I don’t get scouts

A post from “Oh Judy” made me think.  

Scouts.

Boy scouts

I had 4 brothers and I never remember anything scout related other than seeing the scout shirt.   I never remember projects, derby cars, or the books

Now that my oldest (a boy) is some animal group and wears a blue shirt, I'm supposed to "help" him do some, not all, of the goals to earn something made of fabric or metal.

YW and personal progress was so much easier and straight forward!! And there were no stinking patches to sew on to a shirt that may or may not be too small before he doesn’t need it anymore. 

 

I boycott it.  Sewing patches, that is.  So Alex’s second shirt has the patches stapled on. 

 

I did it backwards so that he wouldn’t be poked.  And they have washed just fine.   I’m actually shocked that no one has said anything to me about it.  Perhaps being “The lady who lays down at church all the time” has some perks.   People just expect less of me, like stapling on scout patches.

So do you get scouts?  Are you a cub scout mom yet? 

Oh the patches, and the cards, and the metal pins.  Pins for mom…that’s not something the Young Women do!

(the picture above it Alex giving me a “special pin”  that I have no idea the significance of.  He just started cub scouts.  This was Feb 26, I’ve got 4 day old Mark in a front pack under the green blanket.  Katelyn is in pink and red, 2 years old.  Alex is wearing his first shirt that I carefully had sewn the patches on.  Later I had to take them off for a different shirt.  GRRRR!   Oh, to top it off, I was having another gallbladder attack during the whole Blue and Gold Banquet.  I’m surprised I managed to turn my lips into a smile shape for this picture!)

Most important:  Have you ever worn those pins that the moms get more than once????  where did you wear them???

10 pounds of chocolate

Today Grant celebrates a big event at work.    So big that he had to drive the car.  (he usually takes the bus)

This is the only photo I could sneak in before he took off for work.  He’s carrying a box full of “Helzer Homemades”.   Ten pounds of tiny chocolates that I ordered from my sister’s company.   (We kept them in the freezer for months, so I would not eat them)  For the big affairs, 5 year, 10 year, etc…. it is customary to bring equivalent pounds of chocolate for the years you have worked.  I wanted something memorable, so I worked with my sister to get some great flavors.  Ten years of supporting a husband’s long hours and late night affairs with work, and I didn’t get a single taste! 

June 28 marked the tenth year that Grant has been working for Microsoft. 

we laughed as we remembered that years ago, that meant you were a ten-millionaire.   Now it just means that you’ve kept the golden handcuffs on for ten years.

More important, we’ve been in Washington for 10 years.  

10 beautiful springs, with flowers that make Hawaii look dull. 

10 rainy winters, with a few good storms to make me glad I don’t have to shovel snow all winter!

10 soggy falls, none of the crispy leaves to jump in.  But oh the colors!  The colors of every street, neighborhood, parking lot….only Washington spring colors  can top it

10 short short summers.  Which is fine for us, since we really don’t like being hot and sweaty. 

And yes, I have to have something about my health….10 years of great health insurance, making it possible for me to be a mom for nearly 10 years, and still be alive and hopeful for these last ten years.   For all we’ve gone thru, it doesn’t matter that we didn’t make the Microsoft millionaires club. 

Happy 10 Years Grant!

Life at 8

8 years ago I was in labor, lasted less than 8 hours, no drugs.  I was so happy.  So today we have….

Gifts

and a lost tooth!

Happy 8th Birthday Emily!

(oh, the best gift so far is from the State: 
“No more yucky hard car seats!!!”)

I hear the giggle of two EXTRA 8 year olds for our simple dinner.  Time to go celebrate.

Oh, and I still have the migraine.  Better, but still there. 

Everything I learned about life I learned at pack meeting

A few weeks ago I went to pack meeting.  No, no, i went to DEN meeting.  I’m told there is a huge difference.  But they seem interchangeable to me. 

So I went to DEN meeting with Alex, a special one that one parent had to attend. 

The pocket knife meeting.  (or whatever they really call it in proper scout lingo. 

Bro. Lively, “Now this piece of word is pretty big.  And this knife is pretty small.  I can’t cut this wood in half with the tiny knife I've have like this (he makes a sawing motion).  But I still can cut it in half, by whittling down little pieces until I can snap the wood.  See how I'm doing this?  Cut with long, soft motions.  When you take shavings off a piece of wood, you don’t want to take off  a piece.  You have the best control when you go slow and press lighter.  When you push hard, and try to get a big piece, you’ll end up with a rough cut.  Like this*.”

It struck me as so profound.   I wish I had photos to show, because hearing the words, as Bro.  Lively worked the wood was amazing.  So imagine this.  It was a rough piece of wood.  Like outdoor fencepost wood, but thinner.  And when he used the proper, controlled, soft touch, he made nice shavings.  Barely deep enough for the eye to tell a sliver of wood was lost.  But at the end of his cut were the shavings, still half attached, curled into the most delicate and beautiful curls.  I wanted to take a picture right at the moment that he had built up around five of those.  It was like the wood was having a party, finally it was getting cut apart.**  

I thought of me as I watched the pretty curly wood be formed from a straight stick.  I though of change.  And life.  And how unhappy I was with this body.   But I DO have a BODY.  The scout master had a knife.  He happened to have a small knife.   I’m not happy with the body I was given.  But I do have a body.  It’s mine, and even though it can’t do everything, it can do some things.  The scout masters knife was too small to saw the wood in half, he could still make it into two parts.  It would take more time that way, but it could be done.  If he had a bigger knife, or a saw, or a chain saw, he could make a cut, fast and smooth.  But he only had a pocket knife.  

My body is too small, too weak, to sensitive to make a big difference as a mom/wife/friend.   Or really, to make the big difference I had wanted to make as a mom/wife/friend.***  But I can make a difference.  It’s going to be slower than I want too.  But it will be progress, it will be something at some speed.  I don’t want to throw next year or more of my life away because I was moaning about what I really wanted in a body.  I want to want to enjoy what I can do in this body.  I want to want to be happy with the smaller ways I’m able to serve my family.  I want to show my kids that no matter what happens, even if your knife is suddenly swapped for a smaller one, that you can still cut the wood.  I CAN still have a life. 

 

In wood, you make a deep, ugly gash at the end of your pattern.  It’s called a stop cut.  It’s there for your knife to hit when you carve.  It does 2 things.  It keeps you within the lines of your pattern.  And when you hit the line, you get a smooth break.  IN THE VERY END, the pattern will have nice, sharp edges.  And fine detail…say a beak…doesn’t break off.

I can see a stop cut like rules and goals.   They keep you on whatever path you have set for yourself.  And they keep your life smoother, happier, so that you can have A GREAT FINAL PICTURE.   A picture you may not see in this life.  But it’s there.  And there are limits for now that will lead to a ROCKING PICTURE.  I know mine is going to be, because it has so many stop cuts.  Deep gashes, ugly and frankly painful now.  But it just means more detail in my rocking eternal picture. 

I’ve already lost my audience….I’m the only one reading my writing now.  I know how long winded I get.   Today has been a good day.  I can see the purpose to the painful “stop cuts”.   But if I happen to read this on a bad day, where NOTHING can even EASE the pain, I will laugh, and say I didn’t know what I was thinking.  And if I ever share it with someone WHILE there “stop cut” or trial or CRAPPY CRAPPY time is happening, they will laugh too.  It might not be out loud.   It might be in the mind, dripping with sarcasm and also wishes for the speaker to feel the same pain you feel.  Also the same pain felt the same WAY you feel it.  Then they can give you stupid advice about whittling and stop cuts and knifes and wood. 

PS.  Grant and I talked about this.  He reminded me it really doesn’t matter how great or bad your knife is…it matters if it is SHARP.  You could even cut down a pine tree with a pocket knife, if you KEPT MAKING IT SHARP.     Did you get your spiritual knife sharpened today?  I sure did!  Thanks for the awesome talks, Tammy and Kim Risenmay.

 

*okay…he didn’t say it exactly like that.  But I thought I might be considered rude if I took notes for my blog during the lesson.  Or, I could have looked really stupid that I was taking notes during the scout lesson.   This is my best recollection of what he said.  If Bro. Lively wants to contact me and edit his words, I would welcome it."

**the only thing that stopped me from taking a photo was distraction.  I didn’t want to distract the boys from learning, especially after the first words of the lecture started with, “You have to pay attention when you are working with knives.”  I didn’t want a poor boy to get cut tonight because I wanted  a photo for the blog, and the boy was focused on me and not the safety training.  There are some limits I won’t cross for my blog. 

***please insert what fits best for you in place of mom: friend or wife or sister or grandchild or neighbor or visiting teacher or hostess or missionary or “sister in Christ”

 

Note from editor:  This post was written weeks ago, but I wanted to get something new up.  But… I’m on lots of drugs to keep my migraine manageable right now.  We’ll see how much that effected my ability to edit another day!

My new hobby, photos in 2025

I have a new hobby!   I mean, a new career!

(applause)

Thank you, thank you!

(applause dies down)

I’d like to give much thanks to young Foster J.  Even though you were just a cub scout, you taught me something important.  It was the day I learned with my son how to whittle with a knife properly.  I had so much fun!  And I bought the completely WRONG kind of knife (I hate you Sir Plus, you gave horrible advice) .  So now I have my own whittling knife, and we’ll get the proper size AND folding feature on Alex’s knife. 

I was excited about my knife, and I couldn’t wait to sit and whittle.  It sounded very fun, and I thought it was unusual that something felt fun too.  But I lamented that I can’t sit for very long, so I would have to wait a while before I would get to try out my new crush-hobby.

But Foster said, “You can just lay in bed and whittle!”  

(laughter roars, they’ve heard this before, but it’s still funny)

I started to laugh, thinking about shavings in the bed sheets.  Laughed about where those shavings might splinter if I did whittle in bed.  But then I remembered, my bed is made of wood!  I could practice on some wood, on a bed tray, and then I could get good enough that i could hand whittle/ carve a beautiful design in my bed. 

This new hobby made my heart beat with joy.  Now I had something to do in my recently extended convalescences.    Instead of blogging (sometimes) and reading blogs (most times), I would whittle! 

(applause, hoots of appreciation)

So now, I’d like to thank Foster, and my family, my grandkids and my friends for their support in my hobby turned career as a wood carver.   Special thanks to my husband for that long time of bed sheet splinters as I was ill.  Look honey, I got better AND I learned a skill AND I make money from it! 

(laughter, more applause)

So thank you all, thank you for this “woodcarver of the year” award.  Here’s too an even better 2025! 

(applauses builds to a standing ovation, Grant is seen wiping a tear from his eye.   Alex is scolding  his children who are jumping around.   Cue exit music)

(Photo from the reception after the “woodcarver of the year”  award, 4 generations, including Rachel’s daughter and Granddaughter)

 

photo from whittln.com.   I love you!

Miss you! XXOO

Dear Deb Whitmore,

I miss you!  It’s been a few days and a year since I last saw you. 

It was a few hours before they took you to hospice.   I wonder if you knew, you were so sleepy from the pain meds.  But you lifted your arm under my hand and mumbled.   I later wondered if I was on your bad side, and I was hurting you.  But I got to say goodbye in your ear, and hold your warm hand.   And give your awesome mom a hug.  She was nice enough to put this on your grave.  Silly, I know, but I wanted you to know.  Even though you’re not there…like I said, silly.

I cried then, and I cry today.  Don’t worry, I’m not crying over you.   I’m crying for me.   What am I going to do without you?  What are we going to do without you?

I made it a year.  A horrible, horrible year.  I was hoping you would pull some strings in heaven, so I could get a break.  Like you did for Mike.  :)Mike and Amy:)  You are going to love her, just like your kids do now.  She is an incredible “insta-mom”.  Though she’d hate to hear that.  Everyone knows her, but she doesn’t know all of us.  Yet. 

Maybe, maybe you would want me to have this pain.  It was decades of pain that sculpted your testimony.  It was that testimony I miss most.

  When I couldn’t take the pain anymore, I could call you.  Then bear it longer.

When I couldn’t “stand” and be a mom, you helping me see how to be a lie down mom. 

When I wondered how I could believe in God, when I had this horrible pain… and how could someone I love give me such horrible pain…and I told you I hated God.   Last month I hated him again.   So all I could was remember your advice.

You told me the ice cream story.  I wonder, did you ever tell that one to Mike?   How you were having a bad day, in a string of bad days.  How you were getting ready for a shower, when you started a prayer, or just a conversation with God.   You asked him that same question.  How can he be the God of Love if you had this pain?  Didn’t he know you’d be a better mom, and give more service if you were healthy?  And you weren’t the only one in pain.  All over the world, girls are hurt, wars are fought.  And Africa, those poor tiny babies in Africa.  The children who don’t even get to grow up.  How could God let them suffer and die so young?  There were so many wonderful things in this world, warm showers, birthday parties, and ice cream.  Why were their kids dying in Africa who never ever ever got to even taste ice cream before they died?  God, how could you make it up to them, when they hadn’t even had ice cream?

….Oh…the tears.   You prayed my prayer before I knew it was mine.  You searched for my answers while I hadn’t formed the question yet.  I turned to you so many times, and you would say, “Funny you would ask that, because I’ve been reading the scriptures about that a few months ago asking the very same thing”

Now I just have echo’s of your advice in my head.  And now it’s my turn to search the scriptures to find MY answer.  And it’s time for me to pray and ask, to find out how HE wants me to deal with this broken body.  And pray for peace… to know what good parts are still working enough to share.

Near the end, I got to talk to you.  You were just calling about Gabby’s birthday party.  The one you feared would be your last.   I grabbed a note book and started asking you the same questions over the years.  This time I wrote down the answers. 

Then I asked you a new question.  One I hadn’t heard (and forgotten) the answer to.

“If you could see today, if you could do things over again….if you knew the pain was there, but life would be shorter than you expected, what would you do differently?”

I don’t need to get the notebook of the shelf to remember the answer.  Have more fun NOW.  Do it NOW.  Figure out what you miss most, what you want most for your good days and wishful good years, and plan it and do it. 

If having a big party at your house is what you want, then do it.  Plan it, save your energy for it, then enjoy it.  Enjoy it all week long as you painfully recover  from the act of doing what you loved.  

Don’t wait until you feel good, or have enough good days for those fun moments with your family.   Bake with your daughters.  Play games with your sons.  Have people over for dinner.  Don’t waste the good days on cleaning, and don’t waste away waiting for the fun days to come. 

Deb, I hope you see , this time I listened.  That crazy trip to visit Grant’s family should be proof of “not waiting for the good days to come”. 

As I lay in my bed typing…lay here thinking about the mean God who let the pain come back after 4 surgeries in a year….I think of you.  And ice cream.  And those last days.  When you were in the most pain.  But you told me it was also a time you felt like the veil was so thin.  You felt closer to God last year then you ever had before.  You were at peace with your priesthood blessings, and knew that they could be finished on earth or in heaven.  You told me you would miss Mike and worried that the kids wouldn’t stay strong in the church.  You told me you didn’t have to have a body to finish the tasks set forth in your blessings. 

You already know this, but I thought you ought to know….you’re kids are doing great.  They are still strong in the church.  Alexis still gets up and bears her testimony in her endearing way.  Gabby got baptized.   I missed that, bad day, you understand.  In a blink of heaven’s eye, James will be getting the priesthood and pass the sacrament.  

Your family, your children are most cared for in this city.   You told enough of your friends that you worried for them.  And you had A LOT of friends.  I had no idea until you got sick.   I was surprised to hear about some visitors, because they weren’t even….my friends.   I was surprised to see how strong the friendships were with so many women in our ward.  I had no idea!

Thank you for being my friend.  For the being the one I could call.  For your wisdom.  For your testimony.   For your love.  And for your acceptance of who I was.  No matter what pain I felt, I knew you would never question me.  You knew what “invisible pain” felt like.  And you had felt the sometimes harsh judgment from it.    But you knew more, you knew how to cope with the judgments.    You knew how to love so many of us, no matter what we felt.

I miss you.  I love you,

XX OO

Rachel Richins

P.S.  I wish you could come back soon, or maybe for a dream, and tell me the ward gossip.  You probably know so much right now.  I promise, I’ll only use it for good.  I’ll send pretty cards and make phone calls for those who have all kinds of invisible pain.   After I get to hear some juicy stuff!

Ever asked a stranger for a photo?

 

Nanny saw it. 

Costco.  

I thought it would be fun to ask for his photo.  That idea brought joy to my heart, so I followed it. 

Followed it to the man with the awesome mustache.

Rachel:  Excuse me,

Man with Mustache:  Yes?

R:  sorry to bother you, but I love your mustache

M with M (pauses from unloading the stuff on the checkout):  (smiles)

R (fast): I was wonder, if you didn’t mind, if I wouldn’t be weird, but it’s so cool, can I take your picture? 

M with M (slowly):  “sure!  You know, this is the second time I’ve been asked that by a stranger.  The other lady said she was doing a book on mustaches, and now mine is in it!”

R:  (click of camera phone)  Cool!  I’ve got it, see, you look great!

M with M, looking a the complex camera phone I just shoved in his face":  Oh.  Look at that.

R:  Well, Thanks!  (turning to walk away) Have a great day!

M with M:  You have a great day too!

 

And I did. 

Everything’s coming ups ROSES

I’ve got the best visiting teacher EVER!  (Don’t know what visiting teaching is?  Click here!  Today I’m only allowed to eat clear liquids.  hur-rah.  Back to my ever familiar diet of Jell-O, chicken broth, and juice.  I’m so hungry, that even the crumbs stuck in the cracks of Mark’s high chair.  Have you ever REALLY been that hungry?  It’s like fasting all day, then the next day finding out someone you LOVE needs you to fast for them.   So if you do know how this feels, you’ve either

Point….my visiting teacher didn’t know.  But someone else did….and that someone whispered in her ear at the store today. 

Thanks Tammy R!  More proof that you really are an angel.

So 3 of 7 are done.  I’ve had fun reading magazines.   J/K.  I don’t think I got to read a single one.

I’ve got one band-aid on each cheek,  and since then have had DRAMATIC reduction in pain.  I even did some chores, long car rides, AND went to Costco today.  I haven’t done that without pain in…years?  I can’t remember what it’s like not to have that pain when I walk and stand….nor can I remember when I last had no pain. 

I’m happy and laughing and joking….having many options for pain relief, and many tests to find the true nature of the beast is bring me life.  I just pray they can be sure, so I don’t have another unnecessary procedure.   And better, so I can have few more unnecessary days of pain.  

 

Photo:  My lucky flower dress and I, laying in the backseat as we drove to Seattle yesterday for #1 and #2. 

I must say, pain is sure better for the moments you are given and enjoy flowers :)  And I sure have been lucky enough to receive so many this year!  (shout out to Vicki M. who brought by cheerful Gerber Daisies when I was having that rough week, what a great neighbor!  I’ll write you a thank you note as soon as I’m out of pain!)

 

p.s.  You were partly right.  I had a painful day when I had Julie photograph me a few posts ago.   Grant said that “the work I did to the photo made it look even more sad and depressing.” I laughed and said, nothing!  Then it hit me…all my photos on my cell phone look like that.  But how would you know?   But for this blog, before I lost my good camera, that photo looks like it was taken in a dark, dreary room.   Sorry!  Look for more “depressing” photos, since I’m forced to use my camera phone or nothing. 

7 in 5, BEAT THAT!

 

My schedule for next week

Sunday June 7:  Lay down ON THE COUCH for 3 hours of church, doctors orders.  Stop eating or drinking at midnight

Monday June 8:  (1) 9:15am Dr. Clark, my LDS shrink who had encouraged me thru 3 post partum times, and still says I’m amazing.  (2) 11am  Check into Swedish Hospital, Cherry Hill, for conscious sedation.  1pm, Kiss Dr. P for letting me be asleep as he pokes two long needles in my flat buttocks (Emily “MOOOM, why did you write that?  Don’t say it bum, or buttocks!  Just don’t talk about it, it’s mostly privacy”  Sorry Emily, Get used to your mom embarrassing you!  Where was I…buttocks…one shot in each, to put some lidocane type stuff on my pudenda nerve.  If it’s like last time, I'll wake up with minimal shot pain, and a great deal of pain relief.

Tuesday, June 9:  Eat only clear liquids today.  (3)  8am Dr. F, my new ear/nose/throat guy.  I've been putting this off for months.  Then I had to wait a month to get in.  My ears are killing me!  And I'm 90% sure that one of my ear tubes is 90% out.  I have tiny estuation tubes, so if I have ear tubes, I get ear discomfort instead of ear pain.  (SWEET!)   It would be funny if he looked in my ears and said I had some kind of horrible fungus growing in there. 

Wednesday, June 10:  6am, have a fleet enema for breakfast.  (4) 8am, dynamic pelvic floor MRI.  Take two pills on arrival so I don’t freak out while I’m in the machine for 60 minutes, with ultrasound gel filling my *ahem* rectum, and wearing an adult diaper.   Wait, that sounds familiar too! (to tired to link to other post where I had the same test)    (5) Dr. B, pain management psychologist.  He is the “drug pusher”.  His latest, pushing me to be on methadone.  Um, no thank you.  I’m just going to be a Percocet junkie until the next surgery.  Then I'll do rehab.   (I joked with my primary care, but she smiled.  I think she was serious.  What?  I’ll really need that for Percocet??) Please, no serious, hard core, more addicting stuff.   I’m going to hate to burst his bubble, or make him disappointed in me.  Cause I really want gold stars from all my doctors.   We do get to talk about Lyrica, another seizure style nerve pain med that another doc wants me to add/swap

Thursday, June 11:  (6)  10:15am  Dr. M, pain management talk therapist.  I think I’ll have a lot to talk about.  Cause she’ll only be my 3rd shrink that week. 

Friday, June 12:  (7) 9am, Dr. W.  My primary care doctor.  And my newest drug dealer.  She feels strongly that I should stick to one drug, and not get addicted to worse stuff.  And she wants me to RUSH all my tests, so I can get diagnosed and off the pills FAST.  I would love to be off the pills. 

So there you have it, 7 doctor visits in 5 days, just for me.  assuming that I don’t get more scheduled before 5pm Friday night.  and this doesn’t include Kate’s 2 therapy (speech and OT) and Alex’s therapy.  (But nanny Julie really does those too)

See, I can smile!  Happy Girls Night with Emily.  To bad I’m writing this instead.    Wait, if you’re reading this, I’m done writing, and we’re looking at cakewrecks.com or searching for wedding cakes on YouTube.  Emily’s birthday is coming up, and you gotta dream big!

I’m not suicidal, thanks for asking Colleen!

more to come, thanks for the concern. 

I'm just overwhelmed with physical pain.

but I have new options.

Things you should know about me:

1.When I’m suicidal, I usually don’t talk or write.  It’s too overwhelming, and it makes me think, which is something suicidal people don’t do.

2.  I have a contracts with several people whom I call, day or night, if I’m suicidal.  Honestly, In this last year, it’s happened a few times.  I call, i get help, I have special meds that keep me at home.  I have never broken those contracts, and the first one I talk with is Grant.  Between my pain management group, and my own post partum depression crap, I have 3 therapist.  I saw all of them last week.  Due to the change in pain/mood, I’m seeing them all this week. 

Now burn this email, it’s probably going to disappear soon.

I’d like to think I'm open about my mental health, as proof by this post.  Please, you really can call me if you are worried.  As my past and present visiting teachers can attest, I will honestly tell you where I'm at. 

Thanks for the concern, I’ll take it as love :)

What not to say: Doctor Edition

First:  Gratitude.  Thank you friends.  For f*ing loving me.  For encouraging me.  For listening.  Or for being silent instead of hurting me.

Second:  sentences I’ve hated to hear this week:

This is great for pain relief, when it works.  If you see spiders on the wall, don’t take it again.  (Dr. B, pain psychologist)

Keep the Ketamine.  You WILL use it someday.  (Dr. B, pain psychologist, after I call back and said I won’t use it)

Ketamine!?! Don’t take that!  I treat patients who are addicted to it with bladder ulcers (Dr. P, Urologist)

Of course you’ll take methadone.  You have no more options. (Dr. B, pain psychologist)

Just get your uterus out when you have your next surgery, then you don’t have to worry about the pain it’s causing you. (Dr M, pain therapist ; NOT a surgeon, or RX writing doctor.  And because the hole they use for the rectal surgery is the same one for a hysterectomy, NOT!)

I like to give my time to people who are looking for relief BEYOND simple narcotics.  I won’t write RX for narcotics for you anymore, go ask Dr. N. (Dr. B)

We don’t write for narcotics in this office, you need to see Dr. B  (Dr. N’s office, pain management doctors)

I can’t write for you anymore  (normal doctors, surgeons)

Your pudenda nerve is entrapped.  I really hoped the last surgery would help.  We need to do more tests.  MRI.  A nerve conductivity tests.  And more blocks for the nerve…..but a pelvic floor nerve test has to be done under general anesthetic.  (Dr. P, Urologist)

A block?  You mean the same one she did that made her paralyzed for 12 hours and forced her to be hospitalized?  (Grant)   Yes.  (Dr. P)

I believe you have pain.  You’ve had proof all along that there is cause for pain, but you have to stop taking this much medicine for the pain (Dr. M, pain therapist)

Why don’t you learn hypnosis instead of popping pills?  (Nameless helper)

I can’t teach you hypnosis.  It will not work for you.  You are in too much pain now, and you have too much changing and uncertain.  Hypnosis works for people who have pain that can’t be proven.  That is not you  (Dr. M, pain therapist)

Stop swearing, it won’t help.  Go to the temple.  Get a blessing.  Don’t give up hope.  Hang in there…..(countless people)

Hang on to what?  I do feel better when I swear!  (Rachel’s response)

Why me?  Why now?  How long? (Rachel’s question that will bring no good, says Elder Holland)

Hopefully someday I will feel enough love or desire to edit previous posts.  That day is not today.  Hour by hour, I grasp to hope.  Hour by hour I learn better and bad news. 

What I know for sure:

My pain is recently worse.  More tests/doctors are needed to be sure why.

My family loves me, but tensions are high now that the pain is back.

I don’t have a good solution to reduce pain and save my sanity. 

My babies are growing faster than I'm healing.

last doctor left less hope and ketamine

	A nasal pain med. Odd. Read the side effects....cry. wiki it...the literature alone makes me scream. this is the life God has in store for me? anything to avoid narcotics, eh? guess lsd is not a narcotic. oh God, sorry for swearing about this damn situation. I hate your current plan for me, just thought you aught to know. rachel

Don’t read this: You’ve been warned

I am angry.  Angry at doctors.  Angry at bad pain med changes.  Angry at pain.  Angry at hope and futures.   

I don’t swear without real anger, and I don’t drop the f-bomb lightly.  But being the good mormon girl I am, it is the only way I can convey how much each situation sucks.    If I offend you, come back next week when they’ve fixed me.

So here it goes, what I texted Grant to talk about with my LDS psychiatrist:

“Fuck this-Depression.  Not caring to care for myself, sleeping a lot, dark thoughts, hope of improvement gone from my heart, along with motivation to do the things that (might) help.  How can I get on top of the pain when the depression is drowning me?

Fuck this-being dumped by my surgeon, turning to Suboxone as I ran to low on narcotic pain meds and I didn’t want to accidently O.D.   That would get me labeled a “drug seeker”  when really i’m just a pain hater.  Instead I got  withdrawal and/or just change to Suboxonde this weekend.  It Sucked.  I felt more “high” this weekend than ever in my past use with narcotics.

Fuck this-driving.  When can I drive myself again?  What point do I need to be on meds that I can drive again?  Depression PLUS asking for every damn ride to the multiple doctor appointments EQUALS a shitty self esteem.  Sure, it’s hard to take time out of ones life to help me, but at this point the blow to my ego is so damaging when I call so man people without getting help.  When will I know I’m safe to others and myself on the road?

Fuck this-I hate my pain management talk therapist.  So does Grant.  But I need a pain management doctor’s group that i LOVE and TRUST.  I’m stuck with permanent nerve damage in my left SI serve root/foot.  I’m past the help of my primary doc.    What do I do know?  The boot camp of the UW program?

Fuck this-one more surgery July 22.  Drinking one more half gallon of fucking colon cleaner.  It’s a Tuesday night too, Grant’s bill night.  I don’t want to be alone and hungry all day again before they slice me open.  The next day they are just going to dump me in pain, to go home and suffer at home to get someone to listen to me. 

Fuck this-Doing all the above while being a guilty mom to 4 young ones.  Just being in the same room as my kids wears me out.  They can’t keep their hands off me.   But I also miss their hugs and kisses.   I hate pushing them away.  I hate adding to Grant’s already overwhelming responsibilities.  How much therapy will that cost the kids when they  grown up?

Fuck this, so screwing around here.  N.O.N.E.  Even when we get the doctors green light, am I going to be in new pain?  Great, let’s cause the one good thing about life to start causing pain.  And what about these stupid meds that have listed side effects to interfere with climax.    Talk about leaving my ego bruised and bleeding on the floor. 

 

So, I’ve taken a chance.  I’ve been completely honest and open with you.  I’ve got lots of bitter feelings.  Pain is a great breeding ground for bitterness.    But this is part of it, this is part of this roughest year.  Lets see how many of you can stick out the crap and hope for better days to come. 

Don’t waste to much worry on me.  I meet with a pain management doctor this afternoon.   He’ll get my f-ing story.  And maybe in a few years I’ll f-ing laugh at this day.