Friday, March 30, 2012

Alert the paparazzi!

Alert the paparazzi! Secure the press conference! Roll out the red carpet!

Yes folks, my fans cannot get enough and I am heading back to Rochester at the end of April. I have two procedures and two appointments scheduled...and they are even all scheduled for the same day. *gasp*

It will be a quick visit (mark my words) but enough time to appease the masses, sign a few autographs and place appropriately sized cardboard cut-outs around Rochester.

An example of my fame:

"Mayo Patient Travel, how may I help you?"

"Hi this is Lydia Buschenfeldt calling, I need to book a flight back to Rochester for the end of April."

"Lydia! Wow, we were just talking about you! Can't believe you are already coming back!"

I know, I know...I'm a pretty big deal. Try to contain your jealousy.

Now the biggest decision of all...lace or sequins on the red carpet?

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Getting mad...on purpose?

So I'm guessing the title of my blog seems a bit bizarre...to be honest, it's weird for me too. I'm an optimist to a fault. Looking for someone to crack jokes during awkward moments? I'm your girl. Searching for the sunny side of a really rather undesirable situation? Give me a call. Got a feeding tube? Break out the bedazzler! In light of my recent health situation, I feel incredibly grateful and lucky. Sure, I got sick and it certainly wasn't anything on my bucket list, but bless the Lord, it's not terminal and life goes on. So what's to complain about? I have a loving husband and family, wonderful friends, a roof over my head and food to eat (well...drink).

But all that being said, lately I just really can't seem to shake this feeling of being stuck. I have, for the most part, accepted all of the changes that have come into my life over the past year and just kind of rolled with them. I had no control over the situation, so I embraced the chaos and laughed through it. That all worked just fine as I went in and out of the hospital, spent endless weeks in Rochester, Baltimore and Philadelphia and served as a human pincushion. Now that I'm finally home with a diagnosis, however, I have learned that there is one gigantic exception to my optimism rule. My job.

The truth is that I love my job. I love to learn and I love love love getting my students excited about learning too. Few things excite me more than when I see the telltale spark of enthusiasm on the faces of my students, or when a struggling student realizes how much I believe in them and they start seeing their true potential. I love teaching my students to take responsibility for their own actions and to realize just how much of an impact they have on others. I know, I know...all sounds so cliche, but I have to admit that it's true. Sure, I get tired and stressed at my job, it's certainly not easy, but that doesn't mean that underneath all of the stress and chaos, there isn't a true love and devotion to teaching.

But right now, I can't do my job. I don't know if I'll be able to do my job tomorrow, next month or even next year. I might wake up next week and feel 100% better, but I just don't know. And ya know what? I'm pretty sad about it.

Let me take a moment to share that I generally run from anger and sadness. Literally and metaphorically. My go-to stress reliever for years has been to lace up my sneakers and go for a good run. Even in the deepest, darkest moments of grief in my life, I have pushed aside the sadness, sought out distractions and moved on with my life. Sidenote: I am by no means advertising this coping mechanism, I actually don't recommend it because it comes back to bite you...but alas, it's what I do. My number one stressor is when I know someone is unhappy, anxious, angry or generally stressed themselves...and I can't fix it.

So apply this all to my life now...I can't run from it literally, because I'm still working on the whole walking for more than 20 minutes thing. I can't run from it metaphorically because, well, frankly I have run out of cabinets to clean, I spend most of the day alone and the whole concept of cooking away stress is kind of lost when you can't actually eat your creations.

So this time in my life, I am forced to face it. Face that despite the intense guilt that I shouldn't be feeling angry and sad at all, I still do, and I have finally realized that this guilt needs to go. Until I get rid of the guilt, I can't move on and I desperately need to move on.

A good friend reminded me of one of the most moving and thought provoking stories I have ever read.
You can read a copy here:
Welcome to Holland
I have a copy of this story taped inside my desk at work and I refer to it often. I had not, however, ever thought to apply it to myself and my current situation. The truth is that I did not plan to arrive in Holland this year. In fact, Holland wasn't even a thought in the back of my mind.


"And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away...because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss." 

Until my dear friend stated the obvious to me, that despite the gifts I have gained throughout this journey, I have still lost a part of the life I had planned and imagined, I had never even thought about the notion that it might actually be ok for me to be a smidgeon sad. Even that fleeting thought felt oddly liberating.

This journey has taught me more than I could have ever imagined. On the one year anniversary of my hard drive crash, I wrote about being grateful and I meant every word I said. But now I can add one more life lesson to the extensive list that I have collected over this journey. I can add that it's ok to acknowledge what you have lost, in addition to what you have gained.

So my goal for this week, in addition to pureed blueberries and strained tomato sauce, is to let myself get mad and even a little sad. I'm not going to lie, even as I write this, I am fighting the natural desire to perk myself up, put a smile on my face and find a positive. There are lots of positives and I have, and will continue to, acknowledge them. But for today, and maybe even tomorrow, I'm going to let myself be sad that I'm not in my classroom. I miss my coworkers, my students and my school community and I really miss teaching.

It is what it is and in a few days I will put a smile on my face, continue cracking awkward jokes and finding the sunny side, but for today, I'm going to take a deep breath and face the facts. As my dear friend reminded me, it's ok to be sad.

Friday, March 23, 2012

4 degrees of awesome

Greetings blog friends and my apologies for leaving you in the lurch. (I mean, clearly you were losing sleep over the lack of blog posts. Duh.) Our internet/cable line was "accidentally" cut by a competitor...but at least they tried to repair it with duct tape. How thoughtful. In any event, I have made the pilgrimage to Starbucks where I am sipping on a steamed soy milk and at long last, reuniting with my blog.

Today I had my second appointment with a doctor who focuses on biofeedback.  Not only does he focus on biofeedback, but he claims that he can teach me to re-warm my hands and feet. Sign. Me. Up.

My last appointment was spent mostly getting to know me and learning about what I have been up to for the past year...ya know, just casual small talk. Today, we got down to business and I was hooked up to a biofeedback machine within minutes of my arrival. When I was at Mayo, the electrodes were attached to my back, but here they are attached to my fingers and includes a temperature monitor.

Obviously due to my celebrity status, I refuse to follow "normal" protocol. Typical body temperature? 98.6. My typical body temperature? 96.4. Now, that may not seem like anything worth rolling out the red carpet, but today I also learned about the average skin temperature, which is between 90 and 95 degrees Fahrenheit. My average skin temperature? 70.3 degrees Fahrenheit. Oops. Seems that my blood not only has separation anxiety with IVs and blood draws, but it also prefers to stay in one spot in my body and not circulate. Details, details.

Now we have all had those moments where we are outside shoveling snow (ok, maybe not this year, but  work with me here) and our fingers and toes go numb. We think as many tropical thoughts as possible until we can be blissfully reunited with the benefits of a heated home. If this situation applies to you, it turns out you are among 80% of the population, who can successfully increase blood flow simply by thinking warm thoughts. I'm not saying you can fry an egg on your hand and you may not even notice it, but most people are likely able to increase his/her body temperature by at least 5 degrees. It goes without saying that I am not in the 80% majority here. Clearly. Let me assure you that if I increased my blood flow every time I dreamed about returning to my lovely honeymoon destination, Punta Cana, I would NEVER have blood flow issues.

So what's the deal with the other 20%? Autogenic training. In the 1930's, a German doctor invented the technique of autogenic training, where patients spent two solid years under Dr. Schultz's tutelage and devoted every waking hour to learning how to use their minds to basically self-hypnotize certain parts of their bodies. Now let me assure you that neither I, nor my bank account, have any intent on spending 730 straight days with my doctor, learning how to use this technique. My doctor assures me that he can teach me the basics and I can take it from there, as long as I practice. A lot.

The basis of autogenic training is repeating a set of visualizations and kinesthetic reactions in order to induce a state of relaxation. It is especially useful for influencing one's autonomic nervous system...ding ding ding! In my case, my vasomotility (how my blood moves through my body) is less than ideal, as my blood both forgets to circulate and gets caught when my veins spasm. So in a nutshell, the idea is that I'll be able to use certain movements to trigger my autonomic nervous system into getting my blood to flow. No big deal.

Am I skeptical? Ok, a little bit.

But at this point, why not?

So today I spent an hour repeating bizarre phrases and movements over and over again. My doctor asked me about just about every warm and tropical location I have ever frequented and got nothing. He changed my bizarre phrases and movements a smidge and told me to concentrate. I did my best, with the occasional stray "what on earth am I doing??" thought, but finally, after 56 minutes of 70.3, I raised my temperature to 74.3.

Was it luck? Possibly.
Did I walk around like I had just won the Nobel Peace Prize? Maybe.
After all, it's only 4 degrees, but it was four degrees of awesome.

Next up? I'll think really hard about, ya know, curing cancer and initiating world peace. Stay tuned.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The New Normal

So friends, allow me to address the GIANT elephant in the room:

What now? 


The honest answer, friends?
I haven't a clue.


My life has changed in ways that I never imagined possible and now, for better and for worse, I need to figure out just how to make it all work. Yesterday I turned 29, and I've decided that my gift to myself is the ability to move forward. I know what you're thinking, a) that's a crappy gift and b) man, I really thought it was going to be a pony. But...it's ok, because the truth is that I HAVE to move forward and if telling myself that it's a birthday present does the trick, then so be it. I've been noodling all of these thoughts and emotions (yes, noodling is definitely a verb) for awhile and last night at my birthday dinner, a good friend finally titled what I just couldn't seem to find the words for: I need to find my new normal.

When I was out at Mayo, several doctors asked me about my typical, normal day. I replied that I got up at 5:30, got to work by 7:15, left work around 4:30, made my lunch for the next day and got my clothes out, went to the gym, made and ate dinner with my husband, took a shower and went to bed...rinse and repeat five times before I collapsed in a heap on Friday night.

My typical day now couldn't be more different. The medicine I take to attempt to settle my stomach doesn't really seem to do anything for my stomach, but it does give me the blissful ability to sleep. As in, I go to bed at 10:00 and drag myself out of bed at 8:30 kind of sleep. As in, when I get up to turn off my feeding tube at 4:30, I have to hold onto the bed so I don't fall over kind of sleep. Heaven help me if I had to get up at 5:30, because I honestly don't think my eyes would open. So, while it's sort of amazing that I only wake up once or twice a night now and my body probably needs the sleep, my ability to do anything productive in the morning is kind of shot. I do my morning stretches to remind my blood to flow and muscles to move (details, details), and then I go to work as the owner and CEO of Lydia's Caloric Intake and Physical Rehabilitation Inc. I literally spend my day trying new foods (dealing with the consequences), counting calories, doing my physical therapy strength and conditioning program and trying to convince my brain that food and blood flow are two wonderful things. I try to schedule at least one thing every day to get me out of the house and most of all, I attempt to keep my active, busy-minded self from doing too much. Not a simple task my friends. If I sit while cleaning out my file drawer, that still counts as resting...right? (As you can see, this whole resting business is still a work in progress...).


One of my biggest obstacles is that I look fine. I know, weird obstacle right? When I looked like skeletor, I was exhausted all the time and there wasn't a chance of me doing too much. Now, 12 pounds heavier, I look healthier (duh, I have smushy cheeks) and I have more energy...which is great, but it gets me into trouble. Yesterday I went for a walk, met a friend at Starbucks AND went out to dinner...which resulted in a fever and complete stomach resistance today.

However...my birthday gift is to move forward, so instead of getting frustrated that I did too much yesterday and was sick today...I'm going to roll with it. It's my new normal.

At Mayo, I saw a framed manuscript that said "We must be willing to let go of the life we had planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." The truth is that as much I try to analyze and plan, I don't know when I'll be able to go back to work. I don't know when I'll get back to running and horseback riding and I don't know if I'll ever go out to dinner and not have to critically analyze my meal choice. I could dwell on my new limitations and boundaries, or I could take a deep breath and embrace the chaos. Doors have closed, but doors have also opened and I'm on board to see what lies ahead.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Cheeks

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to discuss something near and dear to my…well…nose. I’d like to discuss my cheeks. Yes, the ones on your face.

See, here’s the thing. When I lost 30 pounds, my cheeks disappeared. My body figured that if I wasn’t eating anything, I probably didn’t need an expansive feeding area, so my cheeks downsized and went on vacation.

But, now they are back, or at least, starting to return. Which is all well and good…right?

In December, I took our wedding photo to Michaels to be framed. I chatted with the salesperson for a bit, chose my frame and glass and went on my merry way, expecting to pick the framed masterpiece up in a few weeks. Oops...slight unexpected detour to Minnesota.

I went this week to finally pick up the poor forgotten frame, and the salesperson, with whom I’ve spoken to once…for five minutes…in December…felt the need to share his observations.

“Ohhh! You are here to pick up photo! You leave here long time.”

“Yes, sorry about that. I’ve had some health issues so I’ve been out of the area.”

“Oh yes, I can see. But your cheeks! They are almost all plump and smushy again like in wedding photo!”

“Oh…um…yes, I suppose they are?”

Ok, a) I was unaware that it was normal social interaction to comment on someone’s cheek size and b) I’m not sure how I feel about the desirability of smushy cheeks, especially now that said smushy cheeks are professionally framed and hanging on my wall for all of eternity. Apparently I am behind the 8 ball on both cheek size social cues AND smushy cheek prestige. Fabulous.

So gaining weight on purpose is weird. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that “failure to thrive” is not the ideal commentary for a 28 year old female, but in the day and age of fat-free everything and fad diets, it’s bizarre to do this on purpose…especially for someone who was already a health nut. For those of you emitting sighs of jealousy that I’m gaining weight on purpose, let me assure you that the “huge fat smushy cheeked cow busting out of her clothes” feeling doesn’t change if you happen to be a somewhat runt cow to begin with...ya know, just so we're clear here. 

Currently, I’m allowed to self-monitor how much formula goes in my feeding tube based on how many calories I eat during the day and how much I exercise. Typically later in the evening I’ll add up the calories for the day and prepare the formula accordingly…but lately I’ve been trying to pack more in after I do the daily round up, so I can use less formula. Downing a giant glass of chocolate almond milk before I go to bed is a TOTALLY healthy sleep habit, right? I’m sure the sugar content there is minimal…eek. 

But I digress. Cheeks. Yesterday I happily reunited with a good friend and her two fabulous girls, one of whom has AMAZING cheeks. I mean, we are talking plump, perfectly round and oh so squeezable. You can't look at this little rock star and NOT comment on her cheeks. I’d like to add, at this point, that these fabulously desirable cheeks belong to a miniature person who has yet to turn 1 and I am, in fact, about to turn 29. Details.

Whatever. Celebrities set the stage and my agents have been absolutely hounding me to make a public statement since my arrival back on the east coast. So, here it is.

Cheeks are in, the smushier, the better.

Eat your heart out Vanity Fair.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Culture Shock

So being home is fabulous, but it is also a major case of culture shock.

Yesterday I drove somewhere...myself...in my car...weird. I only drove a few miles to meet a dear friend, but I could have driven anywhere. Instead of being elated with my new found sense of freedom and driving around in circles, just because I could, I did the very Lydia-like thing. I drove right to Starbucks and then home again. So much for spontaneity.

I feel a little bit like a kid who has worn a uniform to school and all of a sudden gets to college and is terrified of choosing his/her own clothes. I have literally worn the same three outfits for 8.5 weeks...and yesterday I found myself reaching for my "signature" yoga pants and fleece. People magazine will not be pleased, I'll have to branch out to appease my paparazzi.

It's a little bit like coming home from a summer at camp...except this time I was at a hospital...and there were no horses to be found. I'm also fairly confident that I am, in fact, paler then when I left...which I didn't think was quite possible. Awwwwkward.

All jokes aside, coming home and realizing that I'm on my own now is a little bit overwhelming. For the past 8.5 weeks, I've had someone tell me what to do, what to eat, where to go, etc. Now I'm flying solo. I've always known that the hard work of learning to eat and retraining my brain would mostly take place at home, but I hadn't given much thought to how it would all work. I just spent two months at one of the finest medical institutions in the world, so it's not that I don't know what to do...it's just a lot easier to follow directions than it is to write the directions myself.

But I can do it, and I will. Of course it is easier to fall back into old habits, make my protein smoothies and chow down on white bread and rice, but that's not going to get me anywhere. When I looked at my list and discovered that trying lettuce was on tap for today, I'm not going to lie, I questioned if munching on dry lettuce like a rabbit was going to be appetizing. What? I'm 28 years old and I eat baby food...who cares if dry lettuce is appetizing!?

So it's time to suck it up and munch. On the other side of this giant mountain is one heck of a fiesta, and we all know how much I love a good party.

But, can I wear my yoga pants and fleece?

Friday, March 2, 2012

I'm coming HOME!

Well friends, eight and a half weeks later...my hypothetical news is turning into reality and I am coming home!

I printed my boarding pass this afternoon and skipped around the rehab center, showing it off to just about everyone. Truth be told, tonight is the first time it has really dawned on me that I'm leaving Minnesota. I mean, let's be honest, I've done this whole "get excited about coming home" thing a total of at least 6 times over the last 8.5 weeks. So yesterday, when I discovered a giant mass above my incision, all I could think was, welp, there ya go...I'm officially going to become a resident of Rochester.

The good news? The mass is a big pile-up of muscles and ligaments that had to be moved out of the way during my surgery, NOT an abscess. The nerves in my lip, jaw and cheek haven't regenerated yet, so the muscles aren't getting any cues to move back to their original spots.

The less-than-stellar news? It may take up to a year for the nerves to regenerate and the muscles to go back to normal. In the mean time, I'll continue with my lopsided lip-curling smirk and the "I'm really jealous of the hamster's ability to hoard" look on my right side. Try to contain your jealousy.

In all honesty, the doctor could have told me the mass was a nesting set of space monkeys and my only question would have been whether or not I could still fly home tomorrow, so I guess a nerve problem is probably the better option.

It is difficult to sum up all that has occurred over the last eight and a half weeks. I've had many people ask me if I'm "cured" now and am coming home a new person. The answer to the first question is no, and the second question is yes. The truth is that I will never be "cured" and I have to accept the fact that I will wrestle with the carnage from the mystery virus for the rest of my life. When I get sick, or stressed or am not taking care of myself, all of my symptoms will rear their ugly heads. But the difference now, is that I'm very knowledgeable about my condition (look for my MD diploma to be hung up ASAP) and I am in the driver's seat. Learning to eat isn't any fun. At all. But I'm doing it and I don't plan on giving up. Besides, I have one heck of a party to plan! Yes, I will forever be categorized as a person with chronic illness, but I have absolutely no intention of letting the hard drive crasher call the shots around here.

The truth is that the mystery virus has basically implanted a built-in "don't you dare not take care of yourself" system into my body...something that I probably needed, in the theme of being completely honest.

But enough with the sentimental reflections...this time tomorrow, I'll be home!

Oh, and Southwest? Don't forget the red carpet tomorrow. I'm kind of a big deal in Minnesota.