This girl's gone country

So if you're friends with me on facebook, you probably know that I like music. Country music especially. I can't recall a time where I didn't like country music, but there was a gap where I didn't listen to any of it. Mostly because I was never in control of the radio. But having my own car has major advantages, including sole control of the radio! :)

When I was younger, we listened to country a lot in the car. And that's where my love for it came from. Then we went through the no radio stage, and now my family is into the k-love stage. But since I drive to school 3 days a week, and to work, I have control of the radio.

I am a HUGE fan of Rascal Flatts and Keith Urban. (and Taylor Swift...but everyone says she doesn't count anymore..>.<) So since I don't actually own any Keith Urban (he is permanently embedded on my youtube account) and my birthday is coming soon...HINT HINT. Okay..anyways. Oh, I can't forget Tim McGraw and Brad Paisley! Classic country music! So here are some of my favorites.

And I know I didn't mention Josh Turner, but this is absolutely my favorite country song EVER.

Debating :)

Romans 5:12-21

  ¹² Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned—

  

¹³ To be sure, sin was in the world before the law was given, but sin is not charged against anyone’s account where there is no law.  

¹⁴ Nevertheless, death reigned from the time of Adam to the time of Moses, even over those who did not sin by breaking a command, as did Adam, who is a pattern of the one to come.

 ¹⁵ But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God’s grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many!  

¹⁶ Nor can the gift of God be compared with the result of one man’s sin: The judgment followed one sin and brought condemnation, but the gift followed many trespasses and brought justification.  

¹⁷ For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ!

¹⁸ Consequently, just as one trespass resulted in condemnation for all people, so also one righteous act resulted in justification and life for all people.  

¹⁹ For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous.

 ²⁰ The law was brought in so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, 

²¹ so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. 

I've been reading through Romans for quite some time now, and I learn something new every time I read a chapter. Now you have to understand, since I am only in chapter 5, I read the same chapters over and over again. And yes, I struggle to read my Bible consistently just like everyone else out there. I usually fall asleep when I read things, so that's part of the reason. But that is no excuse nonetheless.

So when I turned to Romans 5 a few days ago, I realized that I had memorized many of the beginning verses from AWANA. When I read something that is already in my brain, I tend to not pay as much attention to it. Even though those verses often come back to me during the day and I am able to apply them.

In verse 15, it says "But the gift [salvation through grace] is not like the trespass." I take this to mean that since vs. 12 says "Death came upon ALL people, so ALL have sinned," that the gift does not go to ALL people. And that is clearly obvious in this world, because we all know people who are on their way to hell, or have gone to hell. The gift is not like the sin passing upon all men. The gift is given to "The Many." Now there are two different parts of "The Many" in verse 15. There are "the many" who died because of their sin and there are "the many" who were granted eternal life.

I've been debating the issue of predestination with a friend of mine for a while now. I believe that from the scripture we know for a fact that God knows everything. But does He know everything, and plan everything? I don't see how He cannot. But God has nothing to do with sin, so I think He presents us with the choice to sin or not and leaves that up to us. And this makes sense to me because how else did Adam and Eve sin? I have a hard time believing God would have planned someone to sin because He Himself is sinless. So I think we have the choice to sin or not. However, you cannot convince someone of the fact that they were chosen and they didn't have a choice to be saved or not because then they argue back, like he did, that no one else in the world has a chance. Yes, that's true. But we don't know who is chosen or not. We can only be accountable for ourselves. And we are commanded to spread the gospel.

Then he argued, how can we even tell someone about Christ if they are not chosen? But it's not up to us to decide that. People will reject the truth either way, if you believe in predestination or not. And once again, we cannot know who are the elect of God. We can only judge that for ourselves.

The issue of free will is also another thing we like to discuss. And I have also debated this with another friend of mine as well. She believes that if we have no free will, and that if God planned out our actions, then we are just a programmed robot and as she said "I don't think God would do that. That is very unloving." Well the more I learn about God, the more I find how He is NOT ALL ABOUT LOVE. We just like to think He is because that's what gets people attracted to Him. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that God is not loving, because if he wasn't then there would be no hope for us. But God is also a just God, and He is jealous for his people. He gets angry when we sin.

"One righteous act resulted in justification and life for all people." I was talking to ANOTHER friend the other day who I met in my portrait photography class. He saw my shirt from the creation museum and started asking me questions about what I believe in and such. It turns out he is a Christian, and before he came to WCCC he actually went to Bible college. I found that incredibly interesting and I asked him why he was coming to WCCC for photography when he already had a bachelors degree in computer networking and theology. His answer was a bit strange, and later on that night on facebook, he told me his story. But anyways, we talked about church and things like that, and the issue of being a calvinist came up. He told me that he agreed with all the points but one: Limited Atonement. Which is the belief that Christ only died for those who would eventually be saved, and not for the whole world. So we talked about that and he tried to defend why he thought that was wrong, and I tried to share why I thought it was correct. In the end, he made a pause in the chat line and said "Ellen, I'm terribly sorry for doing this to you. But I was playing the devils advocate there. I do believe in limited atonement and I was just testing you because I believe we should always be ready to give an answer for the things we believe." I was in shock. But I was happy at the same time. It was good that he did that to me. He was making me think about what I really believe.

In the end, I am always glad to debate things, because it makes me stronger in my faith and it helps me to see where other people are coming from. AND it makes me want to read my Bible more. I want to know what I believe, not what I've been taught to believe. And that's the best way to find out!

My Battle Part 6

I wasn't sure where I was. I didn't know what was going on. I couldn't see. Everything was a big blur. I vaguely remember seeing what looked to be a clock on the other side of the room (I was far sighted, go figure), but I couldn't make out the time. Some time must have passed before I was aware of where I was. My vision was slowly coming back. I was aware that I was extremely thirsty, and that there was a slight amount of pain on the right side of my head.

As I came to, I realized there was a nurse sitting next to me. She saw that I was awake and immediately asked me how I felt. Needless to say, my brain went into panic mode at that moment and I started freaking out. Right then the pain got worse and I just started crying. I sort of remember asking her to get my parents. She said she would do that in a few minutes once she was sure I was doing ok. I started to get hysterical. I told her I really needed something to drink. She offered me pepsi, apple juice, or ginger ale. I asked her for water. I never really drank soda, and I hated apple juice. She said she couldn't get any water, so I told her ginger ale then.

The pain was slowly getting worse, and so she gave me some morphine through my iv. NOT a good decision since I had an empty stomach. She got me my ginger ale and told me to sip it slowly. I did, and by that time, Mom and Dad came into the room. Dad asked me if I felt any relief at all since Dr. Pollock had told him there was so much pressure, that when he cut me open, there was a geyser of water squirting out of my head. And he apparently said that had not happened before to any of his patients. I told him that I could definitely feel relief of pressure, but the pain of the stitches (and the hole in my skull) hurt really badly. All of a sudden, I felt my stomach give way and I puked all over myself. I had worked myself up, and the morphine didn't help.

Needless to say, when that happened, a band of nurses swarmed around me, trying to clean up my puke, and keep me comfortable and not moving.  Pain surged through my head, caused by the exertion of strength and muscle movement I had just experienced. (you don't realize how much your scalp actually moves until it has 12 stitches in it) My blood was pumping, and my head started pounding. I almost immediately wanted to take back what I had just said and instead say There's no way the pain is gone dad! But I was too scared to say anything. I just wanted to sleep, and maybe when I wake up it will be gone.

They made me stay in the ICU for a bit longer til they were sure I wasn't going to puke again. Then they wheeled me into the elevator and took me upstairs to my room. Once we reached the room, they said they were going to lower the bed, and I would have to roll over onto the bed in the room. Piece of cake right? No, not really. I could barely move. The after effects of anesthesia are horrible. I tried to sit up and I fell right back down. So I tried to pull myself over onto the bed. I don't know how I did it. The nurses may have helped me. I just remember as soon as I got over onto the bed, they put this finger monitor on me that had a glowing red light in it. (basically a pulse detector) I was extremely exhausted, and hungry. I asked for food, but of course, when you vomit in a hospital, food is the last thing you can even look at. They said I had to wait. So I did, and I quickly got settled and fell asleep.

I don't remember how much time had passed before I woke up to my nurse checking my temperature and blood pressure. It was now dark outside, so possibly 3 hours I had been asleep. It was then that I realized there was another patient in my room on the other side of the curtain. It was a girl who looked to be about the same age as me. Her and her mother were playing cards. A few minutes later, my parents came into my room. I guess they had been with the doctor then went to eat dinner. They said that everything went great and I should be able to go home in the morning if everything went fine that night.

Just then, our pastor at the time, Pete Hipple, walked in the door with balloons and a giant stuffed dog. He wanted to know how I was and to let me know that everyone at FBC was praying for me. Let me tell you, that dog did NOT leave my side for the next few weeks. I still have her. She's so soft and cuddly. (yeah, that may be childish, but that dog means so much to me, and I don't let anyone touch her..haha)

Mom left not long after. They said only one parent could stay, so Dad stayed with me. I remember turning on the tv and watching Skylark that night. I'm pretty sure I fell asleep not long after it started though, and of course I woke up again to a nurse coming to check my vitals. And that time, I asked her for food and she said I could have jello and crackers. Yay! Except when she brought me it, it was green disgusting lime jello. So I vaguely remember taking a few slurps and then resorting to the crackers.

Dr. Pollock and a few of his assistants came to check on me periodically during the night. They shined a flashlight in my eyes, and asked me to use my arms, legs, fingers and toes. Then they shined a light on my head, and so on.

Note: Some of the things that went on during the night, I am choosing to leave out of this story. Please do not ask me about it. I try to block some things out.

I remember that the girl in the bed next to me also had her doctor check in on her several times. I really couldn't hear what they were saying, so I didn't know what was wrong with her. I just knew she didn't sleep nearly as much as I did. And she was happy too.

In the middle of the night, one of the monitors I was hooked up to started beeping extremely loud. I didn't know what was wrong. And no one ever came to check on me. After about what seemed like 15 minutes, it finally stopped beeping, and I was able to go back to sleep.

The next time I woke, it was morning, light was shining through the window, and the hustle and bustle of a hospital kicked into place. People were running from room to room, checking on each of the patients. There was a note from my nurse on the white board telling me to call downstairs and order breakfast. However, I couldn't move. I was hooked up to a billion monitors, an iv, and the fact that I still wasn't used to the after effects of anesthesia. So Dad called down and ordered. I remember having pancakes, english muffins, and eggs for breakfast. I was starving.

After breakfast, a new nurse came in. She had curly brown hair and to me, she was gorgeous. She also looked extremely young compared to all the other nurses in the night. She told me that she was going to give me some interesting liquid through my iv. It took a while before she found the right equipment, but she did it, and I felt basically nothing. When she was done, she removed the iv, and it was the first time I looked at my hand. It turned green. I was bruised. It hurt for the next few days.

Then, I was told to get up and try to walk around. That was probably the most difficult task I experienced that day. My legs did not want to move, and I had no energy whatsoever. It started off that I was extremely dizzy, and I just had to stand there for a while waiting for the room to stop spinning. It was noon before I was able to walk around and feel good enough for them to let me go home. They wheeled me downstairs with my dog, who I had affectionately named Josephine, and my balloons. Dad went to get the car in the parking garage, and drove it to the front door. I climbed into the backseat (since I was still 12) and I got my first breath of fresh air. I was ready for my head to start pounding like it normally did. But it didn't happen. :) I was ecstatic. Now if only the pain of the stitches would go away, I'd feel absolutely wonderful.

It was a long drive home, but when we got home, I got out of the car, and walked up the stairs by myself to say hello to my family. They were like "Ellen! Glad you're here! Now go get in bed!" What a welcome. lol But that is exactly what I did. Mom had gone out and bought me a few welcome home, get better soon presents. One thing I remember was these wall stickers of tigger and pooh with butterflies and flowers. I put them on my wall right beside my bed, and they are still there today. (you may have seen them in some of my profile pictures...since I am typically sitting on my bed when I take them. lol) I don't know if I'll ever take them down, although I have been tempted to lately. Simply because I am a college student now, and my room looks fairly childish. But no, I'm not going to remove them. They serve as a reminder to me, how wonderfully blessed I am.

The day I came home, was also Emma's birthday. I didn't want to ruin for her, and I certainly didn't think it was right for me to be getting gifts on her birthday. So I gave her something...I don't remember what, but I did.

I was asleep in my bed when there was a knock on my bedroom door. My Aunt and Uncle came in with a bouquet of 50 roses!!!!! And a bunch of cards and pictures from my cousins. If you didn't already know, there is nothing I love more than receiving flowers from someone. I LOVE flowers. <3 <3 <3 And that many roses made my day wonderful. They were all different pastel colors. GORGEOUS!!!

They left, and I quickly fell back asleep. I woke up around dinner time, and I was ready to eat. We had spaghetti that night. And I remember being so exhausted after dinner, and so in pain, that I needed something for my pain. They had given me a prescription for Oxycodine (I think) when I left the hospital. I was pretty sure I needed it. So I believe that Dad went to target to have it filled. When he brought it home, it said on the outside "Do not take if you have any type of head trauma." What the heck??? Why would they give me that? Do they want me to die? So I didn't take it. We had some regular Tylenol laying around and I took some of that. As the night went on, I developed a bit of a fever. They said if it reached 101, I had to go back to the hospital. And I can remember mom taking my temp and it was 101.1. But I REFUSED to go back. So I just went to sleep.

When I woke up the next day, I was fine. Still in a ton of pain. I wanted to get a bath so bad. I felt disgusting. But I was told I couldn't get my head wet for 5 days. I had iodine all over my head. I looked and smelled horrible. But I hurt to bad to care. So I basically just slept away the next few days. My grandma came over, and she had bought me a bracelet with tiny blue flowers on it. I loved it. I also was showered with cards and blessings the next few days.

When I finally was able to shower, I took my grand ole time. I didn't want to even touch my head. It really hurt just running water over it. There was no way I was brushing my hair for a LONG time either. But that was okay. I was only 12 and I didn't care what I looked like.

One week after my surgery, I had an appointment with Dr. Pollock's assistant. She was a nice lady, and she told me I needed to scrub my head. Ha..no way. It hurt too much. I had an MRI a few weeks later just to check up on things, and everything was looking okay. I needed to have MRI's every 3 months to make sure everything was looking okay.

I was just very happy to be able to walk and move freely without being in pain. Even with the limitations I had, I was quite joyful.

2 weeks later, I went to Bible quizzing with two of my friends from FBC. We took second place, and I wore a bandanna over my head. It was a great experience and God blessed me so much.

This is the conclusion my first battle with hydrocephalus. I will continue at a later time with my second battle.

I hope you have enjoyed reading my story, and I hope I have inspired you in some way.

My Battle Part 5

Note: I apologize for the wait. I am having trouble remembering some key details. Because of that, some of this may not have actually happened this day.

I woke up in the morning to the sound of my alarm clock. I jumped in the shower, dried my hair, and went upstairs with a bag full of things to do once I was out of surgery. ha ha. I had music, my awana book to study for Bible quizzing, a hand held sudoku game, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a change of clothes. They said I would only have to stay one night if everything went okay. Of course, I didn't know at the time that I wouldn't be better instantly and all the pain I'd be in afterward. I didn't care. I was just glad to be moving on. I also temporarily forgot that people with any sort of brain trauma sleep a lot. I was having brain surgery. You would've thought I would've been more prepared. But how could I be? Everything had happened in 1.5 days. That's not enough time to read up on things and be aware of the situation.

Like any operation, I couldn't eat anything. I believe I was scheduled for 2pm. That was a long time for me to go without food back then. (that may be hard for those of you who recently met me to believe, since I go without breakfast every day, and some days without lunch.) So while everyone was munching away, I sat on the couch and tried to calm my mind and understand what was going to happen to me in a few short hours.

In my opinion, I can remember looking like a mess. My hair looked like a fluffed mop, and whatever I was wearing was wrinkled. But I didn't care. I was ready to go.

My family gathered around and prayed for me. I was overcome with peace. I wasn't worried or anxious. But then again, I didn't know what to expect either.

Dad and Mom got in the car and I crawled into the back seat. I don't remember the ride there. I could have been asleep. I could have been praying. I just can't remember.

When we got to Pittsburgh, we had to find a place to park. Since this was an inpatient procedure, we were able to park in the hospital's parking garage. Dad eventually found a spot and he squeezed the car in. We then headed to the fifth floor for all the pre-op work. We signed in and they gave me a wrist band.  

I don't remember what order the next events came in, so I'm just going to type as I remember.

We met with the anesthesiologist who was going to be "taking care of me." First thing he asked was my birth date to see if it matched my wrist band. He asked me what seemed like 100 questions that had nothing to do with my condition and everything to do with my personal life. Things like "Do you have your own room?" and "Do you have a boyfriend?" (yes, and no...in case you were wondering.) There were many other questions as well that I fail to see how it connects to that day, or any day really. "Do you wear perfume? Are you wearing makeup? Do you have any piercings beside your ears?" blah blah blah. And I was told they go over these questions with every child there from age 0-18. Seriously??? Gee whiz. He also asked me what flavor I wanted the anesthesia to be. He said strawberry, cherry or grape. I hate strawberries, and I wasn't feeling very grape like. So cherry it was.

Then I was told to put on a hospital gown. I despise those things. They are pure evil. But I obeyed.

So then the next room we went to was a waiting area. Then they were going to call me back to be "marked." I had no clue what that meant. :) So when I was called, I went to a room where a guy was sitting with several multi-colored sharpies. He asked me my name, my birthday (checked it with my wristband again) and then he asked me what I was there for. He told me he was going to give me a sharpie tattoo (which it looked like he had already given himself several), and asked what design I wanted. I was confused. Was he joking? Sort of. He checked my chart and said he had to draw an "X" on the right side of my forehead. There I sat with a big black X, looking like something from Frankenstein. Then we went back to the waiting room.

While we were sitting there, a custodian came by to grab the garbage in the room I was in. He must have thought I looked scared because he told me a joke. Then he asked me if I was good at math. I said yes, and he said "Ok, pick a number from 1-10. But don't tell me." So I did. He went on, "Double that number. Now add 10 to that number. Now divide that number by 2. Now subtract the number you started with." I did the calculations in my head, and he said "The number is 5?" I said yes, and he laughed and said "Great! It worked! And I got you to smile too! :)" Even a janitor can make a difference in a child's life.

The next thing I remember, we went to the last room I would be in before being wheeled into the operating room. There were a bunch of hospital beds, and there were little children sleeping in some of them. They all had stitches on some part of their body. I was starting to get a bit concerned. I knew they had to shave my head, but I didn't know if I was going to be completely bald, or if it was just a small section. I kept thinking that if I had to wear a wig, I was never going out of the house again.

There were a few people in blue scrubs in the room, just keeping an eye on the sleeping children. Then I saw Dr. Pollock. He was wearing a white scrub with blood all over it. He walked right by me, took off his coat and went into the next room. Then the nurse called my name and said it was time for me to say goodbye to mom and dad and go back to the operating room.

My heart starts to pound as I get on the hospital bed and they wheel me down through 3 sets of double doors, all with the words "Do not enter" on the outside. They wheeled me into a room where there were about 5 people in blue scrubs. There were tubes and wires coming out the wazoo. And right in the middle was the dreaded operating table. They told me to roll off the bed onto the table and put my head in the cushioned pillow thing. The next thing I know, they put a mask over my face and tell me to keep breathing. I felt my face go numb. One of the assistants said she was going to put an iv in my arm. Whatever right? I knew that part wasn't that bad. Well she missed. And she tried again and missed my vein once again. After about 5 tries, I think she finally got it in. Then all of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. It was like the mask was suffocating me. They had only given me nitrous oxide thus far, and even though my arm was numb and I couldn't talk, I managed to reach up to my face and try to push the mask off. The nurse kind of freaked out. She was like "Oh do you need some oxygen?" YES PLEASE. I can't breathe! So she took it off for a few seconds. She told me to laugh and smile. And I did. And that stuff does something to your brain, let me tell you.

Then it happened. She lowered the mask and everything went black.

...to be continued in part 6

My Battle Part 4

The drive to Children's in the car seemed to take forever. Dad ran me through what they might ask me to do, and that I should do it. Also that I need to answer all their questions with utmost detail. They are here to help me. So I need to help them out by telling them what I feel.

At this point, none of us knew what was going on, and it was starting to get irritating. Please God, just let them know today what is wrong with me. I can't take this anymore.

That morning I had already been to Westmoreland Hospital, my PCP, and now on the way to Children's Hospital. I was getting sick of being around a bunch of people who DIDN'T know what was wrong with me. And being around sick people as well made me feel horrible and sickly.

We were told to go to the purple elevators on the second floor. Go past the silver elevators and enter by the musical mural on the wall. How do I remember that you ask? You'll find out. When we got signed in and everything, Dad realized we were not there to see a neurologist, but rather a neurosurgeon. That was a bit unnerving. And we were both wondering if he was going to be able to help me out at all.

The nurse who called me back was very friendly. She had blonde hair and was wearing a grey sweater. Not a typical scrub like everyone else. She explained to me that I needed to tell her and the Dr. everything that I was feeling. And so I went through my symptoms with her, and then she asked me to stand up, walk in a straight line. I did that fine. Then she asked me to close my eyes and stand with my hands in front of me, palms up. Dad said that she stood behind me waiting for me to fall backwards, which I didn't. I didn't have the typical symptoms of a neurological disorder. I would have if it would have lasted maybe a few days or weeks longer. I don't know how long it takes. But from what I've read about other people my age, I should be, in some way, mentally impaired.

While we waited for the doctor to come in, I realized that whatever the outcome, God was in control. He was putting me through this trial for a reason.

The twelfth year of my life was a great one for me spiritually. I rededicated my life to the Lord, learned a lot about complete surrender, and I actually was baptized that year. I didn't realize it then, but God was preparing me to depend on Him when I needed Him the most. And now was certainly the time. I said in the last post that I was in the midst of preparing for Bible quizzing, which was only a week and a half away. I was worried I that I wasn't going to be able to make it and let my team down. But God had other plans.

There was a knock on the door and Dr. Ian Pollock, the head of the neurosurgery department at Children's came in. He shook my father's hand, and then he shook mine. And then he got right to the point. He said I had a condition called hydrocephalus. Where the ventricles in the brain swell and cause inter-cranial pressure. Making it feel like your head is going to explode, and causing pressure on the back of my eyes. Hence the pressure on the optic nerves in my eyes.

Like I said before, I was clueless to what any of this meant. And I guess Dr. Pollock figured that out. He said "The ventricles in your brain are supposed to be the size of your pinky finger. Ellen's are the size of my fists." Oh boy. That explains a lot. So he said "Let me take you back and show you what the films from the MRI look like. It'll give you a better perspective." And this is what we saw (NOTE: These are not the actual images of my brain, although I do have the original films though from my first MRI. Even though they technically aren't allowed to give them to us, they did.)

What my brain looked like

 

What a normal brain looks like

Obviously there is something wrong there. And if you think that doesn't look painful, look again. My brain ended up looking like that first picture for about 3 years, but I will get to that later.

So what is the cure? If you read part one, I explained the process of a third ventriculostomy. They drill a hole in your skull, stick an endoscope down in there, and poke a hole through the third ventricle. That was the option Dr. Pollock gave me. There also was a second. I could have a more invasive surgery and have a shunt put in, which is basically a drain with a tube attached that leads to another part of your body, typically the stomach. That requires at least 4 incisions. Two on the head, one on the neck, and at least one on the stomach. That sounded terrifying. And since I was 12, and this shouldn't have happened to me, he recommended the first option. It typically worked and I wouldn't have to worry about the tube getting infected and all the revisions that could come about through that process. (horrifying, just look it up on youtube)

I was relieved to finally have a problem and a solution. And the doctor said he wanted to do it as soon as possible. I was ok with that. God was giving me overwhelming peace that day. I remained calm, and I had a smile on as usual. The dr. said he would never have guessed I was in so much pain. And not many other people that I was around a lot even knew.

So he called out to his nurse/secretary and asked when the next available date for surgery he had.

Then came the real shock.

TOMORROW MORNING she said.

Dad was like "TOMORROW??" I was just like "Fantastic. The sooner the better." Not really, I honestly don't remember what I thought. Everything that week had happened so fast. I was tired. I didn't feel good. I just wanted to go home and sleep.

So then the next process of calling Mother and telling her that he could operate tomorrow...and tell her everything we'd just found out. I can remember the conversation going something like this:

Dad: Hi.
Mom: What's going on? What did you find out?
Dad: They want to do surgery tomorrow.
Mom: TOMORROW!?? What's wrong???
Dad: I'll tell you about it when we get home..is tomorrow ok?
Mom: *flustered and nervous* I guess...I mean, does she have to?
Dad: Yes. So there's nothing going on?
Mom: No.
Dad: Ok.
Mom: Well what's wrong????
Dad: She has something called hydrocephalus. The ventricles in her brain are supposed to be the size of your pinky finger, and hers are the size of fists.
Mom: *in shock* wow.
Dad: Ok, I gotta go, see you soon.

haha...so yeah, that's what I remember.

He scheduled me and said I needed to go for some pre-op bloodwork downstairs. So we went downstairs and I got poked again for about the third time that day. (not to mention I have horrible veins and they always miss the first time) So we finished that and then we headed home. Since it was Wednesday night, and by now it was about 6pm, I think we drove straight to church.

Once we got there, everything started to hit me, hard. That day, I had gone through a 45 minute MRI, had a shock that I might have a brain tumor, been rushed from one place to the next, visited an neurosurgeon, had blood work for the first time in my life, not to mention being poked and prodded at a dozen times, I was told what was wrong with me, I was told I was going into surgery the next morning, and not to mention I don't think I had eaten anything that day at all. I was exhausted, still in pain, and there was nothing I wanted to do except sleep.

I can remember walking into my awana class and everyone asking me what was going on. My class prayed for me. And we studied some for Bible quizzing. Then while everyone else went to gametime, Pastor Hipple and Mr. Parker, and Mr. McCoy and some of the other people at church gathered around me in a room and prayed. I never hardly ever went to gametime since whenever I would get my heart pumping, my head would start pounding. I usually sat in the kitchen and watched. So it wasn't a big deal at all to me.

So the night ended, and we went home and I finally got to sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. And I wasn't waking up until I had to. The next day my life would be changed. I was hoping for instant relief. And I had no clue how much pain was yet to come. I was just thankful to finally have an answer.

...to be continued in part 5

My Battle Part 3

It was February 21, 2006, a Tuesday that I will NEVER forget.

I was home watching Amy, Emma and Stephen. Mom had just left to take Kara and her friend Naomi to the mall. Naomi was (and still is) Kara's best friend, and she was spending the week at our house. They decided to go and do something together that day, and thus going to the mall as a result.

I had slept about 11 hours that night, and I was not feeling up to doing anything at all. I can remember being kind of irritated that I was once again left at home to watch my siblings. It seemed to happen a lot that year. Not to mention that I was worried that I was just going to die one day, so I didn't want to be left alone.

I was in my room when the phone rang. Amy answered it. And the next thing I know, I'm being told that Mom completely forgot about another eye appointment I was scheduled for, and she remembered when she passed it on the way to the mall. I don't remember if she asked me if I just wanted to cancel it, or if she was just going to cancel it herself. But something made her change either her or my mind. I'm pretty sure I didn't want to go. This was like the 8th eye appointment I was supposed to have in like 3 weeks. Nothing had changed. So why would it now?

Needless to say, Mom turned the van around and came home to get me right away. She dropped Kara and Naomi off, and I ran out the garage door and jumped in the van (causing my head to want to explode once again.)

We got to the optometrist and they took me right away since we were late. I knew something was wrong when I was sitting in the "examination chair" and he started shining these lights in my eyes with these things that looked like a magnifying glass. I could barely hold my eye open. My eyes by now were very sensitive to light. And this was like torture.

The thing was, it lasted for an extremely long time. Then the Dr. said "I'll be right back," and he walked out of the room and I could hear him talking with my mother. I couldn't make out what he was saying because he spoke in such quiet tones. But I could tell my mother was worried. "What does that mean?" I could hear her say, and "What do you do about that?" and "When can we get that done?"

My head hurts. I just had a bright light shined in my eyes for what seemed like hours. I just wanted to leave that place and go home to sleep.

Then the Dr. came back in and told me I could leave. THANK GOD. Well my mother was in a panic. And she told me that I needed to have an MRI right away. What on earth is that? I wondered. Then I realized it was like that thing I saw on tv where there's a lady laying on a hospital bed and they stick her in a tube. Hmm...interesting. What on earth did that do to you? How far did it take you back? Did it hurt? Was I finally going to learn what the heck is wrong with me? Was I going to die? These are the things that were going through my mind. I can remember the nurse/office manager calling around to see if they had any available appointments within the next few days, but the soonest they said they could fit me in was March. So I was going to have to wait until then.

On the way home, mom explained to me that there was pressure on my optic nerve on the back of both my eyes, and significantly in my right eye. The doctor said that he had another lady a few weeks ago who had the same thing. And nothing was wrong. It was just some sort of fluke thing, and that probably was the case with me as well. It was a condition they called Papilledema.

To my 12 year old mind, I had no idea what any of this meant. What is your optic nerve? Is this a really bad thing? Could I die from this? Why do I have to wait so long? Why do I need an MRI?

We got home, and Mom called Dad to tell him what was going on and that I was scheduled for an MRI in March. Almost as soon as she hung up, the phone rang. It was someone from the Radiology department at Westmoreland Hospital. They said they had a cancellation for the next day and wondered if we could be there first thing in the morning. Of course that was an answer to prayer and she said yes. I think I slept the rest of the day since I don't remember much.

The next morning, I was up bright and early and we were on our way to the hospital. I never liked being at the hospital to visit anyone or anything because to me, that was the place where old sick people go. And I was not old, and I really wasn't sick. I was just in pain. So we found the Radiology department, and they asked me a ton of questions like "Do you have any metal shavings in your skin? Do you have any bullets in your body? Any prosthetic body parts? Was I wearing any jewelry? Did I wear a watch? etc." Strange I thought. Why do they need to know all this? And why on earth would I have a bullet in me? I haven't been shot. Has anyone my age ever been shot? Weird. I was wearing a watch, and they made me take it off, and also take everything I had in my pockets out. I must have been wearing jeans, because I had a belt on. But apparently they did not realize that. And they didn't ask me.

The next thing I know, they are putting an IV in my arm. That was no big deal, but I had no clue why. I'm not scared of needles, and such small amounts of pain were no longer an issue. They said it was so they could do contrast...that meant nothing to me. I just wanted to it to be over with. So they asked me my height/weight, adjusted the bed thing, and put me on it. They covered me with a blanket and gave me ear plugs. Then they said that the hardest part was going to be that I had to lay absolutely still for at least 45 minutes. I figured that would be easy since I was allowed to fall asleep. hahaha...there's no sleeping in those things. It was so loud. Clicking, banging, squeaking, pounding, screetching, etc. You name a noise, that machine made it. Every few minutes, I moved further back into the tube. They had strapped my head down, so there was really no way I could even move it.

Since this was February, I was preparing for my first year of JV Bible Quizzing which was the first week of March. So during the MRI, I was reciting the verses and questions I had memorized to myself. It's the small things like that, that can give me comfort. And I was praying the whole time.

When it was all over, we had to wait while they printed out the films from the scan. This hospital had not yet converted to digital equipment. So it took quite a while to print out every picture. Then we went to visit my primary care doctor.

They took us back to the lit up screens where they put the MRI films up, just like an xray. The doctor said he didn't know how to interpret pictures of the brain. But from what he could tell, something wasn't right. And he said there I could possibly have a tumor.

WHAT??? A TUMOR? I really am going to die. GOD NO! Please! I don't want to die!

The Dr. told us we needed to go to Children's Hospital and see a neurologist there. And so he called and got us an appointment for that day, about 2 hours later. Mom did not want to drive me into Pittsburgh, so she called Dad and since this was becoming even more serious as the day went on, he wanted to take me. By the time we got home, Dad was already there and had changed clothes and was ready to jump in the car and drive.

Little did I know, that day I was finally going to find out what was wrong with me.

...to be continued in part 4.

My Battle Part 2

If I were to start at the beginning, I wouldn't know where to start. I don't remember the beginning. I honestly don't even remember it coming on slow, or one day realizing the pain had been there for a while. It didn't happen that way. There are certain days I can remember where the pain would not subside. But realistically, it started before that. I was 12 years old, in seventh grade, enjoying my life, not having a care in the world.

I guess the soonest I can remember feeling pain was whenever I had to read. Since I was homeschooled, I was required to read basically every subject. There wasn't really any "teacher" since I read to teach myself. (or was read to by my mother.) I can remember specifically reading a book called "The Golden Goblet," while sitting on our lazy boy chair. Then I couldn't read anymore. My eyes hurt. The lights above the piano seemed to be brighter than ever. Not to mention that my vision started to blur during my reading time.

These all seemed to be signs that I needed glasses. I knew I was far sighted. I have been my whole life. But all of a sudden, I no longer was able to read things without holding them out at arm distance or further.

So I visited the eye doctor. Several times I did. And probably about the third visit, my vision had changed enough that I needed reading glasses. I remember being shocked at that. I NEVER wanted to wear glasses, EVER. I thought I was ugly enough as it was. Glasses were going to make me look horrible. Especially wearing them to WEC. In fact, I remember thinking that the only advantage to wearing glasses was that people would feel sorry for me and want to be my friend? Yeah, my mind was playing horrible tricks on me. Even though I was only 12, I was extremely self conscious. I look at my sister Emma now, who will be 12 in a few weeks and think "I'm so glad she is not like me at all!!!!" She doesn't seem to have a care in the world. And I hope it stays that way.


The co-op my Mom led, Westmoreland Enrichment Classes (WEC), was always my favorite time of the week. I got to see my friends, and I was learning so much. That semester was composed of a Geography class, a French Class, some sort of Art class, and a History Timeline class. (I'm sure I was in a Science class as well, but I can't recall which one.)

My History Timeline class was right after lunch, and it was on the top floor of the building. By about the second or third week of classes, I knew something was more wrong than just me needing to wear glasses. My head would randomly start pounding at various times of the day. There was never really any pattern to it, other than it would act up whenever I got up really fast or had just walked rather quickly somewhere. And if I threw my head back and tightened my neck muscles, it would seem to ease the pain and eventually stop.

However, throwing my head back and tightening my neck led to many other problems that I had to see the chiropractor for. And whenever I would visit him, the pain was temporarily relieved for a few hours until it happened again. It was like an attack. It literally felt like someone hitting me with a sledge hammer from the inside of my head, out.

One week, I was walking up the stairs to HT class, and I didn't think I was going to make it up the stairs. The pain was so overwhelming. And sitting down in the classroom wasn't helping. If you knew me then, you would have known that I try to hide my pain in any way possible. But that day, it just wasn't happening. I burst into tears in the middle of that class and told the teacher that I had to go find my mother, but I wasn't able to walk down the stairs. That sent her into a panic attack. You see, I was extremely good at concealing my pain. No one knew anything was wrong with me at all except that I had to wear glasses for some reason. So she found my mother, and there was nothing she could do for me except take me to the chiropractor since that relieved the pain temporarily. So I went to the car while she found someone to be in charge of my siblings til we got back. I sat in the car and cried my eyes out. It hurt so bad.

The rest of that day I spent lying on the couch, bawling. And every week after that, the same thing happened. Typically during the same class.

Only one thing was able to relieve my pain for a long period of time: SLEEP

Let me tell you, I have always been a deep sleeper my whole life. And I can sleep for hours upon hours. As long as there is no light and no loud noises, I can sleep forever. A 7th grade girl does not need 12 hours of sleep. But I was typically getting anywhere from 10-12 hours every night. Let alone each nap I would take during the day.


I was starting to become extremely upset why no one could figure out what was wrong with me. I wasn't able to be doing the things a normal 12 year old should be doing. I couldn't run, or I'd be in pain. I couldn't play volleyball, or I'd be in pain. I couldn't walk around church and talk to my friends, because I'd be in pain. You see, everything that I loved to do then was taken away from me. Piano playing literally was the only self comforting thing I could do during that time. That's why I love it so much. And that's why I write music. Because I feel the need to express my emotions through my piano playing since that's what I did for so long a time. Between ages 12-15, my piano playing became my life. I constantly practiced for my next lesson. I was always thinking up ways to "rewrite songs" that I had heard, to be able to play them.

During this whole time, I was still going to the eye doctor like every week. My eyes still hurt. And my vision was getting progressively worse.

Then one day, there was a breakthrough. My eyedoctor found something that didn't show up before. And it was something that changed my life.

....to be continued in Part 3