Inspired by Christine and Vanessa
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Guiding light on a dark day....
A while ago I had one of those depression days that I seriously didn't think I would make it through alive. God knew I need help and led me to the message on this sign- my guiding light:
Thursday, December 16, 2010
My two days in hospital
I wasn't in hospital per se- I basically went home to sleep- Thank God. But I have had to spend the past two days here:
Tygerberg hospital, the 2nd largest hospital in the world...otherwise known as a big- ass state hospital with passages over a mile long. And we walked up and down these passages from Neurology to Psychiatry and back again "conveniently" located on two opposite ends of the hospital. To give you an idea of the length of said passages:
As I have also said before, I am truly grateful for the medical care that I am getting- it isn't fancy or comfortable but it has saved my life. I would be blind if it wasn't for neurology and the employment policy at this hospital has ensured that my Dad doesn't have to fork out half his pension each month for my meds (seriously) I get them for free. Not only that, when I think of the lack of medical care some of my fellow South Africans have and how hundreds of thousands of people on the African continent die each year because they have no medical care. I am so thankful.
But because I am thankful it doesn't mean I have to just love everything about this hospital and it doesn't mean that certain things don't make me very, very angry.
I saw something yesterday that was the absolute last straw and made me absolutely livid... take a look:
See, I made it extra large. Not very spectacular right? . Looks like some construction going on.
Well here is the story. It was going to be a long wait for the neurologist so the ward secretary suggested that my Mom and I go have some coffee (aka coffee- flavoured water). On our way to the cafeteria we passed the "new" psychiatric ward. Whenever I pass the psychiatric ward I can't help but stop, there is always a whirlwind of emotion that goes through my head. Thoughts like, "Will I ever land up here?" "What has stopped me from becoming like the people in this ward?" "What will push me over the edge" race through my head.
Almost immediately after we stopped my Mom and I were caught up by the most disgusting smell and it seemed to be coming from the ward. I went up to the door and peered through the crack, the passage was deserted, the atmosphere radiating out of that door was eery. When I turned to walk back I saw that the side doors leading into a courtyard were open and there were a whole lot of flies buzzing in and out of the door. The source of the dreadful smell was that pile of rubbish in the picture above.... RIGHT NEXT TO THE PSYCHIATRY WARD!!!!. I walked a little closer...I'm telling you people the smell was putrid. The pile of rubbish was actually a lot bigger than depicted in the picture it consisted of wood, rubble, plastic, paper and then food in various stages of decay and other green, black and grey slimy things that I really didn't care to get any closer to. Basically it was a pile of sewage. You cannot see the flies in the picture but believe me they were having a field day
I was in so much pain in these pictures, both physically and emotionally, seeing this awful mess- a total lack of respect for human beings who are unable to help themselves- blew away the paper thin barrier holding back a total meltdown. That they have placed these people in underground, in the bowels of the hospital where no one has to see or hear them, away from sunlight, is bad enough. Dumping a pile of stinking rubbish outside their window that could possibly cause further distress and disease takes the bullshit cake. My mother reacted as any loving mother would by getting me out of there as soon as possible. I plan to write some newspapers about this and obviously complain to the hospital.
I guess really should give an update on my BIH, depression and GAD. The first day I saw a psychiatrist (aka doctor studying to be a psychiatrist). I knew right from the start that this was going to be a useless appointment. I told her that things did get better for a while, but after the break with my psychologist they are now worse than ever, I didn't get a chance to tell her I had been suicidal again because she cut me off and told me that "We don't really want to put you on more medication (I already knew that), I think you should go see a psychologist". That's what I have been doing you stupid woman... did you even listen?!. The outcome of the appointment was that they will try and get me to see a psychiatrist at a hospital closer to me and I go back in March, no doubt to see a different doctor studying to be a psychiatrist.
On to Neurology... a lot of time was spent trying to track down my neurologist (aka a doctor studying to be a neurologist)- they close for the Christmas holidays. Eventually my Mom had him paged and spoke to him on the phone where she demanded that he come in to see me. I was told to come in the next day. We were there bright and early the next morning and waited for four hours to find that my neurologist and palmed me off on his buddy- surprise, surprise the dude that performed or should I say messed up my lumbar- puncture (spinal tap) three weeks ago. How- ahem- happy I was to see him.
This is where it starts to get funny- he refused to see me with my mother, telling her he would chat to her afterwards ( she had wanted to throttle him after my lumbar- puncture). Judging by the look on her face I immediately began to feel sorry....for him. When he asked what had been going on with me I stifled the urge yell, "You f**king mutilated my spine, you dumbass" and calmly told him that I had been extremely ill since the LP and I still had enormously painful headaches accompanied by dizziness, nausea and extreme fatigue. Meanwhile outside...where my Mom was listening through a hole in the door, in came strolling my neurologist. Poor guy... my Mom pounced like a cat on a bird. I could hear her threw the door and immediately fell sorry for whoever was on the other side of her wrath.
Dude checked my eyes- found my optic nerves weren't swollen, although they did appear scared. He asked me a few questions but I already knew what he was thinking: He didn't have a clue what was wrong and that most likely my depression was to blame. We spoke about surgery and it turns out that although my spinal pressure was high, they will not be doing surgery at this stage. I then told him nonchalantly, "So I guess it's all in my mind then" He didn't really know what to say but eventually said "It's real to you- that's what matters" I told him good luck with my Mom. He told me I was a sweet girl.
We went back out into the passage where Mr. Neurologist had amazingly been able to calm my mother down. We stood talking for a while with him and Dude doctor. The compassionate side of them eventually emerged when Dude doctor said, " I would say now that your BIH is under control but your depression is definitely out of control". It was probably the only thing Dude doctor was able to hit the nail on the head about. Immediately I began tearing up and it was that that put them into action. They called in the psychiatry rotater and for a while there was some finger pointing going on. Neurology were telling Psychiatry that my problem was clearly psychological. Psychiatry were telling Neurology that it was clearly neurological. Somewhere between all of this I began to think about Homer Simpsom...for some reason. Eventually the heads of both departments got involved, seeing them trying to meet each other half way to find a solution was interesting. Eventually it was decided by everyone to put me on Amitriptyline an anti- depressant used a lot by neurology for management of migraines. I have been on it before. Needless to say my Mom was not happy- another pill. I have to go back for another eye test in January and will hopefully have my checkup the same day.
In between all this we found this little guy:
Tygerberg hospital, the 2nd largest hospital in the world...otherwise known as a big- ass state hospital with passages over a mile long. And we walked up and down these passages from Neurology to Psychiatry and back again "conveniently" located on two opposite ends of the hospital. To give you an idea of the length of said passages:
Note how the lights kinda disappear into oblivion
Stopping for a break halfway through
I've said it before on this blog....whatever sadist designed this hospital- knowing that sick patients would have to walk the length of these passages- should be shot. My mom tells me that when this hospital was being built, in the 1970's there was great excitement as it was to be a "high tech" facility with "breakthrough technology"....as you can see that is no longer the case.
As I have also said before, I am truly grateful for the medical care that I am getting- it isn't fancy or comfortable but it has saved my life. I would be blind if it wasn't for neurology and the employment policy at this hospital has ensured that my Dad doesn't have to fork out half his pension each month for my meds (seriously) I get them for free. Not only that, when I think of the lack of medical care some of my fellow South Africans have and how hundreds of thousands of people on the African continent die each year because they have no medical care. I am so thankful.
But because I am thankful it doesn't mean I have to just love everything about this hospital and it doesn't mean that certain things don't make me very, very angry.
I saw something yesterday that was the absolute last straw and made me absolutely livid... take a look:
See, I made it extra large. Not very spectacular right? . Looks like some construction going on.
Well here is the story. It was going to be a long wait for the neurologist so the ward secretary suggested that my Mom and I go have some coffee (aka coffee- flavoured water). On our way to the cafeteria we passed the "new" psychiatric ward. Whenever I pass the psychiatric ward I can't help but stop, there is always a whirlwind of emotion that goes through my head. Thoughts like, "Will I ever land up here?" "What has stopped me from becoming like the people in this ward?" "What will push me over the edge" race through my head.
Almost immediately after we stopped my Mom and I were caught up by the most disgusting smell and it seemed to be coming from the ward. I went up to the door and peered through the crack, the passage was deserted, the atmosphere radiating out of that door was eery. When I turned to walk back I saw that the side doors leading into a courtyard were open and there were a whole lot of flies buzzing in and out of the door. The source of the dreadful smell was that pile of rubbish in the picture above.... RIGHT NEXT TO THE PSYCHIATRY WARD!!!!. I walked a little closer...I'm telling you people the smell was putrid. The pile of rubbish was actually a lot bigger than depicted in the picture it consisted of wood, rubble, plastic, paper and then food in various stages of decay and other green, black and grey slimy things that I really didn't care to get any closer to. Basically it was a pile of sewage. You cannot see the flies in the picture but believe me they were having a field day
I was in so much pain in these pictures, both physically and emotionally, seeing this awful mess- a total lack of respect for human beings who are unable to help themselves- blew away the paper thin barrier holding back a total meltdown. That they have placed these people in underground, in the bowels of the hospital where no one has to see or hear them, away from sunlight, is bad enough. Dumping a pile of stinking rubbish outside their window that could possibly cause further distress and disease takes the bullshit cake. My mother reacted as any loving mother would by getting me out of there as soon as possible. I plan to write some newspapers about this and obviously complain to the hospital.
I guess really should give an update on my BIH, depression and GAD. The first day I saw a psychiatrist (aka doctor studying to be a psychiatrist). I knew right from the start that this was going to be a useless appointment. I told her that things did get better for a while, but after the break with my psychologist they are now worse than ever, I didn't get a chance to tell her I had been suicidal again because she cut me off and told me that "We don't really want to put you on more medication (I already knew that), I think you should go see a psychologist". That's what I have been doing you stupid woman... did you even listen?!. The outcome of the appointment was that they will try and get me to see a psychiatrist at a hospital closer to me and I go back in March, no doubt to see a different doctor studying to be a psychiatrist.
On to Neurology... a lot of time was spent trying to track down my neurologist (aka a doctor studying to be a neurologist)- they close for the Christmas holidays. Eventually my Mom had him paged and spoke to him on the phone where she demanded that he come in to see me. I was told to come in the next day. We were there bright and early the next morning and waited for four hours to find that my neurologist and palmed me off on his buddy- surprise, surprise the dude that performed or should I say messed up my lumbar- puncture (spinal tap) three weeks ago. How- ahem- happy I was to see him.
This is where it starts to get funny- he refused to see me with my mother, telling her he would chat to her afterwards ( she had wanted to throttle him after my lumbar- puncture). Judging by the look on her face I immediately began to feel sorry....for him. When he asked what had been going on with me I stifled the urge yell, "You f**king mutilated my spine, you dumbass" and calmly told him that I had been extremely ill since the LP and I still had enormously painful headaches accompanied by dizziness, nausea and extreme fatigue. Meanwhile outside...where my Mom was listening through a hole in the door, in came strolling my neurologist. Poor guy... my Mom pounced like a cat on a bird. I could hear her threw the door and immediately fell sorry for whoever was on the other side of her wrath.
Dude checked my eyes- found my optic nerves weren't swollen, although they did appear scared. He asked me a few questions but I already knew what he was thinking: He didn't have a clue what was wrong and that most likely my depression was to blame. We spoke about surgery and it turns out that although my spinal pressure was high, they will not be doing surgery at this stage. I then told him nonchalantly, "So I guess it's all in my mind then" He didn't really know what to say but eventually said "It's real to you- that's what matters" I told him good luck with my Mom. He told me I was a sweet girl.
We went back out into the passage where Mr. Neurologist had amazingly been able to calm my mother down. We stood talking for a while with him and Dude doctor. The compassionate side of them eventually emerged when Dude doctor said, " I would say now that your BIH is under control but your depression is definitely out of control". It was probably the only thing Dude doctor was able to hit the nail on the head about. Immediately I began tearing up and it was that that put them into action. They called in the psychiatry rotater and for a while there was some finger pointing going on. Neurology were telling Psychiatry that my problem was clearly psychological. Psychiatry were telling Neurology that it was clearly neurological. Somewhere between all of this I began to think about Homer Simpsom...for some reason. Eventually the heads of both departments got involved, seeing them trying to meet each other half way to find a solution was interesting. Eventually it was decided by everyone to put me on Amitriptyline an anti- depressant used a lot by neurology for management of migraines. I have been on it before. Needless to say my Mom was not happy- another pill. I have to go back for another eye test in January and will hopefully have my checkup the same day.
In between all this we found this little guy:
The pictures don't really do justice to how very tiny this little sweetheart was. His name is Joshua and he was born prematurely. He is a month old and only weighs 2.2kg (4lbs 8oz). He has to wear dolls clothes because he is so tiny. When this picture was taken he was about to have surgery for cataracts on both eyes. His mother was beaming with pride and loved showing him off. We told her that he will be a piano player one day because his miniature hands have such long fingers and he held onto my finger with the most amazing strength.
You see it's this that I am grateful for. Tygerberg with it's stinking rubbish heaps, disintegrating walls, rude staff, toilet paperless bathrooms, looong waits and befuddled student doctors, kept this little boy alive and will give him the ability to see. There will always be things to be thankful for, even in a pile of ashes.
,
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Something to be angry about
As a citizen of the African continent I refuse to accept this: Report contains violent images
Thursday, December 9, 2010
A girl named Jill and the warrior Susan
I love it when an event takes place to remind you that miracles do happen and makes you to believe again. This happened last night when a story that I have been following for years finally closed with the most beautiful and joyous ending. Whoever was reading my blog a few months ago may remember that I wrote a post about a girl called Jill McCloghry from the blog {Love}. Jill was having huge complications with her second pregnancy. She had already suffered one of the worst tragedies a person can go through but her grace and faith throughout it all was so remarkable and inspiring. Well...it is a great honor to announce that her little girl, Maizey Augustine was born on December 7th. I had been messing around on twitter last night and was about to close it down when I got a tweet along with a picture of the most gorgeous baby girl. It made my eyes tear up and had me grinning from ear to ear. What a pleasure it has been following this beautiful woman's journey.
I encourage you to go through Jill's blog and read some of her posts. If you have ever suffered a devastating loss, particularly that of a child or if you are on that often painful journey of waiting for a baby, Jill's writing will help you and bring you great comfort.
Unfortunately I also got some sad news a few days ago. I have followed dear Susan at If You Are Going Through Hell Keep Going since I started blogging. What this woman has been through for the sake of her health is unbelievable. She has to be one of the most courageous people I know. Her insight into the world of mental illness has always in helped me and comforted me.
Susan was rushed to hospital nearly three weeks ago with kidney failure. They believe this was caused either by the drug Nexium or Seroquel. She is now home again but the road to recovering will be a long hard one. Hearing this news was very hard as with any of us who suffers a mental illness it hits really close to home and I really do care for this lovely woman. God is bigger than everything she is going through right now and I believe he will still do mighty things through her.
Two wonderful ladies, two very different circumstances. Both of them give me hope.
I have decided to post "Stronger" being sung by Jill on the Hillsong Chapel album (she has done several recordings for Hillsong). I have really had this song on my heart for the past few days...have a listen.
I encourage you to go through Jill's blog and read some of her posts. If you have ever suffered a devastating loss, particularly that of a child or if you are on that often painful journey of waiting for a baby, Jill's writing will help you and bring you great comfort.
Unfortunately I also got some sad news a few days ago. I have followed dear Susan at If You Are Going Through Hell Keep Going since I started blogging. What this woman has been through for the sake of her health is unbelievable. She has to be one of the most courageous people I know. Her insight into the world of mental illness has always in helped me and comforted me.
Susan was rushed to hospital nearly three weeks ago with kidney failure. They believe this was caused either by the drug Nexium or Seroquel. She is now home again but the road to recovering will be a long hard one. Hearing this news was very hard as with any of us who suffers a mental illness it hits really close to home and I really do care for this lovely woman. God is bigger than everything she is going through right now and I believe he will still do mighty things through her.
Two wonderful ladies, two very different circumstances. Both of them give me hope.
I have decided to post "Stronger" being sung by Jill on the Hillsong Chapel album (she has done several recordings for Hillsong). I have really had this song on my heart for the past few days...have a listen.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Things...they are not too good
So I wanted to make a post on Friday...and then Friday turned into Saturday. Saturday somehow became Monday and I have been wandering around the house for most of today wondering what to write. I know there is a post in there somewhere but I am not sure how to write this.
For as long as I can remember the closer Christmas draws, bad news whatever it may be will find me. I have to be very delicate in sharing this as I do not want any ill- favor to fall the person that is involved.
About two months ago I was horribly, severely depressed...more suicidal than I have ever been. It was the first time I felt I had no choice. However part of me was either afraid of dying or didn't want to give up so I actually told my parents. My Dad told me well done for confessing but there was nothing he could do for me as he "had no money" and he then ignored me. My Mom reacted with as much love, compassion and fear as she has. She always does that, I didn't think anything would come of it but I scared her more then I thought and she called my godfather who offered to pay for a psychologist. She also called a lady that I have known since I was a baby who is a church counsellor.
To cut a long story short I have been seeing this psychologist for about two months. Two weeks ago her secertary e-mailed me the bill as she had failed to get in touch with my godfather ( he lives on a farm in the middle of nowhere and travels often). I was firstly hit with shock and guilt at the amount and then secondly began to really worry that....it hadn't been paid. Two more weeks went by, my therapist would briefly bring the bill up and I had no idea what to tell her. I soon found out though that the school fees of my twelve- year old cousin- which he also pays for- were seriously overdue. I made the decision then and there to tell my therapist the truth and stop therapy immediately until the bill had been paid.
I have just found out that my godfather's business partner has done him out of a lot of money and there has been an ongoing court case where his brother's grown up children are suing the family estate for another whole lot of money. Basically....the guy is strapped.
Now let me explain a few things...my godfather is actually my mother's first cousin- my second cousin. He is the patriarch of a giant family and ALL the family member with problems come running to either him or my mother. He helped my parents put my sister and I through a private school, fully paid for my last year of highschool at a private homeschool, helped me go overseas, paid some of my university fees. As I write this I want to cry because I feel so guilty....and thankful. He has given my parents money more times than I can remember. Right now he is supporting my loser aunt and her whole family by paying their rent. If I could count how much money that woman has manipulated him to give it would probably run into millions.
I am more than grateful that he has done this for me because it pulled me back from the brink.
But I am now left with a massive bill that neither me or my parents can pay. Money that is being set aside for me to go back to university is dwindling as it is. And it has sunk me even further into the mounting debt that I am struggling to pay off. Not only that, the stress and pure fear this has brought me is undoing all the hard work that I have done in the past weeks.
During the day my hands are full with teaching a six year old little girl to read and write and generally taking care of her. Although this has been exhausting it has been a blessing in disguise because it has kept my mind off my troubles. But at night, or whenever I get a chance to be alone, the terrible dread fills me. It is not just my debts although that's enough to cause sleepless nights, it's the fear that I won't be able to go back to university therefore not be able to go to Japan ( it may be a weird aspiration but it's an aspiration that means a whole lot to me). I want to live and extraordinary live and achieve the impossible- that feeling is the last shred I have of the old me, the me the died when I had my breakdown and I have been clinging onto it with both hands but it is slowly slipping away.
Most of all I want to get better or be in a place where I can managed this wretched illness that has plagued me for as long as I can remember. It has nearly killed me, it makes me want to die. I kept remembering what one of my church counsellors told me, that I have never known freedom. I remember that because he was right. How tragic and funny that the apple is always dangling beyond my reach.
I have been busy while writing this post. I have not seen my therapist in two weeks and my mother made an appointment for me tomorrow. This has made me feel very uncomfortable and quite frankly I don't feel like talking to anyone right now. While writing I have attempted to cancel my appointment only to be stopped by my mother. This has resulted in huge argument between me and my parents ( funny how my Dad always reappears when the arguing starts). I don't really know what to do, I am dreading the appointment tomorrow. Of course my Mom told my therapist that I have been sinking further and further into depression since I have seen her. I feel a reprimand coming my way.
If you have been reading this post, thank you for reading it until the end. I wrote this hoping that I could transport some of my fears from me into cyberspace, where hopefully it will disappear forever. Maybe it will work....
For as long as I can remember the closer Christmas draws, bad news whatever it may be will find me. I have to be very delicate in sharing this as I do not want any ill- favor to fall the person that is involved.
About two months ago I was horribly, severely depressed...more suicidal than I have ever been. It was the first time I felt I had no choice. However part of me was either afraid of dying or didn't want to give up so I actually told my parents. My Dad told me well done for confessing but there was nothing he could do for me as he "had no money" and he then ignored me. My Mom reacted with as much love, compassion and fear as she has. She always does that, I didn't think anything would come of it but I scared her more then I thought and she called my godfather who offered to pay for a psychologist. She also called a lady that I have known since I was a baby who is a church counsellor.
To cut a long story short I have been seeing this psychologist for about two months. Two weeks ago her secertary e-mailed me the bill as she had failed to get in touch with my godfather ( he lives on a farm in the middle of nowhere and travels often). I was firstly hit with shock and guilt at the amount and then secondly began to really worry that....it hadn't been paid. Two more weeks went by, my therapist would briefly bring the bill up and I had no idea what to tell her. I soon found out though that the school fees of my twelve- year old cousin- which he also pays for- were seriously overdue. I made the decision then and there to tell my therapist the truth and stop therapy immediately until the bill had been paid.
I have just found out that my godfather's business partner has done him out of a lot of money and there has been an ongoing court case where his brother's grown up children are suing the family estate for another whole lot of money. Basically....the guy is strapped.
Now let me explain a few things...my godfather is actually my mother's first cousin- my second cousin. He is the patriarch of a giant family and ALL the family member with problems come running to either him or my mother. He helped my parents put my sister and I through a private school, fully paid for my last year of highschool at a private homeschool, helped me go overseas, paid some of my university fees. As I write this I want to cry because I feel so guilty....and thankful. He has given my parents money more times than I can remember. Right now he is supporting my loser aunt and her whole family by paying their rent. If I could count how much money that woman has manipulated him to give it would probably run into millions.
I am more than grateful that he has done this for me because it pulled me back from the brink.
But I am now left with a massive bill that neither me or my parents can pay. Money that is being set aside for me to go back to university is dwindling as it is. And it has sunk me even further into the mounting debt that I am struggling to pay off. Not only that, the stress and pure fear this has brought me is undoing all the hard work that I have done in the past weeks.
During the day my hands are full with teaching a six year old little girl to read and write and generally taking care of her. Although this has been exhausting it has been a blessing in disguise because it has kept my mind off my troubles. But at night, or whenever I get a chance to be alone, the terrible dread fills me. It is not just my debts although that's enough to cause sleepless nights, it's the fear that I won't be able to go back to university therefore not be able to go to Japan ( it may be a weird aspiration but it's an aspiration that means a whole lot to me). I want to live and extraordinary live and achieve the impossible- that feeling is the last shred I have of the old me, the me the died when I had my breakdown and I have been clinging onto it with both hands but it is slowly slipping away.
Most of all I want to get better or be in a place where I can managed this wretched illness that has plagued me for as long as I can remember. It has nearly killed me, it makes me want to die. I kept remembering what one of my church counsellors told me, that I have never known freedom. I remember that because he was right. How tragic and funny that the apple is always dangling beyond my reach.
I have been busy while writing this post. I have not seen my therapist in two weeks and my mother made an appointment for me tomorrow. This has made me feel very uncomfortable and quite frankly I don't feel like talking to anyone right now. While writing I have attempted to cancel my appointment only to be stopped by my mother. This has resulted in huge argument between me and my parents ( funny how my Dad always reappears when the arguing starts). I don't really know what to do, I am dreading the appointment tomorrow. Of course my Mom told my therapist that I have been sinking further and further into depression since I have seen her. I feel a reprimand coming my way.
If you have been reading this post, thank you for reading it until the end. I wrote this hoping that I could transport some of my fears from me into cyberspace, where hopefully it will disappear forever. Maybe it will work....
Friday, December 3, 2010
Repost: Fighting the good fight
I was thinking about this as I was putting my baby bed tonight. This was a post that I made six months ago and was actually inspired by friend Karen who was dealing with the death of her step sister, her close friend and her dog...all within the space of a month. My mind has been whirling with fear mostly of the future- wondering if I will ever finish university, live in Japan, see my family in the US, travel...have a life worth meaning. I'm wondering if I will still be alive next year or if I will finally succumb to the exhausting fight with the Black dog or if my BIH will eventually render me blind.
And then there is the fear I have for my little girl which is worse because it is something I virtually have no control over. She is only with me for a very short while in which I need to do my very best to make a difference in her life before releasing her back into her home where she will have to face some hard battles- mostly on her own. It hurts, it hurts to see her change and flourish and then realise where she will be going back to. I am choosing right now to have faith in my God. I have no choice. I will believe that God will be with her and walk every step of that road she has to take. I will believe that He has already given her a bright future. I will believe He has made her a fighter and He will fight with her. I have faith in her that she can do anything.
So it is on that note that I give you my old post, I have re- read this many times over the last six months and it has always given me back my perspective.
******
This is an extract from an e-mail I sent my friend Karen last night. I've had real trouble being able to put into words what I have been feeling in the last two weeks. This is horrible because people around me don't know how to help me and I feel like there s impenetrable wall between me and them. It's very lonely and desolate feeling. This letter sums up my goal:
03 June 2010:
Today would have been the 26th birthday of Bronwyn, she was a little girl I was good friends with at school. She died of cancer when she was only ten years old. Tonight we and the rest of my old classmates scattered across the world lit a candle for her. One thing that I will always remember about her is how hard she fought- 3 weeks before she died she was still determined to go to school. In 2003 another very good friend of mine, Bonita died after a car accident. I will always feel guilty about Bonita because I feel that I wasn't as good of a friend to her as she was to me.
The thing that Bronwyn and Bonita had in common is that they were both fighters and even they died young, both of them lived their lives fully. After Bonita died I couldn't go to her funeral because she lived on the other side of the country, her parents send me the program and her obituary. Right underneath her picture was this:
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness,
Which the Lord, the righteous Judge will award to me on that day-
And not only to me,
But to all who have longed for his appearing
2 Timothy: 7-8
One of the hardest lessons I've had to learn is that winning a race is not as important as finishing it. I have always hoped that that verse could be used in my obituary one day..... I feel a little guilty- I want to give up more then I want to press on and you know my position with the Lord . In terms of a race... I'm still sitting in the middle of the track staring at the damn finish line and not budging.
This is my message to you today- fight the good fight and finish race. Here is a little inspiring video to drive home my point. I can still remember this like it was yesterday...
And then there is the fear I have for my little girl which is worse because it is something I virtually have no control over. She is only with me for a very short while in which I need to do my very best to make a difference in her life before releasing her back into her home where she will have to face some hard battles- mostly on her own. It hurts, it hurts to see her change and flourish and then realise where she will be going back to. I am choosing right now to have faith in my God. I have no choice. I will believe that God will be with her and walk every step of that road she has to take. I will believe that He has already given her a bright future. I will believe He has made her a fighter and He will fight with her. I have faith in her that she can do anything.
So it is on that note that I give you my old post, I have re- read this many times over the last six months and it has always given me back my perspective.
******
This is an extract from an e-mail I sent my friend Karen last night. I've had real trouble being able to put into words what I have been feeling in the last two weeks. This is horrible because people around me don't know how to help me and I feel like there s impenetrable wall between me and them. It's very lonely and desolate feeling. This letter sums up my goal:
03 June 2010:
Today would have been the 26th birthday of Bronwyn, she was a little girl I was good friends with at school. She died of cancer when she was only ten years old. Tonight we and the rest of my old classmates scattered across the world lit a candle for her. One thing that I will always remember about her is how hard she fought- 3 weeks before she died she was still determined to go to school. In 2003 another very good friend of mine, Bonita died after a car accident. I will always feel guilty about Bonita because I feel that I wasn't as good of a friend to her as she was to me.
The thing that Bronwyn and Bonita had in common is that they were both fighters and even they died young, both of them lived their lives fully. After Bonita died I couldn't go to her funeral because she lived on the other side of the country, her parents send me the program and her obituary. Right underneath her picture was this:
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness,
Which the Lord, the righteous Judge will award to me on that day-
And not only to me,
But to all who have longed for his appearing
2 Timothy: 7-8
One of the hardest lessons I've had to learn is that winning a race is not as important as finishing it. I have always hoped that that verse could be used in my obituary one day..... I feel a little guilty- I want to give up more then I want to press on and you know my position with the Lord . In terms of a race... I'm still sitting in the middle of the track staring at the damn finish line and not budging.
This is my message to you today- fight the good fight and finish race. Here is a little inspiring video to drive home my point. I can still remember this like it was yesterday...
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
World AIDS Day
As someone who has grown up in a country where approximately 10% of the population is either HIV- positive or is suffering from AIDS and who has been impacted personally by this disease, World AIDS day has a special meaning for me. I have seen first hand what this pandemic has done. Everytime I have to go to the state hospital, whether it is for a checkup for my BIH or to see the psychiatrist I see them in the long passages walking their last few days away every now and then someone with full-blown AIDS is wheeled past us on stretchers.
A few years ago I went to a home for AIDS babies that my sister was volunteering at. The minute I walked into the nursery my eyes were drawn to a baby boy who was grinning from ear to ear. Everything about him said "Me!, me!, please hold me!". He was 3 months old and HIV positive. His name was Benjamen. When I held him it was like the first time someone had held him, he was just soaking it up. When I put him down again he immediately started crying. I have no idea what happened to him or whether he is still alive today. All I can remember is his smile. It hurts to know that he is just part of a statistic, that he most likely just became paperwork on someones desk- just a number.
I hope and pray for the day when there will be a cure for this awful illness and millions will be set free. But in the meantime it all comes down to responsibility. By having safe sex you are protecting yourself, your partner, your future and preventing the spread of a pandemic. Use a condom EVERY time people. Everything you do will eventually effect someone else eventually and you never know when it may be an innocent child like Benjamen. And don't think that AIDS is a disease that is just confined to Africa or India. I have lived both in the United Kingdom and the US and I can tell it is a wolf at your door.
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