Lauri Schoenfeld's Blog, page 3

Small Victories

 

June 19th, 2021

 Yesterday, I had a voice. To some, that may sound like nothing, but to me, that was everything. It was a little more than my usual low whisper. The sound had more projection and also a higher chord than it has for the past few weeks. It was a moment for me like, “There you are. Welcome back.”

I got antsy and thought I would try to sing. That was absolutely off-limits until my next visit four weeks away. One try wouldn’t hurt. I stretched to sing, and the pain radiated like a thick string begging me to release its pull. Nothing came out like how I remembered my singing voice a few months ago. The strong, vibrato, jazzy soul beat of high alto energy didn’t come through. It was hoarse, and whisper squeaked as if I had never been a singer at all. It reminded me I still have healing and work to do and that this will be a process that can’t be rushed.

Today is a victory that there’s some volume, a bit more than yesterday. It’s a reminder that growth and healing don’t miraculously shift overnight. One step forward doesn’t mean I’ve won the entire marathon, and we’re done, with minimal time and effort. It means we’re moving, but I’m not near the end yet.

In life, we’re all moving one step at a time through a very real struggle in our lives. We see what our desired outcome is. We can taste it, feel it, and yet, it feels so very far away. In those moments, one step at a time feels like we’re never going to get there. Each step teaches us something that we can take on our journey if we decide to keep trying even when we don’t want to.

Some days that means crying. Some days that means pausing to catch our breath. Every day that means being kind to yourself and giving yourself love, patience, and grace to walk through that step in whatever way is needed to move to the next day. That will not look the same for any of us.

I listened to music today and closed my eyes. I listened to the singing and the words and every instrument, tempo, beat, and dramatic pause, and I felt gratitude for my ears that I could hear and feel what was coming through the speaker and into my heart. One day, I will sing again, and when I do, I will no longer worry about what people think of my voice. I won’t worry about messing up.  I will sing in praise that my voice has come back, and what a beautiful gift it is. For now, I’ll listen, feel, and enjoy the same songs I listen to often, but in a new way.

 

Rapids Rage at a Constant Pace

June, 7th 2021

 

I’m crying all the time like rapids raging and flowing at a constant pace as emotions release from the depth of my core. Feelings and experiences rooted at the center of it all, ones I thought I had healed and forgiven. Evil demons I thought were vanquished long ago have taken my soul, and I’m possessed by sorrow. I have no idea who I am anymore, and that’s left me with questions that have angered me and brought me such frustration. I'm crying, but I want to pretend that I’m okay. I want to feel strong and capable, yet I feel weak and uncertain.

My heart wants to share, but then it seems silly to unleash my rapids on someone else. I desperately try to reign them back away from the shore, but they’ve already landed, and I can’t undo the flood that just occurred. I desperately want to connect in a world of “What’s that” and “I can’t hear you” comments that I’ve heard far longer than just the past few months when I slowly lost my voice. These statements years ago were said to mock me for not having words to defend myself. Remarks were made to put me in my place, so their sins didn’t come forward, and they spoke for me as if I were a dumb mute who couldn’t convey my feelings. All of these demons are whispering in, “See, you’re not capable now. You’re weak and the last one standing. What do you have to offer now?” Control is being taken out from under me, and I feel inside like a banshee releasing her call of terror and fire, but no one can hear it. I don’t like this silence. 

I need support, yet I’m usually the support. I see how people look at me at times, the same way I look at myself in the mirror when I feel weak, and I can’t lean there because then I’ll drown. I want to say that I’ve got it together and that I’m singing the song of a confident and free eagle, yet I’m held here. I know I need to see it and feel it, to experience it all. I want to be okay and carry the wave protecting those around me, including myself, but it’s not my time to move the current or pretend that I’ve got it all together.

“Lean in.” The waves tell me.

It’s my time to mourn and be one with the waves. Floating, listening, and being, so my heart can bathe and communicate alongside the rapids. I’m crying, and tides rage at a constant pace.                                              

 

Presence is a Gift

May 31st, 2021

I've been feeling so frustrated for a few weeks because people can't understand me. Often, they get tired of trying to communicate or don't have time, so they leave or wave goodbye. That's left me feeling so many ups and downs, mostly downs because I literally can't speak. Not being understood and heard has been a real struggle for me, but I've had the opportunity to know how to communicate differently. I've had moments of not wanting to go out and attempt sign language because then, at least, I'm not an inconvenience to people. This has been weird. With my voice, I felt confident, sure of myself; I knew who I was and what I wanted to say. Without my voice, I've felt like I've lost myself, I've crept inside a cage peeking to see when it was okay to come out, and other times I lean in and ask for help. I've been unsure of myself and not entirely positive about how to be me without a voice. That's put a lot of perspective on many things. The biggest one has been finding and loving Lauri without my voice and realizing that I'm more than just a voice. And, where I thought I truly loved myself and had a pretty healthy space there, I recognize that there's some work to be done.

Dammit.

We're all continually learning and grow, and it never ends, nor should it, but I didn't realize how much having a voice has been my identity and self-worth. I didn't love seeing that. I want to feel that I'm more than enough right where I am. It's all the same with or without a voice. In truth, I've got some work to do to believe and see that from a completely different side. This has been a lifestyle change for my family and me. We're learning how to communicate in a way that takes more time and patience, which leaves us all feeling frustrated.

We went to a birthday party for a friend. It was a surprise party. I whisper talked, and to me, that's something, but to others, it's still a whisper and one they can't hear. Our friend had mentioned that I seemed subdued for being Lauri, and he was right. I think that was the first time in a few weeks that I realized that it's not only me who feels and sees this change in me. My voice and talking come with energy and a full-body explosion of joy, and without it, it's not just my voice I've lost; other pieces of myself have left, too. I miss me, and I long for those parts to come back. I'm also grateful for the new experiences that I'm seeing and feeling that I wouldn't truly understand without this experience. Little by little, I'm learning to express myself to people by my facial expressions and hand gestures. This is a new way of communicating, but one I'm leaning into. I took the kids to the library yesterday, and I did expressions with the few words in sign language that I consistently remember. The lady could understand me specifically by paying attention to my facial expressions and the way I signed. That felt great to realize that people can understand me if I place energy into my hands and face in the way I do with my voice.

The other day, I had to call and log in for my credit card because it wasn't working. I had my speaker on, and my mouth placed right at the speaker so that my whisper could carry further. The friendly guy that answered my customer service call had a rich Indian accent. There were moments I couldn't understand what he was saying and felt frustrated. As I whispered to ask what he said, he mentioned he couldn't hear me. I had the opportunity to process that he also probably felt some agitation not hearing me but wanted to help. I took a moment to process my perspective and also how this man might be feeling too. 

A customer service call that might've previously taken me five minutes took us twenty-five minutes as we continued to work together to try and communicate with one another. We wished each other a great day after the call, and I thanked him for his patience, and he thanked me for mine.

Patience is a gift that we give ourselves and others that opens doors to connection, expansion, and understanding. It provides space for people to feel seen, heard, and understood right where they are. Speaking and language is not the barrier. Lack of patience and presence is. I'm grateful that we both paused and regrouped to listen to each other. What I've seen and experienced on both sides is we often want to do things fast. The more we do, the more productive we feel. But, by rushing all the time, we miss the moments to connect with people on where they are. It's easier and faster to have conversations with people that speak our language because we don't have to take the extra time to stop and be present. To slow down and listen to the words, pause everything else to see body expressions and the expressive cues that people share even without words. In a world where we have phones and so much we're trying to do, we've lost touch with the importance of not only listening but seeing.

Presence is a gift.

Sitting with someone and giving them your undivided attention builds relationships and connections.

 

 

My Heart Twisted Just A Little

 May, 19th 2021

I’m feeling a tad down today. I know that putting my deepest fears, sorrows, and heart on the paper has held me many times over, and I have some things to say. I’m in the space of loss, as my voice is a big part of who I am. But also, I feel gratitude for the fact that I’m alive and breathing. I’ve learned over many previous experiences that the healthiest way to move through things is to feel it and love and nurture myself through the pain. Pretending it’s not there and trying to put a band-aid over it will only haunt you, a ghost of yourself. The sorrow part is never too far behind, and it will catch up to you. No matter how many shields you put in front of it, it’s always there.

I also know that living in the darkness far too long will consume your personality, identity, and you’ll no longer recognize yourself. Finding what is working even in the most challenging moments, and doing something you love to do, keeps your identity and personality grounded, even through the hurt. So, today I felt it. I felt all the things that have twisted my heart just a little. I felt the comment from a loving friend that her brother is a singer, which would be his worst nightmare. “Yes,” I whispered. “Indeed, it is.”

 A few days ago, I sat at the piano, the notes speaking to my fingertips as I played some of my favorite songs. It comes naturally for me to want to sing with the notes. I opened my mouth, and the sound didn’t come like it once used to so freely. My heart twisted just a little, and I cried. The tears dripped down my face as my fingers, and the piano expressed together what my voice could not. I felt gratitude for the sound underneath my fingertips.

I canceled all my speaking engagements and events, and my heart twisted just a little as my calendar only held blank spaces and appointment dates. I felt sorrow for not chatting and sharing with all these amazing people, and frustration as speaking and hosting is something I love to do, but I felt gratitude that I found a doctor who’s leading me.

I attempted to order from the McDonalds menu for my kids. I tried three times, each time feeling more irritated that they couldn’t hear me. My kids will have to order soon. My heart twisted a little, but gratitude that they’re old enough to do that came in.

The number of times I’ve heard, “I can’t hear you, and why aren’t you talking to me. That’s rude,” has baffled me and opened my eyes, where a part of me doesn’t want to be around people so that I don’t come across as an inconvenience. The other part of me feels like there’s a huge lack of communication in our society. It’s all about sound and not about presence or facial expressions, as the phone takes up our time. My heart twists again, just a little bit.

I’ve appreciated my evenings with my dog even more, as we sit on the grass, side by side, and we stare at the trees, birds, and sky. He seems to understand me in stillness, and that’s been healing.

When the doctor mentioned to me, “I want you to know that this is not all in your head. We’ll figure it out,” I wept. I didn’t know how much I needed that validation until it was said. I’ve tried to pretend for a while that I’d wake up, and miraculously, my pain would go away, and the sound would come back.

I’ve never been more grateful for sign language, writing, whiteboards, and the piano—so many other beautiful ways to communicate. And, yet I miss my voice. It feels like an identity loss for me, and I mourn that. I remember as a kid being told I talked too much, but I’ve loved that part of myself. The nurse recently reminded me that we often use our voice box multiple hours a day, stretching it, and we often forget how much work it’s doing for us consistently. I’ve never really thought about that until now. I have a sports injury, and just like you need to take time to heal from fractures and broken bones, your voice needs that love and time too. I sit in silence in gratitude for what I have, and my heart is twisted just a little for what I’ve lost for right now. 

Soulful, Vibrato, and a Mix of Jazz

In fourth grade, my friend had a birthday. I sang "Happy Birthday" to her with soul, some vibrato, and a little bit of jazz! She looked at me with wide eyes. At first, I thought it was delight I saw until her mouth turned down, and she said, "You sound like Marilyn Monroe. It's weird."
Okay . . . pause. I sounded like Marilyn Monroe?!!

The only piece I caught from that conversation wasn't who I sounded like, but that it was weird. Therefore, I told myself that I was weird, and added more lies about how my voice sucked and that I should try to be more "normal." I continued telling myself that Marilyn Monroe is old, and I should be more up to date with my voice.
What does normal even mean?
There's not a soul on this planet that's not unique or quirky. We all have our individual things, and that's what makes us human. Those are the pieces I love learning about people. The colorful parts. The ones that add flavor, personality, and life.
I held this comment in a compartment in my brain, right next to the perfectionism compartment. Both held evidence of all the comments people told me over the years that gave proof that I was a terrible singer, and that I shouldn't ever do anything unless it was perfect. That way, I don't embarrass myself.
Those boxes have been closed for a while, and the thoughts have crept in. For the past few years, I've opened those filing compartments, and one and one have thrown them into the trash, as most weren't mine.

There have been multiple things that people have said to me. I read further into them than what happened, believing that what they said was my truth. I listened to the parts that didn't sound fun. I didn't take the time to hear the pieces or underlining hurt that they were feeling. The parts that had absolutely nothing to do with me at all.
Most comments people say have more to do with them, then about the person they're projecting it at. Don't let those statements define if you do or don't do the very thing that your heart years for. That beating of tempo to move forward is the magic that you radiate to others when you share it because they feel your joy, passion, and energy.
Today when I sing, I bring all the raspy, vibrato, and jazz to my voice.

It's me.
I'm an old soul mixed with a passionate free spirit.

I'm singing from my soul in truth, in heart, and love.

What I learned working at a bookstore

                                    

A few years ago, I worked at a bookstore. My first day was more than I’d imagined. As a kid, I dreamed of being surrounded by books. That felt like home to me. Decades later, I stepped inside the store, and in a sense, I came home. Turning in every direction to see stacks and rows of somewhat chaotic and neat aisles, gave me sheer excitement. Oh, the adventures I would have, in the center of many brilliant and creative minds.
Carefully placing these masterpieces on the shelf, seeing writer friends books on display, and sharing my favorites titles and authors with customers was the dream. I had thought about these things, and how it would be to work at a bookstore for months before I started my job.
 
My manager had told me stories about “regulars” who came in once a week, on a Monday. The same time everyday. I anticipated seeing this.

On the following Monday, I got to work, ready to greet this lovely couple into our store. They were an elderly couple. Visiting the bookstore came after paying bills, a trip to the post office, and grocery shopping. Once their errands were completed, they would have a few hours to visit. They took time buying a book for each other. This couple, put thought into their purchase and stayed for two hours, walking every aisle, laughing, giggling, and reading the first page of multiple books. It was the experience they enjoyed most, not something to rush through because they knew this new book would become a close friend. Holding hands, they walked to the register and proudly placed their items on the counter. They left with new treasures, a happy heart, and a promise to come back the following week.
 
Everyday, book lovers came in with a smile and left with an even bigger one. I got a giant hug from a woman who desperately wanted to find, Voyager by Diana Gabaldon, for her book club read. She’d been three places, and it had been sold out. We happened to have not only that one copy but the whole series. She squealed and thanked me repeatedly. An older gentleman called to ask me for every book I could find in hardcover of The Hardy Boys, starting at sixty-six on up.
When I told him I had sixty-seven in the store and could get him the rest, he laughed with such excitement. His inner child held fond memories of this collection. A lady in her mid-twenties, came in to discuss with me her passion for philosophy and the power of the mind. We had a very in-depth heart to heart conversation about religion, the world, and our views on mind-set. She left with ten books that day, all by different authors. A mother of three sat in the picture book section for an hour, reading page after page, with a smile, a tear, or a laugh out loud moment. She couldn’t pick just one, and with that bought twenty books. So many lovely people talked to me about their favorite characters. They mentioned to me that they think about what that character would do when faced with a tough decision. I giggled and expressed how I did the same.
 
Writing.
 
Sharing stories.
It makes a difference.
Readers love the books they hold in their hands. They're valued treasures and friends. Most of the time, they become longtime friends.
 
No one is ever asking me for the same title. EVER.
 
Western American History.
 
Gritty Horror Fiction.
 
 A humorous picture book with a pig.
 
Vegan cookbooks
 
Mystery in space for a 8-10 boy.
 
How to build confidence books for young girls.
 
Some customers knew exactly what they wanted and needed. They knew their section and darted straight over to it. Others, went to experience the store. Many times I heard, “I didn’t plan enough time

today. I’m going to come back when I have more time to enjoy myself.” It’s not just a purchase when you’re buying a book; it’s an adventure. A time to escape and enjoy the moment of finding a new gem. I gained a whole new list of books to read that cherished customers recommended, and I gave them recommendations on books I adored and cherished. 

 

Readers are waiting for your stories. They ask for different genres and love all types of characters. Readers want characters they can relate to, that reach them to the very core. A world that takes them somewhere else and emotion that brings feelings out of them, that they didn’t even know were there. 

It is important.

Being a writer is an amazing thing to be.

 

If you forgot this, go to a bookstore and take time going up and down the aisles. Smell the books and touch the pages. Pick some off the shelf and hold them in your hands. Think about why you write. Think about the messages and thoughts that stir in you, that want to be heard. Sit on the floor, and be the reader. Allow yourself to feel, to escape, and to enjoy the journey with the character inside the book you’re holding.
 
Promise to come back and visit again. And go home. Sit at your computer, and write, but write for you.

-Lauri Schoenfeld- 

Today, I awoke to my son's best friend, his guinea pig, b...

Today, I awoke to my son's best friend, his guinea pig, barely breathing and lying limp in his cage. With everything going on in the world, Jerry, the guinea pig, has become my boy's support animal. I ran downstairs to get my husband to tell him what was going on and rushed back upstairs, where my son was still sound asleep in his bed. I opened the cage and held this amazing little creature, who I've grown quite fond of, and noticed that he was cold to the touch. I held him gently against my chest and woke my son to tell him what was going on. Peter sat on the floor, Indian style, and his sister, Lucy, brought in a little blue blanket for Jerry. This blanket is used for Jerry every time she'd babysit him, as she liked to cradle him like a baby. She placed the blue blanket on Peter's leg and I laid Jerry on top of the cloth.

My boy's hand sat gently on his guinea pig's chest as he screamed. "NO. NO.NO."

Every now and then, Jerry would twitch and we'd all jump, waiting for him to magically get back up and run around the room, like he always did, with the squeaks that delighted us to no end. But, he didn't, and I could tell we didn't have much time with him. Getting him to the doctor would be too late. Peter held him, embracing that time with his guinea pig. At one point, as my boy cried, Jerry tried to lift his own head for a brief moment and gazed right at Peter. My boy looked at him and paused. "Jerry, I want you to let go so you're not in pain anymore. I don't want you to hurt. It's okay." My eight-year-old boy, said this with so much love and compassion in a time where he was hurting the very most.

The guinea pig moved again.

My oldest, Belle, was not having this dying thing and quickly turned to the computer to find all the ways we could save him. Her passion and fight came in hard and angry. "Don't give up. He's probably dehydrated."

I smiled, knowing this was her way of coping with trauma. I fed off her fighter energy. Holding Jerry lightly, I began placing water, in his already wide open mouth. Upon doing that, I saw some build up in his throat. I had a sudden urge that I could save him. I asked my hubby to grab my tweezers. He brought them to me and held the flashlight on his phone steady, right at Jerry's mouth. Carefully, I pulled out the buildup from his throat. The guinea pig seemed to move a tad more, and it even appeared that he was trying to breathe as I worked to clear a pathway. I'm in no way a veterinary or doctor, just a momma wanting to save a member of her family. All of this happened so quickly. I cleared his pathway, and the guinea pig started throwing up. We thought that was a good sign, but shortly after he passed away.

I felt anger, sorrow, pain, and loss, but also love and gratitude.

Our guinea pig seemed fine a few days ago. He was running around chasing us through the kitchen. We laughed and he wheeked(That's what you call a happy guinea pig sound). I wondered what happened. How I could have saved him. If I could've done something differently? We had no idea this was coming.

Uncertainty.

Uncertainty everywhere.

Today, was a breaking point for me. I had been okay, taking it one step at a time, adapting with what felt good to me and my family, and then watching my boy today, latched deep sorrow into my heart.

For him.

For our family.

For the world.

I screamed at the sky tonight, unleashing the hurt and pain. I wondered how many have also yelled up at the same sky. How many have wondered those very same questions I just asked myself.

Why?

What happened?

How can I save these people?

What could I have done differently?

I cried.

I thought about the sweet gift that we had earlier with that guinea pig before he passed. The gift of presence and time. I continued thinking about all that I did know and all that I appreciated.

I'm so grateful for all those who are working overtime through this uncertainty in the world, to save as many people as they possibly can. Putting their lives on the line, for a common mission. Being the ones to keep on fighting for those who don't have the strength. Day in and day out. I can't even imagine how difficult that is and has been. Thank you!

I'm so grateful for all the moments that I have to share with my loved ones.

I'm so grateful for what is working that I can see every day.

I'm beyond grateful for what I do know, and that is LOVE can move mountains and be the light in some very dark places.

I'm fighting for the light, love, and good in the world as there's much.

Magic Example

Beautiful people.
Beautiful moments.
Beautiful wonders that seem so simple, yet are beyond extraordinary. A sunset with a purple and pink hue as the backdrop. My leafless tree, as the centerpiece, hovering its strong arms over the earth.
An elderly couple dancing in the street, in the rain. Soaking wet, and splashing water at each other with every swing and tap. Always young at heart.
A tall man, who stopped traffic, and stayed there waving at everyone like he was in a parade, as a duck family waddled across the main street.
Everyday, I experience good and beauty in humanity.
There's one thing that I often see. Something so magical and wondrous, and it truly makes a difference.
This beautiful thing of magic is . . . example.
I know a teacher who shares this often. She's a 1st-grade Chinese immersion teacher, who works where my children go to elementary school. I like to leave a little early and wait in the pick-up lane. The teachers come out to make sure the kids are safe and that the cars are moving forward. At first glance, I noticed how this particular teacher smiled at every single person that walked by. EVERY SINGLE ONE. I watched a little closer. One by one, kids would come and hug her or hold her hand. The kids were all ages.
This teacher took a moment with every single kid, and each one waited. She got on their level and looked them in the eye while chatting with them. She hugged back. She squeezed their hands in loving response. She saw and heard them, really looking inward and listening intently. The joy that emanated off her sprung onto all those beautiful kids around her. I felt it in my car. The love that she had for each child. And, every kid left with a giant smile on their face, ready to tackle the world.
Kids need our unconditional love. They need time to have our undivided attention. They need to know they're seen, heard, and appreciated for all that they are. We get to be the magic that shows them that they're loved, adored, and treasured beyond belief.
How we make people feel is what will be remembered. It's a domino effect of light, love, and beauty that passes on for generations to come.
What kind of example would you like to be?
How are you going to use your magic?
When you smile, share joy, look for the beauty around you, feel gratitude, or jump at an opportunity to assist
someone who needs just a little help, you'll find it!!
You never know who's watching you, to understand their own magic.

I hate the hospital.After past experiences of dying and b...

I hate the hospital.
After past experiences of dying and being resuscitated, to having allergic reactions to medication that massively dropped my oxygen levels and heart rate, hospitals bring fear. A LOT.
For years, I emotionally, physically, and mentally had signs to look into some things going on with me, but I would ignore or pretend they weren't there. I'd tell myself that they would just go away. If I didn't pay attention to it, the thing bothering me would leave me alone. I didn't want to be a burden or a problem. I didn't want to ask for help because my faith and trust had been compromised many times. So, I continued to allow myself to believe that I could never turn things over to anyone again.
Faith has been an up and down rollercoaster for me. I believe. NO, I don't. I believe. It's all been tied to fear of the unknown and fear of uncertainty. Life is full of uncertainty. Therefore, my faith has wavered for a long time. 
Trust.
Trust within self? No. Trust with others. Absolutely not. Trust within God? Not at all. 
For the past few years, I've been working a lot on listening to what I need and responding. Placing trust and faith within myself that I know more than anyone what I need. For a month, I've been having massive headaches. Those aren't pleasant, but okay. I started telling myself they would get better and just go away. The following week, I had moments(episodes) where the room spun, and I could see the colors coming from my eyes, but my vision was blurred. I couldn't function when the episodes came on at random times. I had to stop, close my eyes, and wait it out. That meant sitting on the grocery store floor until it left fifteen minutes later, or pulling off to the side of the road until it ended and going home to keep me safe. When the pain intensified and I was having some trouble with speaking and processing my thoughts, I knew I needed to investigate.
My limiting beliefs of being a problem came in heavy and hard as I drove to the doctor. I even asked myself if it was necessary to go in. Maybe I need more sleep and water? But, I trusted in my ability to take care of me. I even thought to myself how if this happened to my child, I would've gone in immediately. I held my hand, and pep talked myself into going, being the mother to my own inner child at that moment. 
I waited and waited. I thought about leaving multiple times but didn't. I made friends with a little baby instead. A few hours later, I got in to see my doctor. The nurse gave me an eye test. For the first time EVER, I had read the eye chart perfectly!! My doctor then came in and put her hand on mine. "Why didn't you come in sooner?" she asked. I lightly smiled. I mentioned that I thought it would go away. That I believed it was from the fact that I got up to fast, or that I needed food or sleep. But, when I realized it wasn't getting any better, I came in. She checked on a few things and mentioned my lymph nodes on the back of my head were swollen. Okay! Easy enough. I asked a few questions and grabbed my purse ready to leave.My doctor smiled at me. "There are too many red flags here for me.""So, what does that mean?" I asked. "This could be something like cluster headaches, vertigo, or some ear problems. Which this is probably that, but it could also be a blood clot, a tumor, or something of that serious nature. I wouldn't feel okay having you leave my office without you getting that checked out. Do you want an ambulance to take you to the ER, or can someone come and take you now? I'm calling it in."I stood up. "I'll get someone to pick me up. I'll just go wait out in the waiting room.""Nope. You're staying in here until your ride comes, and then you need to go directly to Altaview  Hospital, to Emergency."
Remember how I said, I hate hospitals. Yeah. I was looking for an escape route at this point. The doctor left the room. I paced.I peeked out the door, thinking I could ask to use the restroom and make a run for it. I thought about how when Andy came to get me, I'd tell him I was fine. The doctor just didn't want me to drive because I was dizzy. But, I stayed and chose ME. Before I left, my doctor sent me happy vibes and told me multiple times that she believed in positive thinking and to stay in that space. I received all that she had given me, and I smiled at how zen and loving she was. If she were an animal, she'd be a Gazelle :) The power of positive thinking is something I believe in too.
As Andy and my oldest came to get me, the urge to apologize kept coming in. Anyone else a recovering over apologizer? It goes into the whole, limiting belief of being a problem. A lie.  One that I've held for far too long. Instead, I said, "Thank you for coming to get me." And, that felt like a win. We left to grab our other two children from school and went right down to the hospital. 
When we got there, they directed me right to a room. I sat in a bed, reminding myself that I needed to have faith and trust in the people surrounding me. The nurses, technicians, doctors, my husband, and my kids.I needed to show up for me right now so that I could show up for my family in a more healthy way. This has been the theme for me for the past few years. To get myself physically, mentally, and emotionally healthy, so I could be the best for them and me. Running on a low battery and self-sacrificing myself wasn't helping; it was doing the opposite. I was digging a deeper hole for myself to lay in. 
The lab technician came in, and we joked about my beautiful vein. I have one the size of Thor's baby. It's big, and I've never had any problems with getting blood drawn. I sometimes think that's God's humor of knowing that I'd need to have blood drawn a lot throughout my life. Juicy vein for you!
A while later, it was time for the CAT scan. I felt nervous as small confined areas are not my favorite thing, but I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. Meditation has been healing for me the past year. I guided myself through it and placed trust that I would be safe. I also imagined that the sounds were just a space shuttle, and I was being transported to the moon. Beam me up, Scottie!
Once back in my room, meds came in, and this was where I was the most afraid. I don't have good reactions, and that's where all my rough experiences with dying and such, has happened. I went over the meds I could NOT have. Morphine, Codeine, Lortab.  I felt that I got louder saying each one, but maybe that was the fear ringing in my ear."What do these do to you?" she asked."Went into respiratory arrest with Morphine.""Oh. Wow. Okay. I will take care of you."I didn't say anything. At that moment, those words of trust and faith were hard to swallow. I didn't even know her.  Again, I took a deep breath and said, "Okay. Thank you."When she came back with the meds, she placed the saline bag up, and it leaked on me just a little. She apologized.  I joked about that being far from the worst thing that's gotten on me. We laughed and proceeded to talk about messy cars and odd items we've found in our purse. Mom's purses are a garbage bag, didn't you know? Melted fruit snacks. Used kleenex. Lego's. Candy wrappers. Chewed gum. The medical students that were with her learned quite a bit about motherhood in a short period of time.
As the drugs began to work and I felt very loopy, I noticed my hubby standing by the monitor. It had never occurred to me that he had a very similar fear about my well-being in regards to the medication. There was a lot of trust he was placing in people he didn't know too. As I would start drifting to sleep, I fought each time to get up and look at the number on the monitor, making sure it wouldn't go below 90. I did that a few times before I reminded myself to trust. I had multiple people watching over me. I felt grateful to have Andy there. To have our kids cared for. To have doctors and nurses on call, whom I didn't know, but got to know better. They were doing their job, and I felt that support through the uncertainty of it all.
The results came back that I don't have a tumor or a blood clot.My blood work is beautiful and healthy.
As I got the results, a limiting belief came in that all of this was a waste of time. I gently gave that limiting belief the finger and told myself that nothing is a waste of time when I'm taking care of my well-being. Nothing.
 The cocktail they gave me has worn off, and my head hurts, but I love the news I received.I still have doctors to see and things to check into so I can help myself feel better, but I trust that I'll be able to figure it out. There are helping hands everywhere. You just need to be willing to receive them. When your heart, mind, and body is sending you signs. Listen. I firmly believe that our body is working for us, we just don't often trust in ourselves and others enough to believe that we already have the answers and the information we're looking for. 
Don't wait until it gets really bad. It will take you much longer to come back from that. Your choices not only affect you but those around you. It's a disservice to you to not answer the red flags that are going off in your body. Love and value yourself enough to check in with YOU.
There's ALWAYS time to take care of your well-being!