Juicing Day 1

I want food!

     Matt and I began our juicing fast today. Why are we doing this?! Ok, back to what I was saying. We began the fast this morning and will continue through Sunday. We may lengthen the fast after day 3, but this is our test run. Why are we doing this?!

     As I write this Matt is lying on the couch with a mega headache and I'm doing my best to hold my head up. Oh, and I must mention I'm extremely irritable. I want food! After drinking two meals and two snacks so far today I just want a big gigantic piece of pizza (thin crust, banana peppers and extra cheese to be exact.) I slept today after drinking my weight in carrot juice and dreamed of soup beans and cornbread (a meal I don't even eat--my body is so desperate that it's kicking it back to my childhood).

What we've had today:

Breakfast: *My body readily accepted this in hopes of getting a bagel chaser*

3 organic Carrots
2 organic Apples
1 small piece of Ginger

Mid-afternoon snack: *Still hoping for that bagel...*

1 Cucmber
4 Celery Stalks
2 Apples
6-8 leaves Kale
1/2 Lemon
1tbsp. Ginger

Lunch: *BAGEL! Ok, lady, I hate you...*

4 Plum Tomatos
1 large Cucucmber
2 stalks Celery
1 Red Bell Pepper
1/4 small Red Onion
2 cups Parsley, leaves and stems, roughly chopped and
packed into the measuring cup
1 Lime

Snack: * *$@#! *

2 apples
handful of blackberries

        Why are we doing this?! They do say that the first day is the worst. Both Matt and I are already experiencing the withdraws of sugar, caffeine, and carbs. I have felt hungry all day, but the juices do fill my stomach up. I know I'm also getting more nutrients from the fruits and veggies than I do in a  regular day. Actually, I probably haven't had such a potent helping of fruits and veggies like this in my life! Our research has really gone into this and it's going to be worth it in the end. That doesn't mean that I won't dream about a cupcake tonight (chocolate with coffee icing to be exact--oh, and don't forget the sprinkles!)   

I'm Famous! Well, my autoimmune disease is...

     So, I've been talking about this thing called Sjogren's  (pronounced Show-grins...does it make me grin? No!) for about 7 months. Recently, I explained that the disease is something that can look drastically different from patient to patient. The symptoms are vast and also vary in severity. No matter on which "level" Sjogren's affects a person, in a nutshell it's a pain and a major disruption to "normal" life.

     Yesterday, I had one of those days. My emotions were all over the place as I reflected on the "me I used to be". I used to be full of energy and be in excellent health. When I first met my husband I told him, "I never get sick.". Well, the irony in me saying that is almost laughable because a year later I got terribly ill. Thank God for him, though, because he has seen me through every bit of heartache and challenge that Sjogren's has poured into our lives. So, I basically sat around yesterday crying and feeling hopeless. Of course saying it like that makes me sound like a depressed piece of work, but it truly was a hard day for me. Being sick doesn't just affect the body. It reaches into your spirit as well. I allowed myself the time to grieve and this morning I woke up with a new sense of hope and determination.

     In the midst of my pity party last night I watched a documentary called Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead (that does sound like a film someone in my state of mind would watch, doesn't it?). The film basically explains the benefits of juicing and doing a juice cleanse. The man in the film has an autoimmune disease that became easier to manage without the use of medications once he began juicing fresh fruits and veggies. I was impressed. This morning, I got Matt on board with me in hopes that juicing will benefit him, too and put an end the the tummy issues he has had for years.

    Then, this afternoon I remembered that the tennis star--3 time Olympian--Venus Williams suffers from Sjogren's as well. I watched an interview with her and was filled with a bit of motivation. If Sjogren's can bring an all-star athlete to her knees at one point in time then maybe I don't have to be superwoman.

If you'd like to watch the interview here it is:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsIfOLuCNRM

So, here's what's going to happen...

Matt and I will be doing a 10 day fast.

During the fast we will be drinking freshly juiced fruits & veggies--that's it. These drinks will be in place of meals. No food. No coffee. Nothing. Pretty simple.

I will document our journey each day (don't worry--the posts won't be this long). I will closely note any improvements/changes in my health.

     For those of you that have researched Sjogren's, you will know that it cannot be cured. I choose to look at it this way: if I can do ANYTHING to feel better then I will. Juicing won't solve the problem, but it may improve how I feel from day to day.  That is worth every bit of effort on my part.

Here we go...

Health Update- The Waiting Room

     Baltimore, Maryland is home to The Orioles, The Chesapeake Bay, and one of the world's leading hospitals. Johns Hopkins hospital may be my next hope for healthcare. Over the past month, my health has changed; it has gone in unexpected directions and I have developed new symptoms. In an act of desperation, Matt began some intensive research. Google lead us to Johns Hopkins which has a clinic specifically for Sjogren's Syndrome (SS from here on).

      SS is commonly explained as an autoimmune disease that causes dry eyes and dry mouth. Fatigue may also be a secondary symptom. On Johns Hopkins website, though, we were able to match virtually every "new" symptom I have developed to SS. I was diagnosed with SS in January, but was told by my Rheumy that SS isn't a big deal and that I should be able to lead a perfectly normal life. Imagine my surprise when I began having difficulty concentrating, walking, and eventually suffering from a seizure last month. As I read on JH's website, I learned that most Rheumys are poorly educated on SS because it is A) hard to diagnose and B) not fully understood by medical professionals thus, not properly taught to medical students. SS is actually quiet serious and if left untreated can really cause serious problems in many areas of the body. At first, I found that really intimidating and I was filled with fear. The good news, though, is that I'm finally educating myself on what my body has been going through. That is a first step.

     Upon researching, we found out that JH openly welcomes those suffering with SS to come to their clinic with only a simple referral from their physician! We are only about two hours from Baltimore which makes it a possibility for me to seek help at JH! The doctors review patients' records prior to their visit and set a plan for testing and treatment in place before the patient even arrives. The website also explains that the patient needs to set aside 1-2 days for their appointment. For those of you that are chronically ill or know someone that is then you understand the amazing hope that this offers! I am used to appointments lasting 15 minutes--my vitals are taken, the doctor doesn't make eye contact, and he readily pushes me out the door with an unneeded prescription that I never get filled. A whole day--maybe two--of testing and treatment plans. That's only what I've been wishing for over the past three years!

     I have had my medical records forwarded to JH. Now, I wait. The specialists on board (neurologists, Rheumys, gynecologists, optometrists) will review my records and have the office call me for an appointment. With so many specialists on board, that means that I will virtually be checked from head to toe.We're in the "waiting room" right now living life as usual until we hear back from the office. Please pray that I will be able to make an appointment soon! The love and support that I have been extended over the past three years during this whole ordeal has been an overwhelming blessing. I am gracious.

      If you're in a waiting room of your own right now--whether health or other issues--stay hopeful. If you lose hope, look to those around you to encourage you. The community that supports you is always wider than you think.

Love,
Nikki

A Heap of Memories

    Writing is a gift that you give back to yourself.

    Opening an old journal or manuscript is like unwrapping a prized possession that you didn't know you needed. It's better than finding loose change between the couch cushions or that long-lost left shoe underneath your bed. Re-reading words that once poured freshly from your heart is like watching reruns of your favorite show as a kid. You've seen it and can barely remember exactly how it went, but anticipation leads to remembrance and for a moment you're back there.

     I opened old boxes today that contain almost every piece of writing that I've created since I was 11-years-old. I uncovered scrap pieces of paper shoved into old journals, forgotten manuscripts, and fragments of napkins that I'd scribbled on when I didn't have the luxury of lined paper. The writing spanned from early adolescence spent in the mountains of East Tennessee to pages written as a newly wed on cold winter nights in New Hampshire. Some words were mulled over in English coffee shops and restless nights of homesickness beneath an English night sky. To properly organize everything, I had to read over my past work to put it into the correct drawer. Speed-reading turned into me sitting at our office desk and spending time visiting memory lane.

     I write to be creative, but even more than that I write to express myself. Even in an attempt to be creative, a part of me becomes exposed through characters or story line. The pages that I turned and the things that I read were written by a younger me and in some cases, a healthier me. I also read things that came from a place of desperate longing for hope. I read poems ridden with the heartache of losing my father. Only when I saw it in black ink, was I able to see the immensity of trials I have been through. Overshadowing those trials, though, was the undeniable and inexpressible hope of a life transformed.

I have felt deeply.
I wrote deeply.
I have also healed deeply--from my very soul to the outpouring expression of ink pressed to paper.

      Writing never changed my circumstances, but it did change my perspective. I would say that writing has been a savior to me, but we both know how shallow that would be. Writing, no matter how deeply appreciated or expressed is a temporal thing. Everything I have written could easily be mimicked,burnt up and turned into ash. My hope hasn't come from my self-expression, but from God. He has never left me. I dug through boxes and from one hand-written page to another--in some way or another, God showed himself to me--through sadness, rage, hurt, joy, and sadness.

When I've been afraid He has given me courage.
When I've been lonely He has given me friendship.
When I've been robbed He has restored what was taken.
When I've been hopeless He has given me hope.

       Sometimes it takes time and often doesn't come in the form of all things hoped and longed for. There are times when hope comes in the form of a long forgotten answered prayer. Then, comes remembrance. It may be hidden in boxes, but there will come a day when you open what has been in front of you and you see that all along He was there.

How much for the girl on the right?

     She's young. Twenty-something. Tall. Thin. Small breasts. Wide hips. Long hair. Clear complexion. Virgin.

     Now, how much would you pay for her? Like window shopping at the beginning of the Christmas season, you can find a cheaper priced version of her behind the next window. Adorned like a Christmas tree with immaculate decor and make-up the color of jewel toned wrapping paper. There are no brands. No generic knock-offs. These virgins are a high commodity priced to sell. Untainted like the winter's first snow.

    How much would you pay?

    100 dollars?
   
     63 pounds?

     78     euro?
   
     5,550 rupees ?

   
      She's a talented pianist. Her favorite color is blue--the kind of blue that rests in the sky just before fading into the early seconds of sunset. When given a piece of paper and pen she can write poetry that breathes life back into her soul. She has a little sister that she taught to climb trees. Her dream is to design clothes; she fashions new outfits from old pieces and watches her progress in the mirror with pride. Her nails stay short because she bites them out of habit; she still remembers the sting on top of her hands when her mother would try to smack the habit right out of her. She loves rain and the flowers that it grows. She hates the night--that's when The Darkness comes.

       The Darkness enters her room and consumes her again and again until the light of a new day intervenes and expels The Darkness to leave. Her body is pushed and pulled in any way The Darkness chooses. The Darkness wears many faces--it never looks the same. It may be tall or short, muscular or average, loud or quiet. Its breath smells the same--of lust and recycled staunch air. It reeks. The Darkness finishes invading her and leaves a small currency on the end table as it leaves.

      The Lies are how she ended up where she is. They looked up from the newspaper: Waitress needed. Good pay. Will provide travel, training, and lodging. They spoke to her on the phone, "Yes, we will have someone to meet you at the airport. You will love your new job." They met her at the airport, "We will take you to your new home. Your housemate is eager to meet you." The Lies took her passport, her money, and her freedom. They replaced it all with a numb soul and The Darkness. The Lies let The Darkness in one after the other, only allowing her time to wash herself off and get another condom. She prays for the sun to freeze in the sky--to never set again--that all will be bright and orange forever so The Darkness doesn't return.

      The Lies tell her that her debt is almost paid. A few more times with The Darkness and it all will be over. She know better. The Lies do not know that poetry keeps her alive. They don't feel the old familiar sting of her mother's presence. They do not know how she loves the rain or that her favorite color of blue hangs in the sky above the brothel. The Lies leave no room for The Truth. Through her tired brown eyes she can see that her prison has shrunken to accommodate the deflation of her spirit. In a room so small, there is only room for her and The Darkness. There is no room for light.

     She looks to the sky for The Truth. People must know she is there. They must know about the slavery. How could they not? She sits and wonders, Does The Darkness outshine The Truth? Can The Light expel The Darkness?

She writes:

My soul longs for you
You must know I am here
The privileged people with love to call their own
They hoard it
Hold it
Kiss it and then bury it
Share with me
Rescue me out of The Darkness
Tell me The Truth
The Truth that set you free
I look to the sky 
Where will my help come from?
Give me purpose
Life
Love
Rescue me
Rescue me

              


          

 

    

Living for Purpose

        The past two weeks have been difficult for us. My health has been like descending a spiral staircase. Just when I think I have reached the lowest point I see that there are more stairs leading me down an unfamiliar way. New symptoms have recently intertwined themselves into my illness. What was once a list of three or four complaints has now become an ongoing writing and editing process. The symptoms that have recently manifested themselves have been scary to say the least. I had a seizure nearly two weeks ago and have since had dizzy spells and new muscular and joint pain. The feeling of continuously going down hill has left me weak and begging for answers. Most detrimental, though has been the feeling of loss--of self-sufficiency, strength, faith, and purpose.

         I finished my last class of the semester yesterday and propped my feet up at completion. I sat and wondered, What am I going to do with all of the extra time? I came up with three simple things: prepare for our trip to India in September, read, and take the time to write creatively for the first time since school started in January. I woke up this morning ambitious to begin enjoying my free time. I got out of bed and my body rebelled against me and forced me back into bed. Matt and I went out for lunch later in the day, but I had to go back to bed when we got home. It is now almost five o'clock in the evening and my day has just begun. With harbored frustration and the sinking feeling of helplessness, I realized that my day had been wasted.

         God prompted me to search Christine Caine's new Bible study on YouTube. Aching, I reached for the laptop and began my search as a little part of me mourned the loss of me--who I used to be. Within minutes of watching the video, I was reminded that I have purpose. Purpose is a word that is loosely thrown around in the Christian community. "You have a purpose that only you can fulfill." "Your life should be filled with purpose." "You have purpose." "God created you on purpose". The list goes on and on. Today, purpose registered with me in a new way. When I was healthy, I knew I had purpose. I knew because there weren't many limitations held over my head. Now, limitations greet me at my bedside and step on my heels all day. I have lost sight of God's purpose for me because I have listened to my limitations more than I have God's reassurance. Too often, I have resigned before I even get started. I've lived as an extremist--completely ignoring my body's need for rest or completely retiring from belief that there is a purpose for me.

           I am tired and weak. I lose sight of what is important. I confuse feelings for truth. I listen to lies and ignore God's affirmation. I do a lot of things. One thing that I need to do is realize that God's purpose for my life far exceeds my health. It goes beyond my body and flows from my spirit. Those in need may just be waiting for someone that is willing rather than necessarily able. I may be that person.

I have purpose.

You have purpose.

Live on purpose for the purpose that you were created for.

When the Soul Bleeds

Ebony bleeds on lined paper
And dries into curly words
The soul opened to breathe
And whispered--
Connecting the words in song

I once wrote to create
Pictures with words
Blues, greens, and yellows combined
In rhyme and eloquent display

Scars covered my hands and heart
And rain poured mixing with ink
Raging storms and quiet summer days
Combined to create a raw truth
Life.

My hands now move slowly
With pen dancing across scrap paper
And my heart coming alive as I recall
Hope
Grace
Love
Redemption

Ink dries with tears on white backdrop
Hope glistens from each point of contact--
Heart to hand
Pen to paper
Hope to you

I once wrote to create
I now write to live and share hope with the wounded

Life.