Molli's Mayo Musings

I've done it.

We spent last week at the Jacksonville, Florida Mayo Clinic.

I've been:
poked
prodded
stuck
examined
imaged
scheduled
studied
and observed
by Mayo Clinic doctors and staff.

In 4 days, they were able to answer questions that we have been asking for almost 5 years. I arrived at the Clinic last Monday, thinking that this was my last hope. I left with a diagnosis and treatment plan.

Absolutely amazing, don't you think?

After several hours of being examined by doctors, 14 vials of blood for bloodwork, an EEG (4th in 5 years), observation for sleep apnea (which I don't have), MRI imagining (I have emprical evidence that I have a brain, despite what my older brothers may think), the most extensive eye exam I've ever had...all with the same results as I've had since early 2006...Dr. Shuster is convinced that I have a non-specific auto immune condition.

It doesn't have a fancy-schmancy name. Not even sure it is what you'd call a disease. But to quote my son, my body is at war against itself...invading Normandy completely unaware that the war was won 60 years ago. My immune system has gone haywire and since it can't find a disease to kill off, its eating away at perfectly healthy nerves in my brain.

Not good! I'm not certain there is any brain matter to spare, you know?

But, thank goodness, we even think we have a handle on what caused World War III to begin inside my body. It is linked to a situation that is almost unbelievable and if you told me the same story, I'd be skeptical. But honest, it really did. I'm not going to tell you the entire story here, but I will say that the title is "Rabies is always fatal" and it happened to us when we woke up in our bedroom one night over 5 years ago to find a bat flying around in our bedroom.

Because we were alseep with the bat in our room, we found out we were at risk to have been bitten, even though we felt certain we were not. After consulting several sources, including the CDC and our doctor, we went to the ER and were given rabies shots. We had a total of 3 shots before we knew for certain that the bat didn't have rabies.

6 months later, I began to have the symptoms that have plagued me ever since. The rabies vaccines are of the live variety and the doctor believes that my auto-immune system went nuts because of that. Once it was in motion, it just couldn't quit.

I've been tested for ALS, Stroke, Alzheimers, Parkinsons, Epilepsy, Lyme's Disease, Multiple Scloresis, and several other not so well-known illnesses. Never could get a diagnosis. I've been told I'm interesting, off and not quite right. I've even been told that I probably have a 'deep seated wound in my pshyche from childhood that needed to be addressed.'

I am so thrilled to have a non-specific auto immune disorder and means to treat it. Really. I'm not going to give anyone a bad time about hooking me up to an IV and administering 1000 mg of steroids a day for 5 days. Because I believe that this is going to ultimately make me better and our lives will not be ruled by my stroke-type symptoms any longer.

So...thank you for your prayers and concern for us over the past week. It meant the world to me and to the Rocket Man.

There are several funny stories to tell about the week, and I promise I will tell them over time. But tonight, I just wanted to say that my grandsons are downstairs watching TV, Rocket Man is asleep in the bed beside me and all is well in MolliWorld.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, my friends.

~Mollianne

Happy Birthday, Mother!

Yesterday was my Dear Mother's birthday. As we were on the road all week, I was unable to write a post for her. I would like to repost what I wrote about her on our family blog last spring. My sister, Linda, and her family are there with her this weekend as is my brother, Terry, and parts of his family. I'm sure that there is lots of giggling, teasing, loud talking, arguing and eating going on today. That is the kind of day my Mother loves, and I am so thankful that she has half of her children with her today. Happy Birthday, Mother. Ed and I love you very much!

My Mother

Someone asked me to describe my Mother once. I believe that was the hardest question I have ever been asked. If you know her, you know why.

Charlotte Theresa Younger Buster is, among other things:

Larger than life
A force of nature
Unbridled energy
A little woman with a heart as big as Texas
Purpose personified
Grace under fire
Beautiful from the tip of her toes to the top of her head, inside and out
Not exactly what you'd call quiet

My Mother is a living definition of what it means to be in love. She is in love with her Lord. She is in love with her Bobbie. She is in love with her family. She is in love with her home and her life.

She is the epitome of homemaker, a godly wife, an excellent cook and nobody...NOBODY can clean or do laundry like she can.

Everyone should have a friend like Mother. She is the consumute friend and neighbor. Always there with a giggle, a cup of coffee, a freshly baked cake, prayers, time and concern. When my Mother is your friend, you have a friend indeed.

If she hadn't raised me to be a strong woman, I fear I'd have spent my life totally intimidated by her. I have never possessed her energy. I'm much more introverted than she is. I'm a true homebody and Mother is always ready to go! Somehow, though, this tomboy of a woman gave birth to one very prissy daughter. I remember sitting in the floor with her while she carefully cut out paper dolls for me. I know that was an act of pure love, because I know she cared not one whit for such things. But she knew how I loved them and she did it for me.

She taught me so many things, and one was that it was okay to be me-even though I am so different from her.

That lesson, the space to grow up and be all I can be...not an extension of her or even who she wanted me to be...is one of the most precious gifts of earthly grace I have ever known.

Because of her wisdom in raising me as she did, we grew up to be friends. She is Mother first. Always Mother. But,Friend as well. I am so blessed. When I had a daughter of my own, it was my honor to give her Mother's name. Not to call her Charlotte, because Annie suited her so well...but her name is Charlotte Anne. They are alike in many, many ways. The blessings have rebounded.

Describe my Mother?

My husband does that very well. I've often heard him say, 'Charlotte is the most extraordinary and remarkable woman I have ever known.' When a Son-in-Law feels that way about his Mother-in-Law...you know she's special.

Oh...and did you see the picture? That is Mother in her Uggs. Its not enough that she's extraordinay and remarkable...she's doggone adorable, too.

Love you, Mother!

~Mollianne

If you would, please

I have a request.

You see, I am going to do something next week that I sort of dread. But I'm dreading it with the hopes that I will come away with answers, a diagnosis and a treatment plan.

After 5 years of:

*seeing doctors {8 by my count} who have poked and prodded me and asked me a myriad of questions, and been stumped by the answers

*being tested for all sorts of awful things, none of which I seem to have {thanking God for that one}

*taking all sorts of different medications {some appear to be snake oil, if you ask me}

*being frustrated out of my mind

*living with seizure type activities {that they say are not seizures} occasional loss of cognitive abilities, and periods of being unable to communicate verbally

* being diagnosed {or not diagnosed} as 'interesting', 'off' and 'that ain't right'

*wearing my big girl panties far more than I'd like

*causing many people who love and care for me to worry, and doing some worrying myself

*shedding countless tears and facing down terrible fears

and last but not least

*being loved and tenderly cared for by the Amazing Rocket Man...

I have an appointment at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville Florida next week. I am to arrive at 7 am on Monday and will be evaluated by Dr. Elizabeth Shuster in the Neurology Clinic.

So, here's my request. Would you say a prayer for me, for Rocket Man, for Dr. Shuster and the nurses and technicians that we will be dealing with next week? For safe travel to and from Jacksonville and for some answers.

We would appreciate it a great deal.

I will try to make posts on our adventures as we go.

~Mollianne

I Love You More and More

Neenie and me enjoying a good time

Wasn't she beautiful?

Our four generations portrait, taken in 1981. Mother is standing up, Neenie and I are holding my daughter, Annie.

I am remembering and missing my grandmother today. She would have been 103 if she were alive. She was an incredible woman and I am very thankful for the relationship that we shared. I've put together a few pictures of her to mark the day. She went to her heavenly home 7 years ago, and I've missed her every day. But I carry a part of her in my heart, and I know that I will see her again. Happy Birthday, Neenie. I love you more and more.

~Mollianne

Slideshow design made with Smilebox

If not me...then who?

I work as the Clergy Administrator {fancy word for Preacher's Secretary} in a large church. We regularly have folks come in needing assistance. Everything from something to eat or assistance purchasing medications to help with rent, utilities or car repairs. We have people who want money for gas to get 'home' and some who just come in asking for prayer.

Yesterday, we had a woman come in who was in desperate need of help. She was in extreme pain with a broken thumb but I believe that her torment was more than that. I believe that she is a drug addict, and she was in need of a fix.

She had wristbands on each arm from the hospitals in town. If she was to be believed, she had been in and left the ER from each. She was somewhat delirious and crying as she rocked back and forth violently.

I've dealt with a lot of people in the years I have worked at the church, but I don't know that any have touched my heart the way she did. I tried to calm her down, got her to drink some water and explained that I couldn't treat medical problems. I went and got a Pastor and we decided to call a cab for her if she would agree to go back to the hospital ER. She agreed, so I called the cab.

As we waited for the cab, I held her hand, rubbed her back and got her to sing with me. Every now and then she would get completely still and fall asleep for just a few seconds. Then she would jerk awake and start rocking again, moaning in pain. When I asked her if she knew "Jesus Loves Me" she said yes and we sang that together. She got calm as we did that, and she knew every word. Tears, not the same as before but a different sort of tears, flowed from her eyes as that old familiar song, I presume from her childhood, seemed to bring her a moment of calm and perhaps comfort.

The Pastor prayed with her and we said The Lord's Prayer together. Each time, she would fall asleep for just a few seconds and jerk back awake. After what seemed a very long time, although it really wasn't, the cab came and we put her in it. The Pastor paid for her ride {and gave the driver a healthy tip, which she probably earned}. She asked me to call someone to tell him where she was going. I believe he was her dealer. Or pimp. Or both.

She caused quite a stir in our somewhat pristine environment. I feel like I have absorbed her odor, which quite frankly wasn't all that pleasant. Her torment and tears stay with me throughout the day and into today. Her moaning fills my ears. The feel of her unwashed hair under my hand remains. The attitude of the man who seemed so uncaring when I called to let him know she had gone back to the hospital continues to irritate me.

I wonder how long it has been since someone treated her kindly? When was the last time someone stroked her hair or gently rubbed her back? Who sang "Jesus Loves Me" to her, enough that she knew the words and melody, even in her delirum? What awful road had she been on that brought her to our door? What happened to her once she left our presence?

And, I wondered why she came to our church? She passed the church next door to get there, and stopped before she got to the one across the street. Someone suggested that it isn't really my/our job to deal with people like that. I'm certainly not trained to deal with drug addicts who need a fix. It wasn't what I had planned to do yesterday. In fact, I had planned to be back at home, taking a few hours off before she got there. She certainly wasn't in my well-planned day, which was shot long before she arrived...which was why I was still in the building.

As I pondered my day, and shared with the very wise Rocket Man all the events of the day, he said something that I can't get out of my head. He said, "If not you, Molli...then who?"

Indeed. If not me...then who?

I pray regularly that God will place people in my path who have need of something, some part of Him that I can share with them. Sometimes, that includes opening my wallet and sharing my money. Occasionally, I have given away leftovers from last nights' dinner that I had intended to eat for lunch. My gloves. A smile. A prayer. Maybe even hope on occasion that there might be better days ahead. And, yes...even singing that precious song, "Jesus Loves Me" to try to calm a tormented soul.

If not me...then who?

Will you join me in looking for people who need something you can share? If you ask, God will place people in your path who have need of something, some part of Him that you can share with them.

If not me...if not you...then who?

~Mollianne

The Long and Winding Road

This is my final post in a 15 part series to tell the stories of my youth with Janna over at Mommy's Piggy Tales.

I graduated from high school in June of 1975. I graduated from college in May of 2003. Not everyone takes 28 years to complete a college education, but I did. I found myself in the spring of 2002 re-evaluating my goals, and knew that if I were ever going to finish those 7 classes that I needed to graduate I'd better do it soon.Was I content to be only 7 classes short of a college degree? For the rest of my life?

As I was contemplating all of this, a curious set of circumstances fell into place--almost like the planets aligned in the correct order. The 401(k) that I had gotten in a divorce settlement was doing very well. Funds were available for me to quit my job and finish school. My oldest step-daughter was about to be a senior in high school, and then we would have her in school...so it was sort of a now or never situation. I had a job that was beginning to drive me batty. I was certain that the church job I had was taking years off the end of my life. I loved my boss, but my goodness! I couldn't keep up with him. So one day in late April of 2002, I checked the class schedule for the following year. Guess what? The 7 classes that I wanted (not that would meet the requirements, but classes I wanted) to take were not only being offered, but were also being taught by the professors I would have chosen to study under. 1 class in the summer mini-semester, 3 in the fall and 3 in the spring.

I re-enrolled, signed up for the classes, turned in my notice and by golly...I went back to school. This was it. It was now or never time. It was time toMan Up or Go Home (a motivational phrase used by one of Rocket Man's former favorite basketball coaches).

One more time, I bought my books, filled up my backpack, went back to a familiar room in Roberts Hall and was once again immersed in the education process. That summer mini-semester nearly killed me. Renaissance and Reformation in a month. We went to school 4 days a week and were in class for 3 1/2 hours. It was killer. Every night, I would read (scan and hope I caught what he wanted) as many as 600 pages for the next days' class. It was a class for seniors and graduate students. I thought I would die. I knew it was going to kill me. I loved it. I felt like I'd come back home.

The academic year flew by and I did my share of student whining, crying, procrastinating, paper writing, had test anxiety and did more than a few all-nighters. My papers were all written and turned in. All I had left to do was take those final exams and walk the stage to get my diploma. Only glitch in the whole thing was that my precious Neenie, my dear grandmother, was dying with congestive heart failure. She died the night after I attended my last class.

Rocket Man and I drove home to Missouri early the next morning, to celebrate her life and mourn her death with my family. I called back to the school and made arrangements to take my finals late. My professors were very kind and sympathetic. There would be time to take my finals when I returned home, and one of them was so kind as to send me the final via email. I took it and emailed it back to him. I will never forget how wonderful that felt. To be trusted and shown such compassion. I rode home after the funeral with my head in a book, but I don't think I really got anything out of that studying.

I took a deep breath, pulled on my big-girl panties and took those tests. I passed with flying colors. They were the types of tests that cramming for would have never helped, anyway. You either got the concepts and could write about them or you didn't. I got them.

There was last minute paperwork to take care of between finals and graduation. I had this silly fear that some lady in an administrative office would call and say that I was lacking a class in Breathing-for Credit or something. It was a28 year recurring nightmare that after all that work, I had missed something.

But I got that paper that paper signed off by every necessary person and I got out the gown that I had purchased and tried to steam the wrinkles off of it. My parents drove to town, as did my son and daughter in law. I was actually going to graduate from college. I could hardly believe it!

May 11, 2003 dawned bright and clear. It was Mother's Day, and so wonderful to spend it with not only my Dear Mother, but also my precious children AND grandchildren. One of my stepdaughters was even with us for part of the day. We went to church and then out to lunch and my anticipation was building like crazy.

I had hummed Pomp and Circumstance for so long that it felt like my theme song. And,finally. At long last, here I was. I donned my cap and gown (and my honor cords...I was so proud) and found my assigned spot in the line. I didn't see a soul I knew, but it didn't matter. The line began to move and we snaked through the civic center. I reached up to check my funny hat, made sure my white tassel on the correct side and we emerged into the arena. I heard a familiar tune. Could it be? Was the orchestra really and truly playing....YES!

POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE

That turned into one of the longest afternoons of my life. Some man gave a speech that nobody listened to. Yada, yada, yada. Get to the good stuff, please. We graduated by colleges, and the College ofLiberal Arts was 3rd. I read every name in my program as they called them out. I counted how many names until my college would stand en masse. Finally, our escort signaled for us to stand and I wanted to jump up and shout!!! The girl in front of me kept stopping to wave to friends and I finally put my hands on her back and gently pushed her. Excuse me? Let's go, girlie! I wanted to get to that stage. I wanted to be there when they called my name.

All of the sudden, I was up on the stairs. Check the hat. Listening. Listening. Closer to the Dean, who was beaming at me, as she knew me and my story. It had been 27 years, 11 months and 9 days since I'd walked across a stage and received any sort of academic diploma. Hurry up! Say my name. Say it right. Then, there is was. "Mollianne Buster Massey, Cum Laude." Walk across the stage. Check hat, again...dropped my grandmother's handkerchief on the stage but kept on walking. Look at the President, shake his hand and RECEIVE THE DIPLOMA! The wonderful young man behind me picked up my hankie and handed it to me. It was a good thing, because before I got down the stairs on the other side of the stage, I was in tears.

I stopped to have my picture taken by the professional photographer and looked up. My Mother and my Rocket Man were leaning over the rail, taking pictures and waving. I waved back and exclaimed, "It has my name on it! It has my name on it!"

Mollianne Buster Massey

Bachelor of Arts, Cum Laude.

A degree had been conferred upon me! Me!! With honors! Glory, glory hallelujah!

That road from Widefield High School to the 2003 Graduation Exercises of the University of Alabama in Huntsville was a long and winding road.

It took me 28 years, but by golly...in my case, slow and steady really did win the race.

I can't tell you I felt when I saw the look of pride on my Sweet Daddy's face as I showed him my diploma. It meant the world to be able to do something so positive and celebratory with my Dear Mother such a short time after she lost her own precious Mother, and on Mother's Day to boot! I cherish the gentle pride I saw in Rocket Man's eyes when he kissed me and said, "I told you that you are the smartest person I ever knew." Not many people graduate from college with their children and grandchildren in the audience. but I did! On Mother's Day, no less. I treasure that day in my heart.

This story isn't complete until I say that I owe a huge debt of gratitude to so many. To Ken McFetridge, Andy Cling, Brian Martine, Craig Hanks, Dick Gerberding, my PEO chapter, my church family, my children, my parents, my classmates and a plethora of others who encouraged and helped me along the way. Most especially to my darling Rocket Man, Ed Massey, who gently encouraged me, and helped me pass Pre-Calculus. My heart is full of gratitude every time I look at the diploma hanging on the wall of my office and know that it took a village to get me through school. Thank you, one and all.

Next Tuesday in Memphis

As a child growing up, the answer I usually got to a 'when' question was, 'next Tuesday.' For instance, I might have asked, 'When are we going to get ice cream?' and my Mother would answer-without skipping a beat-'next Tuesday.' She never even looked up.

The answer to a 'where' question was almost always, 'Memphis'. For example; 'Where is My Sweet Daddy going?' Without hesitation, without making eye contact and probably often with an exasperated sigh, the answer would be, 'Memphis'.

Occasionally, I might ask a compound question like; 'Where are we going to go shopping and when will we go?' I bet you can figure out the answer to that one. 'Next Tuesday in Memphis.'

Those answers, along with 'because I said so' and 'because you need to be sweet' were the litany of my early childhood.

Okay-kidding aside, my Mother really did answer lots of questions thoughtfully and tried to help me better understand the world around me. But we all have these quips that flow from our lips without so much as a thought. That might be the reason my all time favorite commercial is the one where the husband is intently reading the sports section of the newspaper. His wife comes in and asks him if these pants make her bottom look big. Without looking up, he says with gusto, 'You Betcha!' I'm not sure what that commercial was selling, but I loved it! How often we answer without listening.

When I grew older, I asked my Mother why she always told me that things were going to happen 'next Tuesday' and that they were going to happen in 'Memphis'? She had to laugh. Seems that was the answer her Daddy Jim gave to similar questions. It might have made a bit more sense to her, as Daddy Jim and Big Mama lived close to Memphis. As a child in Iowa, the Memphis thing was really lost on me.

I'm sure I probably answered 'next Tuesday' to those 'why' questions when my children asked them and I know I enjoyed telling my children 'Memphis' when they asked 'where' questions over and over again. It just seemed to be the right thing to do.

My Rocket Man was born and raised in Macon, Georgia until his family moved to Memphis when he was 12 years old and lived there until he graduated from college. Imagine my delight when I ask him where he acquired something and his answer was, 'Memphis'! One more thing that made me know that Rocket Man was the man for me.

Speaking of the Rocket Man, we are waiting on an answer to a 'when' question. We have been for quite some time. We have been patiently waiting...okay HE has been patiently waiting...since mid April for an announcement to be made. The announcement date has changed from mid-April to early June to mid-June to first of July to mid-July and finally, I'm told that the announcement is to be made on ...can you guess? Tuesday!

All my life, my Mother was simply training me

to look to Memphis for answers

and to wait for Tuesday.