Tears are a new thing for me. For years I was stoic, shoving my emotions somewhere deep so I didn't have to deal with them.
An awesome counselor told me I had to feel. That the rug I was shoving everything under was probably about six feet tall by now, and would come tumbling down. He helped me see. I had to feel.
But I hate it.
It hurts.
I cry now. I cry so much. And sometimes I still suppress the tears, but more often than ever they flow freely down my cheeks and sobs vomit from somewhere inside... not the dainty, lovely, "oh you're sad let me give you a hug" kind of sobs... the "it hurts me to even look at you crying like that" ugly, huge kind of sobs.
I lost my love, my best friend.
Today, just moments ago, he came and picked up his motorcycle. He's leaving town. Around his wrist was a medical emergency bracelet, warning the world, if something happens to him, he can't be given opiates because of the shot he is on... they could easily kill him...
The auction for the majority of his business stuff is Saturday. He was planning to be there. Today he said he can't. He is leaving.
He hugged the children, we cried together for a moment, because everything is so broken, and he left.
I can't write our story without him. I tried. I have started and stopped so many times over the past two weeks, there is so much to tell... but it is ours and I can't relive it alone.
I can't say, "I wish I would have known what we were up against, I would have run the other way." Because, we have four awesome babies, and I am grateful for them, even though I wish I could have given them a much less messy life. They're great though. And amazingly resilient.
I cry into the lonely bed, cry out my pain, and Jesus is there and comforts me. I am grateful for His love and comfort in moments like this.
We've been through a lot, Caleb, me, the babies... But we are still alive, I am grateful for that too. I know Caleb's soul is heaven bound, even though his body is broken and his mind rebels. I am grateful for that.
I am grateful for the words of a friend yesterday:
"We can all wish he'd never started...but it's too late for that. And he may or may not win the fight in the end...but just like anyone else with what may be a terminal illness, he can put up the best fight he knows how; and whatever happens down the road God can still use him and these circumstances in the here and now to bring something good from it. Even in the darkest of situations, when there seems to be no good end in this world, there can still be ultimate healing and redemption. His physical body may be firmly in the grasp of his addiction, but his soul belongs to God. I pray you will be comforted by the fact that God knows and understands your struggles, your grief, and your frustration, and is right there with you. It's quite ok for you to vent, and your church family will always be a safe place for that. We love you!"
I am grateful for our church, Christ's church. I wouldn't be alive without them.
Ashes, food tastes of ashes and soot. I find no comfort there.
The warm showers that once washed away the stress of the day, now feel like warm ash that simply seems to smear the mess of everything around... there is no water that can clean this mess... except the Living Water... but don't I know that's a long process too.
So I fall into bed in total defeat, and He does quench my parched heart. He does give me rest. He does give me strength to get up, be present with the children, and even sometimes laugh.
But this brokenness between me and Caleb, it is as if I have had surgery to remove a limb, a very vital and important limb... And after it's removal, I still feel the phantom...
The phantom feeling that he should still be here, should show up for dinner, should walk through the door with that smile while the kids run for his legs like they haven't seen him in ages... The good memories hover like ghosts in this place. We were one, now we are broken apart, back to two separate beings... and it is so foreign to exist in this world of separate.
I guess, we have been separated a bunch before with his out of town work and times in rehab... but always there was a promise of a return. I missed him but there was hope. Hope that the WE could make it...
I still have hope, hope in Christ. Hope in a future. Hope in our children growing in the training and admonition of the Lord. But this relationship, it is broken... perhaps beyond repair...
I mean, God can restore all things, and I hold nothing against Caleb... but heroin had us both firmly joining the ranks of insane... mine with (understandable) trust issues, control issues, anxiety and fear. Caleb's well, addiction is enough insanity, I needn't outline the depths it takes a man.
So together, we become insane.
Not such a beautiful outlook.
One comment Caleb did make, as we cried our goodbyes, "For this to ever work again, we'll have to spend as much on counseling as I spent on drugs."
But what we know for now is, we are a broken mess, and we cannot function as a family.
I get to work to give the children stability, hope, comfort, and love as I recover my sanity and peace.
Caleb gets to... figure out life without drugs, if he can.
I think he can, I pray he can, but neither one of us know if he can.
So he rides.
The red Enduro drown out his goodbye as he sped away.
And now I begin picking up the pieces of my heart, turning them over to God, and ignoring the phantom face at the window at six o' clock, eagerly watching to see the kids notice he is home. Ignoring the summer air calling for the family campout I know I can't make happen alone... Ignoring the empty spot in the bed, the empty place at the table, empty seat in the car... as best I can.
And grieving over a loss that isn't a death, but feels more painful than any death we have gone through.
On he rides, with tears in his eyes, and I am left in the ashes.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Dayenu
Dayenu is a Hebrew word meaning, "it would have been enough" or "it would have been sufficient."
As I attempt to continue telling our story, alone, I do not want to get caught up in the tragedy. We have had so many miracles in our lives; I want to give them voice. We are both still living, therefore, hope remains that God will do even greater works...
But, the message of Dayenu is, even if He choses not to do even greater works, what He has already done is sufficient, it really is enough.
The song, usually sung during Passover celebrations, generally goes something like this (from jewish.com)
Had God brought us out of Egypt and not divided the sea for us,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God divided the sea and not permitted us to cross on dry land,
Dayenu! [It would have been enough]
Had God kept us for forty years in the desert and not fed us with manna,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God fed us with manna and not given us the Sabbath,
Dayenu! [It would have been enough]
Had God given us the Sabbath and not led us to Mount Sinai,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God led us to Mount Sinai and not given us the Torah,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God given us the Torah and not led us into the Land of Israel,
Dayenu! [It would have been enough]
Had God led us into the Land of Israel and not built for us the Temple,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God built for us the Temple and not sent us prophets of truth,
Dayenu! [It would have been enough]...
The song continues from there to go through the many great miracles of God, and how He could have stopped at any of them, and it would have been enough, but He continued working, blessing, providing, teaching, loving, and finally provided "His son, in whom we have all sufficiency." And even today, He is still continuing His Great Work.
That said, on with the story:
January first, Caleb and I met.
We didn't say much. The trip began without much incident, a group of thirty strangers takes a while to find a groove.
Around the second week, I was riding with my group, no bathrooms in sight, in a particularly wooded area...
All five girls in my group stopped to "squat" and I happened to be the only one who "squatted" in the wrong spot. I ended up with poison oak right on my rump; right on the part of my rump that rubbed against a bike seat...
I am a very stubborn and long-suffering person. I had it in my mind that I was going to ride every one of the 1,100 miles. Even with a patch of seeping poison oak, I continued to ride. One day, two days... then, that night I could hardly sleep because of the intense itching and seeping due to riding on it all day.
Also, I had to wash my bike shorts out, because we only had two pairs, but laundry was only done every 4-6 days or so. My mom was too busy to help me find a laundry mat. We would often after joke about how she recruited Caleb, "Oh, Caaaaylub, Lindsay needs some help, do you have any time right now?" My cheeks were on fire! (The set not covered in poison oak, of course).
Limping along beside this quiet guy, awkward and seeping from a palm-sized wound on my tushy, he broke the silence by remembering it was his father's birthday, January 13. Whew.
He called home while I loaded the washing machine. I sat beside him and listened to the conversation. His little sister answered. He was so kind and funny to her! I had a grumpy older brother who didn't really have much time for his little sisters (granted, we were super close in age and super annoying on purpose), to see a guy who enjoyed hearing about what his baby sister was up to was endearing. I started to notice he had these awesome blue eyes, and his jaw line was nicely defined...
(This is from long after the bike trip ended, I was way too shy to get my picture with him during the trip... but, look at that handsome face! ;))
Anyway, my clothes finished up in the washer, and we moved them to the dryer as we walked around a bit, making awkward small talk. I mentioned that I didn't think I could ride on the wound anymore, it was too miserable... I was admitting defeat, I was going to sag.
(Sag was the term we used to say "ride in the van that follows the last group." People who couldn't ride had to sag. It was a big, white, 15 passenger van. Here is the only picture I have of the sag wagon in all its glory, someone snapped it of Caleb and some of the staff after a grocery run.)
I remember, to this day, the look on Caleb's face when I mentioned sagging. He was thinking hard, almost an inner battle. Finally, he said, "well, I'm not driving tomorrow, it's my day to ride. Why don't I let you borrow a pair of my baggy shorts and you can see if that helps. Then, if you're still miserable, you can sag while I'm driving."
It was an innocent suggestion.
And those eyes...
Of course I rode my bike, in misery, the following day. The baggy shorts did nothing to lessen the misery, but Caleb rode with our group that day... and pushed me up the hills.
The following day, we drove down the sunny coast. The windows were rolled down. Oldies were blaring in the van. We were both singing at the top of our lungs, laughing, singing, sharing stories...
It was awesome.
I was a shy, driven, straight A student, this was a new thing for me. I loved it. Nothing in the world was putting any pressure on me, and this guy was fun, spontaneous and well... gorgeous!
I remember, we stopped at a little grocery store for lunch. We bought some peanut butter, jelly and bread. That was it. When we were back on the highway, Caleb asked me to make the sandwiches, and I started laughing because we didn't have a knife. I probably tried to be witty, but was instead extremely nerdy... I remember feeling silly and giddy.
Caleb found the spoon that he had used for breakfast, licked it off, and handed it to me.
I wasn't even grossed out... well, not terribly grossed out...
What a day. Sun, surf, and poison oak.
It was over after that, for me anyway. Caleb enjoyed getting to know all the girls on the trip, but I was won.
The rest of the trip I was either fighting to try to keep my distance and not make a fool of myself or doing something terribly embarrassing like...stealing Caleb's hat, and running away (what, is this grade school!?) I tried to "play it cool," even though I had absolutely no idea what cool even looked like. But I thought I was being aloof.
Except when I totally wasn't. My flirting consisted of stealing his hat!
Oye.
My sister was so embarrassed for me when we got home and my mother told her of my attempts at flirting...
Yup.
We were babies, practically, at least I was.
But obviously it worked...
Well, it almost didn't, but that is for another day.
As I attempt to continue telling our story, alone, I do not want to get caught up in the tragedy. We have had so many miracles in our lives; I want to give them voice. We are both still living, therefore, hope remains that God will do even greater works...
But, the message of Dayenu is, even if He choses not to do even greater works, what He has already done is sufficient, it really is enough.
The song, usually sung during Passover celebrations, generally goes something like this (from jewish.com)
Had God brought us out of Egypt and not divided the sea for us,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God divided the sea and not permitted us to cross on dry land,
Dayenu! [It would have been enough]
Had God kept us for forty years in the desert and not fed us with manna,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God fed us with manna and not given us the Sabbath,
Dayenu! [It would have been enough]
Had God given us the Sabbath and not led us to Mount Sinai,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God led us to Mount Sinai and not given us the Torah,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God given us the Torah and not led us into the Land of Israel,
Dayenu! [It would have been enough]
Had God led us into the Land of Israel and not built for us the Temple,
Dayenu! [It would have been sufficient]
Had God built for us the Temple and not sent us prophets of truth,
Dayenu! [It would have been enough]...
The song continues from there to go through the many great miracles of God, and how He could have stopped at any of them, and it would have been enough, but He continued working, blessing, providing, teaching, loving, and finally provided "His son, in whom we have all sufficiency." And even today, He is still continuing His Great Work.
That said, on with the story:
January first, Caleb and I met.
We didn't say much. The trip began without much incident, a group of thirty strangers takes a while to find a groove.
Around the second week, I was riding with my group, no bathrooms in sight, in a particularly wooded area...
I am a very stubborn and long-suffering person. I had it in my mind that I was going to ride every one of the 1,100 miles. Even with a patch of seeping poison oak, I continued to ride. One day, two days... then, that night I could hardly sleep because of the intense itching and seeping due to riding on it all day.
Also, I had to wash my bike shorts out, because we only had two pairs, but laundry was only done every 4-6 days or so. My mom was too busy to help me find a laundry mat. We would often after joke about how she recruited Caleb, "Oh, Caaaaylub, Lindsay needs some help, do you have any time right now?" My cheeks were on fire! (The set not covered in poison oak, of course).
Limping along beside this quiet guy, awkward and seeping from a palm-sized wound on my tushy, he broke the silence by remembering it was his father's birthday, January 13. Whew.
He called home while I loaded the washing machine. I sat beside him and listened to the conversation. His little sister answered. He was so kind and funny to her! I had a grumpy older brother who didn't really have much time for his little sisters (granted, we were super close in age and super annoying on purpose), to see a guy who enjoyed hearing about what his baby sister was up to was endearing. I started to notice he had these awesome blue eyes, and his jaw line was nicely defined...
(Sag was the term we used to say "ride in the van that follows the last group." People who couldn't ride had to sag. It was a big, white, 15 passenger van. Here is the only picture I have of the sag wagon in all its glory, someone snapped it of Caleb and some of the staff after a grocery run.)
I remember, to this day, the look on Caleb's face when I mentioned sagging. He was thinking hard, almost an inner battle. Finally, he said, "well, I'm not driving tomorrow, it's my day to ride. Why don't I let you borrow a pair of my baggy shorts and you can see if that helps. Then, if you're still miserable, you can sag while I'm driving."
It was an innocent suggestion.
And those eyes...
Of course I rode my bike, in misery, the following day. The baggy shorts did nothing to lessen the misery, but Caleb rode with our group that day... and pushed me up the hills.
The following day, we drove down the sunny coast. The windows were rolled down. Oldies were blaring in the van. We were both singing at the top of our lungs, laughing, singing, sharing stories...
It was awesome.
I was a shy, driven, straight A student, this was a new thing for me. I loved it. Nothing in the world was putting any pressure on me, and this guy was fun, spontaneous and well... gorgeous!
I remember, we stopped at a little grocery store for lunch. We bought some peanut butter, jelly and bread. That was it. When we were back on the highway, Caleb asked me to make the sandwiches, and I started laughing because we didn't have a knife. I probably tried to be witty, but was instead extremely nerdy... I remember feeling silly and giddy.
Caleb found the spoon that he had used for breakfast, licked it off, and handed it to me.
I wasn't even grossed out... well, not terribly grossed out...
What a day. Sun, surf, and poison oak.
It was over after that, for me anyway. Caleb enjoyed getting to know all the girls on the trip, but I was won.
The rest of the trip I was either fighting to try to keep my distance and not make a fool of myself or doing something terribly embarrassing like...stealing Caleb's hat, and running away (what, is this grade school!?) I tried to "play it cool," even though I had absolutely no idea what cool even looked like. But I thought I was being aloof.
Except when I totally wasn't. My flirting consisted of stealing his hat!
Oye.
My sister was so embarrassed for me when we got home and my mother told her of my attempts at flirting...
Yup.
We were babies, practically, at least I was.
But obviously it worked...
Well, it almost didn't, but that is for another day.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Lindsay: In Which even Blogs have to change...
As you can see, we haven't been on here in a while.
Our youngest son had a terrible blood infection and we almost lost him.
Caleb had rushed him to the ER and ended up witnessing the worst of it... he couldn't handle the emotional turmoil that brought...
He has relapsed and pretty much disappeared for the moment.
I have hopes he will some day re-engage the fight... and get the help he needs, but for now, I have to simply give him over to God.
I will summarize the rest of our story, we were almost to the part where we met...
Caleb came home from college and went back to the construction world. He lived at home, but his double life followed him.
Shortly after returning to Ohio, Caleb met up with his cousin. He saw him working on a roof, clumsy and tottering, looking like he had no business on a roof. He stopped, pulled in, and called him down from the roof... In Caleb's mind, his cousin looked messed up, and Caleb wanted to know what he was on! When you've been getting high, you know the ecstasy of the high or the buzz, and you get jealous if someone seems to be more messed up... At least, that's what I'm told.
His cousin let him in on his little secret once they got back to his house... heroin.
I'm told once you get high that first time, it is like you have dissolved into heaven, unlike any other feeling on the earth, more spiritual than physical. Then, you spend the rest of your life, chasing death, trying to get that feeling again, but never ever will you ever get that same feeling. It isn't physically possible.
Satan was a beautiful angel before he was cast out of heaven, he knows how to orchestrate that heavenly experience just enough to make someone trapped in a counterfeit love... Caleb met the love of his life that day, the one with the darkest secrets...
Caleb knows, in his mind, he will never feel what he felt that day, but all rationality is lost on him when he is in "active drug use" mode.
I don't know where he is now. I don't know what he is doing.
It is the hardest thing in the world, to let him go, again... knowing I have no ability to change the course of the rest of his life... or save him from himself.
Anyway, after that, Caleb spent most of his time with his cousin and his cousin's friends. His cousin even talked him into renting an apartment for two drug dealers... free drugs!
So that was how he lived, but he slowly went toward rock bottom...
Christmas that year, he let his family down... and decided to come home...
It was a big drama, and a big turning point, if Caleb were here, he would do the telling with gusto...
But he isn't, so I'm not going to try to fill in the details I might mess up.
He had scheduled, six months prior to this first out-of-control spiral, to go and help a local college take a bicycle tour down the coast of California for a month. He moved his stuff home. Packed his bags. And the day after Christmas, with $27 to his name, he got in a Ryder truck filled with bicycles and drove 18 hours straight, from Ohio to Colorado.
This was his first ever detox.
It was a Christian college and there was no access to any of the drugs he loved, except alcohol. He decided he was done with heroin. He figured he could do it himself, he didn't like what it had made him, it was time to leave it alone.
I too went on that bike trip. I was 18. It was exactly one year after my heart testing and exercise restriction... I was all better and ready to ride 1,100 miles. From San Francisco down the coast to San Diego, then over into Phoenix.
I remember the first time I was face to face with Caleb. He was measuring me for my bike. He held the bike, while I hopped on, and he did some adjustments and moved on to the next person.
That was all. Nothing special.
My mom was on the trip too, she was one of the group leaders. Caleb said she had told me to pick up his group tee shirts and write his name in them. He said that was the first time he noticed me, when I brought him his shirts. I don't actually remember doing that, but I'm sure it happened.
That was the beginning of everything real. Innocent. Helpful. And neither of us knew the true nature of the beast that Caleb had danced with, the beast that had struck its talons so deep in his heart that he would be tortured, daily, for the rest of his life... Neither of us knew, and so it began, January 1, 2004.
Our youngest son had a terrible blood infection and we almost lost him.
Caleb had rushed him to the ER and ended up witnessing the worst of it... he couldn't handle the emotional turmoil that brought...
He has relapsed and pretty much disappeared for the moment.
I have hopes he will some day re-engage the fight... and get the help he needs, but for now, I have to simply give him over to God.
I will summarize the rest of our story, we were almost to the part where we met...
Caleb came home from college and went back to the construction world. He lived at home, but his double life followed him.
Shortly after returning to Ohio, Caleb met up with his cousin. He saw him working on a roof, clumsy and tottering, looking like he had no business on a roof. He stopped, pulled in, and called him down from the roof... In Caleb's mind, his cousin looked messed up, and Caleb wanted to know what he was on! When you've been getting high, you know the ecstasy of the high or the buzz, and you get jealous if someone seems to be more messed up... At least, that's what I'm told.
His cousin let him in on his little secret once they got back to his house... heroin.
I'm told once you get high that first time, it is like you have dissolved into heaven, unlike any other feeling on the earth, more spiritual than physical. Then, you spend the rest of your life, chasing death, trying to get that feeling again, but never ever will you ever get that same feeling. It isn't physically possible.
Satan was a beautiful angel before he was cast out of heaven, he knows how to orchestrate that heavenly experience just enough to make someone trapped in a counterfeit love... Caleb met the love of his life that day, the one with the darkest secrets...
Caleb knows, in his mind, he will never feel what he felt that day, but all rationality is lost on him when he is in "active drug use" mode.
I don't know where he is now. I don't know what he is doing.
It is the hardest thing in the world, to let him go, again... knowing I have no ability to change the course of the rest of his life... or save him from himself.
Anyway, after that, Caleb spent most of his time with his cousin and his cousin's friends. His cousin even talked him into renting an apartment for two drug dealers... free drugs!
So that was how he lived, but he slowly went toward rock bottom...
Christmas that year, he let his family down... and decided to come home...
It was a big drama, and a big turning point, if Caleb were here, he would do the telling with gusto...
But he isn't, so I'm not going to try to fill in the details I might mess up.
He had scheduled, six months prior to this first out-of-control spiral, to go and help a local college take a bicycle tour down the coast of California for a month. He moved his stuff home. Packed his bags. And the day after Christmas, with $27 to his name, he got in a Ryder truck filled with bicycles and drove 18 hours straight, from Ohio to Colorado.
This was his first ever detox.
It was a Christian college and there was no access to any of the drugs he loved, except alcohol. He decided he was done with heroin. He figured he could do it himself, he didn't like what it had made him, it was time to leave it alone.
I too went on that bike trip. I was 18. It was exactly one year after my heart testing and exercise restriction... I was all better and ready to ride 1,100 miles. From San Francisco down the coast to San Diego, then over into Phoenix.
I remember the first time I was face to face with Caleb. He was measuring me for my bike. He held the bike, while I hopped on, and he did some adjustments and moved on to the next person.
That was all. Nothing special.
My mom was on the trip too, she was one of the group leaders. Caleb said she had told me to pick up his group tee shirts and write his name in them. He said that was the first time he noticed me, when I brought him his shirts. I don't actually remember doing that, but I'm sure it happened.
That was the beginning of everything real. Innocent. Helpful. And neither of us knew the true nature of the beast that Caleb had danced with, the beast that had struck its talons so deep in his heart that he would be tortured, daily, for the rest of his life... Neither of us knew, and so it began, January 1, 2004.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Lindsay: The first Momentous Miracle
When I was six years old, I was diagnosed with Wolf-Parkinson's White Syndrome. If you care to understand exactly what that means you can go here. The shortened version is simply, I had an extra electrical current path in my heart. Most of the time, my heart was on the normal path and would beat perfectly fine. But sometimes, my heart would jump off the normal path and I would have an extremely rapid heart rate... the extra path was like a short cut, and my heart would hurt, I would become short of breath, and the beating could be seen through my little six-year-old tee shirt.
We lived in New York, and the hospitals were huge and scary. I had to stay overnight in the hospital twice in order for the doctors to find a medication that would regulate my heart beat. The first time they sent me home with a medicine that made my symptoms worse... I was six, my parents had four other children at home, and they were not able to stay over night with me. I remember waking up very early and watching an "I Love Lucy" rerun. When it was over, I called home, crying because I was alone and scared. We only had one car, my dad had to work, and my mom cried too. Needless to say, I was not a fan of hospitals.
I went home from my second hospital stay with a heart monitor that I had to wear every day for a week, and a proper prescription. I had to take this tiny pill twice a day, or my heart rate would soar. I hated it. Also, I couldn't have caffeine, chocolate (although I still ate it, plenty), and my favorite drink: mountain dew, was now off limits. This was probably a blessing in disguise! Granted I was six and not drinking soda often, but a couple times a year we were allowed to sip on a small cup of that sweet, strange stuff, and I was extremely sad that I would be banned from that treat!
At the age of seventeen, I was finally old enough to have the ablation therapy to have the extra electrical current path removed from my heart! I would be able to go places without having to remember a stupid bottle of little, white, heart-regulating pills! I was living on campus, running daily, loving life, when my mother called to tell me she was scheduling my surgery. I was scared, but so excited. I started running harder than ever, because I wanted my heart to be super strong for the procedure. I also started praying harder than ever, because I really wanted this surgery to heal my heart. We had been praying since I had been diagnosed that I would be healed completely from this, and I opened my hands, earnestly to God.
I remember, one night, late, I snuck into the chapel of the campus using my father's key. I went down to the altar, grabbed a hymnal, and started singing every hymn I knew at the top of my lungs. The chapel has great acoustics, and I hadn't been doing much singing since I had given up my Broadway dreams. I poured out everything I had that night in praise and prayers to God, to give me strength for the surgery, to heal my heart, to help me through if that wasn't possible... I think I scared the cleaning lady, because at one point I heard a door open and close, but I just kept on singing and crying. The chapel, empty and dark, embraced my emotions and the Holy Spirit filled me with strength.
I went into my ablation with courage. The procedure was as follows:
1. Shave my upper/inner thigh/groin (yep, this job was given to a cute, male intern, but of course my important parts were covered... completely professional..it was just absolutely embarrassing and I still blush all these years later. I was the girl who would wear shorts over my swimming suit when I went swimming...).
2. Next step, insert two thick wires with cameras into the major artery of each leg (located where the shaving took place, of course).
3. Thread the wires through the arteries into the heart, going through the back.
4. Use the cameras to find the extra path while pumping in adrenaline to watch the heart rhythm increase and see where it jumps.
5. Burn out the extra path.
6. Remove wires.
7. Cover and place pressure on the two arteries for 24 hours so that they close up and don't bleed out...
8. No more medicine and off we go.
The procedure went well. Afterwards, the doctor told my parents that he gave me almost no pain medicine or muscle relaxers. He said I was so completely stoic, that he has had grown men, line backer style, screaming on the table as the wires went up their backs... But I just laid there.
What I had was Christ. I remember exactly what I was doing in that moment. I was praying, and I had my eyes closed, in my mind, I saw a lush green mountain. When I see pictures of mountain paths in Papua New Guinea, I know it looked something like that... but I hadn't seen those pictures yet. There was just beauty. There was a path, and there was Jesus. He didn't have exact features, He was a man, but He was bright and beautiful. He took my hand and we walked up to the top of this mountain. I sat at His feet and He spoke to me, but there weren't words I can remember, it was just peace. Honestly it didn't last more than a few minutes. Then I opened my eyes and watched the screen as pictures of my heart began to show up from the cameras.
I felt the adrenaline they pumped into me. I watched my heart beat faster. I watched them move the cameras, looking. I lay on the table for four hours, just watching and waiting.
When I was back in my room, the doctor came in. He told my parents he was baffled. He said they didn't find an extra path. He said all they had found was a little scar tissue, perhaps at the sight where the other path had been? In his mind, my doctors in New York had misdiagnosed me. But my parents and I knew I had been healed. They hadn't done any ablation, just a four hour test, and they simply told me to stop taking medicine.
I was released from the hospital with a strong sensitivity to adrenaline. After taking pills for all those years, my heart was having a time adjusting... I wasn't supposed to do too much exercise and if I did, I was supposed to wear a heart monitor to make sure my heart rate didn't exceed 200 (which it had in the hospital as I got up to pee for the first time).
I didn't like wearing the monitor. When I ran, my heart rate really would get too fast... so I started swimming! Ha! That December/January, I didn't take any classes, and I swam almost every day. I'm sure it didn't help my heart rate stay at a good speed, but I didn't have to wear my monitor in the water.
Slowly but surely, my heart strengthened. I got winded easily, but I pushed myself. I had to wear a monitor in February to make sure everything was still okay, but it was. I was back on campus for the last semester of my high school career, healed, and happy. I got baptized by my dad on the chapel stage in front of the whole campus, I sang in the college choir, I got an A in Calculus, and I went on a missions trip that summer, fulfilling my longing for adventures. Life was organized, fun, and everything made sense. I was even starting to make some friends... summer came and went, and I moved back in to MVNU for my second year of college, not realizing everything was about to change.
We lived in New York, and the hospitals were huge and scary. I had to stay overnight in the hospital twice in order for the doctors to find a medication that would regulate my heart beat. The first time they sent me home with a medicine that made my symptoms worse... I was six, my parents had four other children at home, and they were not able to stay over night with me. I remember waking up very early and watching an "I Love Lucy" rerun. When it was over, I called home, crying because I was alone and scared. We only had one car, my dad had to work, and my mom cried too. Needless to say, I was not a fan of hospitals.
I went home from my second hospital stay with a heart monitor that I had to wear every day for a week, and a proper prescription. I had to take this tiny pill twice a day, or my heart rate would soar. I hated it. Also, I couldn't have caffeine, chocolate (although I still ate it, plenty), and my favorite drink: mountain dew, was now off limits. This was probably a blessing in disguise! Granted I was six and not drinking soda often, but a couple times a year we were allowed to sip on a small cup of that sweet, strange stuff, and I was extremely sad that I would be banned from that treat!
At the age of seventeen, I was finally old enough to have the ablation therapy to have the extra electrical current path removed from my heart! I would be able to go places without having to remember a stupid bottle of little, white, heart-regulating pills! I was living on campus, running daily, loving life, when my mother called to tell me she was scheduling my surgery. I was scared, but so excited. I started running harder than ever, because I wanted my heart to be super strong for the procedure. I also started praying harder than ever, because I really wanted this surgery to heal my heart. We had been praying since I had been diagnosed that I would be healed completely from this, and I opened my hands, earnestly to God.
I remember, one night, late, I snuck into the chapel of the campus using my father's key. I went down to the altar, grabbed a hymnal, and started singing every hymn I knew at the top of my lungs. The chapel has great acoustics, and I hadn't been doing much singing since I had given up my Broadway dreams. I poured out everything I had that night in praise and prayers to God, to give me strength for the surgery, to heal my heart, to help me through if that wasn't possible... I think I scared the cleaning lady, because at one point I heard a door open and close, but I just kept on singing and crying. The chapel, empty and dark, embraced my emotions and the Holy Spirit filled me with strength.
I went into my ablation with courage. The procedure was as follows:
1. Shave my upper/inner thigh/groin (yep, this job was given to a cute, male intern, but of course my important parts were covered... completely professional..it was just absolutely embarrassing and I still blush all these years later. I was the girl who would wear shorts over my swimming suit when I went swimming...).
2. Next step, insert two thick wires with cameras into the major artery of each leg (located where the shaving took place, of course).
3. Thread the wires through the arteries into the heart, going through the back.
4. Use the cameras to find the extra path while pumping in adrenaline to watch the heart rhythm increase and see where it jumps.
5. Burn out the extra path.
6. Remove wires.
7. Cover and place pressure on the two arteries for 24 hours so that they close up and don't bleed out...
8. No more medicine and off we go.
The procedure went well. Afterwards, the doctor told my parents that he gave me almost no pain medicine or muscle relaxers. He said I was so completely stoic, that he has had grown men, line backer style, screaming on the table as the wires went up their backs... But I just laid there.
What I had was Christ. I remember exactly what I was doing in that moment. I was praying, and I had my eyes closed, in my mind, I saw a lush green mountain. When I see pictures of mountain paths in Papua New Guinea, I know it looked something like that... but I hadn't seen those pictures yet. There was just beauty. There was a path, and there was Jesus. He didn't have exact features, He was a man, but He was bright and beautiful. He took my hand and we walked up to the top of this mountain. I sat at His feet and He spoke to me, but there weren't words I can remember, it was just peace. Honestly it didn't last more than a few minutes. Then I opened my eyes and watched the screen as pictures of my heart began to show up from the cameras.
I felt the adrenaline they pumped into me. I watched my heart beat faster. I watched them move the cameras, looking. I lay on the table for four hours, just watching and waiting.
When I was back in my room, the doctor came in. He told my parents he was baffled. He said they didn't find an extra path. He said all they had found was a little scar tissue, perhaps at the sight where the other path had been? In his mind, my doctors in New York had misdiagnosed me. But my parents and I knew I had been healed. They hadn't done any ablation, just a four hour test, and they simply told me to stop taking medicine.
I was released from the hospital with a strong sensitivity to adrenaline. After taking pills for all those years, my heart was having a time adjusting... I wasn't supposed to do too much exercise and if I did, I was supposed to wear a heart monitor to make sure my heart rate didn't exceed 200 (which it had in the hospital as I got up to pee for the first time).
I didn't like wearing the monitor. When I ran, my heart rate really would get too fast... so I started swimming! Ha! That December/January, I didn't take any classes, and I swam almost every day. I'm sure it didn't help my heart rate stay at a good speed, but I didn't have to wear my monitor in the water.
Slowly but surely, my heart strengthened. I got winded easily, but I pushed myself. I had to wear a monitor in February to make sure everything was still okay, but it was. I was back on campus for the last semester of my high school career, healed, and happy. I got baptized by my dad on the chapel stage in front of the whole campus, I sang in the college choir, I got an A in Calculus, and I went on a missions trip that summer, fulfilling my longing for adventures. Life was organized, fun, and everything made sense. I was even starting to make some friends... summer came and went, and I moved back in to MVNU for my second year of college, not realizing everything was about to change.
Caleb: College Part 2
The good people at Lindsey Wilson College were not happy with what I had become on their campus. I thought they were just up-tight. It all became drama while we were in a museum in Nashville. The building was put together like an old town, I can't remember what it was called, but it was a steel building so the cell phone service was very spotty.
The staff from school had decided that, while I was away, they would do a random room search. They were hoping to catch me breaking the rules in order to impose some sort of discipline. I'm not sure what they had in mind, but I know their goal was one of two things: I would either stop or get kicked out of school.
Things might have turned out differently for me if either of those two things had happened... but by the grace of God, I've now changed my ways. Looking back, I finally realize, it wasn't all about "not getting caught." It was about not getting sucked down into that pit of death, and because I didn't get caught, I kept up that double life of "good Christian boy on Sundays" and "happy-go-lucky, anything-goes (but girls)" the rest of the time.
My RD, at that time, was a friend of mine. He was on the cycling team, and he was willing to help me out as long as it didn't get him in any trouble. He used his knowledge of the situation to let another of our friends, we'll call him Bob, know that the "higher ups" were getting ready to toss my room.
Bob tried several times to get a hold of me on my cell phone. Because of the building we were in, the calls never came through. But he didn't give up there, he called another student on the trip. This guy came running up to me, "Bob is on the phone for you. He says it's really important. Very serious."
I grabbed the phone. "Caleb, I just cleaned out your room." He listed all of the things he had grabbed and hidden and wanted to know if he had missed anything. Actually, now that I think about it, I probably would have been in jail with all that was in my room... but he had already grabbed all of it for me and took it to another location for safe keeping until I was back on campus.
Did I mention that the college was in a dry county, that it was a dry campus? Not only did I have pot and paraphernalia, I had four cases of beer under my bed. Because it was harder to come by, someone old enough would take my money and my order and drive about forty-five minutes one way just to get to the liquor store on the county line. Even so, my drinking hadn't been dissuaded a bit.
I had been warned early on that I didn't want to stock up too much beer. If anyone got caught, the security guard would grab the whole stash, take it home, and enjoy it himself. The fact that I had left town with four cases of it under my bed, shows where my priorities were and how dependent I was on my buzz. Most people would get what they wanted for the weekend, then wait for the next run. I always had extra. I didn't want to be without, even though I was living on limited funds. I was quickly falling farther and farther away from the way I was raised and from what I knew was right. Not only would it have been bad for me if I had been caught, it could have affected the future of my innocent roommate. For that matter alone, I am glad nothing came of the search that day.
I lived in an on-campus brick apartment building that usually housed four students. There were only three of us. When the search party entered our apartment, there was our living room with a surround couch creating a hall/walkway. They searched through our couch and movie collection and found nothing. Turning left, they entered the kitchen, and came up empty again. Walking past the couch, they got to the two bed rooms.
The bathroom and other bedroom were on the left, in line with the kitchen... they skipped those and headed for my bedroom, sitting behind the living room. They searched everywhere, but left empty handed.
I loved that little place. It was my first castle. I felt so powerful away from my parent's roof. And I loved my friends, they never made me feel guilty about anything. Plus, they were crazy different. I thought that was awesome too. My roommate was a very cool Indian fellow. He is now about to graduate from medical school. He was all about studying, and he had no desire for any of the stuff I did, but we got along really well. He always slept on the floor without a matt, pad, or anything. He said it was the only way he could sleep comfortably. I was fine with that, it meant that I got a double mattress.
Where his bed would have been, I put several lag-hooks into the studs. That made it possible for me to hang my half-dozen bikes up from the ceiling. It was a great way to conserve space, since it was a rather small bedroom, and there was no place for my over abundance of bikes. My roommate was fine with it, he had a bike too and he would occasionally ride. So seven bikes hung from our ceiling.
MR (my roommate) also had the coolest computer ever, his keyboard and mouse were wireless, so he could sit eight feet away and work on his computer. That was absolutely crazy to this sheltered farm boy. I had never seen anything like it! He laughed at my reaction to so many things. The Indian and the Hillbilly... that could be a story in itself...
The collection of tunes on MR's computer was huge! His music was right up my ally. I had been sneaking and listening to "non mom approved" music since I could drive, and I enjoyed every kind of music: from the Beatles to Marilyn Manson, from jazz to rap, and everything in between. The two of us had some music playing every minute of the day (and most nights).
I really loved and enjoyed MR, he was a good friend. He had been my RA the semester before in the dorm building. They didn't usually let freshman into on-campus apartments, but since he was my roommate, they made an exception. Knowing that I could have ruined his whole medical career is hard to wrap my head around, but God intervened, and I am so grateful for my friend's sake.
After that close call, I started to realize that the "school stuff" really wasn't for me. I decided, about three weeks before Spring Semester ended, that I wasn't coming back in the fall. That was when I quit going to classes. Prior to that day, I had never missed a class.
During the last week, mostly just final testing, I was sitting in my apartment playing some video game. I would have been taking my history final, but I was skipping all of those tests. I was just waiting for the school to close, so I would have to go home. Then I heard a knock, knock, knock accompanied by a female voice call, "Caleb, I know you're in there! They told me where I could find you. Come on, let's go. I already started the test for the rest of class, and I'm not going back without you."
It was my crazy wonderful history professor. I opened the door and shared with her that it was always a struggle for me to keep up with all of the reading and writing and that I honestly despised school. She tried to talk me into changing my major to a History degree. She said that once I got all my General Education classes done, the rest of my classes would be with her. She said she would make sure I past all my classes and get a degree.
It was tempting (just kidding, no, it wasn't at all). I told her I would have to pass on her offer. With that, my college experience ended.
I learned a lot, that's for sure, although I'm not sure how much of it was even worth learning. I know it was all part of shaping who I am now. If nothing else, I hope I am able to have a better idea of how to teach my children. To teach them often and early not to make the same mistakes that I did. To teach them grace and forgiveness now, so that they can be open to me when they make a mistake or are in the middle of a struggle... To teach them a proper understanding of shame and guilt so that when they are at that point in there lives, they can be saved all of the pain and disappointment, and so we can talk, together, about the hard things.
During my days in Kentucky, my character was lacking and as I reflect on the past, I can see how my huge fall started with small baby steps. It wasn't just things I did on the outside. I know I am still on a journey to clean up what I became on the inside too. Outwardly and inwardly I am learning to have a new pride in my body because I am united with Christ. I represent something bigger than me and I want to shine from the inside out for Christ.
I want to share my story with all the guys and gals that I went to college with, some have also fallen into the pit of addiction, and I want to show them that there is a way out. I want to share that Way with anyone else who cares to hear, about this journey, about how much worse it got after school, about all of the ugly truth of who I became, just so I can then share how much better it can be and has become because of the Freedom in Christ. I am honestly excited to share the amazing things that He has done for me and How Christ has saved my life, marriage, and family Praise the Lord. But I get ahead of myself... the fall didn't end when college ended... this story has just begun...
The staff from school had decided that, while I was away, they would do a random room search. They were hoping to catch me breaking the rules in order to impose some sort of discipline. I'm not sure what they had in mind, but I know their goal was one of two things: I would either stop or get kicked out of school.
Things might have turned out differently for me if either of those two things had happened... but by the grace of God, I've now changed my ways. Looking back, I finally realize, it wasn't all about "not getting caught." It was about not getting sucked down into that pit of death, and because I didn't get caught, I kept up that double life of "good Christian boy on Sundays" and "happy-go-lucky, anything-goes (but girls)" the rest of the time.
My RD, at that time, was a friend of mine. He was on the cycling team, and he was willing to help me out as long as it didn't get him in any trouble. He used his knowledge of the situation to let another of our friends, we'll call him Bob, know that the "higher ups" were getting ready to toss my room.
Bob tried several times to get a hold of me on my cell phone. Because of the building we were in, the calls never came through. But he didn't give up there, he called another student on the trip. This guy came running up to me, "Bob is on the phone for you. He says it's really important. Very serious."
I grabbed the phone. "Caleb, I just cleaned out your room." He listed all of the things he had grabbed and hidden and wanted to know if he had missed anything. Actually, now that I think about it, I probably would have been in jail with all that was in my room... but he had already grabbed all of it for me and took it to another location for safe keeping until I was back on campus.
Did I mention that the college was in a dry county, that it was a dry campus? Not only did I have pot and paraphernalia, I had four cases of beer under my bed. Because it was harder to come by, someone old enough would take my money and my order and drive about forty-five minutes one way just to get to the liquor store on the county line. Even so, my drinking hadn't been dissuaded a bit.
I had been warned early on that I didn't want to stock up too much beer. If anyone got caught, the security guard would grab the whole stash, take it home, and enjoy it himself. The fact that I had left town with four cases of it under my bed, shows where my priorities were and how dependent I was on my buzz. Most people would get what they wanted for the weekend, then wait for the next run. I always had extra. I didn't want to be without, even though I was living on limited funds. I was quickly falling farther and farther away from the way I was raised and from what I knew was right. Not only would it have been bad for me if I had been caught, it could have affected the future of my innocent roommate. For that matter alone, I am glad nothing came of the search that day.
I lived in an on-campus brick apartment building that usually housed four students. There were only three of us. When the search party entered our apartment, there was our living room with a surround couch creating a hall/walkway. They searched through our couch and movie collection and found nothing. Turning left, they entered the kitchen, and came up empty again. Walking past the couch, they got to the two bed rooms.
The bathroom and other bedroom were on the left, in line with the kitchen... they skipped those and headed for my bedroom, sitting behind the living room. They searched everywhere, but left empty handed.
I loved that little place. It was my first castle. I felt so powerful away from my parent's roof. And I loved my friends, they never made me feel guilty about anything. Plus, they were crazy different. I thought that was awesome too. My roommate was a very cool Indian fellow. He is now about to graduate from medical school. He was all about studying, and he had no desire for any of the stuff I did, but we got along really well. He always slept on the floor without a matt, pad, or anything. He said it was the only way he could sleep comfortably. I was fine with that, it meant that I got a double mattress.
Where his bed would have been, I put several lag-hooks into the studs. That made it possible for me to hang my half-dozen bikes up from the ceiling. It was a great way to conserve space, since it was a rather small bedroom, and there was no place for my over abundance of bikes. My roommate was fine with it, he had a bike too and he would occasionally ride. So seven bikes hung from our ceiling.
MR (my roommate) also had the coolest computer ever, his keyboard and mouse were wireless, so he could sit eight feet away and work on his computer. That was absolutely crazy to this sheltered farm boy. I had never seen anything like it! He laughed at my reaction to so many things. The Indian and the Hillbilly... that could be a story in itself...
The collection of tunes on MR's computer was huge! His music was right up my ally. I had been sneaking and listening to "non mom approved" music since I could drive, and I enjoyed every kind of music: from the Beatles to Marilyn Manson, from jazz to rap, and everything in between. The two of us had some music playing every minute of the day (and most nights).
I really loved and enjoyed MR, he was a good friend. He had been my RA the semester before in the dorm building. They didn't usually let freshman into on-campus apartments, but since he was my roommate, they made an exception. Knowing that I could have ruined his whole medical career is hard to wrap my head around, but God intervened, and I am so grateful for my friend's sake.
After that close call, I started to realize that the "school stuff" really wasn't for me. I decided, about three weeks before Spring Semester ended, that I wasn't coming back in the fall. That was when I quit going to classes. Prior to that day, I had never missed a class.
During the last week, mostly just final testing, I was sitting in my apartment playing some video game. I would have been taking my history final, but I was skipping all of those tests. I was just waiting for the school to close, so I would have to go home. Then I heard a knock, knock, knock accompanied by a female voice call, "Caleb, I know you're in there! They told me where I could find you. Come on, let's go. I already started the test for the rest of class, and I'm not going back without you."
It was my crazy wonderful history professor. I opened the door and shared with her that it was always a struggle for me to keep up with all of the reading and writing and that I honestly despised school. She tried to talk me into changing my major to a History degree. She said that once I got all my General Education classes done, the rest of my classes would be with her. She said she would make sure I past all my classes and get a degree.
It was tempting (just kidding, no, it wasn't at all). I told her I would have to pass on her offer. With that, my college experience ended.
I learned a lot, that's for sure, although I'm not sure how much of it was even worth learning. I know it was all part of shaping who I am now. If nothing else, I hope I am able to have a better idea of how to teach my children. To teach them often and early not to make the same mistakes that I did. To teach them grace and forgiveness now, so that they can be open to me when they make a mistake or are in the middle of a struggle... To teach them a proper understanding of shame and guilt so that when they are at that point in there lives, they can be saved all of the pain and disappointment, and so we can talk, together, about the hard things.
During my days in Kentucky, my character was lacking and as I reflect on the past, I can see how my huge fall started with small baby steps. It wasn't just things I did on the outside. I know I am still on a journey to clean up what I became on the inside too. Outwardly and inwardly I am learning to have a new pride in my body because I am united with Christ. I represent something bigger than me and I want to shine from the inside out for Christ.
I want to share my story with all the guys and gals that I went to college with, some have also fallen into the pit of addiction, and I want to show them that there is a way out. I want to share that Way with anyone else who cares to hear, about this journey, about how much worse it got after school, about all of the ugly truth of who I became, just so I can then share how much better it can be and has become because of the Freedom in Christ. I am honestly excited to share the amazing things that He has done for me and How Christ has saved my life, marriage, and family Praise the Lord. But I get ahead of myself... the fall didn't end when college ended... this story has just begun...
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