I Disappeared - A Story of Thankfulness

I disappeared again. This time for a good reason. It's been a heck of a year.

And now that it's Thanksgiving week, it's time that I told you what's been going on. Three big things happened to me in the last year, and I will cover them over the next several blog entries. Today's entry tells the the story of the biggest event.

Ever since high school, I have suffered migraines. These aren't your garden-variety headaches, and they aren't the migraines that people go on Facebook to complain about. These are the crippling, debilitating, wishing God would just kill you right there so you don't have to feel that way any more kinds of headaches.

Mine have been categorized in the cluster migraine category. That means I get two or three really intense migraines a day. The best way I can describe them is that they feel like an ice cream headache that just won't let up. It feels like someone is trying to pry my eye out of my face with a spoon.

They each last for about two hours each, and it goes on every day for 2-3 weeks. For those keeping count, that's 21 migraines a week, or 63 migraines in a 3-week period. And it drains me. I call it my migraine hangover. They leave me exhausted and unable to focus. When I get them, I am typically reduced to lying in bed with the curtains pulled and my body temperature fluctuating wildly. I try to sleep it off. Sometimes I get warning signs and I can prepare. Sometimes, they come swiftly and strongly, and I have to call someone to pick me up from work or wherever I am to take me home.

The fluctuating body temperature and and swiftness is what drove me to get to the bottom of it around this time last year. One evening in November, my wife was working and I was home alone. I had just put my son to bed and was getting ready for a quiet night of reading. My wife called and said she was on her way home. When she called, I felt great. In the 15 minutes it took her to get home, a migraine had destroyed my evening. She found me in my underwear standing outside in the cold November wind leaning up against the house, unable to talk or open my eyes, trying to regulate my body temperature. She walked me inside, got me dressed, and took me to the emergency room.

That was the moment I decided that I had had enough. After talking to some fellow sufferers, I made an appointment with a neurologist at University of Toledo Medical Center. He spent an hour and a half with me on my first visit, and he ordered an MRI.

My brain with holes.

My brain with holes and really creepy eyes.

The MRI raised some red flags; namely, holes. My doctor thought they were indicative of Multiple Sclerosis. Awesome. The problem is that there is no single test for MS. You have to take multiple tests that will either point to "possible" or "not likely" MS. So my doctor ordered those extra tests.

One of those tests was a spinal tap. That sucked. And then they sent me home and my spinal column refused to heal/plug back up, so I was leaking spinal fluid for several days. Spinal fluid is the same stuff that your brain soaks in and protects it. So my brain was dried out and banging around in my head giving me a non-stop headache. It required another trip to the doctor and BACK onto the spinal tap table so they could take blood from my arm and use it to plug the hole. That also sucked. My spinal tap came out showing no problems or signs of MS.

In the emergency room when my spinal tap didn't heal.

They also ordered a vision test called evoked potential. I don't understand it, but they hooked me to wires and made me watch patterns on a TV screen for 20 minutes. That test showed possible issues related to MS. Then they called me and said they found a problem with the machine's calibration and needed to re-test. I went back and the second test also showed possible MS.

Evoked potential test.

My next meeting at the neurologist's office was with a doctor who specialized in MS. He ordered another MRI, but this time, of my neck. That test showed a bulged disc that was a hair's breadth from my spinal cord. So I was sent to a pain clinic, which gave me three injections of cortisone over a 3-month period.

Bulged disc.

Now, I wait. I have to have another MRI sometime this winter in order to see if the holes have grown larger. If they have grown, then we will start treatment as if I have MS. What does that mean? I don't know for sure. All of the doctors who have seen me say that my symptoms have not manifested the way MS usually appears, so I'm optimistic. The only things that have impacted my life are the headaches, and with the help of the pain clinic and the neurologist, I almost have that under control. I went about 10 months without a major outbreak. They started again last week, but with my new regimen of medication and increased awareness of my warning signals, I can usually stop a headache before it starts. So far, I haven't had one send me home or put me in bed in a dark room yet.

And for that reason, this Thanksgiving season, I am grateful for my team of 5 doctors, and my wife and parents who took turns hauling me to countless emergency room visits and procedures that prevented me from driving in the last year. I am so grateful.

In my next entry, I will share the second life change that was positive and has kept us busy for the last several months.

At What Cost?

After nine months of fighting, we finally got our day in court.

Without getting into the details, here are the basics: I have spent the last 10 years wishing to spend more time with my oldest son with less interference from his mom. I was always afraid to fight her for that time in court until two back-to-back incidents last spring convinced me it was time to stand up for my rights as a father, and for our rights as a family.

And yet, I was still scared to do anything about it. With my wife's loving nudge and encouragement, I finally sued my e-wife for more time with my son.

The process took nine months, five attorneys, one judge and stupid amounts of money to settle. And as of today, it IS settled. But am I? Is my wife? Is my son? Is his mom? Is my youngest son? At this point, I don't know. The case has only been settled for 9 hours as of this writing, so it's still too fresh. I have a general feel for what the papers say, but I need a couple of days of distance to be able to look at it with clear eyes and a clear mind and really comprehend it.

So when friends on social media or in face-to-face conversation ask me how it went, I find myself simply saying "it went well," and leaving it at that. And I'm not lying. It did go well. It also went horribly. It went in a way that is depressing. It also went in a way that is depleting. I'm tired and worn out emotionally. It has been a worm that has consumed my every waking moment for almost a year. This experience has been soul-sucking, not only for me, but also for my wife. 

The stress and pressure continue because there are parts of the agreement that made my wife disappointed with me. And that hurts, because I truly did my best to stand up for our family as best I could, while at the same time knowing that we wouldn't get everything we wanted. That's part of the negotiation process. No matter how right you are, you still don't get everything you want.

So did we win? Yes. We got more time with less interference, which was our goal...even if it wasn't as much time as we wanted to get.

Did we lose? Yes. Right now I am a physical wreck. I want to sleep, but my mind won't shut up long enough to allow that. I have slept for a total of 10 hours in the past two nights. And then there's the question of the money. We spent nine months paying five attorneys to do what we should have been able to sit down and work out together in a matter of days, maybe with just one attorney. But my son's mother and I were both prideful. We were stubborn. We were immature in some ways. And above all, we both HAD to be RIGHT.

Yes, we won. But at what cost? There are no true winners in these situations. 

There are so many ways that It's a Wonderful Life ties into this.

• Yes, it cost money. And yes, the bills will be painful for a while. But like George Bailey, we fought for our family. And for that, the price can never be too high.
• There was a moment in the negotiations where I had to firmly put my foot down and strongly and clearly say that I would not accept one of her requests. But I followed it up with an encouraging word that there were still alternatives to consider. It was very much like George during the bank run when he told the mob "We can get through this, but ... we've got to have faith in each other." The truth is that I have no faith in the ex. But I had to trust that she would be rational enough to help create a solution instead of continuing to be part of the problem.
• At the beginning of It's a Wonderful Life, we hear prayers from Gower, Mary, Ma Bailey, Nick, Janey, and a host of others as they pray for George. These are called prayers of intersession. Having kept this issue mostly private, I took to Facebook on the morning of the trial/negotiations, requesting support from everyone who was willing to give it:

         

Our friends and family came through in huge ways. I even had someone offer to take me up on the Footloose video. THANK YOU ALL for that support. I can honestly tell you that it did have a calming effect on me as I sat in the negotiations.

We all have choices to make. George could have let his brother drown. He could have chosen to go to college and let the Building and Loan close instead of taking his father’s position. He didn't do either of those things, and it cost him. Over and over and over again, it cost him. But he made those decisions - those sacrifices and hard choices - to protect his family. I did the same and I would do it again in a minute. I might do a couple of things a little differently, but I in general, I like the outcome.

Now we have a choice to make. We can be grateful and celebrate what we DID get, knowing that God has this and it's part of His plan, or we can let the sacrifices that we made eat us alive. 

In short, we can be right, or we can be happy. I choose to be happy. After all, it's finally over and we got extra time with my oldest son on a regular basis. We have plans for that time, and we're taking the little brother along with us. Maybe we’ll climb Mt. Bedford.

What have you done lately where counting the cost hurts, but it's still worth the effort? Feel free to comment below. While you are at it, show your support for fathers everywhere by tweeting #fathershaverightstoo and tag me at @iawlfan and @iawb.

A pain in the belly and a change in weekend plans

I often complain about how nothing ever goes the way I plan it. Take Friday, June 24, 2011 as a prime example.

I'm warning you right now that there is a photo of surgical wounds at the end of this blog. You have been warned, just like Grover warned you all those years ago in your Little Golden Book that "There's a Monster at the End of This Book."

The day went very well. I got a lot accomplished at work and at home, and had written up about 10 items of out of about 30 to post for sale on ebay. Then the pain hit. It was in my belly. Jenn had made an amazing dinner of Dr. Pepper pulled pork, or something like that, and it was delicious. But I suspected that I since it was a new dish, maybe I just had gas, and I wouldn't be able to eat it again. No big dea.

But something was ringing in the back of my head, like "this is not just gas. This is something different." I went about my business for about an hour, until at around 9:30, I told Jenn that something wasn't right, and if I sit up in bed screaming to take me to the ER. She said my belly was hard and suspected gas, so I took some Gas-X and waited to see what happened. Around that time, my pain level was about 3 on a scale of 10.

I wrote up three more sale items, and noticed the pain was getting worse, not better, so I quit. We decided to go to bed around 11:30. At around midnight, Jenn said I was breathing funny and asked me if my pain was worse, or had moved. I admitted that the answer was both, but I didn't want to tell her because it was midnight and I didn't want to go to the ER and be stuck until 3 a.m. We were both very tired.

Jenn called her sister Heidi, and dropped me off at the ER door to register while she took Kaleb to Heidi's house.

When I saw the ER doc, he did the typical prodding and poking and said he believed appendicitis, which was exactly what we thought it was.  He ordered a blood test, IV, and a CT scan.

I wasn't thrilled about the IV. The last time I was admitted at a hospital and had my very own room, was in high school or college when something very similar occurred. At that time the nurse poked me three times with the IV needle (which is roughly the size of a knitting needle), and dug around each time, hoping to strike a vein. That incident was so painful, I literally told my mom to get her the f*** out of my room before I punched her. Even her replacement had to stab me twice.

At that time, I was at the hospital for the same symptoms as I had this last Friday night, but the pain was worse then. My parents didn't want to drive me to the hospital, which was about a half mile away, because they thought it was gas. I told them "You drive or I'll drive. Either way, I'm going." I don't think I had my license at the time. At that time in my life, I had a freakishly high (I mean absurdly super-human high) tolerance for pain. So when I gave that ultimatum, they decided to take me. I was admitted for 3 days before the doctors shrugged their shoulders, said "we have no idea what is wrong with you" and sent me home.

So I was apprehensive about being here again about 20 years later with the same symptoms and getting another IV with no tests having been done and no definitive answers. This nice little 80-year-old lady came in and said she was going to take some blood and start the IV.. While I am no stranger to blood tests, I decided to just look away until everything was over and not see the IV needle so I wouldn't flip out.

I told her about my previous IV experience and told her "I like you so far, so don't make me hate you." I was joking, of course...maybe.

She poked me with what I thought was a blood test (I have really bad veins, so I thought she might have a hard time. I asked her "warn me when you do the IV." Her answer was "it's done." I turned, looked into her eyes and said "I love you." Ask Jenn. She used the IV to take blood, then started me on saline and gave me a shot of morphine.

She handed me a what looked like a 30-ounce jug of clear (radioactive?) juice for the CT scan, and told me I had 10 minutes to drink it and an hour to wait after that to get the test done. I downed it in 2 minutes, not 10.

The CT scan went fast, and when I got back to my ER stall, the doctor came in and said the bloodwork came back consistent with appendicitis, and we would see what the CT scan said. At around 4 a.m., he came back and said I was being admitted for appendicitis and he was calling the surgeon to handle it the next (Saturday) morning.

I got to my room at about 5 a.m, and had to answer a bunch of intelligent, and a bunch of really ignorant questions. They told me they would leave us alone to sleep, but still came in every 15 minutes or so to bring this sheet of paper, or sign that sheet of paper, or help me change into a surgical gown, or ask me a question, or grab a chart that they had accidentally forgotten. In short, we didn't sleep much.

At about 7 am., I took a shower and scrubbed my belly with a special cleaning solution. The doctor came in and talked us through the procedure at around 8:30 a.m. I asked him about a catheter and he said "how do you know about that?" My answer was "I'm not stupid." Good news, he said. The catheter goes in and comes out (as does the small breathing tube) while I am under anesthetic and sleeping well. Good deal.

Being wheeled down to surgery with my mom in the background.
Everyone as picking on me, talking about what a big baby I was
about having to get a catheter,  except the guy in the blue.
I thanked him for being on my side. Scroll down much further and
you will see a photo of my surgical wounds. You have been
warned twice now. No complaining!!

My mom and my gurney arrived while we were talking to the doctor, so I got wheeled down to surgery right away. By about 9:15, the anesthetist put the mask over my face and told me to breathe deeply. I remember counting to seven quietly by myself and wondering why I wasn't knocked out again. Next thing I know, I'm waking up, head full of cobwebs with two nurses staring at me from a nursing station saying "there he is."

They wheeled me back up to my room and I slept a restless sleep for quite awhile. My mom had gone at some point, and Jenn had gone home, showered and changed, as well.

The next 3 or 4 hours are very unclear. I finally shook off the uggyness, and ate the jello and drank the two cups of coffee and the Sprite that they brought me. I called my mom and gave her an update, and invited her back up. Jenn left again to do some shopping to prep for my homecoming, which was expected to be that night. Mom and dad came and visited around 3:30 p.m. and stayed until about 5:15. Mom said I kept talking and drifting off, then waking back up, talking again and drifting away. I was told if I could eat solid food, I could go home. I demolished the dinner plate. By the time Jenn returned, I had signed my walking papers and was ready to go. I was home by 7.

The night went by pretty well, but I didn't sleep much. In fact, I dozed off for 20 minutes at the most, but was able to watch the movie Gladiator from beginning to end, only rewinding a few times to catch what I missed to sleep. I know I was up a lot going to the bathroom, getting more to drink, and taking a painkiller at 1 a.m.

I fell asleep after 4:30 and was awake by 7:45. Jenn made me an omelette and coffee, and I scarfed that down as well. I took a shower, and we went to church. Then we came home and sat out in the yard for a bout three hours. While I was out there, my feet started itching, so I took off my shoes and socks, and I had this horrible rash on my feet. We sat there and watched it grow, even after rubbing cortisone cream on it, and taking two Benadryl. We don't know if the reaction was caused by the antibiotic I was given at the hospital, or the Percoset, so we called the doctor. He called in some Vicodin for me, and Jenn is picking that up right now. The rash has mostly faded from my feet, and the itching is all but gone.

Two of my three incisions in the awesome shave-job they gave me while I was out.
No, you may NOT see the third incision.

I consider myself pretty lucky. I was in and out of the hospital in less than 24 hours. I have three small incisions from my laparoscopic surgery, and some scars with a good story behind it. My pain level is very low (the highest it got was a 6 on friday night just as I was registering at the ER, and hasn't gone above 2 since then). I didn't have to experience a catheter while awake, I was able to get some reading done, and I'll be off for a week. Add that to the following 4th of July weekend, and I will have a 10-day recovery period before I have to return to work. That will allow me to read even more, work on some more small e-bay write-ups a few at a time, and watch some movies that nobody wants to watch with me. Jenn has been awesome, handling tasks that I usually do, and not complaining about it when I ask her to get me something or taking something away for me.

Mom and dad have visited at the hospital and at the house, I was able to update my progress and keep everyone informed through the wonders of my smart phone and the social media, and I got a new blog entry from it. The only downer is that I'm not allowed to drive for at least a week. That's frustrating. But so be it.

This is only my second surgery ever. My first one was to straighten my eyes out when I was six months old or so, and I don't remember that one. Hopefully, this will be my last surgery.

And to think...all I had planned for this weekend was to write up ebay sales and read.

Thanks to all of those who have thought about me, prayed for me, sent me cards, and sent well-wishes on Facebook. I consider myself a very lucky guy.