An open letter to doctors everywhere

It could have been a lot of things—you may have a bad day, or you may have formed an opinion about the patient beforehand. But it’s important to remember that doctor-patient interactions are human interactions. That’s important for both doctor and patient to remember.

Wednesday I sat in the specialist’s office for the 4^th time for the same problem, because my primary care doctor wanted to be sure we weren’t missing anything. Rather than look for a reason why I’m still having problematic symptoms, this specialist chose to intimate I was at best exaggerating, at worse faking my symptoms. She also told me I’d gained so much weight that I was almost unrecognizable compared to the photo they had of me from my first visit. Then she proceeded to tell me that she no longer needed to see me, that if my doctor had any questions she could call—but it was no longer necessary for me to return to the office.

Almost five months ago I got a concussion at work. Despite rest, medications, and following all my doctors’ instructions I am not better. I still can’t drive. I have pain every single day. If I don’t recover I’m looking at a future devoid of many of my favorite things. It’s changed my life irrevocably. I can’t go to Disneyland with my family anymore—the crowds, the rides, it’s all done for me if I don’t get better. I’m a writer who can barely stare at the computer for more than a couple hours a day. I’m a mother who can’t attend her daughters’ concerts or her son’s basketball game. Car rides that last more than a few minutes are torture. Even the crowds at church freak me out, thanks to my new anxiety.

Beyond all of that, I’m a person. A fellow human being. But I wasn’t treated like one that day. I was treated like a problem. A dark smear in her otherwise perfect record. She made a point of telling me none of her other concussion patients had symptoms that lasted as long as mine, as if I was not being wholly and completely honest about my experience.

I wish I could have said these things to my doctor that day. I should have, but I was honestly so taken aback by her words that I just wanted to get out of there. I’m glad I don’t have to see her anymore. Apart from the visit itself, the hour long drive there (and then an hour back again) is miserable. At least I know that my primary care physician hears me.

I know the world we live in. I know too many people fake injury or illness to live off disability or workers’ compensation. I know there are people who defraud the system. But I’m not one of those people. If you knew how much this stupid injury has changed my life you wouldn’t doubt that I am in daily pain and misery. I’m failing my family every day. I’m on a ton of antidepressants for pain, and guess what? I’ve gained quite a bit of weight due to the medication and the fact that I can barely move. I can’t exercise without sharp, shooting pain in my head. I’ve tried. I try regularly. I want to be better, but after so many weeks of this my fragile optimism is fading fast.

The last thing I need is to feel like my doctor doesn’t even believe me.

December Fifteen

We're basically halfway done with December 2015, so I'm looking ahead to January. 2016. It's going to be a huge year for us.

Epic, really.

First of all, this is happening. 

Elder Brandon Chesley reports to the Provo MTC January 27. You know, basically 6 weeks from tomorrow. No pressure, right? ;)

It was a hugely emotional, exciting day yesterday. It was almost like Bry and Chris's wedding day, where afterward we all went back to our friend's house and collapsed, we were so exhausted.

Because, not only did we get Brandon's mission call, we also got to unleash more good news into the world.

Yup, you read that right. I'm going to be a grandma. Bry called us a week or so ago to tell us the news, but they waited until everyone in their family circle was told personally before going public with the announcement. So even though we knew already, being able to announce and brag about it publicly yesterday was HUGE. I didn't expect it to hit me that hard, but it did. So amazing, so happy. it's the greatest news.

Like I said, yesterday was pretty epic, and looking forward to 2016 has all new applications. Brandon going on his mission is a big deal for us. Having a grand baby is a big deal for us, too. It was like Christmas came early, and I'm totally set now. I don't need more gifts.

It's December...

...and the holiday blahs are here.

This isn't really news to anyone since I go through it every year. Although every year I hope it's going to be better. Nobody wants grumpy mom for Christmas.

We planned ahead this time. Over Thanksgiving break, Bryan and I decided when we would put up the tree as a family. He likes to do it about 2 weeks before Christmas. Some years I want it up sooner, other years I don't want it up at all. We put it up yesterday, and ideally it was the perfect time. Bryan didn't have to go to work until after bedtime, Brandon didn't work at all, and everyone would be home. No concerts, no games, we could all do it together.

Reality was that Bryan was still groggy from sleep and sat on the sidelines and directed more than participated. Brandon is getting sick and was beyond exhausted and had been home all day. Baby Girl was also not feeling well, I was miserable with this stupid headache and did way more than I was physically able to do. And the twins wanted to be silly and goofy when all I wanted was some cooperation. So, it was less than perfect. Though we did wind it all up with cinnamon rolls, so there's that.

I woke up today so sore from everything I did the night before. I've been taking it easy today, thinking of all the things I should be doing. I have gifts to make, a book to edit, etc. But I had no energy. And now, even though I've been staring at the tree all day, I'm hostile and downright angry. I don't want to be around anyone. And I hate Christmas.

Again.

I know this is my depression rearing its ugly head and shouting for attention. Stupid depression.. And maybe it's hitting extra hard this time because of my head injury. I don't know. I can't even say it's disproportionate to what I experience every holiday. The worst thing is that I can't even pinpoint why I hate holidays so much--why they're such a trigger for my depression. I've been with Bryan for 20 years. Half my life. And every year we've had a great holiday, despite our less than glorious circumstances. (in his words, "why are we always broke at Christmastime?!") But the day itself is always great. The kids are happy with what they get. We have a nice, quiet day at home. Sometimes we've had snow. Sometimes not. Some memories are better than others, like the time the kids unwrapped our Disneyland trip for Christmas. That was fun. And, naturally, the Christmases we've had Sissy have always been favorites.

I know Christmas isn't about what's under the tree. I know it's about family, and living a Christ-centered life. It's about celebrating the birth of our Savior. This week has been such a roller coaster for me. I've been so grateful for getting a new roof, so blessed that the cars have held up and my kids are safe, so glad that my kids are so awesome. But at the same time I've been fighting my dark holiday mood swings. I want to just crawl in a cave and not come out till spring. Oooh, maybe I'm a bear.

Okay, maybe not.

There's no denying 2015 has been hard. Rough. My concussion and pathetic, ongoing recovery. Bryan going months without a job and then being underemployed. The house falling apart and being unable to do anything about it. Same with the vehicles. But there's been a lot of good in there, too. Brandon graduated high school. He's waiting now for his mission call (any day). All the kids are doing and have done well in school. Jeffrey's having a great basketball season with his team. The roof got replaced and looks awesome--and just in time for some big weather. The cars haven't given out on us. Inigo has started catching and killing mice. All the animals have been healthy and injury free.

Sure, we still have a lot of needs that require tending. And right now I have no plan to make them happen, aside from waiting for our tax refund. I don't know if some of our issues will wait that long (looking at you, Durango). Today's been bad. Far more negative than positive. That's been difficult for me, and by default hard for the family. (If mama ain't happy...you know the rest) I try so hard not to break, but yesterday I snapped at Jeffrey and today I got rather grumbly at my daughters. It's hard to hold it in, and I fail sometimes. I know they don't deserve it, and I'd love to be better. But I don't know how. 

My Beautiful Daughter and World Opinions

My 14 yr old daughter came home from school yesterday and proceeded to tell me about cultures around the world who embrace and even revere people of larger sizes. They consider skinny people to be sickly, unappealing, unhealthy.

But we live in America, where Twiggy set a standard 50 years ago that nobody can shake. Today I read about a lingerie company that has announced they won't photoshop their models anymore. Yay? I guess.

Why did they start doing it in the first place?

 We're all familiar with this quote attributed to Harry Potter author JK Rowling. And, for the most part, we believe it. I mean, wouldn't you rather be told you're fat than vindictive or cruel?

Our instinctive behavior would indicate otherwise. Anyone who grew up on a playground of any kind heard it. The heavy girl is called fat. When insulting one another, the popular girls call each other fat. How is FAT the worst thing we can think of?

I was "big boned" in middle school. Translation: I grew taller faster than my petite friends. I dieted at age 13 to wear a borrowed dress I absolutely loved to my 8th grade graduation. Looking back, I don't know what I was trying to prove. (truth probably had more to do with the fact that I couldn't afford a new dress, and this one was the only nice one I had access to)  I weighed 125 lbs from age 13 to age 21, when I got pregnant with my first child. In that time I grew 5 or 6 inches in height. 

Think about that. 125 lbs on a girl who's 5'3" or even 5'4" might look a little heavy. But on a girl who's 5'9"? My favorite pair of jeans to wear on dates with Bryan was a bright red size 5. I kind of had to squeeze into them, but they were my "wow" jeans. I was maybe a size 8, which his perfectly healthy and even a little slim. For a normal human being. But you know what? I was ashamed of my "belly." It wasn't washboard firm. It was embarassing. I tried to hide it from my husband after we got married. (Yeah, didn't work. Turns out he didn't care, but that's another story)

Back to my daughter. She struggled with weight issues in 5th thru 7th grade. Interestingly enough, she was also horribly bullied during that time. I worried about her health (and mine at the time, still do) because she has a major sweet tooth and abhors any physical activity that might lead to sweating. I mean, seriously. She's the only child who complained at Disneyland. So we discussed things with her and with her doctor, we implemented healthier eating habits and she got healthier. As a side effect, she also lost some weight. She also grew like 3 inches, so that took her off the "obese" charts at the Dr's office. 

I just want to point out that our obsession with thinness is a societal thing--not a health concern or even a world problem. Sure, other societies do embrace thinness as the ideal, but many many societies DON'T. 

What I'd really like to see is a focus on healthy, if you're going to focus on the appearance of a person at all. Healthy is good, and it's DIFFERENT FOR EVERYONE. Eating smart is a great idea whether you're 5 or 55. Moving your body is good for your body--physically and emotionally. The food industry is there to make money, not to help us be healthy. 

We have to be our own advocate and shop and eat smart. It would also be great if the side effect was a society-wide departure from fat-shaming and other horrid behavior. 

The Vanishing American Work Ethic

**This is not based on anything other than my personal observations**

Do we not raise kids to work anymore?

I got a job delivering newspapers in my early teens. I often substituted for other carriers if they had to go out of town, or were sick. My brothers had routes for a while. My mom drove me sometimes and I got really good at throwing the papers up the driveways on both sides of the street--from the sun roof.

I still had the paper route when they started transitioning to all-car routes, basically eliminating the classic bicycle riding "paper boy" in the name of safety. And I get it. I got it then. But it meant I was being phased out.

Because of my work ethic, I took over two other routes as they let more paper boys go. Because they could rely on me getting the job done. Then, finally, my routes were taken over too.

That was my first job. 3 years ago I put my notice in at the local Dollar General because I needed to concentrate more on my family. The job was literally taking up ever moment of my life. I left on such good terms I can go back at any time. They offered me the manager job of that store, but I turned it down. They wanted me because of my work ethic--my willingness to actually do my job. I'm not talking about going above and beyond. I'm talking about the minimal basic requirements of the job. When I was at work, I was at work. Not at home, or on Facebook on my phone. I was working.

Bryan is working now at Walmart while he goes to nursing school. And they love him. Why? Because he's the same way. When he's at work, he's working. I don't call/text and pester him. He doesn't goof off or loaf around. He comes home from work and needs a shower because he actually worked.

Brandon has his second official job working at Long John Silver in Duncan. They are constantly calling him to pick up a shift some other employee didn't show up for, or asking him to come in and do some work because it has to be done and they're short staffed. They love him, why? Because he actually does his job.

My oldest brother and my mom visited this past July. Jim expressed his frustration that so many of their newer hires at work don't work. He told me stories about people logging in to work and then going away. It happened when I worked for the company, too. And it just seems to be getting worse.

So what's happened? I find myself longing for the "glory days" of America--when people were responsible, reliable, and honest. When did we get so lazy? Why do we have college kids who expect to have their hands held all through school? (I'm friends with a professor and he shares)

Where is the work ethic?

I'm happy to say that I don't know people who are irresponsible at their jobs. My kids understand what it is to work. Me and my husband do as well. But I've worked with--face it, we all have--a growing number of individuals who seem to expect to be paid just for showing up.

That doesn't even begin to cut it, people.

So where is the break down? Where is the idea that they are privileged and entitled come from? Because we really need to set the record straight.

Knowing what you DON'T Know

The internet has been on fire this past week. There's been lots of name calling, lots of accusations, lots of mud slinging, etc. And that's just on my news feed.

The internet is a wonderful thing. You can keep connected with far away loved ones. You can learn and improve yourself both spiritually and intellectually. Yes, the internet has it's bad side--not the least of which are soul and relationship destroying sites and general time sucks (facebook, twitter, instagram, etc). But using it with wisdom can make your online experience a positive one.

Here's my current problem with the internet (and, it's not even current--this is a large overlying issue): it gives far too many people a "platform" with which to express their opinions. Social media is the worst about this, because anyone can say anything and they're basically untouchable. And it has the potential to rile up even the calmest of people.

In short, there are far too many people expressing their opinions at the top of their lungs--or, fingers in this case. Opinion is not fact, but listening to one side or the other can skew your world view. Ideally, we would all appropriately educate ourselves about each issue and then, if we felt compelled to enter into a debate, express our views rationally and allow the other person or people to do the same. Instead, opinion-expressing on social media is basically like parking a live explosive in your front yard.

And it's easy to forget that people are expressing their opinions already skewed by the circumstances of their lives. I read this morning about a girl who lives in a $900k home, went to private school at $32k a year, and is griping about wanting college to be free for everybody. It calls to mind the heiress I invited to my wedding, and then sent her a hand made thank you--that she complained about. "I know money's tight, but..."

Each of us is colored by our own experience. That's the crayon we use most. Money being "tight" to you likely doesn't mean the same thing as it does to me. And it doesn't mean the same thing to the person who lives down the street.

But instead of allowing for these inherent differences in one another, we resort to name calling and verbal abuse--simply put, we start acting like primary school children.

There are many things about the world I don't know. I haven't personally experienced them, I don't have a frame of reference, and so I refrain from stating an opinion. I'm human--of course I have an opinion, but I know what I don't know, and I'm not going to spout off like an idiot about something I can't more fully understand.

What's more, I don't hit back and abuse people who disagree with me--regardless of how childishly they do so.

Can we just remember that we're all human? And supposedly adult? Because the playground monitor is off duty here.

Making Your Happy

I know I've said this before, but I'm not sure where I've said it. I hate this house. When we chose to move back to OK I told Bryan I will live anywhere but the Broadway house. It's been in the family forever, I know all of its problems and issues, and I don't want any part of it.

I didn't get my way. When I got a house for my birthday in 2011 I got the Broadway house. With it's bad plumbing, bad roof, and too few rooms. But I chose to be grateful and make the best of it for the time being because it was so much better than the 3 bedroom apartment/duplex we rented in UT. The rental options in Duncan were too few, and I liked the idea of being closer to Bryan's mom in  the nursing home so the kids could visit her regularly. I figured I could make it work until we could get into something better.

If you've followed our journey out here at all, you know that we've had some incredible financial speed bumps. Just as we start to get our sea legs we're either hit with a major expense or job loss. The idea Bryan had always held onto that his Class A CDL driver's license always meant he could get work fell apart. We've had stretches of unemployment and under employment. Periods where I had to work out of the house, at times to the detriment of the family, and then my personal health crisis, which is now in its 90th day. I pray you never know how awful it is to be faced with bills and expenses and be physically unable to do one. Single. Thing. about them.

Over time, we've revisited the idea of staying in or moving from this house. In the mean time several things have happened--the mice invasion of 2014, the roof fail of 2015, buying the lot next door and taking down the drug shed. Most of the kids choosing to go to school in Duncan. The cars. Ugh. Not all of them have been bad, you see. And, right now, we are owners of this house paid in full.

But it's still awful. It's going to take at least $20k to get it in proper order, so that the bedrooms don't rain and the bathroom floor doesn't cave in. And that's nothing to do with the cosmetics of the house, my coffin-sized master bathroom or the face that 90% of the property's fencing won't hold anything in or out. I've joked to my friends the best thing we can do is to bulldoze the property and start over.

Of course, that's not in the cards. Yesterday Bryan again revisited staying in this house. Now that we own it outright, we can get a loan and do the much needed repairs. Yes, that would mean a mortgage, but the other option is to piece together the money to do the repairs over time. Sure, in 2 years we'd have the roof fixed and the bathroom floor redone--but the repairs can't wait two years. It's an ox in the mire situation, and has to be fixed asap. So that means a mortgage. That means staying in this house until we've paid it off. If we're careful that could be ten years, but more likely 15.

When faced with the idea that we were staying in this house because we had no other option, I felt myself shatter. Our lives are in Duncan--jobs, school, church, doctor, dentist, etc. Our cars are not up to endless commuting back and forth. They're both about to die, and we haven't been able to do needed repairs on them all year. The most pressing part of the repairs this house needed I didn't even know about in the summer. I had no idea it had gotten that bad.

So I was faced with an impossible situation--the realization that I was stuck for an indeterminable period of time in a house I despise. Without the option to move, I was left with only two choices. I could either immerse myself in bitterness and regret for the things I can't have, or CHOOSE to make the best of a bad situation. I'm not going to lie. Tears were shed. And I recognize it's a process. But I am choosing my happy. I begged Bryan to be patient with  me as I process and come to terms with this change. It's not easy, but I refuse to live my life in bitterness and regret.

And, if I can truly make the most of it, then maybe I can finally make this house my own.