Emergence

Emergence.

How interesting that the root word for emergency involves process.

The lockdown almost killed me; the process has been hard in many ways.

First, I discovered I can’t do masks.

To make a very, very long story short, after many hits and misses, it turns out the Air Monster is NOT ASTHMA. It’s Vocal Chord Dysfunction (VCD) brought on by Larynpharangeal Reflux (LPR). All these years, my vocal chords have bathed in gastric juices, and are rather sensitive to irritation.  So rapid breathing, heated air, allergens all cause my vocal chords to seize.

Have you ever drank something that “went down the wrong pipe?” That’s your vocal chords seizing up, and stopping the liquid from going in your lungs.  Mine do it randomly due to decades of damage. Interestingly, this diagnosis accurately explains my “failure to thrive” as a newborn and my five years of constant ear infections.

So, no masks for me.  Which means no in-person healthcare, widespread discrimination and general feelings of hate as a supposed “grandma killer.”

Which meant I had a scary summer of depression.

I was unable to exercise outside, as the heat brought on the choking attacks (VCD attacks) and all gyms were closed. Mask mandates meant I was imprisoned at home. Add to that I’m pretty sure a second civil war is afoot, and I became despondent.  Then, the Commander’s rescheduled baptism took place.

 The Commander and the Princess.

It took place outdoors, at a camp in the pines...the same national forest where the Buckeye and I had said our vows, two years prior.  Afterwards they held church outside, all socially distanced.

If you look closely, you can see deer in the woods behind him.

I once heard a sermon long ago that said we all related best to God in one of several ways. That would make sense, since we all have different personalities, gifts, etc. For me-it is nature and worship. That is where I find God.

In the mountains of Prescott National Forest, they had a church service. I don’t remember what was preached...all I know was the worship, in this cathedral of trees, soothed my weary soul.

I was completely broken, yet in a moment was restored.

Eppie Vincente chose Justin Unger’s rendition of the 23rd Psalm...and it enraptured me.

Once in a decade, you have a song that works miracles. For me, it was My Shepherd.  A simple version of a psalm I’ve had memorized from childhood, but with a different start;

“If the Lord you are my Shepherd what shall I want?”

If.

If He is my Shepherd.

At that moment, I knew it was truly, a choice.

And I chose to be restored.

Over the next week, I listened to the song on repeat.  Slowly, my slumbering spirit re-emerged.  It’s emergence awakened my creativity, and I pushed pass my slump.  I had hope again, despite rejection by medical science.

You see, with no ability to wear a mask, I was turned away from all in-person medical care. I had sought treatment for it, thinking it was asthma. My PCP and pulmonologist had diagnosed me via telemedicine, but all testing and surgery (yes, surgery. The Air Monster requires surgery!) I was denied because I couldn’t wear a mask...THE VERY REASON I SOUGHT MEDICAL CARE.

From this rejection, I had retreated. As the Air Monster grew worse and treatment was denied, I grew discouraged....but God saw me. He rescued me as surely as if He had physically pulled me from an abyss.  

Slowly, I began to break from the bonds. I created a faux mask that gained me entry to most stores. It didn’t work in medical facilities, but at least I wasn’t trapped at home. I began researching LPR and VCD...and discovered VCD plagued athletes.  In an obscure article, I found a doctor who prescribed speech therapy to an athlete to control the VCD using the “sniff sniff” technique.  Apparently, two quick sniffs through the nose, and a long exhale through the mouth forced the vocal chords to open.  I practiced it, and awaited the next attack.

I forgot to mention that by June I was waking up from a deep sleep by choking two-three times a week, it was now September, and elevating the head of bed had significantly decreased the attacks to one or two a month. Attacks were also regularly brought on by windy days (dust in the air) and laughter, in addition to high heat, strained breathing and exercise.  I had gotten to the point I used a rescue inhaler two-three times a day (in addition to a daily inhaler before VCD diagnosis.)

Surprisingly, the sniff sniff technique worked MORE EFFECTIVELY than the rescue inhaler!!!!!

This confirmation of my diagnosis, after months of being denied medical care buoyed my soul.  Ever one to buck convention, maybe I didn’t need medicine.

Maybe I needed to learn to breathe better.

I’M BACK.

It’s taken about two months to be able to stop an attack as it happens.  I’m admittedly fat, and it’s time to reverse that (again😂😂😂).  But guess what I did?

I went trail running.

I FREAKING RAN.

My beloved Trail 100.

The Buckeye hikes in Dreamy Draw 3-5 times a week; I haven’t been able to join him due to the never ending heat. This week it’s been in the 60’s though...so I joined him on Saturday.

The first twenty minutes of flat, I focused on only breathing with the sniff sniff technique. I made my first climb, after six months stuck indoors, with no breathing issues.  NONE.

No breathlessness, no coughing, no feelings of passing out.

BECAUSE I HAD FREAKING OXYGEN GETTING TO MY LUNGS.

The Buckeye and I split up at that point, and I was able to test my new idea further. The call of those trails is strong- as I ventured into familiar territory I had to try. 

I had to “run.”

Lol, actually a hopping jog.  For maybe 40 yards.

Yesterday, we went again. This time, we separated immediately-him to his loop hike, me to my old trails.

I have rarely felt so alive.

While my experiment was not without issues-at one point I had a scary attack that I couldn’t control and dove for a rescue inhaler-it reminded me that I can control my outcome.

I have six months of being able to exercise outside. Six months of teaching myself how to breathe. Six months to change everything...if I chose to.

It’s a choice.

Apparently a very dramatic choice 😂😂😂

So, here I go again.

Every. Single. Time.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

No one will help me? Fine. I’ll do it myself.

Now to not eat the fudge the Buckeye made:):):)

So crazy in love with this man, despite a very difficult two years. I do not recommend newlyweds losing their jobs and almost dying and recovering from a brain injury in their first two years together...but our foundation has been proven strong:)

Last year I started stretching. This year, it’s more. It has to be. What tried to kill me didn’t succeed. So what if I turned the tables and killed discouragement instead? It’s what’s been wrong, all these years. The sadness, the longing. 

If the Lord you are my Shepherd what shall I?

It’s a choice to look first to Him. Then to make wise decisions.

I plan to make His Joy be my strength.

Let’s do this:)