The Story

There is a story behind my story that I don't often tell. I keep it to myself because the victory of life seems more appealing than the story of death. But I learned some of life's most valuable lessons during my darkest days.

So allow me to begin.

I used to be broken. I used to feel lost. I used to wonder if the "good days" would ever return again. There were nights where I lay awake unable to sleep, mornings where I awoke from night terrors in a cold sweat, afternoons where I left work and cried myself to sleep because it was the only way to stop the bottomless pit of panic in my chest. And no one knew what was wrong with me. "Perfect Health" they claimed.

Here is a brief list of symptoms that I approached my doctor with, roughly 4 months after they began:

Headache
Stomach ache
Panic attacks
Mood swings
Hair loss
Weight loss
Hearing loss
Vision loss
Confusion
Paranoia
Swollen lymph nodes
Sore throat
Cough
Runny nose
Rash
Back pain
Neck pain
Light headedness
Social anxiety
General anxiety
Suicidal thoughts
Loss of appetite
Chest pain
Rapid pulse
Night terrors
Dizziness
Fainting
Trembling
Impending doom
 

... and the list goes on.

I remember saying to my doctor "I just feel like I'm dying." But all he did was analyze my blood work and conclude that I was in "perfect health."

4 months passed before my first symptoms and 3 more would pass before I returned to the doctor demanding more tests because it had become so hard to breathe that I could barely function. 1 week later I found myself being rushed to the E.R. via ambulance. 3 months after that I found myself in the hospital being prepped for open heart surgery.

And this... is merely the prologue.

Bonus Levels

I crave adventure.

Every time I step into the fresh air I allow myself to absorb natures wonders. And without disappointing, the wonders always lead to answers that have been laid on my heart. I like to call those answers "dream visions."

To me, a dream vision can be any type of realization - a mind blowing epiphany, the solution to a problem, a trip idea or simply a self discovery.

Whatever the case may be it allows me to learn and grow both mentally and physically.

Most importantly, I allow my mind to decide for itself what is most important. What I have concluded above all else is that I cannot allow life to pass me by. I want to go everywhere and see everything, because merely existing is not an option.

My time already ran out once. But my heart said "no death, not yet."

Now I'm just living in bonus levels.

And I cannot wait to see what each new day has in store...

Be careful what you wish for.

I was always the tough one.

The middle child. The athlete. The tom-boy. The "anything you can do I can do better" one. Even when I felt inadequate, or weak, or vulnerable I never let it show. How could I? I had a reputation to live up to.

I was a Greenlee.

The daughter of the fire chief, the speed skating coach, the Sunday school teacher, the Girl Scout leader. The sister of a valedictorian, a speed skating champion, a partier, a star baseball player, a paramedic, a dancer.

I had to keep up. I had to do it all.
And I had to do it better.

They were tough. But I was tougher. It never felt like competition... it was just all I knew.

So I did everything.

I fought fires, I won speed skating nationals, I memorized Bible verses, I hiked, I got A's, I excelled in sports, I danced.

But I didn't stop there, I couldn't stop there.

I didn't just dance, I sang and acted. I didn't just excel in sports, I picked up rugby and sky diving. I didn't just party, I threw the parties. My family loves to travel... so I became the mover.

I not only did everything... I did everything better.

Until my life came to a sudden, unexplainable, un-"toppable" hault.

And the only question that remains after all these years is "why me?" The supposedly genetic disorder affected no one else in my family. Just me. The tough one. The middle child. The athlete. The tom boy. The "anything you can do I can do better" one.

The un-"toppable" open heart surgery survivor.

I guess I got what I always wanted.

The thump.

The problem with having such an in tune heart is that you feel every emotion so much more intensely. The good thing about having such an in tune heart is that you are privileged to feel so strongly.

I know that statement won't make sense to a lot of people, but open heart changes you. For so long I feared the constant heart beat... wait. Let me explain. I can feel it. Like... it. My heart. Every single beat. I feel it pumping blood through every single vein. I hear it's pounding even in my head. I can feel every thump it makes. Every thump. It's gotten more quiet, or maybe I've grown more accustomed to it. But it's always there. Reminding me that it has been in someone's hands. Literally pumped back to life. By someone's hands. It still amazes me. Maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. Yes. I'm being dramatic.

Back to the point. What was the point? Hands. Pumping. Hearts. Emotions. Ah, yes, emotions. I hate them. Or maybe I love them. I don't know.

The point is that I got really good at quieting them. Emotions, that is. But the problem remains that I cannot quiet the thump. But perhaps it isn't a problem after all. Perhaps, through all of my attempts in quieting my emotions, I neglected my heart so that it could decide on it's own. Decide what was worthy of the thump. Because it tugs at me in this strange way, as if it's saying... "... go on... thump... allow your heart to be pumped back to life." And, I mean, I tried to quiet it... and i tried to ignore it. But thump. It's still there. And the problem with having such an in tune heart is that... no. I shouldn't talk in circles. The good thing about having such an in tune heart is that... yes. You are privileged to feel so strongly. Privileged. Because I couldn't feel... I wouldn't feel... I shouldn't feel what I do. If it wasn't real.

I don't know what I was thinking. Sorry heart. Thump on.

My tummy hurts

Sometimes I wish I could be a kid again. I miss the days where my Mom would put a bandaid on a "boo boo" that wasn't even bleeding. Just because it made me feel better.

There's really something to say about that kind of love. The love that says "I'm doing this to make you feel better even though it isn't necessary."

It must take a lot of sacrifice for parents to achieve selfless love like that. Maybe some never do. I suppose I was one of the lucky kids.

I still text my Mom when I'm sick. In fact, I just did. She didn't even ask what was wrong, she just began the response with "poor baby." You see, to her it doesn't matter the who, the what, the where, the why. All that matters is me, and my well being.

Wouldn't it be beautiful if everyone loved so selflessly?

In my weakest moments I'm reminded of my strongest bonds. The people I turn to when I feel helpless, alone, afraid, confused, or when I just have a tummy ache. Those are the people I love the most.

I hope I tell them that enough.