raise money for LLS. She said “Thank you for doing that. My brother died from leukemia a couple of years ago. That’s a good thing you are doing.”  Here I was, on the top of the parking deck at the Charlotte airport with a stranger, and one more vivid reminder that the challenge was worthwhile.
 
26.2 miles wasn’t easy. Cancer isn’t easy, but running in hopes of a cure just makes sense. I would do it all over again (and yes, I probably will) if just one doctor can tell one patient that they have reason to hope.  Hope still exists for those who believe and I believe.
 
I’m thankful for Wookie’s Warriors.
I’m thankful for $4627 for LLS.
I’m thankful for the ability to run.
I’m thankful for the power of my purple peeps.
I’m thankful for the lessons I have learned from a brain injury and Epilepsy.
I’m thankful that running restores my mind and energizes my spirit.
I’m thankful for my family that supports my insanity.
I’m thankful that 26.2 miles (actually closer to 30 miles) is behind me.
I’m thankful that I set a new personal best marathon time.
I’m thankful that my Mom is a SURVIVOR!
I’m thankful and I’m blessed.
 
Copyright  © Gatewood Campbell, October 2011
 

Mom on the big screen at the National TNT Inspiration Dinner!

 
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The HOV Lane Leads to Chicago

I’ve been traveling through fog on a deserted road for the last couple of months. I’ve had the headlights on, but the road remained dark and twisted. If I dared to turn on the bright lights and get a glimpse of the road ahead, it frightened me. So I dimmed the lights, squinted my eyes and hesitantly drove on. In a brief moment of bravery, I turned on the bright lights and took a glance at my surroundings. I discovered the beauty of the HOV lane. People were thumbing a ride with me. No one cared my rate of travel, nor my route, nor the personal investment. Friends were standing by, wanting to help, asking to help, taking action to help. You have called me, emailed me, texted me, commented on my blog, and posted to my FB wall. You have shown up at my house with meals to feed our family and relieved me of cooking for several more weeks. I’ve been overwhelmed by your generosity and blessed by the outpouring of support of our friends. I’m not prone to accept help, but you offered freely, and I discovered immense relief in accepting it. I don’t know how to express my gratitude for the love you have shown me during this frustrating detour, except to let you know that you have made it easier. Thank you for sharing my burden. I needed to pass along my fear and my anger and you allowed it. When I can’t see past the tip of my nose to get through a day, you have taken the wheel and let me stretch out in the back seat and rest until I have the energy to grab the wheel again. This is not going to be a quick trip, and there will be some unexpected stops along the way, but the finish line is on my radar. You have brought light to my path. Thank you for making it possible for me to see through the fog.

The results of our two-week trial have shown that the meds I’ve been on for the last five years aren’t doing the job for me anymore. So it’s out with the old and in with the new. I’m trading in for a different model, the newer and hopefully more improved model. We have plotted a new route, but my rate of travel is going to be slow. It will take 6 weeks to gradually wean off of one drug and on to the new drug. I would be kidding myself if I said the timing of this change did not bother me. My next marathon is 8 weeks from now. You do the math…I’m going to spend the next 6 weeks in the toughest part of my marathon training…while weaning off of one anti-seizure drug and onto a brand new drug that I have never used before. I have no idea if it will work, what side effects I will encounter or how it will play with my mind. Nervous? Yes. Quitting? Not even an option! When I set out to run the Chicago Marathon, I decided I was going to run it to celebrate life. More specifically, I’m running Chicago with Team in Training to celebrate my Mom’s life as a Leukemia Survivor. I’m still doing that and I’m just adding more incentive to conquer the windy city. I’m going to celebrate the gift of the ability to run the open road. When so much of my life right now is unknown, there is one thing that I know. I WILL COVER THE DISTANCE. This time, the challenge is going to be a little bigger, because I guess 26.2 miles isn’t a big enough challenge. But I’m here to say that I’m up for it, and I’m not backing down (unless a random metal sign falls on my head and knocks me down…true story). I’m running Chicago, and my Mom is going to be waiting for me at the finish line and we will Celebrate Life and Celebrate Survivors…together!

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, August 2011