The Frostbitten Truth!

The truth of how I got frostbite is . . . I was hiking K-2 when I was attacked by large, hairy creature with large fangs and even larger claws. He growled, ripped off my right boot, and loped off! I was forced to hop my way down the mountain until I returned to a friendlier altitude. From there, I unfolded my hang-glider that I'd stowed in my pack for just this kind of emergency and floated my way down to base camp. But it wasn't enough!

Ok, that story is only like 20% true.

But seriously, I need to consider a change in lifestyle since no one -- not ONE person -- thought that winter camping could have been the story behind my frostbitten foot. I can forgive the zero votes on pioneer treks because, as many of you well know, I think they are silly. But the highest votes were for sitting on the couch and walking around barefoot during January??? Oh man, oh man.

The truth of the matter is . . . (drumroll)

I got it while sitting on my couch. Or rather, while lying on my couch.

You see, I'd torn some ligaments in my right foot the week before while playing basketball. Four things resulted: 1) I was on doctor's order to ice my foot, 2) keep the foot wrapped in an ace bandage, 3) keep my foot elevated. 4) I was on a pain killer that made me incredibly drowsy.

One afternoon, while dutifully icing my foot, I fell asleep with the ice pack still on. This was not the first time . . . but it was the longest. It ended up being about a six-hour nap.

When I woke up, I took the ice off. After about fifteen minutes I noticed my foot was still not coming back to temperature so I got a warm rice bag and applied heat. No difference. I removed the ace bandage to increase the blood flow to my foot. As I removed the bandage, I saw what looked to be the beginning of a blister on the top of my foot. Over the next few hours, my foot little by little came back to a better temperature. And I loosely replaced the ace bandage for the night.

Next morning, I was removing the ace bandage with my foot balanced on the bathroom counter. Once the bandage was removed I noticed a black and blue patch (about 1-inch by 2.5-inches) on the bottom of my foot. My first thought was "Aw crap. I gave myself frostbite."

Long story made short, my doctors didn't believe me and they went through all kinds of terrible hypotheses before I eventually made it to a doctor who listened and verified that my injuries actually were cooling injuries. The combination of slowed blood flow from the wrapped, elevated, and cooled foot (in addition to the fact that I was sleeping and blood pressure would have been even lower) made for a perfect little storm of events that resulted in my frostbitten foot.

And six months, two skin grafts, and several topical applications (including one that was made of placenta) later I could use my foot again.

What have I learned?

• It sucks not being able to use your foot.
• Vitamin C and animal proteins combined help skin cells rebuild and accelerate this kind of healing.
• There are many good people who brought in meals, helped clean my nasty kitchen, helped me haul loads of laundry down to our basement, and one who even made me lemon meringue pie complete with vitamin C (lemon) and animal proteins (egg whites).
• Also, hospitals aren't necessarily places of evil and trauma. Just sometimes.
• Netflix has a lot of good stuff (and crap!).
• There are a lot of good books (and crappy ones!).

My foot should be back to 100% sometime next year.  So folks, remember, remember -- ice your feet in moderation.

The Poll

I've been absent from the blog for some months now. But I have several half-thought-out, half-written posts in the works. 'Til then, satisfy my curiosity and take the poll I've posted over in the sidebar. How do you think I got frostbite this past January?

Year of Regeneration

This time last year I chose a word that I wanted to shape my decisions around in 2013. (I am very abstract like this sometimes.) The word I chose was Regeneration. Interesting for me is looking back at the opportunities, both happy and dark, that led to successfully shaping my year.

For the sake of easy listing, I've categorized things very generally.

Physical
In thinking of regeneration and how it would apply to me physically, I made a couple big decisions. The first meant shedding more than fifty be-shackling pounds. One year later, I'm fifty-five pounds the lighter.

The second began with me researching LASIK surgery. I couldn't think of anything more befitting this year of regeneration than receiving the gift of clear sight. In March, everything lined up. I went in to the Eye Institute for the procedure. By the end of the day I was already seeing better. My vision continued to improve over the course of the next week and month. It was and is miraculous. I can see! (Huge blessing that made this possible -- everything lined up with insurance and HSA, so we didn't have any out-of-pocket expense with it.)

As to physical surroundings, again two things. First, I established a system for keeping on top of household tasks and cleaning. (Look at me! I can hardly believe I'm an INFP anymore! But I am . . . though technically now borderline INFJ.)

Second, we saved up for and bought a couch! (New to us!) It means a lot to not have to look at a really worn-out, grey, and depressing-looking couch everyday. We also got a couple new tablecloths, which has made our living space much happier!

Emotional
When it came to emotional regeneration, I made a list of things that were making me feel bitter or angry about life. Then I began feeling my way through, seeing a counselor here and there as we were able to afford.

To list a few things (again, in an effort to be more concrete):

1) I felt anger and shame with myself for not being ready to have another kid. Part of it stemmed from fear of re-entering the NICU with the next baby. The NICU experience was a trauma for me. Finally opening myself up and talking with God, friends, family, and - randomly - a couple very understanding receptionists at my dentist's office, I've come to accept that there is no shame in waiting.

I'm dead-tired of hearing people say, "But you're never really 'ready.'" "Not being ready" isn't just an excuse that selfish people throw out. "Not being ready" is a very valid reason for holding off. More to come in #3.

2) I felt a lot of anger and bitterness toward friends who left the Church, compounded by feelings of guilt and inadequacy at myself for a) feeling angry at their decision; b) not being a good enough member missionary to keep them in. Also, their decision to leave coupled with my decision to stay in, led me to wonder whether they would understand and support me though I have chosen differently than they.

I had to remember that a) Jesus is Savior, not me; b) we all (thankfully!!!) have free agency; c) this life is a journey of choices that could someday lead any one of them back, but chances are they're not going to end up in hell anyway, and again, Jesus is Savior not me; d) it's okay to feel angry. Once I allowed myself to feel angry, I was surprised how quickly it went away. I also realized that if they truly are friends, they will love me and support me, though they may also go through times of anger and bitterness.

3) Postpartum depression. This is tough to talk about. In July, a friend took her life while going through postpartum depression. No one knew she was even experiencing it. She (like myself) tended to smile a lot and keep things upbeat.

This was a HUGE wake-up call for me.

I started talking to people about my struggle with postpartum. My family, I was shocked to learn, hadn't even realized I was going through any kind of depression. My bishop encouraged me to talk with different sisters in the ward (his wife included) who had dealt with it, so I could begin developing a community of support. My husband had already known I was going through a "bad spell," but Serenity's death helped him realize the gravity of what I had gone through/was going through. His family has also been a great support to me.

I'm still working through this one, to be honest. The idea of willingly going through postpartum depression again is pretty daunting. But I've come a long, long way and little by little I've seen a community of support strengthening around me, and I know choices I can make to help things be better.

Intellectual/Creative

Any progress on this front would be considered regeneration, since during the months of breastfeeding and working through all the issues above, my standards weren't all that high in this department . . .

I finally read Middlemarch all the way through - thanks to the audiobook and a long roadtrip to New Mexico and back.

Jon and I started a little rock band we call Furious George.

I've learned to view photography again as something I love, and not just something that hangs a deadline over me.

I've started reading through Mormon Women Have Their Say and attending a lovely Mormon-feminist book group to discuss it. It's been really beautiful.


To sum up, this was by far my most successful bout of New Year's resolution-ing I've ever had. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it, because technically I know goals are supposed to meet certain criteria in order to be "effective" and yet I found myself thriving in the openness that this goal presented.

I may do this again this year, but with a different theme. If I do, I'll let you know in another twelve months. ;)

Cleaning with Sammy . . .

Today, trying to fit Sammy's newly received books onto his bookshelf: 

Sammy: "Scriptures . . . "

Me: (Noticing the triple combination sitting on one of his shelves.) "Oh yeah, scriptures. Good job, Sammy!"

Sammy: (Grabbing scriptures off the shelf, then seating himself on his red wooden chair, and opening them.) "And it came to pass . . . "

I was a little bit floored. Our scripture reading times have not been super consistent, and they usually happen just before Sammy's bedtime, usually while WWIII ensues on the changing table. It's nice to know Sammy's listening and remembering things after all.

(Non-Mormon friends, "and it came to pass" is a very common phrase in the Book of Mormon. The triple combination is the shorter way of referring to the book that contains all three unique-to-Mormons scriptures: The Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and The Pearl of Great Price.)

Thoughts from yesterday

Yesterday the prophet said, "Wherever we are in life there are times when all of us have challenges and struggles. Although they are different for each, they are common to all."

His words struck me deeply. We all really do have individual challenges and trials unique to each of us. Yet they are common to us all. It's this last part that stuck with me. "Common to us all."

It's true. Our challenges and trials are unique --  only a certain circle of people are personally affected by the bad action/choice/happening/circumstance. Yet, sometimes we like to think that our challenges and struggles set us apart from the rest of the human family. "I've gone through such and such . . . what can you neophytes know of it?" (I'm as guilty of this line of thinking as anyone.) But this pattern of thought leads ultimately to isolation. Isolation is a dark place. It can lead us to feel like complete and utter misfits on the face of the earth.

Yet, because we are brothers and sisters -- because many of us have individually made the covenant to help bear each other's burdens and mourn with those who are mourning -- their challenges, their trials, their burdens also become ours. The troubles of the individual become the burden of the whole.

Burdens are meant to be shared! Those who lack strength at the moment to lend a hand should be cared for, helped, healed.

I've been thinking of this a lot since yesterday evening. What am I really contributing to life to make it better for any one person?

All I know is, I'd like it to be greater than what it currently is.

The People-Pleaser Learns to say "Hell no!" . . . and be okay with it.

My wise friend, and oft-counselor, Analiesa Leonhardt helped me through a bit of a quandary a couple months back. I'd given my word to do something that I really wished I'd said "no" to in the first place.

The way I saw it, there was no way out . . . I'd already given my word. I'm a people-pleaser, so the very idea of causing disappointment, annoyance, or (my dear Norwegian grandmother's oft-used term) "be[ing] a burden" seemed a shuddering impossibility.

No way out.

Right?

Analiesa, in her wonderfully Analiesa way, told me about a speaker she'd heard recently who talked about how time is a limited, non-renewable resource. Thus how we spend our time is important. So why spend this precious resource on commitments and obligations to which we really wish we would have just said 'no' in the first place?

These commitments often rob our precious time and sap energy away from higher priorities.

Thus, the speaker went on, if something isn't a "Hell yes!" it's a "Hell no!" by default.

My burden felt immediately lighter.

I didn't need to be bound by a commitment that was going to put undue stress on me and my family. I realized that even after fulfilling this commitment, most likely I would return home exhausted and needing to play sleep catch-up. The simple measuring stick of "Hell yes!" or "Hell no!" helped me realize I could back out. So I called the lady and told her "no."

I'd be lying if I said it all went down in a neat, tidy manner.

It didn't.

As I spoke with her, I caught myself rambling, interlaced with plenty of hedging, hemming, and hawing. She didn't like it. She'd have to find someone last minute to replace me. But she did find someone.

I felt a bit guilty for not having said "no" at the get-go. But that guilt was overpowered by feelings of strength and freedom -- I'd be able keep my commitments to myself, my family, and my household. It was important that I make those my first priority even in this small instance.

That was just the beginning. Little by little I'm learning to say "no." The results have been awesome! I feel so much happier with how I spend my time. I have energy for the people and responsibilities that matter most to me!

Jon also started using the "hell no!" system. We're a little bit in love with it. We've had some good laughs along the way, too. Like the day I turned to Jonathan during a conversation completely unrelated and said, "I think yard work is a 'hell no' for me." (It felt like such an epiphany!)

One more awesome aspect of this system: feeling kinship with J. Golden Kimball.

Hell yes!

More pictures of veggies

More photos I took of veggies.

Mother-Tuckers

"Oh, you're folding down the top! I have to wear mine like this." The lady (who was trying oh-so-desperately to save me from adding a quarter-inch of visual thickness to my hips) gently smoothed her palms over the band of her black and white chevron maxi skirt. "Only skinny-minis can get away with it folded down." Her voice went up an octave when she said, "skinny minis."

I looked this sales-lady in the face. Her stiff expression (with a smile!) had caused small creases to form in her bronzing make-up. I wanted to say (but as usual didn't), "Thank you, but I don't share your insecurity about hip size."

Instead I obligingly unfolded the top of the maxi skirt I was trying on, looked at myself in the mirror, and nodded. "There ya go! Isn't that so much better?" she cheered, affirming her words with a gentle pressure on my forearm and moving on to another customer, trailing a scent of something beachy.

Fact is, despite her affirmations, the unfolded top didn't look better. It cut a visual line across my body exactly at my navel which (on me) isn't all that flattering. I folded the top back down.

This time, I also tucked in my shirt.

Let me repeat: I tucked in my shirt! Or in other words, I turned the second key - and unwittingly released an H-bomb!

Arms a-flutter, the sales lady scuttled back over to my mirror. In a higher octave again, "Oh honey. You look sooo cute in that skirt." She looked me up and down. "Why don't you try untucking the shirt?"

I pulled my shirt out.

"Hmmm . . . and try unfolding the band of the skirt again."

I complied.

"Oh yeah. That looks great! I have a couple kids, and now no matter what I do I can't get rid of this pooch," pinching some of her own stomach skin (and tee-shirt) between her thumb and pointer-finger, her eyes lingering momentarily on my belly area. (I'll be honest . . . I don't think my stomach's all that poochy, maybe I'm biased. This lady thought otherwise.)

I looked at her belly. "Like you even have a pooch." It wasn't even intended as a compliment -- I just called it as I saw it. The sales lady was big-boned, tall, and athletic-looking. I honestly don't think anyone could have used the word, "flabby" or "poochy" to describe her.

"Oh. You're sweet." She said "sweet" with a very nasally "ee" sound, bespeaking insincerity. Plastered-on smile returned, my honest appraisal dismissed. It made me sad.

She observed me tucking my shirt back in, "Really only sticks can get away with it! Only girls with perfect bodies! Who've never had kids -- or are Heidi Klum."

Huh. Only Heidi Klum can wear these maxi skirts with a shirt tucked in.

I pulled the skirt off (don't worry folks, my pants were on underneath) and walked away feeling tired, annoyed, and most of all sad for the sales lady. She's someone who could wear her shirt tucked in and she doesn't see it.

I came away from this experience with a new resolution: to tuck in my shirt whenever the heck I want, regardless of how people may view my body.

Let's be honest. We're all going to be mulling around our own neighborhoods where nobody is going to look like a Victoria Secret ad all the time - golden frontal light with slight breeze and impeccable make-up and styling. Those women are beautiful. But that kind of beauty is simply the construct of a moment. An illusion created by a team of experts till the one 1/200 of a second moment where the beauty is captured in its most alluring form. (All that work, all that talent, all that money for 1/200 of a second!)

The beauty I see all around me is so much greater than that! Especially in the women around me. So many of them are mothers who have made sacrifices of body and spirit to help bring life into the world, and keep that new life alive . . . and happy . . . and disciplined . . . and educated. I know women young and old who are truly kind, funny, and willing to help - make-up on or not.

It may be a lot to ask for widespread social change. But here's an invitation to whoever will take it up: let's stop comparing the ladies around us (as well as ourselves) to the 1%.

Who will stand with me?

Team-building and Introverts . . . hahaha!

Those of you who follow my recent posts on Facebook will remember this video from the other day:

It's called "The Power of Introverts." The speaker, Susan Cain, brings up many, many points that really hit home with me.

This video helped me understand several things about myself:

It helped me understand why I didn't "fit in" on the girls' basketball team in high school. Why I didn't "get" how everyone on the team wearing the same nail polish would "build team unity" (but I did anyway, even though I hate wearing nail polish). Why I didn't get "pumped up" by our team cheers. Why I ducked out of each and every pep rally I possibly could. Why I was actually just fine with not getting asked to a dance. Why I didn't feel like attending (and didn't attend) my high school graduation.

And those feelings were perfectly healthy.

I'm an introvert. It simply means that after time in a group setting, especially a large group setting, I need alone time in order to re-energize myself.

After tryouts for the junior year basketball team, Kaylene and I (two of the few introverts on the team) were cut. My friend Ashley (another introvert) stayed on, but she told me later that the coach pulled her aside, like he had with Kaylene and me, and told her basically that she had "barely" made the team.

Oh, introverts. Coaches, leaders, and teachers often don't know what to do with us.

Coming into more current times, I found myself having to encourage young women in my ward to go to girls camp. I did not like girls camp as a young woman. No I don't have any horror stories (other than having my period start the morning we were to head out to a camp that had few bathroom facilities and several stories of bear sightings between our cabins and the bathrooms.) No horror stories . . .  just we were never given any time away from "the group." And I burned out really fast, opting to leave early pretending to be sick.

Thus, it was hard for me in my current church calling (laurels advisor) to gung ho-ly encourage all the young women to not only go to camp, but to love camp. To promise them spiritual experiences.

For a church and community who hold personal revelation as something so very, very precious (we are encouraged to pray and commune with God in private every day), it seems odd how so many camp activities are aimed at forcing people into group "bonding" activities to "create unity" in the stake (or to sit and listen to overlong devotionals). Little time is given for actually escaping into the wilderness and having those private moments that are so important for personal revelation to occur.

Joseph had the Sacred Grove. Jesus had the Mount of Olives. Moses had Sinai.

Thoreau had Walden Pond. Ansel Adams, Yosemite.

Yet the girls - who are promised great spiritual experiences if they come prepared - are hustled from one corner of the campground to another. Extroverts probably love the experience. But for introverts (or at least for myself), it was difficult. I remembered wondering why I couldn't even have my morning or my evening free from scheduled activities? Even fifteen minutes to just sit down with a book of my own choosing! Time to wander (watching out for bears, of course) and meditate on my own?

More could be said. I have many more experiences that make me wish to call on stake presidents and leaders everywhere and tell them that for some people, even teens, bonding and relationship-building happens in smaller group settings. In little serendipitous exchanges when no activity has been planned, no bonding forced.

And now I know I'm not the only one who feels this way!

This post isn't meant to merely be a call-out to stake leadership of YW camps, but also a call out to anyone, anywhere in any kind of leadership position to remember the introverts! Plan fairly, so extrovert and introvert alike will flourish under your care.

Meantime, until society's views towards us introverts changes, I'll do what I can to allow my fellow introverts their Sinais, Waldens, and Yosemites.

Traveling a little lighter through life

I've been trying really hard lately to communicate things clearly and succinctly -- trying to overcome my penchant for giving backstories and sidestories along with every anecdote I share. 

It's tough. 

That being said, just know that the backstory and sidestories to what I'm about to tell you make what I'm about to tell you all the more remarkable and, yes, miraculous.

November 2012 through May2013, I lost 50 pounds. I've maintained it for a month. And now that I'm playing basketball a couple times a week with some ward buddies, I'm losing a little more every week.

I'm not sharing this to guilt any of my fellow moms into shedding baby weight. I'm not sharing this because I think I look all that much better (I liked myself before, too). It's just something that I've been chipping away at for goals and reasons that can only be found in my backstory and sidestories. ;)

I don't have any official "before" and "after" photos to show you. But, a good friend tells me, "people will want to see!"

Here's the best I can rustle up:

Halloween. A couple weeks before I started trying to be healthier. I actually wish I had taken a true "before" picture. One with me in fluorescent light with a really, really depressed look on my face. Perhaps with my belly hanging out.  An ice cream cone in hand. As it is, even with my ultra-cheesy grin in this photo - I still kinda like how I look.

This is from May, just after purchasing the exhibited shirt at the Beehive Bazaar.

I don't think I look all that much different between these two photos. But, I sure as heck feel better and stronger.

Also, I went from running over 11 minute miles over a 5-mile run, to running under 10 minute miles. And now I can do more push-ups (military-style or boy-style) than I could before. That's the real point of this story. :)

That is all.