“Kaija has always been strong…” I have heard this all my life. Am I? Most people think I am, but sometimes I admit I’m not so sure. When I was about 12 months old I had a Patent Ductus Arteriosus Ligation (a type of heart surgery). At this early age, we already began to realize medications don’t affect me. I was given medication for the surgery, and my mother held me as they allowed it to “take effect.” They told my mother that I would be so out of it that I wouldn’t even be able to recognize her. When the doctor took me away from my mother, I got upset and reached out for her. The doctor started walking away with me, and I angrily turned grabbing his collar and shaking with all my might! I knew he wasn’t my mother. My parents snickered as I was taken into my surgery. Afterwards, in the recovery room the nurses were constantly running into my room in a panic, because I would rip off my heart electrodes so it would say my heart had stopped. The nurses would come in and stick new ones on, until it got to the point I was practically one big electrode. Finally the doctor said it was pretty obvious I was fine, and let me keep them off.
My father tells me as soon as the nurses would leave I would start picking at the edge of the tape, and I admit I still peel them off in the hospital sometimes. I was very tough and defiant, even when I was just a toddler. I was one of those kids that wandered off when you told them to stay put. When I was two years old, my parents took me camping up in the mountains, and I manage to disappear. Everyone went crazy looking for me, until someone spotted two little feet sticking out from under a bush. I went exploring and decided to take a nap under a bush.
I have always been easily distracted and curious. I still like to push myself just to explore. When I was a young child, I had four of my bottom teeth pulled. I remember this very well! The dentist gave me three shots and put me on Happy Gas, and I still wasn’t losing feeling. He ended up taking me into the surgical room, which had cords to strap me down into place. Once I was secured, the dentist turned the gas on high, and began breaking my teeth out of my jaw. I can still remember the pain, the blood, and the sound of the cracking coming from my mouth. The medications never worked. I think it was because of this-and always getting lectured about flossing-that I quickly grew to dislike dentists.
I have had several similar experiences growing up. Ibuprofen, Tylenol, and Aspirin never really worked; I always just had to take whatever life threw at me. I never really understood at first why when any of my siblings took a pain medication they would feel better and I didn’t. I always thought they felt the same way I did, and if they didn’t cry and went out to play, I had better do the same. This meant that at a young age I learned to push myself, and not to complain much. It is funny to me thinking back at it, because it all started with me not wanting the other kids to call me a “wuss.” I always tried not to complain about things unless it was seriously bad, but later in life, I learned it had benefits when it came to medical treatment. If you get a shot and you flinch, you either push the needle in further, or you pull it out so you have to go through it again! It worsened if you reacted! I didn’t want to have to do it twice! I started training my body to not react to pain, no matter how severe. As a result of the self discipline I have developed, people dig with needles inside my body, and ask if I am doing okay. I tell them that I am, as I sit calmly staring at the needle perfectly relaxed. It is common for them to reply, “Wow! You are really tough. I can’t stand it when people do this to me.” I don’t really look at this as toughness.
When people hear about what I have gone through they tell me how I am such a strong person, and that they could never go through that! I think these statements are funny, because I can’t help but feel like if they had to go through the same things, they would manage. After all, it isn’t like I choose to go through this; I just do. I certainly don’t do it because I thought I could; none of us gets to pick and choose things like this. I purposely don’t think about what I can’t do, so that if it does happen to me, I can convince myself that I can. When you think you can, the process is much easier then when you think you can’t.
On the steep cliff side at Delicate Arch.
As I got older, I was still stronger than most girls my age. I remember the surprised look on my father’s face, when at the age of thirteen I hiked The Thirteen Challenges into the Zion Narrows with my aunt and cousins on summer day. When I was fourteen, I helped pull a handcart over twenty three miles in three days over rugged terrain, and afterwards I was feeling so good I was ready to pull the bus back to salt lake! At the age of seventeen, I worked all morning in the LDS church farm fields-where food is grown for charity-even though I had just been released from the hospital a day earlier. In college, I fasted for twenty four hours before a surgery on my pancreas, and later that day I went to school and gave massages.
Despite all of this, I don’t always feel strong; quite often, I feel the opposite. When I get really sick from having a little cut on my finger, I feel like I am not even Achilles but his walking heel! Sometimes I am afraid to do little things, such as going down a steep hill, because I know that my muscles have weakened greatly, and if I slip I no longer have the strength to catch myself. I often hesitate. Admittedly, I hate being with people when I am in this situation, because people often see me and laugh amidst the mental battle I am fighting. If I fall I can get hurt, and even if I don’t fall, people begin to treat me differently, as though I am too delicate to do the same simple tasks they can do. When they laugh, I feel bad and I get embarrassed being caught in my weakness. It is particularly bad when I am in the process of trying to remind myself that I am strong, even though I am struggling, and that I will find a way to do it.
All of this really boils down to life for me. I push; I push hard because I want to keep up. If I always lay down when I feel faint, or nap when I am sick, or stay home because of pain, I will always be laying down asleep at home. All the things I want to see and do, I would never be able to if I didn’t push and do my best to be strong. I am reminded of something Sam told me his grandpa would say before he passed away, “You can’t just lie down and die!” I will always try my best to be strong, but I also know there will be a time when my strength fails. I feel it getting closer every day, but until that day comes I will continue to climb mountains, and continue to go on adventures, so that I can do and see all that I am able. I am Kaija, and I am strong in my weakness. I won’t lie down and die; death will have to push as hard and far as I do to find me!
On a mountain peak in Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah.
-Kaija
