A Hard Subject

I wrote this post about 7 months ago, but my anxiety about the subject matter has kept me from publishing it. Today I finally share it with you.

November 2019:
I haven't written a blog post in years. It's crazy to think it's been that long, because it certainly doesn't feel that long. Time is a funny thing. However, the good news is, I'm finally done with school! I've got my Masters degree!!! It only took a few years. And now I can return to documenting the oddities and nuances and thoughts of life.

I've been having a lot of thoughts about life lately. With so much turmoil in the world, there are a lot of conflicting views. Social media can be extra hard, especially if I'm already in a depressive spiral. And that is the introduction to today's topic. Depression.

Much like my PCOS, my depression symptoms are often different than many people around me. Less severe, usually. So I tend to stay out of conversations about it because I feel like maybe my experiences are invalid, so to speak. This is of course a ridiculous notion, but I feel it still. I see people who suffer severely, and think, "well, I'm not as depressed as them, what could I add to this conversation, people will think I'm stupid, or that I'm faking it." Yet it was only 5 years ago that I was on the verge of taking my own life. I no longer wanted to exist. And while I have recovered from that mindset, the darkness still affects my daily life.

Overall I recall having a very happy childhood. The funny side to that is I can't recall very many specifically happy memories. In fact, most of my specific childhood memories are of me feeling sad or lonely. I just know that overall I was pretty happy. I thought I was.

My first suicidal thought came at the age of 14.

Fourteen. How young. It wasn't a totally serious thought, but it came nonetheless. I remember being at a church activity with youth from multiple congregations. It was supposed to be an activity that mimicked life (like the board game, but we were handed tickets and told to go "live" at different activity stations). Well, at 14 I wasn't the most socially adept person, and I didn't have many friends outside of the few that I hung with frequently (ya know, 'cause I was socially inept, even if people didn't see it that way. I also call it social anxiety, but I didn't know that then). Of course for this activity they split us all up so we couldn't be around people we knew well, and I spent a good majority of that activity surrounded by people yet totally alone, but too anxious to initiate interaction with them. How I longed to joke and talk and laugh with them, but I couldn't. I was miserable. We were supposed to hit certain life "milestones" before we were sent to the chapel (aka, the afterlife). I had my life "tickets" still in hand, mostly unspent, and sat in what was supposed to be a peaceful and calm environment where we can spend time in reflection. Trying not to burst into tears, I already had thoughts that I may never make it in this world. That's when I decided I wished I had never existed in the first place. I knew that not many people would care if I hadn't. No one would be the wiser if I was just never born.

I always felt there was an important distinction between wanting to not exist, and wanting to die. I didn't want to die, I simply wanted to have never existed. Between my anxiety and the desire to stop existing, there are a lot of points I could bring up in this post. I'm going to focus on the depression here. The upside to this story is that I kept my head down, hid my emotions, worked hard, and actually became quite successful by my own standards. It only took me another 14 years and a huge learning and humility curve. Keeping my head down wasn't the upside to this story, in fact it probably wasn't a very healthy way to deal with much of this, but I still have a success story, and that's what matters.

When I was 16 I turned to exercise to help me. It did help. It didn't cure me, but it helped me keep the monsters at bay. I kept to the motto, "fake it til you make it." I was determined to put a smile on and leave it there until I felt happy again. The stupid part is that I believed it worked, because I wasn't depressed *every* day. I also fell into the cultural trap surrounding me that says anything can be fixed with more prayer and scripture study. I'll be honest, those things also helped me keep the monsters at bay, but they didn't fix me.

When I was 18 I thought I had a good handle on it. I had learned to navigate life with some mild depression, and it was okay. I could get through it. Sure, there were still days that I wish I had never existed in the first place, but I didn't have too many suicidal thoughts. Those commercials for depression didn't really define my average self, they didn't show people distracting themselves with phone and computer games, or having a constant brain fog, or the little me in the back of my head telling myself that I will never be enough. They did show people who felt sleepy often, but my sleep schedule was pretty whacked out, which *obviously* caused most of my problems. Therefore, via commercial advertisements, mine *must've* just been a mild depression.

Fast-forward to my college days. I had the most stellar roommates. These women were placed into my life for a reason. I continued to navigate through my depression. At the age of 22, halfway through the nursing program, I finally saw a counselor at the behest of my nursing school bestie. After many hours and a few small tests my official diagnosis became clear. I had ADD and anxiety. I've written about my ADD before, so I won't go much into it here. I was put on medication and began attending group therapy. As the anxiety improved, so did the depression. So I figured the depression stemmed from the anxiety and left it at that. My parents were in a bit of disbelief when I told them, but then I explained a few things and how my funny "quirks" were actually coping mechanisms, and explained how it may have gone undetected for so long. They were happy I was finally on a path that would help me succeed in life without the barriers I had previously faced. In that same year I also saw a doctor who diagnosed me with PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome), another hidden ailment that when diagnosed helped me make sense of so much of my life, and regain some control or at least acceptance over my emotional well-being. PCOS is also strongly linked with depression.

Naively I thought that was it. I thought that was the year I would cure myself. I had diagnoses and I could fix myself. I only wish it were that simple. I wish that the medications and diagnoses could help me feel like people liked me, but the nagging voice in the back of my head never went away. To this day I have to override that voice with my own logic and remind my self that there are people in this world that DO like me. People who actually enjoy my presence. For most of my life, starting at that young age of 14 - I felt like people only tolerated my presence politely. I wasn't the worst person in the world, but I wasn't "fun." I just figured at that point I'd never grow a fun personality, and I came to terms with that. Typing this out makes it seem absurd, but as I said, the nagging voice is there even now. It doesn't tell me I'm worthless, it doesn't tell me I'm ugly, or mean or dumb. It just tells me that I don't fit in, that I'm boring, that I'm not "enough" of whatever it is I want to be, and that the people around me are just being polite to me.

I got married when I was 24. We had been together for the past 4 years, and he knew me and my depression/anxiety well. Right after the wedding I up and moved to Chicago with him. I was nervous, of course, but also excited. The first few months out there were hard. I wasn't homesick like I thought I would be, but I wasn't good at making friends (social anxiety and all). My first friends were the sister missionaries. It was really cool to be going on splits with them at least a few times a month, feeding them frequently, and hosting lessons at our apartment at least twice a month. However, even this immersion into the gospel didn't cure me. I still had plenty of happy days and moments, but the darkness of depression continually lurked in the back of my head. Making a few other friends in the ward was great, yet I continued feeling depressed. I was also having panic attacks almost daily. They weren't shaking, sweating, freaking out moments, but rather times where all of a sudden I couldn't function. The only thing that kept me breathing was the fact that I would sit and focus on my breathing. And for maybe 30 minutes at a time, that was all I could do. Sit and breathe. Because anything else was too overwhelming (literally, anything else). The hardest part of this time in my life was that I didn't know why I was feeling this way. I didn't know why I was having these panic attacks. The first time I cried after Rhett and I were married was about three months in, and I lost it over some stupid comment Rhett made about not needing curtains on the windows when I wanted some. It's actually a really funny story and I like to share it, but this was also around the time that my depression overtook me.

The world got very dark. Literally and figuratively. It was nearing the end of fall and being farther north than anywhere in Utah, the sun rose later and set earlier. It was often dark by 5pm. I struggled to get out of bed. I didn't have a job yet (on purpose, we wanted to fly home for the holidays and then I would look for a job), and I was going a bit stir crazy. Here's the problem. I could barely make it outside. I would get up, and it would take so much energy just to brush my teeth that I would have to go lay back down for at least 30 minutes. I felt nothing except exhaustion and sadness for days, or maybe weeks, I'm not sure. I had battled depression in the past, but nothing like this. It was confusing because there was no reason for me to be so empty and void of emotion, I had (and have) so many blessings and I spent time counting them. By all accounts I had nothing to be sad about, and I knew that at the time; My brain was able to pull that from it's logic. Even counting my blessings couldn't pull me from this darkness. I could remember that I had felt happy before, but I couldn't conjure up the emotions from happy memories during that time the way I normally can. It was so bad that even though I knew I had been happy before, I couldn't remember if it was 2 days or 2 years prior to that moment. I still have an image in my head where I was just standing in my closet, trying to find an outfit, and I began to finger the pull cord on the closet light. A previous tenant had tied a garbage bag to the bottom of the metal chain to make the cord longer. By the time we moved in, the garbage bag was in small strands, but still connected by knots at the bottom. That's when I began to think, how easy would it be for me to just stick my neck in this, and relax my legs? So as I played with a stupid light cord (which likely wouldn't have held my weight anyway, but I obviously wasn't rational enough to realize that), and I thought about how easy it would be, and I thought about how I couldn't be happy, I was overcome with fear. More like terror. I was terrified of what might happen should I continue this way. This was the first time I had felt anything other than exhaustion or sadness in who-knows-how-long. That's when I really began to cry. I was as close to grateful as I could get that I felt another emotion. It was the fear that pulled me back and let me finally ask for help, and it may have been the only thing that saved me that night.

So I told Rhett. I don't remember what I told him, but I told him something. Then I made an appointment to see a doctor.

And yet, in those few months of being emotionally void, I was still able to fool the outside world by putting on a smile, showing up to activities, and there were days in that period that I know I was genuinely happy. I might have started my day off feeling neutral, gone out with the missionaries and been happy, called my mom or my sister on the phone to share my happiness, then gone home to a sudden panic attack and a crushing darkness. Sometimes my day started with that crushing darkness and it wasn't until 6 or 7pm when Rhett and I ate dinner together that I would start to feel lighter and happier. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to my panic attacks or my dark depression.

Funnily enough, by the time I saw the doctor, I had yet again convinced myself it was all just related to my stupid anxiety. So I told my doctor about my panic attacks, without mentioning the depression. I shared my concern that I have never had panic attacks in the past, even with a previous diagnosis of anxiety, and I couldn't find a specific trigger for them. I also told him that I was hesitant to go on any medication because I didn't want to be dependent or addicted to the benzo's that are often prescribed, but I feared I may need to. He talked to me about how frequently the panic attacks were occurring and how my personality is in general, then prescribed me a low-dose daily anti-anxiety/anti-depressant. It's not a benzodiazepine (Xanax, Ativan, etc.) This was a much safer medication that's been well studied and is non-addictive. It takes about 6 weeks to take full effect. I was to expect an upset stomach during the first 2 weeks of taking it.

Then we got a dog.

This is where I get really choked up in my story. I always tell people how Roxie saved my life (she did save my life from a peanut allergy one night), but not as many people know that she also saved me from suicide. We got Roxie the same week I went on my new medication. I was dealing with an upset stomach and a nervous dog. Once she came to trust us (took about 48 hours), we bonded quickly. We needed each other. She needed a person she could trust when she was scared (and at first she was ALWAYS scared), and though I didn't know it yet, I needed her to survive.

A few weeks into having her in our lives, the suicidal thoughts came back with a vengeance. I was applying for jobs and trying to be productive, but it was hard because the depression was exhausting me. This time, I was more logical about it. I knew how I would do it. For probably 3 straight days while Rhett was at work I would contemplate death. I held off because my only thought was--Roxie will be alone and confused and not know where I went and why I wasn't coming back and she will be even more scared. I couldn't do that to her. My poor, sweet, scared, shy, little girl. No. I really didn't want Rhett to have to find my body, but it was not a strong enough feeling to really stop me. I didn't want to cause any pain to my family, and I knew that my death would cause great pain to them, but I also kind of thought that they would all be able to deal with it over time, their pain wouldn't stop me. However, Roxie would never come to understand, and that stopped me. While Rhett went to work, I stayed home and let myself bond with Roxie. Taking myself out of this world seemed to me the only way that I would ever feel okay again. However, I knew if I died my family, Rhett, and my dog Roxie would all be devastated.

Simply ceasing to exist without causing pain and confusion is impossible, but I longed for it anyway. Not death. I never wanted death. I just didn't want to exist.

I started seeing a therapist, I kept taking the medication, I talked to Rhett, I got a job and I held onto Roxie. Truly, Roxie was the one who stuck to me like Velcro. Eventually, I pulled out of the darkness that overwhelmed me. It wasn't an easy journey. I don't remember a switch going off where I was suddenly okay again, it was more gradual than that, but I got there. I stayed on the medication for a year and a half. And I did well. I did more than well, I began to thrive. I weaned off seeing a therapist, and then weaned off the medication. My doctor was very kind and told me we could restart it at anytime if I feel I need it. I wasn't cured, but I was content with my life again, and dare I say...happy (mostly).

Now I can skip forward about 3 years to when I was 27 years old. Roxie was diagnosed with cancer, and in dealing with that I reached out to my doctor almost immediately. I didn't want to, but I knew I needed to be prepared for the worst. Roxie would pass about 3 months later, the day after my 28th birthday. That was 14 months ago. I think I'm ready to wean off the medication again now, but I can't imagine where I would be right now if I didn't have it working effectively in my system when she passed. Her passing alone was hard enough. It tore a hole in my heart that I don't think will ever fully heal. I've been racked with feelings of guilt for not being able to save her life when she saved mine, more than once. She was such a fighter, too. It was so unfair. She deserved so much more than what this life threw at her and I kick myself all the time for not doing better for her. By the time she got to her cancer diagnosis she had such a zest for life. She loved us, she loved going the beach, and car rides, she loved doing whatever we were doing. She loved life! She was still nervous about new things, but she had overcome her crippling fear and she fought to live. I felt like I was betraying her when we put her down, but she couldn't even walk anymore because it spread to her spine. Luckily her back didn't break. I truly feel that her purpose in this life was to save mine, but it seems so unfair that I couldn't give her the love and comfort she deserved for a whole dog-life in repayment. Her lot in this life was brutal and unfair, and it kills me to think about it. She deserved a calm and happy long life with a warm bed and ample treats. I sometimes still pray that God will give her some good ear rubs for me; She loved those.

14 months later (now 21 months) and I miss her every day. I know there are people out there who perhaps think I'm a little nuts, that I'm over-amplifying my bond with her. All I can say is, have you ever had a dog save your life? She was my reason to exist for a time, my only source of happiness in a time when it was nearly impossible for me to be happy at all. She did for me what no one else in the world could do, not even my human family members. She was a part of the family. When I tell people that I miss her still, it comes from a deeper place than most could ever imagine. To be honest, animal cruelty and pain is a very big depression trigger for me. Animals are often altruistic, and loving, and forgiving, and we don't deserve their goodness. They don't understand pain or abuse, but they still give everything they have anyway. It hurts my heart to see them in pain, even emotional pain. Humans have an understanding and have therapy to come to an understanding of life's hardships, animals do not.

9 months after Roxie's passing, we adopted Chelina, our Spanish Galga. I felt really guilty about it at first, but now I like to think Roxie is proud that we're taking in another abused, scared, and shy dog. I love my Cheli-bean. I love my Roxie. I recently read that grief is just love that has nowhere to go, and that touched my soul.

I'm grateful to feel love again. To know unconditional love. That love does come from family, but it comes from dogs in a form that is inexplicable. I know this will be a life-long battle, and I am prepared for war. I now know I have the tools, the know-how, and the dogs to weather this stormy life.

Today I was happy. Yesterday I was happy. I was happy even the day before that. I'm a generally happy person. I think. This is often why I don't feel like I can contribute to talks about depression. Some days are easier than others. Some days I just exist, survive, and some days I truly and thoroughly thrive. The darkness is always there. Sometimes it is a little ball that I can imagine holding in my hands, I know it's there and I feel its presence, but it doesn't really feel like I "have depression." Yet sometimes I'm inside of the ball, with no grasp on the edges and no escape in sight. Those are the moments I no longer want to exist. They don't come as often in recent years, but sometimes they do. That's just how it is, and how it is going to be. And you know what? Right now, that's okay. I have pushed on, become successful in my career and my education despite all of this. Because Roxie taught me to be a fighter, no matter how bad life gets. Life doesn't even have to be "bad" to feel scared or shy or overwhelmed or alone or sad, sometimes those feelings just come anyway. We can still fight to survive, though. We can still fight to feel happiness again.

And I will fight for it. For Roxie. For Rhett. For Chelina and Danni and all my future dogs. For my family. For me.

My Hero

It's been 5 years since I last saw my Grandma. 5 years ago this month she passed away. I still miss her. She was my hero, and I always wonder what she would say to me about the different happenings in life. Especially now, amidst all the conflict going on, even within my own family. She was quiet, and stubborn, and compassionate. She knew how to have fun, and not only that, but she was funny! She loved to travel. Basically what I'm trying to say is: she was one-of-a-kind.

I was with her when she saw Mt. Rushmore for the very first time in her life. I was with her when she saw the Old Faithful Geyser at Yellowstone erupt for the who-knows-how-many-timeth in her life. She came to see me in California when I was born. She was at all of the big events in my life, from birthdays to choir concerts to graduations. She enrolled me in the Jr. American Legion Auxiliary every year until I turned 18. She encouraged me to attend Girls State, and came down for my graduation from that, too. And I got to be there for her, the night she died. The night she rejoined my grandpa in what I'm sure was a joyous reunion. He died 14 years before she did, when I was 8.

Grandmas life was full. Mostly, it was full of love. She and grandpa traveled everywhere. They even owned their own RV and were part of an RV club. She bought me a Bitty Baby from the American Girl catalog when I was young. And every year for holidays and my birthdays, Bitty Baby got a new outfit. I've got a whole Bitty-Baby chest waiting to be shared with my daughters. She was a nursing home administrator, and when her dementia got really bad, she thought she ran the assisted living facility she lived in. She also got mad that they never sent her a paycheck for her work.

However, what really stuck out to me as young'n was finding out how much she loved service. She always involved herself in her community, and her church. She never missed a single month visiting teaching, it was her favorite calling (Visiting Teaching for non-Mormon readers: everybody in the ward is assigned another member in the ward to look after and visit with as a means to build relationships, and watch over the Lord's flock. It is encouraged to connect with your "buddy" about once a month. This way everyone can have someone to lean on when hard times come, and when they need help. It's a really wonderful program.) Grandma knew how to have fun! She loved to ride motorcycles. She liked to dance. She loved watching basketball (go Jazz!) The night her and my grandpa met she said she knew she would marry him. Shortly after their wedding, she got pregnant; and then the war broke out. My grandpa then left for 4 years to serve in the Navy, while she raised my aunt. I can't imagine what her life was like, I know she had a lot of hardship come her way, but as always, she remained steadfast. She told me how she always hated trains because they brought back memories of having to wave goodbye to him.

Funnily enough, when I think of grandma, I think of trains. I would often have sleep-overs at her house, and in the middle of the night after we settled into bed, I would lay awake and listen as the big cargo trains ran in the distance, occasionally blowing their horn. It was one of the things that brought me some familiarity when I first moved to Chicago. We live right off the L train, and at night I hear them pass by. They don't have horns, but the doors do ding as they close.

I can still feel her fingers tickling my back as she would tell the favorite Christmas story of "Grey Pony and Brown Donkey." I can still taste her potato salad (the only potato salad I ever really liked). I can still hear her say, "I wonder where all these cars are going" as I drive down the freeway. I can still see her fingers covered in melted chocolate from the treats she had in her drawers. I'll always love the memories of having to be the one to share a bed with her on vacations because I'm the only person who could sleep through her oxygen machine whining at nighttime. I'll always remember how proud she was of me for getting into nursing school. It made me proud of myself in a time when I struggled with some mild depression and anxiety.

On their 50th wedding anniversary, grandma and grandpa were sealed together for time and all eternity in the Salt Lake City Temple. I'm forever grateful for eternal families. I look forward to seeing her again someday. Until then, I know she comes to visit me from time to time. I've felt her presence near.

In one of her last lucid days before her death, she seemed to know she was saying her goodbyes. She was telling everyone how much she loved them and how much they meant to her. When she got to me she simply squeezed my hand and said, "I love you, but you already know that." And that was all she needed to say. Yes, grandma, I know how much you love me. I see it in my American Legion Auxiliary ID cards, in my outfits for Bitty Baby, in the pictures I have of us traveling together, in the books sitting on my shelves that were from you, in my china tea sets you brought me from your own travels, in the bluebirds that were always on your nightstand, which are now on my bookshelf, in everything you've ever said to me or done for me, in every memory I have of you, I am filled with your love.

"Mourning is one of the deepest expressions of love. The only way to take sorrow out of death, is to take love out of life." -True to the Faith

Sitting by her bedside as she lay dying, I was already in deep mourning. I knew it was her time, I had felt the veil thinning in the days that lead up to it. She saw people who had passed on years ago, including grandpa, but it didn't make it any easier for me to say goodbye. My family asked me to sing a song, and immediately I knew which one it would be. I didn't say it then, I let people talk it out for a minute, thinking about what they might pick, but I started singing a favorite hymn.

Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side; with patience bear thy cross of grief or pain. Leave to thy God to order and provide; in ev'ry change He faithful will remain. Be still, my soul: Thy best, thy heav'nly Friend thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake to guide the future as he has the past. Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake; all now mysterious shall be bright at last. Be still, my soul: The waves and winds still know His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: The hour is hast'ning on when we shall be forever with the Lord, when disappointment, grief, and fear are gone, sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored. Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past, all safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

I can't think of a more worthy person to deem as my hero, and I pray every day I can be like you, Grandma. I want that same steadfastness, calm demeanor, pleasant attitude, go-with-the-flow lifestyle, and even that same stubbornness and love you held in your heart.

5 years feels like 5 months.

Love,

Mary

Let's Talk About Peanuts

It's interesting to meet other people with peanut allergies. Some people have a much more mild allergy than me, some are even more severe than my allergy. You might think that a shared allergy would create a little bond between two peanut-hating comrades, but this is not always the case. I remember a couple of people my age in school as a youngin' who had a peanut allergy like me. Now that I'm older, I'm meeting a lot of people who have kids with peanut allergies. It amazes me still that they can't seem to take my advice on how to deal with the allergies, even though I have survived to be almost 26 years old now. I'm not at all insinuating that my advice is perfect, and should be used on every single person with a peanut allergy. However, I am stating that the general response for when there's peanuty things around has been mastered. Not only by me, but by others like me.

What I really see with these new peanut-allergy moms, is that they hover over their kids incessantly. They show up to every school activity, they keep an EpiPen on their person at all times, they check all of their kids food before allowing them to consume it, they demand separate tables to sit at, etc. etc. etc. None of these things are bad, but when combined and used excessively, we have a very obsessed parent.

I grew up at the end of the age where kids were free to play outside, and we came running home for dinner at the sound of my dad's suuuuuper loud whistle. An age where cell phones were those bricks that adults carried around in case of emergency only. Now we have entered the technology age. Kids play video games inside all day, parents text them to tell them to come to dinner. Millennials are becoming parents, and lets face it, we have our own set of self-entitlement caused problems. There's never been a generation quite like ours before. So much validation is needed, some would say coddling. In what appears to be an ever increasingly dangerous world, parents may feel it necessary to hover more. We can discus that later. My point here is that kids with peanut allergies now, do not know how to independently navigate their way through the world of food.

Case Study #1, Jane Smith and her son Freddy (*names have been changed to protect the identity of those involved). Jane stopped taking her children out to eat at any Asian restaurant. She checked every single piece of candy before it went in the bucket while trick-or-treating. If the candy was so much as in a shared bucket with other peanut candies, it was not allowed in Freddy's bag. Even though each piece was individually wrapped... She even went so far as to believe the message on the back of candy bars (you know, "this product was manufactured in a plant where peanuts are also processed") was not a possibility, but a probability. No more candy for Freddy. I can't imagine how exhausting her life must be. Thanks to Freddy, none of the other children in the family ever got to go out to eat either. Nor could they enjoy candy as often (again, we can debate if that's a good or bad thing later). Taking her kids to church often induced panic attacks because teachers sometimes hand out snacks during Sunday School. Snacks that *might* have peanuts. Freddy was not allowed to eat at anyone else's house. She was about to put her son through a series of very expensive allergy shots to diminish the allergy so he wouldn't die if he accidentally ate a peanut. Spoiler Alert: Freddy was found about a year later to NOT have a peanut allergy, or even sensitivity. Hooray for Freddy!

My mother was the one who tried to befriend Jane and help her see how to deal with the allergies. Her advice fell on deaf ears. It was almost as if Jane had Munchausen Syndrome. She would fight with my mom about almost everything. At one point she even asked my mom that if it might save my life one day, wouldn't she want to give me the set of very expensive allergy shots? While she made it sound like she was the sane one, my mother understood that the pro's and con's weighed differently for me than for her child. Some children will greatly benefit from said shots, as it might just save their life one day if their allergies are really severe. However, by the time they were developed, I was well into my teen years and had learned how to manage my allergy myself. We were tight on money and I didn't feel the need to fork over a couple thousand dollars just to decrease my sensitivity to something I'd still be allergic to. Sorry to burst your bubble, but the shots are not a cure for the allergy. Sadly.

I have happy memories of being able to trick-or-treat without my parent hovering over me at each door, checking the candy. My secret: Get home and dump out the candy buckets then trade with my siblings. If I had a PB candy they realllllly liked, I could usually bargain and get 2 pieces of candy in exchange. It was a great system, and allowed my siblings to learn what was safe for me and be involved in helping me with my allergies. Each of my siblings knows exactly what to do in case of allergy attack. They know the labels, and can probably list off every candy that I can't eat without thinking twice.

Case Study #2, Sarah Johnson and her son Joey. Sarah is the mother who goes to every school function with her child. Perhaps she's just an overzealous PTA mom? Nope, she's just overprotective. She got her son a medical ID bracelet, but upon realizing that most people don't read those before giving someone some food, she decided to stick with her kid so she could tell people about his allergy. Sarah was actually really good at understanding cross-contamination of things like candy bars is rare, although I'm sure it still made her nervous. It's the homemade food that'll getcha (It's mostly what got me). At one point she even asked for advice on what to do via facebook, but shrugged off my comments as "funny." I'm like, whaaaa? Girl, I've been living with this for 26 years. Because I found out about my allergy at 18 months old, you could make the case that I've lived with it for 24 years, but either way it's over 2 decades of experience. You asked for advice, I'm giving you my FIRSTHAND experience, and I and my mom are "funny"?? Really? My mother never had to come to every single school function just out of fear that I might get into something dangerous, because she knew what would best alert people to my allergy, without having to stand behind me and check all of my food. Of course she also had my my teachers in on it, too. They all knew to keep an extra eye on me and check snacks. It's a group effort. No one can be supermom.

While everyone has different reactions to allergens and medications, the allergy victims like myself have figured out what works best for us, and are always happy to lend a helping hand, good advice, or an ear for venting. Because lets face it, if you or your child was recently diagnosed with a severe allergy, there's a lot to think about, and that can be stressful. While you can certainly try substitutions (almond butter, sun butter, etc.) I won't eat them, I think they're disgusting. My mom never banned PB from the house, she just made sure my siblings didn't eat it too close to me, and that they washed their hands well before doing anything else. Why make them suffer? They like peanut butter! When I would leave to a friends house, they would sometimes beg my mom to make a batch of PB cookies. She would oblige, but only if they promised to help clean up. It was a win-win. I was at a friends house having fun, they got to eat PB cookies, and my mom had a really clean kitchen afterwards every time. We're talking counters washed with soap and water, dishes scrubbed out and done, nothing left that could cross-contaminate to my food.

At one point while working for my sister at her Ice Cream shop, a new employee was hired who was at the time in EMT school. We had peanut infested mix in items (butterfinger, peanuts, chopped snickers bars, etc.) and this sweet kid took the time to educate my sister about the dangers of peanut cross-contamination. He also stated that if someone had an allergy attack while he was working, he would know just what to do. What he didn't know was that Rachel had 2 decades of peanut safety practice before opening shop. She was sweet and thanked him for his concern and ability to help.

It is funny to watch people who don't have to think about allergies normally when they get around me. Suddenly, everything seems dangerous. Most don't realize just how easy it is to cross contaminate until I tell them "I can't eat that - someone picked it up after grabbing a peanut butter bar." Then they go into a frenzy! It's kind of funny, but I never laugh at them. I know it's stressful when you start to really take notice of those types of things.

Let me tell you what I do. Yes, I have an epi-pen. I ALWAYS take it whenever I travel. I typically keep one in my purse, although there have been times where I've forgotten to transfer it over when I change purses. The one thing I never forget though, is children's chewable Benadryl. The liquid would work great, too, but it is much harder to transport. I have Benadryl stashed in my work bag, my nightstand, our regular medicine box, and each of my purses and backpacks. It has literally saved my life on more than one occasion. Thanks to Benadryl, I've never had to use my EpiPen because I've always been able to get to the hospital. When I was younger, I wore a big yellow button to school every day with bold brown lettering that said, "I am SEVERELY allergic to PEANUTS and ALL peanut products." I wore it every day in Kindergarten and I think through first grade, too. From 2nd grade to 6th grade, I wore it each day for the first week of school. My teachers all knew me. The lunch ladies all knew me, there was an EpiPen in the school nurses office (before they disbanded school nurses to make it a "district nurse"), and I did pretty well. Only three times in my years of K-12 did I ever have a reaction. One of those times was an environmental reaction (aka a "dust" allergy, the smell was so potent that my eyes started swelling and I started wheezing), the other two times I actually ate something, once at school, once at home.

I know my mom was freaked out when I was first diagnosed with my allergy. However my whole family learned really quickly what was safe and what was not. It's sheer habit now to ask what oils they cook with when I or my family are at a new restaurant. There is no need to restrict your children from exploring the world when they have an allergy, just teach them to be careful. Mistakes will be made, teach them how to react. Education is always key. When I was younger, it was harder, because I couldn't read very well. My mom knew the parents of all the kids I played with, though, so she would just alert them that if I stayed for dinner, to please not use any peanut products. No problem! As I got older, I learned to ask what was in different foods, I learned how to educate others on which foods were safe, and I learned how to scrutinize labels. As I learned, my parents didn't have to worry, because I could independently search out foods that were safe for me when I was on my own. If I wasn't sure about something, I often politely declined. That's okay, too. Even still, when I hear there's a "risk" of cross contamination at a new restaurant or bakery I try, I look into it and weigh my decisions. There have been times when I walked out of a restaurant and thanked them for letting me know about their use of peanut products, and other times I went ahead and ate.

If you don't teach your children to do this, who will? What will they do when they go to college? On a mission? A road-trip with friends? If you find out someone has an allergy, just ask them about it. If you want to take them to a restaurant, or have them over for dinner, they'll be happy to tell you what is perfectly fine to do, and what to avoid. In fact they'd prefer it. Then at least they know that it's that much safer to eat with you. I don't expect everyone to remember my allergy. I'm perfectly fine declining food if I deem it unsafe. You won't offend me by offering me a bite of your Baby Ruth, or Snickers, or Peanut Butter Cup. I only ask that you wash your hands real good after eating it while you're around me.

Please, enjoy your peanuts!

Mary

Feel free to leave any questions you may have in the comments!

Traveling to Colombia!

First off, it's Colombia, not Columbia. Haha. Columbia is like Washington D.C. Colombia is the South American country that Rhett and I traveled to just this month. It was a short trip, but it was super fun. Colombia is unique and beautiful, and the people are some of the kindest I've ever met. While there I kept notes on my phone whenever I had a thought come to my head about something cool/unique/different that I saw. Anything that would remind me of how awesome Colombia is, I wrote it down. So here are my thoughts about this beautiful country, from the city of Medellin (pronounced Med-e-yeen, or Med-e-jeen depending on who you talk to). Most of the notes are in present tense since I was in Colombia and thinking of them at the time of writing them.

Senora Rojas (the mother of our VRBO owner, who also lives in the apartment) is taking a hand-hold approach to guiding us around. Like we won't be able to go anywhere without getting lost and/or scared. She keeps telling everyone we don't speak Spanish haha. She even went so far as to get on the bus with us to help us pay for tickets and tell the driver where we were getting off at and that we don't speak Spanish. Even though Rhett does speak Portuguese and can speak/understand Spanish enough to get us around.

Our first day walking around in the city (after making it off the bus and onto the train), I hear someone behind me say, "Bonita," then something something "gringos." She was asking, "are you gringos? Then telling me and Rhett how beautiful I was.

I keep getting stared at. Is it my height? Because I'm a "gringo?" I'm not the only blonde, but I am the only blue eyed blonde. All the blondes here have it dyed blonde. And my hair is very short, no one here has short hair except for the older ladies who have it permed.

It's easier to understand Spanish than I thought it would be.  Not that I understand it, but I can pick up on the gist of it if people talk slowly. When Rhett talks to people, they typically talk back slowly enough that he can understand in his "Portanol" (Portuguese mingled with Spanish) and with him occasionally leaning over to translate to me, or by hand gestures of the Colombian, I picked up on the gist of things pretty well.

Ferdinand Botero is a Colombian artist who does "fat" paintings and statues. They are super famous. Half of a floor in the local art museum dedicated to his stuff. Something like 37 of his statues stand in the plaza.

People are either fluent in English or don't speak a lick of it. Most of them don't. Though people wear shirts with English phrases on them. Stuff like, "Forever sexy" and "I'm a limited edition" etc. It's kind of funny.

People sell wears on the street for dirt cheap. Everywhere. From hats to dresses to shoes to remote controls to phones and tablets (even ones with cracked screens), and on and on. I don't know how they make any money, but they're out there, every day.

The style for men is long pants, so Rhett sticks out today with his cargo shorts. Women wear sheer shirts and mostly tank tops. Plenty of skirts seen, lots of skinny jeans and shorts. Sandals and sneakers both seem to be in fashion.

There is such a range of skin color. Light olive to a dark black. No Asians to be seen anywhere, though. Advertisements definitely favor the lighter skin, which is interesting.

Everyone is very nice. Very, very nice. Not once has anyone gotten upset at us for not speaking Spanish. They always try to help, and even offer help when we look lost/confused.

Lunch consisted of fresh lemonade (DELICIOUS). Rhett had a pork/steak mixed plate with a cheese arepa. I had salted chicken, beans, rice, plantain, and a mini arepa with a fried egg.

The Metro is very spacious, it was odd at first to be in a train car with so much room between seats and stuff, until I saw it packed with people, they really pack people on. Its so smooth you don't need to hold onto anything, which is very different from Chicago's "L". The buses are as rough and bumpy as the movies always portray, but newer. There's no leg room, and my head hits the ceiling. No one else's does... Oh, there are also Gondolas as part of the metro system that take people up the mountain side. They have to use gondolas because the mountain is so steep. People just live right off the gondola stops. It's amazing. And beautiful!

Weather: super hot, then when the sun goes behind the clouds and a breeze kicks in its perfect. Even "chilly". Natives wear light jackets. I didn't even take a jacket out with me. Now I know why it is called the "city of eternal spring."

There are motorcycles everywhere, and everyone rides tandem, very rarely is someone on a motorcycle by themselves. Police especially. It's kind of funny to watch. And the police drive with their lights flashing at all times. No undercover stuff, they are always very well labeled.

Next up, the botanical gardens. They are very beautiful, probably one of our favorite places, especially for people watching. They're right by the university campus. We saw students making out and studying on blankets on the grass. We watched a family feed a group of ducks and saw a wild kitten (Rhett keeps correcting me that it's feral, but I think wild kitten sounds cooler). It was great.

There is free city wide WiFi, it doesn't really work though. In certain spots it works well, so our phones would flood with messages for a minute, then we'd move and have no more wifi. We got messages at the botanical gardens, by the lagoon. We took a minute to message family from there and send pics. It was nice.

After the gardens and such, we just walked/wandered. The city is very run down, but they keep the streets and metro stations super clean. Very rarely do I smell things like urine, or garbage, like you'd expect in big cities, especially run down ones. Buildings are in ill repair from the outside, but most of the insides look good. There's lots of graffiti. The stuff that matters stays in good shape, the rest just kind of gets ignored.

Dinner was yogurt and a chicken pastry from the panderia here at the apartment complex. We ate by the water fountain and watched kids play for awhile. The yogurt here is all drinkable. Even when it's normally packaged, it's like liquid. Plus they have actual drinkable yogurts. There's almost no difference in consistency, though. Not as good as yogurt in the U.S., but it's yogurt and therefore yummy.

Breakfast: chorizo (sausage), toast, queso, and arepas. Sandra's mom was afraid we wouldn't like the chorizo. It was muy delicioso. Going to Parque Arvi today, a big nature reserve. We left at 10:30 am, they said we were leaving late but we don't care, we had plenty of time up there.

The rivers are all very dirty :( that looks like where they sweep the street trash. The smell near the rivers gets pretty bad, too.

The metro has announcements in Spanish and English, but the English speaker has such a thick accent, she may as well be speaking Spanish.

We saw a Mormon painting of the nativity in someone's home last night. It doesn't mean they're Mormon, but it was beautiful to see. Kind of a tender mercy from God reminding me that his children are everywhere.

Everything is orange brick. Probably clay. There are no yards/grass. Though there is still a lot of greenery on the ground. The dirt is the same reddish orange, and the trees are super green.

The electricity is constant, which is nice. Water temperature is not so constant, but its clean. Tap water is fine to drink, thankfully.

We got lost 3 or 5 or 6 times in the Colombian jungle (Parque Arvi). The trails are not marked well at all. Its awful haha. We ended up on a road going between a bunch of rural farm houses, had to backtrack and got lost a few more times. We did a lot of backtracking and walking. Sometimes the trail would almost disappear from under us. There were signs posted, but the posts were taken down, so it was always just a blank piece of wood sitting by the trail side. No directions. Nothing. Just graffitied.

The jungle smelled just enough like pine that I was reminded of the mountain canyons in Utah. Except it was a lot more humid. Utah could never hope for that level of humidity. Many of the trees that smelled like pine looked like some sort of cousin to a pine tree. The Colombian trees have never had to survive a hard winter.

Its more humid than Chicago, but not as bad as New Orleans.

No monkeys, possums, or jaguars, sadly. Just butterflies, which are gorgeous. There's road crossing signs with Jaguar shapes on them, though. And possum shapes.

I've decided my looks make me more likely to be pick pocketed, but my height makes me less likely to be threatened. People are still looking me up and down. Its a little funny. Lots of old men especially. Some will stop and tell me I'm pretty.

Everyone here has a dog. All the dogs are happy, and usually stay near their owners. There are advertisements that say "no more defenseless animals" and such. People let their dogs sit by them in their restaurants, etc. It's so great.

Yesterday we had a fresh mango sliced from a street vendor. Today we had a fresh cup of berries at the Parque Arvi. Eating fresh fruit from the area is my favorite thing about traveling abroad. The local fruit is so fresh and tasty. Mangoes that have to be shipped to the US just don't have the same flavor.

There's only like 3 kinds of food here, and most of it is fried. Going to restaurants presents a difficult choice cuz you can't really find what you want, just what they have. Grilled meats, fried chicken, or empanadas and pastries. I did see a Chinese restaurant in a mall food court, it looked like fried rice with Colombian style meat on top.

Mannequins all have HUGE boobs... And pant mannequins all have big booties.

They have these fruit drinks made with milk or water. I got a Blackberry with water yesterday, and a guava banana with milk today. The milk one was less flavored but still sweet and delicioso. Rhett got passion fruit the first day, mango the second. They're so sweet and addicting. We almost became regulars at the place that sells them.

There aren't really any tourists. Mostly natives. Other tourists are mostly Latino, so they blend in easily.

I've seen a couple of nuns. White wimples and blue dresses. Its cool.

I got to talk to a little girl on the metro who kept staring at me. I asked her name, which she mumbled to me. Then I told her she was pretty. She smiled real big and hid her face in her moms leg. Her mom talked to us for awhile, but I had no idea what she was saying, so I just smiled and nodded at intervals and I don't think she even knew we didn't speak Spanish.

I ate some peanut contaminated ice cream tonight. That resulted in a fun trip to the Colombian hospital. It's a rather lengthy story, but it's full of miracles. I posted that story first, so just keep scrolling down after this post.

Church today. We arrived 40 minutes late cuz breakfast and the bus both got delayed. I'm feeling better today than I have since we got here. I think I was dehydrated. They rehydrated me at the hospital. Senora Rojas acted so surprised that I could even walk, and kept asking if I could eat.

Golden retrievers all over today. Out first night I saw lots of bull dogs. I've seen lots of small shituzu type dogs, a few chihuahuas, beagles, huskies, and a lot of mutts. Yesterday I saw a boxer, and a collie dog like Lassie. Some of them just find spots on the sidewalk against a building and go to sleep. Belly up, even, which says a lot. They've all looked so happy. And people actually take their dogs out and play with them. Sandra has never heard of a Galgo before though (the Spanish Greyhound). She and her mom still oooh'd and ahhh'd at Roxie's pictures. The Rojas' have a typical Spanish Labrador named Tony. He is very well behaved, and so cute. He's 10 years old and just a happy fellow who likes to sleep.

So church, it was good. Fast and testimony meeting today. 2 sets of elders, only one looked non-native. His name was elder Weber, he was very blonde and fair skinned. More so than me! After sacrament meeting everyone came to Rhett and I to welcome us. We would say Buenos Dias, and all the women leaned in to give me the standard greeting kiss. I heard "bonita" a few times. According to my count, there were about 130 members in attendance. Everyone is so nice. The ward building was very close to our VRBO. The cultural hall was accessible only from outside, and they left all the doors open and had ceiling fans (maybe 10) going. It was nice and cool. It was lovely on the inside. Cool tile, white floor walls and ceiling. Most people did have on nice church clothes. Rhett and I had to wear our jeans. It was a very active fast and testimony meeting, there was never a pause between testimonies. There were also a lot of kids. Elder Weber was not very talkative, I had hoped to ask more about the mission and the ward and his hometown, but he basically welcomed us, asked where we were from, answered one question I had, then left.

After church we went to Pablo Escobar's house here (the house he was living in when he got caught and killed anyways). It had big iron gates across the front, and there was some super nice furniture inside. It was in a really nice, really pretty area. Not crazy at all.

The children here run around without supervision, ride bikes without shoes, and there are no car seats. Toddlers stand in cars until an adult seats them. People either carry their babies, piggy back their toddlers, or push strollers.

I don't think anyone spays or neuters their pets. People also take their dogs out to the park and let them run around off leash for a while without much supervision. Guess it depends on the person. Some dogs have collars, most don't. Although a lot of the small dogs wear bows and bandannas.

Nobody wears backpacks on their backs. Its always on one shoulder, and then when there's a lot of people around, or they get on the train, they hold it in front of them. Rhett and I followed suite.They still use payphones. No one really has a smart phone, if they do its an old version, and mostly used to listen to music. I see a lot of mothers with their young children, in the evenings and on weekends there is almost always a father with them. Grandparents are also often involved, and the elders are treated with a lot of respect. It's beautiful how family oriented everyone is.

There's a lot of street gambling that goes on.

I see a lot of Chicago bulls merchandise. Just the bulls. However, there's more New York City and Paris general merchandise.

Everyone holds hands :) father's and daughters, couples, young siblings, grandsons and grandma's, etc. I love it.

Colombians are not good singers... Not at church, not the Sunday choir in Plaza Botero, not any I've heard except Shakira on the radio.

I tried my first empanada. Not as greasy as it could have been, and very tasty. I ordered 2 of them and a 7 up with minimal help from Rhett. It was great.

Every car and bus is a stick shift. This makes it really fun on hills and pot holed roads.

Rhett and I bought flowers and wrote thank you notes to the Rojas' and to Ricardo and Natalia for helping us the night of my peanut attack. Senora Rojas didn't know exactly where Ricardo lived, but she knew it was around the 5th floor, and had a view of the pool. So we went knocking on doors. Whenever someone answered the door, they would always stop and think hard if they knew Ricardo, then try to offer advice to find him more quickly. Most of these people were complete strangers, yet they answered the door with a smile, and took time to try and help. No one slammed a door or even closed it after stating they didn't know Ricardo. Every single person tried to help somehow. The kindness of the Colombian people still astounds me. We never found him, but Senora Rojas promised she would keep looking so she could deliver our thank you note.

We had arepas with fresh cheese and hot chocolate for our last breakfast. Sandra harvested the corn herself to make the arepas by hand. Sandra and Senora Rojas were the kindest people, we were so lucky to stay with them.

One more thing we noticed: There are no drinking fountains in Colombia anywhere. Not even in the airport. Time to go home. We loved it here! Thanks for the memories, Medellin!

For all our pictures, you can click here.

Foreign Healthcare and the Elusive Colombian Peanut

You may think the most dangerous things to watch out for in Colombia would be drug related. Maybe a run in with a gang or the cartel, perhaps in the form of a brutal kidnapping. Especially in Medellin, which was once rated the most dangerous city in the WORLD. (True story). You may be afraid of a jaguar coming at you from the depths of the jungles, as there are even road crossing signs with jaguar warnings on them. Perhaps it would be the crazy drivers on winding roads. There is of course always the dangers of pick-pockets and such. No wonder our mothers were both so worried about us traveling to this crazy country. However, Rhett and I found the most dangerous thing of all. The elusive Colombian PEANUT!!!

8:20 pm Saturday, February 6th. Senora Rojas gave me toffee ice cream. There were 2 bowls of it on the table, one for me, one for Rhett. Rhett was using the restroom, so I started on mine.

I tried to ask in Spanish if there were nuts in it. I don't know if she didn't understand me, or if she didn't think it did have nuts, because she just looked at me and kind of shook her head, then made an eating gesture while saying "es gusta, gusta." So I ate a bite slowly, but it only tasted like toffee (sweet and delicious). So I had another bite. I was on my 3rd bite when Rhett came out to join me and I was starting to feel uncomfortable and itchy. Rhett got worried, I stopped eating and Rhett quickly ate all of my ice cream so we wouldn't offend Señora Rojas. I went right back to the room and took 2 benadryl. I was still itchy, so I took 2 more. About 10 mins later I tried to puke it up, but I think my stomach had already emptied. So I laid down and I waited. 

As per usual, the stomach cramps started. I told Rhett if they lasted more than an hour to take me in. Rhett gave me a Priesthood blessing, which was a comfort. We waited 10 or 15 more minutes and it got really bad. Rhett went to get Señora Rojas, and tell her we needed to go to the hospital because I was having bad allergies. She asked if we needed to go to the drug store. Rhett said no, the hospital. She asked if we could wait until Sandra got home, but Rhett said no, and she started to panic. She was pacing, and pulled out a card with the taxi company number on it, but it took her awhile since she was panicking. Rhett stayed very calm. I stayed doubled over on the bed. Well when the taxi was called Rhett and I scrambled to get our passports, my wallet, my epi pen, and my medications together. We also had to get me dressed again.

We headed out and towards the gate where the taxi was supposed to wait for us. On our way down, the taxi passed us going toward our building. The gate workers had let him in! I didn't know what to do at that point, because I didn't think I could make it back to the building. Right at that moment another car was passing, and the driver rolled down the window and asked what was wrong. Señora Rojas explained what was going on, and it turns out the guy spoke English! He got out and told us to get in his car. He then sped us to the Clinica las Americas while asking us all sorts of questions so he could help check us in when we got there. 

His name was Ricardo, his wife was Natalia. They rolled down the windows and yelled at other drivers to please let us pass, which they did. He said if I have a passport and a health insurance card, I would be given attention. Luckily I had brought my insurance card. Had I been more alert, I probably would've been terrified of his driving. As it was, I wasn't even wearing a seat belt. The roads in Colombia are crazy twisted. And I was grateful for Ricardo's speed and agility on the road as well as Natalia's loud voice out the window. We got there around 9:20pm and he got out with us while Natalia went to park. I sat down, Rhett stayed close, and Ricardo did all of our paperwork for us. What an amazing man. 

They put me at the top of the triage list and I was taken back almost immediately. Only one Dr. spoke English, and she was available to see me right then. It was a miracle.

Rhett and I went back to exam room 1 where the doctor, Carolina, asked me what was going on. I gave her my symptoms and medication list, she read the pill bottle, I told her I had taken some advil, etc. The doc told us to be extra careful here because peanut allergies are so rare, they just put peanuts in everything here in Colombia without thinking about it. They probably wouldn't understand a peanut allergy (Señoras Rojas didn't, she acted confused at an allergia de maní). Which means they probably don't understand the dangers of peanut oils, or cross contamination. Because my symptoms were starting to lighten she diagnosed my allergy as "mild," but said she'd give me some medication and keep me an hour or 2 for observation. All my vital signs were well within normal limits (my O2 SATs were 99), and my lungs sounded clear. She moved me to a clinic bed and said they'd start some medication. 

It took a few minutes of waiting then my nurse, Margarita, came in with some medications. She started an IV and hung a bag of solumedrol (a steroid), gave me a shot of epinephrine in my arm that burned like the sun, and gave Rhett some paperwork. While he was filling it out the first dose of benadryl wore off and I started to get redder and redder, then I started wheezing. Loudly. Rhett grabbed the doctor who came in and listened to me and saw my hives. My O2 sats at that point had dropped to 96 (still not horrible, but it was a 3% drop). Shortly thereafter Margarita came in with a nebulizer treatment. It helped a lot. 

I was talking to Rhett as he was trying to fill out the paperwork, and a nice lady who was there for the person in the room over kept peeking in at me. Then she stuck her head in and in Spanish told me to stop talking so the breathing treatment could work. 

At this point I noticed that my feet hung off the bed, because I'm so much taller than the average Colombian. Haha. Rhett finished the paperwork and went out to update the others. They were all so relieved to hear I was doing okay. Ricardo and Natalia said they would stay until Sandra got there, and she was on her way. Then Rhett came back to my bedside. After awhile Margarita came in and hung 10mg of IV benadryl. That's when I started to get loopy, and my fingers and hands stopped cooperating with me. I was pretty trembly from the meds. Rhett taught me the Spanish word for loopy: Chiflado. I guess I was singing songs (about being chiflado) and flapping my arms around aimlessly. 

It was really uncomfortable because the epinephrine, the steroid, and the nebulizer together gave me an energy boost, raising my heart rate, blood pressure, etc. But all I wanted to do was rest. The benadryl was putting me to sleep. Then I started picking at my dressing on the IV cuz the tape was itching me. It was awful. And Rhett had the nerve to laugh at me and tell me to stop because I was being like the patients of mine that bug me when they pick off their dressings. I rebutted that I don't put that nasty itchy tape on my patients, I do good dressings. 

Then my butt started to hurt cuz the gurney bed wasn't very soft. So I had to wiggle around a lot. Apparently I tried to grab at Rhett's face. I think I was probably trying to stroke it nicely or bring him in for a kiss, buy he rejected me every time. He says I was just being annoying and laughing at him. I was just so uncomfortable but I knew I needed to stay still and get my meds in me. I just felt like I had no control over my arms and fingers. The good news is that my hives were going away and I had stopped wheezing. The next med was IV zantac. (Ranitidine). For my stomach. After that they gave me like half a bag of saline (which was wonderful, I was so dehydrated.) 

That last half hour or so was the most uncomfortable. The saline bag was cold, so my whole left arm was freezing. There were no iv pumps, Margarita just titrated the drips with the clamps, which was interesting to me. I was also still pretty fidgety. Then it was finally time to go. Margerita came and unhooked my IV. It wasn't like American IVs, where they lay nicely against the skin, it was an older version of an IV, and I felt it bruise my hand coming out. Oh well. I told her "muchas gracias." She was very sweet, but also no nonsense. My favorite kind of nurse. 

We left and went to the pay counter. This is when I really started to pray hard. It took them a very long time to pull all my information together, I kept falling asleep in the chair there. I thought it was going to get expensive, then we got the bill. I was shocked. 198,000 (198 mil) pesos. They asked Rhett how many payments he wanted to make on it, he just said one. They explained that they printed off my assessment, documentation, and receipts so we could go back to Chicago and get reimbursed by our insurance company. Ha! A copay for an ER visit is $250 on our insurance. 198 mil pesos is roughly $60. We're not getting reimbursed, and we don't even care. So its official, we went to Colombia and I got cheap drugs. What else do you do in Colombia? 

As we left the facility Señora Rojas just kept holding on to my arm and making clucking type sounds as if she just felt so bad for me. Sandra had arrived and she took us all home. We got back around midnight and I went straight to bed. I woke up once with another stomach ache, took some more benadryl per the Dr orders, and went back to sleep. The next morning I actually felt better than I had the first 2 days there. Probably because I was finally hydrated properly. We drank as much as we could, but it never seemed to be adequate. The next morning Señora Rojas seemed shocked that I could even eat, let alone go out after looking so terrible the night before. I think she thought it was a miracle. The benadryl helped a lot with my sleep, too, so that was good.

The next day we brought flowers for señoras Rojas and Ricardo y Natalia. We also wrote both families nice thank you notes in horrible and broken Spanish. I think they understood the meaning :)

List of miracles:
I packed my pill bottle (so my meds could be identified if need be)
I bought 2 brand new boxes of benadryl the night before leaving and replaced all my expired benadryl.
Ricardo driving by at that exact moment.
Ricardo speaking English.
Ricardo knowing what clinic to take us Americans to.
Ricardo not crashing on the way to the clinic.
Ricardo doing all of our paperwork to check us in.
Ricardo and Natalia being willing to drop whatever they were doing to take us to the clinic and make sure I was ok.
Ricardo knew about peanut allergies and how serious they were (he had to explain them to his wife and señora Rojas - not sure if it made the señora panic more though. At least she understood the severity of the situation.)
A doctor who spoke English.
The doctor who spoke English being available right then to see me.
Rhett being able to translate.
Me knowing the medical field and what was going on.
Modern, clean medicine practices in Colombia (the largest country for surgical tourism in the world-- prolly cuz it's so cheap).
Being triaged to the front of the line.
An amazing husband who did my paperwork and stayed by my side the whole time.
A kind nurse, even though we could only communicate with single words. (Me saying gracias for everything, her telling me when to take a breath cuz she was about to poke me "respirator... Si si si" *poke*)
An extremely affordable bill.
Sandra driving us home.
The kindness of the Colombian people.
Getting good sleep and rehydrated.

Love is a Choice: The Story About how I Spent 4 Years Deciding to Marry a Guy

Let me introduce my husband, Rhett. No one ever gets his name right, I have to spell it every time before they realize: OH! Rhett! Like Rhett Butler from Gone With the Wind, right? Right. He is thoughtful, kind, caring, a goofball, geek, amazing, and a myriad of other good things. He is the epitome of goodness. I often catch myself thinking, "what did I do to deserve him in my life?" Most of the time in a non-sarcastic manner. As good and great and wonderful as he is, it is true that he sometimes exasperates me. That's being married to a goofball.

For those of you who know me and Rhett, you may know that it took him years to convince me to marry him. For those who don't know, I'm not kidding. Bishops were surprised when they found out we had been dating for 3 years and and would ask me how I finally convinced him. Then I would surprise them even more by saying I didn't, he had to convince me. A lot of girls really want to get married, they practically beg for a ring. I didn't. I didn't want it. I was happy with how my life was going. I didn't need a ring. Sure, I knew it would be a nice thing to have one day, but I had this dream of being 30, having a Masters degree, and owning a house before getting married. Most people think I'm weird, but when you have a roommate as awesome as Monica, you won't want things to change. (A note to non-lds/utah friends who may be reading this: while 3 years isn't a super long time, please remember that premarital sex is off limits. This changes the way you date, especially within the culture that is Utah.)

Rhett and I started dating the week that I had sent off another boy on his 2 year, LDS mission. We had agreed that there would be no expectations, and that if I happened to be free when he returned home, we could try again. We had a pretty rocky relationship, but there was good chemistry between us, so I kept trying to make it work. I was pretty hung up on him for a long time. Oh teenage angsty hormones. I don't miss them. To be quite honest, I thought going on a date with Rhett wouldn't get serious, so it seemed pretty safe to go out with him. We kind of jumped into things faster than I normally moved in relationships, but it felt okay, so I let it go. Then I got comfortable.

For the next 2 years we dated and I liked it. I held myself back a lot, and didn't allow my emotions to get too involved because of the missionary. At least, that was my excuse. I wanted "closure" with that "relationship." Which was valid,  I'd be lying if I told you I didn't want to see where things might have gone with him, but that was then. The closer we got to those 2 years being up, the more I realized how bad of a relationship it really was. How Rhett was so many things that the missionary would never be. While part of me did hold back with Rhett because of the other guy, another big part of me held back because I wanted to be independent. The biggest part that held me back from moving forward with Rhett was fear.

I've heard it said that love is a choice. Rhett and I had very few bumps in our relationship. We dated mostly long distance, and when I would move home for the summer, I'd freak out that we wouldn't be able to handle a close distance relationship. We did. Then I'd move back to Ogden for school and freak out that we wouldn't be able to keep a long distance relationship going. We did that, too. Rhett probably put in most of the work for the first 2/3 of our relationship. I was setting us up to fail, because that was an easy escape route. The only problem was that I LIKED being with Rhett. When I was with him I felt good and happy and comfortable, and it was easy to be around him and to be myself. What really threw me off was how feeling good and happy and comfortable turned into love. I had always imagined love to be constant fireworks and endless energy. When I dated the first guy, there was a lot of that. People warned that fireworks burn out fast, and the low burning love is what lasts, but because of that chemistry between us, those fireworks didn't burn out for me during the time I dated him. So why wasn't it like that with Rhett? Love came gradually with him. There were times that I felt it strongly, like a big sparkling campfire, but mostly it was just kind of a background thing, keeping me warm rather than giving me a big show. I think that "warmth" is what made me so comfortable with Rhett.

We dated for 2 years, the missionary returned, and I did see him a few times. I still felt a chemistry/tension between us, but I couldn't hurt Rhett like that. Plus I knew that this guy wasn't going to change how he went about relationships, and I hated how he went about relationships, so I got over it and decided to put him behind me for good. This gave me permission to be more "serious" with Rhett. That was scary. What about my independence? Do I really love him? I mean, I did love him, but enough to marry him?? Am I okay with marrying a guy who is shorter than me? If I'm not does that make me shallow? When I was with him my hormones would rage and I could never get enough of him. When he was gone I loved texting him, and I thought about him a lot, but I was content to chill with my roommates and I didn't feel that I needed him. Should I even marry I guy that I feel like I don't constantly need in my life? They always say to marry the person you can't imagine living without. Well, I can imagine living alone just fine, so my family said to marry the person I don't want to imagine living without. That actually changed it for me. I liked having Rhett in my life. I also liked having Monica in my life. Oh the conflict.

After 2 1/2 years of dating with this low-burning feeling of love, I finally prayed about my future with him. I had prayed about it a lot before this point, but this is when I knew I needed to get serious about it, or let him go. I was afraid of breaking his heart, but I was afraid of what might happen if my only reason for staying with him was so I wouldn't break his heart. That is not a good way to start a marriage. Even my parents told me not to break his heart. They would support me in whatever I chose, but I needed to do it sooner rather than later because Rhett deserved better than being led on falsely. So I prayed and I prayed and I prayed. Monica and Emily (my amazing roommates) tried to help by lending listen ears and support, and offering insights of their own. I still could not come to a decision. Heavenly Father would not give me any sort of answer! I understood that I had to make the decision and act on it before receiving an answer, so I would say, "Okay, Heavenly Father, I've made up my mind. This is what I've chosen. Is that ok?" Haha still no response, go figure. I wasn't acting on anything. Then Emily told me to try praying for something different. Change my question so I could go down the path towards a decision. That's when I got my answer.

I remember it clearly: I was driving to school, saying my morning prayer in my car like I always did because I was always running late. It was spring, and the leaves weren't even budding on the trees yet. I still had to wear a coat out. I finally decided to ask as I pulled up to a stop sign, "Will I be happy if I marry Rhett?" Words came into my mind that I knew to be divine. My answer was placed in my head and my heart with perfect clarity. "There are others who may make you happy, but none will ever treat you as well as Rhett does." The decision was still in my lap, but this answer made it easier to know what may lay ahead. Did I want to go find someone else to make me happy? Or did I want the happiness of being treated like a queen my whole life?

After much meditation, I knew that by the way Rhett treated me, I would be happy still. The best part: I would have more joy in my life being with Rhett than I would anyone else, even if that someone else would make happier. Happy is an emotion, joy is a state of being. I also knew it wouldn't work unless I worked at it. I would not be the one to let this relationship fail. I already knew Rhett wasn't giving up on it, so it really was up to me at that point. I had to put in my share of work now, no more leaning on Rhett and letting him make it easy for me. That's how I knew we would work, because we were both willing to work. Love really is a choice. After that point, I finally let myself really start to feel in love with Rhett. I knew I loved him, but now I needed to choose to be in love with him. It came easily. There still weren't big fireworks, but there were more than I had felt in the beginning. What I really think happened was that some wood got thrown onto the coals of my heart so a real fire could start. (Forgive the cheesy metaphor, but it does make it easier to explain).

Marriage is a big decision, for the next 6 months we talked about it and prepared for it. Rhett went ring shopping, and I tried to hold on to my answers from God. The night we got engaged, I kind of knew it was coming. To be honest, by the end of the night I was starting to give up that he might actually propose, but we still had one more activity planned on our big date, so I waited. That last activity never happened. Instead he did propose. I remember that whole date thinking to myself, "Heavenly Father, I think Rhett is going to propose tonight. I am going to say yes because I know it will be good, however if it is not the right thing for me to do, DO NOT send any red flags. Please put up a wall so big that I run smack into it and can't go around, because that is the only way I will know this is wrong." That prayer was in my heart all day. When Rhett put that ring on my finger and I said yes, everything felt right. I felt good.

The engagement, like the relationship, was smooth. There was only one major bump where I felt sick to my stomach and really didn't know if I could go through with it. After talking to multiple people about it I decided to stick with my decision. I could back out later if I had to. Then my mom called me. She called to tell me that she had been talking to Nancy Jones, our neighbor. Nancy asked my mom how I was doing, and my mom shared my joy, as well as my concern. Then Nancy said, "Tell her not to give up. Tell her to remember what her heart told her at the beginning and to trust it." She proceeded to tell my mom how she almost cancelled her engagement to Max, her husband. I almost didn't believe the story. Nancy Jones? The most faithful, stalwart, and sure person I had ever met? I would have never guessed. That gave me strength to carry on. She was meant to talk to my mother that day.

Fast forward to the wedding day, about 1 year after our engagement. I don't know what other brides feel on their wedding day, but I was calm all morning. Well, most of the morning. My hairstylist took a little longer on my hair than I had planned for, so I had to rush my make up. Terrible, I know. We got to the temple and Rhett's whole family was already there. I just wanted to duck my head and get away from people for a bit, I come from a very excitable family, but too much excitement makes me uncomfortable, or maybe I'm just really introverted. Luckily I was taken into the back where Rhett and I had a few minutes alone. We didn't say much, just smiled at each other. All the papers were prepared, and I went ahead to the brides room where I could change and prepare for the ceremony. At this point I started feeling a bit more excited and nervous at the same time. As Rhett and I kneeled across the alter from one another, I had one more thought of fear come through me. Am I really sealing myself to you forever and ever? Oh my gosh, what am I doing? Then I remembered the answer I had received in my car a year and a half earlier, and with love, I said yes. I don't think I stopped smiling once during the rest of the wedding day.

Now here I sit, one year later, reflecting on what I felt those 4 years we were together before marriage. I remember my good friend Darcy had come to see me before the wedding. We went on a walk where we talked about all sorts of things, but the thing I remember most was her telling me how much she loved Max since they got married. She said every day her love for him grew more, and she couldn't even comprehend how. I was already feeling a little bit of that, so I thought I understood, and I suppose I did in my own way, but now I really get it. There are times when I look at Rhett and feel like my heart is literally about to explode out of my chest. Now I don't ever want to imagine my life without Rhett in it.

I say that if I had known that I could feel this happy and this in love with him from the beginning, I would have never delayed marrying him. However, I am happy I didn't know. If I knew that I would feel this much love a year into marriage, it wouldn't have been a choice. I wouldn't have proved to myself that I could work to make this relationship strong. When Rhett and I hit hard times ahead, we will be strong enough to weather them. I am grateful for that. Also, I'm grateful for the timing of it all, because I don't know how I could have finished nursing school if I had married him any earlier. Nursing school was the one thing I knew for sure in my life that I had to do, and I had to finish. God saw that, I know.

I have come to trust in God even more because of my marriage to Rhett. He told me that no one would ever treat me as well as Rhett would, and I know He was right. During this first year of marriage, my anxiety and depression got a little out of hand. Rhett was there to support me and love me with each step. Not once did he tell me to just, "try to be happier." Not once did he get frustrated with me for being a downer. He simply picked me back up each time I fell and let me cry on his shoulder. He worked to understand what I feel. He read articles and studies. He shows me pictures of dogs when I'm stressed, angry, or sad. He has been my best therapy. (*Note: Please don't replace medications with husbands, all forms of therapy must work together.)

So if you're ever worried that you're not feeling all the things the movies say you should be feeling when you fall in love, just remember, it really is a choice. And when you choose love, you will have so much more joy in that relationship. If you fall in love, you can fall out of love, but if you choose to be in love, you can choose to make it a stronger, better love.

Good News!

So after a year and a half of being out of school, I am finally going back to finish.

I often feel discouraged that it took me 6 years to get 2 associates degrees. One in general studies, one in Nursing. While all my other friends were graduating with their Bachelors, I was just starting the nursing program. It made it easier that most of my classmates were in the exact same boat as me. That's just how it is in nursing. You apply and reapply to programs, and take classes and retake classes until you get in.

I have 2 associates degrees, and yet it took me longer than it would to get a bachelors in just about anything else. I wouldn't change my schooling for anything though. Being a nurse is my calling in life. This I know with every fiber of my being.

Today I had my intake interview with the enrollment counselor at Western Governors University. I have been accepted in the RN to MSN program to get my Masters of Science in Nursing Education. Just writing "RN" next to my name makes me so proud, but writing BSN or MSN next to my name just might make my head explode with joy.

In about one year they will award me a Bachelors degree, and I will from there continue straight on to my Masters degree.

I'M SO STOKED I CAN HARDLY STAND IT!!!

Just wanted to share the good news!

Mary, RN