More Like a Dependence Day

When living in the Midwest where pyromania is out of control on Independence Day, the chemically sensitive like me gear-up for the occasion. No, not raffia pumps with ribbon ties and sparkling earrings in red, white, and blue but full-on painter’s masks in pink and yellow! Not even a coronavirus can get to me now! Other days it’s the proverbial N95 mask instead. I depend upon these tools for survival. You are only as good as your tools, right?

When a tooth extracted during the shutdown of the pandemic didn’t heal according to plan, IV ozone treatments cleared things up nicely. It only cost an additional $450! Flash forward to week 9 and FRAGMENTS of bone and tooth start pushing up from the gums that are still sore and sensitive to temperature. It’s normal, right? So I pulled out all 3 of them, cleaned up MORE PUS, rinsed with saline and the remaining antibiotic rinse I had plus some liposomal vitamin C. No prob. Things have quieted down now that I employed the problem-solving skills granted by the Lord, that I have come to depend upon. Thank you!

When convulsive episodes persist eight years later after their onset and every Practitioner consulted has not found their root cause or treatment, I take to my clinical research tools once again. Many symptoms and a new look at prior medical testing now indicate a need to revisit a cardiology work-up. And while recovering from two particularly heinous episodes today, a friend mentioned something on Facebook that will likely direct me to my next specialist. I asked my Family Practice Physician for a referral. Let’s do this. I shall depend upon you again my brilliant Doc, to help me put this together in search of a cure.

And when overly-focused on my own traumas and dramas, the recent passing of the last member of my immediate family not-withstanding, I realize that it is not my own life that is in chaos BUT THE ENTIRE NATION IN WHICH I LIVE. There is a shroud of evil darkening the patriotism and freedoms of our once United States of America. The life I am trying to live has been forever changed and the way in which I have tried to live it is increasingly changing. Political mayhem gave way to a pandemic and escalated into anarchy, the latter coming soon to a street near you. How then are we to live? We could say so much here yet I contend simply that you better depend upon Jesus now or forever hold your breath, your teeth, your head, your mind lest you too go mad.

This may have been our last Independence Day. One day soon may be our eternal days in Dependence upon that which we do not desire. As for me, dependence on the Lord is the only way to live, the only way to survive the evils of living in a fallen world, a world quickly falling into utter darkness. I may go down for good tomorrow due to illness factors or the random firing of an angry mob. Regardless, the outcome will be the same. I’ll be in paradise with my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, healthy and forever free.

We still have some choices Gentle Reader. Upon what have you decided to depend? JJ

Be true to who you are

This song will make the point of this post more clear.  Have fun as you listen to this upbeat tune from the Beach Boys!

<img class=”alignnone size-full wp-image-4432″ src=”https://justjuliewrites.files.wordpress.com/2015/12/beach-boys.jpg” alt=”Beach Boys” width=”480″ height=”360″

“Just like you would to your girl or guy.  Be true to your school.  Rah rah, shish boom bah!”  And Gentle Readers I submit that this also applies to US TOO!

In a recent trip to the Emergency Room (yeah same story, different day) I was received by the male nurse who did my initial evaluation less than a month ago.  I remembered the gooley, inappropriate look on his face as he handed me a hospital gown and asked me to change clothes then waited for me to do so right in front of him.  He had the gown opened just below his eye level.  His eyes were staring at my chest.  The expression on his face was blank.  And I didn’t buy it one bit.

I really don’t know how I had the presence of mind in the middle of non-stop convulsive episodes and a struggle to breathe to ask him for some privacy.  He paused for a moment then looked up at me.  “Of course,” he said or something similar and handed me the gown.  He pulled the hospital curtain and continued typing on the portable computer just beyond what is also called the “privacy curtain.”  My beloved husband, Steve, assisted me in changing my clothing thank you very much!  My dignity in an extreme moment of vulnerability was spared.  Thank you Lord.

I know that this nurse is a medical professional.  He has probably seen thousands of naked bodies and women a lot better endowed than yours truly.  In a time of crisis, the medical professional assists a patient in changing clothes as a part of the procedures.  Yeah but they are not to do so while acting in an unprofessional manner.  He was not going to help me in that moment unless I was dead!  Period!  The rest of that visit went more cordially and more appropriately.  I changed clothing on my own after the assessments and treatments were completed about four hours later, thank you very much.

Flash forward to this past Tuesday night.  Mr. un-Wonderful was working the p.m. shift again in the ER and begins his nursing evaluation.  I cringe.  This time it was a petite, blonde nurse co-worker who asked me to donn a hospital gown.  The dude was within arm’s reach of the gurney upon which I am lying.  I felt his eyes upon me.  In that moment, shaking violently with convulsive episodes and struggling to breathe, I was glad that I had been trained as an occupational therapist and muttered as much.  As such I know more ways to dress and undress than the average person with virtually any disability that you can imagine.  I laid the gown over my clothing, covering my personhood, and struggled then succeeded to doff my own clothing and get into the approved garb.  Steve might have helped some; I don’t know as my eyes were closed.  The nurse  wasn’t happy but I was.  And in doing my own thingy, I remained true to myself.

The rest of the ER visit went as they usually do.  After about 750 cc of fluids, IV Rocephin, and a shot of Morphine (my first ever!) I was feeling better.  While the second bag of IV fluids diminished the severity of the episodes, the tremulous part of the episodes didn’t stop until after the Rocephin.  And that improvement lasted for about a day with barely a tic attack here and there.  Yeah God!

Now I am in the aftermath of trying to decide what to do.  The prescription Keflex (same cephalosporin drug class as Rocephin) has begun irritating my stomach.  While there were findings of a urinary tract infection in the ER, the urine culture was negative.  There are still fewer and less intense episodes overall:  the hell that plagues my life and keeps me clinging to the Cross of Christ for hours every day.  My Doc says to stop the Keflex.  I held the herbal Biocidin (anti-microbial) after the ER visit to avoid an interaction with the new prescription drug.  What shall I do now?  Hmmmmmmm.

I know what my gut is telling me to do:  be true to myself.  I will pray for the Lord to guide my very wise husband and me.  I will strive to be respectful to those trying to care for me with as much courtesy as I can muster in any given situation while protecting my own privacy and integrity when it is all that I have.  In due time we will figure all of this out and be much better for the journey the Lord has allowed for His purposes and our good.  Of this I am still sure.

And if anyone tries to tear down my alma matter, Mott High School and the mighty Marauders, well then I will be “true to my school” as well.  “Go team,” I will shout on high!   Lord willing, we are going to win!  JJ