Horse Crazy Bookworm

I am a Christian

Now, don’t take this post personally.  This isn’t meant to be judgmental.

While there are many different churches and Christians in the world, and while I’m being raised as a WELS Lutheran, I’m so confused about the different beliefs, that I like to consider myself  simply a Christian.  Or to expand a little, a Bibleist Christian. (Bibleist is another word I made up, but a very good one.)

Definition of Bibleist: One who believes everything said in the Bible, without adding unnecessary complications or made up ideas.  A Bibleist worships not the Bible, but its Author.

As a Bibleist, I don’t try to complicate salvation by trying to define every word of the Bible.  As a Bibleist, I go by “whosoever believes.” As a Bibleist, I believe that everything in the Bible is true, and that every prediction God makes will be fulfilled.  I believe every word of the Bible.

God made the world.  The Big Bang theory is true, in a sense: God said it, and “BANG!” it happened.  The Bible said it.  I believe it.

Jesus died to save me from my sins, which, by the way, I totally didn’t deserve.  The Bible said it.  I believe it.

In my opinion, why complicate things?  While it is good to study the Bible and understand what God is saying, I don’t believe in making things more complicated than they need to be.

I can’t earn my way to heaven.  No matter how many “good” things I do, it won’t get me any closer.

Now, I don’t wish to throw my faith into other peoples’ faces.  While I’m certainly not perfect, and I can be judgmental, and a huge grouch, and while I have almost no self-confidence whatsoever, and could probably give an unending list of my flaws, I don’t want to sound like a snob. I’d love to share my faith, but I don’t want to sound like “an angry preacher, shouting that the end is near.”

My blog itself, while holding religious content about my beliefs, isn’t an in-your-face religious site.  As this is my whatever-multi-purpose-life blog, I will have Jesus-based posts, and I will post Bible verses on some posts, when they fit.  I agree with my mother’s point of view.  (Everything she said there, just pretend I’m saying basically the same thing here.)

Welcome to my blog, from a WELS Lutheran, Bibleist Christian, and fully flawed girl.

(Who’s also totally awesome.  Yeah.  I had to ruin my humble moment.)

Recently, we were in California for some of Daddy’s concerts.

Most of the days of our trips were busy, but one day we had a day off.  So we went to the beach.

It was called the Portuguese beach, and some church members in Petaluma recommended it. We had no plans for swimming, just walking alongside the water and, as Daddy stated, “burying our toes in the sand.”

The day of our intended outing was rainy and slightly gloomy.  Not at all a swimsuit day.  More like a wear-the-warmest-jacket-that-you-brought-along day.

We parked on the edge of a cliff and got down to the beach by way of a rather steep trail.  Probably the first thing we saw was the lovely “welcome” sign.

It read something like this:

DANGER.

This is one of the most dangerous beaches in California.

Watch out for sleeper waves and do not turn your back on the ocean.

Nice.

We went down to the beach and took pictures, looked at the water, and examined the various cliff walls and “sort of caves” that we found.  I don’t know how many of us broke the “do not turn your back on the ocean” rule.

There was an interesting indention in part of the cliff wall, rather dangerously near the ocean.  Of course, we went to look at it anyway.

And that was when the sleeper wave struck.

So, as a result of breaking the “watch out for sleeper waves” rule, all nine of us again broke the “do not turn your back on the ocean” rule, as we attempted to escape the sleeper wave.

Except for the dog.

The dog went the opposite direction, towards the wave.  And I was on the other end of the leash.

My only thoughts were to get away from that wave and to get the dog to go with me.  (I was also thinking about a movie that had an aqua-phobic character in it.)

I freaked out and screamed, three times in a breath, about, for the dog to follow. “Jedi, come! Jedi, come! Jedi, COME!”

I seriously overreacted.  But, really, if you had a big wave after you and a 130-pound dog dragging you towards it, wouldn’t you freak out?  Totally.

Everything turned out fine, but we decided to go back to the van.

Instead of taking the normal path, we took another path that we found; a path of steep stairs, slippery with mud.  I waited for everyone else to go before bringing the dog up.

Why did I bother?

Once it was our turn, Jedi, omitting the stairs, ran straight up through the mud.  And I was right behind him.

I ran uphill through the mud.  Crazy days.

And right at the top of the path, I found a penny, heads up.  Too bad I didn’t find it before we went down to the beach.

That uphill mud trek, which my mother says was “just awesome,” will probably stay in my memory for a long time.

I am Super Hill-Trecker Girl.

Oh yeah.

We’ve been in California for almost two weeks now, for Daddy’s concerts, but at the moment we’re staying at my grandma’s house (not the carob ball grandma.)

Part of our family is sleeping in her house, while the other part sleeps in the trailer.  No, it isn’t lack of room, nor lack of forbearance, just the fact that some prefer the air conditioned house, while others prefer the trailer.

One of those nights, (last night, to be exact), a few of us were hanging out in the trailer, ready to go to bed.

I, however, had to feed the dog. (I actually should have few him four and a half hours ago, but I was making pizza.)

Being the procrastinator that I can be, and also avidly imaginative, I popped my mother a question from the deep depths of my extremely clever brain.

“Do you think saber tooth tigers would have a lisp when they roared?  You know, with those big teeth and all?”

The answer was rather obvious.  There is no “S” in a roar, but maybe when they snarled…

I finally headed out to feed the dog; in the dark and cold, and in my socks, being too lazy to put on my shoes, and also not exactly remembering where I had put them.  I came back only a little while later.

“The thing where the dog food is is locked.”

The “thing” was a sort of storage cupboard in the side of our trailer.

So, my mother gave me the keys.  None of us had any idea which key it was, as she told me.  This time, I got my jacket first.  Flinging it over my shoulder, I went out to feed the dog, before I stopped at the door, mentioning that perhaps I should put on my jacket.  (It will do me more good that way, I believe.)

It turned out to be the second key, but I can’t use keys.

I came back in again.

“I can’t use keys.  It won’t turn.  Jedi’s hasn’t been getting any exercise. He’ll be fine.  He could live off of his fat like a seal.”

So my mother, and Marissa, went to open the storage cupboard.  I followed them outside, since I needed to go back to the house for a few things.  Mommy was armed against the cold with an unzipped sleeping back, Marissa had a pair of shoes, and I was in my sock feet.  I did deer leaps across the wet lawn and went into the house.

When I came into the family room, where Daddy and Bean were watching TV, Daddy asked, “Did you feed the dog.”

“Mommy and Marissa are taking care of it.  I can’t get the thing opened.”

I went back to the trailer, where Mommy and Marissa were.

“We couldn’t get it open, either.”

“And I told Daddy that you were feeding the dog.  He asked me.  Jedi could live off of his fat like a seal.”

With all of us being too cold and lazy to go get Daddy, Mommy called him on the phone.

While they talked, I repeated my seal suggestion.

This time, Mommy said, over to phone, “Hannah says he could live off of his fat, like a seal.”

Finally, Daddy came into the trailer.  After a while, he said,

“He’ll be fine until tomorrow.”

“Yeah.  He can live off of his fat like a seal.”

Daddy also mentioned to me that I needed to clear off Bean’s bed, which I had been using for my computer work, from all the stuff I left there.  As he said, there were, “books spread all over the place.”

I half deer leaped, half wildcat ran across the wet lawn, in my socks and no jacket, to clear off the bed.

The “books spread all over the place,” turned out to be one book that I hadn’t left there.  This, I found funny.

I hopped back to the trailer, passing Daddy outside, and hoping he didn’t notice the fact that I only had socks on.  (They had holes in them already, anyway.)

“Books spread all over the place.” I said, with joking sarcasm, and I held up the one book.  Then my mind wandered elsewhere.  “Hey, you don’t have any shoes on, either!”

After that, we went to bed, with the exception of Marissa, who stayed up late watching Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, which she claimed was “educational” only because she was learning about pirates in American history.

I stayed up only long enough to watch the Hidalgo preview that came before.

Note: This post is not meant to scare you.  Please do not read if you do not have a sense of humor.  Please do read if you have no sense of caution.

Have you ever seen a zombie?  Well, there’s always a first time.

I was reading The Girls Book: How to Be the Best At Everything, and I read about how to cope if zombies attack.  I thought that was a good thing to know, so I’m here to tell you how to survive a zombie attack.

If you can know ahead of time about the attack, from the newspaper or the TV, then good for you.  You’ve got a head start. 

You’ll need to make preparations.  First, gather some supplies, such as food, water, blankets, and anything else you may need.  Then find a safe, sturdy building, close and lock the doors, and block them with anything heavy; furniture, boxes, etc.  Make sure you have an escape exit.

If all goes well, you’ll be safe in the building. 

If all doesn’t go well, you may need to get out.

If you have to get out, for whatever reason, wear bite-proof clothes.  In case you have to leave the safety fortress, you should know how to distinguish a zombie from a real, living human.  Zombie have ugly green skin and rather sunken eyes.  They’ll probably be stained with blood.

If they see you, run! 

Don’t bother attacking them.  Since they’re dead anyway, zombies are difficult to kill.  Even if you chop off their body parts, some limbs and stuff might keep moving. 

So, your best bet is to run.  If you can do that, and knock things over to get in their way, it’s doubtful that you’ll be caught, because zombies are slow and unintelligent. 

If a zombie does catch you, however, don’t let it bite you!  Once you’re bit by a zombie, you’ll start turning into one, too.

There’s no cure for that, I’m afraid.

After fighting with a zombie, and after the attack, check yourself carefully for bites.  You’ll probably know if you’re turning into a zombie.

If you can follow these directions, most likely you’ll be fine for any future zombie attacks.

My Daddy is a Christian contemporary musician.  It’s his job.  It’s the way we make our living.

Our whole family, including our 130-pound dog, go with him around the country for his concerts.  Marissa and I are his CD salesladies.

During our time on the road, we live in our tiny trailer, which, they say, sleeps nine.

Nights in our trailer, meaning when everyone is in bed and asleep, are comfortable.  But the daytime is a different story, because sleeping nine is and living nine are entirely different things.

Despite the small living space, however, and the homesickness that forever enters my soul, our trips are mostly fun.  We see new places and meet interesting people, and we get a lot of free food.

And Daddy says that if he can lead even one soul to Christ, then this whole crazy ride has been worth it.

Keep up with our travels at www.TheTravelBags.com.

On past Christmases, my grandma used to send our family a plate of Christmas cookies.  Among these cookies was a healthy treat called carob balls, which everyone loved.  They never lasted long. 

Well, none of the cookies did, really.

Grandma would often send us carob ball powder  for various other holidays, as well. (Valentines day, Easter, etc.) All we had to do was mix in the wet ingredients.

Once, a little while ago, I decided to whip up a batch of carob balls.  Then my ever-working-most-brilliantly brain had a thought; carob is a substitute for cocoa (though we could mostly tell the difference), so why not make cocoa balls?  I made the recipe again, making my normal changes, and substituting carob with cocoa powder. 

They tasted “all right,” in my opinion.  They were good, but not much different from carob balls.

“All right” wasn’t good enough.  They had to be “wow!”

So, for a trip to California, I made them that way.  (But I honestly can’t remember what I changed, or if I even did change anything.)

First, here is that much loved recipe for carob balls:

Carob Balls

1/2 cup of carob powder

1/2 cup of raw sunflower seeds, with the shell/husk (whatever it’s called) removed.

1/2 cup of unsweetened shredded coconut

1/2 cup of peanut butter

1/2 cup of raw honey

1/4 cup of flour, or soy flour.  I used coconut flour.

Some amount of flax seeds, which I can’t remember.  I changed it to a 1/4 cup, and I ground them.

Some unremembered amount of wheat germ, which I simply left out.

First, put the dry ingredients into a bowl and mix them together.  Then add the wet ingredients.  You can shape them into little balls, or be lazy and leave them looking like a big ole’ blob of cow pie.  They taste better refrigerated (everything does), but you can leave them out.

Now, for my cocoa balls:

Cocoa Balls

1/2 cup of peanut butter or sunflower seed butter.  I prefer the sunflower seed butter, because the peanut butter is so strong that it blocks out the cocoa taste, almost.  

1/2 cup of raw honey

1/2 cup of cocoa powder (happy dance)

1/2 cup of sunflower seeds, raw, shelled/husked, etc.

1/2 cup of shredded unsweetened coconut

1/4 cup, about, of ground flax seeds.  I pretty much grind up a handful and put them in.  It usually makes a scant 1/4 cup.

1/4 cup of coconut flour

Mix everything together in whatever order you want.  Then, either make them into balls or leave them, again, in a big ole’ blob that…you know.  They taste totally awesome refrigerated, but you can do whatever. 

Caution: Both of these recipes can be rather addicting, both to make and eat.

Enjoy these healthy, yet delicious recipes.  Again, I think I liked making these, and taste-testing, better than I liked eating the finished results.  That’s how I roll.

Today, during school, we had a poetry class, and a homework assignment afterwords.  The assignment was that we had to write a poem about the months, days of the week, seasons, or something like that.  Sequence poems, they were called.

I sat on the couch.  After one half-hearted try, I was discouraged, and complaining rather noticeably about how I couldn’t write that poem.

My mother told me that I could just put it off for a little while, to which I responded that I would never get to it that way. (Yes, I do procrastinate.)

Finally I whipped up a little something that took me less than five minutes.

The poem went like this:

Winter was so very cold

It made my hands look chapped and old.

Spring brought flowers and green trees,

And also sparked my allergies.

Summer brought a scorching heat.

A swimming pool could not be beat.

In autumn it was cool again,

And bears retired to their den.

Then came winter, chill and drear,

And so ended another year.

And that was my homework, besides a ridiculously easy science test (Did you know that the cap and stem are only a small portion of the mushroom?) and an art class.

It was fun enough, but I think I like writing poems for my stuffed animals better.

Sometimes I feel discouraged about Crohn’s.  I wonder what’ll happen to me.  I used to wonder if I could ever ride horses, or own a ranch.

It’s a comfort when I hear that people with Crohn’s have gone on to lead normal lives.  My dreams aren’t shattered.  In fact, they’re growing.

And even though Crohn’s is a huge pain sometimes, it was a really interesting, and sometimes exciting, experience, and some really great things have happened to me.

Because of Crohn’s, I met a wonderful girl, named Sarah, over email, who has Celiac disease.  We email each other, and it’s nice, because we can often understand each other’s pain. I also have three other nice girls writing letters to me.

Because of Crohn’s, I have a higher pain tolerance level.  I don’t think as much of a mild stomach ache, a blood test, or of any other ailment I’m sure to pick up.  I also have a really nice and encouraging doctor, who once said I was one of his best patients.

Also, because of Crohn’s, I fit into a pair of capris that were too small for me before.  The only problem is, all my jeans are too big.

And another benefit, I’ve grown to love inventing recipes for people on restricted diets.  In fact, almost any kind of food preparation gets me excited, whereas before, I enjoyed it, but took it for granted.

Having Crohn’s has also helped me conquer my sweet tooth. (Or my food tooth!) I rarely crave sweet things anymore.  In fact, I rarely crave anything.

Probably of the least amount of importance, because of Crohn’s, I got a lot of new books, and a new stuffed animal (I value my stuffed animals), an owl I called Olivia Hedwig. (Olivia after her stuffed brother, Oliver.  Hedwig after Harry Potter’s owl.)

Because of Crohn’s, I look forward to the smallest things, such as cooking and baking.  I also had the delight of seeing myself improve.  And I’ve learned to appreciate a lot of stuff that would seem unimportant to some people.

Also, I totally have a comeback when my sisters overreact about being hungry:

“You don’t know what starving is.  Try going to the hospital and eating nothing for a few days.  That’s starving.”

As opposed to my usual response:

“You aren’t starving.  You’re rather hungry.  How do you think the poor children in Morocco are feeling?”

People with Crohn’s have special names, too.  We’re called Crohnsies.  Cute.

Crohn’s is also a way of showing my faith.  Mommy said that when the nurses and doctors in the hospital saw me, a sick, but well-mannered girl, and with a bible sitting always on the table next to her, and a mother wearing a cross necklace, they would get the impression that Christians are nice people.

I have a lot to be thankful for, which was brought on by Crohn’s.

I’m very thankful that my family was here to support me.  My parents did everything for me when I was sick.

Rebecca was so sweet to me.  She would often play quietly with some dolls near my spot on the couch.  For a few months after I left the hospital, she wouldn’t allow me to leave the house without knowing where I was going, and she always had a hug for me when I left.

My sisters were very helpful.  I had been a hard worker before I got sick, and when I was indisposed, they completely took over, and cleaned the house.

My doctor was cheerful, and Sarah was sympathetic.

There were kind people, both relatives and strangers, who took the time to write and encourage me.  While I was in the hospital, my cousin, Cameron, sent me what was probably the nicest and most encouraging letter I ever received, as well as a picture of him with bananas on his head.

Then there was Jesus.  He was with me through the whole thing.  He allowed this trial to come for a reason, and then He healed me.

And I always remember that comforting verse’:

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for You are with me.“

The first few days at home were spent slowly cleaning my room.  I ate normally, though I was still restricted from everything that I had been during the winter.

Later, however, my mother started me on the GAPS diet.  I was basically living off of chicken, fish, eggs, squash, applesauce, and bananas.  I was also, not by my will, taking many different pills: Prednisone, Azathioprine, Lialda, Prilosec, and, when my pain was bad, Tylenal and another pain reliever.  I couldn’t eat any grains, any vegetables, or any other fruits.

There was so little that I could eat, and I became very resourceful.  I starting coming up with different ideas on how I could treats for myself.

I loved it when Mommy cut up butternut squash and baked it in the oven, making squash fries.  I also delighted in bananas, either by themselves, blended and frozen to make a banana ice cream sort of thing, or mashed with cinnamon and sometimes honey.

I had a huge appetite during that time, probably due to my lack of food in the hospital, so I ate a lot, but I was still losing weight.  I was too skinny, my mother said.

During my time  at home, I got a lot of letters from strangers, some sending gifts, some sending cards, and one sending a check with instructions to buy something I’d enjoy.

Everyone who sent me a letter or email was replied to, and I began to work on my schoolwork, both of which were rather tedious processes, since Prednisone made my hands shaky.  I was also writing online articles for my parents, and I tried to help with the chores.

I had a few blood tests, too, which I was pretty used to.  Every time I left for a blood test, Rebecca had to know where I was going.  She was scared that I would go back to the hospital again.

My grandma came to visit soon after I got out of the hospital, and after she left, about a week or two later, I began to feel sick again.

I had nausea and diarrhea with blood in it.  I was tired, I was sick, and my parents wanted me to eat a lot, to get my weight up, but the sick feeling turned me against eating.  This went on for the rest of May.

We had a few visits to the doctor in June, during one of which he said I should start eating bread products again.  The important thing right now, he said, was to get my weight up.

One Saturday, June 4th, I think, I spent the day on the couch, playing Wii with Marissa.  I had some real fun for the first time in a while, and Daddy secretly gave me a piece of bread with butter on it, even though butter was dairy.

I noticed that I seemed to feel better when I was just sitting and resting, and for a while after that, I pretty much sat on the couch, wearing a Snuggie and usually keeping one arm on my stomach, because both seemed to help sooth my pain.  I even slept on the couch.

I was weak, too weak to stand for very long, and tired, and in a lot of pain (sometimes in enough pain to make me cry), so I wasn’t required to do any chores or schoolwork.  My only orders were to rest, eat enough, and drink lots of water.

I was also allowed to play Wii and Xbox as much as I wanted, because, Daddy said, he would rather I was having fun than dwelling over my pain.  With the check I was sent, I got Lego Harry Potter, years 1-4.  It kept me amused for a long time, and also exasperated when I couldn’t figure out what to do in the game.

To help me consume enough calories, either the doctor or Daddy, one of them, put me on a drink called Ensure.  I was taking Ensure Plus, which had more calories than the original kind, and it was sort of like chocolate milk for me.  I had to drink two small bottles of it a day, and I enjoyed it.  Ensure tasted good, and it was nice to have a treat to look forward to in the day.

Elijah and Rebecca took pleasure in bringing and shaking my Ensures for me everyday, since I was weak and couldn’t walk around much.

Sometime in early June, I went to see a dietitian.  She put me back on dairy and my other allergens, but I was forbidden from fresh and frozen fruits and vegetables, chocolate, nuts, oats, and any other fibrous foods.  All I could have for fruits and veggies were bananas, canned fruits, potatoes, and canned green beans.  I was very excited when, later, I was allowed to eat some peeled cucumber.

Since I was allowed to eat sugar,  Daddy opened a jar of Jelly Belly jelly beans that Emily had won at the Spring Fling in April.  They gave me a bit of a stomach ache, but I didn’t tell anyone.

I had a lot of fun snitching four or five jelly beans when I found the jar sitting on the counter at 3:oo a.m..

Besides the trip to the dietitian, I took a lot of trips to see my doctor.  Since my doctor was an encouraging person, I enjoyed these trips.

The doctor said that I might need to take a sort of injection medicine if I didn’t get better.  But in order to take that medicine, I had to have, I think it was three, Tuberculosis tests. These tests were taken throughout the course of June.

For the Tuberculosis test, I had a needle (We’re old friends, the needle and I) poked into my arm, and it made a little bit of my skin bulge out like a bubble.  Ironically, I was never given the injection medicine, so it was really a waste of time.

Daddy took me to get my Tuberculosis tests, and once on the way home, we got some frozen yogurt.  Another time, my mother and sisters surprised us with cookies when we got home.

I had enough strength to take my usual weekly shower, but it exhausted me afterwords, as did many other, very simple things.  Once I was so tired after a large bowel movement that, even though I was planning on taking a shower, I took a nap first.

Later, in late June, Daddy decided that I should start trying to walk around a bit.  My parents got excited to see me walking a few laps outside with Rebecca, at the two-year-old’s speed.

The night of June 30th, my parents, with my okay, stayed on the couch watching Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.  I sort of watched it, but I was trying to fall asleep and I didn’t have my glasses on.

Near the end of the movie, I began to feel a terrible pain in my leg.  It was so bad, I was finding it almost difficult to breathe.  I finally fell asleep, but I woke up to it in the morning.  Mommy figured it was a side effect of Prednisone.

On July 4th, I was well enough to join my family outside at the firepit, roasting marshmallows for the fourth of July.  I liked being able to eat sugar again.

July 16th, 2011, was Rebecca’s 3rd birthday.  I was set on baking her a cake, and I was thrilled to feel well enough to do it.  Rebecca helped me (until she got tired of it) make a pink cake with pink frosting, which was actually yellow cake and cream cheese frosting with food coloring.  I still tired easily, and I was rather bummed that I wasn’t able to go to the store and buy her a present.  Around dinnertime, I began to feel sick again.  And I felt worse in the evening, after everyone but Daddy and Marissa, who were watching the first episode of Star Trek: The Enterprise, went to bed.

I was no longer playing video games all day, because I wasn’t as sick as before, and I was back in school.  I didn’t really enjoy not feeling well, but still having to do my schoolwork.

Since we didn’t take our usual three-week trip across the country to visit our relatives, partially because of my illness, Mommy decided to give us a two-week summer vacation.

On the day our vacation started, since Marissa and I had recently finished the first two Anne of Green Gables books, we had an Anne of Green Gables tea party sort of thing, where we had treats, watched the Anne of Green Gables movie, and forgot to drink tea until later that night.

During our summer vacation, I felt a little ill in the morning, then better in the afternoon, and not well at all in the evening.  It went on that way for pretty much the first half of August, 2011.

After our summer vacation, our aunt and uncle came to visit.  By that time, I was feeling pretty good.  I enjoyed it, not having felt completely normal since March.

I had stopped taking Ensure on Becca’s birthday, and I was up to a safe weight, though I was still under where I had been before the hospital. (I still am.)

By September, I was doing school, helping with chores, and exercising again.  Before the hospital, I was in the habit of walking outside everyday, and I got back into that habit, as well as a new habit of exercising inside. I was stronger and feeling well. I wasn’t eating as much, though.

From October to November, I became rather depressed and stressed, and I developed a fear of bathroom germs and an obsession for hand-washing.  Daddy said that OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) type behaviors often went hand in hand with different kinds of IBD, (Inflammatory Bowel Disease) such as Crohn’s.

Also in November, I was able to get myself completely off of Prednisone and Prilosec.  I had already gotten off of Lialda, so it was a thriller to take more drugs out.  Especially since Prednisone caused me to retain water, and gave me moon face and acne.

After Thanksgiving, my appetite lessened even more.

In December, my depression slowed a little.  I became a little happier, and more relaxed about germs, but my appetite wasn’t all that wild.

Ever since I got Crohn’s, I had started to appreciate and look forward to little things, and since the beginning of December, I had been looking forward to making White Chocolate Fudge.  It was nice to find things to look forward to.

I had thought it was hard to make Christmas foods without dairy, but it was even harder when I wasn’t able to have chocolate, fruit, or vegetables.

Christmas and my birthday went well.  In January, 2012, I was feeling pretty normal.  I saw my doctor again, and later he called us and said I was no longer restricted from any kind of food.  This was really weird for me, since I had been restricted since October, 2010.

It was weird for Rebecca, too, who apparently didn’t understand that I wasn’t restricted anymore.  Even today, she’ll watch me eat something and say, “Hannah, are you allowed to eat that?”

And I smile and say I am.

I was tired of wheat, though, so I restricted myself from it.  I didn’t eat any bread products for a long time, and when I did, it was a very little amount.

My appetite was doing strange things, too.  I would have different cravings.  First I was wild about cheese, after that, peanut butter (which I hadn’t had for almost two years) and, lastly, homemade granola.  Then my appetite began to fail.  Starting in mid or late January, I was eating almost nothing.  Mommy said that she wondered how I got through the day without passing out.

My hand washing problem was also becoming worse.

In February, I began to have a little bit of nausea.  One day, I even had some original Crohn’s pain.  It only lasted a day, though.

During a week-long trip to California, I had some more Crohn’s pain and nausea.  Though it wasn’t near as bad as it was in June, it still hurt.  But by the time we got back home in March, I felt better.

I had been in a walking competition that lasted from sometime in January to March 31st, 2012.  The goal was to average 10,000 steps every day, but when I found out I was in 1st place of all the children, and 4th place of everyone in the competition, I decided to go above and beyond the call of duty.  I wanted to reach 3rd place.

I didn’t reach 3rd, but considering that almost a year ago I could hardly walk 10 steps without feeling sick, I’ve come a long way.  Mommy said she was proud of me.  Now I walk 2 1/2 miles every morning, which is 5,000 steps.

I was planning on going on intro GAPS in March, but Daddy decided he didn’t like the idea after a day of it, so I went on full GAPS instead.  Intro GAPS is where you can only eat broths and boiled meats and vegetables.  On the full GAPS, I could eat almost everything, except grains and sugars, which I didn’t want anyway.

After a little while of full GAPS, constipation became a problem for me, and I started to have nausea.  I went back on a normal diet, still, for the most part, avoiding sugar and grains.

In April, 2012, constipation and nausea were still problems.  Now, almost every time I stand, I feel week and nauseous.  It’s most likely from lack of food, since I eat close to nothing everyday.  Today, I almost passed out.

That’s the story of my medical journey, from it’s beginning, in May, 2010, to now, April 12th, 2012.

And I’m still alive.

At about 3:00 a.m., April, 2011 (the day after we got home, though I’m not sure which), I woke up again with terrible pain.  I went to the family room, where I almost fell onto the couch.  I finally fell asleep.

When I woke up, I had probably some of the worst pain of my life.  I felt so horrible, and so weak, that I had to lie down on the bathroom floor on my way to and from going to the bathroom.

I was scared, very scared, and I wondered for a moment if I was going to die.

After a little while, my mother called the hospital again, because I obviously wasn’t ready to leave it.  I was assured that I was going back to the hospital soon, and I finally fell asleep on the couch again.

After my nap, I felt a little better, and Daddy was ready to take me to the hospital.  I got comfortable in his truck, and fell asleep again.

I was only slightly embarrassed to be in public in my pajamas and unbrushed hair.

When the nurse was ready for me, I had my blood pressure taken.  That was when I thought I would faint.  I got dizzy, and my sight was blurred.  I began to breathe rapidly, and finally, I was taken into a room where I could lie down.

Then I had yet another IV needle stuck in my hand, and I put on yet another hospital gown.

Strangely enough, when I was brought to my hospital room, it was the same room I had been in before.

I was put on a completely liquid diet.  Every meal they brought me consisted of MSG-laden broth, jello, a popsicle, which was basically frozen corn syrup, and some juice. Every day, I drank my juice, and ate a little bit of the jello and popsicle, but it was mostly disgusting to me.  I couldn’t stand the broth, the popsicles, or, for the most part, the jello.

(I had water, too, of course.  Some of that awesome hospital water.  The hospital uses ice that keeps the water cold almost all day, and it makes the water delightful.)

Living on almost nothing, my stomach was almost always growling.  Those first few days, a lot of my time was spent thinking about real food.  Much of my other time was either spent reading, sleeping, and watching Harry Potter.

Daddy stayed with me those first few days, with my family coming to visit.

During one of those visits, Daddy brought me some Italian ice cups that I was allowed to eat.  I liked them, and actually ate them.  My parents got excited if I ate half of one.

During another visit, my mother brought me Ole’ Red, the laptop, and I spent a lot of time emailing relatives and nice people, mostly strangers, who had shown concern over my illness, and a lot more time playing online games.

(Through the emailing, I met a new friend named Sarah, who suffers from Celiac disease.  It was nice to talk to someone who understood the pain I was going through.)

Then, on Wednesday, May 4th, my mother came to stay with me.  During her stay, she decorated my room with horse posters, and organized my gifts and cards on the shelf.  It made my room much homier.

That same Wednesday, they did another colonoscopy on me, and an endoscopy.

I was wheeled into a room, my jewelry was removed, and another oxygen mask was placed over my mouth.  The doctors began to pump medicine into my IV, which was falling out of my hand.  I had the feeling that the doctors felt they didn’t need to explain what they were doing, because I had been through this once before.  It wasn’t at all pleasant.

The the sleeping medicine was pumped into my hand, I felt a great wave of pain in my hand.  I also thought I saw a sudden flow of something white spray out of my IV.  That was my imagination, I think.

When I woke up, my throat was sore, because of the endoscopy, and my legs were numb.  I was tired and in pain, and I couldn’t open my eyes.  I was scared again.

As a result, I began to groan.

Unfortunately, the nurse who was nearby after my colonoscopy and endoscopy was one of those nurses.  She looked at me and said, in a tone that I would not call friendly, “Why are you groaning?”

I held no fond feelings for her afterwords.  My thought, when I could comprehend enough to think, was, and no disrespect intended, “I am a child, I’m in pain, I can’t feel my legs.  My throat is sore, I have to go to the bathroom, and I don’t know where my mother is.  Why do you think I’m groaning?”

That very day, Wednesday, May 4th, 2o11, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease.  I thought nothing of it at the moment.

Wednesday night, in my hospital room, I was given some real, solid food.  I was feeling sick, and the food was not very good, so I pretty much just picked at it.

The hospital served me solid food for the rest of my stay there.  Thursday (May 5th), the food still wasn’t very good, but on Friday, May 6th, it began to improve, and so did my appetite.

That Friday, my IV needle was taken out for a little while, and I was able to take a shower.  I felt wonderful to be free from my IV.  The shower wore me out, but it felt good to be clean.

The weekend was easier than the rest of my hospital time.  I had many different nurses, most of them nice, one or two of them grumpy.  One nurse constantly marveled over my long hair.

Much of my time was spent sleeping, other time spent on the computer, reading, and chatting with my mother.  When I wasn’t in pain, I enjoyed it.

My mother still stayed with me overnight, and most of the day.  She would usually leave to eat dinner at the nearby Ronald McDonald House, which was where my family was boarding.  The others didn’t come to visit me as often, because Daddy didn’t want the children of the family to get sick.

There were a few annoying sides to my hospital stay.  I was constantly woken up at, say, 3:00 a.m. for blood tests.  (I had so many needles poked into my hand during that time that I began to think nothing of it.)

My IV, which my mother and I named PIB (Pain In the Butt) often began to beep, sometimes at night, sometimes in the day, and it seemed like the nurses took forever to come and fix it.  It was also quite a pain to get it into the bathroom; Mommy had to help me.  Another machine, called ALF (Annoying Little Friend) would beep a lot, too.

Doctors came to see me almost every day, and I started getting used to them pressing on my stomach.

Once, Mommy and I were awaiting a long expected visit from a  doctor.  My mother got up to go to the bathroom, which would take less than five minutes.

And then the doctor came in.  While she was gone.

Since Mommy would be needed during the doctor’s visit, so that she could discuss medicine and stuff with him, the doctor left again, despite my mentions that Mommy would be back very soon.

Mommy found it rather annoying.

I found it rather funny.

Saturday, May 7th, 2011, Mommy and I watched the Kentucky Derby on the little TV in my room.  Since we were so often visited by nurses, my mother wrote a note to anyone who might come in and interrupt.

The note goes as follows:

Horse lover inside. Come back after the Kentucky Derby, unless you are a doctor or have food.

The Kentucky Derby, which lasted about five minutes and did not quite exceed my expectations, went on undisturbed.

 On Sunday, May 8th, 2011 (Mother’s Day), the doctors said I might be able to go home.  And that evening, I was allowed to leave.

I was a little nervous.  I had been in the hospital for about a week, and I wasn’t sure how I would take to life at home.  Lack of food and exercise caused me to lose weight, and I was rather skinny.  I left the hospital in my younger sister’s jeans.

Instead of going straight home, Mommy and I went to the Ronald McDonald house.  The Ronald McDonald house allowed families to stay in their rooms while they had family members in the hospital.  Paying to stay was highly appreciated, but not recommended.  Inside, it was like a big home.  There was a kitchen, a dining room, family rooms, and bedrooms.  There were movies and toys to amuse children who were staying, and there was a backyard with a play-place, rather like you’d see in a McDonald’s restaurant.  The manager was a sweet old lady, who was very friendly and very nice.

After picking up our family (Rebecca, my shadow, aged two at the time, rejoiced to see me), we started home, where our dog, Jedi, also rejoiced.

By the time we got there, it was dark.  I was feeling mostly fine, but I didn’t have any muscle, which made it hard to climb my bunk bed. 

I slept on the couch.