Tag Archives: Family

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Almost There, But I Wouldn’t Change What I Learned

I’m wrapping up two weeks of vacation in my favorite place on earth. My family has had laughter, rest, time to catch up with family and best friends and a lot of good food while we celebrate the 4th of July and then some.

As these last few weeks have passed I have thought about the first few days since December 2nd when Mom started her cancer treatment and I pushed the button to wait to cross the street on Morehead and woke up later in the ER. I could not have dreamed the scenario that would unfold. Goodness, it seems like years ago. Months later, Mom is so healthy now. She is strong, full of life, and full of strong blood cells!! I too am much stronger, shaken, but stronger, deep down, in ways people can not see, in ways you can not touch, but in ways that I know I can reach when in need.

I have learned that God is there, always listening, my partner in everything, ready, always on call, in ways I did not fully recognize previously. In my loneliness He can comfort, in my weakness He is my strength, when I am dizzy, He straightens my path, when my words are lacking, He finds them, when my days are too long, He gives me rest, when confusion is too much, He gives me my husband, my sons, my Mom or my best friend to explain on my behalf, when danger may linger, He sends a stranger to call for help, when in need, He has surrounded us with a crowd of sacrificial friends willing to help with rides, food and anything else we have needed. God IS our provider, in every sense of the word.

I have missed my Grandmother and thought of her every single day since she died. Many of those days have felt like my life was spinning out of control and yet I was glad she wasn’t here because I knew it would be too painful for her to be here and see the pain our family was going through. It made me thankful again that God took her when He did to relieve her of that burden. God is so good. Just another reminder of how He has comforted me even through death.

I still have 5 days before I can hold the keys to the car in my hands again and I am cautious as I wait for that day. I know anything can happen between now and then. The difference is, if it’s bad, it will suck, we will survive, as a family, with the help of our extended family, because our God will carry us through anything we ask Him to help us through. I’m still processing the reality that I will deal with epilepsy and the possibility of seizures for the rest of my life, but I will continue to use my filter-less mouth to bring as much awareness to this disorder as I can. There has to be purpose in this brain trauma somewhere, right???

So if you had not been able to drive yourself anywhere for 7 months where might be the first place you would go? Good question right? I have several doctor appointments next week…boring. My oldest needs supplies for his upcoming mission trip…big stores and I don’t have a good record, plus he has to do that with me. We need groceries…boring. Well, just so happens I have an amazing brother and sister in law who keep me stocked in massage gift cards! SCORE! I have already booked a Wednesday morning massage! What better place to drive for my first day out, right? A little pampering for me! Yay for my awesome bro and sis in law who know how to spoil me! Can’t wait!

I wish I could thank everyone that has helped us but I know I would forget someone and I have a terrible fear of leaving people out. So please know that if you have helped us in any way, you have been prayed for because of the gift you gave our family. You made what could have been a horrible 7 months much easier for all of us. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

© Gatewood Campbell, July 2014

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Finding It

I am allowing myself to count, or at least I am telling you I am counting. I can see the end of this trial. I am no longer counting in weeks but I am counting in days. We have had so many countdowns going on around here with the end of EOGs, EOCs, exams, school, leaving for camp, Montreat, Justin’s 16th birthday and when Mom can drive. It has been hard to keep up with which countdown we are discussing! One thing is certain, my quiet house is suddenly full of voices and that makes me so happy.

I have had a LOT of time to digest the changes to our lives that epilepsy and brain injury brought me. Some days felt like forever. Justin had to get up at 5:25 for school. Yes, it is insane. Then round two starts at 6:45. Then it is just the dogs and me until 3pm. For several months I couldn’t work out and honestly I just slept most of the day. I was so drugged up playing with so many medications I didn’t know which end was up waiting until July felt like eternity. Mom was sick, I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t even grasp how she was because I couldn’t get to her and I was angry. I hated being dependent on people every time I needed to go anywhere. I felt so much pressure to have my act completely together anytime I asked anyone for anything because I knew I was already inconveniencing someone and I didn’t want to be any extra trouble.

You do not know what real freedom is until you don’t have it anymore. Truly, there were days, 3 or 4 in a row where I did not leave the house. Sure I walked the dogs. But days that I did not get in the car, did not have the need to, as Emmer would say “put myself together” and get out. I know how she felt those last years when she was stuck in her room in healthcare and she didn’t know what day it was. Were it not for the kids coming home at 3pm the beds wouldn’t have been made and I probably wouldn’t have showered. Everyday, by 3pm, the house was presentable and I was at least physically presentable. Some days were wonderful, some were normal, some were sad, some were dark and desperate. I had never faced the reality that I will live with epilepsy and seizures for the rest of my life. I always planned that we would control it with medicine and I wouldn’t have to worry with it. That is the most likely case, but I do need to be prepared for the possibility that may not happen. There is always the chance that I will have more seizures and be back in this same place again. Mentally I needed to swallow that big pill, along with another 5 or so. I have seen that I can do this. If I have a seizure tomorrow and the clock restarts we will all deal with what comes our way. Our Lord is ever faithful. He has shown me that, day in and day out. When I was on my knees in prayer and when I was on my knees in tears. He was, is and will be faithful.

The little things have meant so much. People have called and made time to take me to lunch. Those were days I really looked forward to. I got to put myself together! I have a couple of special friends that would drop notes in the mail every so often just to say hello and they were thinking of me. Those notes always arrived on days that I needed a little extra hug. To me, weekly rides for the kids were huge, but the people providing them say they were little so I’ll call them little. These little rides home from Chess Club, baseball practice and games, church, small group, drum lessons, play dates, sleepovers, I could go on and on. Several people have taken on my kids for this entire seven months and are transporting them where they need to be on a weekly basis. They show up without reminders and it means all the world to me. These adults willing to go out of their way mean our kids don’t have to sacrifice something they enjoy because of my health. As parents you all know what that means to us. These are the things I remember…quiet acts of kindness.

Getting moving again. This was a hard one. The doctor wouldn’t let me work out for some time after my seizures. Then she let me slowly begin walking and lifting weights on a modified routine. Anyone who has worked out on any level of intensity knows that you lose it very quickly. I had run a half marathon in mid November and my first seizure was Dec 2nd. By the time I was finally allowed to work out in March I was up more than a few pounds and down more than a few levels of strength and endurance. Frustrated to say the very least! I didn’t want to run with anyone because I was too slow. People at the gym were generous when my instructor told the class about my situation and I had many offers for rides to class. So I followed the rules with weights and began to see progress there. This running thing, this was a different beast. I had been walking so I thought I would be able to run without too much trouble. One stinking mile. Tears tears tears. I felt so pathetic. The road has been my go to for years now. It’s my zone and if ever I needed a zone it was now. If I can’t have running this is just not gonna work for me. I felt so defeated. For weeks I would try to go out and run. Sometimes I would manage a couple, maybe 3 miles, other days hardly 1. I would try consoling myself by saying at least I was doing it. I wasn’t consoled. I felt robbed. It would take me back to that angry place again, angry that this epilepsy had stolen something else from me. Then, in those moments He would speak to me, through the lyrics to music.

“I don’t know where to go from here. As long as I know that You are near. I’m done fighting. I’m finally letting go. I will trust in You. You’ve never failed before. I will trust in You. If there’s a road I should walk Help me find it. If I need to be still, Give me peace for the moment. Whatever Your will, Can you help me find it? I’m giving You fear and You give faith. I’m giving you doubt. You give me grace. For every step I’ve never been alone. Even when it hurts, You’ll have Your way. Even in the valley I will say, with every breath You’ve never let me go. I will wait for You. You’ve never failed before. I will wait for You.” By Sidewalk Prophets “Help Me Find It”

My “It”. I needed to swallow epilepsy and own it. I finally felt like I could say without so much embarrassment that I have epilepsy. I’m a Mom and I am at home with my family. And the rest is really none of your business. No I can’t really say that, but I can say it in my head until I think of something a little snazzier. I am proud of my family and I am fortunate and blessed to be with my children everyday! Now God knows I love the road and I believed He wanted me to have that freedom again.

My sweet niece in Colorado called me in early spring to tell me she wanted to run the Bolder Boulder. It’s a huge Memorial Day attraction founded by Olympian Frank Shorter in 1979. The race ends in the University of Colorado’s Folsom Field with the Finish Line on the big screen for added excitement! She told me she and her entire family were running the race together. This was my “It”! My mind was racing. I was not letting my brother and his whole family do this without me! I called my best friend, Sharon. She was the person who asked me to run a half marathon with her way back in 2005. I knew she wouldn’t turn me down. I asked her to fly to CO with me and run a 10K. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even ask me when it was before she said she would go. Next, Mom. Of course she would go. I called my brother and asked if he could make room for 3 more people that weekend. No problem! I had my goal and I had a couple of months to get ready for 6 miles. I hadn’t run more than 3 miles but I was certain I would be able to do this.

Fast forward to Memorial Day weekend. I had some really bad runs and one really good 4 mile getting ready for the race. I had some great workouts and one right before the race that I had to completely bail on where the people at the gym said I looked dazed and confused. That’s always reassuring. I was so anxious leading up to the race, it was ridiculous. I was afraid to be away from home. I have been home SO much that I’m actually uncomfortable leaving home now. That’s another issue I have to deal with too. Anyway, my prayer warriors were at work and I knew God is faithful. I knew He had not failed me. I knew I needed to step outside of my comfort zone in order to feel His power rain down on me.  Well, guess what? Elevation did not bother us, lack of training did not bother me. I smiled and then I cried like a baby after crossing the finish. I took it all in and looked to the heavens, feeling like I was just a little closer standing there at the base of the Flat Irons. I thanked God for His faithfulness before, during and now. I closed my eyes and the months flashed by and I felt the ground beneath me and I was so grateful for the road I had traveled to cross that finish line. I had given Him fear and doubt and He gave me faith and grace. For every step I was never alone. Indeed He helped me find It. I just needed to rekindle my love with Him.

That's me in the pink! I found my It at the Finish!

That’s me in the pink! I found my It at the Finish!

So officially it is only 34 days until I get the keys back. I feel like I need a refresher course to hit these crazy roads first. I also wonder where I will go? Isn’t that funny? All these months of being at home and learning to consolidate trips to now I wonder where I might need to go? Thank you for being part of this journey with me. For supporting me by reading my posts and giving my an outlet for the crazy thoughts that wonder around in my silly little mind. I hope I give you some laughs, some insight into life that is different from your own and maybe a little bit of something to chew on for another day.

© Gatewood Campbell, June 2014

 

 

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21 Weeks Feels Like Forever

It has been 5 weeks since my seizure. It seems like yesterday and it seems like a lifetime ago all at the same time. The Christmas holidays helped keep me busy and speed the days along. There were always gifts to buy, gifts to wrap, decorations to be hung (or not) and places to go. Now I have to figure out how to settle in and get through the next 21 weeks of unknown.

At night, I lie in bed and try to exhale as much air as I can to try and relax my stiff body. I’ve been operating on the holiday high, get ‘r done philosophy for over a month now and I realize it is time to breathe. The last month or so have felt like I am on the Spongebob ride at Carowinds. You know, you walk in from the sweltering heat to the air conditioned theater, desperately inhaling every cool breath of (recirculated, dirty, infection infused) air. You sit down and rest your weary legs and hope it will take a couple extra moments for the attendants to double check the locks. You realize your body needed to sit and cool down more than you knew. Just as you take a deep breath and begin to relax and take in the surroundings, the lights go out and the chair jolts forward as the ride begins. And before you can grab the hand grips you are off again, into the land of the uncontrollable. You are forced to “enjoy” the ride but you have no control over it. It throws you back as if fooling you to think the chaos is over. Then BAM, another jolt forward and your emotions are on the edge again. BAM, one jolt back, lights come on and the attendant says please exit to the left. You inhale and rush out with the crowd, forced to move on to the next. The ride happens so fast you barely knew what just happened!

For five weeks I have been busy moving on to the next, jolted this way and that way, trying to keep my eyes peeled for the next unexpected detour. Everything happened so fast, I am only now realizing what happened. The rush is now over and the possibility of another grand mal seizure has overwhelmed me. It is frightening. I realize that my diagnosis is real, and much like many other diseases, it can come out of nowhere and change your trajectory instantly. Sometimes I feel like I am on the Spongebob ride and my seat belt didn’t work and I’m tossed midair into the dark theatre. I’m only 40. It is scary to look into the future and think it is possible for this to strike again. I very very strongly do not like my meds, but I realize they are not optional. I very very strongly do not like being “watched”, but I realize it is for the best. It is so hard for me to look at the calendar and visualize the next 21 weeks feeling so dependent on others. I look around the house and think I could paint this, clean that or reorganize that. You don’t realize how dependent you are on transportation to accomplish almost anything until you lose it. Everything, and I mean everything has to be planned in advance. Going to the gym, haircuts, doctor appointments, shopping, music lessons, Goodwill drop offs, after school activities, tutoring, church commitments, sports….the list goes on and on. It overwhelms me.

My Grandmother used to quote me a lot. Now, I know this will shock many of you. When I was very little I was at her house and she tried to help me with something. With my big blue eyes and dimpled face I looked at her and said “no, I do it my own self.” Shocking, I know! I could barely talk but I always knew, and so did everyone else, I was one to do it my own self. Now that is gone. That ability is gone but the drive remains. I feel like I have been jolted the same way the Spongebob ride stops. Just when you get going you look around and realize so much is different, and you wonder how you got here.

This is hard. This is just hard and I so very much want to do it my own self.

© Copyright Gatewood Campbell, January 2014

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What a Difference a Year Makes

Last Christmas I was busy making sure my house was properly festive. I was buying two of everything I was supposed to cook because I usually do a test batch of anything I make that is really important. No worries, I have growing boys so they don’t complain. I was sneaking around trying to get gifts from Emmer for the children and for Mom. I was making wine store runs because Emmer always insisted she furnish champagne on Christmas Eve when we celebrate Mom’s birthday. I had ventured away from the usual birthday cake and convinced Emmer to get hand made red velvet cake pops. They were a HUGE hit and Emmer thought it was the greatest invention since the wheel.

We were also determined to have Emmer with us on Christmas. Johnny was busy building a wheelchair ramp to make Mom’s house accessible. I worked diligently for days to convince Emmer that she could make it to Mom’s for our traditional Christmas Eve shrimp creole. She told me it was too much work for everyone. I remembering sitting beside her chair, holding her hand and explaining that it wouldn’t be Christmas knowing she was in her room alone. She came for Christmas Eve dinner. She dined on shrimp creole. She scooped up her Charlotte Rousse, made by yours truly as a bribe to get her to come to dinner. She drank, um maybe even guzzled her champagne (until the day she died she wanted a refrigerator in her room so she could have her own cold drinks). She sang Happy Birthday to my Mom when we brought out the cake pops. She delighted in the excitement on the boys’ faces when they opened the WiiU she gave them. She tried to understand what exactly she had given them and finally she just said “well cheers”! She was weak, but more than that she was determined. Determination always conquered her weakness.

As we sat around the table that night with friends we have shared Christmas Eve with for decades, I think we all knew it would be her last. I think she knew. Lord knows she had been ready years before for it to be her last, but her body just kept on ticking. She was frail, but she looked beautiful. She had on the outfit and jewelry she and I had chosen earlier that day. She wasn’t pleased with her hair because her weekly beauty parlor appointment had been 5 days before and by then it sorta showed. It had been her bath night the night before so she felt clean and smelled sweet. She was determined and I am so thankful we had that Christmas together as a family.

This year the shopping has been different. I can’t store hop for everyone so if you were lucky enough to have your gift purchased before Dec 2, you are lucky. If not, well then you are lucky to get something. I haven’t had the energy to decorate so we hung stockings and put up a 4′ artificial pre-lit tree. I put my Grandmother Payne’s angel topper on it, hung some balls on the tree and called it quits. I feel guilty letting weakness beat out determination. That is not the way I was taught. But this year I am worn down and I ache.

The shock of the last few weeks has been overwhelming. The reality of my future with epilepsy is beginning to sink in. I am just beginning to understand that I really am going to be taking medicine for the rest of my life. There is no cure. I went 8 years without a grand mal. I had learned to cope with small seizures here and there, but this caught me off guard. It took the breath out of me, in more ways than the obvious. I realize that I will always be planning for the what if. On the bright side of things I did get some new jewelry, granted it is a medical ID bracelet, but it is purple and it is jewelry so I will take it. I hope the day will come when my husband, my Mom and my brother don’t feel like they need to call me every few hours to be sure I’m ok. I want my children not to worry about their mom. I know there are a multitude of people waiting to help me at a moment’s notice. I need to know that I can figure out how to cope with the inability to drive on my own, so that I won’t live in fear of another bad seizure. I need to know that at 40 years old, I can have some form of independence. I have been shaken and I’m still stirred right now.

This has not been the most stellar of years for us, but I wouldn’t go back in time, because I really do NOT want to relive it again. I remember with bittersweet tears our last Christmas with our matriarch and I know my Mother is equipped to hold that torch now. I take tremendous joy in the 6 years I had with Emmer and her first mate. Her humor, her honesty, her debates, her tears and her bountiful love for her family are simply unmatched. Nothing can take away those memories. It was her bountiful love that gave her the strength to have one last Christmas with all of us. It is her gift that keeps on giving.

So I look back on 2013 with joy and sorrow swirled together. I also find it appropriate to quote the great philosopher Flo, and say, “2013 you can kiss my grits.” I’m pretty sure Emmer just rolled over in her grave as she quietly explains away my candidness from a brain injury. I’m stirred, I’m afraid, but I am determined this will pass. From this point of view I must believe it only gets better because in my darkest hours over the last 8 years I can look back and see the sun was always streaming through the clouds.

© Copyright Gatewood Campbell, December 2013

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Returning Thanks

I have been enjoying reading thankful posts from my friends during November. Each day I have thought of something for which I am grateful. November is Epilepsy Awareness Month and our family has been busy participating and I have not slowed down enough to write down so many things for which I am thankful. So here goes…

Blessed with Much, Thankful for Much and Eternally Molded by Much.
This Thanksgiving I am thankful for
The promise of eternity in heaven with my Lord and Savior;
our warm home;
food to eat;
clothing for my family;
my husband, my children and all the ways they generously love me;
my mother, my grandmother and the combination of the two that I have become;
my brother and my sister in law that love me in all the right moments;
my mother and father in law who love without ceasing, in word and in deed;
mercy and grace from God and those close to me;
friends that love me without judgement;
my Mother’s friends that love me as their own;
teachers that understand boys;
The Pines staff that loved my Emmer as their own;
Montreat, all that she was, is, will be and all those that come along with her;
the beach that teaches me to release my burdens with the tide;
driving by myself;
the ability to run and the ability to pay it forward;
the ability to understand the misunderstood;
the color purple and all who proudly wear it;
the power of fearless sharing;
kind words and smiles from strangers;
random acts of kindness;
patience from a sales clerk;
family traditions;
making new memories;
and a concussion that changed our lives forever.

© Copyright Gatewood Campbell, November 2013