It was one week ago that my story changed. It was one week ago that I had the hardest day and night of my life. It was one week ago that I reached out for support in a way I never have.
You can see the results of the last week on my body. You can see my now cresent swollen eyes, with circles under them that concealer doesn't even touch. You can see my swollen feet both from being pregnant but also from pushing myself a bit more than I should have. You can see my raw nose from using too many cheap hospital Kleenex. Up until yesterday you could see that my hair even went a little gray-er, but luckily a friend came over and fixed that problem.
But beyond all that I wish you could see my heart. I feel like it was ripped out, stepped on, and then shoved back inside. But through all the trauma, I feel like God held it together. It might be bruised and battered, but it is still beating, and so is my mom's.
Yesterday was a rough day for me. While my mom was doing better physically, you could tell she was getting emotionally tired. I can't imagine being stuck inside my body, without sedation and unable to talk for two days. This process has taught me more and more of what I take for granted and what really matters. My mental goal for the day was to get the breathing tube out. Based on the vent settings and conversations I had with the nurses the previous day, I wasn't really sure why it was still in and didn't feel as though I was given a good answer for it either. I was frustrated and ready to kill someone. If one more person walked in and suctioned out my conscious mom's lungs without giving her a warning, I was ready to take that tube and shove it somewhere else. It was one of those days. I felt mentally and emotionally done, and I was angry that while I could decide to throw in the towel and call it a day, my mom had no such option. I was no longer in the mood to play nice and if my mother can't advocate for herself, then you bet your ass her family will.
Because the balloon pump was going to come out, they wanted to wait to take out the breathing tube until after that was done. It is easier for that tube to come out once you can sit up and take a deep breath. I get that. I could get on board with that plan. But then it took until 530 to get the balloon pump out because her liver wasn't able to clear the anticoagulant out of her system in a normal amount of time. One of the nurses had told me they never extubate at night in case something goes wrong, because they are less resources. So when the balloon came out at 530 and I knew she had to lay flat for 5 hours, I felt defeated. I felt like I had fought all day for nothing. Even if my mom's spirit could take one more night of that, even if it wasn't a medical necessity, I didn't think I could. My sisters came up to the hospital and I decided to leave. I felt like I was out of my fight.
Maybe that was God's plan all along. Maybe I needed to learn that I didn't need to fight alone, or that others are on my side and fighting too. I left the hospital around 630. Balloon pump was out and her chest tubes were going to come out next. At 745 my sister texted me saying that she really liked the night nurse and that she was going to be extubated tonight. So I sobbed my face of with excitement for my mom and with sadness for not being able to be there. To not be able to hear her second, first words. I know that sounds a bit ridiculous, but our goal by the doctors was to live through the weekend. I think I spent those five days mentally preparing for the very real possibility of losing my mother. I didn't know if she was ever going to tell me something again. While she had written some things down on paper, I didn't know if my whole momma's mind was still in that head. I didn't know if she would still have the spirit to fight when we took away all the support. I didn't know how broken her heart would be, beyond the physical, which I knew all too well.
But according to my sisters, she is still in there. She bargained for two ice chips last night almost immediately after the tube was removed, once she realized she wasn't going to get that one inch of water. She told my sisters that she loves them. And she could tell people what she needed. It must have been the most beautiful whisper my sisters had ever heard. I can't wait to hear it for myself this afternoon.
So I guess my goal was accomplished, even if it wasn't in the way I thought it was going to happen. I'm learning that God is big enough and that I am not alone, and that I do not have to fight alone. I'm learning its OK to rest a bit, and to remember I am pregnant.
In my super honest talks with friends and family, I have said how I want a first pregnancy redo. Because in the past month I have really kind of forgotten about being pregnant and not focused on it at all. But today I am able to see, that while I might not have had the giddy focus on my growing belly, I have learned so much more about life and myself that I can now teach my sweet babe to be. I have grown up and been given more perspective. I wish it was easier to gain such things when life is easy and I am running forward with full steam ahead. My tendency is to run through life, accomplishing as much as possible, and slowly God is teaching me that this is not how life is meant to be lived. It's not just about painting a cute nursery and buying cute maternity clothes. It's not about having all that crap you are told you need at BuyBuyBaby. It's about creating a world for my baby where they learn what really matters. It's about focusing on those first words. It's about the first time my mom asked me to come close yesterday so that she could rub my growing belly. It's about letting my guard down and allowing people to be on our team, to influence our lives for the better, and then also our child's.
Please continue to pray for my mom. She has a really rough and long road ahead of her. I am so excited for how far we have come, but we still have a long way to go and I want to know she has people fighting for her, praying for her, and supporting her. We still have things to work through with her foot and my mom has not moved her own body in the last week. She has been incredibly deconditioned and the heart took a big blow. We have not yet been given a plan or an idea about what her rehab looks like. I think she surprised everyone by her improvements in the past couple of days. So as we navigate these waters, pray for us. Because God will continue to be faithful, as he has demonstrated in the past week.
I just want to reiterate that God would still be the same faithful and good God if my mom went to heaven last week. There have been so many highs and lows, and I am learning to trust. Trust that God's plan is good and true, even when it doesn't make sense to us. So I will trust that she is meant to be here, and I will continue to love, support, and fight for that. I am grateful for that. And I am scared of the journey that lies ahead. One moment and one day at a time, I hope my family and my mom can take this on with grace. That we can be a living example of hope. We will have our ugly moments, because we are real and we are human, but I pray that overall, we will be an open story of hope for others.
My sister just texted. I need to go update people that the dialysis tube is out. Happy Independence Day. Grateful does not begin to describe my current state.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
The roller coaster ride
Stop reading now if you can't tolerate my gut level honesty. I'm hoping by telling my story I can start to let it go and continue to lift it up to God because I am not strong enough to go through this situation on my own. I am telling my story because I think that lives are meant to be shared, and while I want to run away and walk this road all alone, the little voice inside of me is begging for people to understand, and desperately scared that when we are through the crisis mode that there will no longer be the outreach and the prayers and support. I am telling my story because I think by putting it down, I can stop reliving it, or that the blow might be a little softer. Maybe it won't, but I'm choosing to share, and choosing to hope. Right now that feels like some of the only choices I really want to make.
This has been the worst week of my life. Yet, through the tears, the panic, the hugs, the prayers, and the ugly cries, God has been close. There are some really hard things that I want to remember, because it reached to the deepest level of my humanity. It touched the parts of my soul that only heaven can reach.
My mom went home from the hospital last weekend after her massive heart attack. While it was a daunting thing to say, we made it by with angioplasty, a stent, and a balloon pump for a few days... So it didn't feel that massive. Life altering and changing, yes, but doable. We were set up for a follow up appointment and planned on starting some cardiac rehab. It was a hard start to the week, as this was a really new normal for my independent and stubborn mother. Tuesday was by far her best day, both physically and emotionally and honestly I had started to feel kinda hopeful about the direction she was going. I felt like my family was stepping up, I was learning how to take care of myself, while loving my mother, and she was starting to step in as her own advocate.
When I got to her house Wednesday morning to sleep for a little bit before joining her at the cardiologist appointment, she looked like crap. Granted, she hadn't slept in days and she was still attributing her back pain to the crappy hospital beds. So we headed to the appointment at 11:00, where she started to look a little worse and worse. With all the medications she had been on, her pulse should have been under 70, and instead it was 110-120. A new EKG in the office and a new Echo showed a pericardial effusion. Honestly, I am really frustrated about this. Why was taking your pulse not part of discharge teaching? There were so many other things she was doing on a daily basis, why wasn't this included?
Now I need you to know from the beginning that we are not a "blame" kind of family. Regardless of any outcome, I can never see my family or my mother suing the hospital system. Doctors and nurses are human, and sometimes things just happen. However, I think it is O.K. for me and everyone at times, to get angry and sad at the holes where the system falls short.
Even at this time I don't think anyone realized the severity of the state my mom was in. We were allowed to drive her to the hospital and she was a direct admit to a telemetry floor. The plan was to do a repeat angiogram and remove the fluid around her heart with a needle through the chest. Not the most fun day, but not the end of the world either. She was bummed she would have to spend the night in the hospital. I was too.
It was heart wrenching to watch my mom receive this news. I am more scared for her spirit to be broken than her heart at this point.
At the hospital there was no urgency. We waited in admitting for a while, then waited for them to start an IV up on the floor before she could go to the cath lab. While her back pain was getting increasingly worse, since there was a plan in place, no one seemed to think much more of it. I told the love of my mom's life to meet up with his daughter for lunch, because really we just had a bunch of tasks to do and it would be better if people were there after the procedure was done, and I had time now to stay. Because while this stunk to be back, it really wasn't that big of a deal.
So my mom and I hung out in her room. I got mad as the nurse told me they don't draw the labs off the IV starts and proceeded to stick her multiple times. Sometimes it is a blessing to be a nurse, sometimes it is a curse, when you know enough to know things can be better, but also wanting to respect that this is not my specialty and I don't want to upset the people that are caring for my mom.
As we are waiting for our turn in the cath lab, my mom looked at me and asked me if I would pray for her because she was really scared. Red flag. Cardiac patients and fear are usually never a good combo.
How I made it through that prayer is beyond me, because even typing right now I want to ball my eyes out. I will forever cherish that little moment between her and I, where she let her guard down as my mom and let me into a deeper part of her soul. My mom and I have always been close, but fear is not something she expresses on a regular basis. I tried to conceal my new found fear and expressed to the nurse how much pain my mom was having. She put a call out to the NP who said she would be well medicated in the cath lab and to wait. So we did. Not long after that my mom went over to the cath lab, signed her consents and headed on in. My restaurant buzzer and I went to sleep in the waiting room where Judge Judy was screaming too loud at obnoxious people on TV. I wasn't able to sleep and kept debating about calling into work as I had been up for way to long at this point. Eventually I got to the place where I could sacrifice some PTO and decided I would just stay awake right now for my mom and stay home tonight to get some sleep.
When I called into work and explained what happened, I realized how little I was trying to make the situation. I didn't want to admit my fear that we were back here, in this place, with the unknowns again. I wanted to write off the cath lab as a routine procedure, because surely we would go home tomorrow and this wasn't a big deal.
Around 5:15 my buzzer went off. I walked back to the cath lab ready to see my mom, where I instead saw two chairs behind a curtain. My heart sank. The panic and the fear washed over me as the doctor who we jokingly referred to as Dr. "Carefree" came out of the next room. He was frazzled asking for me to sign consents for them to immediately take my mother back for open heart surgery. They were unable to aspirate the fluid off of the heart because she developed a rare phenomenon called "Dresslers Syndrome." And while he and another Dr. tried to aspirate the fluid, she went into cardiac tamponade and dropped her pressures. He said we were lucky that she declared herself here, because she would not be alive if this had happened outside of the hospital.
So I signed my name to the forms and walked next to her as we all quickly got back to the OR. I gave her a kiss at the elevator and told her that I loved her. And she told me she loved me back. I quickly turned around and lost it as I made my way to the waiting room where we had spent too much time in the previous week. I texted my family to make arrangements to come to the hospital now, and I prayed. A lot. I am lucky Jon didn't get a speeding ticket or crash the car. Because apparently, when you text "come now." He takes it very seriously. And honestly, it was that serious, I just didn't want to admit it.
I eventually put the post up on facebook that my mom was in need of prayers, and throughout these last few days I have let the walls fall that I want to put up to keep everyone around me away. I know everyone wants to help, and I know I don't want to walk this journey alone...but I don't know how to let people walk next to me too well either. I don't know how to tell you what I need, because what I want are things you cannot give me, and at this point I am no longer sure what a need is.
Waiting rooms suck. Waiting sucks. Limbo sucks. When the cardiologist walked in after the surgery, we were told she was alive and how serious it was. He did not paint a good picture. The cardiac surgeon came in after him and told us that the goal was to make it through the next 24 hours. Each hour she made it increased her chances of survival. I never thought hours could move so slowly.
As we waited for them to get my mom situated in the CVICU, we all collapsed. Emotionally and physically. I am grateful for the strength God gave me to say a prayer and to hold my sisters as they sobbed in my arms. I am grateful for the people that held me up as I fell apart. I am sure the pain and the fear and the anger will continue to wash over me, and for the first few days I focused as much as I could on the facts and what needed to be done. I wanted to forget that was my mother in that bed. I wanted to just stare at the screen and dissociate from everything and everyone around me. I wanted to either run away or run into that bed and lay next to her. Neither of which were really options.
I will be forever grateful that we made it through that night.
As my mom coded 3 times and was shocked over 20 times throughout the night, I stood in the corner and prayed. I know the research that says some people do better if they see a code to know that everything was done for their family member, where as others it can be traumatic. I'm a watcher. I wanted to make sure things were done, and they were done right. I also wanted to have me feet firmly planted there in case someone needed to jump in to yell stop. My mom and I have similar beliefs about life, and one of them is quality over quantity. So I prayed that if this was supposed to be the end, that God would take her. That the pain would stop, that the chest compressions could cease over her broken sternum. I know she would have no recollection of the event and took great comfort in that. I also took comfort in the fact that so many of my friends down in my unit heard those calls over the loud speaker and could pray on the spot. I wasn't alone. My mom, wasn't alone.
Honestly, I thought my mom was going to die that night. And honestly, it would have been easier if she had. Please don't take that the wrong way. It wouldn't be better, but it would be easier, because the grief process could start and I could start to make some peace. I could take comfort that there would be no more pain or suffering and that the hands of God wrapped around her heart and took her home. I'm sure she will tell you the same thing when she comes around. She knows her ultimate destination, and the road that now lies ahead of her is anything but easy, but I am grateful that God is still in this road with us. I'm grateful that his hands are still around her very weak heart, and I'm grateful for the moments I have had since that time where I could again see my mom inside that broken body.
For some reason, this was not yet her time. God did not intervene, and I did not yell for them to stop. I prayed for God's wisdom and his will, and I sobbed my face off after we had made it for 3 hours without a code and I finally fell asleep for a bit.
On Thursday we all continued to run on no sleep and took turns sitting at my moms bedside. It was this day that they turned the sedation down for the first time and I got to see that even after all those codes, my mom was still inside. Thursday was a long day, and it was starting to dawn on me that this hospital experience will be nothing like the last. We will not be able to leave in a week, if we are able to leave at all. They started to lose the pulses in her right foot and decided to take her back to the cath lab to see if there were any clots as well as to move the balloon pump to the other side. I'm scared that it is my name on all of those consent forms. I'm scared, because when I signed them, I have never been presented with any other option. It is in that moment that the doctors make a game time decision, and I am expected to get on board. There is no guarantee of a good outcome or the road ahead. With every consent I sign, I get more scared that my mom will be alive, but will not be able to live. This is my greatest fear.
After making it through the cath lab I got a phone call Friday night again asking for a consent. This time to start dialysis and place the line for that. I was more than on board with that plan as the swelling everywhere kept my mom from opening her eyes and looked absolutely awful and uncomfortable. By Friday morning, the nurse again called me and said things had kind of taken a turn for the worse. Earlier in the day she was only able to keep her oxygen saturation levels up to the upper 80's. Now they were only up to the low 80's and they could not find a definitive cause. While she might have had a blood clot by her lungs, they could not give her any blood thinners because she had a bleed after the cath lab procedure.
Again a step back, and again my heart sank. So I called extended family and got the word out that people may want to come see her. We spent a lot of time waiting and crying. I felt bad knowing my mom would hate to have people see her like this, but also knowing that people deserve to say "I love you," and "good bye." And since we were still being told that we were critical and no where out of the woods, this turn in the opposite direction seemed like a good time to start that process. That day I settled into my sadness and fear. It sucked. But as I have said before, sometimes you just need to "sit in the shit." There is no way out of through it, until you fully acknowledge it and embrace it. This is just where we are at.
When they turned the sedation down that morning I had a few minutes where there was only my cousin in the room. My mom nodded some appropriate responses to questions people had previously asked, and although I know she won't remember it, I had to tell her that I had her back. She kept pointing to the tube and asking for it to come out. I explained how right now everything was temporary, and that the tube would come out. And I promised that if it wouldn't, I would tell them to turn it off and let her go. I tried to hold back the tears as I promised my mom we would let her go if we were no longer heading in the right direction. I knew my mom was in there as she squeezed my hand and the tears streamed down her face. I'm sure every time she woke up she was afraid that she would be trapped like this forever. Stuck without words and without communication. At the time unable to open her eyes and barely able to lift a hand, and I wanted to make sure she knew she wasn't stuck. I wanted her to know that if there was no hope, we would let her go to her ultimate home.
That was the hardest conversation I have had my entire life, but it was also one of the most meaningful. I got your back mom. Forever.
The pastor that married us, and who is also my friend's dad offered to come pray with my mom and with us. So that afternoon I asked the nurse if we could turn down the sedation when he was there so that she could hear the prayer. We got permission to have more than two people at the bedside, and I held my family close and my mom's hand tight, as we prayed a big prayer. I am grateful that he prayed not only for survival but for her soul. For God's healing, and peace, and comfort. Because in these moments, that feels even more important to me than her temporary body.
Jon and I escaped the hospital for a little while and when we returned we found out that they had turned my mom to change the bed after out prayer, and when they did, she was able to put a lot of fluid out of her chest tube and her numbers drastically shifted. He blood pressure increased on its own some, and her pulse ox moved the upper 90's. God is good. Oxygen to other vital organs is good. And it felt good that all the nurses talked about how this all happened right after our prayer. I am grateful that God made his presence and his plan known. I needed that. I needed some hope. I needed something to celebrate.
Since Friday night my mom had continued to improve. She remained more aware and awake even through the sedation. She was able to give up some of the blood pressure meds, and we were able to hold on to a slightly thicker thread. It started to feel like we were living in half day increments instead of hour increments. Jon and I headed up to the hospital last night to be able for me to have some time alone with my mom. I'm not so good at waiting in a waiting room, but I can sit by that bed all night long. Not long after we got there we got the results that showed she was getting no blood flow to her right foot and a large portion of her leg. So I again signed my name to the form and she went back to the cath lab to see if they could save her leg. I know that big picture, her life is the ultimate goal, but I want my whole mom back. I want my active mother back. I want my mom to be able to walk into my house, and while we will cope with and embrace a new normal if we have to, I do not want to.
So this is where we sit. Her kidneys have started to turn back on, and I have never been so excited for pee in my life. Her oxygen levels are good and we are hoping we can remove the breathing tube in the next 24 hours. We are still working on our goal to make it through the weekend. Her leg is slightly better, but she needs to start having pain for us to know if it is coming back. They are still having trouble keeping pulses in her feet, and we should know more in the next 24 hours on if her leg will make it.
I am so thankful for all God has done to this point. But I need so much more. I need more hope, I need more faith, and I need more of his strength. I need wisdom for how to continue to invest in my marriage over the coming months that will be difficult and trying. I need to know how to take care of my pregnant self and my unborn baby. I need to know when to just sit with my mom and let her cry and when to push her. I need to know God is here, and that he is still good. I need this roller coaster ride to be over, or at least to be able to take a break before I vomit on everyone. So will you please pray for that and will you please pray for my mom's leg and foot. God is big enough and his will is good.
Thanks for listening to my story. Thank you to my coworkers who have given me a place to shower, sleep, and cry. Thank you for the offers of food and help, even if I have not yet been able to take you up on it or return your message. Thank you for just showing up, even when I didn't ask. Thank you for calling to check in on me, even if I ignored your call. Thank you.
This has been the worst week of my life. Yet, through the tears, the panic, the hugs, the prayers, and the ugly cries, God has been close. There are some really hard things that I want to remember, because it reached to the deepest level of my humanity. It touched the parts of my soul that only heaven can reach.
My mom went home from the hospital last weekend after her massive heart attack. While it was a daunting thing to say, we made it by with angioplasty, a stent, and a balloon pump for a few days... So it didn't feel that massive. Life altering and changing, yes, but doable. We were set up for a follow up appointment and planned on starting some cardiac rehab. It was a hard start to the week, as this was a really new normal for my independent and stubborn mother. Tuesday was by far her best day, both physically and emotionally and honestly I had started to feel kinda hopeful about the direction she was going. I felt like my family was stepping up, I was learning how to take care of myself, while loving my mother, and she was starting to step in as her own advocate.
When I got to her house Wednesday morning to sleep for a little bit before joining her at the cardiologist appointment, she looked like crap. Granted, she hadn't slept in days and she was still attributing her back pain to the crappy hospital beds. So we headed to the appointment at 11:00, where she started to look a little worse and worse. With all the medications she had been on, her pulse should have been under 70, and instead it was 110-120. A new EKG in the office and a new Echo showed a pericardial effusion. Honestly, I am really frustrated about this. Why was taking your pulse not part of discharge teaching? There were so many other things she was doing on a daily basis, why wasn't this included?
Now I need you to know from the beginning that we are not a "blame" kind of family. Regardless of any outcome, I can never see my family or my mother suing the hospital system. Doctors and nurses are human, and sometimes things just happen. However, I think it is O.K. for me and everyone at times, to get angry and sad at the holes where the system falls short.
Even at this time I don't think anyone realized the severity of the state my mom was in. We were allowed to drive her to the hospital and she was a direct admit to a telemetry floor. The plan was to do a repeat angiogram and remove the fluid around her heart with a needle through the chest. Not the most fun day, but not the end of the world either. She was bummed she would have to spend the night in the hospital. I was too.
It was heart wrenching to watch my mom receive this news. I am more scared for her spirit to be broken than her heart at this point.
At the hospital there was no urgency. We waited in admitting for a while, then waited for them to start an IV up on the floor before she could go to the cath lab. While her back pain was getting increasingly worse, since there was a plan in place, no one seemed to think much more of it. I told the love of my mom's life to meet up with his daughter for lunch, because really we just had a bunch of tasks to do and it would be better if people were there after the procedure was done, and I had time now to stay. Because while this stunk to be back, it really wasn't that big of a deal.
So my mom and I hung out in her room. I got mad as the nurse told me they don't draw the labs off the IV starts and proceeded to stick her multiple times. Sometimes it is a blessing to be a nurse, sometimes it is a curse, when you know enough to know things can be better, but also wanting to respect that this is not my specialty and I don't want to upset the people that are caring for my mom.
As we are waiting for our turn in the cath lab, my mom looked at me and asked me if I would pray for her because she was really scared. Red flag. Cardiac patients and fear are usually never a good combo.
How I made it through that prayer is beyond me, because even typing right now I want to ball my eyes out. I will forever cherish that little moment between her and I, where she let her guard down as my mom and let me into a deeper part of her soul. My mom and I have always been close, but fear is not something she expresses on a regular basis. I tried to conceal my new found fear and expressed to the nurse how much pain my mom was having. She put a call out to the NP who said she would be well medicated in the cath lab and to wait. So we did. Not long after that my mom went over to the cath lab, signed her consents and headed on in. My restaurant buzzer and I went to sleep in the waiting room where Judge Judy was screaming too loud at obnoxious people on TV. I wasn't able to sleep and kept debating about calling into work as I had been up for way to long at this point. Eventually I got to the place where I could sacrifice some PTO and decided I would just stay awake right now for my mom and stay home tonight to get some sleep.
When I called into work and explained what happened, I realized how little I was trying to make the situation. I didn't want to admit my fear that we were back here, in this place, with the unknowns again. I wanted to write off the cath lab as a routine procedure, because surely we would go home tomorrow and this wasn't a big deal.
Around 5:15 my buzzer went off. I walked back to the cath lab ready to see my mom, where I instead saw two chairs behind a curtain. My heart sank. The panic and the fear washed over me as the doctor who we jokingly referred to as Dr. "Carefree" came out of the next room. He was frazzled asking for me to sign consents for them to immediately take my mother back for open heart surgery. They were unable to aspirate the fluid off of the heart because she developed a rare phenomenon called "Dresslers Syndrome." And while he and another Dr. tried to aspirate the fluid, she went into cardiac tamponade and dropped her pressures. He said we were lucky that she declared herself here, because she would not be alive if this had happened outside of the hospital.
So I signed my name to the forms and walked next to her as we all quickly got back to the OR. I gave her a kiss at the elevator and told her that I loved her. And she told me she loved me back. I quickly turned around and lost it as I made my way to the waiting room where we had spent too much time in the previous week. I texted my family to make arrangements to come to the hospital now, and I prayed. A lot. I am lucky Jon didn't get a speeding ticket or crash the car. Because apparently, when you text "come now." He takes it very seriously. And honestly, it was that serious, I just didn't want to admit it.
I eventually put the post up on facebook that my mom was in need of prayers, and throughout these last few days I have let the walls fall that I want to put up to keep everyone around me away. I know everyone wants to help, and I know I don't want to walk this journey alone...but I don't know how to let people walk next to me too well either. I don't know how to tell you what I need, because what I want are things you cannot give me, and at this point I am no longer sure what a need is.
Waiting rooms suck. Waiting sucks. Limbo sucks. When the cardiologist walked in after the surgery, we were told she was alive and how serious it was. He did not paint a good picture. The cardiac surgeon came in after him and told us that the goal was to make it through the next 24 hours. Each hour she made it increased her chances of survival. I never thought hours could move so slowly.
As we waited for them to get my mom situated in the CVICU, we all collapsed. Emotionally and physically. I am grateful for the strength God gave me to say a prayer and to hold my sisters as they sobbed in my arms. I am grateful for the people that held me up as I fell apart. I am sure the pain and the fear and the anger will continue to wash over me, and for the first few days I focused as much as I could on the facts and what needed to be done. I wanted to forget that was my mother in that bed. I wanted to just stare at the screen and dissociate from everything and everyone around me. I wanted to either run away or run into that bed and lay next to her. Neither of which were really options.
I will be forever grateful that we made it through that night.
As my mom coded 3 times and was shocked over 20 times throughout the night, I stood in the corner and prayed. I know the research that says some people do better if they see a code to know that everything was done for their family member, where as others it can be traumatic. I'm a watcher. I wanted to make sure things were done, and they were done right. I also wanted to have me feet firmly planted there in case someone needed to jump in to yell stop. My mom and I have similar beliefs about life, and one of them is quality over quantity. So I prayed that if this was supposed to be the end, that God would take her. That the pain would stop, that the chest compressions could cease over her broken sternum. I know she would have no recollection of the event and took great comfort in that. I also took comfort in the fact that so many of my friends down in my unit heard those calls over the loud speaker and could pray on the spot. I wasn't alone. My mom, wasn't alone.
Honestly, I thought my mom was going to die that night. And honestly, it would have been easier if she had. Please don't take that the wrong way. It wouldn't be better, but it would be easier, because the grief process could start and I could start to make some peace. I could take comfort that there would be no more pain or suffering and that the hands of God wrapped around her heart and took her home. I'm sure she will tell you the same thing when she comes around. She knows her ultimate destination, and the road that now lies ahead of her is anything but easy, but I am grateful that God is still in this road with us. I'm grateful that his hands are still around her very weak heart, and I'm grateful for the moments I have had since that time where I could again see my mom inside that broken body.
For some reason, this was not yet her time. God did not intervene, and I did not yell for them to stop. I prayed for God's wisdom and his will, and I sobbed my face off after we had made it for 3 hours without a code and I finally fell asleep for a bit.
On Thursday we all continued to run on no sleep and took turns sitting at my moms bedside. It was this day that they turned the sedation down for the first time and I got to see that even after all those codes, my mom was still inside. Thursday was a long day, and it was starting to dawn on me that this hospital experience will be nothing like the last. We will not be able to leave in a week, if we are able to leave at all. They started to lose the pulses in her right foot and decided to take her back to the cath lab to see if there were any clots as well as to move the balloon pump to the other side. I'm scared that it is my name on all of those consent forms. I'm scared, because when I signed them, I have never been presented with any other option. It is in that moment that the doctors make a game time decision, and I am expected to get on board. There is no guarantee of a good outcome or the road ahead. With every consent I sign, I get more scared that my mom will be alive, but will not be able to live. This is my greatest fear.
After making it through the cath lab I got a phone call Friday night again asking for a consent. This time to start dialysis and place the line for that. I was more than on board with that plan as the swelling everywhere kept my mom from opening her eyes and looked absolutely awful and uncomfortable. By Friday morning, the nurse again called me and said things had kind of taken a turn for the worse. Earlier in the day she was only able to keep her oxygen saturation levels up to the upper 80's. Now they were only up to the low 80's and they could not find a definitive cause. While she might have had a blood clot by her lungs, they could not give her any blood thinners because she had a bleed after the cath lab procedure.
Again a step back, and again my heart sank. So I called extended family and got the word out that people may want to come see her. We spent a lot of time waiting and crying. I felt bad knowing my mom would hate to have people see her like this, but also knowing that people deserve to say "I love you," and "good bye." And since we were still being told that we were critical and no where out of the woods, this turn in the opposite direction seemed like a good time to start that process. That day I settled into my sadness and fear. It sucked. But as I have said before, sometimes you just need to "sit in the shit." There is no way out of through it, until you fully acknowledge it and embrace it. This is just where we are at.
When they turned the sedation down that morning I had a few minutes where there was only my cousin in the room. My mom nodded some appropriate responses to questions people had previously asked, and although I know she won't remember it, I had to tell her that I had her back. She kept pointing to the tube and asking for it to come out. I explained how right now everything was temporary, and that the tube would come out. And I promised that if it wouldn't, I would tell them to turn it off and let her go. I tried to hold back the tears as I promised my mom we would let her go if we were no longer heading in the right direction. I knew my mom was in there as she squeezed my hand and the tears streamed down her face. I'm sure every time she woke up she was afraid that she would be trapped like this forever. Stuck without words and without communication. At the time unable to open her eyes and barely able to lift a hand, and I wanted to make sure she knew she wasn't stuck. I wanted her to know that if there was no hope, we would let her go to her ultimate home.
That was the hardest conversation I have had my entire life, but it was also one of the most meaningful. I got your back mom. Forever.
The pastor that married us, and who is also my friend's dad offered to come pray with my mom and with us. So that afternoon I asked the nurse if we could turn down the sedation when he was there so that she could hear the prayer. We got permission to have more than two people at the bedside, and I held my family close and my mom's hand tight, as we prayed a big prayer. I am grateful that he prayed not only for survival but for her soul. For God's healing, and peace, and comfort. Because in these moments, that feels even more important to me than her temporary body.
Jon and I escaped the hospital for a little while and when we returned we found out that they had turned my mom to change the bed after out prayer, and when they did, she was able to put a lot of fluid out of her chest tube and her numbers drastically shifted. He blood pressure increased on its own some, and her pulse ox moved the upper 90's. God is good. Oxygen to other vital organs is good. And it felt good that all the nurses talked about how this all happened right after our prayer. I am grateful that God made his presence and his plan known. I needed that. I needed some hope. I needed something to celebrate.
Since Friday night my mom had continued to improve. She remained more aware and awake even through the sedation. She was able to give up some of the blood pressure meds, and we were able to hold on to a slightly thicker thread. It started to feel like we were living in half day increments instead of hour increments. Jon and I headed up to the hospital last night to be able for me to have some time alone with my mom. I'm not so good at waiting in a waiting room, but I can sit by that bed all night long. Not long after we got there we got the results that showed she was getting no blood flow to her right foot and a large portion of her leg. So I again signed my name to the form and she went back to the cath lab to see if they could save her leg. I know that big picture, her life is the ultimate goal, but I want my whole mom back. I want my active mother back. I want my mom to be able to walk into my house, and while we will cope with and embrace a new normal if we have to, I do not want to.
So this is where we sit. Her kidneys have started to turn back on, and I have never been so excited for pee in my life. Her oxygen levels are good and we are hoping we can remove the breathing tube in the next 24 hours. We are still working on our goal to make it through the weekend. Her leg is slightly better, but she needs to start having pain for us to know if it is coming back. They are still having trouble keeping pulses in her feet, and we should know more in the next 24 hours on if her leg will make it.
I am so thankful for all God has done to this point. But I need so much more. I need more hope, I need more faith, and I need more of his strength. I need wisdom for how to continue to invest in my marriage over the coming months that will be difficult and trying. I need to know how to take care of my pregnant self and my unborn baby. I need to know when to just sit with my mom and let her cry and when to push her. I need to know God is here, and that he is still good. I need this roller coaster ride to be over, or at least to be able to take a break before I vomit on everyone. So will you please pray for that and will you please pray for my mom's leg and foot. God is big enough and his will is good.
Thanks for listening to my story. Thank you to my coworkers who have given me a place to shower, sleep, and cry. Thank you for the offers of food and help, even if I have not yet been able to take you up on it or return your message. Thank you for just showing up, even when I didn't ask. Thank you for calling to check in on me, even if I ignored your call. Thank you.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
When plans change.
I was so excited to write my funny post about how to live like a hillbilly, and to link up with all these house posts. Then for some reason I left my phone on Sunday morning and my sister woke me up when she let me know my mom was in the E.R. And had a heart attack.
So the plans changed.
To say this was unexpected is an understatement. My mom Is 53 and had minimal risk factors. She thought she had the flu. But life is unexpected.
Really it is the best case for a crappy scenario. One angioplasty later, a couple nights in the icu, and my mom is still alive. Modern medicine truly is amazing.
The hard part for me is to adjust to a new normal. Now that there is no imminent danger, I'm crashing. I'm coming off my "let's focus on what needs to be done" high and it's starting to set in that my mom had a heart attack. I'm realizing that the road to recovery isn't easy or instant, and that this is a process. A one day, one hour, or one task at a time process. And I don't like it because I am a sucker for instant gratification.
But I'm grateful that God is in the tasks and the moments, that when I learn to slow down, I learn to listen better. I learn to feel a little deeper and cherish a bit more. (Except for those times when I want to bite someone's head off.)
My mom was admitted to the hospital I work at, so last night the girls at work blessed me we some time to go sit with her. She didn't know I walked in and she didn't know I was the one that grabbed her hand. She didn't know I tried to take a picture of it. But that has been my favorite moment since Sunday. Just the two of us when she didn't even know I was there.
She woke up while I was still sitting there and said she thought I was someone holding her hand down because she kept taking off her blood pressure cuff during the night, and she figured the nurses were fed up with it :). So we shared some late night Italian ice and she went back to sleep and I went back to work. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough time just the two of us where I could let some tears fall without her knowing and tell God how grateful I am that she is still here, that I'm grateful for the reminder to cheerish my time, and that I'm grateful for the reminder to slow down. The plans have changed and I'm learning to be ok with it.
So the plans changed.
To say this was unexpected is an understatement. My mom Is 53 and had minimal risk factors. She thought she had the flu. But life is unexpected.
Really it is the best case for a crappy scenario. One angioplasty later, a couple nights in the icu, and my mom is still alive. Modern medicine truly is amazing.
The hard part for me is to adjust to a new normal. Now that there is no imminent danger, I'm crashing. I'm coming off my "let's focus on what needs to be done" high and it's starting to set in that my mom had a heart attack. I'm realizing that the road to recovery isn't easy or instant, and that this is a process. A one day, one hour, or one task at a time process. And I don't like it because I am a sucker for instant gratification.
But I'm grateful that God is in the tasks and the moments, that when I learn to slow down, I learn to listen better. I learn to feel a little deeper and cherish a bit more. (Except for those times when I want to bite someone's head off.)
My mom was admitted to the hospital I work at, so last night the girls at work blessed me we some time to go sit with her. She didn't know I walked in and she didn't know I was the one that grabbed her hand. She didn't know I tried to take a picture of it. But that has been my favorite moment since Sunday. Just the two of us when she didn't even know I was there.
She woke up while I was still sitting there and said she thought I was someone holding her hand down because she kept taking off her blood pressure cuff during the night, and she figured the nurses were fed up with it :). So we shared some late night Italian ice and she went back to sleep and I went back to work. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough time just the two of us where I could let some tears fall without her knowing and tell God how grateful I am that she is still here, that I'm grateful for the reminder to cheerish my time, and that I'm grateful for the reminder to slow down. The plans have changed and I'm learning to be ok with it.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
The Ugliest Kitchen Ever
I need to be better about posting before photos. So here is the ugliest kitchen ever.
Here is refrigerator number two and the table the sellers left here with my enormous amounts of "get this done now" crap piles. Luckily, after a whole month, ComEd will be picking up said refrigerator in a week.
In these picture it actually appears like a kitchen. This shall be the current angle for all of my kitchen shots from here on out. Like the harvest gold floor? It is the third level of linoleum we have been bless with. That space next to the kitchen is from the original beast stove. We have now replaced the stove....twice.
We rock some nice original 1950's cabinets. You see those drawers on the left I am taking a sawsall to them and putting a dishwasher there. Watch out sucker.
Where the fridge and the counter meet will one day be no more. This fridge will be shoved against the wall so that I can have a dishwasher...only my counter top won't be long enough to cover it. Creative solutions anyone?
Like the track on the ceiling? It is from the original light. To say the wall paper needs to come down and everything needs to be painted is a bit of an understatement.
In case you are scared of the dark, hooter will lead the way. Only not really because he only gives off 2 watts of light.
We have high hopes for it one day. Until then, we plan on cutting out some drawers next to the sink and having putting in a dishwasher that we salvaged from my dad's shed. It will look interesting to say the least, but I will take an interesting dishwasher over none any day!
In the meantime I noticed something funny. Ever call you husband this sweet endearing term, when really you are just calling him an idiot?
Prime example:
"Babe, don't you need to get over a lane of we will miss out exit?"
"I know where I am, babe."
What really conspired in this sweet conversation:
"Hey whack job! You are driving really fast in my dad's old rickety van and I'm scared if you don't get over now, I shall surely die."
"I live here too dippy doo and if I wanted to get over already I would have. I am confident in my driving skills and if I wanted a back seat driver I would ask, thanks."
I'm sure every married couple speaks their own language of love. There is a little snippet into ours.
Here is refrigerator number two and the table the sellers left here with my enormous amounts of "get this done now" crap piles. Luckily, after a whole month, ComEd will be picking up said refrigerator in a week.
In these picture it actually appears like a kitchen. This shall be the current angle for all of my kitchen shots from here on out. Like the harvest gold floor? It is the third level of linoleum we have been bless with. That space next to the kitchen is from the original beast stove. We have now replaced the stove....twice.
We rock some nice original 1950's cabinets. You see those drawers on the left I am taking a sawsall to them and putting a dishwasher there. Watch out sucker.
Where the fridge and the counter meet will one day be no more. This fridge will be shoved against the wall so that I can have a dishwasher...only my counter top won't be long enough to cover it. Creative solutions anyone?
Like the track on the ceiling? It is from the original light. To say the wall paper needs to come down and everything needs to be painted is a bit of an understatement.
In case you are scared of the dark, hooter will lead the way. Only not really because he only gives off 2 watts of light.
We have high hopes for it one day. Until then, we plan on cutting out some drawers next to the sink and having putting in a dishwasher that we salvaged from my dad's shed. It will look interesting to say the least, but I will take an interesting dishwasher over none any day!
In the meantime I noticed something funny. Ever call you husband this sweet endearing term, when really you are just calling him an idiot?
Prime example:
"Babe, don't you need to get over a lane of we will miss out exit?"
"I know where I am, babe."
What really conspired in this sweet conversation:
"Hey whack job! You are driving really fast in my dad's old rickety van and I'm scared if you don't get over now, I shall surely die."
"I live here too dippy doo and if I wanted to get over already I would have. I am confident in my driving skills and if I wanted a back seat driver I would ask, thanks."
I'm sure every married couple speaks their own language of love. There is a little snippet into ours.
Friday, May 25, 2012
3 Bedroom house? You need 3 refrigerators.
Right now we have two refrigerators in the kitchen. The appliance saga continues, and gets more comical as we go. After living with the toaster over for the past couple weeks, we finally had the new oven hooked up. If you know my husband and I very well, you know how much we love frozen pizza. So in the 95 degree heat without our AC window units in, we decided to light the stove that just got hooked up. I walk back into the kitchen 30 minutes later to feel like I had been transported to Hades. Apparently the stove is unable to turn off. Preheating was a joke in it's book, and it continued to heat to what I am guessing was more than 800 degrees. So we will be replacing the stove. Again. In the mean time we haven't taken out the old working refrigerator when we put in the one to match the stove that we are now getting rid of. There is also one in the basement in the second "kitchen," with the other stove I am afraid will burn the house down if I use it.
So I have a new set of priorities in my life. One must have as many stoves, and refrigerators as they do bedrooms. If not, you are a slacker.
We have company coming over today. I asked Jon if there is any way we can remove said second refrigerator from the kitchen out to the garage. He thinks we can do it together. Que Will Smith... "Just the two of us...we can make it if we try."
Or not.
His response was "Strong like bull."
My response, "Fat like pig." Ain't happening honey. While your stubborn wife balks at being told she is incapable of doing something while pregnant, I am admitting defeat here. I'll move a shelf or two.
Also, I have had paint in my hair for over a week. Patients point it out, and I have showered multiple times in the past week. Still there. It's the white paint from the trim. Maybe when I dye my hair this week, it will just dye the paint and I can get over it.
I may have done the worm this weekend. You know that dance move where you slap your belly on the floor multiple times and use muscles in your arms you forgot you had as you swan dive towards your face? Yea, that one. Before the weekend, didn't really look pregnant. Well, I popped. Probably because of the worm. My bad. Just want to make sure baby knows how to dance and I promise I didn't look this pregnant when I commenced my dance off.
So I have a new set of priorities in my life. One must have as many stoves, and refrigerators as they do bedrooms. If not, you are a slacker.
We have company coming over today. I asked Jon if there is any way we can remove said second refrigerator from the kitchen out to the garage. He thinks we can do it together. Que Will Smith... "Just the two of us...we can make it if we try."
Or not.
His response was "Strong like bull."
My response, "Fat like pig." Ain't happening honey. While your stubborn wife balks at being told she is incapable of doing something while pregnant, I am admitting defeat here. I'll move a shelf or two.
Also, I have had paint in my hair for over a week. Patients point it out, and I have showered multiple times in the past week. Still there. It's the white paint from the trim. Maybe when I dye my hair this week, it will just dye the paint and I can get over it.
I may have done the worm this weekend. You know that dance move where you slap your belly on the floor multiple times and use muscles in your arms you forgot you had as you swan dive towards your face? Yea, that one. Before the weekend, didn't really look pregnant. Well, I popped. Probably because of the worm. My bad. Just want to make sure baby knows how to dance and I promise I didn't look this pregnant when I commenced my dance off.
Happy weekend!
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Common Thread
These past couple weeks have been a rough season for us, and I don't think we are walking out of the valley yet. I am pretty upfront and honest about that with friends and family. Most of the time I can move past the venting and bitching and get to the deep down crap that I really am petrified to admit. I just hate going there.
What if we can't provide for our children.
What if my marriage isn't as strong as I thought it was.
What if my friends will judge me when I pull up with my crappy two door car to take my baby home in from the hospital.
What if our friends won't visit us once we have a baby.
What if I am really all alone.
Deep dark place, I know. But if I admit it...those are my fears as I am arguing with my husband about buying a pair of jeans, or as I am sitting on my basement stairs sobbing watching the water pour in through the window well. Do I want to live in a pretty pottery barn house, kinda, but I know that I am a sucker for consumerism and really what I want is to know that I'm O.K, that we are O.K. That my marriage is going to be O.K. And that this baby isn't going to be screwed with us as parents. And deeper than all of that I want to know that God is still here and that this is still the plan. That my life has a purpose and a direction. If I was able to catch my breath, the basement was pretty funny. We bought this house knowing it had "seepage." Maybe I should have looked up the definition of the word. My bad. I didn't think it meant streams, but whatever.
As crappy as I feel while I oscillate between tears and awkward laugh, I also feel this place of peace. Just in the last couple hours, up until then. No peace. None, nada, zip. Just despair and bitching. So please forgive me friends if you were on any of the receiving ends of that. Forgive me if I wasn't able to admit my deeper truths to you and ask you to just hug me as I cry my eyes out. It's just so hard to admit sometimes.
Today I found peace that I am not alone. As I hear my friend all shook up on the other end of the phone because she was just in a car accident. Or as I talk to other friends about how hard marriage can be, and sometimes no matter how hard you try, you still feel wrecked at the end of the day. Or as I sat here and cried reading sweet Connor's blog and his experience with the bone marrow transplant. There seems to be this common thread that sometimes you forget in the comfort and day to day busyness. A thread so thin it's hard to notice unless you pay attention. And I will admit right now, it is hard to get my attention. I am head strong and stead fast, and my ability to slow down, sucks.
But it's there. Like spider web silk. All shiny and glittery (because everyone knows by now how much I like shine and glitter). We are all connected together by this thin thread. By our deep heart ache and our deep joy. By our fear as parents, and our hope for our children and this world. By our love for our friends and family, and what lights our hearts on fire when we hear of injustices of this world. By the fist that grabs our hearts and brings tears to our eyes when we hear about people taking on and conquering those injustices. By our regrets and our ambitions. By our humanity. There really is a God orchestrating what seems to be this hot mess, and when I am finally broken enough to see it, it's really beautiful. Hard, sad, scary, deep, full, rich, and beautiful.
So today I might end up crying some more, but I will cling to this thread. I will again gain some perspective as I hold a sweet baby that knows nothing but love, and as I pray over the one in my belly. I will revel in the time I get with friends from far away, and I will let go. I will feel the fear and then I will let it go. I'm sure it will come back, but it doesn't have to own me. Because I am not alone. God is still here, He is still good, and ultimately, I am OK. Thanks for holding onto the other end of the thread.
Jon and I saw this on a street corner in the city one night. I like it.
I attached Connor's blog on my side bar. Please feel free to go show him some love and send Steph and Steve some encouragement.
What if we can't provide for our children.
What if my marriage isn't as strong as I thought it was.
What if my friends will judge me when I pull up with my crappy two door car to take my baby home in from the hospital.
What if our friends won't visit us once we have a baby.
What if I am really all alone.
Deep dark place, I know. But if I admit it...those are my fears as I am arguing with my husband about buying a pair of jeans, or as I am sitting on my basement stairs sobbing watching the water pour in through the window well. Do I want to live in a pretty pottery barn house, kinda, but I know that I am a sucker for consumerism and really what I want is to know that I'm O.K, that we are O.K. That my marriage is going to be O.K. And that this baby isn't going to be screwed with us as parents. And deeper than all of that I want to know that God is still here and that this is still the plan. That my life has a purpose and a direction. If I was able to catch my breath, the basement was pretty funny. We bought this house knowing it had "seepage." Maybe I should have looked up the definition of the word. My bad. I didn't think it meant streams, but whatever.
As crappy as I feel while I oscillate between tears and awkward laugh, I also feel this place of peace. Just in the last couple hours, up until then. No peace. None, nada, zip. Just despair and bitching. So please forgive me friends if you were on any of the receiving ends of that. Forgive me if I wasn't able to admit my deeper truths to you and ask you to just hug me as I cry my eyes out. It's just so hard to admit sometimes.
Today I found peace that I am not alone. As I hear my friend all shook up on the other end of the phone because she was just in a car accident. Or as I talk to other friends about how hard marriage can be, and sometimes no matter how hard you try, you still feel wrecked at the end of the day. Or as I sat here and cried reading sweet Connor's blog and his experience with the bone marrow transplant. There seems to be this common thread that sometimes you forget in the comfort and day to day busyness. A thread so thin it's hard to notice unless you pay attention. And I will admit right now, it is hard to get my attention. I am head strong and stead fast, and my ability to slow down, sucks.
But it's there. Like spider web silk. All shiny and glittery (because everyone knows by now how much I like shine and glitter). We are all connected together by this thin thread. By our deep heart ache and our deep joy. By our fear as parents, and our hope for our children and this world. By our love for our friends and family, and what lights our hearts on fire when we hear of injustices of this world. By the fist that grabs our hearts and brings tears to our eyes when we hear about people taking on and conquering those injustices. By our regrets and our ambitions. By our humanity. There really is a God orchestrating what seems to be this hot mess, and when I am finally broken enough to see it, it's really beautiful. Hard, sad, scary, deep, full, rich, and beautiful.
So today I might end up crying some more, but I will cling to this thread. I will again gain some perspective as I hold a sweet baby that knows nothing but love, and as I pray over the one in my belly. I will revel in the time I get with friends from far away, and I will let go. I will feel the fear and then I will let it go. I'm sure it will come back, but it doesn't have to own me. Because I am not alone. God is still here, He is still good, and ultimately, I am OK. Thanks for holding onto the other end of the thread.
Jon and I saw this on a street corner in the city one night. I like it.
I attached Connor's blog on my side bar. Please feel free to go show him some love and send Steph and Steve some encouragement.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Been Awhile
It's been a couple weeks since I have had anything nice today, so I haven't said anything at all. That whole welcome to home ownership is like going home to fat camp. More work than you ever thought you signed on for. In the first three weeks of home owning, we experienced gas leaks, basement flooding, new car problems, and some other fun stuff. I don't want to be known as a whiner so I decided it was best to not blog and rant and rave...until now...just kidding.
Better to just start sobbing when you tell your husband your growing ass no longer fits in your jeans and he asks you to wear more sweats and dresses. My threshold is low, what can I say. (I have since talked to my husband and borrowed some jeans from my sister, all is well, or well-ish at least).
Things get put into perspective when you slap an ultrasound wand on your belly and see that you really are still pregnant even though the nausea has passed you you only look like you are carrying a muffin top.
I will eventually post some pictures up of the house, as soon as I actually complete a project or two and there are not two refrigerators in the kitchen, or boxes all over the floor. Luckily we have company coming this weekend, I'm hoping it will get me to a new level of motivation to make this place more like a home.
Is it just me or does it stink to spend money on things like electrical panels and basement sealing? I want to spend money on pretty curtains and rugs, where I can see the evidence of my money on a daily basis and smile as I sink my toes into it. Flipping a blown fuse just doesn't have the same feel for me.
So for the next couple weeks I will chose to hold onto hope. I will try to keep the hormones in check and keep laughing with my coworkers and family. I will keep having hard conversations with my husband, and I will probably just sit on the stairs and cry again the next time I walk into the basement after a flash flood/hail storm. Apparently, when I am pregnant that is my only coping skill, I've lost the rest. At least I can laugh about it later.
I am so excited to have some good friends come stay with us this weekend and to connect with other friends throughout the week. I can't wait to get my baby cheek kissing on with sweet Ty. It's totally not cool to live so far away from such good friends. I might also be plotting a way to get them to move back. Just saying.
I haven't disappeared, and I'll hopefully be back with more soon. Happy Wednesday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)