The most beautiful journey.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross is most famously known in the nursing world for identifying the 5 stages of grief--denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I can't imagine what possibly possessed this woman to embark on a journey to determine the different stages of grief, but for whatever reason she did. It couldn't have been easy, as anyone who has engaged in a research project knows the best way to obtain data is from the primary source. This means that in order to truly and accurately understand the grieving process, Ross sat and listened to detailed accounts of others insurmountable suffering, loss, and anguish. 

We all know what it's like to experience those raw human emotions. Suffering. Loss. Anguish. At times they engulf you. Make you feel like you're drowning. And permanently change you. 

I've considered sharing the journey of the last year of my life for awhile, but it's taken me this long to come to the final stage of grief and reach a place of acceptance. 

Junior year of nursing school was miserable. It was hard and long and I wasn't sure at times if I'd make it out alive. I relied on a core group of friends who laughed, cried, complained, and endured the journey right along with me--and thank God for them. We had all heard from upperclassmen that if we could just get through Junior year, there was light at the end of the tunnel. They said Senior year was mellow and that we could finally engage in 'normal' college student things. Normal. That was the world I clung to. Senior year was going to be normal. 

That was until I was diagnosed with Graves disease, which they thought might be cancerous. And I found out I was pregnant. And I suddenly lost my grandfather to kidney failure and cancer.

it was the week before my final year of college started. i wasn't feeling so hot. as someone who had always enjoyed being active, I suddenly became lethargic and weak. My heart began racing and I developed a sharp stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. I decided to go to the doctor. They drew blood, I peed in a cup, and they asked me a bunch of questions. They said they'd call me in a few days with the results.

Two days later and still no phone call. My symptoms got worse. Something was really wrong. I made another doctor's appointment hoping that if they didn't have my results they could at least do something to make me more comfortable. The doctor came in and ask how I was feeling. I told him it was worse. Severe fatigue, lethargy, lack of sleep, restlessness and a heart that never seemed to slow down.  He told me they had the results from my tests. I felt relieved.

"Your blood tests came back and we have some major concerns regarding your thyroid, and with your extensive family history of thyroid problems including cancer, we would like you to be seen by an endocrinologist as soon as possible". Don't panic, don't panic, I tried reasoning with myself.  All I heard was the word cancer. "You think I have cancer?" I asked, my mind racing. "We aren't exactly sure what's wrong just yet, but it is a possibility. Until you are seen by a specialist I can't tell you otherwise".

Panic set in. I'm sure my heart was beating so loudly that the patients sitting in the waiting room could hear it. I tried to focus on my breathing and calm myself down. It's ok, I can do this. Don't panic. Don't panic.

"I have other news", the doctor continued. "Your urine pregnancy came back positive. We're concerned that you've been having sharp lower abdominal pain. It could indicate that the pregnancy is ectopic, in which case you need to be seen by an OB today"

The two words bounced off the inside of my skull. Cancer. Ectopic pregnany. The room spun.

I had always imagined the moment I found out I was going to be a mom would be the happiest moment of my entire life. But this was far from the happiest moment of my life. This wasn't how I was supposed to find out.  Not sitting in a doctor's office, alone, petrified and feeling so uncertain about my future, or that of my unborn child's. 

I didn't cry that day. Not at all. I was too overwhelmed. Numb. Shocked. I would wait for more tests to be completed before deciding whether or not to break down. I had told myself I was not going to say anything to anyone until I had  more factual information, but all that went out the window when I came home and was greeted by the man, who is now my husband, and to whom I told everything. He hugged me and I withdrew immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked me. "Do you love me?" I asked him back. "Of course I love you" he said reassuringly. "No, do you really love me? Like do you want to be by my side forever? Through the good and the bad?" I asked in an accusatory tone. "Yes, Danielle, I do. Why are you acting so weird?" I told him the news. He had to sit down. I'm sure some of the first words out of his mouth were words I would never want my child to repeat, but after a few moments of shock he looked at me and said, "I'm going to do everything I can to provide for you and this child. I want you to know I'm not going anywhere. I love you, both".

The days and weeks to follow are somewhat of a blur. All I know is that it felt like I went to a different doctor every other day. 

I had extensive blood work and scans done of my thyroid. I was told there were multiple nodules found that could potentially be cancerous, but that they would continue to monitor them to make sure they weren't multiplying or growing in size. In the meantime I was put on medication to control what they had termed Graves Disease--an autoimmune disease in which your body attacks your thyroid. The doctor told me the medication was so potent that the baby only had a 50% survival rate within the first three months. Anger. Shock. Numbness. They consumed me. 

The next day I had an ultrasound of my uterus to investigate the abdominal pain and confirm the pregnancy. I went to an OB who had been practicing for over 20 years and delivered too many babies to count. She was supposed to be one of the best. She flipped through some papers in my chart. "According to this ultrasound report there was nothing found." Her comment hit me like a mac-truck. Ry and I looked at each other as if we were both dreaming. "What do you mean nothing was found?" he asked her. "I mean she's not pregnant" she responded rather confidently. "How sure are you that she's not pregnant?" Ry asked. "Oh I'm 99% sure".  She walked out of the room. 

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears flooded down my cheeks. Sobs burst from deep within me. This is not happening, this is a joke--I kept telling myself. I couldn't pull myself together. I didn't know what to feel. A part of me was relieved, but the other part of me was broken. I had been told there was this life inside of me, and now days later I was being told such a thing never existed. 

The doctor walked back into the room. She looked confused as I sobbed uncontrollably in the arms of the man who was desperately trying to find the right words. "Is...everything...okay?" she asked. I stopped crying. I looked up at her with snot running down my face and shirt, and tears which had smeared my perfectly good eyeliner and mascara. "No, no everything is not okay. One week ago I was told I had this life inside of me. And now you, you just took it away from me!" I shouted at her. She handed me a box of tissues and left the room. She came back a few minutes later and said she wanted to take blood to see if my hCG (pregnancy hormone) levels were elevated. She said she'd call the next day to let me know the results, and again assured us she was confident I was in fact not pregnant.

I went home, crawled in bed and called my mom. I had every intention of holding myself together but there's something about a mom's voice that makes you feel so vulnerable. She answered and I just started to sob. "Honey what's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?" the panicked voice blurted out on the other end. "I...need...you...to...come...home" I sputtered out. "I'll be there in 20 minutes" she said.

When I asked her later on what she was thinking on her drive home she told me she was sure I had received a diagnosis of cancer. So when I buried my head in her chest and told her I might be pregnant it was the last thing she ever expected. But she held me, and kept holding me. She just kept telling me it would all be okay. 

The next day I got a call from the OB. I was pregnant. That same day the endocrinologist  called with results on my thyroid. Not cancerous. 

denial. anger. bargaining. depression. i bounced back and forth through the first four stages of grief multiple times that day. and would continue to experience them over the next few months. 

I sit here now, cancer free, with a beautiful healthy baby girl who only had a 50% chance of survival kicking me in the ribs as if to say, "Mom, I'm a fighter, just like you". 

The struggles my husband and I have faced over the past 9 months are many. Too many to talk about. And some, too painful to bring up. Going to a Christian school, being un-wed, and being pregnant is not something I'd wish upon anyone. Some days the looks I got felt as if they'd kill the child inside of me. But God is good, and He has faithfully walked by my side.

When we found out we were having a little girl we were thrilled. We knew we wanted to name her something unique and special, after all at one time we thought we had lost her, then we got her back, were told she could still not make it, and is now just a few weeks away from making her debut. She has already endured so much and although she isn't quite here, I'm such a proud mom. 

The name Callie came to me and it just kind of clicked. I called Ry and asked him what he thought. "Callie, my little Cal girl. It's her."  She's never been anything different since. It wasn't until someone asked me what her name meant that I looked it up.  Callie: "the most beautiful". tears streamed down my face. i knew God placed that name in my heart. 

every night before i go to bed i tell Callie she is the most beautiful. when people stare at me as if i've made some horrible mistake i remind myself this precious little girl is the most beautiful. when i want to give up, i remind myself of the most beautiful gift i've ever been given. 

this journey has been filled with suffering, loss, and anguish. i have circled through the stages of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression over and over and over again. although i've come to a place of acceptance, i realize i could still experience those things. but that's okay. because on this road marked with suffering, i have been given the most beautiful ending, and yet another beginning, to my journey.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross's research proved to be right after all. I experienced each and every stage of grief she described. But perhaps there was something more to what she was trying to discover. Perhaps her real interest wasn't in watching people suffer, but watching them grow and be changed by it. Perhaps she realized sometimes the most painful journeys, are the most beautiful. 

Dedicated to my daughter, Callie Ann-- you are the most beautiful. I'd endure all the pain in the world on your behalf. You are such a gift and I'd do it all over again. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms.  I love you.

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.” --Elizabeth Kubler-Ross 

The man on the radio.

My alarm clock went off at 5AM. I hit snooze knowing I had a mere 5 more minutes to rest before I had to crawl out of bed and go to a job I was less than thrilled about. Don't get me wrong, I've learned a lot as a patient sitter, but sitting in a chair for 12 hours straight is draining. torture even. 5 minutes felt like thirty seconds when my alarm went off again.

I laid there wondering why i subjected myself to 12 hour shifts of sitting in one spot, looking hopelessly out the window at the sunshine, almost forgetting what fresh air smelled like. then i remembered. to save money. for student loans. for my dream wedding. for a honeymoon. for life. ah, yes. i would forgo hitting the snooze button for a third time and roll out of bed all for the sake of the American dream. 

I walked out my front door at 5:45AM and was greeted by the moon. I got in my car and turned on the radio. I don't know what it is about the early mornings, but no one likes to play music on the radio. All anyone wants to do is talk. I flipped through the stations at least 5 times before settling on one.

News. "Late last night a man jumped off the South bridge of interstate 83 in Harrisburg". Depressing. I changed the station. "A man jumped off a bridge in Harrisburg into the Susquehanna river and survived". Again, really? I changed it again, aggravated. "A state trooper noticed a car pulled over on interstate 83 bridge and thought the vehicle was disabled. When he began to approach the vehicle the man got out of the drivers seat and flung himself over the bridge. He survived the 80 foot drop and is at Hershey Medical Center in stable condition".

Idiot, I thought. What an idiot. 

Did I really have to hear that story three times?, I thought annoyed. Wouldn't it be great if I had to sit with him all day! I chuckled to myself. There was no way. He would be in critical care and probably be so knocked out on pain medicine that no one had to worry about him lifting so much as a finger. After all, he jumped off a bridge. An 80 foot drop.

I went to the assignment sheet and wrote down the room number that was listed next to my name. JOHNSON 7AM-7PM, it said in large bold letters. I cringed. I headed to the elevator, hit my floor, and headed to my room. The lady who was coming off of night shift came out into the hallway to give me the low down on the patient i was to sit with for the next 12 hours. 

"he jumped off a bridge" she said.
"he what!?" i stuttered back. 

"He jumped...off a bridge" she repeated.

"he's the man on the radio" i said under my breath. 

she looked at me like i was crazy. i couldn't believe it.  

i have three things i wanted to get out of this post. 

the first: God is funny. He knew exactly what He was doing when i flipped through 5 different radio stations and all of them had that news story on. 

the second: the man on the radio isn't an idiot. he has a story. we all have a story. yours may not have ended up on the news, but you have one. and it's worth telling. don't ever be afraid to reach out and tell someone your story. life can be overwhelming, but you're not alone. call a friend. talk to a family member. pray with a pastor. 

the third:  God has a plan. for the man on the radio. for  you. for me. He's got a plan. this life on earth isn't the ending. it's only the beginning. on days you feel like this is it, like nothing else could go wrong, like life isn't worth living--remember, He has a plan. cling to it.

next time i turn on the radio i intend to listen a little closer.
turn down the tunes & turn up the news.
because somewhere out there there's a man on the radio who needs a thought, a moment, a prayer.

The girl with no name.

They all warned me about how fast it could happen. How in one moment just when you thought you were all caught up on drawing labs, flushing lines, taking temperatures, doing assessments and charting it all, that anything and anyone could come barging through the double doors and chaos could erupt.
trauma waits for no one. 

I don't remember the whirlwind of events that unfolded in those two hours that literally felt like a blink of an eye. All I know is one moment I was standing in the center of an empty hospital room preparing for the arrival of a patient and the next I was shoved into a corner and jammed between an IV pole and a med cart. I was trying to take it all in, while reminding myself to breathe as to not end up passed out on the floor.

They said it was a car accident. A bad one. So bad that others had been declared dead on the scene. There was blood. There was shouting. There was lots of movement. 20-some people rushed a stretcher into the room where I was standing. The girl lying on it couldn't have been any older than 12. Everything was being done to ensure her fate wasn't the same as the others.

IVs were started, meds were drawn, pupils were checked, total body assessments were done. I couldn't do much of anything. "What's her name?" I called out. No one heard me. "What's her name?" I said a little louder. I immediately regretted my decision as one of the doc's shot me a nasty look as if to say, "stupid extern". "We don't know her name", someone finally shouted out among the sea of attendings, residents, nurses, x-ray techs, and respiratory therapists that buzzed around the room.

The girl was clearly out of it, but moaned and moved slightly from side to side. I wanted to tell her it was going to be okay. I wanted to be the one voice among many that called out to her and gave her comfort. I wanted to call her by name. But I couldn't. Because no one knew who this girl was. And the only people who did, were no longer alive. 

It was a whirlwind. It was many things, but a whirlwind for sure. Raw, real, unpredictable, heart pumping-adrenaline-rushing, whirlwind trauma. It waits for no one. 

On my drive home I couldn't help but to think about the girl with no name. I can't imagine how scared she must have been. How lonely she must have felt. If I could have only held her hand and whispered in her ear, calling her by name, assuring her it would be okay.

"I call her by name" said the Lord. "I was there calling her by name" He assured me. "Not only do I know her name, but I know everything about her, for I created her. She is my daughter and I call her by name."

A wave of emotions swept over me. How easily I forget that there is One greater than I. One so great, He knows that which is unknown to us. One so great, He calls each and every one of us by name.

The girl with no name has a name. I don't know what it is, but I do know she is the Lords.
And He calls her His own.

"Never again will you be called 'The Forsaken City' or 'The Desolate Land.' Your new name will be 'The City of God's Delight' and 'The Bride of God,' for the LORD delights in you and will claim you as his bride."
Isaiah 62:4

God smiles when I dance in my underwear.

What moves you? 

What makes your heart skip a beat?

What makes your eyes swell with tears?

What makes you want to jump up and down like a little kid who has to pee really really bad? 

There are lots of things that move me. Babies. Sunsets. A quiet moment with the person I love. Witnessing someone go out of there way for another. Hearing unbelievable stories of survival, triumph, and victory when it shouldn't have been possible.

But there's one thing that moves me more than anything else in this world.

God. 

There are days I wake up, crawl out of bed in my underwear, and spontaneously want to worship God. So I set Pandora to my Kim Walker christian radio station and I dance. In my underwear. It's not the crazy fling-your-hair-air-guitar kind of dancing. It is not planned or particularly purposeful. It just, happens. I become moved. By the music, by the words, by the truth of God's faithfulness, love, mercy, and grace. 

I close my eyes and I go to another place. It's warm and quiet and beautiful and peaceful. I feel whole. I feel blessed. I am humbled and I am in awe. Sometimes I sing along, other times I simply smile, laugh, or cry. I can feel God smiling down at me. I think to myself, "what an amazing God I serve". it's not something you can entirely explain to someone who hasn't experienced the love of God. you just have to feel it, be moved by it. 

Majesty, Majesty, Your grace has found me just as I am,
empty handed but alive in Your hands. Majesty, Majesty,
forever I am [moved] by your love, in the presence of your Majesty.

God moves me, and I can't help but to respond. Whether that's dancing around in my underwear, following my calling to serve others by becoming a Nurse, calling up an old friend that's been on my mind, or reminding those I love of how much they mean to me, I am moved.

What moves you? Because whatever moves you, moves God. And when God sees you responding to something that moves you, He smiles. So be moved.

Go ahead, dance around in your underwear.
Make God smile. 

If you're going through hell, keep on going.

If you're anything like me, I'm sure you've heard the following a time or two:

It could always be worse.

You complain to a friend about relationship problems.  It doesn't matter how much you accomplish in a day, the to-do list just seems to keep growing.  Just as spring has finally begun to sprung you realize after a long winter (that simultaneous caused you to pack on a few extra pounds) that you can no longer fit into your favorite pair of shorts. the old clunker car you've poured way too much money into fixing finally breaks down beyond repair. you go to the dentist and find out you have two cavities that need filled, and you don't have health insurance.

but, it could be worse--right? 

I'm not saying problems are 'rankable'--although certainly crying over a stubbed toe seems incomparable to crying over the loss of a loved one. We all have our problems. Everyday we face what can seem like an insurmountable amount of crap that can push us closer and closer to the edge of wanting to just give up.

here's a true statement: i have never been so close to jumping off the edge than i have this semester. i could go into details, but i'll refrain because the truth is i'm not looking for pity or sympathy or anything of the sorts. bottom line is, the problems i thought were so big and important and worth complaining about, weren't. and every time i led myself to believe they were, God brought me to my knees and humbly showed me, it really could be worse. here's how...

--*David is a strong young man that I met through a friend. His mom has cancer and is starting radiation therapy. He works part time, goes to school full time, and he has become the man of the house. He comes from a broken home, and a past rooted in drugs and depression. He is doing the best he can to support his family but life has never seemed to let up on him, and every day obligations are taking their toll. He isn't used to feeling so defeated. He wants to give up, but knows giving up is not an option. 

--*Alyssa is a brilliant and beautiful girl (and dear friend) who is working on finishing her degree in the healthcare field. She has suffered multiple health problems, (including an infection in her heart), which has caused a great deal of stress in her already stressful life. Finally returned to a good state of health, and entering into her last college class, her husband lost his job. 

--*Emily is a quiet, but sweet individual, who I've gone to school with for awhile but haven't gotten to know very well. After complaining to her about a horrible test grade, with tear-filled eyes she told me her white blood counts have been low for the past three weeks and she's afraid she might have cancer. 

(*for confidentiality purposes all names have been changed) 

I kid you not--every single time I have begun to feel like giving up on Nursing and college and maintaining relationships and being torn with who to give my time to and just feeling down right defeated, God has used people like the few I've mentioned above to remind me how truly BLESSED I am to live the life I do. 

I don't have all the answers for why things happen the way they do. But what I do know is that we have a God who loves us to the moon and back (and then some). Our God is good. Our God is just. Our God is love. He loves us so much and He cares deeply about the troubles that we go through. We don't have to go it alone. So friends, I urge you-- 

"stick with what you've begun--believe, and don't quit, it won't be easy. Anyone signing up for the kingdom of God has to go through plenty of hard times"  (Acts 14:22) 

BUT, remember this...

"The sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us"

(Romans 8:18) 

so if you're going through hell--keep on going.

and know, you are never alone.

It happens.

I thought I'd make an effort to post one more blog before my life offically ends tomorrow.

Spring break went too fast. Scratch that. Let's just call it time-to-catch-up-on-other-nursing-work-you've-been-putting-off-to-study-for-a-nursing-final-and-patho-midterm-and-research-project-and-a-lot-of-other-stuff "break". i spent the first night of "break" doing 9 hours of clinical paperwork. i spent the other 5 days of "break" writing a 10 page research paper. OH and THENNNN i got sick. with acute bronchitis and an upper resp. infection, which i am currently still battling. WOOOO!

[you won't see THAT kind of spring break on MTV. who needs boobs & beer with reality like that? shit's real!]

i did have some fun. with a certain someone.

butttttt reality will set back in as I start off the week with 13 hours of class. Oh yes, you heard me right. THIRTEEN HOURS. i wish i could give myself some sort of pep-talk--it might go like this: "self, just think of it this way. first class coming off of spring break is thirteen hours long, it can only get better from here, right!?" WRONGGGG. it'll get worse. much worse. if you think sitting in 13 hours of class is miserable, just think of all the material they teach you and expect you to REMEMBER! sitting there doesn't seem so bad after all.

on the bright side, in 6 more weeks i will be a senior. faoiejfa;ojefa;oivjawoenvaowiref!!!!!!!!!!!!!! a senior. in college. holy crap. i have no idea where the past 3 and a half years of my life went. don't even get me started. i will reminice when the time comes. but not now.

so that's it. just 6 more weeks. of unbareably long classes. lectures that never seem to end. pages of powerpoints. marginal notes out the wazoo. highlighting in all colors of the rainbow. days and nights of studying. quizzes. tests. loopiness. dance party study breaks to "shots". lots of coffee. and redbull. even more laughter. and possibly, some tears. but in 6 weeks, i'll have made it. it's all down hill from here.

a lot has happened in the last 3 and a half years.
life has been crazy. crazy good, and crazy bad.

but,
shit happens.
heartache happens.
failure happens.
laughter happens.
success happens.
joy happens.


and then when you least expect it, love happens.

yes, i have made it. i have come full circle, and it feels so good.

Being you matters.

"You may be the only Bible someone ever reads" the speaker said as I sat among hundreds of other Messiah College students in chapel one Tuesday morning.

It was my freshman year of college and I remember loathing chapel. Don't get me wrong, I was all about having Jesus time. I just wanted to do it on my own terms. The thought of someone forcing me to attend a certain amount of chapels for chapel credit angered me to no end. I usually sat in chapel, like so many others, doing homework, texting my friends from across the room, and trying not to fall asleep. But for some reason, this morning, I decided to listen.

I remember thinking to myself, "Wow, how sad, but true". Messiah College is a Christian college (if you couldn't already tell from the name). They preach community and love and other Christiany things. It didn't take long for me to become deaf to it all. It was monotonous, boring, and nothing I hadn't heard before (not to mention pretty hypocritical considering how un-Christian some 'Christian' people at Messiah acted). Regardless, the speaker caught my attention. I couldn't tell you in detail what he/she talked about, but I have always remembered the above quote, and probably will for the rest of my life.

People have tried to tell me how a Christian should act since I gave my life to Christ my junior year of high school. Rules, regulations, do's, don'ts, should, shouldn'ts. It's hard when you're a baby Christian to decipher what is truth, and what is tradition. Some people believe in some things so strongly simply because that's what their parents believe, or what the members of their congregation believe, or what their pastor believes. My faith has been challenged, ridiculed, stretched, and strenghtened in ways I never thought possible the past few years.

What I have learned more than anything about being a 'Christian' has less to do with rules and do's/don'ts, and more to do with simply being true to myself. God made me. He made me the exact way He wanted to. I'm not perfect, but God thoughtfully and carefully assembled me. My every thought. My every emotion. My every curve. My stubborness. My compassion. My determination. My (sometimes inappropriate) humor. EVERYTHING. I am whole and complete and perfect in His eyes. I don't have to DO or BE anything for Him. I am me, and for Him, that's already enough.

A dear friend of mine recently told me how by just being me, I encouraged him to change. (I know, I don't quite comprehend it either!) But seriously, I was brought to tears. Again, I am not perfect. I do not always make the right decisions or say the right things or do what I should. But God is in my heart. God HAS my heart. He's got plans bigger than I can comprehend. He has a purpose for EVERYTHING. Every friendship. Every mistake. Every success.

I knew this friend was put in my life for a reason but I didn't know why. At first I tried really hard to figure it out. I tried to poke and pry my way into his life (bless his little soul). But then, I let go. "Okay God, you've got this" I said. And then I just went on with my life. And that's when God really began to use me, unsuspectingly He used everyday me to help someone else. I am no one. But God made me someone.

There's so much more I could say, but I won't. I will simply remind you to be you. Never underestimate the power you have to effect another human being. To change someone. To love someone. To make a lasting impact.

So go on. Change the world. Be you.