A Wellness Lesson?

I broke my foot at my wedding.

As best as I can tell, that's when it all began. 3 years and 8 months ago, my lesson in wellness (for lack of anything better to call it) started. And it wasn't a lesson I began by choice.

So, I wish there was an awesome story to go along with my broken foot, but there isn't really. There wasn't some death-defying activity involved, just a fabulous night spent dancing with my closest family and friends. While wearing a very heavy wedding dress. (I must pause to say how awesome I still think my dress was. Lace and beading all over, and tons of tulle and a HUGE train.) Anyways, I danced every single dance at my wedding... the polkas, the chicken dance, the cupid shuffle, the swing ones, the slow ones, the fast ones. Everything. And doing that, even though I was wearing black & white peddle pusher-like dancing shoes, in my heavy dress was too much for that tiny bone in my (rather small) foot.

I didn't even notice anything until the next day when we were getting ready to go to the brunch. I couldn't put weight on my left foot. I thought then (which now seems ridiculous) that it must have just been a tight tendon or something, so I passed on my cute heels and opted for flip flops, but was still hobbling around all day. (What makes this part of the story even "better" is that we honeymooned in the Smokey Mountains, and since I thought it was just a tight tendon, I thought taking hikes--of like 8 miles--would do me some good. I couldn't understand why it didn't make it hurt less, but rather more. <total forehead slapping moment 3 years later>)

When two months later I was still unable to go running because of foot pain, I decided to go to my Dr. She immediately referred me to a specialist, they took an x-ray, and came in with a boot. It was broken. I was to wear the boot for 6-8 weeks. Ugh. But that's not even the worst part! The worst part is that because I had been so delinquent in my going to the doctor, my hiking, and all the repeated attempts at running, I had caused permanent damage to my foot. I would likely never be able to wear heels as comfortably as before, and most likely, the doctor said, my running days were over. (I should clarify that I was never really 'a runner', but a 'half jog/half run/half walker.")

And then it was winter.

And then we were both (suddenly) unemployed.

And then my husband was out of town 4 days of 7, and I spent most evenings alone.

And then it was winter.

And then we moved to TX, and I cried out of sadness multiple times each day.

And then I was unemployed for 4 months.

And then my appendages started falling asleep.

You know, when you lose feeling and then the 'pins and needles' start? Well, I'd wake up most every night, in the middle of the night, with something having fallen asleep. It was painful and annoying. And, though this wasn't the first of odd things happening, it was definitely the most noticeable.

And then I gave up all junk food for Lent. And GAINED weight. It was at this point, because we finally had medical insurance again, that I went to the doctor. After loads of testing, they finally figured out there was something up with my thyroid. Among other things, most of which have been previously documented, deal also the c-word, but in other parts of my body, but aren't specifically related to this story, my thyroid was enlarged and had a 'nodule.' After several tests, they determined it wasn't cancer, but that I needed to be on medication to reduce its size and hopefully lose the nodule.

After 11 months of working with one particular doctor (whose office I left crying every time because of her and her staff's rudeness), I switched to a new one. (Seth was quite convinced I needed a new one, the tears being only half the problems I'd had with them. <another forehead slapping moment all these years later> I should have switched MUCH sooner.) I continued to gain weight the entire 11 months, because though I was trying to live a healthy, active life, if your metabolism isn't working, you have a huge uphill battle to fight, and I wasn't able to overcome that.

During this time, I had met with about 5 different specialists (for all the variety of things going on with me), given up all added hormones to my body, done loads of food allergy testing, done elimination diets for the better part of 4 months, and met with my naturopath every couple weeks to monitor progress. And yet, still, the pounds kept coming, and I kept having these weird things (appendages falling asleep, etc) happening.

After meeting for the first time with my new doctor, she switched my medicine around, was convinced that she could get things corrected fairly quickly, and stated she didn't understand why my previous doctor had been unable to. Neither did I. I went back three months later for my physical and to check how my thyroid was responding, hopeful that it would be under control, or nearly under control, and that I would then be able to start losing the weight I'd gained. And that's when I got the news.

I was pregnant. Pregnancy for me meant being sea sick 24/7. The only thing that made me feel remotely human was lying horizontal with my eyes closed. I couldn't bend over, I couldn't walk, I couldn't watch tv, and I certainly couldn't read (which, for this avid reader was life-altering. Plus, the thing I normally do when I have to just lay around, I couldn't do. I didn't know myself.) I did nothing but lie flat for the better part of 9 months, just wishing the queasiness would subside. I didn't eat very much (who wants to eat when you feel sea sick?), but I was also extremely inactive. For the first time in years, I actually lost weight. That didn't last long though, because towards the end of the third trimester I started to feel less sea sick, and started eating again, but the heartburn and hugeness caused me to continue to be inactive. Overall, I gained a reasonable, relatively small amount of weight while pregnant. (But that's not much consolation to me as I'd already been adding pounds for years, and any more just felt like a death sentence.)

But, since giving birth (7 months ago!), I've had the most-varied, most worst-luck health-wise. I have had: a sinus infection (actually had it when Austin was born, and it took several weeks to go away), two root canals, a crown, an allergic reaction to penicillin (which was new to me, I'd been pumped with it while in labor, so this reaction, on Christmas, was a total shocker and a bummer), severe food poisoning, an ear infection, an unexplainable rash covering both arms, several bouts of vertigo, a bum hip, another sinus infection, stomach flu, two rounds of different types of allergy testing, and most recently have sprained my ankle. I honestly don't think I have had a string of 7 days where I've felt healthy/been uninjured more than twice in the last 7 months. Seriously.

And so, the pounds have continued to add on. I haven't worn my wedding ring for over a year and half. The thought disgusts me. And now, I'm looking at the calendar... I'm looking at the fact that I'm going home in 3 weeks for the first time since August of 2008 (for Heather's wedding), and I'll be approximately 50 pounds heavier. I guess part of the reason I'm even writing this note is to tell everyone back home in advance so I don't have to see the shock on their faces when I see them for the first time. I'm sure that people who see me on a regular basis (i.e. TX folk) have noticed too, but that's been more gradual, and thankfully, no one has said anything.

But the biggest reason I'm writing this is to ask for support, love, encouragement, and most of all, prayer. I just want to be healthy. I want to not be sick, not be injured, and not feel dizzy (vertigo) or queasy so that I can again be the healthy, active person I am. Inside. Underneath all this extra weight. I want to go on walks with my family and enjoy it. I want to not be hot all the time. I want to get on the floor and play with my son and not struggle to get back up again. It's embarrassing. Embarrassing and gross. I hate what the mirror shows me. And I hate how this weight has affected what's on the inside as well. I'm not the same person I used to be. My personality has been affected. That's the worst.

So, back-home folks... consider yourself warned.

So, people who love me... pray. I'm ready for this wellness lesson to be over. Please ask God to finish the lesson, give me assistance in regaining health (and fitting into my clothes and ring again), and knowledge about why I've gone through this. What it's all been for, I have no idea. But, whatever it is, I'm ready to take the final and move on. Enough is enough.

The Magic Words

I was recently reading a book about raising your kids to be mindful of manners. It's called Emily Post's The Gift of Good Manners: A Parent's Guide to Raising Respectful, Kind, Considerate Children. I only read the first section as that section stops at 12 months. (I plan to pick it back up in the fall to read the next section, starting at 13 months.) I LOVED it. Now, of course, I do have 'a thing' for manners, etiquette, and all things Emily Post, so it's possible that I enjoyed the book more than you would, but anyways, that's not what I'm writing about.

In one of the chapters, it encouraged using the "Magic Words" when speaking to your children, even before they can speak themselves, because it'll become habit for you and likely will for them when they do get to speaking. Well, even though I have a thing for etiquette, I didn't immediately know what the authors were referring to. I had to use the paragraph's context to understand what they were encouraging me to do. I was like "oh! saying 'please' and 'thank you!' <insert forehead smack>"

I recently coordinated a community-wide weekend of yard sales for Park Forest (my neighborhood), and well, ....perhaps I need to give some background... I used to be involved in my neighborhood's community organization as Secretary and Event Coordinator (it was kinda like an HOA, but voluntary, and not about rule-setting, but community-building). The President then moved and the Treasurer resigned (unrelated incidents), and that left the organization hanging by a thread. Me. So, after much time and many requests for help, I changed the bank accounts, changed websites (created my first one!) and email accounts. Everything is now solely in my hands. That fact is something that I don't exactly mind, I mean, I took it on of my own free will, but it does get tiring sometimes.

Eventually I decided that we needed to have some sort of event, and figured that something that allowed people to be involved at their comfort level is how we should go. I created a survey and a community-wide weekend of sales was determined (by the neighborhood at large) to be a good idea. I moved forward. I created flyers (and recruited help to deliver them to all 250 homes!), posted it on our website, emailed about it, had a friend post it on Craigslist, and then sat back to watch it happen. A lot of people participated, and I'd say overall the event was a huge success for our first attempt. And then I got the email.

A Park Forest resident emailed me the details of her sale, that she had decided to not do one herself again next year, but that she hopes we do it as a community again as she'd like to participate instead as a buyer. And then she wrote: "...so I hope this becomes a yearly success. Thanks for all your efforts." I must have read that last line 30 times! I just kept looking at it over and over and over again. It made me teary-eyed. I hadn't set out to do this for the thanks or 'reward' in it. I had done it because building neighborly-ness in my community is one of my biggest passions. I almost felt as if I was doing it more for myself than for others. It felt almost selfish! And yet, here in this email, this woman (whom I've never met) was melting my heart by one simple line: Thanks for all your efforts.

I wrote her back and said that I sincerely appreciated her thanks, and that while unnecessary, they were really appreciated. Her reply was again short and sweet "I don't know why people don't say it more often." Seriously, that was her entire email. She didn't address me, she didn't sign her name, nothing. Just those words. And, yet, again, I can't stop re-reading the email, and it's been heavy on my heart all day. She implies a good question, I think... Why don't we say/write it more often? I mean, how long did it take her? 5 seconds? This woman doesn't know me (and I don't know her), and yet, by writing 5 little words to me, she's made my week!

I guess they really are Magic Words.

Question Your Own Decisions, Not Someone Else's

It seems like people feel it's ok to question someone's decision. I'm not sure why, but it sure seems like it's happening a lot lately--to me, to friends, to family. Almost as if it's increasing in prevalence.

I mean, if someone decides to quit their job, sell their house, go on a vacation, buy a new car, that's up to them. Why question them in such a way as to seem condescending? Saying something like "Why did you buy THAT car?" makes it sound like: "You're an idiot to have bought that specific car. Dummy." If what you ask, instead, is something like "Oh, that's interesting, I'm not familiar with that car, can you tell me more about it?" says: "I'm interested in knowing more about your decision, not judging you for your decision."

It seems to me that asking these sorts of questions, questions that may potentially help you in making a similar decision (such as you're in the market for a new car as well) are nice, friendly, fellowship-building, even potentially helpful. If my just having bought a specific car makes you think about your own car needs, I'm happy to share with you about why I bought what I did (a 2012 Mazda5, for the record). But, if you're going to grill me about it and then leave having decided I made the wrong choice, well, I'd rather not chat with you about it. I don't need any judgement from you, thank you very much. And besides, who bought the car: you or me?

And if I start out telling you that I just got a new car by prefacing it with the fact that I've been crying for a week because I'm going to miss my old one, and the reasons why I'm going to miss it, but that I'm excited because the new car has x, y, z, well... shouldn't your response be something like "Yes, I see that it has x, and it seems perfect for you! I'm happy you're happy." I emailed our family about our new car, and the best response was my SIL's. Simple and sweet: "Happy for you. :-)" That's all I wanted to hear. I want people in my life to be happy that I am happy. (And, if the occasion should ever present itself, to mourn when I mourn.) I'm making decisions within my family for my family, not yours. If it's not what you would do, then, well, good. Don't do it. Doesn't matter to me what you do within/for your family.

And if my husband and I decide to take a particular vacation and you say: "Why are you going on THAT vacation?" ... well, again, it screams judgement. How about something like "Tell me why you decided on that particular vacation."? I'll then be under the assumption that you're interested in knowing more about me, my decision, my family than about deciding for yourself whether you think it's the right choice for me. I welcome opportunities to get to know one another better, but let's be respectful while we're at it! Because, whose vacation is it: yours or mine?

Lastly, if you're close enough to be on the 'need to know' list, then you probably already know why they chose to do/have done/are whatever it is you're questioning them about. Why feel the need to ask them detailed questions? Is it any of your business? Some things can be seriously sensitive subjects, so let's respect each other and not ask a million questions about it. Be happy that they're happy. You questioning why they're going on a vacation, or how many kids they do or don't have seems incredibly rude to me. Why do you care where I go on vacation!? What if someone's infertile, and their hearts have been breaking for years over this issue? You off-handly asking "So, when ya gonna have kids?" might just be a dagger to their heart! I have a friend who'd I'd like to ask this particular question, but I bite my tongue literally every time I see her, because how do I know she's not been trying for forever? Last thing I need to do is make it worse. And besides, it's her family, not mine. I'm happy if they're happy.

As most people know, Austin was our awesome accident. Awesome, yet an accident. We couldn't love him more or love our new life more, but when we first found out, "Congrats!!!" was NOT the word we wanted to hear. I had one person ask how long we'd been trying. I responded we weren't. "Oh, not trying, but not NOT trying, right?" I then decided to prove a point by going into detail about how we were in fact still preventing, but that our chosen method of prevention failed. I'm not sure my point was made, but I felt like shouting at this person! If you don't know me well enough to know the particulars going on in my life, then why do you feel like you have the right to ask me about the details? And then to show judgment about that? Seriously. Do we need to go back to "If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all." combined with "Think before you speak." combined with "It's none of your beeswax."?

I'm not saying I have it all figured out or do this 'right.' I mean, I have thought about the correct way to respond to someone when they announce they're pregnant (given my own experience I've decided Congrats! isn't the way for me), and I still lack a solution that seems 'good enough.' A good friend responded "REALLY!?" when we told her, and this spoke volumes, and is probably the response I remember the most because it conveyed that she was sensitive to our situation (knowing we probably weren't all that happy about it. we weren't), and that she was shocked and excited and in the moment with us. It might have seemed rude to outsiders, but it was perfect for me. Exactly what I needed to hear. One person responded "Ok, so what are you experiencing right this minute?" Also perfect. I think the answer to the question I've been asking myself is that there is no one-size-fits-all answer. If you don't know the person well enough to know how they want you to respond to their news (vacation, new car, baby, etc), then what makes you think it's ok to ask a million questions about it? Why not just simply smile and tell them that you're happy if they're happy?

The old me. The new me.

An (Almost) Unbelievable Story about Customer Service

The following story might seem like 'a yarn,' 'a stretch,' embellished, or just plain not true. Yet, sadly, it is a 100% true story, with my opinions checked as much as possible. Seriously!

First of all, look at the nearest calendar. Find February 26th. That's the day it all began...

Seth and I went for our yearly eye exam at our local (in network) optometrist's office (right at Forest and Webb Chapel) to have our eyes checked. I needed a renewal on my contact prescription, and though Seth has 20/20 vision, still needs his eyes checked, even if only for their health. So, we went, Austin in tow, one got examined while the other waited in the sea shell-full waiting room. (You would not believe the number of sea shells in this office! pictures, actual shells, etc..!) Anyways...

I got my new prescription (which was different from last year), and went next door to Pearle Vision (they share a wall) to obtain my samples. (They always give you a sample for each eye that you get to test out before you actually purchase new contacts. It's to make sure they're correct.) I went home with one for each eye. I got a call about 5 days later, however, saying that the samples they sent me home with were incorrect (they never stated in which way they were incorrect) and that I needed to come up there to pick up my new samples. I did. I didn't notice anything different between the first set of samples and the second set. I must note that I hadn't kept the original packaging for the first set of samples, so I have no idea what the difference was. Knowing what I know now, I doubt there was any difference. But I'll get to that in a bit.

About a week went by with me using this second set of samples when I realized that I didn't think my left eye's prescription was correct. It seemed too fuzzy to be a brand new prescription. Then we went on vacation.

It was March 26th (exactly a month since my first appointment) before I could go back to have the Dr. re-check my eyes and tweak the prescription. As I had previously done, immediately following the exam, I went next door to pick up my sample. It was explained to me that they never carry samples of my type of lens (I have astigmatism) in the store. This was contrary to my experience over the last two years and I stated so. I was abruptly cut off and told that I must certainly be mistaken. This is when things started to seem "funny."

I was called about 5 days later and told that my new sample was in, so I drove up there to get it. Now, I know this location is about .8 miles from my home, but to get a then 5-month old loaded up, out of the car, into the store, back into the car, back into the house for what seemed the millionth time, for a sample contact, was starting to push my patience. I, having started to get the feeling of being jacked around, kept the container for this new sample. After about a week, I concluded that it was perfect, and called PV to have them order me a box for each eye, using the new prescription for the left eye. About a week goes by.

I get a call that my contacts are in and I can pick them up. I go up there (again, hauling Austin around as previously described). As soon as I get in the door and tell the 'receptionist' my name, she pulls out the tray labeled with my name (you know those flat, plastic trays eye Dr. places always have?) and starts groaning. Oh! OOh! ugh. ah! Once she pulls out the tray, she moans and groans for a good 30 seconds, never once explaining to me what's going on. She goes in the back and talks to someone. Further gasping and groaning occur. She comes out and says "Your contacts aren't here." I reply that I'm confused because there are two boxes in the tray, the tray with my name on it, she's holding the tray, what does she mean? It literally takes me asking Yes/No questions for 5 minutes before I finally understand that yes, contacts were ordered for me, but the wrong ones were ordered. No apology. I'm told that she'll personally re-order my contacts and call me when they're in. !

A week or so later, she calls. I go back up. Now toting a 6-month old as previously described. I pay for the contacts and come home. Immediately I check the boxes with the sample container from my second, left-eye sample and realize that they ordered me an incorrect prescription for my left eye. They ordered the original prescription. ugh.

I call the Dr. office, and that receptionist walks next door to tell the PV people that there's been a mistake, they've given me the wrong contacts. After talking to pretty much everyone in the store, they agree to order me another box, and... you guessed it, they'll call me when they're in. While on the phone with them, I explain the story from the beginning, that I couldn't understand how one business could get a single customer's order so completely wrong and never once apologize about it or offer a consolation of any kind. I proceed to ask if they could get an extra contact for each eye for me given all my hassle. They agree.

So, a week later when I go to pick up my correct contacts, they hand me a box plus a single contact container. I hand over all the previous incorrect contacts, and come home. I didn't even once look at what they were handing me! You might be thinking what I am now.. why didn't you check the contacts while in the store!? I guess I can only blame it on having Austin in tow, and my simmering anger which when the two are combined causes me to not think completely logically. Because guess what happened....

I get home and notice that the contact box looks different than normal. Then I notice that it says "3 lenses" on the packaging. I rip it open to find indeed, there are only 3 contacts inside. So, instead of getting 7 for the price of 6 (because of all the hassle), I got 4 for the price of 6. I literally screamed! I couldn't fathom that they had once again inconvenienced me to this degree. Seriously!? I call, shaking, trying to maintain my composure and a somewhat-even voice and explain to the manager what happened. (I must also add here that I've been speaking to the 'manager' each and every time I called since the very beginning.) I explain that the box only has 3 rather than the typical 6, that I couldn't believe I have been further hassled by this place and I'm still not done dealing with them! She agrees to order three more contacts, and mail them to me. "Would that be helpful?" "YES!" I shouted back.

Well, last Tuesday I got my envelope from Pearle Vision containing 3 contacts. 3 INCORRECT contacts. They're the original, aka wrong, prescription. I'm trembling with anger as I call and immediately ask for the manager. The chick answering the phone says "Ma'am, we mailed you your contacts." "yes, and they are the wrong ones." click. "Hi Ms. Spofford, Yes, I just got your contacts in and mailed them to you the other day." "I know. I just got the package. They're the wrong ones." silence. I then go on to say that they are the first prescription, the wrong prescription, and that I couldn't believe that they have been messing with me since February and not once had anyone apologized to me. Her response!?!? "Well, ma'am, I can do that, but you see... blah blah blah." She never once apologized!!!!! She did, however say she'd re-order my contacts and mail them out to me. Well, it's 8 days later and I still don't have them.

Though, once I do get them, I feel like I still need to make a trip up there because what am I going to do with three contacts that are wrong? Hold onto them? No. Throw them away? Seems like a waste. So, once I get my correct contacts in the mail, I plan on making a visit up there, sans Austin, and speak to this lady face to face. I pray I hold my temper in check!

Side note: After receiving the 3 incorrect contacts in the mail, Seth suggested I call corporate to complain, asking for a regional or area manager. (He's very familiar with that process as he deals with high-level managers at Michaels all the time. I thought it was a brilliant suggestion!) Well, I did that, and guess what? There isn't one! This store, along with 2 others, is privately owned which means no regional manager, and the guy promised to forward my complaint to the owner and that I'd hear back from the owner within 2 days, and a week later I still have heard nothing. Seriously. ugh. Actually, double ugh.

Guess where I will NOT be going to have my eyes checked next year???? (And for my neighbors reading this, please also spare yourself and your family by going elsewhere. Please.)