A sad puppet (aka - 2012, you are letting me down)

Awhile back, Livie and I were doing arts and crafts (one of her favorite activities) and she asked to make puppets.  We broke out the paper bags and went to town.  She worked diligently on several puppets, and then handed one to me. "Here you go mom.  This one is for you.  It is sad - just like you."  What mom's heart wouldn't break to hear their 3 year old associate "mom" with "sad"?  That was one of many moments during which I swore 2012 was going to be better.  I promised both of us that it had to be better.

Starting in mid-December, I would wake up in the middle of the night with horrible stomach and back pains.  Although they were quite disabling, they would disappear as quickly as they came, and visits to the clinic the following day never revealed anything wrong with me.

The first couple times I convinced myself they were just flukes.  Then, I was certain that it was just something I had eaten.  But once they started to keep me home from work, I resolved to figure out just what was wrong with me.  And that is how I ended up in the ER one Friday night.  An ultrasound and a CT scan later, I was informed that I had gallstones, but my symptoms didn't point to them being the source of the problem.  "Go home.  Get some sleep.  Follow-up with your primary care provider on Monday.  Come back if it gets worse"

And come back I did.  The very next day when the pains had me in tears.  The ER smartly assigned me a different doctor this time, to get a fresh perspective.  After a blood draw, he was convinced that my gallbladder was to blame, even if the symptoms didn't line-up.  I was admitted and warned that surgery would soon follow.

Monday brought an ERCP.  In laymen's terms, they stuck a camera down my throat into my tummy.  They also pulled out a rogue gallstone.  I felt a thousand times better after they removed the wayward stone. (Who knew that one tiny little stone, blocking up one tiny little tube in your tummy could cause so much pain?)

My gallbladder was scheduled to be removed Tuesday.  Normally an outpatient procedure, gallbladder removal isn't quite so simple when one has clots in their lungs.  The ERCP and subsequent surgery involved taking me off my regular blood thinners, and being put on IV Heparin, which was stopped and started as necessary to accommodate procedures.  This means that my entire hospital adventure lasted from my ER visit on Saturday until my release from the hospital on Thursday.

When Shawn came to visit on Tuesday, he came with a present from Livie.  "Here - Liv says I am supposed to give this puppet to you"

(the sad mommy puppet)

Heart-breaking.  I don't have a problem crying in front of Livie.  I think it is good for her to know that parents have feelings too.  It is good for her to know that I miss her brother, and I am not made of stone.  But she shouldn't have to carry the burden of me being sad.

And that is why, I am going to (try to) not feel sorry for myself.  The more I tell myself that the sum of everything is no big deal - that I can handle it - the more I start to believe it.

The past week was just a blip.  The stomach-shots (a result of having to start blood thinners all over again) will be done soon.  I won't waste anymore words on the jerk-of-a-surgeon that had me so upset I was shaking for an hour after he left.  I will focus on the good.  All of my awesome friends that came to visit me.  One of my best friends that took Liv shopping for party supplies since I couldn't.  And the fact that I got to go to my 3 year old's (late) birthday party today.  She had a blast and was all smiles.  And that is what is important.  (pictures to follow)

It could always be worse

I had a rough day at work today. I seem to be in a stretch of bad days, which is making me extra sensitive to everything. There is no need to rehash the details, but I got my feelings hurt big time at work today. To the point that I spent 30 min. at lunch crying in my car. Normally I would have been able to brush it off, but not today.

I was feeling quite broken-hearted and sorry for myself on the way home from work. I am pretty sure that I cried all the way to daycare. I have been feeling sorry for myself a lot lately.

Then, I got to daycare and watched a teacher have a run in with a parent. The parent was throwing a fit. I have seen this parent 2 other times. Both of those times she was also throwing a fit. Today's issue? Her preschool-aged daughter who still wears diapers had a BM blow-out, soiling her clothes. The child did not have a change of clothes in her locker (which is required) so the teacher located a spare set and changed the girl. The mother walked in the door and started complaining before even hearing what happened - "Why is my daughter not wearing the clothes I sent her in?!?!? Where are her clothes?!?!?" (for the record, they were bagged and in the girl's locker). The teacher in the room at the time is new, so on our way out I grabbed another teacher to go back-up the new one. Rumor has it that the mom's fit lasted quite awhile.

I am not sure what is wrong in that mom's life, but she is angry at the world. I don't want to end up like her.

On the way home from daycare I started thinking that maybe my day wasn't so bad after all - at least I didn't get yelled at for doing the right thing. (would the mom have preferred that her daughter not be changed, or left to play naked?)

And then I got home, and my in-box confirmed that my day truly wasn't a bad day. Waiting for me was an update from a friend of a friend. I have been in touch with her since her husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor about 7 weeks ago. Surgery was 6 weeks ago and the tumor is already growing back. And quickly. All they can do now is radiation and chemotherapy to buy time.

Bad things happen, and it sucks. And we have had our share of bad things this year. But that update forced me to realize that things could always be worse. Six months out and Shawn is doing great. My pulmonary embolism was caught in time. I have an amazing little girl (who is snuggled next to me on the couch since I couldn't bear to send her to bed). We have a warm home and cupboards full of food (or at least they would be if I got my butt to the grocery store). Then there is Carter. I am thankful for the 36 weeks and 4 days that I had with him. Though I can't help but wish I had more time. It seems so unfair. But as we all know, life isn't fair.

A friend lost her firstborn son to a heart defect four and a half years ago. This blog post of hers really struck a chord with me - Why not me. I think it will be awhile before I can be at the same point of acceptance that she is. But it is something to work for. For now, I can accept that I do have things to be thankful for and that it could always be worse.

And with that, I am putting on my brave face and heading into the holiday weekend. Clifford the Elf has done a fine job of keeping up Liv's holiday cheer, but he moves back to Santa on Saturday, so Sunday is all on us.

Letters to Livie

Bad things don't just happen to other people. They happen to us too. 2011 has done a fine job of making sure that I know this.

I have always had the intention of writing letters to Livie, so that she would have something should I not be around. It was an idea I got before she was even born, from some Lifetime movie where a little girl's mom died. But it has always been just a good intention. I have scribbled out notes here and there, but never to the extent that I intended.

When I was in the hospital with the PE, I was scared and so regretful that I hadn't written Liv her letters. The middle of the night what-ifs in a hospital are awful.

So, I now have my own tradition for Livie's birthday. Last week, I bought cards. Lots and lots of cards. From "Happy 4th Birthday" to "Congratulations on the birth of your baby" and everything in-between.

I am going to spend the coming weeks writing letters for each card. Then, every year when her birthday comes around, I intend to update the letters that need updating. Writing to her has taken more time and made me cry more than I expected. I am hoping that by telling the Internet my plan, it will help hold me accountable. Hopefully Livie never needs to see these letters, but it brings me an odd sense of comfort to know that they will exist.

In more upbeat news, we have been busy taking down fall decorations around the house, and putting up winter ones.  (Carter's swing is still sitting where the Christmas tree traditionally goes, so I have a feeling it may be awhile before the tree goes up.)  We made snowflakes last night.  The three of us each cut out our own snowflakes, and then Livie asked me to help her make a baby one for Carter. This morning she taped them up on the cabinets of a bench that is in our entry way.

I took these pictures all within a minute or two of each other.  All with the same settings, and no flash.  The lighting hitting the bench was no different for any of the doors.  I retook all 4 pictures several times, trying to get the cabinets to look similar in all the pictures.  Each picture turned out the same every time.

Pulmonary Embolism

A month ago, I would not have had any clue what a pulmonary embolism was.  But a lot of things have changed in the past month.

The week after Carter was born, we spent our days getting ready for his funeral.  It was a surreal experience - I went from eagerly awaiting my son to planning his good-bye.  The abruption and delivery left me physically and emotionally drained, so when I started to tire easily I didn't think much of it.

The morning of Carter's funeral I took a shower with the water as hot as I could stand it.  I cried and cried until I couldn't handle the water anymore.  As we got ready for the day, I started to feel light headed and dizzy.  I chalked it up to the hot shower and my dread for the day.  As the day wore on, I felt worse and worse.  I tried to push how I was feeling out of my mind. It was my son's funeral - I had to be there.  I had been looking forward to seeing him since I said good-bye at the hospital.   I needed to see him.  So I went on with the day.

After the funeral I found myself with a line of people wanting to hug me.  I am thankful for all of the support, but by the end of the hug-line I could barely stand.  I snuck away to sit with a friend as soon as I could.  Sitting with her, she told me that "the friend in me wants to give you a hug, the nurse in me wants you to go to the doctor".  As I sat with her, my vision got blurry and my heart started to race.  The parish nurse checked my blood pressure which was elevated but not dangerous.  Once again, I chalked it up to the day.

The next morning as we were getting ready, I gave in to my symptoms.  I could barely see, and was extremely dizzy.   After dropping Liv off at daycare I had Shawn bring me to the ER.

After some tests and a scan, the emergency room doctor came in and told me that I had clots in my lungs. I still didn't understand what a big deal this was.  Pretty soon I had my midwives (and an angel named Dawn) checking on me, and everyone was telling me how lucky I was that I had come in.  At some point it hit home that a PE was not to be taken lightly.   I have never been so scared in my life (and still am).

That first night in the hospital was rough.  All I could think about was Shawn and Livie.  I don't know how to articulate all the thoughts I had that night, but I am thankful that the heparin did what it was supposed to do and thankful that I got to the hospital in time.

Going forward, I need to be on warfarin for 6ish months.  That seems like an eternity.   I feel like my life will be in a holding pattern for the next six months.   Blood tests (for clotting disorders) need to wait until I am off of the warfarin and the hematologist won't even discuss a possible future pregnancy until the results are back.

I don't know where to go from here.  Even though I am not emotionally ready for another pregnancy, everything in me wants to be pregnant yesterday.  I know it is the hormones and my heart's desire to be snuggling my sweet baby, but I can't shake the need to plan for another baby.   But I am not healthy.  I need to take time - time for my body and heart to heal.   I am struggling to accept that this is my life now.  My son died and I am not healthy.  How did I get here?