I woke up in a cold sweat, my damp shirt revealing the uncertainty and fear of my dreams from the night before...something about being out of control and other people dominating over me... I adjusted to reality and my heart relaxed a little; but my mind was swept up in thinking about the very dynamic of fear. What caused me to be afraid?
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I've fought fear all my life. I can see myself at 6, tears streaming down my face, begging my parents to let me sleep in their bed. I was certain I had heard a noise downstairs, and I just knew it was a man in a mask who had come to take me and all my dolls. It wasn't long after that, my father took me to a shooting range with one of his guns. He brought an empty Downy softener bottle, which he placed at the end of the range. After he had positioned me right next to him, he told me to cover my ears, and he pumped that Downy bottle full of lead. As I stared in awe at the assaulted plastic container, he said to me, "Christine, if anyone comes into our house, I will fill them with bullets, just like I did to that laundry bottle."
I guess that was my dad's way of showing me that I didn't have to be afraid. He was there to protect me. And for a while, that really helped. I had also been taught that Jesus and His angels were there to protect me, but I couldn't see them, and the thought of invisible beings in my room freaked me out a little too. When I heard noises at night, I started to wonder if my dad would be able to make it to the intruder before the man in the mask got to me, and again I wondered how an invisible being was going to protect me from a human being.
Fast forward 7 years. I was 13, and my family was living in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. It was late one night, and while my younger brothers were taking a shower, my father was loading his shot gun in the dim candle light at the kitchen table. I stood back for a moment, hiding next to the steel bar door that separated our sleeping area from the kitchen. I watched as he went to each door and double checked the locks and bars that held my family safely within. "Dad, what are you doing?" I asked. At first, he denied doing anything out of the ordinary. But I persisted, and he finally explained that he had fired our gardener for stealing from us. My dad had been warned that the gardener and a bunch of his angry friends might come back to rob and kill us.
I sat, wide eyed at the kitchen table, looking to my father for comfort. I was afraid, panicked, scared out of my mind. I was only 13, and my father had told me the truth. There were people who wanted to rob and kill my family in this God-forsaken foreign country. I stifled my tears. My dad put his loaded shot gun on top of the kitchen cabinet, grabbed a piece of paper and sat down next to me. He picked up a pencil and drew a picture of the large iron gate that protected the Embassy that we called home. He said, "Christine, you know the gate right outside our front door? Well, I saw an angel standing guard at the gate." He continued drawing. "The thing was- the angel's knee caps reached the very tops of the gate, which is about 9 feet tall. We have nothing to worry about, Christine. God has sent his angel to watch over us, and he is a bad ass angel!" My dad laughed for a moment, then he got serious again. "And, if for some reason, any guys get passed that angel, I'll use my shot gun to pump them full of lead." He winked at me, hugged me, and sent me off to bed. Somehow I felt safe. I knew two things- my father would never lie to me about angels, and my father was a great shot. I knew we would be okay.
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Fear has always been there- hiding somewhere in my heart, playing upon the very real possibilities in life- things that I don't ever want to experience. The loss of innocence, life, love...the list is literally endless. I'm at a place in my life now where I don't want fear to have any part of my heart. But how do I live life without being afraid of the bad things that can happen? The truth is- just because I believe in God doesn't mean I am going to be spared from bad things. Trials and hardships come all the time- it's part of life. I'm not guaranteed I won't face hard times, but I am guaranteed that I won't go through it alone, and that He will give me the grace to get through it. Is that enough? Is knowing that God will carry me through the hard times enough to not live in fear of them? I believe the resounding answer is, Yes, because that may very well be the only way to truly be set free from fear.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
The Voices in My Head
I can see how people on bed rest can get depressed. I was teetering on the brink of depression and self pity yesterday. There's no reason to get out of bed, much less get out of your pajamas. There's little to no reason to take a shower (cause your husband and daughter love you-greasy haired, oily skinned and all). There's no place to go, so no one's going to see you in public. Why bother maintaining any sense of concern in your appearance? Depression is all consuming. It sneaks up on you, makes you feel lousy about yourself, tells you there is no point in getting out of bed or even living. Why bother? is the overwhelming attitude I hear ringing in my ears. Self pity says to me, Poor you! You can't go any where or do anything. You are restricted, confined, trapped into resting. You are in pain, you are pregnant, and boy you are having a rough go at it this time around. It's so sad how awful your life is. I listened to these voices yesterday, and I literally thought I was going to go out of my mind.
I woke up thinking about something that I could do today. I knew I couldn't have another day like yesterday or I would succumb to the voices in my head and fall into the abyss of depression and self wallowing. I "assigned" myself the task of making a pitcher of ice tea and mailing out one bill. I knew that the walk down and up three flights of stairs to the mailboxes would definitely require all my strength and energy, so I needed to pace myself. It's not like those two tasks alone filled me with joy...especially after reading my friends' facebook posts about their "to do" lists involving, painting, moving furniture back into bedrooms, baking cupcakes, shopping, building shelves, etc (was I actually capable of that at one point?)...but I realize that I needed to have something to do, or just something to look forward to. Even if it's as simple as enjoying a glass of ice tea that I made. I know, heating water and putting tea bags in sounds like a such a minimal task, but to me, it was something to do. I guess now I really do sound like that 85 year old with a broken hip.
I can't sleep away the bed rest. I can't make the time go by any faster by reading a book or watching TV. And I certainly can't just stare at the walls for the next 4 months. The mornings that I wake up, actually get out of my pajamas and give myself a little task to do seem to turn out better than the ones where I sleep in until 11:30 AM and watch TV for 5 hours. I have my good days, and then the not so good days. I guess it really boils down to which voices I'm going to listen to- the ones of hope, perseverance and determination, or the ones of depression, self pity, and anger. But, then again, I don't have to be on bed rest to decide which voices to listen to. I suppose everyone has to wake up and determine what kind of day it is going to be.
I woke up thinking about something that I could do today. I knew I couldn't have another day like yesterday or I would succumb to the voices in my head and fall into the abyss of depression and self wallowing. I "assigned" myself the task of making a pitcher of ice tea and mailing out one bill. I knew that the walk down and up three flights of stairs to the mailboxes would definitely require all my strength and energy, so I needed to pace myself. It's not like those two tasks alone filled me with joy...especially after reading my friends' facebook posts about their "to do" lists involving, painting, moving furniture back into bedrooms, baking cupcakes, shopping, building shelves, etc (was I actually capable of that at one point?)...but I realize that I needed to have something to do, or just something to look forward to. Even if it's as simple as enjoying a glass of ice tea that I made. I know, heating water and putting tea bags in sounds like a such a minimal task, but to me, it was something to do. I guess now I really do sound like that 85 year old with a broken hip.
I can't sleep away the bed rest. I can't make the time go by any faster by reading a book or watching TV. And I certainly can't just stare at the walls for the next 4 months. The mornings that I wake up, actually get out of my pajamas and give myself a little task to do seem to turn out better than the ones where I sleep in until 11:30 AM and watch TV for 5 hours. I have my good days, and then the not so good days. I guess it really boils down to which voices I'm going to listen to- the ones of hope, perseverance and determination, or the ones of depression, self pity, and anger. But, then again, I don't have to be on bed rest to decide which voices to listen to. I suppose everyone has to wake up and determine what kind of day it is going to be.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Going A-Wall
I feel like pounding the crap out of a punching bag and screaming at the top of my lungs, "UNCLE! I give up! Enough is enough!" And yet, I feel like it just keeps getting heaped on. I feel guilty for complaining. We have prayed for this little one for so long. We have wanted to have another baby for more than a year, and finally that dream is coming true. But, oh there is a price to pay. 21 weeks and I'm still throwing up. Dealing with breakthrough bleeding. Placed on bed rest. Going through the normal pregnancy pains that are associated with the great stretching. And now, throw in an umbilical hernia that hurts to touch. Every time I sneeze, laugh, cry, throw up, cough, or use my abdominal muscles, I automatically put my hand over my belly button and hold it in. Otherwise, I'm in some pretty intense pain. It's just "one of those things that can happen during pregnancy." If I hear that phrase again, I swear I might go A-wall.
Thank God for this little life inside me. She is the only thing keeping me sane right now. Each time I feel her kick or somersault, I remember that there is a purpose in going through all this. She's worth the journey, the trials, the pain. She is worth fighting for. Why? Because I love her already. I don't know her name. I don't know anything about her. I just know that God placed her within me, to carry her through while she grows. And she's with me. She's a part of me.
And suddenly, I can hear God say, "She is worth fighting for because I love her. I know her by name. I know everything about her. I've placed her within me, to carry her through while she grows. She's with me. She's a part of me. My daughter, Christine. While you carry this little one, I'm carrying you."
Thank God for this little life inside me. She is the only thing keeping me sane right now. Each time I feel her kick or somersault, I remember that there is a purpose in going through all this. She's worth the journey, the trials, the pain. She is worth fighting for. Why? Because I love her already. I don't know her name. I don't know anything about her. I just know that God placed her within me, to carry her through while she grows. And she's with me. She's a part of me.
And suddenly, I can hear God say, "She is worth fighting for because I love her. I know her by name. I know everything about her. I've placed her within me, to carry her through while she grows. She's with me. She's a part of me. My daughter, Christine. While you carry this little one, I'm carrying you."
Monday, June 11, 2012
Wrestling with the resting
Yesterday was a really hard day. I guess you have to endure those rough days to appreciate the ones where you feel halfway decent. My feet and legs were throbbing, my head was pounding, and pregnancy related pains assaulted me- ALL DAY. I guess it's good that I'm on bed rest. I've been on bed rest for 10 days now, and believe me when I say it feels like it's been so much longer. I have a new appreciation for "one day at a time" because that's literally what I'm doing- living one day at a time.
I don't think my goal is supposed to be to survive being on bed rest. Somehow, I think I'm supposed to learn to be content. I am a "do it yourself, woman on a mission, what's the plan?, let me tackle this task" kind of a girl, so sitting/laying on the couch or in bed is pretty much the opposite of what I'd choose to do. And yet, here I am- ordered by my doctor to rest. And ordered by my body to listen- or it doesn't cooperate and I find myself dealing with the consequences of not listening. (I do not want to earn another trip to the hospital.)
My very core feels restricted. I'm not allowed to drive. I can't lift my daughter. I can't run out to the store for a quick errand. Who am I kidding? I can barely manage the 3 flights of stairs to our apartment without getting winded and feeling pain. I'm on a short leash, and I find myself wishing that I could just fast forward the next 4 months to get to the other side of this trial.
I suppose now would be a really good time to say something super inspirational- like, God is going to give me the grace to make it through. Which is true, but it certainly doesn't feel like the anecdote. Perhaps I just need to be honest and say something like, God, I don't understand why I have to go through this. I'm grateful for your miracle of life growing within me. I'm so grateful that you saved this baby and my life a couple weeks ago when crisis struck. But I'm frustrated in the resting. I feel so out of control and am grasping to just hang on for dear life to something.
I don't think my goal is supposed to be to survive being on bed rest. Somehow, I think I'm supposed to learn to be content. I am a "do it yourself, woman on a mission, what's the plan?, let me tackle this task" kind of a girl, so sitting/laying on the couch or in bed is pretty much the opposite of what I'd choose to do. And yet, here I am- ordered by my doctor to rest. And ordered by my body to listen- or it doesn't cooperate and I find myself dealing with the consequences of not listening. (I do not want to earn another trip to the hospital.)
My very core feels restricted. I'm not allowed to drive. I can't lift my daughter. I can't run out to the store for a quick errand. Who am I kidding? I can barely manage the 3 flights of stairs to our apartment without getting winded and feeling pain. I'm on a short leash, and I find myself wishing that I could just fast forward the next 4 months to get to the other side of this trial.
I suppose now would be a really good time to say something super inspirational- like, God is going to give me the grace to make it through. Which is true, but it certainly doesn't feel like the anecdote. Perhaps I just need to be honest and say something like, God, I don't understand why I have to go through this. I'm grateful for your miracle of life growing within me. I'm so grateful that you saved this baby and my life a couple weeks ago when crisis struck. But I'm frustrated in the resting. I feel so out of control and am grasping to just hang on for dear life to something.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
I keep bleeding, I keep keep bleeding love...
My daughter had been out of the hospital for exactly one week, and I was marveling at the fact that she was at daycare and things were starting to feel normal again. In the morning, I had a doctor's appointment with my primary care doctor, where I intended to convince him that I could go back to work for the last week of school. After being off work for two months, I felt ready to tackle the last week- in fact, I NEEDED that closure with my students. Although he felt I should still rest my ankle as much as possible, he said he'd let me go back as long as I "took it easy" and elevated my feet as much as possible. I was happy to oblige, and I walked out of the office with my signed release to go back to work.
About an hour later, I just didn't feel right. I felt unsettled and like something was wrong. I called up my OB's office and explained that I just wasn't comfortable with some of the symptoms that I began to experience. The pressure, the pain, it just didn't seem right. The office fit me right in, and by early afternoon I was sitting in the room waiting to be seen by the PA. Carol walked in with her usual warm smile and began asking questions. I explained that something just didn't seem right. I was concerned and listened my symptoms- pain, pressure, etc. She calmly assured me that she would check to make sure everything was okay. I smiled as we listened to the baby's strong heart beat and began talking about how much he/she was moving. Since everything in my belly seemed cope-static, she continued the exam. And after 30 seconds, it became apparent that everything was NOT okay. In her soothing voice, she said to me, "Christine, you've started to bleed a lot. I need to get people in here to help me. I think you may have to go to the hospital."
I stifled my panic. This was NOT happening! She kept talking to me, making sure I stayed conscience, and two other women came into the room to assist. An ambulance was called, and I was told I would be rushed to the hospital where they would find the source of the bleeding. Before they loaded me into the ambulance, Carol listened to the heart beat again. It was still solid, and she smiled quietly. "It's going to be is okay, Christine. You are going to be okay, and so will the baby."
I was strapped down onto an ambulance bed, and I closed my eyes. Dear God, please. I'm all alone. This is too much for me to bear...I was loaded into the back of the vehicle...Please, God. I feel so out of control here. I need You to put Your hands right around this baby and protect it, please. We haven't come this far to lose it all. Please...I silently prayed as the doors closed and I was whisked away to the hospital. I mostly looked at the ceiling of the ambulance as we drove and tried my best to answer the questions of the paramedics. I knew they just wanted to make sure that I was stable and didn't go unconscious, but I just wanted the quiet. I couldn't cry. I couldn't do anything. I just laid there and felt helpless.
We arrived at the ER about 25 minutes later and were ushered right into the labor and delivery unit. All I could think of was, It's too early. It's not time. I'm only halfway there. A nurse came and placed a monitor on my belly. She warned me that they may not be able to pick up the baby's heart beat with the device since I was only 20 weeks. She would have to go get the Doppler if the baby couldn't be heard. After what seemed like an eternity of trying, she took the monitor off of me and said, Please don't worry yet. I'll go get the Doppler. Who me, worry? That you can't find my baby's heart rate? Or that I just took an ambulance to the hospital by myself? Or that I started bleeding and you don't know why? Which part should I not worry about? I felt like freaking out. I wanted to jump out of my bed and start screaming, Enough is enough! I can't do this! And then, I felt the baby move. It moved a couple times and then settled in the middle of my belly, and I knew everything was going to be okay.
The nurse returned with a Doppler and placed it on my belly just in time for my OB to walk in. We all waited and listened as a strong 147 heart beat came through the machine. My doctor's face lit up, and he said, "That is the best part of my day, right there! A heart beat and it sounds great!" They did an ultrasound immediately, and there was the baby, happy as could be. Moving around like crazy, hiding from the technician as much as possible. No ruptured placenta, no bleeding from where the baby was. Everything looked great. My doctor was puzzled and couldn't understand why I had bleeding in the first place. He had to leave for about a half hour to go deliver a baby right across the hall from me, but he assured me he would be back to figure things out.
The best way to explain my scary experience is a spontaneously awful bloody nose. Venus sinus can form and rupture, pooling out blood from anywhere that there is a lot of vascular activity. Given the fact that a pregnant woman's body changes so much, it's not uncommon to develop these pockets of blood and have them rupture. Not exactly common, but "just one of those weird things that can happen during pregnancy" my doctor said. He placed me on strict bed rest, only allowing me to get up for the bathroom, to shower, and to eat. He warned me that this could happen again, and that the more I rest, the less likely it will happen. I have never been good at resting, but I'll tell you what- I will become a professional "rester" if it means I can avoid another ambulance ride and trip to labor and delivery before it's time.
About an hour later, I just didn't feel right. I felt unsettled and like something was wrong. I called up my OB's office and explained that I just wasn't comfortable with some of the symptoms that I began to experience. The pressure, the pain, it just didn't seem right. The office fit me right in, and by early afternoon I was sitting in the room waiting to be seen by the PA. Carol walked in with her usual warm smile and began asking questions. I explained that something just didn't seem right. I was concerned and listened my symptoms- pain, pressure, etc. She calmly assured me that she would check to make sure everything was okay. I smiled as we listened to the baby's strong heart beat and began talking about how much he/she was moving. Since everything in my belly seemed cope-static, she continued the exam. And after 30 seconds, it became apparent that everything was NOT okay. In her soothing voice, she said to me, "Christine, you've started to bleed a lot. I need to get people in here to help me. I think you may have to go to the hospital."
I stifled my panic. This was NOT happening! She kept talking to me, making sure I stayed conscience, and two other women came into the room to assist. An ambulance was called, and I was told I would be rushed to the hospital where they would find the source of the bleeding. Before they loaded me into the ambulance, Carol listened to the heart beat again. It was still solid, and she smiled quietly. "It's going to be is okay, Christine. You are going to be okay, and so will the baby."
I was strapped down onto an ambulance bed, and I closed my eyes. Dear God, please. I'm all alone. This is too much for me to bear...I was loaded into the back of the vehicle...Please, God. I feel so out of control here. I need You to put Your hands right around this baby and protect it, please. We haven't come this far to lose it all. Please...I silently prayed as the doors closed and I was whisked away to the hospital. I mostly looked at the ceiling of the ambulance as we drove and tried my best to answer the questions of the paramedics. I knew they just wanted to make sure that I was stable and didn't go unconscious, but I just wanted the quiet. I couldn't cry. I couldn't do anything. I just laid there and felt helpless.
We arrived at the ER about 25 minutes later and were ushered right into the labor and delivery unit. All I could think of was, It's too early. It's not time. I'm only halfway there. A nurse came and placed a monitor on my belly. She warned me that they may not be able to pick up the baby's heart beat with the device since I was only 20 weeks. She would have to go get the Doppler if the baby couldn't be heard. After what seemed like an eternity of trying, she took the monitor off of me and said, Please don't worry yet. I'll go get the Doppler. Who me, worry? That you can't find my baby's heart rate? Or that I just took an ambulance to the hospital by myself? Or that I started bleeding and you don't know why? Which part should I not worry about? I felt like freaking out. I wanted to jump out of my bed and start screaming, Enough is enough! I can't do this! And then, I felt the baby move. It moved a couple times and then settled in the middle of my belly, and I knew everything was going to be okay.
The nurse returned with a Doppler and placed it on my belly just in time for my OB to walk in. We all waited and listened as a strong 147 heart beat came through the machine. My doctor's face lit up, and he said, "That is the best part of my day, right there! A heart beat and it sounds great!" They did an ultrasound immediately, and there was the baby, happy as could be. Moving around like crazy, hiding from the technician as much as possible. No ruptured placenta, no bleeding from where the baby was. Everything looked great. My doctor was puzzled and couldn't understand why I had bleeding in the first place. He had to leave for about a half hour to go deliver a baby right across the hall from me, but he assured me he would be back to figure things out.
The best way to explain my scary experience is a spontaneously awful bloody nose. Venus sinus can form and rupture, pooling out blood from anywhere that there is a lot of vascular activity. Given the fact that a pregnant woman's body changes so much, it's not uncommon to develop these pockets of blood and have them rupture. Not exactly common, but "just one of those weird things that can happen during pregnancy" my doctor said. He placed me on strict bed rest, only allowing me to get up for the bathroom, to shower, and to eat. He warned me that this could happen again, and that the more I rest, the less likely it will happen. I have never been good at resting, but I'll tell you what- I will become a professional "rester" if it means I can avoid another ambulance ride and trip to labor and delivery before it's time.
Kawasaki...Disease, not the motorcycle
By mid-May, the swelling in my ankle had gone down considerably, and I was in a better place, personally speaking. I still didn't like being in pain and being limited in my walking (which unfortunately came with a limp and drew considerable questions from caring friends), but I felt like things were on the up and up. THEN, my daughter got sick.
Aleena woke up on a normal Wednesday (May 16) morning with a high fever and nothing else. I thought, That's strange! Maybe she picked up something from daycare. Because there were no other symptoms besides a fairly high fever, that I attempted to control by alternating Tylenol and Advil, I wasn't worried. A couple days of fevers and she'd be back to her normal self. I even boasted to a friend over the phone, Yeah, Aleena is fine. She's still got a fever but she's not throwing up or anything. I should have never opened my mouth! Friday morning, day 3 of high fevers, she started throwing up. I took her to the doctor early in the morning, and the doctor assured me she had the 3-5 day stomach virus going around and that she should be feeling better by Sunday. Great! A whole weekend with a sick child and no remedy. Friday night into Saturday got so much worse. Aleena couldn't keep anything down. She would take a sip of pedialyte and throw it right back up. I started to worry about dehydration, but that was only the start of my worries. Saturday morning, Aleena woke up covered in a rash. She was so hot, and her eyes started to look red and blood shot. I called the on-call doctor who again assured me it was just part of the 3-5 day virus her body was fighting. I was welcome to bring Aleena into the office, but there was nothing different they would do since it was only day 4. By Sunday, Day 5 of the fever and throwing up, I knew something wasn't right. This was not just a virus. My extremely active three year old had become lethargic, with blood shot eyes and a continued high fever. She still had a rash on her body, her lips were chapped, and her tongue was covered in bumps. I knew we had to take her in again.
Monday (May 21) was Day 6 of Aleena being sick. I felt weary and exhausted from the countless hours of being awake through the night, praying over my child, holding the trash can as she threw up, and rubbing her head to check for the high heat coming from her body. Glenn and I took her into the doctor who examined her. Deep in my gut I knew Aleena was sick and could possibly need to be in the hospital, but it didn't soften the blow of the doctor's words.
"Okay, guys. I'm going to be really honest with you. I don't want to alarm or scare you, but Aleena is very sick. Although I am concerned that she is dehydrated, I am more concerned about all her symptoms. I believe your daughter has Kawasaki Disease. Do you know what that is?"
I stifled the panic and listened with my best poker face. My baby had what?! We listened as the doctor explained that this disease attacked the blood vessels of the body, and more importantly the coronary arteries of the heart. She had to be taken to the hospital immediately, where she would be evaluated and treated for Kawasaki's, if that's what she truly had.
Oh, my guts! I looked at Glenn and thought, "Really? When will this end? Six days of sickness, and now we are going to the hospital with our three year old, who may have a damaged heart." We put one foot in front of the other and took Aleena into the ER. I texted people on the way and posted to Facebook, asking for prayer support. We were quickly ushered into the Pediatric Unit of the ER and nurses and doctors came in, asking questions and doing their jobs. I think we repeated the history of the 6 Days of Illness about a thousand times to each new specialist who came in to see our daughter.
I knew that Aleena was going to have to get an IV, and I knew how dehydrated she was. I started to dread the moment that was approaching, all the while humming quietly to Aleena as I cradled her in the hospital bed. The nurses came in with the needles and IV. I was asked to get off the bed, and then lay across my child so that she wouldn't squirm. There is little else that can break a Momma's heart than holding her child down as they have a needle placed into her arm. Aleena cried out in pain, and I did my best to hold back my tears. If I could just bear this burden for my daughter...if only I could take the pain for her. "Me, God. Let me take it and let me bear it." The IV finally went in, and I did my best to calm Aleena's tears of pain.
Eventually, we were taken up to the Pediatric Unit and Aleena was settled into her room. The nurses and doctors were wonderful, explaining everything very carefully and keeping up informed. Aleena began treatment for Kawasaki Disease on Tuesday morning (May 22). The 12 hour IVIG treatment was successful, and on Wednesday, we began to see signs of improvement. She had an echo cardiogram to check for damage to her coronary arteries, and by God's great faithfulness, she had NO damage! There were 3 small miniscule leaks in some of her valves due to inflammation, but that was supposed to clear up in 8-10 weeks. She also ended up having an ultrasound of her kidneys to check for any abnormalities, which came back completely normal. Again, thank you Jesus.
I started to run on empty. Three nights in the hospital, on top of 6 nights being awake throughout the night with a sick child, I needed sleep. Glenn spent time running back and forth from the hospital to home, taking care of our dog, bringing food, clothes, or whatever I needed. We were exhausted and ready for a breakthrough on so many levels. We marveled at God's goodness- how quickly Aleena was diagnosed and treated, that she had no damage to her heart, her kidneys were clear, and she was still very much full of life. We were surrounded by our friends and church family who brought meals, gifts for and prayed for strength. After four days in the hospital, Aleena was released from the Pediatric Unit on Thursday, May 24, and sent home with no restrictions. I remember my daughter's hand in mine as we walked out of the hospital. She looked up at the sun and said, "Mommy, it's sunny outside." And I said, "Yes, honey. It is. A beautiful day to go home from the hospital and get some rest."
Aleena woke up on a normal Wednesday (May 16) morning with a high fever and nothing else. I thought, That's strange! Maybe she picked up something from daycare. Because there were no other symptoms besides a fairly high fever, that I attempted to control by alternating Tylenol and Advil, I wasn't worried. A couple days of fevers and she'd be back to her normal self. I even boasted to a friend over the phone, Yeah, Aleena is fine. She's still got a fever but she's not throwing up or anything. I should have never opened my mouth! Friday morning, day 3 of high fevers, she started throwing up. I took her to the doctor early in the morning, and the doctor assured me she had the 3-5 day stomach virus going around and that she should be feeling better by Sunday. Great! A whole weekend with a sick child and no remedy. Friday night into Saturday got so much worse. Aleena couldn't keep anything down. She would take a sip of pedialyte and throw it right back up. I started to worry about dehydration, but that was only the start of my worries. Saturday morning, Aleena woke up covered in a rash. She was so hot, and her eyes started to look red and blood shot. I called the on-call doctor who again assured me it was just part of the 3-5 day virus her body was fighting. I was welcome to bring Aleena into the office, but there was nothing different they would do since it was only day 4. By Sunday, Day 5 of the fever and throwing up, I knew something wasn't right. This was not just a virus. My extremely active three year old had become lethargic, with blood shot eyes and a continued high fever. She still had a rash on her body, her lips were chapped, and her tongue was covered in bumps. I knew we had to take her in again.
Monday (May 21) was Day 6 of Aleena being sick. I felt weary and exhausted from the countless hours of being awake through the night, praying over my child, holding the trash can as she threw up, and rubbing her head to check for the high heat coming from her body. Glenn and I took her into the doctor who examined her. Deep in my gut I knew Aleena was sick and could possibly need to be in the hospital, but it didn't soften the blow of the doctor's words.
"Okay, guys. I'm going to be really honest with you. I don't want to alarm or scare you, but Aleena is very sick. Although I am concerned that she is dehydrated, I am more concerned about all her symptoms. I believe your daughter has Kawasaki Disease. Do you know what that is?"
I stifled the panic and listened with my best poker face. My baby had what?! We listened as the doctor explained that this disease attacked the blood vessels of the body, and more importantly the coronary arteries of the heart. She had to be taken to the hospital immediately, where she would be evaluated and treated for Kawasaki's, if that's what she truly had.
Oh, my guts! I looked at Glenn and thought, "Really? When will this end? Six days of sickness, and now we are going to the hospital with our three year old, who may have a damaged heart." We put one foot in front of the other and took Aleena into the ER. I texted people on the way and posted to Facebook, asking for prayer support. We were quickly ushered into the Pediatric Unit of the ER and nurses and doctors came in, asking questions and doing their jobs. I think we repeated the history of the 6 Days of Illness about a thousand times to each new specialist who came in to see our daughter.
I knew that Aleena was going to have to get an IV, and I knew how dehydrated she was. I started to dread the moment that was approaching, all the while humming quietly to Aleena as I cradled her in the hospital bed. The nurses came in with the needles and IV. I was asked to get off the bed, and then lay across my child so that she wouldn't squirm. There is little else that can break a Momma's heart than holding her child down as they have a needle placed into her arm. Aleena cried out in pain, and I did my best to hold back my tears. If I could just bear this burden for my daughter...if only I could take the pain for her. "Me, God. Let me take it and let me bear it." The IV finally went in, and I did my best to calm Aleena's tears of pain.
Eventually, we were taken up to the Pediatric Unit and Aleena was settled into her room. The nurses and doctors were wonderful, explaining everything very carefully and keeping up informed. Aleena began treatment for Kawasaki Disease on Tuesday morning (May 22). The 12 hour IVIG treatment was successful, and on Wednesday, we began to see signs of improvement. She had an echo cardiogram to check for damage to her coronary arteries, and by God's great faithfulness, she had NO damage! There were 3 small miniscule leaks in some of her valves due to inflammation, but that was supposed to clear up in 8-10 weeks. She also ended up having an ultrasound of her kidneys to check for any abnormalities, which came back completely normal. Again, thank you Jesus.
I started to run on empty. Three nights in the hospital, on top of 6 nights being awake throughout the night with a sick child, I needed sleep. Glenn spent time running back and forth from the hospital to home, taking care of our dog, bringing food, clothes, or whatever I needed. We were exhausted and ready for a breakthrough on so many levels. We marveled at God's goodness- how quickly Aleena was diagnosed and treated, that she had no damage to her heart, her kidneys were clear, and she was still very much full of life. We were surrounded by our friends and church family who brought meals, gifts for and prayed for strength. After four days in the hospital, Aleena was released from the Pediatric Unit on Thursday, May 24, and sent home with no restrictions. I remember my daughter's hand in mine as we walked out of the hospital. She looked up at the sun and said, "Mommy, it's sunny outside." And I said, "Yes, honey. It is. A beautiful day to go home from the hospital and get some rest."
Rejoicing through the pain
Glenn and I had longed to have another baby for so long. Our daughter cried and prayed for a sibling for months on end. We were so grateful to find out in February that we were expecting Baby #2! What a blessing and an answer to prayer. Despite the extreme nausea, the constant throwing up morning, noon, and night, I pressed on, knowing the joy of a new little one in October.
By the end of March, I started having major issues with my ankle. Like, the kind of issues that prevent you from walking and earn you a couple visits to the ER. Little did I know that I was about to have a repeat of one of the worst things that I have ever been through in my life. A little condition called pyodermagangranosum. Having an immune disease since I was seventeen, I have often experienced rare conditions that affect .001% of the population. Those kinds of things tend to find me. Anyways, I developed this huge sore on the side of my right ankle, which actually prevented me from being able to walk, put weight on my foot for long periods of time, and ultimately took away my ability to work (as a full time teacher). I was placed on short term disability and told to rest. I guess a picture can speak a thousand words...
Dealing with the pain in my ankle at times was excruciating, but I like to think that I have a high tolerance for pain. When I was 16, I had thirteen of those suckers on my legs all at the same time. So, I tried to reassure myself that I could most certainly deal with the pain of only one. The sore eventually became so filled with fluid, I was able to aspirate it and relieve some of the pressure. While it healed, another sore developed below it, and I got to repeat the lovely process.
Was I mad at God for letting me got through this again, only this time pregnant? You bet! I started questioning His goodness in my life. Questioning if God even loved me; questioning whether or not He was really for me. Countless people had prayed for me for healing, and it just didn't happen. The sore didn't go away, and I had to go through the hideous process of it growing, popping, then finally healing 6 weeks later. BUT, the baby in my "belly" told a different story. The baby said, "I'm here and God is good. You prayed for me, and I'm here. God heard you. He loves you. He knows you. He is for you." There was a deep rejoicing in my womb, and it wasn't coming from me. It was coming from my unborn child.
By the end of March, I started having major issues with my ankle. Like, the kind of issues that prevent you from walking and earn you a couple visits to the ER. Little did I know that I was about to have a repeat of one of the worst things that I have ever been through in my life. A little condition called pyodermagangranosum. Having an immune disease since I was seventeen, I have often experienced rare conditions that affect .001% of the population. Those kinds of things tend to find me. Anyways, I developed this huge sore on the side of my right ankle, which actually prevented me from being able to walk, put weight on my foot for long periods of time, and ultimately took away my ability to work (as a full time teacher). I was placed on short term disability and told to rest. I guess a picture can speak a thousand words...
Dealing with the pain in my ankle at times was excruciating, but I like to think that I have a high tolerance for pain. When I was 16, I had thirteen of those suckers on my legs all at the same time. So, I tried to reassure myself that I could most certainly deal with the pain of only one. The sore eventually became so filled with fluid, I was able to aspirate it and relieve some of the pressure. While it healed, another sore developed below it, and I got to repeat the lovely process.
Was I mad at God for letting me got through this again, only this time pregnant? You bet! I started questioning His goodness in my life. Questioning if God even loved me; questioning whether or not He was really for me. Countless people had prayed for me for healing, and it just didn't happen. The sore didn't go away, and I had to go through the hideous process of it growing, popping, then finally healing 6 weeks later. BUT, the baby in my "belly" told a different story. The baby said, "I'm here and God is good. You prayed for me, and I'm here. God heard you. He loves you. He knows you. He is for you." There was a deep rejoicing in my womb, and it wasn't coming from me. It was coming from my unborn child.
A New Season
Summer is almost here. Actually, with the weather the way it's been, it feels like it's already arrived. So, I guess my title actually refers to a personal season that we are in rather than the actual changing of the weather.
It's funny. When I started this blog two years ago, I was documenting our journey through paying off our debt. We started out owning a 4 bedroom town home that was way above our budget. Not to mention credit cards, my school loans and Glenn's school loans, and car payments. We downsized and simplified our lives so many times since then- living in the shack, then with the Rabbit Lady, and now renting a lovely 2 bedroom apartment- our days of paying off debt are done. We've been debt free since last summer, and our focus has been on saving up to one day put a down payment on a home that we can afford. It's not that life has become boring in any way shape or form, rather, we were adjusting to not having the stress of oppressive living conditions...Of course, stressful situations seem to find us no matter where we live.
And thus, a new season of learning and journeying through the valley began.
Remembering the past
I realize now that I have very few pictures of our 2 room apartment. The best I can do is Christmas from this past year.
Shortly after Christmas, it became very apparent that we needed to move. Not only had we outgrown our space, our relationship with our landlord became strained. December 28 we decided to move, and on January 7 it happened. We moved into a glorious two bedroom apartment, with two bathrooms, and a wonderful kitchen. I felt like I was in heaven.
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