Today was a definitive turning point in my surgery recovery. I feel nearly completely back to normal! All in one day. Wow. It's an amazing feeling of relief to be back in my life. Truly. It was fun spending a week high on painkillers in my recliner - I think - from what I can recall - but my real life is so much more interesting and never dull. So glad to be back!
I had an appointment with my surgeon this morning regarding the nerve issue going on in my left arm. Ironically, I woke up this morning and my arm felt significantly better. The pain has decreased almost to nothing, but the numbness is still there and quite bothersome. My dr. reassured me that none of the nerves in my arm where I am having trouble connect anywhere near where he was working during the surgery. So he believes it probably has to do with the way my arm was positioned during the surgery or something to do with the blood pressure cuff - perhaps a nerve was pinched and is trying to heal now. Either way, he believes it is temporary. We shall see.
As a bonus, since I was there, he removed all of my bandages and clipped a few stitches that were sticking out of the skin where my drain tubes were removed earlier this week. All is healing nicely and at this point, the incisions just need to heal and the swelling needs to subside and I'll be as good as new. Woot!
I questioned him about what he thought about using silicone strips along the incisions after they are closed. Basically, these are strips of silicone that are *said* to aid in the healing of scar tissue - making it more flat and less red. He said he'd never seen evidence of any product that helps scars heal better than just letting them heal, and he spent 15 years in the burn unit at Riley Children's Hospital. So the dude knows scars.
He said he'd never had a patient take him up on this: putting the strips on one breast and nothing on the other to see for himself whether they work. Me being me, of course, immediately said, "I'll do it!" That's so right up my alley. I love stuff like that. So we laughed, shook hands, and agreed that once the incisions are closed, I'm going to put the silicone strips on one side and not the other and do our own experiment! I'll keep you posted ...
Mrs. Zipps took me to my doctor appointment, so after that I was so excited to be feeling normal again, we went shopping at Costco. That's right. Not Nordstrom or Macy's. Costco. And we had coupons.
Just livin' the dream, baby. Just livin' the dream.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Hey, Did You Cut Your Hair? Lost Some Weight? Get A Chemical Peel?
Well, today I am seven days post-op. I've got sutures - something like 50-60 of them - all over my chest. If you know me IRL (in real life), you know that I've been, let's say, given more than my share in the upper chest area - and last week I had breast reduction surgery.
Yes! I've been very well-endowed my whole life since adolescence. Always the one with the rack; the big hooters; stacked. One ex-boyfriend would call me "Hollywood" (because I've got the "hills"). That is absolutely true.
My sister and I were both blessed in this area - passed down from our similarly-endowed paternal grandmother. We are both similarly-shaped; I am 5'2" and she is slightly taller than I am. We have both dreamed of having normally-proportioned bodies since we were in junior high.
Around 15 years ago, I tried going through insurance to have the procedure covered, and was denied. I never tried again until this past fall after my sister's insurance company approved to cover it for her. So she had it done in October and here I am now.
Thank you, God! Even just one week out, I would do it again in a heartbeat.
I would just like to say that as swollen as I still am, with stitches all over the place, I am so excited to be even this small - and I'm only going to get smaller as the swelling subsides. It's amazing! I look normal!
You have no idea how your self-esteem and your outlook is skewed when people define you by some physical attribute you have that has nothing to do with your personality or who you are. An attribute that you didn't ask for. An attribute that you would do anything to rid yourself of. Well, on second thought, maybe you do.
It was the first thing people saw. It was the only thing some people remembered. You can't hide big boobs. If you try to, you look frumpy, twice as big as you really are, in a word - huge. If you don't try to hide them, and wear clothes to fit your body, it looks as though you are flaunting them because they make everything too tight. So you're either a frumpy mess or a showy Hooters girl.
Sure, over the years you learn ways to deal with them, but sometimes - like in a bathing suit - there is absolutely nothing you can do but be who you are and watch people just stare. And they do.
It's mortifying. Humiliating. Especially when you are a teenager and don't even know who you are yet. How I was treated and what people said about me because I simply had large breasts very much shaped my feelings about myself and my self-worth.
Beyond the mental and emotional impact - is the physical. My back has hurt every day of my life since I was about 15 years old. In addition to having so much to handle in front, my body also has to deal with the fact that I have scoliosis - curvature of the spine. So my back hurts along the top and shoulders from my chest being so top-heavy, and along the bottom from the scoliosis. It's been so fun being me all these years!
I am so looking forward to being able to buy clothes that fit, feel better, and not stand out in a group of people because my chest is large. I desperately just want to blend in.
The first six days were not as bad as I had anticipated; and here is how they have gone.
Day one. I check into the hospital around 11:30 am after not having eaten or had even a sip of water since midnight. And there is a Starbucks right beside registration at the surgery center. What kind of sick, twisted man in a suit decided that would be a good idea? I decided that someone, somewhere is AN IDIOT.
When we checked in a second time in the area where Sean would be waiting during the surgery, two women working at the desk begin singing the praises of my surgeon - talking about how he is so wonderful and they wouldn't have anyone else work on them, etc. Well, good. I'm so glad that I don't have Edward Scissorhands working on me today. Or some guy without opposable thumbs. This is of great comfort.
When we were taken back to the room, I was given the most adorable pair of thigh-high hose. They were hot. Sean could barely control himself. But the icing on the cake was the anti-embolism contraptions they put on after that which pumped my legs during the surgery to keep the circulation going to prevent blood clots. This and new boobs? Thank. You. Lord.
My surgeon then came in to draw on me. With a purple marker. He had me sit on the side of the bed while he, very slowly and meticulously, drew where he was going to cut me open. He was very intense and serious. Which made me feel better; because if he had rushed through, stood back and shrugged like, "Good enough!" I might have been a bit concerned. No, he was more like Picasso contemplating his next brush stroke. I kept looking back at Sean and grinning. There was no room for modesty. Or humility. I was being drawn on by one man as my husband stood by and laughed. What world is this?
As I was wheeled into the OR, the table I was going to had a long hose pointed at it blowing warm air onto the bed. So when I got onto it, it was toasty. And the blankets they covered me with were heated. I asked if they could all come home with me and treat me like this every day. They laughed and agreed, but then one of them stuck a needle in my IV and I floated away. That was the last I saw of any of them, so I don't think they're going to follow through on that.
The surgery itself took around three hours, and I was in recovery for a few hours, and then I went home. I was put under general anesthesia, which I do not have any trouble with. So beyond being completely loopy that first evening, I was fine. This was last Thursday.
I was sent home with drains that had to be emptied every four hours. This was no bid deal. They were like little rubber hand grenades attached to tubes that snaked into the bandages under my armpits. The "grenades" would suction out excess blood and whatever else (no idea!) over a period of hours and Sean or my mom would empty them and record the amounts. As soon as the amount coming out in a 24-hour period was less than 25cc per drain, I could have them removed.
So for the first four days or so, all I did was ice my chest, swallow whatever pills they gave me every four hours, get up to use the bathroom, and eat whatever they brought me. And ice my chest. Seriously! I was so doped up, that is all I did. I couldn't focus on reading, so I just sat in the recliner with the tv on, though I really couldn't focus on that, either. It's all pretty much a blur. Did I mention icing my chest?
On Sunday morning (day three), I woke up with my left arm hurting like crazy - as if I'd really, really slept on it wrong. My bicep hurt so badly when I would extend my arm. There was no discoloration, it didn't feel different when it was touched. It just hurt. When I woke up Monday, it hurt even more.
On Tuesday (day 5), the output in my drains was low enough that they could come out. This part I was very afraid of. Once we arrived (after being sent on a wild goose chase by a receptionist at the hospital) and were in the exam room, the nurse told me to breathe in a few times and breathe out and on the second time, she would pull the drain out. Turns out - I didn't even feel a thing. It was a big nothing. Thank you, God!
By this day, the pain in my arm had begun to weaken the use of my left hand and give it a numbing sensation. Upon telling them about my arm pain, I was prescribed a med for nerve pain. After a bout with major dizziness in the exam room (I had to lie there for awhile to be able to walk again) and a few new bandages over where the drain tubes had been, we left to return home.
I never realized how comfortable I would be sitting in a room with no shirt on until I'd done it so many times in the span of a few days. My mom bought me a Starbucks on the way home, I no longer had tubes coming out of me, and I'd stood upright and even walked a bit. Life was getting better!
Day six was spent in the recliner, doped up, boohooing mostly about my left arm hurting like I couldn't even describe. I watched reality tv all. day. long. Keeping Up With the Kardashians was having some sort of marathon; and then there was High School Reunion. Honest to goodness - I am now hooked. I actually went downstairs for most of the evening when the Zipps brought over dinner and we all had what is a typical evening together.
All of this time, I am keeping ice packs on my chest because the swelling is crazy. I can only describe it as being like when I was nursing. The swelling feels exactly like when I would get very, very engorged and need to nurse or pump (or explode!). Ice packs, ice packs, ice packs.
Today, day seven, is the first day I've been up and around. My arm pain is still pretty bad, and my hand is so weak that I can't do much with it, which is scaring me a bit. Of course I've been searching the internet and finding that nerve damage after surgery is somewhat common. I'm thankful that it's my left hand and not my right, but still - this is not good. I cannot extend my arm out all the way without excruciating pain; and pushing on a certain part of my bicep results in the same pain. I have an appointment tomorrow morning at my surgeon's office to start to figure this out.
As far as the rest goes, I still have bandages only over where there are sutures, but the only suture area that hurts is where the drains were pulled, since they are a few days behind everything else in healing. The sutures are dissolvable, so they will eventually just go away. My greatest complaint right now (besides the arm issue) is the swelling. I have to keep 'em iced to feel okay. So I wonder when the swelling will subside?
I know this is a lot, but I am writing it so someone else searching the internet will, perhaps, benefit from it. I am lucky that I had my sister go through this a few months before me, so I knew a bit about what to expect. If someone stumbles upon this and it helps them, then I'm glad I'm being straightforward about it.
I know some would probably prefer to keep it hush hush and then just reappear looking different. But if you know me, you know that's not me at all. I never try to be anything that I'm not. I'm the first to confess all the hairbrained things I do so that I can laugh with someone else about it. So when you see me again - it's okay to notice! It's okay to say something about my surgery. It's okay.
I had a breast reduction. And it's okay that you know that. I'm excited! This is a good thing!
I will keep you posted on how it's going.
Yes! I've been very well-endowed my whole life since adolescence. Always the one with the rack; the big hooters; stacked. One ex-boyfriend would call me "Hollywood" (because I've got the "hills"). That is absolutely true.
My sister and I were both blessed in this area - passed down from our similarly-endowed paternal grandmother. We are both similarly-shaped; I am 5'2" and she is slightly taller than I am. We have both dreamed of having normally-proportioned bodies since we were in junior high.
Around 15 years ago, I tried going through insurance to have the procedure covered, and was denied. I never tried again until this past fall after my sister's insurance company approved to cover it for her. So she had it done in October and here I am now.
Thank you, God! Even just one week out, I would do it again in a heartbeat.
I would just like to say that as swollen as I still am, with stitches all over the place, I am so excited to be even this small - and I'm only going to get smaller as the swelling subsides. It's amazing! I look normal!
You have no idea how your self-esteem and your outlook is skewed when people define you by some physical attribute you have that has nothing to do with your personality or who you are. An attribute that you didn't ask for. An attribute that you would do anything to rid yourself of. Well, on second thought, maybe you do.
It was the first thing people saw. It was the only thing some people remembered. You can't hide big boobs. If you try to, you look frumpy, twice as big as you really are, in a word - huge. If you don't try to hide them, and wear clothes to fit your body, it looks as though you are flaunting them because they make everything too tight. So you're either a frumpy mess or a showy Hooters girl.
Sure, over the years you learn ways to deal with them, but sometimes - like in a bathing suit - there is absolutely nothing you can do but be who you are and watch people just stare. And they do.
It's mortifying. Humiliating. Especially when you are a teenager and don't even know who you are yet. How I was treated and what people said about me because I simply had large breasts very much shaped my feelings about myself and my self-worth.
Beyond the mental and emotional impact - is the physical. My back has hurt every day of my life since I was about 15 years old. In addition to having so much to handle in front, my body also has to deal with the fact that I have scoliosis - curvature of the spine. So my back hurts along the top and shoulders from my chest being so top-heavy, and along the bottom from the scoliosis. It's been so fun being me all these years!
I am so looking forward to being able to buy clothes that fit, feel better, and not stand out in a group of people because my chest is large. I desperately just want to blend in.
The first six days were not as bad as I had anticipated; and here is how they have gone.
Day one. I check into the hospital around 11:30 am after not having eaten or had even a sip of water since midnight. And there is a Starbucks right beside registration at the surgery center. What kind of sick, twisted man in a suit decided that would be a good idea? I decided that someone, somewhere is AN IDIOT.
When we checked in a second time in the area where Sean would be waiting during the surgery, two women working at the desk begin singing the praises of my surgeon - talking about how he is so wonderful and they wouldn't have anyone else work on them, etc. Well, good. I'm so glad that I don't have Edward Scissorhands working on me today. Or some guy without opposable thumbs. This is of great comfort.
When we were taken back to the room, I was given the most adorable pair of thigh-high hose. They were hot. Sean could barely control himself. But the icing on the cake was the anti-embolism contraptions they put on after that which pumped my legs during the surgery to keep the circulation going to prevent blood clots. This and new boobs? Thank. You. Lord.
My surgeon then came in to draw on me. With a purple marker. He had me sit on the side of the bed while he, very slowly and meticulously, drew where he was going to cut me open. He was very intense and serious. Which made me feel better; because if he had rushed through, stood back and shrugged like, "Good enough!" I might have been a bit concerned. No, he was more like Picasso contemplating his next brush stroke. I kept looking back at Sean and grinning. There was no room for modesty. Or humility. I was being drawn on by one man as my husband stood by and laughed. What world is this?
As I was wheeled into the OR, the table I was going to had a long hose pointed at it blowing warm air onto the bed. So when I got onto it, it was toasty. And the blankets they covered me with were heated. I asked if they could all come home with me and treat me like this every day. They laughed and agreed, but then one of them stuck a needle in my IV and I floated away. That was the last I saw of any of them, so I don't think they're going to follow through on that.
The surgery itself took around three hours, and I was in recovery for a few hours, and then I went home. I was put under general anesthesia, which I do not have any trouble with. So beyond being completely loopy that first evening, I was fine. This was last Thursday.
I was sent home with drains that had to be emptied every four hours. This was no bid deal. They were like little rubber hand grenades attached to tubes that snaked into the bandages under my armpits. The "grenades" would suction out excess blood and whatever else (no idea!) over a period of hours and Sean or my mom would empty them and record the amounts. As soon as the amount coming out in a 24-hour period was less than 25cc per drain, I could have them removed.
So for the first four days or so, all I did was ice my chest, swallow whatever pills they gave me every four hours, get up to use the bathroom, and eat whatever they brought me. And ice my chest. Seriously! I was so doped up, that is all I did. I couldn't focus on reading, so I just sat in the recliner with the tv on, though I really couldn't focus on that, either. It's all pretty much a blur. Did I mention icing my chest?
On Sunday morning (day three), I woke up with my left arm hurting like crazy - as if I'd really, really slept on it wrong. My bicep hurt so badly when I would extend my arm. There was no discoloration, it didn't feel different when it was touched. It just hurt. When I woke up Monday, it hurt even more.
On Tuesday (day 5), the output in my drains was low enough that they could come out. This part I was very afraid of. Once we arrived (after being sent on a wild goose chase by a receptionist at the hospital) and were in the exam room, the nurse told me to breathe in a few times and breathe out and on the second time, she would pull the drain out. Turns out - I didn't even feel a thing. It was a big nothing. Thank you, God!
By this day, the pain in my arm had begun to weaken the use of my left hand and give it a numbing sensation. Upon telling them about my arm pain, I was prescribed a med for nerve pain. After a bout with major dizziness in the exam room (I had to lie there for awhile to be able to walk again) and a few new bandages over where the drain tubes had been, we left to return home.
I never realized how comfortable I would be sitting in a room with no shirt on until I'd done it so many times in the span of a few days. My mom bought me a Starbucks on the way home, I no longer had tubes coming out of me, and I'd stood upright and even walked a bit. Life was getting better!
Day six was spent in the recliner, doped up, boohooing mostly about my left arm hurting like I couldn't even describe. I watched reality tv all. day. long. Keeping Up With the Kardashians was having some sort of marathon; and then there was High School Reunion. Honest to goodness - I am now hooked. I actually went downstairs for most of the evening when the Zipps brought over dinner and we all had what is a typical evening together.
All of this time, I am keeping ice packs on my chest because the swelling is crazy. I can only describe it as being like when I was nursing. The swelling feels exactly like when I would get very, very engorged and need to nurse or pump (or explode!). Ice packs, ice packs, ice packs.
Today, day seven, is the first day I've been up and around. My arm pain is still pretty bad, and my hand is so weak that I can't do much with it, which is scaring me a bit. Of course I've been searching the internet and finding that nerve damage after surgery is somewhat common. I'm thankful that it's my left hand and not my right, but still - this is not good. I cannot extend my arm out all the way without excruciating pain; and pushing on a certain part of my bicep results in the same pain. I have an appointment tomorrow morning at my surgeon's office to start to figure this out.
As far as the rest goes, I still have bandages only over where there are sutures, but the only suture area that hurts is where the drains were pulled, since they are a few days behind everything else in healing. The sutures are dissolvable, so they will eventually just go away. My greatest complaint right now (besides the arm issue) is the swelling. I have to keep 'em iced to feel okay. So I wonder when the swelling will subside?
I know this is a lot, but I am writing it so someone else searching the internet will, perhaps, benefit from it. I am lucky that I had my sister go through this a few months before me, so I knew a bit about what to expect. If someone stumbles upon this and it helps them, then I'm glad I'm being straightforward about it.
I know some would probably prefer to keep it hush hush and then just reappear looking different. But if you know me, you know that's not me at all. I never try to be anything that I'm not. I'm the first to confess all the hairbrained things I do so that I can laugh with someone else about it. So when you see me again - it's okay to notice! It's okay to say something about my surgery. It's okay.
I had a breast reduction. And it's okay that you know that. I'm excited! This is a good thing!
I will keep you posted on how it's going.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Let's See If This Works
This morning I'm spending time with my favorite THREE-year-old. That's right! Reagan turns three today!
Happy Birthday, Roo. I can't imagine what we did before you!
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Ha!
This:
Remember the post Wanna Make a Bet from October? Let me refresh your memory. I stated that this winter I wouldn't be leaving the house - or even my pajamas - unless it was sunny and nice outside.
Today I am blissfully fulfulling that goal. It is a balmy 14 degrees outside; and though it is sunny, I am still choosing to hibernate like a grumpy bear. The only reason I have left the comfort of my bed with the heated mattress pad - which, by the way, makes me feel like a yummy toasted cheese sandwich at the point where the cheese is just starting to melt - is to switch laundry from the washer to dryer and eat lunch. (Well, and to get my boys off to school at 6 and 8am. BLEH!)
Heaven on earth!
If any of you have the desire to judge my hibernating winter goal, I issue this challenge. 1.) If you aren't local, first come and run errands in weather that is so cold that your boogers freeze before you even reach the Walmart greeter's irritatingly cheerful voice (or displaced snarl, depending on which location you frequent); and 2.) then come spend 10 minutes in this bed with this heated mattress pad. Then tell me how reckless my goals are.
Let he who is without snow cast the first stone.
Not This:
Remember the post Wanna Make a Bet from October? Let me refresh your memory. I stated that this winter I wouldn't be leaving the house - or even my pajamas - unless it was sunny and nice outside.
Today I am blissfully fulfulling that goal. It is a balmy 14 degrees outside; and though it is sunny, I am still choosing to hibernate like a grumpy bear. The only reason I have left the comfort of my bed with the heated mattress pad - which, by the way, makes me feel like a yummy toasted cheese sandwich at the point where the cheese is just starting to melt - is to switch laundry from the washer to dryer and eat lunch. (Well, and to get my boys off to school at 6 and 8am. BLEH!)
Heaven on earth!
If any of you have the desire to judge my hibernating winter goal, I issue this challenge. 1.) If you aren't local, first come and run errands in weather that is so cold that your boogers freeze before you even reach the Walmart greeter's irritatingly cheerful voice (or displaced snarl, depending on which location you frequent); and 2.) then come spend 10 minutes in this bed with this heated mattress pad. Then tell me how reckless my goals are.
Let he who is without snow cast the first stone.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Well. Well. WELL.
She actually writes.
Writing has been something of a struggle lately. Okay. It's been brutally absent from my existence. I cannot explain why. It's just. not. coming. to. me. And that's just how it works with me. I don't sit down and decide to write something - something comes to me and I write it.
I've been frighteningly blank for months.
I'm praying the new year brings new thoughts. Thoughts that I want to be heard.
In Other News
I am having surgery in 24 days that will put me out of commission for awhile - a few weeks for recovery at least? We'll see. Unlike when I had foot surgery two years ago, this time my chest/lifting/both-arms mobility will be affected and limited for some time. Looking very much forward to the legal Vicodin high.
Is that wrong?
What I'm not so much looking forward to is relying on someone else to wash my hair . . . having lots and lots of incisions/stitches to deal with . . . not being able to drive for a few weeks . . . pain.
It's all good, though. I'll surely be as good as new by the time it starts to warm up and be spring. That's how I'm choosing to frame the situation.
Hmmm. What Else?
This is my sister and me. When we arrived at their house for four days of family Christmas chaos, we were hamming and taking pictures of ourselves together within minutes. There were at least 10 other people there that could have taken pictures of us together; but what fun would that be? There's nothing in this world like having a sister.
People say we look alike all the time. What?! Neither of us can see it. We sound exactly alike and have been known to fool our own husbands. Our poor Mom was never sure which of us it was on the phone before caller ID. We have many of the same mannerisms, and are shaped very much alike (she's slightly taller). But that's where it ends. She has thick, dark hair with curls/wave (straightened in this photo), darker eyes, creamy skin. I am blue-eyed with relatively straight, stringy hair and freckled skin that refuses to tan.
These are all of our kids (and our nephew, Daniel):
Joel, Gus, Marco, Alexx, Zack, Seth, Daniel, Ana Lucia, Katie
How the flip did all that happen? Wasn't I just 17 years old?
Writing has been something of a struggle lately. Okay. It's been brutally absent from my existence. I cannot explain why. It's just. not. coming. to. me. And that's just how it works with me. I don't sit down and decide to write something - something comes to me and I write it.
I've been frighteningly blank for months.
I'm praying the new year brings new thoughts. Thoughts that I want to be heard.
In Other News
I am having surgery in 24 days that will put me out of commission for awhile - a few weeks for recovery at least? We'll see. Unlike when I had foot surgery two years ago, this time my chest/lifting/both-arms mobility will be affected and limited for some time. Looking very much forward to the legal Vicodin high.
Is that wrong?
What I'm not so much looking forward to is relying on someone else to wash my hair . . . having lots and lots of incisions/stitches to deal with . . . not being able to drive for a few weeks . . . pain.
It's all good, though. I'll surely be as good as new by the time it starts to warm up and be spring. That's how I'm choosing to frame the situation.
Hmmm. What Else?
This is my sister and me. When we arrived at their house for four days of family Christmas chaos, we were hamming and taking pictures of ourselves together within minutes. There were at least 10 other people there that could have taken pictures of us together; but what fun would that be? There's nothing in this world like having a sister.
People say we look alike all the time. What?! Neither of us can see it. We sound exactly alike and have been known to fool our own husbands. Our poor Mom was never sure which of us it was on the phone before caller ID. We have many of the same mannerisms, and are shaped very much alike (she's slightly taller). But that's where it ends. She has thick, dark hair with curls/wave (straightened in this photo), darker eyes, creamy skin. I am blue-eyed with relatively straight, stringy hair and freckled skin that refuses to tan.
These are all of our kids (and our nephew, Daniel):
Joel, Gus, Marco, Alexx, Zack, Seth, Daniel, Ana Lucia, KatieHow the flip did all that happen? Wasn't I just 17 years old?
Monday, December 14, 2009
Blessed and Grateful
I am feeling so unbelievably grateful this morning - for so many things. Last evening, Sean and I returned home after eight glorious days in the Bahamas with our neighbors/best friends/family, Mr. and Mrs. Zipps.
There are so many things I could focus on in my writing this morning - recounting funny things that happened, recalling the local people, describing the scenery. I have some super stories - all in due time.
Right now, though, I'm just overwhelmed with how blessed I am - we are.
Blessed to have the parents that I do, who have invested their time, love - their lives - in our children enabling us to get away and not worry for a second about the care of our boys. They know all the ins and outs of their issues, not because we wrote it down for them, but because they live them alongside us. The intricacies of Seth's autism and Joel's mood disorder and Asperger's are not something that can be learned, they are experienced. If my parents hadn't spent my children's lifetimes building relationships with them, we couldn't have gone away for any length of time at all.
Blessed to have friends who call us family and not only accept us, but love us in spite of who we are and all the baggage that comes with us. If I were them, I would have high-tailed it in the other direction years ago. Seriously.
If it weren't for them sharing their family's vacation accommodations with us, we could not have afforded this trip. Most of our "fun money" is spent on meds ($425/mo.), supplements, therapy ($90 an hour!), and doctors (a gazillion dollars a minute).
Blessed to have saved frequent-flier miles from seven years ago that Sean earned flying back home to Houston from Milwaukee each weekend when he was doing five months of consulting work up there. We squirreled away those miles to be used someday when we would be able to take a trip together. Alone.
Blessed to have a husband who is my best friend in the universe - someone who I cannot wait to spend time with, who makes me laugh as much now as he did 20 years ago, who I fall more in love with every day.
Blessed to have boys whom I could hardly wait to squeeze when we returned home - and were actually as excited to see us as we were to see them. And blessed to be raising boys who, despite the issues they are wading through, are adaptable enough to deal with us being gone for that length of time.
Blessed that God put all of this together in our life, and continues to do so daily.
And ashamed that I don't feel worthy of any of it.
There are so many things I could focus on in my writing this morning - recounting funny things that happened, recalling the local people, describing the scenery. I have some super stories - all in due time.
Right now, though, I'm just overwhelmed with how blessed I am - we are.
Blessed to have the parents that I do, who have invested their time, love - their lives - in our children enabling us to get away and not worry for a second about the care of our boys. They know all the ins and outs of their issues, not because we wrote it down for them, but because they live them alongside us. The intricacies of Seth's autism and Joel's mood disorder and Asperger's are not something that can be learned, they are experienced. If my parents hadn't spent my children's lifetimes building relationships with them, we couldn't have gone away for any length of time at all.
Blessed to have friends who call us family and not only accept us, but love us in spite of who we are and all the baggage that comes with us. If I were them, I would have high-tailed it in the other direction years ago. Seriously.
If it weren't for them sharing their family's vacation accommodations with us, we could not have afforded this trip. Most of our "fun money" is spent on meds ($425/mo.), supplements, therapy ($90 an hour!), and doctors (a gazillion dollars a minute).
Blessed to have saved frequent-flier miles from seven years ago that Sean earned flying back home to Houston from Milwaukee each weekend when he was doing five months of consulting work up there. We squirreled away those miles to be used someday when we would be able to take a trip together. Alone.
Blessed to have a husband who is my best friend in the universe - someone who I cannot wait to spend time with, who makes me laugh as much now as he did 20 years ago, who I fall more in love with every day.
Blessed to have boys whom I could hardly wait to squeeze when we returned home - and were actually as excited to see us as we were to see them. And blessed to be raising boys who, despite the issues they are wading through, are adaptable enough to deal with us being gone for that length of time.
Blessed that God put all of this together in our life, and continues to do so daily.
And ashamed that I don't feel worthy of any of it.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Heavy Load
Alright. I think I'm coming out of it. The writer's block, that is. Let's just see how it goes.
However, it's not just writer's block keeping me from writing. Recent issues with middle son (Joel) are all-consuming. His diagnoses of ADHD, mood disorder, and "possible" Asperger's (possible?) seem to be colliding and causing monumental problems that we are only beginning to figure out. It feels suspiciously like the first couple of years spent struggling with youngest son's (Seth) autism. You're living in a maze that you must try and make some sense out of before even beginning to know which way to go.
The good news is that he is a spectacular kid. His heart is huge and nurturing, and his love and eagerness for God's word are astounding for a kid of 11 years. And I am working night and day on his behalf - with counselors, with his psychiatrist, his teachers, his school, his youth leaders at church. Being a special needs parent to even just one child with issues is a full-time job. Two can feel overwhelming at times. And three? Meet me at the looney bin for drinks when my nest is empty. I'll be the one in the bingo room using bullets to mark my cards.
What I am beginning to be amazed about with Joel is that in all of his frustration with the issues he is dealing with, he pushes on. Yes, we often take two steps forward and five steps backwards. He is pulling a heavy load - a lot more than a kid his age should have to; but the way he can filter through his feelings, articulate them to us, and muddle through them is a gift. I hope and pray that he can continue to do that.
Through it all, we "keep our eyes on the prize." One of the ways we try to help Joel cope with what he's going through is to emphasize that this life is temporary. It is but a blink of the eye in eternity; and what he has to deal with now is not permanent. God has prepared a place for us that will not include these worldly problems.
There are days when I think his faith is stronger than mine. There are days when I think he could teach me a lot more than I am teaching him. And there are days that temptation gets the best of me much more than it does my 11-year-old son.
Life is a journey, right? A journey that takes turns that we weren't expecting and detours that take us off the path of where we probably should be going. I recognize that. But right or wrong, I also recognize that every detour, every seemingly wrong decision, every experience we choose (or may not choose) to engage in is woven into the fabric of who we are and who we will become.
Everything that Joel is enduring right now is building his character into the person he is intended to be. We are not privy to the "whys" of it all; we just have to try and keep the train on the tracks.
photo by Zsuzsanna Kilian
However, it's not just writer's block keeping me from writing. Recent issues with middle son (Joel) are all-consuming. His diagnoses of ADHD, mood disorder, and "possible" Asperger's (possible?) seem to be colliding and causing monumental problems that we are only beginning to figure out. It feels suspiciously like the first couple of years spent struggling with youngest son's (Seth) autism. You're living in a maze that you must try and make some sense out of before even beginning to know which way to go.
The good news is that he is a spectacular kid. His heart is huge and nurturing, and his love and eagerness for God's word are astounding for a kid of 11 years. And I am working night and day on his behalf - with counselors, with his psychiatrist, his teachers, his school, his youth leaders at church. Being a special needs parent to even just one child with issues is a full-time job. Two can feel overwhelming at times. And three? Meet me at the looney bin for drinks when my nest is empty. I'll be the one in the bingo room using bullets to mark my cards.
What I am beginning to be amazed about with Joel is that in all of his frustration with the issues he is dealing with, he pushes on. Yes, we often take two steps forward and five steps backwards. He is pulling a heavy load - a lot more than a kid his age should have to; but the way he can filter through his feelings, articulate them to us, and muddle through them is a gift. I hope and pray that he can continue to do that.
Through it all, we "keep our eyes on the prize." One of the ways we try to help Joel cope with what he's going through is to emphasize that this life is temporary. It is but a blink of the eye in eternity; and what he has to deal with now is not permanent. God has prepared a place for us that will not include these worldly problems.
There are days when I think his faith is stronger than mine. There are days when I think he could teach me a lot more than I am teaching him. And there are days that temptation gets the best of me much more than it does my 11-year-old son.
Life is a journey, right? A journey that takes turns that we weren't expecting and detours that take us off the path of where we probably should be going. I recognize that. But right or wrong, I also recognize that every detour, every seemingly wrong decision, every experience we choose (or may not choose) to engage in is woven into the fabric of who we are and who we will become.
Everything that Joel is enduring right now is building his character into the person he is intended to be. We are not privy to the "whys" of it all; we just have to try and keep the train on the tracks.
photo by Zsuzsanna Kilian
Monday, October 19, 2009
Wanna Make A Bet?
I am not above admitting that I am planning on being the laziest person alive this winter. Let's recap.
My youngest son is now in school all day. Said son had turned me into a therapist of all sorts since being diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder at the age of 2 1/2. So having him out of the house from 8 am until almost 4 pm gives me a whole new life.
Yes, one I've been struggling with lately, but a new life nonetheless.
So now that winter is beating fall into submission here in central Indiana, I have decided that if it is not sunny and beautiful outside this winter on a given day - I refuse to leave the abode. Or even leave my pajamas. Unless, of course, I absolutely have to (one of my boys is throwing up, bleeding profusely, or on fire at school).
Mrs. Zipps laughed in my face when I told her this. This makes me want to prove her wrong.
Carry on, Internet.
My youngest son is now in school all day. Said son had turned me into a therapist of all sorts since being diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder at the age of 2 1/2. So having him out of the house from 8 am until almost 4 pm gives me a whole new life.
Yes, one I've been struggling with lately, but a new life nonetheless.
So now that winter is beating fall into submission here in central Indiana, I have decided that if it is not sunny and beautiful outside this winter on a given day - I refuse to leave the abode. Or even leave my pajamas. Unless, of course, I absolutely have to (one of my boys is throwing up, bleeding profusely, or on fire at school).
Mrs. Zipps laughed in my face when I told her this. This makes me want to prove her wrong.
Carry on, Internet.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Block Block Blockety Blocked
Blocks - and Not the Fun Kind
Nothing can make you break through writer's block like writing . . . right? We'll see. I'll keep up the drivel until I knock something loose.
So in the midst of brainstorming ideas to become self-employed eccentrics who work in their pajamas and don't leave the house for days at a time (hey, wait a minute ...), Sean, Mr. Zipps, and I started tossing out book ideas - and I think I may have hit on something. They are always telling me to hurry up and write my bestseller so they can quit their jobs and the Andersons and Zipps can live happily ever after on the proceeds. (They obviously don't quite get this writing/publishing thing.)
I'm not divulging the idea here for obvious reasons, but let's just say I hope this writer's block dissolves soon so I can get moving. Pray, please?
Everything I Needed (but Didn't Want)
To Know About Holly, I Learned One Day
On Her Blog When She Had Writer's Block
Hair totally skeeves me out. Especially long, wet hair that's not attached to my own head.
The only coffee I drink at Starbucks is a grande, non-fat, two-pump mocha with light whip.
The coffee I drink at home has non-fat hazelnut creamer and light whipped cream on it.
I won my third-grade spelling bee and came in 3rd in fourth grade.
I once won a proofreading award (I know, so sad.)
I was on the equestrian team in college (western, not english).
I find almost everything funny in some way - to a fault.
I was saved from being hit by a train by a stranger when I was two.
I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue.
I was caught by the police driving before I had my driver's license (They only called my mom - an advantage of small-town living.)
Sean and I met on the first day of 7th grade when our lockers were next to one another, began dating in 10th grade and married at 20.
I loooooooove to cook and share it.
My mind and personality are exercises in contradiction. I think very analytically about most things and there's a method to almost everything I do. Yet, I'm extremely creatively scatter-brained much of the time. Good luck figuring that out. My parents - after 38 years, and my husband - after a bazillion years, cannot. I have no desire to figure it out - that might make my head explode.
I have wanted to be a writer since I was little. My friend, Lisa, and I used to write books together. Pretty funny reading today.
My mom used to tell me I should be a lawyer because I love to argue so much (and can wear just about anyone down until they want to gouge their own eyes out). This is not so much a good quality if you are not a lawyer, as I am not.
This one quality, I passed on to my middle son. This is called karma.
I am a Ball State University grad with a degree in Journalism. Go Cards! Yep - David Letterman, the founder of Papa John's pizza, and the creator of Garfield, and me - BSU can really turn 'em out, yes?
I can be a little obsessive about things being a certain way, but have let a lot of this go being the mother of three boys. Mainly in the area of housekeeping. Clearly.
I wish more people would have retained what they learned about grammar in elementary school.
That is all.
Nothing can make you break through writer's block like writing . . . right? We'll see. I'll keep up the drivel until I knock something loose.
So in the midst of brainstorming ideas to become self-employed eccentrics who work in their pajamas and don't leave the house for days at a time (hey, wait a minute ...), Sean, Mr. Zipps, and I started tossing out book ideas - and I think I may have hit on something. They are always telling me to hurry up and write my bestseller so they can quit their jobs and the Andersons and Zipps can live happily ever after on the proceeds. (They obviously don't quite get this writing/publishing thing.)
I'm not divulging the idea here for obvious reasons, but let's just say I hope this writer's block dissolves soon so I can get moving. Pray, please?
Everything I Needed (but Didn't Want)
To Know About Holly, I Learned One Day
On Her Blog When She Had Writer's Block
Hair totally skeeves me out. Especially long, wet hair that's not attached to my own head.
The only coffee I drink at Starbucks is a grande, non-fat, two-pump mocha with light whip.
The coffee I drink at home has non-fat hazelnut creamer and light whipped cream on it.
I won my third-grade spelling bee and came in 3rd in fourth grade.
I once won a proofreading award (I know, so sad.)
I was on the equestrian team in college (western, not english).
I find almost everything funny in some way - to a fault.
I was saved from being hit by a train by a stranger when I was two.
I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue.
I was caught by the police driving before I had my driver's license (They only called my mom - an advantage of small-town living.)
Sean and I met on the first day of 7th grade when our lockers were next to one another, began dating in 10th grade and married at 20.
I loooooooove to cook and share it.
My mind and personality are exercises in contradiction. I think very analytically about most things and there's a method to almost everything I do. Yet, I'm extremely creatively scatter-brained much of the time. Good luck figuring that out. My parents - after 38 years, and my husband - after a bazillion years, cannot. I have no desire to figure it out - that might make my head explode.
I have wanted to be a writer since I was little. My friend, Lisa, and I used to write books together. Pretty funny reading today.
My mom used to tell me I should be a lawyer because I love to argue so much (and can wear just about anyone down until they want to gouge their own eyes out). This is not so much a good quality if you are not a lawyer, as I am not.
This one quality, I passed on to my middle son. This is called karma.
I am a Ball State University grad with a degree in Journalism. Go Cards! Yep - David Letterman, the founder of Papa John's pizza, and the creator of Garfield, and me - BSU can really turn 'em out, yes?
I can be a little obsessive about things being a certain way, but have let a lot of this go being the mother of three boys. Mainly in the area of housekeeping. Clearly.
I wish more people would have retained what they learned about grammar in elementary school.
That is all.
Monday, October 5, 2009
So This Is How It's Going to Be.
I continue to struggle to write and get mundane things done during the day even though all the planets are aligned correctly; meaning - the sun is shining; it's a beautifully-colored fall season; I have plenty of uninterrupted time; in other words - the conditions are ripe for motivation, so the words should flow.
Not so.
I. Am. Struggling. With daily life. With my boys' issues. With autism. With a mood disorder. With. Life.
No reason. No big incident. Just a creeping stream that's becoming a raging river. I can navigate the stream just fine on any given day. But to navigate the river takes stamina. And a positive outlook. And self-confidence. All of which I'm sorely lacking recently. So erosion is starting to occur.
And the thing? Here's the thing. The thing of it all is this. It's driving me crazy that I can't figure out why. Why? What is the origin of the problem? I haven't a clue. Perhaps I'm just worn down.
It really is emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausting dealing with some of the issues I deal with daily, but I don't often realize or notice because it's what I deal with daily. I think sometimes it takes someone else's reaction to some of what we endure to see it for what it actually is - super, unbelievably, cosmically difficult (which is the nice way of putting it).
I am sick of autism. I am sick of a mood disorder that "borders on bi-polar disorder." I am sick of having so little control over my boys' issues. I am sick of doing all the right things and watching an entire day spin out of control and trying to pick up the pieces so that what they remember from their childhood is good. I am sick of gloriously conquering one issue just to have the next one ready and waiting at its heels.
I am sick of the guilt.
I am sick of the worry.
I am sick of how none of it makes any sense. My mind grinds and spins and smokes trying to make even the tiniest part of any of it reasonable, so that I can attach a solution to it. But that's not how these gears fit together - not even close. They laugh at reasonable solutions and spit them out.
On most days, I can roll with it all and laugh and employ strategies that may or may not work and chug along because this is how it is and this is how it's going to be. This stuff isn't going away.
But I'm struggling. With this overflowing, raging river that's normally a trickling, manageable stream.
photo by Kodiak1
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