Just… Gone.

(Continuing my story of illness from my early twenties…)

My alarm goes off, and I roll over in bed, hitting the snooze button, praying to the Big Guy for just ten more minutes of sleep before I have to face today.
Finally, it’s time to get out of bed, which isn’t an easy task when two people share a twin size bed. But it’s funny how you’ll do anything, even sleep together in the smallest bed imaginable, just to be able to spend the time together… oh two students in love… makes me laugh just remembering that time.
So I climb out of bed, trying not to wake up the Cute Photographer Boy, and head to the shower.

It’s too early in the morning for the radiators to have turned on, so this old 3-story walk up building is frigid and damp. I take two huge bath sheets out of the linen closet, and set them on the ground, next to the shower. I really started noticing how much weight I’ve lost by my inability to stay warm in the cold winter months.

I open the faucet, letting out the hot water, and hoping I get to it first before the neighbors next door. They always used up all the hot water in the morning, and soon became the bane of my existence. Steam starts to fill the bathroom, and a smirk stretches across my face as I have won ‘The Game’ this morning. Trying not to wake the Cute Photographer Boy, I softly sing to myself as I flutter around the bathroom, preparing for my shower.

Stepping into the shower, the water is searing-hot, causing my skin to illuminate into a beautiful bright pink colour.
It feels so good, and for a few minutes I almost forget about everything. Exams, my health, my hair, the pain, the weight, school, work… Then the water starts to waver from searing-hot to luke-warm, sending a rush of shivers down my body. Time to wrap this up.

With hair conditioner dripping down my neck, I start to feel light-headed. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten yet. I take a mental note to down a glass of OJ before my shower tomorrow morning. The bathroom starts spinning, and the floor of the shower tips up. A violent wave of nausea hits me, and I fall to my knees and start vomiting. All colour has drained from my vision, and I’ve lost the ability to move my eyes upwards. Before I lose half my vision, everything around me turns the brightest shade of white, causing me to instinctively press my hands into my eyes. My body lays folded over my knees on the shower floor, with my hands covering my eyes, and my jaw tightly clenched. Slowly, I try to open my eyes. I have no idea what is going on, and the pain is overwhelming.

Oh God, what is happening to me?

All I know is half of my vision is gone. Just… gone.

Vulnerability…

My dearest readers,

I wish I had a blog post to give you on this rainy Saturday afternoon, to continue with my story of illness, fear, triumph, faith, and vulnerability. That will come soon, don’t worry.

What I do have for you, tho, is a blog I want to share from one of the most special people in my life. He is a best friend, a mentor, and a chosen brother of mine.

He asked me to help a hand, oh, you’ll get this joke shortly…, with a photoshoot a few weeks ago. It has got to be one of the most influential photo shoots I have ever been a part of. Please follow the link below to check out the blog post he made about this monumental moment in his life. <3

 

http://danieldesforges.com/2012/04/20/vulnerable-and-proud-of-it/

Nothing Left To Say

This piece is a continuation of a series, starting with the blog post “Brushing Your Hair Shouldn’t Be This Scary” (diaryofawaywardgirl.wordpress.com/2011/11/25/brushing-your-hair-shouldnt-be-this-scary/).

The numbers on the scale fly all the way to the right, then just as quickly return to the left as my weight stabilizes on the platform. The needle points to a number, and my heart sinks to the ground. This thing has got to be broken. How can I be down this much… I’m barely scraping by one hundred pounds.

My eyes are closed tightly, and the tears start rolling down my cheeks. Softly, I step off the scale and gather my belonging, heading into the examination room. I drop them on the bench, and sit, slumped over my purse. A sense of defeat has washed over me.
There is no motivation left in me.
There is only fear.
My body is exhausted, and my mind is weary.
Everything in my life is finally going the way I want it to, and then this had to happen.
I don’t even know what ‘this’ is…

The doctor steps in, sits down, and takes a deep breath in. Then sighs.
She says nothing to me.
Nothing at all.

If there is one thing I have learned in life, it is that actions speak far louder than words.

She had nothing left to say. There was nothing more she could do but send me to the hospital’s Internal Medicine unit for further investigation. I felt like a lab rat. Like a puzzle, left on the cafeteria table for everybody to take a try at.

Appointment after appointment, specialist after specialist, doctors would call me in and have the same perplexed expression on their faces. Results came back negative, lab reports inconclusive. I had an extensive list of symptoms, but no rationale behind any of them.

The doctor could tell I was at my wit’s end. She got up, grabbed her notepad, and smirked. She started jotting down words on a prescription paper, ripped it off the pad, and shoved it in my hand. Awesome, more drugs. I start to read the words… and they aren’t drugs. They aren’t nutritional substitutes. They are foods.

“Big Mac”
“Meat”
“Avocado”
“Cheese”
“Anything fattening…”

She sends me on my way, with a list of foods I now have “Doctor’s orders” to eat, and must eat, if I intend on never blowing away in the wind, and with a referral for internal medicine. Her humor made me smile, except for the fact that this list breaks my vegetarian diet… but I’d rather eat animals and stay alive then whither away. My directions are to visit the clinic twice a week to be weighed in, so they can closely monitor my weight and hair loss as an outpatient. This appointment was the beginning of a very difficult time, one that most girls in their twenties have the opposite problem with… this was the beginning of trying to keep my weight on, and my hair in.

Something to write home about

 

 

 

So here I am, sitting in Starbucks on Elgin st, in the heart of downtown Ottawa.
It’s my usual place.
Where I write my blogs.
Where I edit my photos.
Where I find peace and calm in my mind, in the midst of the chaos downtown.

The weekend is almost here, which brings excitement to everybody’s conversation around me. My roommates are getting a new puppy, my Mom is going out of town, a bunch of friends are scattered around this beautiful world on various continents, enjoying vacations and weddings and all sorts of occasions.

I’ll be working.
And mentally preparing myself to go back to school on Tuesday morning, for the first time in 2 years.

This terrifies me, in an exciting kind of way.
In the kind of way I was terrified 30 seconds before I stepped foot into the photo-pit at Bluesfest for my first time…
Typically I would go to the store and buy myself back to school clothes, but I can barely scrape together enough money to fill my gas tank, and never mind the fact that I have enough clothes to outfit a small African village…
Or I would head out to the bar in my finest dress and paint the town red in an attempt to show the world just how worthy of a celebration this truly deserved.
Maybe I’m lame, or maybe I’ve just changed my ways… but none of that is happening.
Instead I’m going to work on the Complex Care unit at the hospital.
I’m going to do my laundry.
I’m going to maybe even work on a new painting, since I have gained some new inspiration tonight while sipping away on my latte while I chatted with somebody I just met. His artistic flare and perspective on things was a welcome change, nevermind the fact he is quite easy on the eyes… hahaha

This Easter, I am not going to have dinner with my family. They will be out of town.
It breaks my heart, because every year I have dinner with them, it’s a tradition of sorts… Easter with Mom, Thanksgiving with Dad, but this year it just isn’t do-able.

So this year, I will just get ready for school.

I’ll lay low. And just be.
I’ll research my school programs.
I’ll work on me.
I’ll take this bottled up love and pour it out onto paper.
This weekend, I’ll be something to write home about <3

It’s About Time…

It’s about time for something new.

Not a another blog entry about how I’m quitting smoking, or about how I’m going on a dating-sabbatical. Anybody who has checked in on their social media feeds lately might have noticed that I,  Jessa Blackburn, have decided to return to school.

Now don’t get all crazy-excited on me guys, it’s going to be a slow and steady process.

First off I’m going to have to go back to high school, and get two credits that I didn’t take as prerequisites for the University of Ottawa nursing program. I attempted this a few years back, but gave up once I decided that I wanted to get married and move to Toronto, then later further my studies.

After my ex left me, he left me a letter. I’ll never forget what the letter said. In fact, I still have it to this day. Don’t ask me why.
In the first sentence, he apologized for the manner in which he left, but in the same breath he said that he hoped I take all the money I had earned for our wedding and put it towards schooling.

Well, anybody who knows me well, knows that if you upset me then try to tell me to do something, I’m probably going to go ahead and do the opposite. So there I have been, for the past while, avoiding going back to school until I could tell myself and know in my heart that I was finally doing it for myself and not because somebody who I love told me to do it.

Last week I came home from work, a shift on the Palliative Unit where I was the only RPN with the most unstable patient, making the least amount of money, and doing the most amount of work, looked at myself in the mirror, and knew in my heart that this time I was doing it for all the right reasons.

This time I’m going back to school for me.

It’s going to probably mean I have to sell my new, pretty, fast, fancy car. I’m going to have to stop spending my money on silly things like purses and shoes and expensive hair styles. I’m going to have to budget, take out a hefty loan for textbooks and tuition.

But it’s about time I finish what I started, and finally go back and get my diploma in nursing.

Wish me luck, my ever-supportive and always-loving readers <3

 

It was inevitable

It was inevitable.
Getting sick. Ending up in the hospital.
This is something all too familiar to me.

This time it was pneumonia. Or, “Walking Pneumonia” is what they call it when you’re stupid enough to get really sick, and still attempt to go about your daily grind.
Chalk it up to the lack of sleep, the stress of a new job on the Palliative Care Unit at the hospital, the excessive work hours, quitting smoking (yay me!), having asthma, and top it off with the lovely feelings you go through after the epic-failure of a dating relationship. Oh, and maybe the fact that I’m now resistant to the most popular antibiotic used to fight the common respiratory tract infection.

After coming down with another nasty lung infection two weeks ago, I decided to go get some antibiotics to fight off this bad-boy. They didn’t do anything this time, honestly I would have been better off taking a spoon full of bull shit twice a day. This time, I would wake up in the middle of the night, choking. Or get short of breath just trying to walk up a flight of stairs. My body ached all over, like I had been beaten up the day before or something. The fevers would spike in the evening, causing me to be in excessive amounts of pain.
So I bit the bullet and called in sick to work…three days in a row. Anybody that knows me personally, knows that I don’t call in sick unless it’s really bad. I went back to work four days later, and didn’t make it 8 hours before having to go to Urgent Care to be treated for shortness of breath. Then, in the middle of the waiting room that was packed to the brim, I went into a full blown Asthma-attack. They rushed me to the back room, the one that is reserved for serious urgencies, like stitches and casts… or people getting into respiratory distress.
With a mask on my face flowing with 10 litres of oxygen, nebulizers, inhalers, electrocardiograms, and oral steroids, the pain and shortness of breath kept coming back. The x-rays showed fluid in my lungs, and more specifically a small pneumonia in my right lung. There was nothing else the doctor could do at the Urgent Care clinic, so they called an ambulance and sent me on my way to the hospital so they could keep doing the same things for me, fearing that if I went home I could end up back in respiratory distress. All the steroids were causing my hands to constrict and tremble, which was frightening.

This terrified me.
Absolutely scared some sense into me.
It made me realize that I actually need to stop saying I’m going to slow down, and finally cut back my work hours. It made me realize who I can depend on, and who actually cares about me. My brother came to see me, and I didn’t expect that. My best friend came, with a bag full of treats and magazines in case we had to spend the night (in which he was fully prepared to spend with me). My roommates and their son, my nephew, drew me cards, sent me get-well-soon messages, and asked the Young Adults Group at church for an emergency prayer request. My mom was there, without hesitation, even when I told her she could leave time after time.

It made me realize that if I don’t do something, now, then I’m going to end up exactly where I was 5 years ago… losing weight, hair, or possibly my life.

Through the intense loneliness I was feeling during these past few weeks, I was humbled beyond words with how many people stepped up when I figuratively fell down.
So I owe it to them, and to myself, to slow down. To take a couple days off a week, like everybody else. And just be.

Starting today, I’m going to stop struggling to do everything on my own. I’m going to ask for help. I’m going to say ‘no’ when my plate is too full. I’m going to cut down my work hours. I’m going to get rid of my apartment, no matter how hard it is. I’m going to sell/store my furniture. I’m going to learn how to relax. I’m going to become happy.

Slow down. Breathe. Realize.

Is it so wrong to just stop what we’re all doing, and admit that we are human?

Is it so wrong to stop trying to be perfect, and just embrace our imperfections?

Slow down. Breathe. Realize.

There is nothing we can do that will surprise God.

You can’t just pull the wool over his eyes and expect him to say “Well shit, I didn’t expect you to do that!”

We all screw up. We all make mistakes. None of us are perfect.

Slow down. Breathe. Realize. And just stop.

Love yourself for who you are, and stop trying to be who everybody else expects you to be. Be yourself. Be who God made you to be. You may just realize, that the only person you surprise is yourself…

The Needle Points to a Number

This piece is a continuation of a series, starting with the blog post “Brushing Your Hair Shouldn’t Be This Scary” (diaryofawaywardgirl.wordpress.com/2011/11/25/brushing-your-hair-shouldnt-be-this-scary/).

This entry picks up a few weeks after the episode that landed me in the ER dept at the hospital… enjoy

The nurse at the cardiac clinic is using a piece of fine sandpaper to rub down the skin on my chest, before she attaches the leeds to the Holter monitor. It burns, probably from the rubbing alcohol she prepped my skin with first, but nothing like the pain I felt a few weeks ago at the hospital. This is a walk in the park compared to that nightmare…it’s almost hard to believe it was only a few weeks ago… The electrocardiography device is hopefully going to find the answer to why this is happening to me.

She finishes attaching the leeds to me, and reminds me that I can’t shower for the next 48 hours until the monitor is taken off of me. It’s a good thing that I have perfected the art of giving bed baths by now… The leeds are stuck to my chest, in all different places, but I was lucky enough to have a considerate nurse who put them on in a particular way so I could still wear a bra. That’s one fashion-disaster I can avoid. Unfortunately, the monitor sits in a lovely black fanny-pack, which I have the honor of clipping to my waistline for the next two days. Awesome…

Just before she leaves the room, she asks which Eating Disorder Clinic she can forward the results to. Are you kidding me? Do I honestly look that sick?
I politely tell her my family doctor’s name, and explain that the results can be sent to her. She scans my folder in her hands, with a look of confusion traced in her arched brows, and apologizes for the mix-up.

I get in the car and head back to the east end of town, with my mom driving, of course, because nobody trusts the medical-mystery-girl behind the wheel of any form of heavy machinery. Sometimes I laugh and wonder if a 12 year old has more freedom than me right now…

We get out of the car and head across the parking lot, towards the doctor’s office. The cold wind is whipping ice pellets at my face, and it howls as I pull my hood up tightly around my neck. I forgot to wear thermals under my pants today, they help keep me warm lately… and make it not so obvious. My toque almost flies away just as I’m nearing the entrance to the clinic, that’s one piece of my outfit I won’t make due without. As I walk in the door for my weekly appointment, the nurses don’t even need to tell me the drill, I walk right over to the scale and hop on.

The numbers on the scale fly all the way to the right, then just as quickly return to the left as my weight stabilizes on the platform. The needle points to a number, and my heart sinks to the ground.

If Your Enemies Are Hungry…

Yesterday I was flipping through the bible, trying to find some literature about grace. Handling every situation with grace in life can be difficult, and even seem impossible at times. Sometimes when I am successful at handling a situation with grace, people often ask me why I didn’t react in a negative way. One answer, is that I know if I did nothing but extend grace to my opponent in a situation, then I can sleep at night knowing I did not intentionally do them any wrong. Another reason; it is Christ-like to extend grace to those around you. Any-who, enjoy this little doodle

“If your enemies are hungry, give them food to eat.

If they are thirsty, give them water to drink.

You will heap burning coals of shame on their heads,

and the Lord will reward you.

As surely as a north wind brings rain,

so a gossiping tongue causes anger!”

Proverbs 25: 21-23 (NLT)

My BIGGEST fear…

I couldn’t really find the right words to write about the biggest fear I’ve been struggling with for months… and pretty much since I started blogging. So today I decided to get up and draw it out.

I want to thank my roommates for reminding me when to slow down, and put my stress and fears down onto paper (or some other type of media). You guys are pretty awesome. Love ya, hard.