Wander Girl

Years ago I wrote this post on another blog I had at the time and it was epic. Now, of course, the blog has been deleted and I’m not anywhere near as funny as I was when I was “high” on drugs, literally, and had lots of friends that think all my jokes are hilarious, but here is my epic second try to get the story right.

I was playing ultimate frisbee shortly after my release from the relief society calling and I suddenly became very aware that my body was not behaving normally. Keep in mind, I had been playing frisbee all summer, as well as intramural soccer, volleyball and had been swimming a lot, trying to rebuild my broken body. However, because I had become so tuned into my body at the time, I immediately called another of the relief society (women’s group) presidents and requested a ride to the hospital. She came immediately and I was at the hospital in just minutes. She asked if I wanted a wheelchair and I didn’t really (I’m stubborn), but at the time, it had become increasingly clear I wouldn’t make it far without one.

I made it inside and she contacted the bishop, and his counselors and only a few minutes after I arrived, I believe, I hadn’t even been admitted yet, I was already receiving a priesthood blessing.

When I was admitted one of the first things that I found out, was that I was highly anemic and at the time of admittance, had less than 50% of the blood a person needs to have to be able to function. I was called a miracle for being able to “Walk into the hospital” on my own power. I received 3 transfusions immediately and remember drifting off because I finally felt whole-ish again.

It was clearly my first real lupus episode. It was excruciating. My parents were called, the bishop and his wife were there with me for a lot of the day (Sister and Bishop Welch). My mom flew in the next day and spent a week at my bedside while my crazy friends and ward members came though, brought me flowers, sang to me, colored with me, watched tv with me and just gave me service.

I can’t tell this next part without crying even after years, my tears still blur the screen. Having just been released as the relief society president, I felt an immense pressure to still be of service to the Lord.

Imagine my shock when just a few days after being in the hospital the bishop came to see me with a new calling. I was to be a service committee member, from my hospital bed. It made virtually no sense to me. I couldn’t serve. I could barely stand. I recall, sitting there dumbfounded as I received this calling. Truly, what could I do?

As bishop blessed me, he said, you will allow those in the ward to come to serve you. I literally could provide service to others by sitting in a hospital bed.

And they came. A few at a time at first. Then as people heard, while many were people I had never even met, they wanted to come and get to know me. The nurses knew when groups of people walked in, where they were headed and ignored the visiting hours rules and regulations and allowed as many people as would fit into my room. I remember sitting on Sundays and singing sacrament hymns with my new ward family, and playing games, having handsome gentlemen take me on walks with my walker and having little old men with their bums hanging out being jealous of the number of people that came to see me.

No matter how late or how many people it was, very few nurses denied me time or visitors.

During this time, these 3 awesome ladies above were my roommates. They were in the hospital with me once or twice a week sharing games, stories, activities or whatever else they had going on. I remember a few times where even homework was done at my bedside. I really needed their support when, the night before I was supposed to go home, I started itching all over. Like bad itching, I thought I was losing my mind. Everything burned on my entire body. I called the nurse in and discovered I had developed shingles, from being on the floor with the elderly patients. They had moved me there as I was undergoing dialysis. **insert giant eye roll**

I can’t tell you how bummed I was to be in the hospital for another week. During which time they decided to try another treatment to see if it would help my lupus. This treatment is by far my least favorite. They started me on Chemotherapy. After the first treatment I was so violently ill I didn’t see how they could possibly give it to me again. But, sure enough, I was released from the hospital on my 25th birthday and started on a 6-month chemotherapy treatment. I lost almost all of my hair, which you can see a little bit in the above football photograph.

Fortunately, Sister Larsen was able to help me stay sane by purchasing the above pictured wig so that I could feel like I was at least passible still.

However, despite all the best intentions, I still remember being violently ill the night I received every injection. I would hover near the bathroom for hours until the metallic taste went away or the illness stopped. This illness has taught me time and time again, and is still teaching me, beauty is truly skin deep. It was truly one of the most pressure filled years of my entire life, but also one of the most beautifully teaching and humbling years.

Later that fall, despite all the trouble it had caused me I was still sad to leave the town I had called home for 6 years and head north to Salt Lake City due to a job opportunity.