anesthesia and cliches.

Time heals all wounds. I never say this cliche. It's a lie. One of those statements that place an unnecessary amount of pressure on someone who is grieving.
And in grieving I mean, a broken heart, a gut-wrenching pain that you can't explain. A hard core kick in the stomach that leaves you speechless but an ability to cry at the drop of a hat. And yes, I am talking out of my experiences.
A friend who died of a brain tumor; another one lost a brother to cancer; a classmate who was involved in a freak accident and as a result is now unable to walk as over 90% of his body suffered third degree burns; a boyfriend that was suppose to be forever, ended the relationship; a mom diagnosed with breast cancer; a couple loses their 2nd child because she fell 2 weeks before her due date; and just yesterday, I attended a memorial service for a friend that I knew since 7th grade. He committed suicide. He was only 38.
FA? Really?
So, yea, I don't say time heal all wounds. Because when you're the one doing the grieving, time feels like your enemy. I would love to "pause" the happy times and simply press "fast forward" during the times that hurt like crazy.

Time does help move you toward a new normal, though. This is the case with my snoz. Time did foster the healing. I am on the other side of the surgery. Yep, I was right, the crack I heard required surgery. And today, I was able to sneeze and not feel like I would pass out from the pain.
I am able to laugh as I go through the photos and even take pride in one of my mantras-this, too, shall pass- and it did.

I was a little baffled when this photo, along with MANY others, showed up on my camera. "Mom, why did you take all these? I look ridiculous!" My sweet mom replied, "You kept asking me to take photos." I have absolutely no memory of this. It's a good thing that I have proof that I did get dressed before I left the hospital. Some of the photos show me that one of my sisters stopped in. And that night my other sister and her family brought over Chinese to celebrate my dads 72nd birthday. Otherwise, I would not have believed it. Those were some good drugs.


It's true, my nose healed but the urgency to find a cure for Freidriech's Ataxia remains. There are times that I do so desperately wish I could press the fast forward button and skip the pain this disability brings but then I would miss the times I want to press pause to inhale the joy...just like the anesthesia.

He chose me.

First things first. I'm still here. And I still have Friedreich's Ataxia. FA took the back burner these past few months- and I LOVED every minute of it. This past weekend, it got sick of being ignored and made its presence known. FA is still here. And still very much despised.

I had the honor of directing a play for a local high school. Another thing to scratch off my bucket list. Believe me, I was in over my head from the moment I agreed to the job but as with absolutely everything in my life, God provided over and over. I wish I had the time during the grueling time up to the production, to brag on Him for His faithfulness. He was there. Big time. And it was a blast to be a part of it. I still can't believe He chose me. The students certainly made me proud, I hope I made Him proud.

And yes, whether I like it or not, He chose me for this dumb disability. After a couple of weeks of trying to recover from my obsession with this show, I fell. Hard. In my bathroom. And broke my nose. I think. I heard it crack.

My friend who was waiting for me didn't realize she was waiting to accompany me to the ER that evening. Three hours later and four stitches on the snoz, I was sent home to wait for 5-7 days for the ENT to determine surgery. I think the surgery part is inevitable. Did I mention that I heard it crack?

So instead of my new favorite appetizer plate at New Holland Brewery, we settled for Chinese take out on the way home while picking up my prescriptions and the movie, 127 hours. Which help put my pain in perspective, I might add.

As my friend helped me back in my chair and wiped the blood she said, "I don't know how you do this, Holly."

He chose me. I have to remind myself. That doesn't mean I like it. Or even understand it. I hate it and don't get it. But thankfully what I do love and overwhelmingly comprehend is that He chose me and therefore provides friends who pick me back up and wipe up the blood.

Earlier that day, Mary Jo and I spontaneously found "Terratrikes" in Kentwood that I have been researching and dreaming about when I think about riding a trike. It was a riot. And a complete success of a trip. I found the trike I want. With the smell of Spring in the air, I amready to build my leg muscles. And I can even do that with a broken snoz.

FA is relentless. I found out Saturday night when I slipped and cracked my forehead open. With a broken nose. Seriously?! Thanks to my sister who came over and cleaned the "crime scene" and victim up and spent the night, FA is finding its place again. On the back burner. This chic says, bring it on. I ain't going down with out a fight.

But at least wait until my nose is healed and the lightening bolt on my forehead closes up...

In the meantime, I wait. I wait for a cure for FA.

The swelling to go down.

The black and blue bruising to begin.

And I won't give up.

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up" Galatians 6:9