Post Ride Recovery... At the ER

 Thursday night was supposed to be just a typical night out riding mountain bikes with my husband.  Just us, our single speed bikes, and the some beautiful summer weather.  But that's not how it all played out.

We went to Murphy Hanrehan Mtn Bike trail to take on the fun and technical single track for our evening ride.  The trail was less dusty thanks to some recent rain and we quickly found out rhythm and flow on our bikes.  

They say bad things come in threes...

First, the battery on my AXS dropper post died, luckily leaving my saddle in the dropped position so at least I could take any position I wanted on each decent.  But, that called for even more standing than my single speed already asked of me, so Jay dropped his saddle for a bit to sympathy-climb with me.

Next, I made a decision to take a tight turn for an obstacle too late, washing out my front wheel and stopping my momentum by hugging a tree with my shoulder and neck.  With my head to one side of the tree and my right arm on the other, I rested roughly against the tender flesh of my neck.  I was more disappointed in myself for failing the turn and missing the obstacle than I was for coming to a stop on a tree.

Back on my bike, I took the next few turns a little easier, but got my confidence back with a few miles left of the trail.  We entered the Bird Sanctuary at full gas and I goaled myself to stay on Jay's wheel as tight as possible through the sector.  We were flying!  

That is, until something flew into my glasses, lodging itself between the poly lens and the lids of my left eye.  It immediately began stinging me as I screamed and clawed at it with my left hand.  I tried to stop myself with my right as I removed the violation from my face, but I wasn't stopping fast enough (we were going 15 mph when it happened), so I returned my left hand to the grips and grabbed both brakes with full force. 

I stopped my bike too fast and went over the bars, luckily landing in soft soil and low growing shade plants.  I was finally able to rip my glasses from my face and stop the stinging.  Jay quickly returned as I gasped what was happening and he checked me over for injuries.  I showed him where I was stung and my husband, quite possibly the sweetest man ever made, tried to suck the 'venom' out of my face on the side of the trail. Swoon!

I took a deep breath and a couple seconds to self-asses for injuries, then decided we needed to get back on our bikes.  We had about a mile and a half left on our ride and my previous two wasp stings this year were pretty rough on me with days long reactions and lots of pain and swelling.  I wanted to just get done.

We got back on our bikes and returned to about 80% of the pace we were holding, me being a little more hesitant about pushing the limits any further that night.  Within a few minutes, thought, things started to change.

It started with my butt crack.  I was riding behind Jay and noticed that my ass was starting to itch. What the???  Then it was my vulva.  A few more minutes went by and my arms joined in on the burning itch, followed by my legs. 

I started to realize that this was an allergic reaction.  One like I've never known before.  I was so glad when we pulled up to the van so I could jump off my bike and give it to Jay to load up as I scratch at my body vigorously.  We jumped in the car, headed to drop a wheel off at a friends house, then head home for dinner. 

The itch grew worse and I clawed at my hair as if I had lice.  My ears felt thick and joined in the tingling battle raging on the surface of my body.  I started to cough as I looked in the mirror at my swelling eye.  Each minute, a new symptom, so I begged Jay to stop at a pharmacy so I could grab and ice pack and some Benadryl. 

I walked through the store, grabbing supplies in a panic as my eyes and nose began to run and my breathing became laborious.  I must have been quite a sight!  Soiled knees, bloody knuckles from my crash, swollen face, runny nose and wheezing... oi!  I checked out and jumped back in the car, tearing open the Benadryl like an animal and took them as quickly as I could as Jay drove us to Shad's to drop off a wheel.

"My skin is on fire", I gasped out to Jay in the car.  But I tried to be tough and scratch away in silence from there. Until we got to Shad's driveway.  I looked down at the arms I had been mindlessly clawing at to see bubbles forming across them.  I zoomed my vision out, and saw the same oddities spread across my legs.  I interrupted Jay as he exited the car and held out my arms to him, "Jay, we need to go to a doctor."

We took off right away after a brief apology and got to the Urgent Care in Edina within minutes as Jay pushed the pedal to the metal and ran any light that we approached alone.  They were so backed up, they had turned off the lobby lights so they looked closed.  Which was good.. because that forced us to go to the hospital next door.

The lobby of the hospital was also packed, a few hour wait lie ahead, so I calmly tried to take as deep of breaths as I could as I waited in line.  When it was my turn with the intake nurse, I shared how I'd been stung and was breaking out in hives.  The nurse who stood behind her interrupted and asked me "are you having trouble breathing?".  "Yes," I gasped in response, taking another forced breath immediately after.  "I think I'm okay, but my chest is tight".

They rushed me in right away and got me onto the hospital bed.  In a flurry, a nurse was assigned to each arm as a kind doctor reassured me on what was happening.  "You are in anaphylactic shock.  We're going to give you a shot of epinephrine and [some meds] to help stop the reaction."  The nurse on my left inserted a line as the one on the right stuck with with a shot of epi which I could have sworn was administered with a straw the needle felt so big!

Jay helped answer some questions from one of the nurses as I balanced on the edge of shock, but the swift attentiveness of my medical team put me at ease.  As the fear faded from my body, the jitters of the epinephrine flooded in, the muscles in my arms and legs twitching uncontrollably as I shivered.

After a few minutes, my breathing became easier and my hives began to fade.  They kept me there for a couple hours of observation to make sure I didn't have a poor response to the rapid cocktail I'd been given.  The doctor returned to check on me, calm and nurturing a sincere part of her being.  She made eye contact with me and said, "I'm going to call in a prescription for an Epi pen for you.  Actually, two."  She said the next time could be worse, that these reactions build rather than one becoming tolerant.  I nodded my understanding and tried to let it sink in.

After a long, dramatic night, Jay and I returned home at midnight and ate some food as we tried to come down so we could sleep.  The mix of downers and epinephrine didn't disturb me too much, and I drifted off quickly but slept fitfully through the night.

The next morning, I walked out to the kitchen and stopped at the kitchen table taking in the site of my new prescriptions laid out for me.  Steroids, Benadryl, and a pair of Epi pens (+ a trainer pen).   It was a weird new reality to wake up to... "You need to carry the Epi pen with you at all times," I replayed the doctors words in my head as I turned the pen over in my hands.

Two days later, I still am in shock.  It still hasn't sunk in.  I don't even take my phone with me everywhere, but now life-saving medicine?  I've been very fortunate to be a pretty healthy person. But this one landed different on my heart.  It'll hit me.  I'll be fine.  I'm just not there yet.

Most of all, I am just grateful for my amazingly caring, understanding, and law-bending husband who took me at my word and got me to medical help.  I am so grateful for the nurse that saw me gasping for air and rushed me in, and the amazing medical team who took care of me with such grace, my fear was left at the door.  And last, I'm so grateful for my medical insurance, which made my new Epi-sidekick an easily affordable purchase.

Hug your people and trust your instincts.  They are the things that help keep you alive. 

Swollen but healing, 
Kristy Kreme

The Best Dreams Happen When We're Awake

 For as far back into my childhood as I can remember, the only consistent thing I wanted to be when I grew up was Happy.  I've seen grade school projects that said Fire Fighter or Ballerina, but there was no actual substance behind it.  As I grew, I realized my aversion to blood was a good reason to avoid a medical career.  Although I wanted to follow in my Dad's creative footprints by working some type of construction, he wanted for me to grow up with a body not ravaged with aches and pains.  And later, when I fell in love with writing, I found that there was likely no way to make a living writing poetry... hell, all the good poets were dead.

I loved math (especially algebra), being creative, and could never really narrow my focus in on one profession.  So, I went to college... make that 3 colleges... changed my major a dozen times and finally graduated with a Bachelor's of Science in Kinesiology after some 5+ years of study.  I wanted to be a collegiate strength coach... but it turned out I had more fun creating and editing lifting plans in a MS Excel workbook than I did on actually bossing the athletes around.  So I changed directions again.

Over the next 10 years, I worked as an administrative assistant, an office manager, worked in sales support, hospitality, sales, account management, retail... but the one consistent pattern I found time and time again was this innate satisfaction with improving procedures, modifying SOP's, and creating shortcuts to reduce workload.  I taught myself to create mail merges and inventory tracking; when a job required me to request every report or data summary I needed from another team, I asked them to teach me to pull my own raw data to save them the time;  when teammates complained about the time it took them to complete weekly analysis, I learned how to write macros to cut their time by 75%.  (I am a nerd, and I love it!)

It was sometime in 2015 that I remember telling a coworker that I wish there was a job where I could just problem solve in data and create tools for a living.  But, what would I call that?  How would I quantify it in a job search?  In January 2018, I landed myself a role as an Inventory Analyst for Target headquarters after hearing amazing things about what a great employer they were and hoped maybe I'd find my forever home there.  It only took a couple months until I found it... there was a team who's full time job was to create tools to reduce workload, improve data accuracy, supply analytical reporting... and they got paid to do it!

For almost three years, I have held that dream of someday being on that team close to my heart and confidently on my lips to anyone who'd listen.  I created tools and analysis for myself and others, I started my own club of Excel nerds just like me to help develop new processes and tools to help our entire pyramid.  Every morning in my Start Today journal, I've declared that 10 years from now I would be on that team.  Every. Damn. Morning.

Then, in August of this year, 5 months into the pandemic, a job opening was posted and I applied within hours.  Five gruelingly painful weeks went by without a word on if I was a candidate until finally a representative from HR contacted me to schedule my interviews.  After my three interviews, another 2+ weeks went by without a word until I finally saw a message come across my screen one morning from the hiring manager, "Hi. Are you free to talk?".  The second I hit send on "Yes", the Zoom call came in and my heart raced.  Barely breathing, I heard him thanking me for my patience, for participating in the interviews and all I thought was "fuck, I didn't get it".

That is, until he changed his tone and said "we'd like to offer you the job" and smiled.  I distinctively remember (and immediately regretted) responding with "Shut up! Are you serious?" *Not one of my finer moments, but also very authentically me none the less*  Luckily, he laughed and doubled down on his conviction and I said "Yes!" with almost as much enthusiasm as I did when Jay proposed.  The rest of the call was a blur but there it was... my dream job, wrapped up in a bow, and presented virtually on a silver platter. 

Yesterday marked the beginning of Week 3 in my new role... a beginner, learning to code and to take my problem solving and analytics to a level I never imagined.  Each day is new and filled with things I don't understand yet which allows fear to creep into my home office but I fight it every day by focusing on the present moment. I focus on the jobs I was turned down for that would have directed me away from here.  I remind myself to believe in myself because my whole team already believes in me just the way I am.

What a year...40 years old and finally landing the dream job I always wanted but never knew it existed until recently.  Starting fresh, stepping into the unknown, and feeling ever so grateful for the wonderful opportunity to work in something I am so passionate about.  It may not be a popular opinion, but it's another spectacular gift of 2020.

Dreaming in Code, 

Kristy Kreme

So I cleansed my liver for this?

 Over the last 7 months, I've accumulated a stack of post-it notes with blog content ideas that did nothing but collect dust.  Like you, I've struggled at times to make sense of my thoughts, my emotions, my fucked up dreams let alone figure out what day it is.  I change my clothes 3-4 times a day as I work from home.. day time jammies, mid-day workout attire, something I call "this could almost pass as street clothes" outfit before Jay comes home, and then straight back to my nighttime jammies after dinner. 

However, as October has snuck back into our lives, so has my social feed filled with #SoberOctober posts that has really had me reflecting on the last year of my life and my choices.

Last fall, I set out to participate in #SoberOctober for the first time.  For the most part, I was testing my hypothesis that alcohol was contributing to a growing depression within me.  I made it some 20+ days, throwing in the towel at our annual Homey Fall Fun Fest towards the end of the month.  Navigating the day, riding our single speed mountain bikes in costume on urban trails around town was somehow too clear w/ NA beer so I talked my husband into picking me up a six pack of beer on this way to meet us after his race.  I struggled with the attention 'not drinking' brought me and I just wanted to let loose like everyone else.  I stayed off the wagon for the rest of October and through November, but the experience on the ground was so much different than before.

The sparkle and luster of drinking had faded.  That soft vignette of drinking wine by candlelight exposed itself as a dingy dark space filled with loneliness.  I had seen the other side... the clear headed mornings, the anxious energy subsiding, the depression fading... it all made the once celebratory drinking now dull and sad. I wanted to take back the light in my life.  

I chose sobriety on December 1st, 2019.

I made it through the holidays, through the loss of my mother in law, through flying and vacation, remodeling and selling our condo after 13+ years, buying a home; living amidst the social injustice, riots and looting in Minneapolis; turning 40 and, somehow, though the pandemic and physical isolation that comes with it.  Sure, I would give anything to just go numb on some days but, where the general consensus indicates alcohol use and abuse it up almost unanimously, I imagine each day is adding to my super power.  For every shitty week I've had, the fear of what's to come, every bottle of anti-bacterial solution I empty out into my palms, and every milestone that quietly passes... for every one I collect the day's strength (even if while found on my knees and with tears in my eyes), and I add it to my armor and head off to bed. 

Last weekend, my sober calendar hit 300 days.  I only told two people that it was here but I wore that badge on my heart like a beacon of light.  Counting the days gives me a sense of pride I celebrate silently within myself and, if I am honest, at times use as a reason to reward myself with something new I wouldn't have done for myself before.  Helloooo, online shopping!

But it's also an odd reminder that, for the first time in my life, I am struggling with my identity.  Am I sober or alcohol-free?  Am I 'in recovery' even if I don't attend meetings and never wound up in rehab?  All I know is that I am happy and I can see parts of myself in each description and each book on sobriety I read.  I fill my ears with podcasts and my time with adventures big and small...

I ride. I sew masks. We bought our first house.. so I decorate and tidy and vacuum and move things.  I read. I bake and I bake and I bake. I eat raw cookie dough. I ride some more.  Digital coupon-cutting on the Target Circle app is a competitive sport for me!  I paint rooms and hallways.  I do HIIT workouts.  I have mastered a caulking gun.  I fixed the toilet.  I coach.  I am growing plants and tell them how loved they are.  I ride some more.  I jump my bike off things (little things, but I am getting air!).  I volunteer with the trail crew. I smell the flowers.  I cook.  But most importantly, I smile more.  

Day One of Sober October 2019...

306 Days Sober... <3

If you've been wondering if alcohol is having a negative impact on your life, if the constant unknown of the pandemic or the pending election has you overindulging, I recommend giving #SoberOctober a try.  What was intended to be a 'just for now' choice really truly made me find a new door into a better life for me.  If you have no sober network, I am here for you.  If you DO have a sober network, I am here for you!  Because the sober people in my life helped me and I am there for those of you who need it. 

Now, I only hope I've enforced my armor enough to make it through the next 30+ days and the election...but that's a fear for another day.

Feeling strong in my sobriety, 

Kristy Kreme