Thank you Gretchen Rubin: Part 1

Today’s post is going to be a bit different–a bit more lighthearted (although it won’t appear to start out that way, but I assure you it will end joyfully!), broken up in to 2 parts, and all about MOI…despite the fact that in my lifetime, I have typically been nervous talking about myself because of a deep fear of seeming self-centered. In fact, I almost didn’t write this post at all, just in case you may think “who is she to talk about herself, like it really matters?” Then I realized that if you are indeed following this blog, it is because you CARE. So, I acknowledged my self-deprecation, let it go, and resolved to move ahead with this post.

5,4,3,2,1, here I go… (thank you also to Mel Robbins for that life-changing tool for action! If anyone hasn’t heard of her book “The 5 Second Rule”, I highly recommend it.)

In order for any of this post to make sense, I must briefly explain the last 1.5 years of life–I promised not to bore you when I started this blog, and in staying true to that, I will strive to keep it to the “Coles Notes” version 😉

When I was pregnant with Miss Lydia (who will be 8 months old tomorrow, how is the time passing so fast? Where is the kleenex box?!), I ended up needing an emergency appendectomy at 15 weeks. I remember the anesthesiologist coming in to my room to explain the chances of losing baby (as high as 25%), and my heart began to shatter. Waiting the next couple of hours to be wheeled down to the operating room was pure hell on earth, and I was certain that was the scariest day of my life. Little did I know the hand that life was holding to deal us as 2017 began a few days later…

As if surgery while expecting isn’t scary enough, this marked the beginning of a huge medical saga for me. I ended up with infections from that surgery, a 9 CM abscess inside my liver, and in serious need of blood transfusions (just to name a few of the issues!). I ended up with a PICC Line IV that pumped daily heavy-duty antibiotic injections through me until I was 29 weeks pregnant. Somehow, our little Miss Lydia not only survived all of that, but THRIVED! We ended up doing a scheduled C section at 40 weeks 2 days, because my health (blood pressure, water retention, anxiety level, etc.) just wasn’t where it needed to be to attempt labor. Finally, at 8:50 AM on June 13, our sweet baby daughter was born (I could hardly believe Scott or our O.B. when they insisted “it” was actually a “GIRL”! It was a dream come true!!) , and all was right in our world again. Our family was complete, with our only daughter safe in our arms…or so we had thought…

2 weeks later, our world just about came crashing down. Lydia stopped breathing, for what seemed like no apparent reason at the time. I had been mistaken thinking the emergency surgery was the scariest day of my life. THIS was by far most terrifying thing I had ever experienced. Our saving grace was that I was awake holding her when it happened, and I noticed right away. Thank goodness that we live about 3 minutes from the hospital here in town, and the nurse was able to get her breathing again. Needless to say, I went in to a state of shock once she came around. It didn’t last long, but I’ll never forget the feeling of my mouth & throat feeling dry as sandpaper, no air getting in to my lungs, and the room going white. Long story short, after 3 days of constant monitoring and tests in a big hospital in Winnipeg, it was found out that Lydia had silent reflux, and she had choked. This was the most desirable of all the evils, so even though we were still traumatized, and very nervous to take her back home, we were also relieved. Such an odd dichotomy of emotions to experience simultaneously.

I must also acknowledge that I lost my dear grandma shortly before Lydia was born, very unexpectedly. That is a story that deserves it’s own attention at another time and in another place, so I won’t do it the injustice of summing it up in the midst of this post. Her passing affected me greatly, and Lydia is named after her. (I love you, Grandma, always.)

Fast forward a couple of months, and I don’t think it comes as any great surprise that I was NOT doing well. I had known for a while that I deal with some Anxiety Disorders (which particular ones I did not know, at that point in time), I knew that Post-Partum hormones could be nasty (this was my 3rd rodeo, I knew how it could be), I knew and had practiced so many of the keys to good mental health (yoga, exercise, clean eating, self-awareness, etc), but my efforts seemed futile. Scott and I knew that I was no longer myself. I couldn’t make it through even half of a day without having a panic attack, and crying (SO. MUCH. CRYING!) And yelling! Oh my, the anger, the snapping, and the yelling. I was so angry at the world for my lack of being able to stay calm, level, and just freaking enjoy my beautiful little family the way I so badly wanted to!!

The seasons began to change, summer sun morphing in to autumn colors, and with that shift came another revelation for our family–the dawning of light on Evretts developmental issues. So many questions, zero answers. It felt how I imagine being lost in a maze would feel. The panic grew deeper inside of me, spreading like suffocating fire, making it hard to breath even at the best of times.

How on earth was I going to be OK?…for our sweet little ones who deserve the steady, level, warm mother I started out to be? For my amazing Scott, who works works works (in so many areas of life, not only at his career) and barely mutters a complaint? For friends who deserved to have me contributing in our relationships? For MYSELF? How on earth was I going to pull it together, and KEEP IT TOGETHER?….

 

 

 

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