Grief, Faith, and Hospitalization

This was originally written on December 5, 2011. I finally had the balls to post it today.

When I started "The Bedrest Diaries" I was a woman distraught with my situation and yet felt hopeful and that there is a purpose or lesson in my supine journey. I never imagined my journey would conclude with losing my Mom.

Grief found me 3 weeks after my mom's death and after the birth of Hope. It took my infant daughter's cries and smiles to stir the dark despair. I was on autopilot before that point. Just getting things done and final arrangements made. I didn't expect grief to be delayed or come in ebbs of tremendous lows and then normalcy. Grief is a being all its own. It comes when it wants and stays as long as it wants. It makes you feel like joining your loved one wouldn't be so bad and then you see the beauty of life a moment later.

Grief is a dichotomy.
Thankful for mothers yet resentful to see other grown children with their mothers.
An ability to see life's beauty and then it's utter dark despair.
Grief challenges my faith in God and then gives me no doubt that He exists.

As I trudged through my grief one grateful day and one desperate day at a time,I noticed my 8 week old miracle girl wasn't feeling so hot. It appeared she caught a little bug and started with some diarrhea. The next day was followed with worse diarrhea and vomiting. Upon my second concerned call to Hope's pediatrician, we were instructed to head to the ER. I was certain we would wait for hours just to be told how to keep her comfortable at home. Boy was I wrong. They decided to admit her after lots of vomiting and the discovery that she was getting dehydrated. Watching people poke needle after needle into your tiny, sweet baby is torture. I cried with her and felt her pain with her.We headed up to the pediatric unit with an IV in her scalp and her tiny hands bruised from poking.

As my sleep deprived and weary brain recalled the night's events, I looked out at the night's sky from her hospital room and wept. "Why would God do this to us? My Mom is Hope's gaurdian angel. Why was she letting Hope down?" I cussed God out. Life is unfair, but this was beyond that. I could of handled this if this was the only situation I had to face. Coupled with all the past year has brought- this event brought me to my knees.

I never thought once throughout my roller coaster life that I might just give up. This time I was done. Ready to give up. Ready for God to take me too. The lowest day I've ever had in my life.

The saying, "Time heals all wounds" is true. 8 days later we are still here at the hospital, but should go home today. Father time has calmed my frazzled brain. Today I have fight. Today I can't imagine giving up nor fathom the thought that I wanted to give up.

During trying times in my life, I have always been fortunate enough to receive little signs that keep me going. Maybe I read too much into the everyday things I find are my "sign" but whether fluke or a little nudge from above, I got my sign.

During Hope's birth, it was a purple heart that flickered as I experienced a heavy contraction. Just today, as the sun started to rise, two small birds perched themselves on Hope's window and stared at me for a moment. As they flew off I knew I had my sign. Her guardian angels, my mom and dad, letting me know to keep the faith. They are here with Hope. Birds have always been symbolic to me and are apart of Hope's nursery theme.

So maybe God isn't an asshole. Maybe there will be a lesson in this too.

Stuck Between New Life And New Death

I never imagined I would be a 31 year old orphan. After the loss of my father at the tender age of 6, I knew God would never let me go motherless until, I myself, was an old woman. Even recently, I had discussions with my mother-in-law about our similar lives. She too lost her father at 6. She lost her mother when her two boys were young. I remember saying, "I can't even wrap my brain around what it would be like to lose my Mom."

On September 4th around 8:30pm I got the news I never thought I would. My Mom was clinging to life after a kayaking accident on the American River. Even in that moment of pure fear, I thought to myself that now just wasn't her time. Not with a new life in my belly, just a few short weeks of making her entrance into this world.

 On our way to the hospital, I started to feel impending doom. A certainty that the trip I was making would end in her life slipping away. After waiting in the hospital waiting room for hours, I was starting to convince myself that maybe my gut was wrong. For her to be tucked away somewhere in that hospital and not hearing from the doctors for 3 hours must be a good sign. They must be saving her. Unfortunately, I was wrong. The doctors had little good to say and yet they tried feverishly to keep her shell of a body alive. To see her was to know her fate. She wasn't going to die on that hospital gurney. She had already gone in the river. I'm sure she clung to life just so we could have the finality of saying goodbye. I whispered to her to just let go when she's ready. That it was okay.

 My brother and I talked briefly, in a way that almost wasn't talking. It was just knowing. We knew we had a decision to make. How to let her go. We knew it was time and that we wanted all our family and friends that made it to the hospital to be there to see her go. At 12:55 am, she left our earth. My brother praying by her side and me kissing her arm. Trying to soak up every second of what her skin felt like. I then felt peace. Total and utter peace. I felt hardly any grief or sadness in my brain or body for a short while. I know that was my Mom. Keeping my mind and body calm for the sake of the new life growing inside me.

I still have variances like I did on the day she died. I go from a sense of denial, to anger and total sadness. To lose your mom when you are about to bring a new member of a new generation in seems so unfair. That's when I need her most. How can I possibly feel that overwhelming sense of joy of a new life when my everything has just lost her life? I straddle two weird worlds of complete heart filling happiness and complete emptiness that only a loss can bring. How greatly unfair to my Hope. For her to feel that torment within me and not just pure love and elation. My Mom was the strongest woman I ever knew. She passed on her strength and determination to me and I know already Hope has that same perseverance. She has overcome so many odds already.

Even with this new chapter beginning, I still feel this odd sense of faith in the situation. Faith in God's plan. I know her death will someday make sense. The timing will be for a reason I don't yet know. All I know is there is a reason, bigger than me. I hope I get to see that day. I hope I can explain to my children what a superbly unique woman my mother was and how much she so deeply loved them. I hope I never forget the feeling of her skin or how her hugs feel. I hope the sound of her voice will always be imprinted on my ears and the smell of her hair will linger in my nose. I hope I feel her spirit everyday. I hope when it's my turn to leave this planet, her face is the first I see. I hope.

My Mom and Jackson December 2008

Ghonorrhea, male bathroom habits, and other irrational potty training fears

We have hit a milestone in our house. Potty training time for Jack. I had this idea that this process would take a week at worst and that somehow my kid would be this stellar peeing and pooping genius. That it would be, dare I say, easy. I didn't take into account that I am on bed rest and my training time would be limited and that as a woman there are bathroom habits of males that I just didn't understand. Not to mention this is my first go round with potty training and I had delusions of grandeur.

I started by catching up on the potty training chapter of What To Expect: The Toddler Years and talking with his teacher at school to get tips. I bought a little potty and Jack sat on it and gave it a try. He seemed to like the idea. My kid is a potty using genius! I knew there had to be a next step. A graduation to a real sized toilet and transitioning to the standing stance. After all, what would I do in a public restroom? Whip out my portable mini potty? After a little more research I chose the nudist boot camp approach or as experienced parents may know, strip 'em and get it done on a weekend. Within the first hour he ruined a couple chairs and decided pooping in the backyard grass was the cool new thing to do. Yeah, this Davis bred hippy girl isn't that cool with au natural restroom habits.

I changed my game plan and decided I would take him to the potty in 20 minute intervals. The first time we attempted peeing in the toilet he rested his little fella on the bare, urine coated porceline edge. Ew! This surely would not work in a public situation. My kid was going to contract ghonorrhea for sure if this was his method! Gary walked in the restroom to see how the progress was going only to find me wiping the excess urine off Jack's mini member with toilet paper. I was quickly and firmly instructed that that is not how boys clean off excess urine. I guess the proper technique is to give it a little shake. How would I know? I sit down to pee for heaven's sake.

This new found peeing on the potty brought on another issue. Jack's certainty that pooping on the potty was not for him. He would rather hold it for a few days and quietly sneak into a quiet room for some pooping in the underwear privacy. I felt strongly that I should not allow him to continue this messy trend. I didn't want him to think this was what you do when number two comes calling but I didn't want him whining with belly aches and passing boulders either. Am I ruining my son's colon? Am I somehow instilling more fear of toilets in him? Would I one day see him on some reality TV show with some extreme fear of toilets because of me?

 I'm a person that likes things clean, but not necessarily sterile. After witnessing countless body parts touching the toilet, the germ phob in me was starting to come out. I find myself requesting the toilet be cleaned almost daily and making sure hands are washed extra thorough. I am especially thankful that I am pregnant with a girl now. I have those parts, I can handle the ins and outs of potty training her. I can't wait until Gary finds himself in the spot I was in. Hopefully, feeling a bit lost on what to do with female bathroom habits or maybe years down the line having to buy pads or tampons for her. The playing ground will finally be even in our house. I sure feel grateful for all my parents did for me. Pee and poo covered underwear and all.

Being Grateful

I am a pessimist. My glass is always half empty. I guess if I prepare for the worst then anything else seems a better alternative. There is an exception to this rule though. When the big shit hits the fan. I know. Makes no sense. I generally feel a sense of calm and a feeling that it will pass and I will be OK when all is said and done.

When I found out I had to be on bed rest, I took my usual calm approach to it. I knew that if my extended time in bed meant losing my job or some other catastrophic event, it would be worth it to have a healthy new member of the family. I just didn't realize how catastrophic things would get for us.

Our family seems to do life events big. We can't just, say, buy a house. We will buy a house, find a new job, and have a baby all in one month. It's just how the chips seem to fall with us. This time, within four months I found out I was pregnant, developed a complicated pregnancy, Gary was let go from his job, and we moved. In addition, I am the medical benefit carrier for my family. My job informed me that I was out of paid time off and subsequently would lose my family's medical benefits.  I'm not gonna lie, I had some freak out moments. I'm not that calm. I guess this was an exception to the exception.

After my freak out moments I started to get resourceful and figure out how I could resolve the issues I had some control over. I did something that is one of the hardest things for me to do. I started asking people for help. I asked for help with our move, help with taking care of Jackson, really any help people were willing to give. I was shocked at what started to happen.

People came out of the woodwork. Some of which were people I hadn't spent time with in years. People donating time off to me at work so I could maintain my health benefits, many friends and family that donated their time to packing our house up, moving our belongings and joining me at doctor appointments. Family that tirelessly cleaned the house, changed diapers, prepared meals, ran errands, and even rubbed my feet. How could I be pessimistic? Instead, I feel this overwhelming sense of gratefulness. I am reminded that most people want to give, have huge hearts and that family bonds are strongest.

Perhaps I don't see life's biggest moments as negatively because I know there will always be a lesson when it's over. In my darkest moments I begged God to just show me what the lesson was already. I now know. It's that you have to rely on others sometimes, you have to believe in the goodness of mankind and you must always be grateful. Even when your world seems to be closing in on you. These are the lessons I will teach my  children. Especially the little girl who is helping me to see the glass half full.

The Hardest Day of My Life

I like to think I'm a tough cookie. In my 31 years on this planet, I lost my Dad at age 6, dealt with a chronically ill mother and subsequently landed in many peoples homes during her ill times. I've lost three of my four Grandparents tragically and had many personal pitfalls in my youth as a result of my roller coaster childhood. More recently, I struggled as my husband dealt with his being disabled for a year and a half to do a back injury. 

I have had many happy times times too. It's not all doom and gloom. Many trips, good times with family and friends, a successful job, meeting the man of my dreams, buying a home and having a healthy, beautiful baby boy. After we weathered the storm of Gary's back issues, I felt that from here on out we would probably have an uneventful (so to speak) life. I had paid my lifetime dues of unfair life events.

When I got the news I would have to be on bed rest, I was disappointed, but knew I could handle it. I would do anything for my children. This would just be a speed bump. Then, last week, we got more devastating news.

We went in for the normal mid pregnancy ultrasound that checks the babies anatomy and gender. We were told we were having a girl! I knew in my heart it was a girl and was elated that my gut feeling was on the mark. The ultrasound technician left the room and shortly after the doctor came in.

He bluntly and coldly said, "There is something wrong with your baby." As he silently scanned my belly with the ultrasound wand, I wept. My mind was racing. "Could this issue be fatal for the baby?", I asked. "Yes.", he replied. I was in shock. He went on to mumble as he scanned my belly for several minutes looking for answers. He explained that she has free fluid in her abdomen and part of her intestines had calcified. The mystery of "why" deepened when there were no other abnormalities he could find. I felt a sense of panicked urgency in him as he consulted with another doctor and a geneticist. 

By the end of the appointment that day, I felt confused and emotionally drained. I knew that her issue was rare complicated by the rare reason I was already on bed rest. They gave me a copy of a study on babies that have what our little girl has. The statistics were favorable, but they still didn't know why it was happening and I didn't understand if the statistics looked favorable why all the panicked concern?

I see my regular doctor tomorrow and the specialist again next week with another ultrasound. In the meantime, I cautiously research and post messages on high risk pregnancy message boards. Nobody seems to have much information for me. I feel alone in my struggle to keep this little girl alive and well but I forge on with hope.

I forge on with Hope.

A Comedic Date Night

Friday night was aproaching and for the last couple weeks Jackson decided he'd become an early riser. Like a 5 am early riser. My poor husband Gary was pooped. After the stomach flu hit the house, taking care of a 2 year old that thinks he's a rooster on a farm and a wife who can't leave her bed for long, the guy needed a break.

Gary's Mom lives in the same town as us and has helped us out a lot since Jack was born. Even more so since I've been in bed. So when she graciously offered to have Jack stay at her house for dinner and a sleepover, Gary jumped at the offer. This meant sleeping in!

Gary decided to take full advantage of this opportunity and make it a date night for us. One problem. What sort of date can you have when you are confined to the house? My husband knows the way to my heart is through my pregnant stomach, so he offered to pick up whatever I would like to eat. I eat pretty healthfully for the most part, so much to his surprise, I wanted fried chicken. Fast food fried chicken. He happily agreed to my request and we ate our greasy chicken out of a box at our dining room table.

In addition to my being on bed rest, my doctor advised me not to do too much bending. My swollen belly is very tender and bending over is uncomfortable. Shaving my legs had become a near impossible task. For a few weeks I had been eyeballing my furry gams and thinking up a more long term way to remain hairless.

Aha! I had forgotten that Gary's Mom gave me a waxing kit a few months back. My hairless legs were a possibility! I surely couldn't reach my lower legs, so who could I trust to do it? And who would be willing?

I suggested this to Gary during our date night. He sweetly agreed and even suggested we do it that evening. So he heated up up the wax and got everything set up. I was worried he would be afraid of hurting me and not pull the waxing strip off all the way or do a half effort kinda job. Boy was I wrong. He loved it. Half way through it was apparent he was enjoying it far too much. He started distracting me with stupid jokes and then, booya, he would rip off that waxing strip.

He did a surprisingly good job, found a new secret calling and we laughed till we cried.

No indoor date night is complete without a movie. So we did our usual movie watching routine of starting the movie and me falling asleep 10 minutes into it.

We awoke the next morning and laid in bed talking about how entertaining the previous evening was. Neither one of us expected that a confined evening of greasy cheap food and body grooming would be the most memorable date night we have had to date.

Why share?

Welcome to my ramblings about being on bed rest while pregnant with my second child.

Honestly, I'm a fairly private person. But bed rest has a way of making you desperate for human contact even if it's strangers reading voyeristically about your situation. So, how did I get to this point? Here comes the rambling.

At 13 weeks pregnant I was at work alone when I started cramping and bleeding heavily. I was taken by ambulance to the ER where I found myself going from a mascara and tear faced mess to coping with my situation by joking with whomever would come into my room. The ultrasound showed the baby had a heartbeat! A strong heartbeat and my husband even saw the baby moving around.

 I finally was given an answer to why I was bleeding. I had marginal placenta previa. This meant that the nourishing lifeline to my baby was sitting very low, possibly dangerously low. After a visit to my OB, she decided bed rest was a good choice. A week later the bleeding had stopped and my doctor felt I could go back to work on modified duty. I was thrilled to be able to leave the confines of my bed and be my usual self as mom and wife again.

Three days into going back to work, at 15 weeks pregnant, I started spotting. Back to the doctor I went and  an ultrasound that confirmed a new problem, a subchorianic hematoma. A potentially dangerous collection of blood or a blood clot between the placenta and uterine wall. The ultrasound also showed that my placenta had moved up a bit and was no longer an issue. So, with the bad news of a new issue, I got the good news of my previa resolving. The only problem was this hematoma was pretty large. 3cm x 5cm extending to 8cm at points. This meant I was "far off the beaten path" and have to see a high risk OB .

I am 17 weeks now. I see my perinatologist in a few days and hope to have many more questions answered. I awoke to more spotting and cramping this morning and frankly after nearly 2 straight weeks of laying in bed, I'm going a bit nuts.

I feel guilt that my husband has to be "super dad" and do it all. Guilt that I can't pick up my 2 year old son or take him to the park. Most of all, I struggle with asking people for help.

I am a bit of a control freak. I like to generally know what to expect day to day. After I had my son, Jackson, I learned that having children makes life unpredictable. I thought I had let go of my control freak ways. Maybe not entirely.