Steph's Way To Well

After much research and discussion, my husband and I have come to a decision. In mid-February, I will be going for in-patient treatment. I am excited. I am nervous. I am terrified. I am thrilled. The range of emotions I feel can't really be articulated although I'm trying. I'll be away from my children and husband and out of work for a minimum of four to six weeks. The only feeling I don't have in regards to our decision is uncertainty.

I've spent the better part of a decade chasing my tail and trying to get well. I have made forward progress; I have given up; I have started and stopped; I've made more gains; and then I've felt loss again and again. Despite the fact I am still not where I want to be a year and a half after beginning my latest journey, I am still miles ahead of where I've ever been before! I actually feel pretty good about that!

Despite the lack of forward progress I would like to have seen to this point regarding weight loss, general health, etc. since I began this, my final journey toward good health inspired by a couple of guys named Arthur and Dallas, there is one very real thing that hasn't happened that has always happened before. I still have refused to give up. Even in every moment that I appear to be failing, I am consciously aware of every aspect of my health and how everything I am doing is affecting my health. While that sometimes leads to some guilt, it also keeps me ever cognizant of new and different choices and, most importantly, the ability to be open to new ideas that could lead to my ultimate goal of good health.

I'm going to work on getting back into the blog every now and then before I go to treatment in February. I also plan to blog the journey through my residential treatment program. 

In preparation for my trip, I have begun a t-shirt campaign through Teespring! I am hoping to help raise funds to help defray my medical expenses since insurance will not pay for a 30 day residential stay that will cost about the same or less than one of my infusions that I have to have every five weeks. For the foreseeable future. Maybe even the rest of my life. I'm unclear on how it makes sense to continue paying for infusions but not residential that could negate the future need thereof. But, I digress. So, just in case you are interested, I'll share the link. Get yourself a cool shirt. Or not. But feel free to share the link! 

http://teespring.com/stephswaytowell

Have a good night. I'll see you soon!

Body at War

2015 is going to be a really big year. I'm turning the tables. My body's been at war with me for a decade and a half. I'm soon going to be at war with my body! Details coming soon on how I plan to turn this thing around and get back to what this blog was started for: a healthy me.

Stay tuned. You don't want to miss it!

Full Circle



It's been nine and a half months since I began a new chapter in my life.  I'd be lying if I said it's been easy and I've been able to breeze right through it.  It just ain't so.  It's been a lot of hard work and frustration in the process.  What I can so though is this: Even though I'm not where I want to be yet, it's so worth it!  I am making my way full circle on this journey and happily learning I'm not as broken as I thought I was.

 

 

Cracking 4K

It’s not some weird alternative to a Color Run or your average 5K! I cracked 4000 views on my blog night before last! The word excited immediately comes to mind, but doesn’t quite seem to capture it. I’m literally on a strange high right now. Maybe it’s all of the exercise the last few days, I don’t know, but I like it! I feel like I did back in January when I started this whole gig with DDPYOGA! In case you were wondering: It’s awesome to feel this way!

As I reflect back on the last eight and a half months, I feel truly blessed, humbled, and so lucky. I have learned a lot about myself over the course of the last several months, but I think I’m really just now starting to grasp what I’m truly capable of once I set my mind to something. I don’t think I’ve ever truly understood how strong I could be until now.

My hiatus the last couple of months was brought on not of my own devices. I wouldn’t have chosen it, but, in a way, I am glad it happened. Such happiness might seem unwarranted given my meager state the last few months. However, there is logic behind the seeming madness of being happy about what I’ve recently been tangling with. It follows if you will follow with me.

When I have had significant flares in the past with my Psoriatic Arthritis, it has sometimes taken me six months or better to recuperate. ANY effort I had put into getting healthy prior would be all but lost by the time I would come out of the “flare fog“ as I like to call it. I would give up every forward step I had taken in exchange for three giant leaps backward into the bowels of unhealthy eating and the Lazy Boy of sedentary life. And I would stagnate there until I just rolled further and further back downhill to the point I no longer reaped a single benefit from all the hard work I had put in previously. It was a ridiculously vicious cycle, almost heinous really. More than anything though, it was a little sad. Every time it would happen, I was further convinced I would always fail at getting healthier and feeling better. That, my friends, is a cold, stark place to be.

To go through the flare I went through this summer with my Psoriatic Arthritis and to still be on steroids after a year and to still be working full-time and to still be a mother to five wonderful but rambunctious children AND still be moving forward: That for me is a miracle. That for me is the place I want to be. That. That. That. Moving forward. Not giving up. Not losing all progress because of a short term set back. That didn’t use to be me.

Cracking 4,000 on my blog has been pretty awesome for another reason. Aside from the 928 views that belong to my husband (haha), there are a lot of people looking at this blog. Many of them I know. Many of them I don’t. I have had enough people comment on my Facebook, comment on teamddpyoga.com, comment directly on the blog, send me private messages, call me, etc. to know I am doing something else entirely as important as getting myself healthy. I’m helping other people get healthy. I’m no “health guru”. I’m no DDP. I’m no Stacey Morris. I’m no Arthur Boorman or Terri Lange or any number of other awesome and inspiring people. I’m just me. But I’m still helping people. And as good as getting healthier feels, helping others is one of my weaknesses in life. Some might even say I’m a sucker to a fault at times although I would never call out my husband, my mother, my mini Italian New Yorker friend or my Dicky Barrett loving STL connection like that publicly or anyone else for that matter... ;-)

I’m glad I’ve caught my second wind. I hope you are, too. It’s going to be a wild and an awesome ride!

Ready to Live Life at 90

Well, I lied. The old Dell was revived! I assumed the worst and figured she was just gone, but turns out it was just a bad power cord. So, for the low price of $34, my computer is back up and running! Yippee! You know what that means? That’s right! Fresh installments on the blog served up just for you! I get it. It’s what you’ve been dreaming of the last several days. Well, here you go…

I love listening to DDPRadio on Wednesday nights. It’s always informative, refreshing, and motivational. As I listened last week and again tonight, I think it really began to hit me why this whole thing has made such an impact on me. By this whole thing, I mean the “DDPYOGA Lifestyle Change”! I’ve been a social worker for over a decade. I’ve been a birth mother, stepmother, “foster mother”, and now an adoptive mother. The roles of social worker and mother are wholly about giving to others; helping them grow; instilling the desire to improve one’s life; and teaching others that anything they can dream is possible with the right amount of inspiration and perspiration. More importantly probably than any of that though, and I really pull this from my years as a juvenile probation officer and motherhood: reminding people they are human and that we are all fallible. We will fall and we will make mistakes. That’s a given in life. The trick is teaching yourself how to not hold it against yourself, but rather to just learn from it and pick up and go on. That’s always been the tricky part for me. When I screw up, I have a tendency to really let that screw up linger in my mind, and drag me down. I’ve been trying more and more since I began this in January to do that less and less.

I work a full-time job. I am a wife and a mother to five children. I am also a patient diagnosed with a very active autoimmune disorder. While I chose three of those four roles in my life, I certainly didn’t choose the last. The first three roles: social worker, wife and mother can be stressful. However, those roles bring me so much joy on so many levels, it all has a tendency to work itself out. However, I didn’t choose to have an auto-immune disorder. I didn’t decide one day that being really sick, in pain and tired all of the time would be an awesome way to live life. It’s not as though I chose to do drugs or become an alcoholic. I was just unfortunate enough to be born with a genetic pre-disposition to this disorder and a little over a decade ago, it decided to rear it’s ugly head. So, there it is.

The way I see it is that I have two choices. The first is to wallow in self-pity, be a Debbie Downer, and stay generally miserable. The second choice is to take the bull by the horns and lead my life where I want it to go instead. I think I’m choosing the latter and I feel there’s something important along the way stemming from all of this. When I think about living my life at 90% as Dallas would say, I realize it’s definitely my choice to react in a positive way to the things that have happened to me. I realize I can let one of the four roles in my life define my every moment or I can choose to have the other three roles I love define my life. It’s all about life being 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react. So, I choose the latter, and I’m going to take as many people with me as I can while I’m on the way!

A Little Bit of Pixie Dust?

I had an appointment with my rheumatologist in December of 2012. Things had been going okay and we talked about trying to taper down my steroids again. He wanted me to try and start tapering them down one milligram per week and see if that would work. Although my symptoms still weren’t fully under control, he was hoping the medication I was on would be sufficient to hold it at bay. He also mentioned something to me for the first time. He asked me if I had ever thought about eating gluten free. When I got done laughing at his question, I politely answered I had thought about it and had pretty well determined that would not be a path I would be taking. He informed me there were some studies that had been done indicating there might be a link between certain auto-immune disorders and gluten. He told me he would really like for me to try a gluten free diet. He felt it could possibly help with some of my symptoms and at worst it would do nothing and certainly do no harm. He suggested I read a book called “Wheat Belly”. I dutifully smiled, and said I would read the book. Honestly, I really didn’t think there was anyway I could make this happen, but I said I’d read the book.

I found myself perusing the shelves of Books-A-Million. I found the book fairly quickly and purchased it. I didn’t begin reading it immediately. It sat for a few days. There was one more catalyst I needed to get my thoughts really churning. Although I had, in a way, blown off what my rheumatologist had said, deep down I really felt there might be something to it. I wasn’t ready to face it though. I just wasn’t really sure I could go down the road of making more sacrifices again for naught.

A few days after the appointment I was browsing Facebook. A friend had posted a link to a video. The “amazing transformation” got my attention, and I decided to take a look. I was pretty sure it was going to be the same as lots of other “transformations” I had seen on the interwebs. Some ridiculous claim by some ridiculous person that if I just took this pill or drank this juice I could lose weight without even changing my lifestyle. The all too familiar promises of liars who are all too happy to swipe my card, take my money, and leave me feeling dejected when I fail once again with a new “miracle cure.”

Almost immediately I knew this video was different. This wasn’t about some miracle pill or awesome pre-packaged foods that cost hundreds of dollars a month. This was something different. I was intrigued by this “every day” guy who worked really hard to lose a lot of weight. I was moved to tears when he proved the doctors wrong and set himself free from a life of bondage to his unhealthy body. I cried as I watched him fall and fall and get back up again. I sobbed when I saw the man who had given up on ever feeling good again sprinted toward the camera. I was struck by his tenacity. I was awed by his courage. I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to make those changes. I wanted to feel good. I wanted to be free of my self created prison.

The unique thing about the way this video moved me is important. My initial thought was, “Man, if this guy can do it at 100 pounds more than I weigh, what the heck is my excuse???” He’s got a back brace, two knee braces, and walks with the assistance of crutches. Yeah, I have moments of pure physical pain and torture. For me, however, I at least get reprieves. I’m not stuck in that hell all day every day. Although my symptoms can persist for long periods of time, it’s not as though I never have days where I am relatively pain free. I had literally never seen anything like it. That video, that man, made me want to change the direction of my health. I also felt for the first time in longer than I could remember that it might actually be possible. I felt like I really could possibly make it happen.

I chewed on that video for a few days and decided it was time. I wanted had to do it. I began reading “Wheat Belly” and talked to my husband about ordering the DDYOGA program. Talking my husband into the DDPYOGA purchase wasn’t incredibly difficult given he’s a long time wrestling fan. As I was, my husband was also intrigued with DDP‘s program. After reading about it, watching videos, checking reviews, etc., I really felt as though I had finally found a program that felt tailor-made for me. On January 4^th of 2013, I began.

So, there I was. I took my before pictures. I got my yoga mat and I was ready to work out. I had already been grocery shopping and was cutting gluten out of my diet. I was pumped. The only thing I needed at that point to turn from couch potato to a woman working out daily and going from carb addict to gluten-free eater was to hop on the unicorn in the back yard and go for a ride while waving my magic wand and sprinkling pixie dust all over my little universe.  Right?  I mean, seriously, how likely was I really to change 38 years of bad habits over night? 

Good question. I was pumped. I mean really, really pumped. But could I make it happen? Arthur did.  Could Stephanie do it?  Was she fooling herself or was this really it?  Would a little bit of pixie dust be required to get her flying? 

Spring of Hope

After a hiatus of several days, I’m back at it hard today.  I took a long weekend off and headed to Baton Rouge last Friday with my STL Connection.  We had an absolute blast visiting with a mutual friend and my family.  It was relaxing, fun, and we have promised we will do it again!  Sometimes it’s just necessary to get away from the pace of your life for a few days, have a little fun, and recharge.  Since I couldn't be in Mexico for the DDPYoga Retreat, I think I managed to drown my sorrows in the most positive of ways! 

Now, on with the blog…

Ten days after the birth of my baby girl Annalee, I began experiencing what has to be the most excruciating migraine of my entire life.  I’ve had a history of migraines for several years, but this one outdid them all.  After about 12 hours with the migraine, I decided to check my blood pressure when absolutely nothing else I was doing was bringing me any relief.  I thought perhaps my blood pressure was elevated more so than normal and was causing my head to pound.  It was about two in the morning when I took my blood pressure.  I was certain when I read the monitor that there must be some kind of error as I had never seen my blood pressure that high outside of a delivery room.  I took my blood pressure a second time and got the same result.  I woke my husband up and took his blood pressure.  His came out normal.  I took mine a third and it was still measuring extremely high.  My theory that the monitor was malfunctioning was now out the window.  I decided to call the on-call doctor for advice on what to do.  Needless to say, I was advised to go to the emergency room.  Immediately.

I arrived at the emergency room sometime after 2:00am.  Although my migraine was still out of control, I was seriously thinking my blood pressure would be normal at that point and I would feel silly for creating all the fuss.  However, it quickly became obvious there was a serious problem with it.  The same measurements were taken in the emergency room I had taken at home:  210/111.  I wound up being taken up to the maternity floor as I was only ten days post-partum.  The next day and a half was literally one large blur.  I was barely conscious and Lord only knows what was done to me try and get my blood pressure back under control.  The only point at which I can even remember being aware of whether it was day or night was when I was taken to have some kind of scan.  I have an extreme sensitivity to light when I have a migraine, and they gave me a towel to cover my eyes on the way.  At one point, my arm slipped off the side of the wheel chair and the comforting dark veil of the towel gave way to the searing pain of sunlight.  In that brief moment until I could coordinate my hands to get the towel back over my eyes, I felt as though needles were stabbing my eyes.  Regardless of the pain though, I couldn’t let myself cry.  Sobbing only made my head ache even worse.  I sucked it up as best I could and tried to breathe out the pain.

The nightmare finally ended after that day and a half although I wound up being in the hospital for a total of four days.  It’s still unclear what exactly happened.  I don’t know if the high blood pressure caused the migraine or if the migraine caused the high blood pressure.  No one else seemed to know either.  Seemed to be the usual case for me.  Nothing ever comes standard for me health wise.  Ever the enigma as I hear from medical professionals on a consistent basis, “Well, I’ve never seen it present this way, but…”  Man, if only I had a nickel…  One thing was for sure, I wasn’t birthing any more babies.

The next year or so would continue on as the last several had.  I would sporadically have migraines, my psoriasis had become an ever present condition on my skin, the acute arthritic back pain and neuropathic pain would come and go, and crippling fatigue would continue to plague me every step of the way.  I continued with work and caring for our two children and would pray for temporary reprieves from my symptoms.  Sometimes they would come and sometimes they did not.

I must have been in a particularly froggy mood when a friend of mine asked me around February of 2010 whether or not my husband and I could temporarily help care for her nephews if needed while her sister underwent treatment for Leukemia.  Without even consulting my husband, I gave her a flat yes.  I somehow instinctively knew my husband would be quite okay with a couple of a little boys in the house to help even out the estrogen to testosterone ratio.  When I spoke with him, he was okay with my response.  And so we waited.  We didn’t know how long it would be before the call would come asking for our help or if it would even come at all.  It did a few months later.


Toward the end of May 2010, the call came asking us if we could take the boys for a couple of months.  We said yes and asked when they would arrive.  It would only be a few days before the number of children in our home was going to double for a period of time.  I knew it would be no easy task, but I had prayed on it and I knew we would be up for it!  We busied ourselves getting a bedroom and ourselves ready for their arrival.  We were very excited to have them with us and with Kim coming to visit soon for the summer, it was going to be quite a summer with five children about!  I simply couldn’t wait to have a house full of children!


Kim arrived shortly after the boys and the summer was off and running.  After Kim’s arrival and several conversations, it became evident Kim wanted to move in with us as badly as we had wanted her to move in with us for years.  We began filing paperwork and doing what needed to be done legally to make it happen.  Although something of a headache, the process went along more quickly and smoothly than I thought it would.  Before we knew it, legal custody of Kim was ours and she was on her way to east Tennessee to pack up her things and head back home!  So, as we were prepping to make Kim a permanent part of the household, we were simultaneously prepping for the boys to return back to their mother.  The two months was almost up and we had been advised they would be returning home as planned.

Word came the Tuesday before the boys were to return home that their mother had been re-hospitalized.  The treatment she had undergone had been brutal.  Her physical health wasn’t near where it needed to be to look after two young active boys.  We were asked if we could keep the boys a few more months to give her additional time to recuperate from the treatment that was almost killing her in order to save her.  Without a doubt, our response was yes.  We had to shift gears from readying the boys to return home to getting them enrolled in Kindergarten and pre-school, getting physicals completed, etc.  It was a pretty major shift as Kim had also just moved into our home.  It appeared we would have a house full for the foreseeable future.  So, it was the seven of us from that July of 2010 until December 0f 2010.  That’s when the boys went back home to their mother.  Although I was happy the boys were going home because it meant their mother was still in remission and doing better, there was a part of me that was so sad to see them leave.  Their mother and the boys spent Christmas with us, the boys would come visit on the weekends, and it was nice that we would get to remain a part of their lives.

It would also turn out to be a good thing the boys went home when they did.  In January of 2011, my body went into a total revolt.  I don’t know what happened.  I’m unsure if it was in some way related to the stress of the whole situation with the boys and Kim moving in or if it was just the natural progression of my still unidentified disorder.  It probably helped little that I had strep in December.  Strep can take my immune system down like nothing else.  Either way, the ride I was about to go on would be a nightmare unlike any other I had yet experienced with my health.

The months of January and February 2011 would be two of the darkest months of my life.  The arthritis in my back had spiraled to new lows.  I remember having said multiple times before when my back would go out a few days at a time that I just couldn’t imagine having to live with chronic back pain.  I didn’t realize that my sporadic issues were going to turn chronic for me.  I missed almost the entire month of January from work.  I was in so much pain I could barely function on the day to day.  Much like the incident from when Libby was a baby, it became a daily struggle to even get out of bed.  The exception being that rather than lasting for a few days, this episode stretched into a couple of solid months.  Each morning would begin the same.  I would wake up feeling nothing but excruciating pain up and down my spine.  Each morning I would spend the first hour of my day getting out of bed and into an upright standing position.  Literally, it would take an hour just to stand up.  I can think of little in life that has ever been more disheartening for me.

My darkest days came when I seriously considered the point in going on.  I felt absolutely useless and was in so much physical pain, I just wanted a way out.  I seriously considered the worst choice to be my best option because I physically and mentally couldn’t take it anymore.  I thought about overdosing.  I thought about pulling my car into the garage and closing the door.  I thought about it multiple times.  I thought about how my husband and children could survive without me and they would be just fine.  At that point, I could only see myself as a burden.  All the while I still prayed for relief and answers to come.  It just didn’t seem to be happening fast enough.  I was just so tired of fighting with my body, feeling sick, feeling tired, and being in pain.  I’m glad I made the wiser choice of hanging on.


The last two months of my harshest winter were almost over, and with the spring answers would come.  Although I wasn’t going to be “fixed” overnight, I was at least happy to finally know there was an answer.  It was a relief to find a “name” and an explanation for all I had been going through.  I knew there was still a long road ahead of me, but at least the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel was visible to me.  Hope.  Hope means a lot when you thought you’d never find it again.