For the record, spilt wine and Starbucks is Ugly. Face. Cry. Worthy.

So I’m going to go ahead and apologize now. I feel like I only ever write on this thing when I’m feeling down. Like really down, like when it’s the bottom of the fifth and you pitch a home run for the opposing team and lose the game level of down…Woahhh can we pause and reevaluate for a second? Did I really just use baseball as a metaphor? I mean, the last (and only) baseball game I went to I asked my best friend’s husband how many quarters there were and where the cheerleaders were. (Seriously you can’t make this stuff up.) Anyways, It seems like I only ever pull out the laptop and open up the blog when I don’t know what else to do and there’s no other choice than to put everything into words, and attempt to make sense of the hott mess that is my life. So for that I apologize, I promise I really am a semi-normal, overly sassy and sarcastic girl , not some gray, Eeyore type individual that walks around with a storm cloud over her head.

Okay, back to ugly crying and sad puddles of wasted Cupcake Moscato. The last few weeks have been pretty insane in the world of Laura. By insane I mean finding out that my current job will be changing soon, experiencing some heartbreaking days that come with being a Hem/Onc nurse, ending up in the bathroom floor of the med room with a gash in my lip, a fabulous bruise and some broken teeth, some unforeseen health concerns that I was in no way shape or form expecting, and of course the usual stress that is everyone’s lives, like the first return episode of Grey’s being a total bummer. So, all of this of course, complicates things. When God handed me the MS crown he couldn’t have given me something that high stress levels improve or lesson, no, he had to give me a disease that is exacerbated by stress and fatigue. Thanks God. ( For those of you reading way into that sentence, chill it’s called humor, this is where you find the humor people.)  One of the new lovely symptoms that has graced me with it’s presence is arm weakness, and numbness that is intermittent in nature and occurs at the worst possible times (As if I wasn’t clumsy enough, once again, God has an incredible sense of humor y’all.) So this has made life around my house and job pretty interesting. Not as interesting as 2 failed shopping trips though.

Sunday night when I got off work I knew I needed to walk around for a little while before making the drive home. Sounds crazy I know, but spasticity is a strange, strange thing. So I went to every girl’s favorite vice.Target. With a venti white chocolate mocha in hand, a red target shopping basket, ear buds blasting my favorite Pandora station, and that handy always in fashion Target red card I set out for some retail therapy. About an hour in, I pick up my coffee and boom, the electric shock effect followed by numbness and severe weakness hit my left hand/arm and like a bad music video I turn the cup completely upside down in what felt like slow motion onto my phone, keys, self, and shopping basket. Just in case you were wondering what liquid sounds like when it falls through a plastic shopping basket, it sounds a lot like those huge buckets that fill with water at a water park and then dump every 3 mins or so. Seriously, it’s quite dramatic. So,  needless to say I left my favorite Target sticky and smelling like old milk,  in tears of humiliation, defeat, and anger, and fearful that I could never show my face in my favorite Target store ever again. Fast forward to Monday afternoon, I’m in Walmart this time because I’m still too embarrassed to enter a Target store just yet,  when I decide  that I need a bottle of my favorite wine to commemorate the fact that even though I have been  feeling absolutely horrible and struggling I’m still standing, still working and now I’m even grocery shopping through it all like a real functioning adult  when boom it all happens again,  except this time it’s more dramatic than ever. There’s something about glass shattering on icky Walmart tile that makes everyone stop mid sentence and stride to turn and look to see what has happened. Seriously even babies stopped crying to turn and stare.

First thought through my mind : Seriously. Why. Is. This. My. Life.

Second thought: Shit, do I still have to pay for this even though its obviously wasted? Also is it too soon and frowned upon to step over the broken glass and grabbed another bottle orrrrrr? 

Third thought: Perfect, first Target, now Walmart. Guess I’m just going to have to be one of those antisocial hermits that have everything delivered to their doors, never leave their houses and are scared of life outside of their bubble… Yeah I’m never shy on the dramatics.

In the end,the entire fiasco was nothing that a 3 min cry session in my car and a phone call to my mother couldn’t fix. I mean, let’s face it, sometimes some humility and embarrassment is good for the soul right?

What this all equals to is that no matter how much we choose to ignore things, no matter how many cable wired fences, steel walls, or trained attack dogs we put outside of our pretty glittered filled perfect pink bubbles that we try and live our lives in,  the bad things still happen. The reality still finds us. The hard things, are still hard. The bad days, are still going to occur or as in my case the lab results, imaging, symptoms , embarrassing trips to the ER in bloody scrubs and C-collars, and sticky, coffee and wine messes in major department stores will still happen. Because no amount of denial, perseverance, bargaining, or sarcasm can  make reality any less real. So people, whatever your equivalent to spilt wine is, embrace it. Cry over it, laugh over it, make fun of yourself over it and be thankful for it. Because you were chosen for this life. The good times, the hard times and the glitterful moments were hand picked for you. There’s only one you, and the world needs your best moments and your worst moments. This life is an absolute hot mess of ridiculous chaos, but it sure is glitterful.

With love,

Laura ❤  

This morning I had my long dreaded hospital follow up with Cardiology. (And by dreaded I mean I thought about canceling it no less than 936 times even while in the parking lot) Sitting in the waiting room looking at the other 29 people who were waiting to be seen I began to feel sorry for myself. It was obvious I was the youngest there by far, by no less than 30 years easily. I shouldn’t be here, I should be at work, complaining about being stuck at work, or knocking off the 19 things on my to do list, or out getting a pedicure with a glass of wine in my right hand and Facebook creeping my exes with my left one. Wherever I should be it shouldn’t be here in a cardiology waiting room triaging the other patients waiting in my head and guessing their probable diagnosis’s. But this is where I sit. It’s where life has brought me. It’s where God has brought me. Whether I like it or not.

I recently read a book written by one of my favorite Christian musicians, Laura Story called When God Doesn’t Fix It. Fitting right? In the book Laura recalls when her husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor, the complications that followed and how much her faith was tested. She is completely honest and transparent and admits to every time she doubted her faith and even God. That hit deep. Why? Because I like to ignore those feelings when they arise. I shove them deep down inside because who am I to question God? How dare I question my faith? It wasn’t until I was reading this book that I realized that that just might be my very problem. (Spoiler alert it’s not a might, it’s a YES That’s my problem exactly!!!) I’m afraid to admit to myself, to God and especially to other that I have my days of doubt. Instead of letting those feelings surface, I completely shut down. You can’t doubt your faith if you just choose to not acknowledge it at all right? Wrong.

The truth is I’ve never been more weak in my faith than I am right now. I’ve never felt more personally victimized by God than I do in this moment. I’ve trusted him from the beginning. Sitting in the ER almost a year a half ago listening to my physician tell me that there were abnormalities on my MRI and I needed to be admitted immediately to rule out MS, I trusted Him. I remained faithful, I praised Him, I trusted the journey. Later that same year, hearing that same physician say he was uncertain that I would ever walk again, I continued to trust Him, I continued to praise Him, I trusted that He wasn’t finished yet and that the journey was only beginning.Then when life started changing, and miracle after miracle begin to pour in and happen right before my very eyes, I trusted Him and praised Him and knew the journey would only be beautiful from here on out.The darkness was over. Which is why when I was lead to a new team of neurologist with a new treatment plan I knew it was good and things were only going to continue to get better and better. Which is why as time went on and life started returning to normal and by normal I mean really normal, like better than before normal, work was amazing, I felt better than I had in literally forever and it finally seemed like something was working and the future was full of endless possibilities I knew it was by his grace and that this was the “good” He promises us.

Until everything fell apart. Until I ended up back in an OR, then a week later back in the hospital, then a week later back in the hospital again and finally with the scary news that I now had some serious heart issues due to the miracle treatment that I just knew was going to fix everything. I don’t think I had ever felt my heart truly break until that moment.

You learn in nursing school the Kubler-Ross 5 stages of grief, you are taught how to empathize with those experiencing them and how the stages don’t all happen separately or individually, but what you don’t learn is what it truly feels like to experience 4/5 at the same time, in the same moment. I was heartbroken, pissed off, helpless, in denial and in utter shock at how cruel God could be. How could this God who promises only good allow me to become so happy and whole again only to absolutely demolish it in a matter of weeks? I had been faithful, I had been patient, I had trusted and found beauty in the freaking journey so why can’t I have my good? Why can’t I have a freaking moment to be okay?

The answer is simple. Especially in my life of constant medical jargon, 6 syllable words and vast uncertainties. The answer is because the journey isn’t over. The good that He promises still awaits, and the journey although broken, and twisted and dark is still beautiful and it’s only just begun. The truth is I may never be “fixed”, I may never be the “normal”I once was, I may never live out the pretty picture of a life I’ve dreamed about my enitire life. But I’ve been trusted and given this life for a greater purpose, that is yet to be discovered but does exist. Whether it’s to show others facing similar struggles that they can be faced or to be used as an example of how not to do it is yet to be determined. (;

Romans 8:28

-And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

-Laura ❤️

I’m blessed with so much more than I deserve, especially with the people beside me. Even through the last trainwreck of a year, I still turn around or look beside me and see way more people beside me than I deserve. These people endure absolute hell right along with me, even more so than myself in the sense that they have to also put up with me during all the craziness. They all somehow know when to love me, when to threaten to kick my ass, when to be soft, and when to be hard. This post is dedicated to them. The real winners in this story of my hot mess express life. The reason I am who am I and the ones who are to thank for the best parts of me and ultimately, the reason I’m here today.

Thank you, for being there when I hit rock bottom. That expression is scary enough; rock bottom. Those moments when all the light fades from my world and I lose every ounce of faith, positivity and strength I have. The moment I’m at my absolute weakest, the moment I question how I’ll ever survive, how I’ll find the strength to make it another second. You take my hand, remind me that my track record for surviving bad days is 100% and remind me of every single great thing in life, and restore my faith. You dry the tears, calm the anxiety and remind me that it is okay to feel the way I’m feeling; but that tomorrow is a new day, and it must be seized. Thankfully these rock bottom moments are rare, but the love I experience during these moments is breathtaking and the reason these moments are so rare.

Thank you, for being blunt, harsh and matter of factly, when I’m wearing denial as a crown.  Now these moments, are much more common. They are how I would absolutely live every second of my life if I didn’t have the amazing people I have in my life, who aren’t afraid to tell me that I’m being ridiculous and need to grow up and get it together. This actually might be the hardest part of it all. Being the bad cop. Thank you, for risking being mean to make me wake up and realize I’m jeopardizing my own future and life. For not being afraid to piss me off by not sugar coating everything and for being strong enough to stand up to me and my crown of denial and tell me that I’m running from everything instead of being brave and handling things like an adult.

Thank you for loving me at my absolute worst. Thank you for being there for the midnight phone calls after a horrible day at work, when I’m in tears and not even able to speak through the sobs, Thank you for always being down for tequila, wine, carbs or whatever the chosen poison maybe that day after that stupid boy broke my heart…again, for the 47th time. Thank you for always being willing to  fall victim to the meltdowns, the tantrums, the bathroom ugly face cry, and the psychotic laughing anger phase that even scares myself.

Thank you for reminding me who I am at my best. Thank you for reminding me that I’m so much more than that bad day. That I’m more than my mistakes and shortcomings. That I have so much to offer the world. That I matter. That my sarcasm and potty mouth aren’t the only things I bring to the table. Thank you for having faith in me on the days I even lose faith in myself. Thank you for never allowing me to quit. (Except for smoking when drinking, snookie bumps and total face bronzer. yeah Thank you for that X 1365723687) Thank you for defining me by my good moments, and not my bad ones.

Thank you for inspiring me, and making me into a better person. Thank you for leading by example, showing me what strength, grace, intelligence and success look like. You make me want to be a better person, and for that I will always adore you.

And finally thank you for walking this journey with me. From the  highschool teenage years, to college and all those disastrous relationships, to nursing school and all the hellacious moments that came with that, to my first year as a nurse and all the highs and lows that that included, to being there when my world was turned upside down by a diagnosis, being there for the heartbreak that everyone saw coming and warned me about for years and years. No matter where in that insane run-on sentence you entered my life, you have left a imprint on me, you’ve made me into the person I am today. Thank you for being by my side. Thank you for loving me. 

– Laura❤️

You’re shattered

Like you’ve never been before

The life you knew

In a thousand pieces on the floor

You think you’re never gonna get back

To the you that used to be

Tell your heart to beat again

Close your eyes and breathe it in

Let the shadows fall away

Step into the light of grace

Yesterday’s a closing door

You don’t live there anymore

Say goodbye to where you’ve been

And tell your heart to beat again.

These are lyrics to one of my favorite songs. These are also words that I feel could have came from my own heart. I recently went though a difficult season. A season filled with uncertainty, doubt, fear and hopelessness. I never thought I would be able to return to life, my home, my work. Then the impossible happened, after 86 days of being in the hospital, surgeries, injections, 100’s of hours of physcial and occupational therapies I was able to walk again. That should be the end of the story right? I should end here with and she lived happily ever after.
Except that’s not how it ended.

I thought surving rehab was the hard part. I thought painful serial castings and hours in a standing frame were the hard part. I thought being alone in a hospital room was the hard part. I thought being dependant on another person to help me with the simplest task was the hard part. I thought being the patient, instead of the nurse was the hard part.
I was completely wrong. The hard part started when life returned to “normal.” The hard part started when I realized that I was not the same person I was 4 months prior.

I’ve come to realize that accepting you have an illness is one thing, accepting that that illness will affect your daily life is a entirely different thing. The first few outings after coming home were difficult, having everyone stop and ask you how you’re doing and how glad they are that you are doing better was hard. So many times I thought to myself, why can’t we just pretend I’ve been on vacation for 4 months and that my disabilty and the months in the hospital and a wheelchair never happened? Why can’t we just erase the last 4 months and move on?

Going back to work was even harder. While i was so thankful everyone was so kind and welcoming it was hard to have to acknowlege that I had indeed been gone and that I was fragile. I was ashamed of what I’d been through, even embarrassed of all that i’d been through. I wanted to scream that I was fine, that I was the same Laura that left in December, that I was not going to fall apart at any given moment, but the truth is, I was none of those things and I was in fact ready to fall apart. The hardest part was not feeling like a member of the team or family anymore. Don’t missunderstand me, my coworkers are beyond amazing. They are the most beautiful, supportive group of people I know, and I’m blessed by their presence, but trying to return to who you use to be, and finding it physcially impossible is one of the biggest and realist heartbreaks I’ve ever experianced. The job and people who I had fought so hard to come back to, wasn’t what I expected and I was devestated. The job was the same, the people were the same. But I wasn’t, and I may never be.

This is where I sit today. Trying to tell my heart to beat again. Trying to accept what is and continuing to have faith in what will be.   I’m entering a new season, a season of learning; learning that it’s okay to not be the same me I once was, learning that it’s okay to be different and learning how to love myself again. I hope to someday (sooner, rather than later) be able to write a blog titled Acceptance, that describes the ending to this season. That is filled with a story about how I learned to accept the things I cannot change; a story about how I learned to love every single part of myself, including this illness.  A story that ends with me typing, &  she lived happily ever after.

Unitl then,

–Laura.