When your nose is over shadowed by your gallbladder ...

I was going to write a post today about my nose. 

Yes, my nose.

It's been in rare form lately. Well, honestly, it's been in rare form since I returned home from the hospital with the grand and vague diagnosis of autoimmune failure. But it got in even rarer form, which I didn't think was possible, in the last month. So much so that I might need surgery {this one is supported by a medical professional known as an ENT}.

But, I am actually not going to go into that today. That's because we have to talk about my gallbladder, which unbeknownst to me, has been in rare form since August. And got in even rarer form, which I didn't think was possible, in the last day. So much so that I might need surgery {this one isn't currently supported by a medical professional because I am holding off whether to go in or not tomorrow morning}. 

Yes. this is my life. 

I've mentioned before that I haven't been able to eat food without taking medicine twice daily. The past week, even with the medicine I have been getting so, so sick with food. I went to my witch doctor and her solution was just to take more of the medicine, which I obliged {I am so obedient!}. It made it so I could eat food again and I thought life was okay-ish {considering the information I got regarding my rotting nose yesterday - yes, it is rotting}.

Yes, this is my life.

But in the wee-hours of the morning I felt a sharp pain in my upper-right abdomen. And it reminded me that I have felt this a couple times before in the last week or so. Except this time it was far more severe and lasted a lot longer. I immediately go to the world-wide web to find out what was wrong with me, and it said gallbladder problems.

I then took my concerns to my favorite physician, Dr. Green. He seconded the idea of gallbladder problems. 

I then called a local gastroenterologist {which is a very difficult word for me to say for some reason}. And then can't get me in until next week {the day before my CT scan for my nose}. And they said if it gets any worse, I should just go to the ER. 

So, while this was going to be a post about my nose, it is a post about my gallbladder. And my autoimmune failured life. 

It's party time, chumps. I will be sure to let you know how it goes, because I would love nothing more than to have surgery on my nose and gallbladder in the same month. 

That's all. 


His Birthday

On the 23rd of April we celebrated Steve's 39th birthday.

It was such a beautiful day and a beautiful celebration. So many people who loved and adored him were able to be together to celebrate the life of such a great man. 

Brandon & Hillary came up from St. George. Steve's sister came in from Salt Lake and his big brother flew in from Texas. It meant so much to have everyone there who could be. 

Part of the day's celebration included a Steve Trivia game that his sons put together. We also went to dinner at restaurant he always liked. The trivia game was ... epic. :)

The most important part of the celebration to me was sending off to "Heaven" with notes to Steven. 


It was such a perfect day to celebrate the birthday of such a loved man. 

Photos by the talented Claire Utley

While we let the balloons off a the temple, I would strongly advice against it for anyone in the future. There may be more to the story that I will share in a different post. ;)

Lastly, to anyone concerned about the disintegration of the balloons, a study done by Harvard has shown that balloons disintegrate at the same rate as a Maple leaf. 



I recently received a Facebook message from a stranger.
In the message, this individual expressed feelings of their discomfort over something I had been doing.
They expressed their feelings of discomfort over MY GRIEF.
It was interesting, to say the least, why a complete stranger felt compelled to share this with me. After all, for this person to access expression of my grief, they had to follow me either on Instagram or this blog, or better yet, log into someone else's Facebook account {as mine is private}.
It was clear the entire purpose of their message was to hurt. Which, if I am to be honest, it did, initially. It stung. Not only did they judge my grief, by they judged my relationship with my deceased loved one, whom they also don't know.
But quickly, the hurt dissipated. It dissipated because this stranger's opinions held absolutely no weight on who I am, or how I choose to express my grief.
It dissipated because I suddenly was overwhelmed with great sadness for them.
Sadness for their explicit lack of compassion.
Sadness for the relationships they have with their in-laws, that clearly would not invoke such grief if they were to leave this world for another, for when there is great love, there is also great grief.
Sadness for their inability to understand mourning for a blood sibling's loss of their heart and soul and the loss of their very own nieces'/nephews' parent.
I have never once asked anyone to understand the relationships between my family members and myself. I doubt I ever will, because until you have walked in our footsteps and faced all that we 10 have faced together, I don't think anyone could possibly understand.
Upon reading this cruel, heartless and selfish message, I thought, "I am sorry you don't understand my grief ..."
But I immediately stopped, because I am not sorry.
Because the thing is ... THE GRIEF IS MINE.  And I pray that the sender of that message never knows the grief that greeted me and my family on that rainy September morn. And I pray that if they do, that their sacred sorrow is never judged as they judged mine.
And let me make this clear, I do find grief of this magnitude sacred.
From my very first post, I mentioned I was hesitant to write about my grief. And I will repeat what I said then ... I have shared what I have via all platforms of social media regarding my story, my grief, my loss because the man this world lost lived a life too glorious not to share. And, I want anyone else who knows a similar loss to know, that they are not alone.
So, I will share my story as I please. When I write the story of my life, I will hold the pen. I certainly will not let the intending cutting words of another determine what I share, what I write, and most definitely I will NOT let them choose how I grieve. Because ... that grief is mine.

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