Time to see the doctor!

The first time my mom took me to get a check up from gynecologist I was terrified. I was thankful that my doctor was a female, but didn't know what on earth to expect getting checked "down there". But the doctor was kind and respectful, and did her best to help me feel comfortable in an uncomfortable situation.

Still, I walked out of there dreading the next time I'd have to go in. I'm pretty sure I was a senior in high school, which meant that if I went in the future I would have to "adult" and set it up myself. And I think it may have been years (like maybe not till my pre-marital exam) till I got a gynecological check-up again.

The same thing went for my teeth. And my eyes.

Fast forward to February of 2004, where I sat cooped up in a hospital with a traumatic brain injury while eight months pregnant. I was a fall risk, and a serious one. I had double vision and terrible balance, short-term memory problems, and weakened muscles. I was a mess, and I couldn't be alone-- couldn't shower alone, couldn't use the bathroom alone. They would check me everyday, pretty much everywhere.

The story surrounding this event is really pretty involved (and I don't remember some of it...), so we will leave that for another post.

It was life-changing for me for numerous reasons, but one thing in particular I got out of it was that my doctors were working in my best interest. They wanted me to heal, they wanted Allie to be born safely. So when they performed tests on me, or when my therapists pushed me, it wasn't to torture me. It was to help me. Admittedly, not every doctor is an honorable as mine were, but I believe many out there are.

Since then, and since my healing, I have seen my gynecologist every year, as well as my optometrist, my dermatologist, and my dentist, whom I see twice a year. Oh, and I see an an endocrinologist every six months, because having a baby gave me hypothyroidism. Yippee!

I realized that part of caring for myself was allowing others who are trained to understand my body to look after it. They check for signs of disease and cancer, which I am so grateful for. As much as I hope none will ever be found, if any is there I sure want it to be found quickly!

My challenge this month from Cheryl Richardson's The Art of Extreme Self-Care is one that actually isn't too difficult for me-- to give myself a tune-up! I already have an appointment scheduled with my gynecologist, and another with my dentist. Actually, I have appointments scheduled with the others as well, but they aren't till the Fall, so I'll just do what I can.

If you haven't given yourself your own tune-up in quite some time, I encourage you to do it! Do it out of love for yourself and out of love for your family. If you don't trust your doctor, ask your friends for recommendations and find a new one. But find one. And see one.

You might end up just needing an oil change, but if your transmission is about to go it's better to find out now than on the freeway!

Yet Will I Not Forget Thee

Sunday afternoon I had to lead two different choir rehearsals-- one at our own church building, and another one over forty-five minutes away in Vero Beach. I left my van and caught a ride with a friend from the first rehearsal to the next in Vero, thinking I'd just ride back with Kevin, since he was planning to meet us at there. I knew he could just drive me back to get the van.

Of course, that would all have been wonderful if I had my dang keys.

After the second rehearsal, Kevin and I made the drive back. We pulled up to the van, and I went to grab my keys. A flood of panic washed over me as I realized they were nowhere. I looked under the seat, emptied my purse, and shook out my dress.

I had left them at the church in Vero Beach.

Now, as much as it's absolutely ridiculous to believe, I can go from content to self-loathing in about .2 seconds. It was like a a dark cloud infiltrated my mind, and I could only think about how careless and stupid I was, or about how I was ruining the evening. I knew I had to drive all the way back to Vero, but it was already 6pm at that point. I needed to go home and make dinner. Kevin offered to go, but I knew he wasn't feeling well, and sending him would only make things worse. After all, it was my fault.

So we left the van and went home. It was Drew's turn to help with dinner, so he flipped pancakes while I made sausage and eggs. And while we ate, Kev suggested I take one of the kids with me on my drive back. I shook my head. When he asked why, I darkly responded, "So I can hate on myself in peace."

He doesn't understand why I do this. And, truthfully, neither do I. Yet he is so patient and kind. In these moments, I'm never fishing for compliments or looking for someone to tell me nice things about myself-- truly, I look at that as patronizing. But he is learning to just listen, knowing there isn't much he can say that will make it better.

After dinner, I grabbed my purse and told him we could drive over to the van with the spare keys, and he could drive it home while I drove to Vero, but on the way he said he would go get my keys. I questioned him, reminding him that it was my fault. He said, "But it's my job to protect my family. And my wife told me that by driving alone she was going to tell herself she hated herself for over an hour and a half, and I can't allow that to happen."

Knowing he was sick and exhausted, I couldn't let him drive alone either, so we drove together. We called the kids from the car, and held our family night by speaker phone. We sang together, played 20-questions, and had a lesson. Of course, I was in charge of the lesson, so in a quick preparation I glanced back at the scripture reading from this past week. In opening up the Come, Follow Me manual, my eyes were immediately led to a scripture reference in the Book of Mormon with the following question: How might the message in these verses help someone who feels forgotten?

That was me. I felt forgotten.

It wasn't so much the incident of leaving the keys. I thought about how I had spent the whole day serving in some capacity. Most Sundays Kevin isn't around, so he can fulfill his calling in serving the church members of the other congregations in the area-- the area being up to two hours away. I take the kids to church alone. Often I teach lessons. Sometimes I have to speak or help with music. At that particular day I also led two different choir practices. I was exhausted. By leaving my keys at the church, with having received no hint of a warning, I did indeed feel forgotten.

The scripture reference listed was 1 Nephi 21:14-16 in The Book of Mormon. So I looked it up, knowing I must need a reminder.

14 But, behold, Zion hath said: The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me-- but he will show that he hath not. 
15 For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee, O house of Israel.
16 Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

My eyes filled with tears. God was sending me a message loud and clear. He had not forgotten me! He was with me, right there in that car, as we made the long trip back to get those silly keys.

I blinked away the tears and prepared my lesson, which actually dealt with a different chapter of 1 Nephi. We talked with the kids over the phone about the difficulties Nephi had with his rebellious and stubborn older brothers, and how such things as jealousy, contention, and complaining can affect our family. It was a good discussion, one which needed to happen.

Eventually, around 9pm, Kevin and I made it home with BOTH vehicles. We were safe. Our kids were safe. And they were even happy!

He had not forgotten me.