The Girl With a Rough Life

There is pain in the world. Last Sunday, sitting in church, I couldn't help but cry thinking about all the pain my friends, coworkers, family members and patients at work feel. I have been through some rough times but at this time in my life, I can answer "I'm OK." I'm loving my job, I'm loving the freedom of "just working," not going to school, I have plans for future traveling and life can be a little carefree. But for whatever reason, every year a few days before January 27th, my mind wanders to the start of some of the hardest years of my life to date.

The words echoed over and over again in my mind, and the more I think, the angrier I become. I wish my roommate hadn’t told me the words my exboyfriend commented on my life. The words sound like a broken record going around and around again and again. "Man, she sure has a rough life...she's been through a lot..." I mean, yeah, we all go through hard times. But is that all people know me for? The girl with a lot of trials who's "got it hard?" Is my purpose living on this Earth showing the world that I've been through a lot?

In any case, my life up until college was EASY, all things considering. But these hard times started when my life turned upside down. I’m guessing you think I mean that figuratively. But I mean it literally, when I felt my body being turned over and over …just twice but enough to scar me for a lifetime and start “Megan: The Girl who has A Rough Life.”

The Car Accident- Jan '13    

    I was bored at BYU during my sophomore year of college and this boredom caused me to plan a weekend trip with three of my friends, Lydia, Jonathan, and Cortney to go to Colorado. For the rest of my life, I will always remember what everyone was doing. Lydia, who was driving, adjusted the sun visor because the sun was in her eyes.  Jonathan, in the front seat, was playing Mumford and Sons on his ukulele and couldn't remember the correct lyrics. I was angrily texting a roommate about how frustrating Cortney was being. And Cortney was waking up from his nap and reaching for a banana.

The damage from the car accident

Suddenly, the car jerked.  All sound stopped. I didn't hear anything after the screeching of tires, that ugly screech that leaves behind hideous tire marks on the freeway. Everything went silent.  But with wide eyes, I remember my body turning twice. Rolling. Legs on the ceiling of the car. The car on its side. The car starting to roll once more. Trying to brace myself. Trying to get it to stop. Trying....to hold onto anything. The car stopped with a jolt.  The first sounds I hear again were Lydia's hysterical cries "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."  Jonathan, "is everyone okay?"  Then I hear deep, shallow breathing.  The breaths are trying to bring in deep gulps of air but for some reason, the lungs couldn't fill up.  It is so loud.  I want them to stop.  Then I realize it’s me. And they don’t stop. Lydia is in my face, "Megan, are you okay? Are you hurt? Megan, answer me." She grabs my hand. My tears start while my breathing continues. I can’t get sounds or words out. Cortney is in my face next, pulling on my hair, saying, "She's in shock. Megan, focus. You're okay." Cortney’s hands are in my face again and I realize he's pulling glass out of my hair and away from my eyes. Then, a face in the window. I don't remember the window being rolled down and that's when I realize it's smashed, the glass all over me. The face in window asks again, "Is everyone ok?"  I look at her blankly. Cortney answers for me, "We’re all fine except for her. We need to call an ambulance." Blankets and jackets are thrown on me.

That's when reality snaps. Am ambulance? No. I try again to speak, louder. Nothing comes out. I practically scream “NO” and Cortney looks at me. He moves closer and asks if I can move my feet and my toes. I nod. He calmly and authoritatively explains that we need to call my parents after the ambulance is called. I start to cry. He immediately moves to the middle seat, holds my hand, and comforts me as if I'm a child who awoke from a nightmare. But this isn't a nightmare and my mind is racing. My thoughts go to the worst little words that can destroy you. Why me?

The side I was sitting on

   I calm down. Breathing hurts but I can breathe. My parents are called. I cry more. They promise to fly if anything serious happens at the hospital. I calmly tell Cortney that I won't get in their ambulance unless he comes along. The paramedics arrive, another face in the window.  I firmly as possible inform them that I won’t go to the hospital unless Cortney comes. They aren't listening to me. I practically scream “I. Will. Not. Go. With. You. Unless. Cortney. Comes.”  They calmly agree, while the jaws of life are used to open the door. The plastic hard stretcher comes in the car. Cortney leaves. I can't see Cortney. I panic and the paramedics promise that he's already in the ambulance. A paramedic puts a neck brace on me. I'm cold. It's windy. And I don't have shoes on. I'm lifted into the ambulance. I can't see anything. I just see faces of paramedics who look concerned. There's a tickling in my nose. An oxygen line. Forty eternal minutes later, we’re at the hospital. I see Cortney. He smiles. My first time in a hospital...in the middle of Wyoming.

After another eternal few hours, I am discharged from the emergency room with no broken bones. I thought I was fine, until I walked.  Every step sent shooting pains through my back and neck. Cortney and Lydia help me out of the hospital. We check into a Motel 6 and everyone stares at me as I am helped in bed and handed a subway sandwich.  I feel like screaming.  I can't stand their gazes.  I just want everything to be normal.  We stay overnight in Wyoming and I had the first of many sleepless nights to come, unable to stay asleep, reliving the nightmare.

Back in Utah, I visit a chiropractor who informs me that I have torn ligaments in my neck and the alignment of my back is way off track. Physical therapy, painful massages, and electric treatment to get the alignment of my spine back to normal is the course of action. Not only that, but I can't carry a backpack, I can't walk to campus, nor can I lift a simple gallon of milk. The days ahead are the most painful of my life.

   Four years later and my back and neck ache at the worst of times. I wake up every morning to an ache in my back and sitting for long periods of time kills my tailbone.  But I made it. The worst trial of my life was over…for the most part.  I tried to be that smiling example with courage instead of fear.  I wish I could say that I did.  

The Depressed Gallbladder- June '15

   In January 2015, I discover a sharp pain on the right upper part of my stomach that wouldn’t go away.  It's like having a rock in your shoe—right when I get used to the pain, it goes deeper and shaper.  After months of blood work, ultrasounds, blood work, urine and stool tests, being poked and prodded, the BYU health center doctor calls to inform me that I have binary dyskensia aka a "depressed gallbladder."

HIDA Scan to determine my gallbladder probs

  My stomach drops (or, was that my gallbladder, laughing at my pain?), my world spins, and my eyes start to leak. What in the world even is a gallbladder? And why isn’t it working? And here we go again, another trial. Haven’t I been through enough, physically speaking? Then the questions and fears cloud my mind.  The doctor explains that it wasn’t a very painful process and surgery is an outpatient procedure. Surgery? What surgery? The words on the line are empty and unsympathetic. I am lost. I am alone. And I am speechless.

    And with that news, I head home for the summer. The night before my gallbladder surgery, my mind goes around in circles in complete panic. The first two months of summer, I suppose I was in denial that I would even be having surgery. I don’t sleep a wink. At the surgery center, I walk back into the preparation room and the nurse hands me a hospital gown, tells me to only keep my socks on. They are playing a Michael Bublé Pandora station and the nurse tries to make small talk. She rolls me into the operating room and just like that, I’m waking up in the post-surgery “room,” separated by the walls made of bedsheets. The music is different, more like a punk rock boy band station. Within minutes of waking up, I feel sore and tired, like I just ran a 5k. Suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach. I can't get the words out and minutes later, I throw up…and then an hour later, I throw up again. The nurses are mad at me, thinking that I had eaten breakfast and informing how dangerous that is. My mom explains that I hadn’t and then I figure out that my digestive system really sucks, because it didn’t digest last night’s dinner. Another hour later, I am finally allowed out to go home…and I feel like I am going to beat this.  

   Recovery didn’t happen overnight—I spent the first few days holding my belly button, as that was where my biggest incision is. Honestly, who knew a belly button could hurt so much? I lived off bagels, Jamba Juice, and baked potatoes. I couldn't get off the couch without help. But a week later, I threw a bridal shower for a high school friend.  I mean, who does that, throws a party a week after surgery?  

Salmonella- November '15

   Then came the next “hard time” that caused my ex-boyfriend to say those words about having a hard time to swirl around in my mind. It’s a normal Wednesday and I come home from the library starving and excited for dinner group. Jordan cooked shish kabobs and the smell was mouth-watering as I dive into the first kabob. After eating the first piece of chicken, I thought it was a little chewy but by the third piece, everyone realizes that the chicken was undercooked and Jordan returns the chicken to the BBQ. I comment to one of my roommates, “Because Jordan is serving us by making us dinner, I’m sure no one will get sick.”

The lovely "transformation Tuesday" to show how sick I was

  Ironically, two days later, I wake up throwing up, with the worse fever I’ve ever experienced in my life. I am bedridden for three days and nothing helps. Shelby takes me to the BYU urgent care and they let me know that I have the flu.
But by Sunday, I am doing worse and Shelby takes me to the E.R. After three hours of tests and IVs, the doctors decide to admit me to the hospital. I'm transported to the hospital, not even allowed out of the bed and a hot doctor wheels me up to the 7th floor. The nurses start changing my IV and settling me in. The visitors start but I still have a crazy fever s I don’t recognize people who come to visit. For three days, I got everything out of my system while roommates, family, friends, and ward members visited me, left me cards, flowers, and brought me necessities I needed to look somewhat acceptable.

   On the day that I was finally going to be discharged from the hospital, my doctor came in, with a slight smile and asked me if I wanted to know why I had been so sick. “Salmonella,” he said, as seriously as possible. I wanted to hit myself in the head. I explained the undercooked chicken situation and he said, “Yup, that’ll do it!” The doctor, nurse, and I made a vow to never eat raw cookie dough and I left the hospital in good spirits. It took a few days to get back to normal, but I have no “life long” complications...except for a fear of undercooked chicken!

  

Tumor- June ‘16

In May 2016, I noticed an occurring pattern and finally started to worry. I hadn’t had a period for over five months. I knew this wasn’t normal but hey, it felt pretty nice not to have the monthly surprise mixed with excruciating cramps. I finally called my mom because I didn’t have healthcare in Utah, saying, “Mom, I think I need to see a doctor.” We make an appointment and I came out to California. The appointments to come were stressful. I got really good with needles and thanks to my hospital stay, I was no longer scared. I was just frustrated when the same phlebotomist couldn’t find my veins. My doctor told me that he was thinking this was caused by one or two things: 1. A tiny tumor on my pituitary gland. 2. PCOS or 3. A Thyroid problem. I was actually hoping for option 2 or 3 because the word tumor terrifies just about anyone.

After finding out the medication was working,
we went to the zoo. LOL, my family.

I’ll always remember that appointment. I tried to keep my composure when the doctor came in. He started off saying that the blood test for my thyroid came back negative (RELIEF) but then he told me that the result for PCOS came back negative. (FEAR) He then told me that yes, the blood test came back positive for my brain. I blinked and said ok but really don't remember much more from the appointment, except for this statement he said in a thick Chinese accent:

"Now remember... Macro is BIIIG, micro is tiny, very very small. We're hopeful because we're catching this early that it's probably a micro benign tumor."

I tried kept my composure as we discussed that I was leaving the state the next day and didn't have plans to come back until middle of July. Basically, my mom talked and I listened. The second the doctor left, I was in pretty much shock and just cried. I immediately again thought WHY ME.

Looking back, yeah, summer was rough. The fear of having something not working in your brain really messes with your mind. However, I am on a medication to shrink the size of the tumor and while I don’t know the size currently, I do know that my periods are regular (and suck, LOL) and my hormone levels are back to normal. Thank goodness for modern medical technology!

But the words that my ex-boyfriend said to my roommate still bother me. “Man, I feel sorry for Megan. She’s had a rough life. She goes through a lot.” These words haunt me at the strangest of times and I can’t figure out why. Okay, so I have been through a lot. I’ve been in a car accident, had my gallbladder taken out, was hospitalized for salmonella, and I have a tumor: four random physical trials without a connection. There’s no link. Maybe that’s just how my cards were played. Maybe I’m being taught a lesson. Maybe we’ll never have answers for the whys. Maybe we need to learn things over and over again.

"every sunset is an opportunity to reset."

I’ve noticed that as time goes on, everyone has trials and pain and most of the time, people don’t talk about them.  They hid behind a perfect smile and a fake attitude. They hid behind their Facebook posts, their Instagram posts, and their videos on snapchat. They say, “I’m good” when you ask how they are. They hid anxiety, depression, eating disorders, abuse, problems, trials, deaths--people hid EVERYTHING. Why aren’t we more brave? Why don’t we tell our stories? Why don’t we share our experiences in order to help others? Why don’t we wipe those perfect smiles off our faces and share in other’s pains, experiences, and tears? Why don’t we show the world what we’re REALLY like instead of trying to be perfect? Why...why...why.

I don’t have any answers. I just feel strongly that my life is meant to be shared. I don’t write about these experiences to share with you my hard problems and to feel your sympathy. I write about these experiences to help me. I write about these experiences to show you that LIFE IS HARD. My perfect Instagram pictures with quotes about how good life is--SOMETIMES that’s not true. Scratch that--most of the time that’s not true. Most of the time, I stub my toe running out the door, makeup smeared from sweating due to running around, grabbing a power bar for lunch and heading off to work, driving recklessly because I’m running late. Most of the time, I fall asleep to Netflix because my dreams scare me. Most of the time, I’M HAPPY because I firmly believe happiness is a choice that I have to wake up everyday and CHOOSE. But sometimes, I cry. I cry about other people’s problems. I cry about other’s pain. I cry when I think that the patients I work with struggle every minute with horrible thoughts and voices in their head. I cry when I worry about my family, my sisters, and how even though we LOOK perfect on Fakebook, we’re far from it. I cry when I think about my Savior Jesus Christ and how He suffered for all my sins and I’m still not perfect.

"sometimes all we have is the past to help us move forward
& sometimes all we could ever do is hope
for a better tomorrow." R.M. Drake

But, ULTIMATELY, I blog for myself. I share these experiences with you so you can join in on my story but so I can understand my life. I can understand that these hard times are given to me to find joy. The joy is never found during the hard time but you better believe that I find them when it’s over. They challenge me. During hard times, I don’t smile through it all ALL THE TIME. Maybe I do in person, at church, at work, while we’re hanging out. But when I’m alone, I’m not this bubbly happy person. AND THAT’S OKAY. Because I’m Megan Christine Williams. Some people think I have a hard life. Some people think I have an easy life. Some people think I’m always happy. But I know the truth of my story and I’m grateful for the opportunity to tell my story. Now you can decided if you have the courage to share your story in any way you want. Or you can decide to keep it to yourself. We all have the choice. As for me, I share because I care and I need to in order to make it day by day. And to change the perception of some who think I’m “Megan-The Girl with a Hard Life.” Instead, I prefer to be “Megan-The Girl who Struggles but Still Finds JOY.”