Fiercely Independent Pam

Category: Memories

  • The Ultimate Decision: Finding My Purpose Beyond My Career

    I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook memories. I love seeing pictures or updates that include how little my nieces and nephews once were or incredible days with my friends. Then there are the memories that sting: hospital visits, failed operations/procedures, rough days at work, etc. There is a third category of memories, life changing events/ announcements.

    Today, the Facebook world reminded me that six years ago, with the help of my amazing doctors, I announced that I would be stepping away from my education career to focus on my health. I remember it took me a couple of weeks to get the courage to tell others. The reality was that I already knew I wasn’t going back to school, there was no way my body could handle the workload. Nevertheless, I posted the decision that not only would I not be working anymore, but that I was moving to Florida to live with my parents.

    Since I was a little girl, I knew I wanted to be a teacher. I tortured friends and family with the never-ending need to play school and be the teacher. I loved chalk, alphabet magnets, workbooks, and of course reading! I never thought of any other career path and when I realized that I could be an administrator, I wanted that even more.

    So, there I was, unable to work in a school, or really anywhere, packing up my dog and all my belongings, headed to southwest Florida. It was summertime so the sting of not being in a school wasn’t there yet and after all, it was going to be a short stint, just until I could get back on my feet and be healthy again. What wasn’t there to love? I would live in a great house with my wonderful parents and figure everything out.

    Then August came, I didn’t have to start hoarding school supplies, I didn’t buy a new planner or new outfits, I simply existed. Each day was like the one before, no students to make it different or exciting. I was a lost soul. Through the help of an incredible therapist, I worked my way through the loss of my career and everything that I thought was connected to it. Each season stung a little less and I found new purpose.

    At the same time, my parent’s health, especially my Mom’s, started to decline. Her memory issues became prominent and my Dad required more appointments and support too. I was running from my appointments to theirs. It became a rhythm of sorts, doctor appointments, medication administration, spending time together at things like car shows or grabbing a meal out on the town. I loved this more simple life.

    Then Covid hit, changing everything. We were stuck together and still needed to get medical care, especially me and my frequent hospitalizations. To this day, I’m not quite sure how I would have been by myself (well with Sofi) though lockdown and I have no idea what my parents would have done if I wasn’t there. My dad perfected his homemade apple pie, mom continued to decline, especially with a bad fall that required brain surgery, and I kept focusing on getting “better.”

    Then the hard days hit- Dad was struggling, the cancer was everywhere and he was showing signs of needing to give up. Mom’s time in rehab after her surgery left her as a shell of her former self. She was becoming a lot to handle at home and required constant care. I had multiple new diagnosis’s and was in and out of the hospital receiving treatments.

    Honestly, I don’t remember too much of the day to day events, which is a good thing because they were tough. As a family, we began making plans to move Mom into a nursing home, a decision that was not made lightly. Then Dad was in the hospital and it didn’t look good. Shortly after we moved Mom, dad took control of his own path, we lost him less than a few weeks later.

    Mom continued to live at the nursing home and I visited pretty much every day. I brought an iced cappuccino and munchkins and she would tell me stories about visiting with her high school boyfriend. The rhythm became new again. I continued to decline in health and required my own assistance with everyday things. I met wonderful people that helped me find my independence again.

    Purpose is not just our career goals. It can be so much more important. Through losing my career, I found an incredible purpose to continue to serve. My family needed me at that time and I would have lost the chance to make incredible memories if I wasn’t pushed to put myself first and stop working. You never know what crazy road God puts you on. It is our job not to question, but believe.

    This hangs in my bedroom as a reminder of my “real” purpose!

  • Happy Shunt-anniversary (4 years and counting)

    I really wanted to write something about my shunt-anniversary. That is the day that I “celebrate” for having my vp-shunt placed. A vp shunt drains the extra spinal fluid that builds up in my unique brain and dumps it into my stomach area via a catheter that runs the length of my abdomen. This is due to a condition I have called IIH or Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension (IIH), also known as pseudotumor cerebri, is a condition where the pressure inside your skull increases for no apparent reason. This elevated pressure can cause various symptoms, most notably headaches and vision problems. It primarily affects women of childbearing age, particularly those who are overweight. I was the perfect candidate for this unique disease. I had a series of bad headaches (totally unable to be controlled, needing ER visits or admissions), eye issues like pain and double vision as well as loss of vision, and neck/back pain.

    After a ridiculous amount of ER visits, being labeled as a wimp or not being able to handle a simple headache, or a drug seeker, I was finally referred to a neurologist. The neurologist looked at my unique medical records and went on a hunch that something else was going on. Multiple tests then happened included an always fun and painful lumbar puncture. Measurements were taken of the pressure at the opening and closing of the puncture, which has to be done without anesthesia of any kind- YIKES! Mine was very elevated indicating a potential problem. Around the same time, I started seeing a wonderful eye doctor. He diagnosed me with papilledema (swelling of the optic nerve) that could cause me to lose my vision permanently if no action was taken. The combination of these two events got me a referral to a neurosurgeon.

    On my first appointment with the neurosurgeon, I was told three things, I had a weird tumor (nothing too scary), that officially was diagnosed with IIH, and I needed brain surgery (again) to place a shunt. Oh, and the surgery would be within the week. I, for the first time in a while, was rather stunned and didn’t ask my usual crazy number of questions. One thing that stood out to me was the fact that that I would lose my hair on the side where the shunt would be placed. I latched onto this thought and had to control it. So, I did what every rational person would do- I had my head shaved in advance of the surgery.

    I made a quick decision to shave my head- literally within twenty minutes of leaving the neurosurgeon’s office, as I had a pre-scheduled hair appointment. I walked in to my wonderful hairdresser and asked her to shave my head. She asked me several times if I really wanted to do it. I was determined to control whatever I could at this point and she not only shaved it for me, but wouldn’t charge me for the “cut” either. I remember driving home, bald as my father, and wondering what they were going to say. Both were in complete shock about the hair and major surgery that was going to happen so soon. I snapped a picture and sent it out to the universe announcing what I had done.

    The surgery was pretty complex and I spent several days in the ICU. I had a big incision with staples on my head as well as my abdomen. I am blessed with not remembering pain long term, but remember that my wonderful doctors including my neurosurgeon and pulmonologist rounded daily, if not twice day. After being finally placed in a regular room, I went home at day eight. I was so glad that I shaved my head because it was nasty after the surgery and caked with blood, staples, and anything else that came with the surgery including not being able to shower for another two week and only using baby shampoo after that for a while. My crazy curly hair would have never managed that sentence, plus it was summer in south-west Florida!

    My hair grew back very slowly, but healthier than ever. There were a few sunburn moments, but I quickly learned to find some awesome hats (with the help of some friends). I look back now on the decision to shave my head and realize it was one of the best, most freeing decision I have ever made.

    Having a shunt came with something I wasn’t prepared for at all, mainly the very real fear of the shunt getting infected or damaged and being so close to the brain. Every stupid infection without a simple source raises a red flag, as does each non-typical headache, or injury to the head. I can’t even count the number of shuntograms, ct studies, MRI’s, or x-rays that have been taken. I am often surprised that I am not green from radiation. Nonetheless, I would have the shunt placed again given the choice. My shunt, while temperamental and fragile has saved my vision, and freed me from the worst headaches of my life. I have to be careful around magnets, which is oh so much fun when a doctor orders an MRI and caused me to have to change things like my mask for my sleep machine (NIV) because it had magnets.

    I have some scary moments with the shunt so far. A few concussions, viral meningitis, changes in the programable valve, ER visits, trips to MUSC and more. When I moved back to Myrtle Beach, I was nervous about losing my beloved neurosurgeon, but I found someone at MUSC, an amazing woman, about my age that takes no prisoners. I like that approach! Somedays I forget that I could’ve lost my vision or that I have a foreign and expensive device in my brain, other days its one of my first thoughts, either way, its a part of me and my life story.

    I wish I smiled, but this was a few days after the shave…

  • Till our next adventures my friend (ten years ago)…

    I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook Memories. Each morning, I usually check to see what memories are posted for the day. Usually they are filled with events that I barely remember: a crazy day at school (those happened a lot as a principal!), silly quotes, weather updates, etc. Other times, they are reminders of amazing times I spent with friends or family, and sometimes they are memories that sting a little. Things like reminders of days spent with wonderful people that have left this earth, hard days spent at work, medical happenings, or events that changed the world, all leave me with some pain. I was up early this morning and checked my memories and realized ten years ago, I escaped and made one of the biggest changes in my life.

    In 2010, my (the) school, where I not only learned what it meant to be an adult, but where I learned to love a community was closed forever. A decision that was out of my hands and control. This event shook me to my core. At the time, I thought that personally, I was doing ok- I landed heads up in another school as principal, my colleagues were finding employment opportunities, “my kids(students)” and their families were finding other schools as well. Change after all is hard, but not impossible. Little did I realize that this change began chipping my foundation, confidence, and all that I believed about my faith, my personal strength, my vocation, and my support system.

    Years 1-3 at the new school were a blur of emergencies, great people, curriculum work, and amazing events. I truly was becoming an agent of change- for better or worse. I made mistakes along the way, but I truly felt like we were “rocking and rolling.” It was hard work, but I was never afraid to get dirty and jump into a mess in order to clean it up. The hours were long, sometimes 60-80 a week, especially when you included work at home and the work was frustrating and lacking support. Looking back, I was in an impossible situation. At the same time changes at home were happening too. My stable housing situation broke apart. My housemate of the past 10 years moved back to her hometown and other friends were getting married and having kids. In someways, me- the change agent, didn’t see the impact of these changes and felt blindsided.

    Years 4-5 were lonely, it felt at times like it was “me against the world.” Sure, I had amazing friends who showed up at the ER at 3 in morning if I needed them, and there was wonderful family visits, and births of nieces and nephews, but most of the time it was me, alone with my doubts and anxiety that tore my chipping foundation, confidence, faith, vocation, and support system into shreds. The harder it got, the more I withdrew and began a cycle that I couldn’t control. I let troublesome thoughts invade my head, my chronic overthinking became the norm, and I was completely out of sync with myself. Looking back, there were signs- I wasn’t eating right, I clung to things I could control like my new habit of running and became almost obsessed with these things, I stopped seeing friends and family. I pretended that everything was all right and convinced others and myself that I was ok too. Things were NOT ok- tasks at work weren’t getting done, relationships were a mess, and stopped reaching out to my support system. I was rapidly coming apart at the seams and the more that happened, the worse it got. I made a living hiding from everything that was happening, I ran more, slept more, and began behaviors that I didn’t recognize in myself, including self-harm.

    My feelings, weren’t my own- I was numb and totally disconnected with anything that looked like my life and then I hit what was rock bottom. I thought I was pulling myself together as I began making plans, but really these plans were dark, scary. and oh so private. Questions like, how many pills of this prescription did I have and what will I tell people happened to my leg, arm, or God-forbid they see my stomach (these were always dumb answers), and would anyone notice if I wasn’t around became the norm- sometimes being the only thoughts I had. The more I welcomed these thoughts, the less I accomplished at school or home, phone calls to friends and family stopped. I knew something had to happen, but totally numbness took over.

    It was a cold night in November and I remember that I couldn’t stop or control the feelings and thoughts, I couldn’t or wouldn’t reach out to anyone, after all these were my problems and I was supposed to be able to solve them. In a rare moment of clarity, despite the raging anxiety attack, I drove myself to the ER and presented with my physical symptoms. I was treated and almost released, when I took a chance- I told the provider that I was feeling unsafe and thought I could no longer control my actions. I showed him my physical scars and injuries and shared some of my deepest thoughts; by the grace of God, he listened to me and believed me.

    What happened next was a giant blur or losing complete control- the “strip” search, the phone call to my brother, losing my always connected, always on cell phone, the constant supervision, and mostly the tears. I had never felt more alone before. Then it happened- admission at a mental health hospital. I can barely remember the first couple of days, but I was so numb that I didn’t even or couldn’t even call into work. I stayed awake for over 48 hours pacing the halls, room, and barely talking to anyone. The days eventually became night and sleep eventually happened. The days, with A LOT of work became brighter, and I met some amazing people, who like me, were clinging to anything and everything that helped make sense of their current situation.

    The medical providers desperately tried to get me to believe that I was more than my failures. Some days I believed it and others not so much! We made a plan for discharge- back to my apartment, back to being alone with my thoughts, back to school, after all in was only a couple of weeks until Christmas break. The hardest pill to swallow was the conversation with my bosses: the superintendent and Pastor, both of which, were kind, understanding, and Christ like to me during this time. I reached out to friends to help prepare me for my new normal. There were plans: for my meds and keeping only enough on hand, for sharps, and for emergencies. I now clung to these plans. I planned for every minute of my days and nights, as long as it was planned for, I could handle it.

    Unfortunately, being a school principal doesn’t allow for only as planned action and activities. Despite the intense therapy, medications and support, I quickly became overwhelmed again and ended up back as a patient in the hospital. This second admission was longer, deeper, harder, and is where I made two important decisions- that I would not be returning to school, and that I needed to make a major change in my living situation. My friends and family that were aware of what was going on, were incredible- it killed me not to tell others what had happened and what was going to happen, but I, for the first time ever, was placing my needs before others- and to those of you that I left in the dark, I am sorry.

    With love and support, I made the decision to move in with my brother, John in Myrtle Beach. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew that he and his kids would keep me busy as well as my continued treatment. I believed that I would never see the inside of a school again. I, for the first time in my adult life, believed that I would never step foot in a church again and stopped so many aspects of my life. My world was so small and fragile. Then, in a moment of chaos with my sisters in town, I received a bizarre voicemail from a Pastor in the area asking if I had any interest in applying for a principal position in a nearby Catholic School. “Spoiler Alert”… I landed the position and fell in love with a little school, great parish, and rediscovered my faith, confidence, and met some super people along the way! Unfortunately, this story didn’t end as planned and my health got it the way more times than I can count. But that too, is documented in Facebook memories!