An Issue of Blood

Have you ever considered what a miracle blood is? I mean, really? I’ve actually thought a great deal about blood over the past few years, and especially recently. Blood represents and sustains life. We use the word “blood” to denote family relationships. With modern medicine people can compassionately donate their own blood to save the lives of others. Blood can have religious symbolism. And for some encountering large amounts of blood can be traumatic.

I am not generally squeamish at the sight of blood, but since being married and having my own children I have consistently gotten lightheaded and queasy when someone in my family is injured and it involves blood (although I do step up and handle the situation, and when I worked in a hospital it didn’t bother me at all with my patients). Really it happens with even the thought that my husband or one of my children is in pain. I handle my own pain, or blood, in stride, but it literally makes me want to throw up when it is someone I care deeply about and I cannot take that pain away.

So is it any wonder how viscerally I was affected by witnessing the type of pain Kendall went through? Things that I did not previously know were possible for the human body to endure? Or how difficult it has been having a child who is constantly in pain, and not having answers of how to take that pain away from her?

In my last therapy session I stated that I didn’t understand why one hospital experience with my daughter had been so triggering and the subsequent one really wasn’t. My therapist made the interesting observation that my trauma responses seem to be the strongest when I am reminded of times I was very hands-on involved with giving care to my loved one as they were in pain. And in looking back, it’s true. More than specific images, it’s the memories of being physically involved with things that evoke such powerful emotions and responses now. Every time that blood pressure cuff went off, I had to jump up and take action. The constant care and attention I gave Kendall in the HICU, doing therapy exercises, managing his Bair hugger, adjusting pillows and blankets and his bed, putting on those compression socks, or the many things with his care that I needed to do at home, taking vitals, giving shots, rushing into an ER, pushing the wheelchair, and on and on and on. Even things with my mom’s care from those last days before she passed. I have found that when I am faced with physically doing similar things, it often brings back those memories and associated feelings so strongly.

It almost became an obsession for me when Kendall was sick, monitoring his pain and symptoms, advocating so hard for help and relief, looking for answers and things to do in attempts to take away that pain that merely got worse and worse. All while he did not complain. That still astounds me. Needing to function with six new spine fractures, unable to take proper painkillers because of all of the other medications he was on. So many ports and needles and spinal taps (those were typically weekly, but sometimes more often). Losing the ability to walk. To sit. To eat. To speak. To breathe on his own. Enduring full body radiation. Extreme reactions to chemo. A bone marrow transplant. Skin deeply bruised and torn. And on and on and on.

Sorry to get a bit graphic there. I think that many of those memories feel closer to the surface right now because once again my birthday is feeling heavy and hard, despite some friends’ appreciated efforts to help me create new, happy memories (I was able to get away again for a few days with the same friends as last year, which was wonderful). It takes a lot of effort to not get sucked down into those difficult memories, to redirect my brain to choose gratitude and express thanks to my Heavenly Father for all of my experiences. To acknowledge those tender mercies and miracles that are not only present now but were two years ago as well. To not dwell on or in the past. To recognize the healing I have already experienced, despite the times I may feel “set back” or things can feel hard.

I am learning more about something called complex PTSD that can occur when there was constant, ongoing trauma, and the challenges that can accompany it. The disassociation that can occur, the things the brain will do to try and feel safe. Learning to not give in to the panic that can arise suddenly when there is a triggering event (happens much less often than it used to). Learning to trust in the process of healing, having faith that with God full and complete healing is possible. From all of it. Trauma. Loss. Grief. Pain. To be grateful for where I am now.

That brings me back to blood, however. (Wow, I get sidetracked easily.) Blood was certainly something I took for granted for most of my life. I had no idea how complex blood is, until I witnessed how many aspects regarding blood can go wrong or simply stop working. All blood cells are produced in the bone marrow, which of course is diseased with leukemia. I have no idea how many blood transfusions Kendall received. His veno-occlusive disease literally ate his body’s platelets, so for weeks he received bag after bag of those life-sustaining platelets, multiple times a day. Monitoring white blood cells and red blood cells and other blood markers with daily blood tests. So many vials of blood drawn. Kendall needed plasma, albumin, the immunoglobulins from IVIG infusions. Bone marrow from a healthy donor. I better understand how it can be possible for blood to come out of the body’s pores. Uncontrollable bleeding from the smallest cut when the blood cannot clot properly. Blood conditions in the eye (so crazy looking). Bruising, so so much bruising. All things about blood that I had simply taken for granted when they worked properly.

It doesn’t stop there, though. What about the heart’s ability to pump blood to the body? I witnessed issues with this for Kendall, but it is also something I have been acutely aware of in my own life lately. I have mentioned on here that I have something called Raynaud’s Syndrome. Basically with Raynaud’s the body’s smaller arteries supplying blood to the skin narrow, affecting proper blood flow and causing painful vasospasms. It’s actually a fairly common condition, although mine has been one of the more severe cases. Over the years I’ve learned to manage it and didn’t let it interfere much with my day to day. Ever since having Covid, however, and then my booster shot several months later, I have been having some serious and alarming problems with my body’s circulation. My poor hands and feet; it hasn’t been fun. Consequently, blood and circulation have been on my mind a fair amount, as well as gratitude for the things that can help improve their function. Again, things I used to take for granted.

I have also been contemplating the symbolism of the Savior’s blood that was spilt for us. It’s been especially on my mind since having a beautiful experience in the temple on Friday, and seemed to carry extra meaning partaking of the sacrament ordinance that is such an important part of my Sabbath observance. Knowing how hard it is for me to see my family members in pain, what are my feelings as I consider the pain that Jesus endured in my behalf? Do I feel as strongly, and does it seem as personal? I’ve had the words from the hymn “I Stand All Amazed” running through my head throughout the day. “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me, Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me. I tremble to know that for me he was crucified, That for me, a sinner, he suffered, he bled and died.” It has put my own “issues of blood” back in perspective.

So why do I share all of this, these unconventional (and lengthy) musings about blood? Well, partly because earlier my brain didn’t want to shut down yet for sleep, and it feels good to get things out of my head and written down. Partly because I want to be aware of the miraculous ways my body does work. I don’t want to take things like my heart beating for granted. I want to continue to consciously choose faith, to trust that things will work out as they are supposed to concerning my and my loved ones’ health. I want to remind myself of how aware my Heavenly Father is of me, and that He can help carry the things that at times feel heavy. I want to fully “engage” with my birthday tomorrow (now today since I’m writing this so late!), to be present with the great things that are happening now, and not get stuck with events of the past. And you know what? I think I’m doing an ok job with doing just that.