I don't know about you, but I tend to compare myself to others, I would say daily. Perhaps several times a day. It may be as early as seeing my husband run down the street as I sip my coffee, wondering if I'll ever get myself out there like that. Or maybe as I pack my kids lunches, staring down at the cheese stick, yogurt and sandwich, thinking of my good friend who packs lunches full of veggies and fruits and creative things like turkey pinwheels with sprouts of some sort.
As my day continues, I'll see women who are thin and fit, well dressed, hair done and makeup beautifully applied. And no, these women aren't on tv, they are at school and church.
At work as I take notes long hand, again I lament that I will do my report later on my husband's computer, as we have not yet had the money for me to buy my desired Ipad. As I drive home from work, I will perhaps notice the well-kept lawns and bigger, beautiful homes.
Ten minutes after my kids get home from school, maybe I will yell that I WILL CHOOSE THE SNACK AND SHOW SINCE THEY CAN'T AGREE ON ANYTHING, and my mind will flash with a picture of a mom I know, who abhors yelling and as far as I know, has never done it.
I put dinner on the table for my girls, waiting to eat until later with Kevin. I am reminded that eating at the table as a family is best, and I sigh. I sigh again, as my children beg me to not make them eat the gross, smelly, disgusting singular carrot or broccoli spear on their plate.
As I lay my head on my pillow, whispering a note of thanks to God for a day with our needs met, love in our hearts and continued health, I say my prayer with a feeling of guilt that I did not give more of my day to Him. I think on the author of the book study I am currently behind in, and remember her words of encouragement to spend time everyday reading the Word and in prayer. I remember her sharing how she gave up tv, as she felt it kept her from time with the Lord and distracted her. I turn on King of Queens and fall asleep.
Yes, I compare myself to others all-the-time. Try as I might to silence that pesky voice in my head, without me even realizing it, I know she pipes up every day. "You're so fat, look at how pretty your friend is." "Going to the store for produce with pesticides while so-and-so grows her own AND her family eats all of it without complaining that it's gross and disgusting." "They have such a nice marriage..."
But. Someone may be comparing herself or family to me. What?! But it's true. And you, my friend, do you compare yourself to others too? I can guarantee someone is also thinking parts of your grass are greener. Maybe not the whole yard, but the nice garden in the corner, or your lovely tree out back.
I am not perfect, nor will I ever be. Even if I do tackle some of my challenges and my own grass gets a little greener, there will always be some dead patches.
Today I am grateful for who I am, what I have, and my little yard that needs a lot of work. Because it's mine and was given to me.
Look at your own yard through sharper glasses my friends. Chances are you have lovely, thriving trees that your neighbor wishes they had. Like me. I could really use a dogwood tree and a veggie garden.
Ah, but no child in this house would eat anything from it. I'll stick with my dandelions.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
one year later
As I write this I am watching "The Talk" on daytime tv to kind of take my mind off of my emotions. However, the guest on the show is a woman dying of cancer, so there goes that, I'm crying anyway.
One year ago we lost our baby, and because I wrote a few posts about what that experience was like I thought I'd update. 2012 SUCKED. There's no other way to put it. Not just because of losing the baby, but other things happened as well. The year went out with a bang, my mom breaking her leg and then having Hurricane Sandy rip through her house and neighborhood. So much stress permeated our every-day. We tried to keep humming because of the children, and I think that if we did not have our 2 sweet girls, we'd be in a much worse place right now. The girls made us not just keep getting out of bed in the morning, but forced us to find joy wherever we could. On New Years I don't think I've ever been more excited for the calendar to flip. 2013 is proving to be much, much better.
On April 12, 2012 - Kevin's birthday - we found out the baby had died. I had gone to the doctor because of severe cramping and spotting. I miscarried naturally over the next four days and April 16 to me is the date I will keep in my heart as the day our precious surprise baby left us. I don't want to always affiliate Kevin's birthday with such a sad day in our family. Although I guess I always will. On April 16 I was home alone, and I wanted to be alone. Kevin didn't know whether or not to work but time is money and I was tired of the sad look everyone was giving me. I was thankful for the empathy and love, but tired of the sadness.
The cramps had mostly subsided by that day, and I thought the miscarriage was over and now I would just bleed. I thought the worst of it had happened 2 days before. But the cramps came back with a vengeance and I felt an urge to push and I knew then it was finally really over. I sat in my bathroom and cried my eyes out. It is traumatic to be sure, seeing what only looks like huge clots of blood in the toilet and wonder if you should take it out and try to look for your baby. Perhaps you winced at that sentence, but I am telling it like it is folks. I decided not to have a D&C, and a few times I have regretted it. One reason is sometimes I wish I could have known what caused this - did the baby have something wrong? But then at times I am glad I don't know, for if they found nothing wrong I surely would blame myself, more than I already do. Also sometimes I wish we could know if it was a boy or girl - even though we call the baby "Baby Collin" and believe it was a boy. Sometimes I'm so thankful I don't know. Also, that memory for me of finally flushing that toilet revisits me often and it can make me shake with grief...sometimes I wish I didn't have that memory.
But I do, and here I am a year later and I am really doing ok. I still cry, my girls still cry, Kevin still cries. It is painful to hold babies, it is painful to think about how old our baby would be, it is painful taking pictures of our family because I feel like one is missing. But life is still good. My girls bring me so much joy, it is impossible to convey how thankful for them I am. My relationship with Kevin, while going through our first very difficult season of marriage last year, has improved and I am once again taking deep joy in our time together. We laugh a lot, and I am so SO happy to have the laughter back. I am also happy to have chosen to return to God, for I left His side for a while. But as God does, He followed me and kept tapping me on the shoulder until I turned around.
One foot in front of the other. I will always look back on those weeks that we were expecting our third baby fondly. I will also always look back with deep pain. Several months ago a wise friend told me that I will always have grief, because I love our baby, and the baby is a part of me that is gone. And so I will grieve, because I will always miss what I love, that is not here for me to have and to hold. Taylor said the other day she just wishes she could see what his eyes look like and it's hard waiting until Heaven. Those moments make my heart actually hurt. Bailey and I sat last week and cried for quite awhile mourning the loss of Baby Collin. She would have been such a good big sister to him. And I am sad that we did not get to see what Taylor would have been like as a big sis...and when Taylor gets mad that she was robbed that opportunity I remind her how she prayed for him when he was in my tummy, and he knew she was there. My girls amaze me with their depth of understanding and sweetness concerning this baby and the loss.
To all who loved me up during the weeks following the miscarriage, thank you. The flowers, cards, meals, groceries, phone calls, prayers and love...I won't forget it.
No it's not easy sometimes but the good times far outweigh the bad and I am so thankful every day for my many blessings. Thanks for reading. xo
One year ago we lost our baby, and because I wrote a few posts about what that experience was like I thought I'd update. 2012 SUCKED. There's no other way to put it. Not just because of losing the baby, but other things happened as well. The year went out with a bang, my mom breaking her leg and then having Hurricane Sandy rip through her house and neighborhood. So much stress permeated our every-day. We tried to keep humming because of the children, and I think that if we did not have our 2 sweet girls, we'd be in a much worse place right now. The girls made us not just keep getting out of bed in the morning, but forced us to find joy wherever we could. On New Years I don't think I've ever been more excited for the calendar to flip. 2013 is proving to be much, much better.
On April 12, 2012 - Kevin's birthday - we found out the baby had died. I had gone to the doctor because of severe cramping and spotting. I miscarried naturally over the next four days and April 16 to me is the date I will keep in my heart as the day our precious surprise baby left us. I don't want to always affiliate Kevin's birthday with such a sad day in our family. Although I guess I always will. On April 16 I was home alone, and I wanted to be alone. Kevin didn't know whether or not to work but time is money and I was tired of the sad look everyone was giving me. I was thankful for the empathy and love, but tired of the sadness.
The cramps had mostly subsided by that day, and I thought the miscarriage was over and now I would just bleed. I thought the worst of it had happened 2 days before. But the cramps came back with a vengeance and I felt an urge to push and I knew then it was finally really over. I sat in my bathroom and cried my eyes out. It is traumatic to be sure, seeing what only looks like huge clots of blood in the toilet and wonder if you should take it out and try to look for your baby. Perhaps you winced at that sentence, but I am telling it like it is folks. I decided not to have a D&C, and a few times I have regretted it. One reason is sometimes I wish I could have known what caused this - did the baby have something wrong? But then at times I am glad I don't know, for if they found nothing wrong I surely would blame myself, more than I already do. Also sometimes I wish we could know if it was a boy or girl - even though we call the baby "Baby Collin" and believe it was a boy. Sometimes I'm so thankful I don't know. Also, that memory for me of finally flushing that toilet revisits me often and it can make me shake with grief...sometimes I wish I didn't have that memory.
But I do, and here I am a year later and I am really doing ok. I still cry, my girls still cry, Kevin still cries. It is painful to hold babies, it is painful to think about how old our baby would be, it is painful taking pictures of our family because I feel like one is missing. But life is still good. My girls bring me so much joy, it is impossible to convey how thankful for them I am. My relationship with Kevin, while going through our first very difficult season of marriage last year, has improved and I am once again taking deep joy in our time together. We laugh a lot, and I am so SO happy to have the laughter back. I am also happy to have chosen to return to God, for I left His side for a while. But as God does, He followed me and kept tapping me on the shoulder until I turned around.
One foot in front of the other. I will always look back on those weeks that we were expecting our third baby fondly. I will also always look back with deep pain. Several months ago a wise friend told me that I will always have grief, because I love our baby, and the baby is a part of me that is gone. And so I will grieve, because I will always miss what I love, that is not here for me to have and to hold. Taylor said the other day she just wishes she could see what his eyes look like and it's hard waiting until Heaven. Those moments make my heart actually hurt. Bailey and I sat last week and cried for quite awhile mourning the loss of Baby Collin. She would have been such a good big sister to him. And I am sad that we did not get to see what Taylor would have been like as a big sis...and when Taylor gets mad that she was robbed that opportunity I remind her how she prayed for him when he was in my tummy, and he knew she was there. My girls amaze me with their depth of understanding and sweetness concerning this baby and the loss.
To all who loved me up during the weeks following the miscarriage, thank you. The flowers, cards, meals, groceries, phone calls, prayers and love...I won't forget it.
No it's not easy sometimes but the good times far outweigh the bad and I am so thankful every day for my many blessings. Thanks for reading. xo
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
out of my comfort zone
I take being comfortable very seriously. I don't like to feel anything but comfortable. I wish I was one of those people who just love to try new things, grow, learn, reach for the stars. I'm not. I like what's familiar, what's cozy, what's tried-and-true.
But during some recent introspection, I have questioned this character flaw, if you will. Now bear with me, this will get confusing, as it's confusing to me and I am me. If I am unhappy about certain things in my life, why do I not change them? If I'm unhappy, that would assume I am uncomfortable. But, whatever it is that's making me unhappy - unless it's situational - is also something that's comfortable in a way simply because it's familiar. I'm used to it. And I guess it makes me more uncomfortable doing the work and going ahead and changing it, because what is familiar, what is me, is already comfortable.
Confused?
So I have written on this blog before about my weight. Oh, my weight. My nemesis. My thorn in my side. My achilles heel.
My comfort.
I have been overweight for so long. There was only a brief time of my teenage/adult life that I wasn't overweight. And when I was thin, I still thought I was fat. So this is really all I know. All I know is softness, pudge, dimples. All I know is wondering what it would feel like to wear a bikini bc there ain't no way in hell this girl is putting one on. Ever. I've never worn one. All I know is looking at clothes to see what will make me look presentable, in the least fattening way. That is how I shop - which I usually hate - not "what is cute, what is new, what will make me feel good."
I want to be thin. I want to be thin for so many reasons!!! Better health, better stamina, feeling proud of myself, feeling sexy, better role model for my girls, not worrying about what people are thinking when they look at me. And yet, since April, when I started diet number 1,436 -- I have only lost 10lbs. At this rate I will reach my goal weight at the age of 86.
So...this is my new thing. I need to break out of some comfort zones. I need to get really uncomfortable. Today I did something I haven't done in YEARS - I took a group exercise class. Well, one or two times I took a walking class and several times I took swim classes, but that was IN my comfort zone. Today, a woman from our MOPS group at church - a thin, seemingly put-together woman that typically I would have been inwardly nervous around - gave an exercise class. I normally would say no bc I don't like the idea of jingle-jangling around in front of my friends and peers, in case I can't keep up and in case my ass accidentally hits someone. Or scares someone. But I thought, how am I ever going to get anywhere unless I start getting uncomfortable. New chapter. And the good news is, besides the chair squats (what crazy broad thought that one up?!) I kept up and was fine. Oh yeah I couldn't do some kind of bird yoga position plank thing either. But other than that...
And I'll need to break out of my comfy-cozy nightly routine of having a snack on the couch, ensconced in my blankie, while I watch tv. I watch what I eat all day - ok more or less depending on the day, stress and time of the month - but then I "blow it" with my nightly snack. Gotta get uncomfortable.
But I'm keeping the blankie and tv, I'm not masochistic. Just a girl who needs a change...from being uncomfortably comfortable.
Monday, January 28, 2013
in training
So my last post was about my "bubbies" as my girls and I call them. This one is about my daughter's. Don't tell her, as I don't want to embarrass her. But as this blog is kind of my journal that only a few people read, I thought I'd write about the beginning of this ride we've gotten on. Because it's going to get bumpy...and I want to be reminded of the gentle beginning.
My little girl is growing up. Bailey turned 9 in October, we celebrated in Disney World. Does it get better than that? While she celebrated turning "the last year before double digits!!", I celebrated the fact that she still believes Mickey sneaks into our room while she's sleeping to leave surprise gifts. I celebrated every time she wanted to put back on her Ariel costume to meet the princesses and characters. I celebrated her childlike delight as she slid down the pool slide over and over again. I celebrated seeing her and her sister pretend-play with their little Disney figurines on the floor as a cartoon played on the tv. I celebrated the fact that she is still so innocent and young. Kevin and I have taken to calling her Peter Pan, because as her peers seem to be moving away from Barbies, princesses and tea parties, Bailey is still smack in the middle of it and wants to stay there.
But recently, Bailey has started becoming excited about physical changes her body is and will be making and it has thrown me for a loop. She cried when I talked to her this summer about what will happen to her body someday...she only felt better after I promised her a girls only day any where she wants to go (I had to specify in the tri-state area after she immediately squeaked out, "Disney?!") when the day she "becomes a woman" arrives. I never liked that phrase, and I didn't say it to her, because it's terribly misleading. I don't believe you become a woman until you're well into your 20's...but for some reason in His divine wisdom God has allowed the female body to mature when it does. Bailey knows that the body changes because someday she will hopefully have the honor of becoming a mama, and we need our bodies to be able to hold a baby and then nourish it. She doesn't know that as a CF patient she's not guaranteed that gift, as many CFers either have fertility issues or they should not get pregnant because their health is not good enough. I pray this will not affect her, as she has "mild" CF and is so healthy. And all she knows is that our body changes to prepare it for motherhood. Recently, she has become excited about this, and says she can't wait to become a mommy someday. Hold your horses, lovey...
Last week I bought Bailey what looks like a sports bra. Undershirts were working fine, but she tended to not wear them as she didn't like the extra layer. And she started to need something under her shirt. I know this because both the grandmothers let me know. I couldn't believe that moment came already, so soon. Wasn't it just yesterday she was running naked under the sprinkler? And now look at her.
I love spending time with Bailey. She's my little girlfriend. I cherish our dates out just the two of us. I pray that we remain close, although I'm betting there will be many, many moments when hormones - mine and hers - will threaten to tear us apart. I will pray for strength, compassion, tenderness...and that all of these things will be conveyed in my words and actions to her. For Bailey I will pray that life can be slowed down...is that possible? That she can develop and grow in a healthy way, just not too fast!!! I don't think my heart could take it if I blink and she's a young woman and not my young girl. And yet, as much as I try to blink as s-l-o-w as I can, here she is, wearing a bubbie holder.
God is good though - He gave me Bailey to go on this adventure with first. I needed a gentle easing into it, to prepare me for going through this with Taylor. Lord help us all then. Especially me.
 |
| Doesn't seem so long ago. |
My little girl is growing up. Bailey turned 9 in October, we celebrated in Disney World. Does it get better than that? While she celebrated turning "the last year before double digits!!", I celebrated the fact that she still believes Mickey sneaks into our room while she's sleeping to leave surprise gifts. I celebrated every time she wanted to put back on her Ariel costume to meet the princesses and characters. I celebrated her childlike delight as she slid down the pool slide over and over again. I celebrated seeing her and her sister pretend-play with their little Disney figurines on the floor as a cartoon played on the tv. I celebrated the fact that she is still so innocent and young. Kevin and I have taken to calling her Peter Pan, because as her peers seem to be moving away from Barbies, princesses and tea parties, Bailey is still smack in the middle of it and wants to stay there.
But recently, Bailey has started becoming excited about physical changes her body is and will be making and it has thrown me for a loop. She cried when I talked to her this summer about what will happen to her body someday...she only felt better after I promised her a girls only day any where she wants to go (I had to specify in the tri-state area after she immediately squeaked out, "Disney?!") when the day she "becomes a woman" arrives. I never liked that phrase, and I didn't say it to her, because it's terribly misleading. I don't believe you become a woman until you're well into your 20's...but for some reason in His divine wisdom God has allowed the female body to mature when it does. Bailey knows that the body changes because someday she will hopefully have the honor of becoming a mama, and we need our bodies to be able to hold a baby and then nourish it. She doesn't know that as a CF patient she's not guaranteed that gift, as many CFers either have fertility issues or they should not get pregnant because their health is not good enough. I pray this will not affect her, as she has "mild" CF and is so healthy. And all she knows is that our body changes to prepare it for motherhood. Recently, she has become excited about this, and says she can't wait to become a mommy someday. Hold your horses, lovey...
Last week I bought Bailey what looks like a sports bra. Undershirts were working fine, but she tended to not wear them as she didn't like the extra layer. And she started to need something under her shirt. I know this because both the grandmothers let me know. I couldn't believe that moment came already, so soon. Wasn't it just yesterday she was running naked under the sprinkler? And now look at her.
 |
| Isn't she beautiful? |
I love spending time with Bailey. She's my little girlfriend. I cherish our dates out just the two of us. I pray that we remain close, although I'm betting there will be many, many moments when hormones - mine and hers - will threaten to tear us apart. I will pray for strength, compassion, tenderness...and that all of these things will be conveyed in my words and actions to her. For Bailey I will pray that life can be slowed down...is that possible? That she can develop and grow in a healthy way, just not too fast!!! I don't think my heart could take it if I blink and she's a young woman and not my young girl. And yet, as much as I try to blink as s-l-o-w as I can, here she is, wearing a bubbie holder.
God is good though - He gave me Bailey to go on this adventure with first. I needed a gentle easing into it, to prepare me for going through this with Taylor. Lord help us all then. Especially me.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
the mammo
 |
| If you are unaware, this is not me. My hair isn't that long. Oh and I wasn't smiling. And I had on a salmon colored smock that hung like a tarp. And I weigh just a teensy more than her. Teensy means mucho. I also was not hugging this machine, clearly designed by men with mother issues. |
Before I write this post about my first mammo experience, let me first jump to the end and say I am fine. This post will be about what led up to me getting checked out, and how that visit went. So many women receive a different conclusion to their story and while I have always been empathetic to others receiving such terrible news as that, I feel a keener sadness for that moment in a woman's life. Of course, as a mother, I think that moment is even more full of fear, as all I thought about were my children. How will they handle the illness, how will I parent while sick, and God forbid, what if the treatments don't work? Along with a million other questions and fears. For those women, I say I am so sorry. If any woman comes across this blog post and is undergoing treatment for breast cancer or the like, please, please know I wish you well. I wish you health, love and joy. This is just my experience and I mean no disrespect. I am writing this post as a memory, and perhaps a bit of laughing at myself.
Also - I don't think this post is geared towards the male reader. But really, what post of mine ever is. Like I even have a male reader.
Back in November I noticed a problem with one of my breasts. This is an area of the female body where you don't want problems. It's just that simple. But I knew it may be nothing, and I wanted it to be nothing, and to be honest, I just didn't want one-more-thing to deal with so I pushed off going to the doctor until December. My mother had been staying with us for 5 weeks - first because she broke her leg and then because Hurricane Sandy paid her house an unpleasant visit. Earlier in the year I had my miscarriage and truthfully that is still hard for me, and we had a family issue that sucked the wind out of my sails. So when this breast problem arose I thought, "REALLY?" That's what I thought. Really.
So in December I put on my big girl panties (that's not a figure of speech, I put on big girl panties everyday. They cover the top of my navel down to the bottom of my cheeks. One of my best girlfriends keeps preaching the benefits of a thong to me, but she is skinny and doesn't understand that I don't want to have to perform surgery on myself to fish that piece of cotton back out). I digress. What I mean to say is, I went to the gynecologist. I was so proud of myself that I went, because there was not one place I could think of that I wanted to visit less, than my gynecologist. I know myself, and I feared it would hurt me a lot to be back there following my miscarriage. And it did - but I loved the doctor I saw, and she examined me and decided to order a mammogram to see what was going on. I told her that I wanted her to say it was nothing, and she said it could be due to a few different things, but let's see anyway. Yes, let's. I thought I had years before my first mammo, I didn't want to go.
I thought about it, and I did not want to make the appointment for before Christmas, because what if something was wrong. How could I watch my children celebrate all of the joy of Christmas as I wondered what our future would hold. I would be a mess! So I waited until they were back in school and made the call. I figured I'd have to wait - the sweet receptionist that didn't seem surprised at all that I was crying - got me in the following morning. I was so relieved - since November I had this weight on my shoulders, this what is it and what if and I just wanted to know at this point. Also, I had kept this to myself, save for Kevin and a few friends, because why bring it up unless it was something. But in the meantime, it was a hard burden to carry, and I felt fake saying I was doing fine when someone asked. I felt like 2012 was enough of a downer, I couldn't talk about one more thing!! But it is unlike me not to be honest, not to share with my friends (or as in this case, possibly strangers) and that weighed on me even more.
So on Friday January 4, I went to get my first mammo. I had called my mom the night before and finally told her, and she insisted on coming. I didn't know how I felt about that but I ended up appreciating her presence. We waited in the first waiting room for maybe 45 minutes...which felt like 4 hours. Kevin stopped by, which was so sweet of him, but actually made me more nervous bc I could feel he was nervous. He left after a few minutes and Mom and I were brought back to the second waiting room, where I was given a smock shirt, opening in the front, to change into, and had to confirm in front of the other women waiting that no, I did not wear deodorant or use any kind of talc powder that day. I sat in a chair, careful to make sure that Bertha and Betsy weren't playing peekaboo with any of the other women waiting.
The other women. There was a loud, gum-smacking (a huge pet peeve) skinny woman, who was dressed to the nines - well, from the waist down. She stood a few times to get a new magazine and didn't mind that Perk and Perkier under her smock could be seen from the side. I wondered how they do mammos with breasts that are barely there. I mean, I knew that the machine was like a vice, and you lay your breast on the tray of some sort, and the top comes down to smush it and take a picture. But what if there's nothing to lay on the tray, or only a little? I suddenly felt so bad for her, for her nipples namely, for I knew they'd receive the brunt of the trauma. My own nipples would be safely ensconced within my pillowy pancakes, at least that was my vision. There was an older woman who complained a few times about the wait, and I wondered if it hurts more as you age. Do your breasts get arthritic? It just seemed even more unpleasant. There were a few other nondescript women waiting, save for my mother who would try hard not to look at me, but when she did, I saw the anxiety, fear, empathy.
I got called back finally, and had the nicest technician. We talked about breastfeeding randomly - although I guess not so random, since she was the only one besides my husband, doctor and children to get such a birds eye view of Bertha and Betsy. She explained what would happen, and did the mammo. IT WAS NOT SO BAD!! I took 3 Advil, no joke, in anticipation of having to pick my squeezed-to-an-inch-of-their-lives breasts up off the floor following the test, but really it wasn't that bad! And it was a plastic vice, unlike the metal torture chamber I had conjured in my head. I was feeling better already.
She asked me to go back to the waiting area until I was told I could go. I waited. And waited. My mother tried not to look at me. Then, a different technician told me I needed to have an ultrasound done and to sit tight. I knew my doctor had included an ultrasound on my referral "just in case they need one" and so I assumed they needed to clarify what they were seeing on the mammogram. I tried hard not to cry as I waited. After maybe a half hour, another technician told me I would be seen as soon as a room opened up. My emotions shifted from fear to anger - I was so distraught that they would make me wait this long with the information that I took as "Yes something's wrong, we need to look at it closer." I went into the bathroom and paced around for a few minutes because steam could practically be seen coming out of my head. It was perhaps an hour that I waited, and as soon as I was called back the floodgates opened (one with a tendency towards the over-emotional can only hold them closed so long) and I started crying. I stated to the tech that I thought it was in poor taste to give someone news like that and then have them wait. She was very nice and apologized, and said it was protocol when someone has a problem to have them get both tests done. I was so relieved!!! She did the ultrasound and didn't understand why I was still crying, but I had been so scared I just couldn't calm right away. Not to mention that I couldn't help but think about the last time I was getting an ultrasound done, back in April with a stone faced technician whose eyes read what I already knew, "your baby is dead, no more heartbeat." I was overcome.
She did the test, and I asked if she could tell me anything or would I have to wait even longer for a doctor. She said the doctor would come talk to me if he thought it was necessary, but she couldn't see anything that would be concerning. PRAISE GOD!! I was so grateful! I got dressed and waited in that room as she had instructed, waiting this time only a few minutes before a technician came and told me I could go, my tests appeared normal.
I still have not shaken, nor do I want to, that feeling of gratitude over my test showing a pair of healthy breasts. There are times when my breasts annoy me - I want to fit into that lacy, sexy bra that they don't make in my size, or they jiggle when I jog (at least the last time I jogged they did, it's been awhile), or they try to free themselves from my bathing suit as I swim. But they have fed 2 babies, pleasured my husband (what! It's Biblical!), and brought me pleasure as well. I like having them, and I wanted to keep them. Also, the thought of being sick, really sick, took my breath away and I felt deep, deep empathy for women who are ill.
Several days later I received a letter stating that my tests were normal and to follow up with my doctor and for repeat testing as he prescribes. I go back in February.
What I do know now, that I didn't before, is that getting a mammo isn't so bad. I will pester any friend I have to get one, if she is due and hasn't already.
2012 sucked. 2013 is already so much better. This is going to be a great year, I can feel it. And I am so, so grateful Bertha and Betsy will be along for the ride.
Also - I don't think this post is geared towards the male reader. But really, what post of mine ever is. Like I even have a male reader.
Back in November I noticed a problem with one of my breasts. This is an area of the female body where you don't want problems. It's just that simple. But I knew it may be nothing, and I wanted it to be nothing, and to be honest, I just didn't want one-more-thing to deal with so I pushed off going to the doctor until December. My mother had been staying with us for 5 weeks - first because she broke her leg and then because Hurricane Sandy paid her house an unpleasant visit. Earlier in the year I had my miscarriage and truthfully that is still hard for me, and we had a family issue that sucked the wind out of my sails. So when this breast problem arose I thought, "REALLY?" That's what I thought. Really.
So in December I put on my big girl panties (that's not a figure of speech, I put on big girl panties everyday. They cover the top of my navel down to the bottom of my cheeks. One of my best girlfriends keeps preaching the benefits of a thong to me, but she is skinny and doesn't understand that I don't want to have to perform surgery on myself to fish that piece of cotton back out). I digress. What I mean to say is, I went to the gynecologist. I was so proud of myself that I went, because there was not one place I could think of that I wanted to visit less, than my gynecologist. I know myself, and I feared it would hurt me a lot to be back there following my miscarriage. And it did - but I loved the doctor I saw, and she examined me and decided to order a mammogram to see what was going on. I told her that I wanted her to say it was nothing, and she said it could be due to a few different things, but let's see anyway. Yes, let's. I thought I had years before my first mammo, I didn't want to go.
I thought about it, and I did not want to make the appointment for before Christmas, because what if something was wrong. How could I watch my children celebrate all of the joy of Christmas as I wondered what our future would hold. I would be a mess! So I waited until they were back in school and made the call. I figured I'd have to wait - the sweet receptionist that didn't seem surprised at all that I was crying - got me in the following morning. I was so relieved - since November I had this weight on my shoulders, this what is it and what if and I just wanted to know at this point. Also, I had kept this to myself, save for Kevin and a few friends, because why bring it up unless it was something. But in the meantime, it was a hard burden to carry, and I felt fake saying I was doing fine when someone asked. I felt like 2012 was enough of a downer, I couldn't talk about one more thing!! But it is unlike me not to be honest, not to share with my friends (or as in this case, possibly strangers) and that weighed on me even more.
So on Friday January 4, I went to get my first mammo. I had called my mom the night before and finally told her, and she insisted on coming. I didn't know how I felt about that but I ended up appreciating her presence. We waited in the first waiting room for maybe 45 minutes...which felt like 4 hours. Kevin stopped by, which was so sweet of him, but actually made me more nervous bc I could feel he was nervous. He left after a few minutes and Mom and I were brought back to the second waiting room, where I was given a smock shirt, opening in the front, to change into, and had to confirm in front of the other women waiting that no, I did not wear deodorant or use any kind of talc powder that day. I sat in a chair, careful to make sure that Bertha and Betsy weren't playing peekaboo with any of the other women waiting.
The other women. There was a loud, gum-smacking (a huge pet peeve) skinny woman, who was dressed to the nines - well, from the waist down. She stood a few times to get a new magazine and didn't mind that Perk and Perkier under her smock could be seen from the side. I wondered how they do mammos with breasts that are barely there. I mean, I knew that the machine was like a vice, and you lay your breast on the tray of some sort, and the top comes down to smush it and take a picture. But what if there's nothing to lay on the tray, or only a little? I suddenly felt so bad for her, for her nipples namely, for I knew they'd receive the brunt of the trauma. My own nipples would be safely ensconced within my pillowy pancakes, at least that was my vision. There was an older woman who complained a few times about the wait, and I wondered if it hurts more as you age. Do your breasts get arthritic? It just seemed even more unpleasant. There were a few other nondescript women waiting, save for my mother who would try hard not to look at me, but when she did, I saw the anxiety, fear, empathy.
I got called back finally, and had the nicest technician. We talked about breastfeeding randomly - although I guess not so random, since she was the only one besides my husband, doctor and children to get such a birds eye view of Bertha and Betsy. She explained what would happen, and did the mammo. IT WAS NOT SO BAD!! I took 3 Advil, no joke, in anticipation of having to pick my squeezed-to-an-inch-of-their-lives breasts up off the floor following the test, but really it wasn't that bad! And it was a plastic vice, unlike the metal torture chamber I had conjured in my head. I was feeling better already.
She asked me to go back to the waiting area until I was told I could go. I waited. And waited. My mother tried not to look at me. Then, a different technician told me I needed to have an ultrasound done and to sit tight. I knew my doctor had included an ultrasound on my referral "just in case they need one" and so I assumed they needed to clarify what they were seeing on the mammogram. I tried hard not to cry as I waited. After maybe a half hour, another technician told me I would be seen as soon as a room opened up. My emotions shifted from fear to anger - I was so distraught that they would make me wait this long with the information that I took as "Yes something's wrong, we need to look at it closer." I went into the bathroom and paced around for a few minutes because steam could practically be seen coming out of my head. It was perhaps an hour that I waited, and as soon as I was called back the floodgates opened (one with a tendency towards the over-emotional can only hold them closed so long) and I started crying. I stated to the tech that I thought it was in poor taste to give someone news like that and then have them wait. She was very nice and apologized, and said it was protocol when someone has a problem to have them get both tests done. I was so relieved!!! She did the ultrasound and didn't understand why I was still crying, but I had been so scared I just couldn't calm right away. Not to mention that I couldn't help but think about the last time I was getting an ultrasound done, back in April with a stone faced technician whose eyes read what I already knew, "your baby is dead, no more heartbeat." I was overcome.
She did the test, and I asked if she could tell me anything or would I have to wait even longer for a doctor. She said the doctor would come talk to me if he thought it was necessary, but she couldn't see anything that would be concerning. PRAISE GOD!! I was so grateful! I got dressed and waited in that room as she had instructed, waiting this time only a few minutes before a technician came and told me I could go, my tests appeared normal.
I still have not shaken, nor do I want to, that feeling of gratitude over my test showing a pair of healthy breasts. There are times when my breasts annoy me - I want to fit into that lacy, sexy bra that they don't make in my size, or they jiggle when I jog (at least the last time I jogged they did, it's been awhile), or they try to free themselves from my bathing suit as I swim. But they have fed 2 babies, pleasured my husband (what! It's Biblical!), and brought me pleasure as well. I like having them, and I wanted to keep them. Also, the thought of being sick, really sick, took my breath away and I felt deep, deep empathy for women who are ill.
Several days later I received a letter stating that my tests were normal and to follow up with my doctor and for repeat testing as he prescribes. I go back in February.
What I do know now, that I didn't before, is that getting a mammo isn't so bad. I will pester any friend I have to get one, if she is due and hasn't already.
2012 sucked. 2013 is already so much better. This is going to be a great year, I can feel it. And I am so, so grateful Bertha and Betsy will be along for the ride.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
logically
As a freshman at Eastern College (now University but I still call it EC) I was paired with a roommate. We talked to each other once or twice preceding meeting each other, as an introduction and to chat up what we were bringing. It took us a few weeks to warm up to each other but then we were very close and remained roommates all four years. We were maids (I was matron and very pregnant with Tate) of honor for each other's weddings, and she was my best friend for many years.
However, time, distance and those things that can happen, caused some separation in our friendship. But our love remained, and she will always be my roomie, even if only in name. As of late, our relationship has become more comfortable and familiar again, and I am thankful for that. Recently, we got together with her sweet little one, and she asked me how I was doing (knowing that I would know she was meaning about the baby loss). I teared up immediately, because that is me, and I started explaining how I know logically that we just shouldn't have another baby...my children both have special needs so we're sitting at a gambling table, we don't have room in our house, we don't have enough money to send 3 kids to college (or 2 for that matter but they're already here), our girls would be so much older than their sibling, what would it do to my marriage, I get very sick when I was pregnant with the girls...etc etc ETC. She listened (she's a great listener) and then said, "So you do want another, because you said 'logically.'
Oh my she was right. I forgot - but she remembered - that in college she clued me in one time that she can always tell what I really want, because I begin the conversation with, "Logically...."
She was really right. I really do want another. But that just may not be the wisest decision. All three of my pregnancies have just happened. Yes, I know about the birds and the bees but really, 2 out of the 3 we really were trying not to and God chose to bless anyway. My first pregnancy, no we weren't trying, but it was a method of birth control that my cousin once dubbed the, "you-can-run-but-you-can't-hide" method.
Part of me wonders if we actually tried, perhaps we wouldn't be able to conceive. A bigger part of me wonders if we did conceive, what if what I went through another miscarriage - and I just don't know that it would be wise for me to possibly put my family - especially my tender hearted girls - through that again.
Part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and ask God to bless us. A bigger part of me is too scared.
I don't know yet how this story will end. We're not pregnant, and not trying to become pregnant. But I'm only 33, so I feel like I have a bit of time to think and pray on it some more...my prayer is that I am wise not to the world's standards, but to God's. I pray His will for my life, that I will be made aware of it by conviction, and have the strength to follow through. I pray He blesses my family, however He sees fit.
Logically, I should get up right now and get chores done before work. (so that means really I want to continue to sit here and sip coffee).
Monday, September 24, 2012
95/5
Yesterday was a great day. Church in the morning and it was so good because Bailey remembered her lines and did a super job in a little skit she was in for both services - and I laughed really hard (mostly on the inside but a bit spilled out) when Taylor saw it and then said, "Oh, ok" and laughed her raspy, throaty laugh...just something about that made me laugh. A few minutes prior she had spilled her hot chocolate (this was her first time drinking hot chocolate at church and I knew she'd spill, and she did) and I didn't care, it just was.
Lunch with family, then home where I made the choice to snuggle with the girls and watch Pinocchio - I made it through 3/4's of the movie before I couldn't take that terrible movie anymore and got up. Decorated for Halloween and kids went to the playground with Kevin and friends. Then I took them to the pool where we had a great time except B. had to be disciplined for a few minutes (sitting out of the pool when your sister's still swimming is big time punishment) for throwing her sister's Hello Kitty ring. After the pool I got the girls small McDonald's fries bc they've been asking for them for a while and it seemed like a good time to say yes.
I was feeling pretty good, it was shaping out to be a banner day.
We came home, and Bailey got in the shower first while I started their dinner and threw the wet towels and suits into the wash. I even thought to myself, "let little girlfriend take a nice long shower like she loves, don't be so rushy-mommy all the time." But after a decent while, I knew I'd have to say something or she'd never exit. I go in the bathroom and there's water all over the floor.
Let me back up to say I have water issues. We had the "great flood of 2011" where our tub got a hole in it and flooded into our bedroom and down the wall into the garage. Then a month ago I notice our fridge starts randomly leaking water all over the kitchen floor, warping brand new hardwood flooring the few times I didn't see it in time and the water sat. Last week during the bad wind storm/torrential rain I noticed in our unfinished laundry room that water was seeping into a few of the cement wall blocks - it wasn't wet to the touch, but you could tell that water is permeating the blocks.
I love the water. I love swimming, I love the ocean, I love watching and listening to the rain, I love lakes, I love ponds for crying out loud. But I have water issues, and water fears.
So upon walking into the bathroom and seeing all that water, I freaked. "Bailey, what on earth! What is all this water! Bailey! The plastic curtain has to be INSIDE the tub, for real?! You are almost 9!! Come on! Alright, get out, that's it. Put the barbies down. ALL OF THEM! Get out!"
And right then, my banner day came to a close. It didn't take me but a minute to wipe up all the water. Why did I freak out like that?
I fed the girls dinner and let them watch a show. All the while I was cleaning and cooking, preparing things for the week. I went downstairs to switch the laundry and feed the cats, and I hear them start to horse around, things are getting knocked over. I yell up, "clear your places and just finish the show, you're going to bed in 10 minutes, come on just chill out" and they don't listen. Yes, they heard me. They just didn't care.
I didn't want to yell again, but I could feel my blood boiling. I haven't sat in hours, haven't showered from the pool and reek of chlorine, I'm hungry, tired, and still have a list of things to do. I felt so disrespected and uncared for - they couldn't at the least, listen and obey? No. So I calmly - through gritted teeth - told them they were to clean up the table, brush their teeth, Bailey needed her meds and they were off to bed with no tuck in.
Only a few times, if that, have the girls gone to bed without a tuck in. I can really remember only one other time. I love giving tuck ins, it's the favorite moment of my day with them. Singing and back scratching, praying, talking. But I didn't have it. I told them why they weren't getting a tuck in, and they begged for a second chance. Bailey started promising chores she would do this week, Taylor just was crying and saying, "I owe you apologies Mommy, please! Please forgive me!"
Heartbreaking yes, but I just didn't have it. That and I did want them to know they disappointed me. I kissed them and said I love you, and GO TO BED NOW.
Kevin came home to Tate still crying her eyes out and before the key was even out of the lock I growled, "Don't you dare go back there and be Fun Nice Daddy" and he didn't. But he did talk to her and she calmed and fell asleep. We had dinner and watched comedy shows and I was recharged. Before bed I crawled in with each of them and woke the poor babies to tell them I loved them more than anything and sang a short lully in their ears.
WHY is it that even when 95% of the day is banner, we obsess over the 5%? I went to bed last night not thinking about all of the great things we did together yesterday, but about yelling at poor Bailey about the water, and sending them to bed without tuck ins. I wondered if they'd remember any of the good, or only the bad?
Meanwhile, as he does every night of his life, Kevin put his head to the pillow and was asleep.
Every day I try not to yell. I hate yelling. Today is a new day and I will try again.
Lunch with family, then home where I made the choice to snuggle with the girls and watch Pinocchio - I made it through 3/4's of the movie before I couldn't take that terrible movie anymore and got up. Decorated for Halloween and kids went to the playground with Kevin and friends. Then I took them to the pool where we had a great time except B. had to be disciplined for a few minutes (sitting out of the pool when your sister's still swimming is big time punishment) for throwing her sister's Hello Kitty ring. After the pool I got the girls small McDonald's fries bc they've been asking for them for a while and it seemed like a good time to say yes.
I was feeling pretty good, it was shaping out to be a banner day.
We came home, and Bailey got in the shower first while I started their dinner and threw the wet towels and suits into the wash. I even thought to myself, "let little girlfriend take a nice long shower like she loves, don't be so rushy-mommy all the time." But after a decent while, I knew I'd have to say something or she'd never exit. I go in the bathroom and there's water all over the floor.
Let me back up to say I have water issues. We had the "great flood of 2011" where our tub got a hole in it and flooded into our bedroom and down the wall into the garage. Then a month ago I notice our fridge starts randomly leaking water all over the kitchen floor, warping brand new hardwood flooring the few times I didn't see it in time and the water sat. Last week during the bad wind storm/torrential rain I noticed in our unfinished laundry room that water was seeping into a few of the cement wall blocks - it wasn't wet to the touch, but you could tell that water is permeating the blocks.
I love the water. I love swimming, I love the ocean, I love watching and listening to the rain, I love lakes, I love ponds for crying out loud. But I have water issues, and water fears.
So upon walking into the bathroom and seeing all that water, I freaked. "Bailey, what on earth! What is all this water! Bailey! The plastic curtain has to be INSIDE the tub, for real?! You are almost 9!! Come on! Alright, get out, that's it. Put the barbies down. ALL OF THEM! Get out!"
And right then, my banner day came to a close. It didn't take me but a minute to wipe up all the water. Why did I freak out like that?
I fed the girls dinner and let them watch a show. All the while I was cleaning and cooking, preparing things for the week. I went downstairs to switch the laundry and feed the cats, and I hear them start to horse around, things are getting knocked over. I yell up, "clear your places and just finish the show, you're going to bed in 10 minutes, come on just chill out" and they don't listen. Yes, they heard me. They just didn't care.
I didn't want to yell again, but I could feel my blood boiling. I haven't sat in hours, haven't showered from the pool and reek of chlorine, I'm hungry, tired, and still have a list of things to do. I felt so disrespected and uncared for - they couldn't at the least, listen and obey? No. So I calmly - through gritted teeth - told them they were to clean up the table, brush their teeth, Bailey needed her meds and they were off to bed with no tuck in.
Only a few times, if that, have the girls gone to bed without a tuck in. I can really remember only one other time. I love giving tuck ins, it's the favorite moment of my day with them. Singing and back scratching, praying, talking. But I didn't have it. I told them why they weren't getting a tuck in, and they begged for a second chance. Bailey started promising chores she would do this week, Taylor just was crying and saying, "I owe you apologies Mommy, please! Please forgive me!"
Heartbreaking yes, but I just didn't have it. That and I did want them to know they disappointed me. I kissed them and said I love you, and GO TO BED NOW.
Kevin came home to Tate still crying her eyes out and before the key was even out of the lock I growled, "Don't you dare go back there and be Fun Nice Daddy" and he didn't. But he did talk to her and she calmed and fell asleep. We had dinner and watched comedy shows and I was recharged. Before bed I crawled in with each of them and woke the poor babies to tell them I loved them more than anything and sang a short lully in their ears.
WHY is it that even when 95% of the day is banner, we obsess over the 5%? I went to bed last night not thinking about all of the great things we did together yesterday, but about yelling at poor Bailey about the water, and sending them to bed without tuck ins. I wondered if they'd remember any of the good, or only the bad?
Meanwhile, as he does every night of his life, Kevin put his head to the pillow and was asleep.
Every day I try not to yell. I hate yelling. Today is a new day and I will try again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)