And this happened...

When I was a young girl, I grew up listening to the loud rain drops fall on the roof of my parents house.  The strong thunder storms that New Mexico was known for brought relief to me in so many ways.  I was a runner from my very early teen days.  Running in the desert required pure will and conditioned strength.  I remember sinking my feet into the soft sand and feeling like all of the energy I was using in my tired little quads and my huge muscular calves was sinking into the sand as it absorbed my force.  It never seemed to rain those large soothing drops of relief when I was running, however.  And when the trail was the steepest, the sun seemed to shine so intensely that I found myself praying for the shade of a tree, or better yet, the end of the course.

There was a difference in the types of running I engaged in.  I started off as a sprinter-- those races were hard but fun.  I found that the adrenaline within me was intense, but it dissipated with a short forceful effort on the track.  As I grew older, I began to develop a desire to tackle the things that were the hardest--the longer distances.  Now, I was trained to run fast--and through the long distances you really have no choice, you must pace yourself if you are going to finish.  It took a lot of time, but with that time, I used my energy to learn how to pace conserve energy; those techniques carried me into my adult years where I combined the fast pace with the longer distances, and I became pretty darn good--for the time that God allowed me to have the health and strength to run.  Now, I am learning, the marathon seems to be one that is counted as a win even if I walk, and even too, if I crawl.  

Those years of running taught me that even though it was hard, there would be an end to the cold winter mornings when ice froze on my eyelashes so I could complete my 13 mile run.  I also found that no matter how long the hill was, if I continued moving, I ended up on the top--and sure enough the descent always felt so good after that long laboring climb.  One of my strongest lessons learned was that the long runs were more bearable with company--someone willing to run with me through the cold, the heat, the climbs, and the unexpected injuries.  Goodness, I even once injured myself so bad that my sister took off her strong supportive shoes and had me wear them through the end of our run; you can say I was a fool for trying to wear brand new zero drop shoes for a 19 mile course.

For the past 4 years, the trail has been long, full of climbs, and hot--so very hot.

On Sunday, I came home from working a night shift as a nurse.  I was tired, but no more tired than I had been on prior Sundays after my Saturday stretch.  I had just been treated by an out of network physician on Friday evening for the respiratory infection that I had been suffering with for over a month.  The physician was shocked that I was ignored with my repeated efforts with my primary care professionals--I was very tight through my lungs on her assessment, with bronchitis that was quickly turning towards pneumonia.  I wasn't surprised based on how I was feeling, but as I left the urgent care that night, I drove me and my sister to the pharmacy to get my medications and I just broke.  Finally, after being strong all month in this fight for my health, and after hundreds of dollars in copays, I was able to say that my diligence in demanding treatment was paying off.  It is a shame my illness turned bad so quickly, but it did.  I cried in gratitude, sorrow, and even relief  that evening because my little sister who cared about me enough to urge me to go get help with her, as I had exhausted my efforts in trying to care for myself through the course of the day, was there to pull me up this hill.  Saturday came with no rest prior to my night shift, but I had done this hundreds of times before...and a night without sleep has become my norm, so I kinda just rolled with the punches and told myself..."you can sleep Sunday afternoon!"  Only, I didn't quite make it to Sunday afternoon.  Odd enough, I knew on Sunday morning that Sunday afternoon was going to be a mere hope.

When I got home from work, I felt fine.  I finished getting the children ready for church and while my husband showered, I got myself ready.  Once we were all dressed--with curls in all the girls hair, and matching bow ties on the brothers to compliment the ladies--we headed out.  I contemplated staying home, because I was pushing myself too hard, but the norm in my life is a push that is a bit too strenuous.  I hopped in the car, giggled at how hard it was to put makeup on with the summer being a very makeup free one so far, and looked at the tired eyes that were so desperate for sleep.  Within moments, we were at church.  

I walked into the  church with my little girls.  About halfway to the church doorway, I felt something in my body switch...like a light had been turned off, a circuit cut, or a resource taken.  I remember telling myself to keep walking...don't stop and look back, just keep walking and go sit down as fast as you can.  I did, and as I sat I breathed in deeply while feeling my body wax and wane with exhaustion--such that I had never before experienced.  I knew something was wrong because I had stayed up for three days straight in the past with no more than an hour nap on each day to push me through a full night shift work week while I cared for my children during the day...and I had never before felt such fatigue and inhibition.  I focused on my little Maya instead of using my energy to do anything else.  She laid her head on my lap, smiled with her big gorgeous eyes, tossed her legs in the air, revealing her panties, and I used all of my strength to slowly pull her skirt over her knees, reminding her to be a lady.  She giggled, and I closed my eyes occasionally, trying to calm the storm I could feel approaching.  I opened my eyes in time to see the sacrament bread tray approaching, held it firmly for my Maya to take some of the sacred bread, and passed it back.  Once the water tray came around, I was too weak to support that load, and I motioned for my husband to extend it a little further to reach Maya.  He was confused, but without me explaining any more than I already did through my silence, he pushed it forward another inch, and she partook of the water as well.  

The sacrament meeting was beautiful, as the youth and leaders who had been at Trek were bearing their testimonies and telling stories about the long hard journey they took, walking in place of the pioneers long ago--pulling carts, camping in the cold rain, wearing the same dirty clothes time and again, and cheering each other on as they walked in memory of what the pioneers who walked before us fought for--their freedoms, their God, their eternal lives.  A special hymn was played by one of my good friends--and it just so happens to be one of my favorite hymns.  It is called "Come Come Ye Saints".  The hymn is about the long and hard journey made by the pioneers, the angst and the fear they must have faced, but the fact that there was a place prepared for them to come to, and regardless of how hard the journey was, whether they wold die before it's end and find themselves wrapped in God's arms or see it out to that literal land prepared for their temporal existence, it would be good--it would be well.  My favorite verse to the song is this:  "And should we die, before our journey's through, happy day, all is well. We then are free from toil and sorrow too, with the just we shall dwell.  But if our lives are spared again, to see the saints, their rest obtain, Oh how we'll make this chorus swell, All is well...All is well!"  From the time that I lost my third born son like a thief in the night, and I had been singing this hymn with my boys day after day--teaching them every verse with a picture flip chart--prior to his sudden death; from that time when he was taken, this hymn naturally became an all time favorite for me.  He died before my journey was through, escaping the toil and sorrow I surely had to walk--but as the hymn says, "all is well, all is well."  When the soul stirring rendition of this was played on the piano, I looked down as tears filled my eyes and thanked God for giving me such sweet peace...because in that moment, I began to feel my life slip away, and surely in such times...those who have gone before us are there to either greet us or comfort us within a deep dark valley.  All I needed to know in that moment was that the events were known to God, because when things unfold in God's omnipotent plan, they are right and indeed, well.

I looked up at Maya with tears in my eyes and mouthed the words, "I love you" to her.  I didn't have the energy to even speak much by then, so I slowly turned to my other children, and with them having no knowledge of the storm that was rising inside of me physiologically, I told them each...by simply moving my lips, "I love you".  I couldn't get the attention of my oldest son at the time...he was sitting at the end of the pew.  My heart broke, but I knew that it would be okay...I didn't know how, but I knew that even doing all that I could, somehow God would help me through to know that it would be okay.  I continued to look at each child that looked my way and mouthed, "I love you" with a tired grin, because if they were to hear anything from me now, and this were to truly be my last few moments, I wanted that to be it--"I LOVE YOU!"  I wanted my children to know, above all, that I loved them to the very end.  

My heart began to race, I looked down at my fingers, saw that they were turning blue, found that minutes were turning into long moments of suffering while I sat, unable to express what was happening, tried to grab some cash out of my wallet to place into a tithing envelope, but sure enough, that was too hard for my tired and weary body.  I pushed with all of my might to move my hands, but they inched forward in slow motion, as though I was pushing up against an unseen force.  I grabbed, with all the energy of my soul, the bills in my wallet, but they fell from my pinch because I couldn't force hard enough for them to stay within my grasp.  I recall my husband watching my movements, but he didn't recognize the difficulty with which I was moving as anything critical; it was about this time that I stopped moving, I stopped everything but the basics--breathing and existing. My husband even asked if he should take me home, to which I whispered, "I can't be alone."  My purse went down to the floor, my hands fell to my side as though they were cement, Maya looked up at my hanging head and said, "Your eyes look so weird...they are big and black with a little bit of green around them."  Being a nurse in this predicament is rather interesting...and hard...I knew based on my blue finger tips, her assessment of my eyes, my racing heart, and the flaccid limbs hanging beside me, that the adrenaline "flight or fight" response had kicked in, and my body was fighting for something--though I couldn't say it myself, because I was too lethargic to do so. I knew my body was now shunting blood away from my extremities and only supporting my vital organs so I could fight for life.  The beauty of this all is that I didn't do any of this myself, I honestly remember allowing my body to give in to the physiologic process, as my head bobbed up and down...my head becoming far too heavy to support as my body succumbed to weakness and survival.

As the closing prayer was said, Steve looked back at me, confused by my presentation, and asked what I was doing...he asked what was wrong.  I looked at him in desperation, unable to use my voice, and tears filled my eyes as my spirit was screaming inside of a fading body "I can't go on...I can't move...I need help".  My breathing had become shallow and rapid, I managed to whisper that I couldn't breath, and within moments, my head officially gave in to the fatigue, dizziness, and weakness I was feeling as I began to collapse over in his arms.  Steve held my head slightly and told me to stay with him as he screamed for someone to get Brother Holmes, a trauma nurse in our ward.  I knew Brother Holmes very well, and when I heard Steve call for him, my heart filled with a sense of peace--I knew I would be in good hands if Henry Holmes was at my side...fighting with me.  My children were gathered around me, I recall seeing people in front of me looking on in confusion, and the common reaction was a stare of disbelief...no one knew what to do, or if it was even critical or real.  I was aware of most everything around me, though each moment felt like I was drifting further from the voices and reality I was still hearing,   My body was working so hard to maintain life--and at this time I looked and felt that I was fading rather quickly.  I felt Henry assess me once he arrived...and from my nursing knowledge, I knew exactly what he was looking for.  He touched my hands to check my capillary refill, he placed his finger tips on my wrists to palpate my radial pulses--my heart was racing, my hands according to him were cold and clammy, and I could hear his pleas of, "Stay with me Crystal, stay with me".  While Steve communicated in fear with a 9-1-1 dispatcher, Henry held my head up comfortably in his arms, adjusted my jaw in a position to make it easier to breath and coached me to slow my breathing, asked me if I knew where I was, and calmly reminded me to stay there, over and over, while encouraging me to hold on.  In those last few moments that I was able to maintain my vitals sitting up, I recall trying to let Henry know I was hearing him clearly, though all I could do was blink my eyes against the heaviness which seemed to glue them shut.  The longer my body was held in an upright position, the more I felt the world start to spin around me; I let out a few desperate moans, and as Steve and Henry both assessed my pupils--finding them fixed and dilated--and felt my hands becoming more clammy, they both agreed to lay me down. It was at this time that they would begin to realize the full effects of my predicament.  What my husband thought was a mere panic attack, and I knew within was not, was presenting itself in it's critical nature...and I was losing my connection with the world.  They encouraged me to lay down, to assist them, but to my great sorrow and fear, I was paralyzed from head to toe.  As they lowered my upper body to the right of the pew, my arms flopped to the side like a flaccid rag doll.  Again, they encouraged me to help lift my legs up, but my mind told them from deep within my body of heavy cement, that I was unable to move even a centimeter.  What started off as a frame of flesh and bones which I could move from here to there that morning had now turned into a prison that held all of my feelings, explanations, pleadings, and deep anguish of soul, silent--kept from any mortal ear.  Henry positioned me on my right side with my arms crossed over my torso--all I wanted to do was say "thank you" because my breathing became so much easier though my body was unmovable.

From behind me, I heard a little voice--a woman--ask where Justin is; Justin is my current Bishop, Bishop Sego.  I felt a tear drift from the corner of my closed eyes as I had just been pleading for someone to find my Bishop.  Uncertain of whether he came or not, I recall Henry anointing my head with oil and then Steve giving me a priesthood blessing.  I only recall hearing the words, "You will be at peace."  To the few people looking on, I was unresponsive, and I truly was unable to interact with the world.  My husband said he literally saw the life leaving my eyes...and I can say that I felt like my body was only a case in which I was trapped in, and I waited to either be released from it...or to make a turn for the better.  Though I felt myself come in and out of the situation, I was unable to tell them I was still there, hearing their words, waiting for the EMT's right along side of them, and praying I would somehow turn around and stop this gradual decline into what I felt was death approaching.

Within moments, I found that the paramedics had arrived and were struggling to get in and do an assessment on me.  I felt chaos all around me and was confused as to why the basic assessment that Henry had performed wasn't being done quickly by the first responders.  They asked me if I was awake, if I knew who and where I was.  My entire body was paralyzed in full--even my tongue dropped to the back of my throat as I laid, feeling as though I was nearing death, but knowing all would be well.  Soon enough, I was lifted, awkwardly so, onto a stretcher, and they started to wheel me out of the building.  My heart ached to see my children one last time, but my eyes were shut. and my body was merely a solid unmovable mass.  As my body was rolled through the doors, that same beautiful voice that questioned where my Bishop was, told me without doubt through her faithful tones, "Crystal, hang in there sweetie," as if she knew I would be just fine.  She, of course, knew I was unresponsive and had relayed that information on to her daughter...a very good friend of mine...and that good Friend, Cara, took my children under her wing to offer them comfort and as much normalcy as she could.  She even had her husband, Todd, and a previous near and dear Bishop of mine, Bishop Casey Ahner, give my children priesthood blessings of comfort.  Even at this moment, I have found such solace in the knowledge that my children were treated in the nurturing care I would expect a loving caregiver to offer in such a time as this...when their mother is fighting for her life.  Even now, I can see that some of the most dear people to me were there waiting for the Lord to use them as beacons of light for my family in crisis.  I am coming to know, even more so, that we are all intertwined in a complicated order for one purpose alone--to love and bring each other back to our Father in Heaven.  When I saw the faces of my old Bishop, Bishop Ahner, and my current Bishop, Bishop Sego, up on the stand together through the meeting, my heart felt a sense of peace that I cannot give myself....the Lord gave me peace through the people I have come to know and love deeply.  It is rare that President Ahner is assigned to our ward, but on this Sunday, of all, he was there.

The warm sun, upon exiting the building, gave me such comfort.  My body laid helpless, but my skin felt the warmth of the summer sun, on the longest day of the year, the summer solstice,  Even in my debilitated state, as my body felt heavier than ever, I cried within, through the voice of my spirit, "Thank you God, thank you for the warm sun shining down on me, taking the brisk cold away so suddenly."

Once inside of the ambulance, I recall feeling the dizziness come and go, I heard the monitor start to beep, and I felt the EMT's tie tourniquets around every limb, stick sharp needles into me as I screamed in agony inside...still only able to shed tears from the corners of my eyes, and hear them call out their findings, "Not able to get IV access, she is clamped down. we can't find anything."  They were fast yet panicked in their attempts to assure my life, but in dealing with their equipment, I felt the ambulance go over several bumps and my flaccid rag doll body flung over the 

gurney--and I laid there, unable to move my torso which hung limp off the side of the gurney, feeling sharp pains enter into my neck and spine.  Moments later, they saw what had happened and re-positioned me, only for the same predicament to occur as they became distracted with teaching a novice medic and troubleshooting equipment.  The second time I hung off the gurney, I was able to open my eyes again...and as I hung there, I stared at the wall of the ambulance, wondering how long I would lay there before the Lord created a heaviness in my breathing which I could no longer push against--it was already feeling as though my breathing was slowing and my muscles were inhibiting  the full expansion of my lungs.  I laid with my torso awkwardly flung off for a long while and allowed the tears to fall endlessly--it was all I could do to show them that I was there, feeling and experiencing it all. In those tears of helplessness, I prayed, "Lord help me fight...help me fight so I can raise my babies.  They need me Lord, give me time to raise them to Thee.  I couldn't tell Connor I love him, please let me live for them.  Father, tell Sara, tell her what's happening, let her know."  (Sara is my twin sister who lives in PA.  She had been up all night on Saturday into Sunday as I worked my shift--she had been texting me and checking in occasionally.  I later came to find that she had been receiving warnings, she was given glimpses of the tragedy about to come.  She had even come across reading material that mimicked what I was experiencing, and it wasn't until she heard my story that she realized how the Lord had led her to understand my circumstances even prior to their fateful presentation.)  I hung from the gurney--staring straight ahead, between the space that occupied a seemingly void gap between the paramedics and me.  I could see more though, and I could feel that if the Lord desired, He would allow me to see, in full, that the space which appears void of material to our naked eye, is indeed full of beauty that we simply cannot behold quite yet. The fine matter I saw was similar to a prior experience, but in broad day light, I felt the material was more royal and golden than I had ever known or seen prior.  I peacefully called out in prayer, "Are you there?  Baby Shane...are you really there?"  The element I was staring upon faded into the nothingness we call air, and as the EMT's pulled me back up on to the gurney, they saw my eyes open, exclaimed, "Hey, there you are!" but added to the driver that my pupils were fixed and dilated.  To my great pleasure, they continued striving to talk to me--and I give them all the credit for being so quick to find a method of communication that worked for us; one EMT, the one who said they were gonna have to get a little close and personal as they placed the electrodes on my chest for monitoring, started right into telling me to blink once for a yes and twice for a no.  I honestly forgot how many time a yes was verses a no, and found myself confused...with the only way I could use my inner voice...and confusing them. (Note to self: explain the communication method over and over when you are trying to speak with someone who cannot speak!!!)  Within moments, I was being wheeled in the hospital..and once again, I felt a haziness that kept me from seeing my surroundings, but I heard voices speak about my presentation.

After what felt like an eternity, the medical professionals finally rolled the gurney I was on into another room, transferred me onto a bed, and then walked out.  I laid there, wondering how this could be happening.  I was paralyzed, unable to move an inch of my body except for my eyelids, and I was alone in a room as Steve demanded doctors come in and assess me--help me.  I stared at the ceiling and wondered why I was here, wondered why I was being kept alive to be ignored, wondering how an empty room could determine why I was paralyzed.  The tears came out of the corner of my eyes faster than before, and for the first time in this experience, I felt like I was being treated unethically.  I had just spent several hours, paralyzed, feeling the adrenaline shunt blood and keep my vital organs stable, and now, I was alone, afraid, and asking God why I was being ignored.  I had  been ignored for years regarding my decline in health with monthly doctors visits, and now...as I was fighting to live...I was alone and feeling more isolated from the true help I felt I was deserving of.

As I laid there, it appeared that none of the health care workers knew I was even able to hear and understand everything that was happening all around me...but I did.  I saw their faces skeptically look at me, and I felt them look at my vitals on the screen which were relatively stable--showing signs of an adrenaline response, but stable. They visually scanned my body--without touching an inch of it, and walked out of the room.  While Steve saw my tongue plastered to the back of my throat, he brought it to their attention, got the suction yonker out, and began to suction the secretions out of my airway that I was unable to swallow, told the healthcare team about it, and they quickly looked, but that was about it.  It was about this time that I began to feel like I was being treated like a psych patient.  I felt as though I was ignored to the extreme of being someone who was faking the impossible process of being paralyzed.  Steve explained to them that I have had a number of health problems over the years, and that all the doctors had ignored me, and this too felt the same way...and he demanded to know why they too were ignoring me.   My neck was hyper-extended, my tongue was killing the ease of breathing (yes the jaw thrust is truly life saving, in case any of my fellow healthcare providers want to know), and the secretions from my respiratory infection drizzled down my throat while I laid in shock.

From about 10 am to 1pm, I maintained a full paralysis that was confusing in nature to the doctors.  They drew blood, but from their own mouths, they expected it to come back normal.  My little sister and brother in law entered the room as the confusion regarding my presentation continued.  Santana was able to look at me and see that nothing was fake, I was indeed suffering.  Tears rolled down her face as she immediately came to the bedside and kissed my forehead.  Gabe, my brother in law, looked on with confusion as well and tried to use his energy and resources to calm the unsettled soul of my husband who was furious with the healthcare staff.  Deep inside. I wanted to give it all up and just call it quits--the stress of knowing what was happening and not being able to use my voice to explain the predicament was excruciating.  The doctors and Steve talked together--and I laid there wishing they would turn toward me instead of having their backs towards the only thing I could validate their thoughts and feelings with, my eyes.  At one point, the well versed and knowledgeable doc said "neurological", and I blinked as hard and vigorously as I could--they saw it, but even with my validation, they left.

While they stood in the hall with my husband, I could hear the staff workers tell him that sometimes the mind believes there is such a threat, when there really isn't, and it causes the body to react in a certain way.  They had basically, in that moment, given me cause to feel that my instinct of their thoughts was right--to them, I was "psyching" out.

It felt like hours, but in honesty it was maybe another full hour of paralysis, and then I started to feel the efforts I was making to move my fingers and toes pay off.  I wiggled my  jaw from the position is was locked in, stretched out my aching hands, and little by little, I felt a weak control come back to me.  From the distal portion of my body, the fingers and toes, on up, I was able to weakly coordinate a sloth-like motion.  I spoke for the first time and told whoever would hear me that I was paralyzed...that I was still very weak and couldn't yet move my head or neck, but I was truly paralyzed.  An intern asked me to move my head as much as I could, the attending asked me to blink my eyes as fast as I could, and in those moments, I felt their judgments fall on me.  When you work in healthcare and there is no solid evidence of a physiological issue, you can sense the skepticism in the room, and my room was full of it.  Their "interesting" turned into them leaving the room and removing any concern in finding the primary cause.  My mom was there by this time, and I was told by the student, "The mind and body are very hard to study.  We know they play out together and there is truly a way in which they are connected, but there just isn't enough study to determine why the mind and body react like they do."  I had told them very clearly that I was paralyzed, and even though I felt an apathy course through my body because of their unbelief, I remained firm in my knowledge that something was wrong, and I needed help.  I even told them that I needed fluids, and to get some started, because of how weak I was feeling.

After a few bags of normal saline, they allowed me to attempt to get up and walk.  Standing was painful, and moving felt as though I was pushing a solid wall in order to advance each limb and overcome the space that was between me and the bathroom.  I told them of my concerns, of the lethargy and weakness I was feeling.  I even told them about how I needed to take better care of myself, to which I was validated there as well, and reminded by Chris, my nurse, to place myself first...above children and above my husband...because if I didn't, I would not be able to care for the family that needs me.  Though he was among the skeptical health care team, I confided in him to have him understand that I felt very much like I was not taken seriously and that this was more than what was being assumed by everyone...I could feel it was more.  I decided, however, to keep quiet and process things with my sisters, Mom, and husband.  I am so grateful I had family run to me in my hour of need--I am so grateful they listened to me and my instinct that something was wrong instead of assuming it was nothing.

Two hours later, lab work came back.  My husband stood outside of the room talking to the health care workers, and I could hear that something was off, but I couldn't discern anything else.  I felt sorrow flow through me as I laid there, fully capable of hearing them out,  and I had the mere right to know what my values were as the patient, but I was not granted the respect of receiving it from them.  Instead, my husband came in with concern all over his face.  I asked him what was wrong with my labs, and he said that my potassium was a critical low--2.4 I believe--and my CK (creatine kinase) was a critical high, 600.  My nursing mind said, "ah-ha!" while my soul cried tears of relief.  It sounds odd to admit that I was relieved to hear that something was wrong--but it was true.  I felt like I could present the experience and tell them that I was not a psych patient, that as I had been ignored for nearly 4 years and told I was depressed, I could finally say, "I know myself best, and something is and has been wrong".  I was already feeling traumatized by their ignorance when I first came in; it is ironic that The Lord placed me in a position to be given the support I needed to feel validated, and even as I felt like I was dying, I was still having to fight for someone to see that I was right, and something was wrong.  I have a very strong will, and when I am told "you're fine" I tend to allow my kindness to give people a free ride into neglecting and abusing my gut instincts...but I never stop fighting to be heard.  My NP would tell you "she's diligent", maybe even annoyingly so, but goodness, I have never been so grateful to hear my body tell me that there's more to the picture, and to trust those feelings that I had been experiencing for years.  Self doubt is deadly--I am grateful I can discern truth and fight for it.

The team immediately replaced my potassium, and within an hour I felt the dizzy lethargic feeling that was about to take my head and body into paralysis again, start to dissipate.  They monitored me, gave me more fluids, drew more labs, and gathered a team of providers--all the way from neurology to primary care--and had me visit with them through the afternoon, explaining my experience and history of health problems.  They didn't run anymore diagnostic studies, to which I am still frustrated, but they at least listened to me. I tried to gather information from the ER docs, but they seemed confused as to why this even happened.   I honestly felt that I knew enough about potassium and cell death to understand the lab values, but I wasn't aware of the details which could lead to such a life threatening event, especially since I hadn't experienced anything with dramatic fluid losses.

Potassium is a critical electrolyte within the human body.  My body has never depleted potassium critically, but I had been feeling signs of a muscular dystrophy in my extremities over the last month.  I recall talking to my twin sister and husband about it and letting them know that it was extremely painful and frustrating, especially because I have always been so strong and athletic--it was 3.5 years ago that I started losing strength and endurance while in the middle of marathon training because my body felt like it was no longer capable of carrying it's small mass on my strong legs.  Potassium is critical for the proper function of muscle--and especially critical to keep the heart alive and free from arrhythmia or cardiac death.  Based on my symptoms, something triggered a shift in the potassium within my body.  I hadn't wasted it in abnormal ways, nor had I felt the onset gradually--somehow the potassium was in my body but it shifted from being free and accessible in the blood to being trapped within the cells.  Because potassium is used to contract muscles, I was left like a rag doll.  The shift must have been greater than a drop to 2.4 initially...to experience a full body paralysis, the drop must have been significant and dangerous, but the adrenaline response kicked in as my body sensed that there was a life threatening event happening and my body naturally fought to correct the shift.  (Is the adrenaline response making sense now?) The safe end for a low potassium in most people is 3.5.  I feel incredibly grateful for my body that fought so hard to keep me from cardiac death, because everything tells me that it should have happened and that I am incredibly blessed to be here today--well, it could also tell me that I am indeed a very stubborn soul...and I will tick until you pull the last plug on me.

Unfortunately, the doctors, having made a mistake in their assessment and assumptions, didn't come back to me and talk things through in detail, they honestly ordered medications and labs while they left interns to come in and gain insight, critical thinking skills, and knowledge with my case.  While it frustrated me, I found myself grateful to have the professional base that I have to motivate me to take this seriously and find a solution now, more than ever.  I love science, medicine, and the human body--it is ever so intriguing to me; even though my status as a patient tells me I should be treated like I know nothing, my heart as a nurse digs deep into the territories no one else has wanted to walk with me, and I am finding probable answers to the chaos and decline.

The elevated CK is a laboratory finding when people have strokes, heart attacks and seizures or muscular disorders, like dystrophy.  Because I went into a full paralysis for 4 hours, my muscles actually were damaged...causing a breakdown in protein (because that's what muscle is) and an elevation in the protein waste--the CK.

Recovering has been torture--the toxins that are flushing out of me cause an incredible amount of swelling, sluggishness, and pain.  I have had a lag in my movements and thinking that I haven't been able to fully recover from as well.  I still feel like there is a force holding me back when I move, and more than ever, the connection of thought to verbal expression is frustrating and hazy.  I feel like this stretch of my marathon is a crawl.  My head is in significant pain for most of the hours out of each day, and  I feel very tired in body and spirit, but I also feel an incredible degree of gratitude for my continued life.  While my knowledge base is giving me insight to the direction I must go with my doctors, I am still feeling very alone in the fight to find solutions to better living.  Honestly, so long as there is fight within me, I will stand firm; to have come this far, to have gained solid evidence that my intuition is correct, and to have been guided directly to a more intense level of care is enough for me to say that God is assisting all the while and giving me the comfort of knowing that He indeed is willing and capable of helping me in the fight to reveal truth.  In the end, truth, light, and knowledge will always overcome their opposition.

In the last week, I have had a few souls reach out to me out of genuine love and concern.  For those who have, I am grateful beyond measure.  The immediate actions of a few showed the nature by which they stand to action, without hesitation, when trials befall another person.  Even while I laid in bed, angry and aching, I am grateful for the few people who would regularly text to assure I was okay.  I am grateful for one particular sister and her initiative to take on the role I couldn't fill immediately--she became the taxi driver and partial caregiver for my kids for a few days as my husband filled the remainder of those roles and grieved through some emotions himself.  When I took my children to their swim team practices on Wednesday, I am grateful for the friend who sat beside me in silence as I isolated myself from everyone because of the grief I was feeling--I am incredibly grateful she chose not to take offense when I walked away from her without acknowledging her presence to the slightest degree.  As I walked away, she followed me and took me tight into her arms and allowed the hidden tears to come falling down from the dark places of my heart.  I am grateful that I took my children to scouts on Wednesday instead of staying home, even though I should have rested far more than I did; I am grateful for the people who came to the church that night for their children and instead of going to remote locations in the building, they sat with me.  I am grateful for the many times I heard, "Crystal, I have another joke for you..." and the feelings I had as the pieces fit into a complete picture--they were intentionally keeping me from isolating and crying.  I felt their efforts to pull me out of the anguish of despair and into the light of joy that can exist even within our darkest valleys.  I am grateful for the meals that were delivered to our home, and for the naps I was encouraged to take.  I am grateful even for the desire that my family had to be close and do more--though some are so far away.  Though I have felt so alone, and really--there is a degree of alone that must be felt, I am grateful for the few people who had the desire to hear me out to know what actually happened.  I am even so grateful for the handful of people who sent me a message, asking directly, "What happened? Are you okay?"  To me, it is not prying or overstepping boundaries, it feels good to know that people care.  It is very painful to feel so close to death and then to come to the thought that there were many who weren't phased at all by the possibility of you being gone, and that is a real feeling that still aches within me, I am grateful for a sweet sister who took the time to write me and tell me the feelings of her heart as she recognized the gifts and skills that I have to fight this battle, but she didn't just recognize them, she informed me of her admiration of them as I use those gifts.  To feel beautiful in those ways takes away from the literal beauty that is robbed from you when you are physically and emotionally tested and challenged to great depths.

The sand is soft, the sun is hot, and as I move my legs forwards, I feel so much resistance--literally.  I always loved running, but I have come to see that even if I am not running, as long as I am pushing forward, I am still in the game.  I am grateful, more than ever, to be alive.  The fight for answers continues.  Heaven help the team that will work with me...if I don't feel we are on the right path, you will know!  Yes, indeed I am stubborn, but just as I say with my daughters, I prefer to call myself determined,  One day, the rain will fall and quench me with it's healing gifts.  Right now, I will be grateful for the sun, however hot it may be--if I can endure the heat, I will be ever so much more honored to receive the waters once they come to relieve me of the drought I am in.