Tag Archives: flower shop

Days that become years.

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It would seem that just not too long ago, I was every perception of healthy.  Vibrant, maybe.  Lifelike.  Slowly, things just started to shut off.  Lower tolerance to stress.  To pain.  Less fight.  Fewer emotions.

With a chronic illness like MS, there are no doubt to be emotional and mental battles, trapped in a body that just does not feel well.  On my best day, I have substantial enough pain that I must medicate every couple of hours with both prescription and over the counter meds.  The fatigue comes out of nowhere to collapse the canopies over the top of your perfectly planned days.  It becomes difficult to schedule.  Difficult to see past today.

In February, I had a stomach bug.  I do not vomit.  I am not a vomiteer by nature.  (I totally just made that word up.  Nailed it.)  Wouldn’t you know, that the this flu would hit me, the owner of a flower shop, on the evening and day of Valentine’s.  The thing is, Valentine’s happens once a year.  It’s like the super bowl.  You have to wait a whole season to go at it again if you’re not one of the two teams playing or one of the devoted fans.

So, I start feeling nauseated the afternoon before the big day of love and, to make it even better, this year, this year only, I make a different plan and decide I can make enough flowers in advance to totally wing NOT having to have another florist come on staff.  In theory, and in actuality, it would have worked out perfectly, but I got sick.

Bending over, talking, moving…  all created the sense of nausea.  I was so exhausted from all the hours I had put in before the holiday.  My body ached in places I didn’t realize existed.  It was a true test of God’s stamina and endurance in me.  I worked until three that day and then had to leave my employee and a big group of family and friends in charge to finish the day.  Even though I was so sick, it was such a good day to me (the next day 😉 ).  A major core of the people I love most coming together to help me.  It felt good.

As I recuperated from Valentine’s, I still struggled emotionally and mentally.  I had completed extensive work with my therapist the summer, fall, and some winter before.  We worked a lot on creating a world for me where I felt safe.  I had some worth and some power.  I did put in a lot of time trying to get better from my depression, as much as being a mom, wife, florist, and my budget would allow.  Something was still not clicking, however.

Later in February I would discover that I was really thought to have PTSD.  I had been told this before, but evidently, it didn’t really register.  Silly brain.  The therapist explained to my husband that there are certain triggers that spur my already agitated, anxious body into full battle mode.  As I sat there listening, I felt like such a freak.  Not that she was calling me a freak, but that I really didn’t realize how sick my mind and body were.  Suddenly, nothing became real.  Are any of my feelings real?  Why now?  I was defensive, upset, overwhelmed.  Couldn’t breathe.  I left that appointment early.  I felt ashamed and embarrassed.  I haven’t been back to therapy.

I needed time and space to evaluate things.  To figure out who was safe.  It sounds so silly, but it’s true.  Nowhere in the world feels safe at times, except being alone.

As days faded into weeks, I purchased a great book on trauma, started doing research on PTSD, and started discussing it with some of the people closest to me. It seems that my case is probably complex-PTSD as it was the duration of my childhood.  The trauma occured at critical points in my development and it changed the way my nervous system, my physical and emotional self, my God intended design, would grow and blossom.

Since before my son was born, just over five years ago, I have regressed into a fragment of who I used to be.  I can trace it back now and see where PTSD took over Dana.  Empty and disconnected.  I lost a lot of friendships, could not engage in new relationships and experiences, and have suffered with depression, suicidal thoughts, and more.  I don’t have much of an attention span. I can hardly answer the phone at work and dealing with customers feels like a major ordeal.  Confrontation at any level immediately sends me into “CODE RED, find safety.”  Criticism at any level immediately sends me into “CODE RED, find safety.”  Rejection at any level immediately sends me into “CODE RED, find safety.”  Betraying my trust in the slightest sends me into “CODE RED, find safety.”  What is ‘code red?’  Like, in real life?  This is a real question, as if I heard it in a hospital or grocery store, it might have different meaning.  To me, I’m just sayin’ CODE RED is like, “Immediate danger!  Escape!  Run!  Flee!  Who is safe?”  My heart will be pounding and I will experience something similar to panic.

It is hard to digest that this is what you have become:  A “Code Red” machine.  Always looking for signs of new pain.

In the meantime, my neurologist has consented that she is treating me for Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis (PPMS), rather than Relapsing Remitting.  There is a new drug selling in Europe, the first drug targeted at PPMS, that has just been approved by the States.  It is still in trial mode, but is expected to be a viable option soon.  It will not fix what damage has been done, but will delay progression.  I can’t help but wonder how the emotional deficits in my life are not to blame for the physical damage that has been done.  Autoimmune disease.  My body physically attacking itself.  I can’t fix the damage of one while ignoring the other.  So much damage.

I hate damage.  I’m at a juncture of what to do with this damage. Some of it is beyond me to heal.  Like, without the mighty hand of a valiant God, I will not get through this.  Where I go from here and how to get there, God please lead me.  Lord, grant me comfort, peace, healing of body and mind and spirit.  Rejuvenate my broken heart, Lord.  Consume my thoughts with you so that I may not destroy the temple you have created.  May I not be held captive to fear.  May God know my heart. In Jesus name, Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A complicated, beautiful mess.

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I have a moment.  One unoccupied, take advantage of the quiet, moment.  Life is blurrish.

In January, I had the mindset to sell the flower shop.  My beloved.  I was realizing my place was to support Toby and our children and I was feeling defeated in my physical self.  At that time I put the shop on the altar of sacrifice.

Little did I know that February would upend me and despite my notion to sell the shop, I didn’t have time to prepare.  I was trying to run a business, Toby had to be gone for work, Valentine’s Day, I prioritized finding a surgical oncologist for my mom, and then there is house and children and that silly MS thing.  I found myself with no time to organize and inventory and prepare the paperwork for the proper sell of a business.

What is my goal?  Take what I can get and get out quick?  Or, wait, re-stock, re-group, and take the time to sell it well.  I still haven’t finished my research on how to valuate a business.  My business.  My mind is always whirring and positives and negatives both stung me hard.  With all of this cancer talk and not knowing what was to come, I chose to cling to what I knew.  Ultimately, my brain and my heart couldn’t decide if I could lose them both.  My mama and my shop.  If I was going to lose my mom, could I stand to lose the structure that the shop forces me to have?

I’d like to think I was one of those who would just pick up the pieces of life and keep keepin’ on.  But, I know myself.  I know how chronic illness and depression pull you into idleness and days of pain turn into months and years of pain.  Pain, regardless.  I need something to draw me out.  The intention of the shop was to be that place.  But, that place had turned into something to avoid.  Paperwork piling up, behind on bills, taxes overdo, more bills, and all the people…  people I loved with relationships that turned bitter.  Life took a hard twist and friendship was broken and things at the shop aren’t the same.  And, things got more complicated.

The complicated issues of cancer on top of the complicated layer of flower shop on top of the complicated layer of family with three complicated kids on top of the layer of complicated MS on top of the layer of complicated everyday life…  would the fabric of my life be softer without some of these layers?  Could I weave a more fluid life?

I could.  I think I could.

But, then my choices to fight hard would turn into the easy choices of submission.  Submitting to cancer doctors and surgeons who gave my mom up for dead.  Submitting to my presumed future disability instead of doing what I can now.  Submitting to dreams left unfinished.  I know reality, and I know that I may do some of these things in the future.  I know submission can be a beautiful thing when done for the cause of Christ.  With these things, however,  I am not there yet.

We are waiting for biopsies and tumor board meetings and surgery dates for my mom.  She has a very realistic chance at a few more years of life, instead of certain death.  We are fighting hard at the shop to pay off debt, then to restock, then to start growing again, all with the thought of making the business a more valuable asset to sell at the right time.   The right time.  His time.

I’ve been learning about hope.  Hope is trusting in His timing.  And, the thing is, is that if we have hope in God, we have hope in two things.  We have hope that even if cancer hits hard, we are heaven bound because we believe Jesus died to make this possible.  We have a second hope that God isn’t going to leave us hanging.  We may be hanging by a thread sometimes.  A complicated, barely there thread from the complicated fabric of our lives, but we have hope that He won’t leave us that way.  All this hangin’ makes us stronger and soon we are swinging into the next step He has planned for us.  His plan for us to have a good life, a beautifully complicated mess, and have it to the full.  Amen.