The room was small and boring, as most doctor's offices are. I don't know why I expected a holistic office to be any different. I figured this kind of doctor would give me some answers and some solutions that didn't involve a mask of drugs and antibiotics or a scheduled surgery. My 30th birthday seemed to have been the catalyst flinging me smack into old age and her brittle, soft, mushy, decrepit arms. She could barely hold me up. The crux of 30 years of unhealthy habits was suddenly weighing down on me, out of nowhere it seemed. I couldn't keep my food down or eat a meal without pain and discomfort, or chase after the kids as easily, without injury. Did I really have an ulcer brewing? Could I continue to survive on laxatives as a quick fix? Would activity continue to be limited to walking out to the car to go to work or taking the laundry up and down the stairs? Could my motivation to get healthy get any lower??
As I settled the kids down with books and treats, another day as a single mom with a husband working 10 hour days, the doctor came into the room and started asking some questions. I started to answer on my father's side first - diabetes, diabetes, heart problems, heart attacks, COPD, obesity, stroke, cancer, cancer. On my mother's side - diabetes, obesity...was I listening to this? Did I hear how I was beginning to slowly walk down the same path? Not quickly walk or travel down it with exertion, but to slowly and lazily wobble, without motivation and without the conviction to wander off the path and make a break for it? My genetic makeup was condemning me to a life I did not want to end up with. How could I possibly wonder why I was overweight, flabby, stopped up, irritable, impatient, constantly sick, winded going up stairs and exhausted at every other moment? I was slowly seeing those dull gray colors of my life start to dissipate and reveal a creeping, vivid and vibrant possibility with the thought of change and progress. I wanted to continue the warmth coming.
The doctor gave me some instructions to eat healthier, take some supplements and try to do more exercise but I left feeling dissatisfied. There had to be more that he could "make" me do, more that he could prescribe for me that I couldn't just toss aside like I had for the past 15 years. Having someone be in charge of me was what I needed and I felt going to him was almost a last resort. I buckled the kids into their car seats, doing it as a habit and oblivious of anything but the warm, growing plan in my mind....more exercise, less excuses, more comfort with myself, more comfort in my body, more strength, more confidence, better health, greater flexibility, smarter diet, better sleep schedule, greater grasp on time management, more conviction, more motivation,more motivation.
It exhausted me to think of it all but I was at a fork in the road. There was no way I could wobble around in a stupor of excuses anymore that were becoming the foot stones of this path to that old woman, the stone-hard excuses that kept sounding like "after my next baby," "when the weather warms up," "if Rhett will do it with me," "as soon as I get over this cold," "once we get enough money to buy some home workout equipment," "after this next party or holiday...." I was starting to get sick of listening to it. Well...good. That was a good sign.
Then, my dad almost died on Christmas Eve. Literally stopped breathing and didn't have a pulse for almost 8 minutes. The doctors weren't sure how his brain could have survived that time without oxygen but they kept him sedated and hoped for the best. We all did. We stood around him, holding his swollen hands, staring at his closed eyes and the tubes and the wires and the burn marks from the defibrillator. We quietly hoped for brain function and thin blood and his eyes to open. When they finally did, he wasn't sure who we were, didn't know why he was there or what had happened. He was in the ICU for 14 days and then transferred to another hospital for a month of recovery, physical therapy, occupational therapy, psychological evaluations, nutritional counseling and medical staff to help get him the proper care and meds to help his brain heal, his lungs and heart to recover from the stress. He lost 50 pounds and we silently prayed for him to be a candidate for gastric bypass, a possible last hope. His diabetes, obesity, hypertension, sleep apnea, arthritis, lack of mobility, lack of strength and possibly even his COPD could end up being casualties of the procedure. To our relief and delight, the doctors affirmed that bypass surgery was a great possibility, especially because his COPD limited him from exercising, limited him from getting enough oxygen to even tolerate exercise.
Limited him, but not me. He was laying in a hospital bed unable to move and I was sitting around, unmotivated to move. He was taking insulin to control his blood sugar and I was letting mine run wild with no consequences, at least without any consequences so far. I couldn't bring myself to letting this traumatic experience not affect my ideas on health. I couldn't sit back and watch him almost leave this life because of his unhealthy habits and not pray for the gift of another day to do something different and to change my unhealthy habits. I had to do something.
I started eating raw two weeks after he was transferred out of the ICU. I was not able to have any control about what would happen to him, but I needed to start taking control of what was happening to me. The feeling of losing control was starting to overwhelm me. I couldn't control the hours my husband worked and was away from me, leaving me with more responsibilities than I was beginning to be able to manage, I couldn't control the choices my 4 year old was making to be independent, I couldn't control the mess that was accumulating in my kitchen because of everything else that was taking me away from it and I couldn't control the exhaustion, irritability, depression and weakness that was creeping into everything about me. But I
could control the food I put into my mouth.
So that's where I've started. I do have motivation, no matter how small. The calmness of my stomach, the health I already feel and the changes my body has made through this detox have kept me going. The miles of ocean ahead of me seem to be covered with dark clouds and uncontrollable surges, but I am taking it one stroke at a time. I don't want to drown anymore. I'm thankful for Christmas and the tragedy that brought a life preserver with it. I am starting to keep my head above water, but I know I still need help. I need more ways to help me stay afloat. I crave it. I want it to happen. I want those colors of my life to emerge rich and vibrant. It is different this time and I know a lot of that has to do with the gift of my dad's life. I'm grateful for it.
(I actually took this picture as I was driving to go see my dad at the hospital in the ICU one night)
