Lessons from Injuries

You ever feel like life is just piling up on you and there's no method to the madness? I have a teammate who’s a freshman this year. She tore the ACL in her left knee during her senior year of high school, and was out for the first month of this fall season while still rehabbing from the surgery. Her first week back into full-contact practices, she landed awkwardly in a 1 v 1 drill and tore the ACL in her right leg. She had surgery on it this past weekend, and through talking with her about it, I’ve come to realize two very important things about the process of dealing with life when it’s hard.

The first thing I’ve learned is directed not to people with POTS, but to those of you who know someone with POTS – the families, the friends, the teammates, etc. Having a community of support is crucial to making it through difficult situations, and you will never completely understand the impact that your presence has on us. The night after her surgery, we went as a team to visit Karlee in the hospital. Granted, she was still a little groggy and she was obviously in some pain, but it was incredible to see her face light up at having people care enough to show up and sit with her for an hour or two, make her laugh, and pray with her. It’s amazing what the presence of people who love you can do for your spirits, and what even ill-phrased, ineloquent words of encouragement mean when everything’s going wrong.  

You see, we gain strength from you simply being there. I know. It gets hard after the first week or two to really care anymore, because the newness of someone you love having POTS has worn off. It gets easy to move on with your own problems and get tired of ours. But we need you. So please, stay there for us. It doesn’t take that much effort, really. We just need your thereness. That’s not a word, I know. But it’s what we need.

The second thing is directed back at the potsies. I may have already written a post on this, but it's something we need to be constantly reminded of, and something which popped backed into mind while talking with my injured teammate. Sometimes, life sucks. We’re all well aware of that fact. Sometimes the problems pile on and before you know it, you’re waist deep in an emotional break down wondering how in the heck anything that’s happening has a purpose. And of course, that’s always the moment when some well-meaning person leads you back to Jeremiah 29:11, “I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” And you sit there and think, “There’s no way this will ever be for my good, where the heck are you God?” And you get angry.

            

Well, let me give you some background on that verse that your well-meaning friend neglected to tell you. It was written by the prophet Jeremiah to the Israelites at the lowest point in their history as a people. Jerusalem was in ruins, the Temple was destroyed, and they were forced out of their holy land and into Babylonia as a conquered nation. Everything that they held dear was gone, and to top it off, in previous verses, Jeremiah has told them that it’s going to be a long 70 year exile, and not the quick easy exile that the false prophets keep proclaiming. God had allowed his chosen people to be ransacked and nearly annihilated, and then tells them that they'll stay in this inglorious state for an entire generation. And yet it’s at this point, in this hell-hole of the ultimate disaster story, that they are reminded of the promise that they are not forsaken. In their misery, they are given a promise that there is a plan. And in case you've forgotten, it's a plan that led to the salvation of humanity through Jesus Christ. 

          

Sometimes, God lets us wander in the desert for 40 years. Sometimes, He lets us lose everything. Sometimes, He lets the brokenness of this world inflict damage on His broken people. Just because you can’t see a reason in it, and just because your plan played out a little differently in your head, does not mean that you are forsaken. It doesn’t mean that it’s not part of a greater plan prepared by an infinite God for the good of his children. If you have a God big enough to be mad at when life goes wrong, you also have a God big enough to have a purpose that your finite mind can't envision. There is a purpose to the chaos that is POTS. Don’t ever forget that. 

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I'm taking it back.

The Simple Things

Oh, dear me, dear me. Sometimes I can’t help but be amazed at God’s sense of humor. The other day, a former teammate of mine accepted the head coaching position at a local high school and asked if I would be interested in doing some volunteer coaching in the spring. Of course, I said “yes” without missing a beat! Having had time now to reflect on what this means, I’m both extremely honored and extremely humbled. It seems that only last week I was a high school player, and now here I am with the opportunity to help raise up the next generation of athletes. *big gulp* That’s a lot of responsibility! Coaching always seemed so easy until I had to think about doing it myself!

           

I've always been convinced that every coach has their own particular coaching philosophy. Some can clearly articulate it and some don’t even know what the word “philosophy” means, but everyone has one. I've been thinking about mine, and it really relies on a mantra that’s been instilled in me by many of my coaches – “Do the simple things extraordinarily well, and do them all the time.” I've always been taught that, as a keeper, it’s not really about being able to make that upper 90 save or stopping the penalty kick. Of course, being able to do those things is good, but you don’t build your foundation as a player on them. It’s the simple things – communication, coming for cross balls, and being reliable in saving the shots that should be saved. Everything else is built on these basic abilities, and the trust your teammates have in you (and the trust you have in yourself) comes from you doing them all the time. So you train to do them over and over and over, until you literally do them in your dreams.

In a lot of ways, this a really good philosophy for life, and especially for life with POTS. There are a lot of simple things that need to be done in order to get healthy and stay healthy, and we just need to do them. Sodium. Hydration. Exercise. Taking your medication. None of those things is, by their nature, extraordinary. They’re not expensive. They’re not hard to do. And yet by taking care of these simple things all the time, we see extraordinary results. In the same way, when we neglect to do these simple things, the results can be devastating. These are the foundation of living a full and joyful life with POTS. If you work at doing them all the time, you’ll find yourself confident in your ability to cope with autonomic dysfunction. Houses built on solid foundations don’t crumble during earthquakes.

Matthew 7:24

On a more serious note, I’d like to thank everyone for keeping Meghan Herndon and her family in your prayers. Meghan was called home to the Lord a few days ago. Obviously, her family, friends, and teammates are still grieving their loss, and your continued prayers for their comfort and healing would be much appreciated. I know that at times like these it’s easy to ask, “Why God? Why didn’t you answer our prayers?” The truth is, He did answer them. He just said, “No. Today, my grace will be enough.” And the joy and comfort we receive comes from knowing that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, and that even in the ultimate and inevitable result of the Fall - death – we see beauty and purpose. Through organ donation, Meghan has so far been able to save the lives of three people who were themselves at Death’s door. And most importantly, from what I’ve heard and read about Meghan, I have no doubt that she is now in the presence of God, fully healed and redeemed, filled with the joy that will come when the brokenness of this world passes away.

Meghan, may we meet in the place where Darkness flees.

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I'm taking it back.

Blessings

This life is hard. There’s no way around it. Today, I’m asking everyone reading this blog to say a prayer for a girl named Meghan Herndon and Meghan’s family. You don’t know her. Heck, I don’t even “know” her. But her story puts into perspective just how blessed we are, and just how precious life is – even when life is hard. The first and only time I ever saw Meghan, a senior from Southeast Missouri State University, was when she was playing on the field as my opponent two weeks ago. The next day, she was riding her scooter to work when she was t-boned by a pickup truck. She’s been in a coma since then, and doctors have told the family that the injuries to her brain are “devastating.” 

I’m the first to admit that in many ways, this tragedy has nothing to do with me. I never really met Meghan – the only time I saw her, my team was trying to destroy her team. I have no reason to care, and yet I’ve found myself following her CaringBridge updates online and praying for her. I can’t help it. It could have been my teammate. It could have been my sister. It could have been me. Yeah, I have POTS and it sucks. But I’m not in coma. My parents aren’t wondering if I’ll ever wake up. I get to tell my mom I love her and hug my dad. When the road seems unbearably long and the load unbearably heavy, we must not forget how truly blessed we are to have been given the gift of life. It’s true – this life is often painful, and we live in a world that is sinful and in a body that is broken.  But it is still a gift. And we rest in the promise that despite our unworthiness in the face of a holy God, what we have broken will once again be made perfect. There will be a day with no more tears, a day when you and I and Meghan will walk together, healed. Let us never forget the hope that we have.

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I’m taking it back. 

Swinging Back

I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve dislocated my left ring finger. I’d probably have enough to retire on…ok that’s a slight exaggeration. I’d probably have about $20. But hey – that’s dinner and a movie! I could go on a date with myself and apologize to my body for the punishment I put it through every day.

Oh, wait, I have POTS. My body sucks. Never mind.

On a happy note, I got my first collegiate start last week, and we won, and Kerri Walsh was on our flight! If you’re like my mom and don’t know sports, Kerri Walsh is a three time Olympic gold medalist in beach volleyball. If you’re like my sister and don’t understand why that would matter, having three gold medals means that you’re awesome and I want a picture with you. So that was a good day. I feel  like I should have those days more often…seriously though, finally getting to start and play a full 90 minutes took a huge load off my shoulders, and I can’t even begin to describe the amount of confidence it gave me. Up until then, I hadn’t really had a lot of playing time since high school. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I could do it, and it wasn’t that I really thought anyone else didn’t think I could do it, either. But, when you haven’t actually done something before, there’s always that little doubt in the back of your mind that says, “What if I don’t even get the opportunity to see if I can?” Or worse, “What if I get the opportunity and blow it?”

In a lot of ways, our whole fight with POTS is like that. We know that we can beat this, we know that we are beating this, and yet there’s always that miserable voice in the back of your mind whispering, “What if you lose?”

Let me ask you something – what is losing? What does failure look like in POTS? 

Is it having a bad day? No. You can’t control that. No matter how fit you become or how much sodium you consume or how much water you drink, your body’s going to say, “Screw you,” some days. That doesn’t mean you’ve lost – it means you’re winning and POTS is fighting back. Is failure riding the struggle bus for a whole week of practice? No. You may have barely made it through the week, and you may have felt miserable, and you may be asking yourself why you ever bothered to roll yourself out of bed every day because the week was just that bad. But the fact is that you did drag yourself through the week, your body kicking and screaming the whole way. That’s not failure.

Failure is not when you’ve been beat down. It’s not when your eyes are swollen or your nose is bloodied. It’s not when your body aches or your soul is tired. It’s not when you’ve been suckered punched so hard by life that you’re lying face down in the ring with a metaphorically broken jaw and metaphorically cracked ribs. It isn’t even feeling like you’d rather stay down there, either. Failure is when you don’t get up and swing back anyway. 

So get up.

Swing back.

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I'm taking it back.

Raising the Bar

“I saw a friend of mine the other day,
and he told me that my eyes were gleaming,
and I said ‘I’ve been away,”
and he knew, oh he knew the depths I was meaning.
It felt so good to he see his face,
and the comfort invested in my soul
to feel the warmth of his smile
when he said ‘I’m happy to have you home.’”

Those lyrics are from the song “Keep Your Head Up,” by Ben Howard, one of my favorite lyricists of all time. I thought about trying to come up with my own words to describe how I felt the other day, but sometimes I just have to admit when somebody else has already said it better than I ever could. You see, while having coffee with a friend, we both came to the realization that something had changed in me over the last year, and changed for the better. Having thought about it for a while now, I think the only word to describe it is “joy.” I have joy in my life. Not happiness – happiness is fleeting and perhaps the most superficial of all emotions – but joy. Real, tangible joy that sits in my soul, more as a state of being than as an emotion.

For people who don’t know me, that doesn’t really seem like a big deal. But as someone who spent a long time suffering in the depths of major depression and saddled with the spiritual, emotional, relational, and physical emptiness it brings, the advent of joy at many points over the last two years would have seemed unthinkable. In fact, the realization of experiencing joy only adds to my joy! It’s incredible to see how far I’ve come, and how much God’s glory has shone through my brokenness. For the first time I’m starting to understand Romans 5:3-5 when it says that we rejoice in our sufferings because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance produces character, and character produces hope; hope does not disappoint us. The last two years were full of a lot of suffering, and it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t something that seemed meaningful. Yet here I sit on the outside of it, and I can see the spirit of perseverance it produced in me. There were so many days that, in my self-centered ignorance, I saw no point in continuing to persevere in my fight against POTS when it seemed completely futile. Every day, I would find myself at some point asking “why?” Why do I keep doing this? It’s insane. I have every valid reason to quit. Furthermore, I could quit and most people would applaud me and pat me on the back for making it farther than anybody ever thought I would. I don’t know how I made it through every day, to be completely honest. And don't worry, I have a whole other post coming on this, so if you find yourself struggling with that same problem, hang in there. I'm getting to it. Also, email me at amyswearer@yahoo.com. I'd love nothing more than to talk to you.

But here, by the grace of God, I stand. And I stand with a purpose. At Nebraska, we talk a lot about setting standards. In whatever you do, you set a standard of performance that other people will see as example of what needs to be done and how much effort needs to be put into doing it. Whether the standard you set is poor or the standard you set is perfection, it's up to you to set it and to realize that wherever you set that standard is where everyone else is going to try to match it. You see, for so long the standard of life for people with POTS had been set at an unacceptably low point. I realize now that it’s my job, your job, our job to raise that standard and to give hope to everyone who comes after us. Right now, we have no one to look to but ourselves and we must be the trailblazers who show others how to live a full and joyful life with POTS. And we cannot quit halfway. Why? Because if we quit halfway, the burden falls even heavier on those who will inevitably be diagnosed years from now. They will have the excuse to point to us and say, “Look, they tried really hard, and they failed. What hope do I possibly have to succeed?” They will have even more stories of heartbreak and failure dropped onto their backs, and the way becomes harder for them. They will see our standard of quitting, and they will think that trying and failing is as high of a standard as can possibly be reached. But if we win – if we raise that standard – they can look to us and say, “They did it, and I can do it, too.” They will see our standard and look to match it, to better it. We have a purpose. Our struggles have meaning. Our stories give hope. Our paths will be followed. Here’s to raising the bar!

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I'm taking it back.

Preseason By The Numbers

5 – the number of times I died today (also, the number of times I somehow resurrected from the dead)

4 – the number of degrees over 100 today

3 – the number of preseason days I’ve finished

2 –  the number of practices I’ll have tomorrow

1 – the number of days until our first off day

0 – the amount of energy I have right now

But you know what I like to do when I feel miserable? I like to make other people feel a little less miserable. (It actually works, and I wish more people would try it. This world would be a more joyful place.) So I brought the freshmen some freezy pops and ice pops to enjoy at the dorm, under the guise of “rehydrating them.” Really I was just trying to make sure that they’re all still alive after day 3…you never know with the younglings! 

Time to go watch the Olympics and pass out into a blissful sleep...thank God we get to "sleep in" for a 9 a.m. practice instead of our regular 7 a.m. start time. Fantastic. Rule number 32 - enjoy the little things. 

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I'm taking it back.

POTS -The New Diet for People Who Don't Need A Diet!

Day 2 of preseason? 100% done. My body at the moment? 100% dead. I lost 4 pounds at our afternoon practice, and that’s with me doing every possible thing to combat dehydration. Fantastic. Sometimes I wish I was in the majority of women who would be stoked over losing that much weight in 2 hours, but unfortunately I desperately need to put that weight back on through fluid intake before tomorrow morning. Which is awesome because all my body wants to do is sleep right now, and not down a bunch of Gatorade and pedialyte. Good thing I have my secret weapon waiting for me at home…his name is Dexter, and he’s the softest, cutest, and most loving “please-snuggle-with-me-now” cat that ever existed. Be jealous. For those of you who think that cats are for creepy old women, you’re wrong. Why? Because I’m right. Also, this lady says you’re wrong http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTTwcCVajAc Cat people - 2, You - 0.

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I’m taking it back.

Preseason, We Meet Again...

Day 1 of preseason? Done. All of it. Every second of both practices, lifting, and agility. Who said POTS was debilitating? Yeah…they never met me or my fellow athletes with POTS.

Anyway, what does 100+ degree weather get you? Super dehydrated! I don’t think I’ve had to drink this much water, Gatorade, and chocolate milk ever in my life…and I still dropped a lot of weight at each practice. But I actually feel decidedly good right now. Maybe it’s because this isn’t my first time around the torture that is preseason. Maybe it’s because I’m mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually in a much better place than I’ve been in a long time. Maybe it’s the fact that now I know I have something to fight for in the other athletes I’ve come to know who have POTS. And maybe it’s just because I’m more awesome than a unicorn-cat-poptart pooping rainbows across the galaxy (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QH2-TGUlwu4). I prefer to think "all of the above."

I have to be lame and go to bed now because 5:30 am comes way too quickly to those who are already tired. Until next time…

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I’m taking it back. 

And Then There Were Two. Or Three. Or More.

It's been over a year since my last post. Why? Because I was absolutely sure that nobody but my mom ever read this blog. Quite frankly, I didn't see the point in continuing to chronicle my journey for the sake of myself when half the time I really just wanted to break down and snap my laptop in half, not write about how I was going to punch POTS in the face today. But I recently found out that I'm not alone. I. Am NOT. Alone. Yes, in some ways knowing there are other athletes out there struggling with POTS makes me sad, because I wouldn't wish this on anyone. At the same time, however, it's a relief in a way that I'm not even sure I can describe. Nobody likes the feeling of carrying a burden by themselves. (Wo)man was not made to be alone - it's the first thing God describes as not being "good." So this blog continues, even if the people who recently emailed me never read another post. It continues because we continue; it presses on because we press on toward the goal to win the prize (yes, biblical symbolism, I did it on purpose). A lot has happened in the last year or so, too much to write about right now. But don't worry, I'll get to it. Some stories just have to be written, and I will write ours. Ours. Us. We. There's no longer just one.

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I'm taking it back. For all of us.