Tales from the Grocery Store...

There are few things that irritate me like grocery shopping irritates me. Maybe it’s the fact that I usually do it on my own, or the fact that it never fails: there’s someone with a cart that can’t figure out to stay toward the side of the aisle (“MOOOVE”—Ludicrous). Grocery trips with my mom were always an epic adventure of carefully-crafted chaos. One child would take a group of coupons to one part of the store; the other child would take another group. Dad would wreak havoc by throwing things whenever possible; Mom would go into full-military-assault mode, and we would, in short, take over the entire store.

I’m not kidding—you could hear us from one end of Schnucks to the other.  I’m really, REALLY good at “Mom?  Mom???? MOOOOOOOMMMMM?!?!?!” I think that's probably how I developed excellent vocal projection...I guess I should send Schnucks a letter of thanks...

Mom is EXCELLENT at “WHAAAAT?!?!?  I SWEAR, I CAN’T TAKE YOU KIDS ANYWHERE-WAIT! WHERE IS YOUR FATHER?!?!?!  JEFFREYJEFFREYJEFFREY!!!!  $%*($%*(*! 

If reality shows would have been a thing during my childhood, we would have made a fantastic one. It would be some caustic combination of Real World/HoneyBooBoo/Bridezilla+Momzilla/ThriftShopDivas/Italian-By-Proxy/BradyBunch AWESOMENESS. We would have rocked your airwaves. Grocery shopping, school programs, after-church dinners—My family is an entertaining bunch, to say the least. But, back on topic: The Grocery Store.

Rarely do I venture to the grocery store during the week. My workdays are long enough that by the time I’ve picked JD up from the sitters, I’m finished. But, last night, we were out of almond milk…and Lord help you if that poor baby doesn’t get his warm almond milk at bedtime (Yuppie baby!)! And, we were out of fruit, vegetables, etc., so off to Shop-And-Save I went.  It’s a necessary evil; I didn’t even go into it with a bad attitude. It was the usual, “Let’s DO this,” and get the heck home as quickly as possible. I grabbed JD, loaded everything into the cart—oh, wait, the cart safety straps are broken!—transitioned to a new cart—and off we went.

Some parents don’t like to run errands with their little ones. I understand, but that’s not how I roll. JD is my little shopping buddy. He likes to stroll through the mall (it’s air-conditioned, so we go there a lot to play). He loves all of the bright colors in the stores, and as he’s gotten older, he’s recognizing things. He’s just now starting to try to touch things, and I’m learning that I have to say “no” to certain things. I’m avoiding toy aisles…not for HIM, but for ME, because I am a SUCKER for buying toys.

Yesterday, I was SO tired…but we had to go to the grocery store, and honestly, I’m glad we did. He’s just so cute, and so funny; he eyeballs people, and he waves. So far, no one can resist saying “Hi” back to him (which is good for them). We went through the produce section, and he got really excited when I showed him the bananas. “NA-na!  NA-na!” was yelled as we went through several different aisles, regardless of what he was looking at (he started it back up again as we were checking out). We practiced our words (PoTAto!  Rnge!—that’s “orange” to you), and he waved like he was the Grand Marshall.

Periodically, I would lean in and kiss his head (it’s hard to resist that giant melon); he started reaching up and “honk”ing my nose. He’s learned his parts of the face, and since I have a prominent proboscis, it’s pretty easy for him to grab. I’d “honk” his wee nose in return, and his giggle would ring through the store.

I’m not afraid to look like an idiot for my son. We’d sing back and forth; there was some jumping on the cart, and general bee-bopping around. We made it fun, and I caught a few people laughing as we walked by.

I wasn’t feeling particularly well yesterday; I’m still not. But as I went to bed last night, I thought about our little trip to the grocery store, and about how much fun it was. Sure, having a toddler with you can make life more complicated.

It definitely makes it more memorable.

The Timehop app on my tablet reminds me every day of what I was doing 1, 2, 3, 4 years ago; those memories from 3-4 years ago are precious, but they’re nothing like the memories our family has created since JD came into the picture. It’s not been an easy road, but it’s been the best road we’ve ever traveled.

Life with our little guy is the most amazing of adventures…even the mundane has become magnificent. Every day is a photo op that’s burned onto my brain. The things we do in the evening become memories that sustain me through my day; every work day is spent waiting anxiously to get home to cuddle that baby, to pinch his cheeks, and to smell that sweet, messy toddler hair. He’s dramatic, hilarious, curious, excited…Every day with him is so new, and so much fun. I see so much of myself, and so much of David; it’s such a crazy ride!

This blog isn’t particularly insightful…it’s just my amazement in how things have changed. Parenthood makes life…Well, I guess it just Makes Life.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Moving at the Speed of Life

Life moves so fast…

Almost 18 months ago, in a state of grace-meets-panic-meets-medication, David and I brought a baby boy into this crazy world. At what was no doubt a pinnacle moment, we realized a miracle, saw God’s favor come to fruition, and had a lifelong dream fulfilled; the miracle of Jericho’s birth will always be altered by how close we came at delivery to losing our little guy (cord incident). I will never forget watching him turn from gray to pink, and hearing those first cries…seeing my husband stand up and cut the cord (he couldn’t, at Hannah’s birth—he was completely freaked out)…and that first kiss…Getting to have my son in my hospital room with me…Gosh. Just typing this makes me choke up. I can’t believe it’s been 18 months!  I have friends who have had 2, 3, 6, 13 childbirths; I don’t believe birth is ever “typical.” Perhaps “routine,” from a medical standpoint, but to a mother? Never.

Our little Teething Tyrant generally sleeps through the night, but for the past two nights, he has woken us at 4am. This wouldn’t be an issue, if not for the fact that my alarm generally goes off at 4:15 (with room for 3 smacks of the snooze button), Those last 15-29 minutes of sleep are my favorite, and losing them to a sad baby is…Well, it just stinks. Yesterday, I tried comforting him in between hastily throwing on my work clothes and running a comb through my mop of hair; I finally had to give up and wake up Daddy, so that I wasn’t late for work. This morning, I stumbled into his room; David actually woke up on his own and took over, telling me I could have my beautiful last 15 minutes of sleep.

I love that man.

I didn’t fall back asleep.

Instead, I listened to a father comfort his son. I’m pretty sure I heard the rocking chair (Old Faithful!)…a few softly-spoken words…maybe it’s just the smell of the one you love, holding you tight…Within a few minutes, he was back to sleep, and David was back in bed with me.  I took advantage of the few minutes I had left, and snuggled in next to him, myself.  Jericho’s on to something, there…there IS something wonderful about the smell of someone you love, holding you tight…

It’s the simple moments in life that mean the most. We’ve all heard it before—but think about your fondest memories. Sure, I have wonderful memories of amazing vacations with my family, but it’s not the location that made the impact: It’s the love. It’s sitting around a table and laughing at the fact that your mom just got presented with the biggest crawfish in history, on a plate of etouffee. It’s memories of washing dishes with my sister while my single mother sang Larry Gatlin songs about Mogen David. It’s learning to put brakes on my car with my dad, and laughing because I’ve somehow got grease on my forehead.

It’s snuggling into the shoulder of the man you’ve spent the last 13 years with, side-by-side, and still finding that he’s everything you’ve ever wanted…It’s the old t-shirt, sheets-are-a-mess, can’t-find-my-glasses kind of morning that you don’t want to end…It’s no alarm clock, because you know your son will wake you up at 6:30 (on most days) with coos and laughs over the baby monitor. 

It’s sitting on the couch, laughing over The Office, because you both have coworkers that match the characters on the show…

It’s BBQ on a Sunday afternoon…it’s ice cream on a Saturday night.  It’s “hey, I’ll take the baby so you can get 15 minutes more of sleep.” 

Time flies, and I find myself realizing the impact of the Simple Things…I find myself asking God to make the impressions…don’t let me forget…don’t let me ever take it for granted.  I love the developments Jericho is making; I love to watch him learn, walk, run, climb…I wish I could press “pause” and watch him for an extra hour every day. Slow down, little guy…Mommy wants to snuggle you a while longer…

Simple things…The Very Best Things…

9 ½ years ago, I married the Love of my Life (where it all began)…Although it seems like a lifetime ago, it also seems like yesterday…moments like remembering his expression when I started to walk down the aisle...finding out David forgot his vows…laughing about my Dad forgetting to have people sit down for the ceremony…that feeling of utter and complete panic before I left the Ready Room…and of singing “Bootylicious” with my bridesmaids before the ceremony in the Ready Room, not realizing that the ENTIRE congregation could hear us…(that STILL makes me crack up!)…

Realizing after the wedding that I’d done it…I’d made the greatest commitment of my life, and there was no changing my mind now…and realizing that was okay with me.

I find myself taking pictures almost non-stop, because I can’t get over how fast life changes…David is the photographer, but he’s taught me to capture memories…I can’t get over how the time is moving. 18 months—really?!?

It seems like yesterday.

Two people…two babies…a dog, a small house in the country…jobs, basic cars... a mortgage, some debt…Nothing fancy…

Everything I could ever want…

We’ve had our mountains and our deep valleys, but God has carried us through…We don’t have much, but we have so much that can’t be seen…

And I am so

Incredibly

Thankful…

The Look of Doom

Bill Cosby spoke about a situation in his comedy routine, in which his wife spotted him feeding their children chocolate cake for breakfast (“It has eggs! Flour! The basic food groups!”). Upon noting his faux PAs (get it?), he said her skull immediately split open and fire shot out of her eyeballs in anger/rage. 

Bill Cosby Chocolate Cake 

(And I have to say, re-listening to this monologue has me in stitches. I'm rolling!!!!!!!)

I’ve been on the receiving end of that skull-splitting-eyeball-fire-shooting glare before, from my mother. I’ve learned from the best, what it means to skewer someone with a glance, and I’m quite good at it when I need to emit a lot of emotion in a place where I’m not allowed to emulate the Shrieking Eels. Most recently, I utilized “the look” in our church basement, when my husband, being given the task of walking our 17 month-old son out to the car, glanced away from said child for a nanosecond.

I heard gasps, and BOOM! My son pulled a chair down on his head. I whipped my head around like a viper and shot my husband The Look of DOOM. I think an otherworldly force clamped down on my mouth, because by that point of my day, I’d been pushed just a teeny bit too far….Fortunately, I did NOT verbalize my exact emotion at his slight-but-significant oversight at that time; however, he has heard about it for two days now, as I am increasingly concerned at what appears to be a general lack of observation that plagues the male community at large. And for what it’s worth, I think my entire church saw me give The Look of DOOM, and probably read my mind, so I’m pretty sure I didn’t HAVE to say a word to get my point across. His fate was sealed.

I have come to realize that I will never be Mrs. Brady, that perfect suburban wife who has patented “Whatever you say, honey!” as a catchphrase. I will never be Ms. Edna, the beloved pastor’s wife who I viewed as an “extra” grandparent until she passed away at 94-ish. She emulated meekness, and in doing so, was a pillar of strength for my family. There are my peers that appear to have it all together in a SAHM-cocoon of championing their male counterparts as breadwinners, while they stay home and blissfully raise their young (this is how it seems in my head—believe me, I’ve spoken with many of them, and I know it isn’t the case in reality….it’s just how I imagine it HAS to be. I’m delusional—I get that). I feel like I will never successfully be that Submissive Wife.

I will ALWAYS have an opinion. I will ALWAYS be passionate, take initiative, and bulldog a situation when I feel like things are moving too slow. I will always tell my husband exactly how I feel, to a point; the question is how respectful in that expression will I be?  I do not feel like I fit into the church “mold” of a wife at all…partially because I’m a working mother, and that puts me in the minority of women around me who gave birth at the same time I did. I bring in 50% of the income (actually, 70% for the last few years, which is terrifically frustrating…thanks, economy), and I occasionally have to remind myself that doesn’t make me superior in any way, shape, or form. Part of me wonders if I ever became a SAHM, would I somehow magically be meeker? Would we somehow evolve into The Brady Bunch ideal? Is that what it would take, to carve off some of the edginess? Am I not supposed to be this way—at 36, haven’t I figured that out yet?

I was only slightly embarrassed at giving my husband The Look of DOOM in public, but then I just embraced it. Call me rebellious. Call me disobedient, or unsubmissive—do it. Walk in my shoes, and check yourself, because let me tell you—there are days when the limit has been reached (and lately, those days seem to all land on Sunday). Did it embarrass my husband, to get That Look in public? Probably, and that’s not good (coming from me). A little self-control on my part would have been good…but it WAS only a Look. I’m thankful that my eyes spoke before my mouth could.  I’ve been trying to think if I’ve ever witnessed someone give their spouse The Look of DOOM in public or at church, and outside of my mother, I don’t think so, which makes me wonder what kind of Kool-Aid y’all are drinking…More than likely, I’m just oblivious to other’s DOOM-face, because it HAS to have happened. My friends can’t be that perfect.

Sigh.

I have a long way to go.  Parenthood has pushed me further, drained me deeper, and dropped me to my knees like nothing else in life. And I wouldn’t have it any other way, in the course of learning to be the best wife and mother possible…It’s an adventure, a journey, and a quest; come high or low, it’s the best of learning opportunities, and I think David and I are embracing it all…even The Looks of Doom…

#100HappyDays #100HappyBalloons

Have you heard about this campaign? I haven't read a whole lot about it, but it seems pretty self-explanatory: Write about something happy for 100 days, and hashtag it #100HappyDays.
(http://100happydays.com/) You're also supposed to come up with your own hashtag, to limit your personal publicity (and to allow the campaign to spot you). I think mine will be #100HappyBalloons.
Because we ALL know: Cassidy loves balloons.
Every day, you submit a happy thought, happy reality, and/or a happy picture, via Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram. With all of the joy that surrounds me, this should not be a difficult concept...unless I get so wrapped up in my own head that I forget to see the beauty in the madness...which happens...because I am an inconsiderate dope. :)
But I'm also an intrinsically upbeat person, 21 days out of 28.
And I like to smile.
Usually.
For me, this will take me through the remainder of summer, until September 26th. There is absolutely nothing significant about this time frame or these dates; I just decided to start today. During the next 100 days, I know several things will be happening: Jericho will start daycare :(. I will keep working. David will keep working (and we will continue to pray that he finds a new job).
The sun will continue to rise, and set, and the world will continue to spin, for the next 100 days.
So, here we go! 100 Happy Thoughts!!!!!

Day 1: #ThrowbackThursday (#TBT) makes me happy. Looking at old pictures, & hearing old songs, makes me remember the fun of my childhood. #100HappyDays #100HappyBalloons

"Mawwaige...That Bwessed Awwangement..."

Marriage. It's a topic that's a hot button today, with "equality" being the focus of many celebrities and media personalities.
The concept of marriage equality aggravates the crap out of me.
Now, this blog is no doubt going to ruffle some feathers...it will most likely upset a few friends, and really, I'm okay with that. I've noticed that if you tend to point out that the Emperor isn't wearing any clothes, you're met with complaints that you must be full of hatred.
Nope.
Not me.
I don't hate anyone.
I just don't see what the big freaking deal is.
Marriage is designed, in the Biblical sense, to be a covenant between two individuals and the Lord. It's a binding, eternal ceremony that joins you to another human being in the eyes of the Most Sacred Himself--you are binding to one another in the Name of Love, by the One Who Created Love, and by the One Who is Love, Himself.
It's a pretty serious thing.
Now, if you don't view marriage as a holy sacrament; if you only view it as a legally binding agreement, and you want the chance to be legally bound to another human being and thus, share their insurance and monetary benefits, than that's totally fine with me. Be on your way, piece of paper in hand. You're married--Poof! We're equal!
SO, there you have it--in the strictly legal sense, I honestly don't care about gay marriage, or heterosexual marriage, or marriage to your cat. Enjoy. Be married.
If you do not have the Word of God, and it's Writer, as the cornerstone of your marriage, then go to your courthouse, backyard, convention center, whatever; sign your piece of paper, and be done with your complaint.
BUT...
If you understand what marriage is mean to be...
If you have even a glimpse into what God designed for us to have...
Than you'll see what's so incredibly sad about the previous paragraph...
I heard a commercial yesterday on the Dave Glover show that actually hurt my heart. It was Dave, doing what he does: Shilling an advertisement for someone who supports his show. Don't get me wrong--I love Glover. But sometimes, I think some advertisement money should be sent back.
Dave was discussing divorce, and how "everybody gets divorced, like, more than 50% of us" (true). He talked about what a pain it was (almost as though it were a huge inconvenience), and he celebrated this law firm that can "get you divorced in 60 days or less." He described the company as helping you to make a "fresh start," like you could just wipe it all away...
Like marriage is erasable...
Maybe today, with all of this "everybody should get married" stuff, it is.
Get your piece of paper at your courthouse...sign your life away to another person you "love"...play house for a while (at least, make a go of it)....get tired of each other....and wipe it all away, for a "fresh start."  It's like marriage is the new debt, and divorce is filing bankruptcy.
In our society of convenience, we have taken a Holy Sacrament, and likened it to a dry erase board...

Let me tell you what a true, honest, Godly marriage is like (at least, this is what I've been told; we still have a lot of growing up to do):  You are bound to each other; you are not enslaved, but you are bonded. You are grafted together, and rooted in the Word. Your feet are planted in the same block of concrete; one goes where the other goes, even when it's through fire.
Marriages of convenience DO NOT SURVIVE THE STORMS.
I belong to my husband; he belongs to me, and we both belonged to the Lord before we ever saw each other's face. If he told me today that he wanted to leave, there would be no such thing as a "fresh start." I would be absolutely, 100% scarred for life. You can't sew two people together through fire and flood, and then rip them apart and act like their headed for some new, beautiful, clean, fresh beginning. You rip two people apart, and you're left with material that's full of thread and holes--there's an impact there that is felt for DECADES.

My husband has fallen apart with me, and fallen into me. He has watched me lose everything but my faith; he is the reason I didn't lose that. We have loved each other through unemployment, pregnancy, death, life, jobs we hate, jobs we love, the hell of finding the right antidepressant/hormone balance, leaving and finding churches, screaming babies, checking account bounce fees, identity theft, near-death experiences, airplanes, cruise ships, and corporate Christmas parties. We have held death and life in our arms, and we have held each others' hands when we've crossed the street. It's been 9 years, and in it, we've crammed more than most people will see in a lifetime. I will say this in bold print and shout it in all caps:WE ARE NOT LIVING A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE.

There are things that I think "holy" couples do, that we do not do (and I wish we did). Like I said--we have a lot to learn. But there is not a single cell in me that thinks the life we've had could have even gone this far, without the love, grace, joy, peace, and comfort that comes from Jesus. He is our foundation, and He is how we've survived. He's why we still actually like each other.

Do I think most couples could go through what we've been through, and make it? Is it too arrogant to say "no," when I have the stats to back it up? 80% of all couples who have lost a child wind up divorcing, regardless of their faith. That's a horrible statistic. I get it--but it's still horrible. It's so incredibly difficult...but I believe it can be done (as I write this, I'm riveted with the fear that David is going to come up those stairs and pack a bag. I'd have to hurt him.),  It takes a strength that I do not have...a strength that comes from an incredibly supportive church, family, and friends. We've been blessed with that.


I do not believe in having a marriage of convenience. I really don't. I believe in making that covenant with another person, in the eyes of God, and in growing together in Him. I believe that He binds us together, and that it's eternal...there could never be a "fresh start" without David. He's part of the fibers of my heart, and I couldn't imagine my life without him. He is my husband; I am my beloved's, and he is mine.

I'm sure that this attorney is proud of the fact that in less than 60 days, he can, on paper, make it look like a crappy marriage never happened. And I'm sure that, on paper, a lot of marriages look like they're forever.

Paper is paper. It's meant to be shredded, burned, filed, and recycled. The piece of paper that binds or tears two people apart seems to be, in today's world, absolutely pointless. Let's give everyone one. Let's celebrate the fact that we can all get this stupid piece of paper...let's celebrate the fact that everyone can tear it apart, and pretend like it never happened, with a "fresh start."
Yay, equality.
Yay, everyone can get married.
Yay, everyone can get divorced and act like the whole marriage "thing" never happened.

Until we, as a society, have re-gained an appreciation for the sacred commitment that marriage is supposed to be, then it is no longer a prize worth fighting for...and that makes me sad, because I believe a godly marriage is EVERYTHING worth fighting for...

Sometimes...

Sometimes, I read everyone else's blog instead of writing my own...
Sometimes, I let family drama detain me from dealing with my own issues...
Sometimes, I stew over other people's issues, and I dwell on the zingers I wish I could have said...
Sometimes, I act like everything is fine, but the truth is, I'm still mad.
The truth is,
I'm still hurt.
So sometimes, I can't even bring myself to the place where I can write about it.

Sometimes, I would rather hide.
Sometimes, I'm a complete narcissist, and choose to live in my Own Little World of husband-and-baby bliss.
Sometimes, I just don't care what you think, and all I want to do is focus on getting through the day.
Sometimes, I feel like my friends have abandoned me...
And the truth is,
I have abandoned them
So sometimes, I have to face the facts that I am that which I once tried so hard not to be:
A Hermit.

Sometimes, the Easter candy wins...
Sometimes, I give up on trying to be healthy, or caring about my hair, or remembering that somewhere inside me is a semi-foxy chick that won over a pretty great guy...
Sometimes, I hide my feelings of being overwhelmed in a jar of Nutella...
Sometimes, I have to say that's okay.
The truth is,
It's not. I know I'm eating my stress.
So sometimes, I have to smack myself in the face and get it together--not just for me, but for that little guy that I'd like to watch grow up...

Sometimes, I put God on a shelf.
Sometimes, my relationship with Him is not front-and-center, and when that happens, Everything Suffers.
Sometimes, I have to force myself to sit back and let someone else make the decisions.
Sometimes, I have to force myself to talk to God, because I never feel good enough to start the conversation.
The truth is,
I forget about Grace.
Sometimes...
All of the time...
He is waiting for me....He knows I will return; I know He never left....
His arms are open...
And He always has time for me...

Update!! Yay!!!

After two weeks with the worst bronchitis that I think I've ever had, I finally have some really good news! The inhaler and the Lasix are working fantastically, and I'm feeling much better, but that's not the best news of all: the best news is that based on my most recent echocardiogram from last week, my heart is functioning at 55%! That's completely normal, and that's the best percentage I've seen since my first diagnosis in 2006! I'm so excited!!!!!!! We still don't know why there's fluid in my lungs, but WHO CARES?!?? 

The biggest reason the doctor ordered all the tests to begin with, it's because the bronchitis wasn't responding to the breathing treatments, steroids, and antibiotics. I guess it was just a really, really resistant bronchitis. I was honestly pretty scared for a while. The doctors first thought was that either I was in congestive heart failure, or that I had a pulmonary embolism. That's a blood clot in the lungs, and that was pretty freaky, especially since I have a blood clotting disorder. So although she was justified in ordering a test that she ran, it was even more confusing when the test results came back as fairly normal. Needless to say, last week was both frustrating and scary. I did a lot of praying, and a lot of crying, because anytime anything goes wrong with my heart, my first thought is whether or not I'm going to see this little boy grow up! I knew in my head that God has everything under control, but I still let the emotion get to me. Maybe someday I'll grow out of that. It's good to know that I have a doctor that is thorough; this was my second round of bad bronchitis this winter, and I'm so over it. Come on spring!

I just want to thank everyone for their prayers and their understanding. I missed a lot of work, and I'm way behind, so when I go back tomorrow I have a lot of catching up to do. I'm really thankful for my husband keeping track of everything while I was down for the count. Now he's not feeling well, so I'm hoping he gets through this quickly. I think that allergies have complicated everything for everyone in my house!!!

I'm so incredibly thankful to have such a great report back on my heart! I go back to my cardiologist in June for a follow-up visit, and I can't wait to go over this good news with him. Since the echocardiogram was done at a different place than what my cardiologist uses, he'll probably have me redo the test. I know it's going to be fantastic!

Again, thank you for your prayers! I finally believe that that's what This round of bronchitis from getting even more serious. I'm still taking it easy, and I'll say on the inhaler as long as I need to. Thank God for medicine! (And I'm totally hitting the Vitamin C!!!)

Me? I'm asking the Wizard for a new Heart...

It’s my blog, so I can cry if I want to, right?

I’m not posting a lot about this on Facebook, because I don’t want to stir worry or drama. My blog is not what I would consider well-read (my husband doesn’t even read it, so there you go!), so I feel like I can get a little more honest here than I am on Facebook when it comes to my health issues.

Most of you know the history: 2006 brought peripartum cardiomyopathy with congestive heart failure and pulmonary hypertension, after the birth of my daughter. I really didn’t  ponder my own mortality in the light of her passing; frankly, I didn’t want to live, so I didn’t think about whether or not I’d recover for a long time.

I did recover, and in 2011, got the clearance to have JD, who was born in 2013. His birth brought on another round of congestive heart failure, in the technical sense; my ejection fraction dropped down to around 30% (WAY better than the ’06 version), and with the care I received in the hospital, by the time I had a follow-up echo last May, I was back up to around 40% (normal is 55%-65%).

If you ask me on a normal day, heart-wise, I feel fine. After I had JD, I had to go on Zoloft; I gained 30-35 pounds between April ‘13 and January ’14, and got up to the second-highest weight I’ve ever been at (SO demoralizing!).  My gall bladder had to come out in July; there were complications. After that, I started having headaches and neuropathy, and a new blood pressure medication had to be introduced.

Switching my medications and using the Arbonne protein shakes has dropped my weight down 24 pounds since the end of January; I have around 40 more that I’d like to lose. It’s nice to be back down to my pre-pregnancy weight, but there’s a long way to go!

With the weight loss, the neuropathy symptoms have gotten better [“idiopathic neuropathy” and possible tarsal tunnel—what the heck? “Idiopathic” just means they have no freaking clue why my hands are going numb. I don’t have carpal tunnel or any head/neck issues that show up on an MRI. Since it’s doing better, I don’t even care. The tarsal tunnel (feet) is not much of a surprise, and I can avoid surgery by doing what I’m doing—good shoes, lose weight, stretching, etc.]

Until the beginning of March, my blood pressure was looking awesome. My numbers were running in the 130/70 range for a high (prior to the third medication, it was more like 150/90), and I was hoping that the weight loss would mean I could go off of the third medication when I go back for a cardio checkup in June…but things changed. 

I caught the stomach flu—not the nice, 24-hour bug; I caught some stupid version of it that lasted a week. I recovered (-7#!), and thought things were looking good, until a respiratory bug hit our office. It started almost 2 weeks ago; I mentioned to David on a Sunday that I had a sore throat, and didn’t feel so hot. I took a hot bath with essential oils, bumped up the vitamin C, and hoped for the best. By Tuesday, I felt bad enough to leave work early; I barely made it through Wednesday. I called my doctor, who started me on antibiotics; by Thursday, my boss sent me home from work, and I had to go into my PCP’s for a breathing treatment. I also started an Albuterol inhaler. I was off of work on Friday; by Saturday, I had a few short errands that HAD to be run. Three hours out of my house, and I felt like my chest was going to collapse. By Saturday night, a coughing spell kicked in, and I couldn’t catch my breath; I had to be taken to the stinking ER (where they were incredibly kind and efficient). IV steroids, another breathing treatment, oral steroids, Mucinex DM, a chest x-ray, and basic labs…nothing was determined, other than this is a nasty case of bronchitis.

I should be feeling like a million bucks, on all of these drugs.

I feel like crap.

I still can’t breathe; I’m still coughing. I had a follow-up with my PCP yesterday, and I could tell she was concerned. My oxygen levels are good-96-99%. My EKG is good. I have minimal swelling in my legs…but I can’t catch my breath, and I can’t stop coughing. There’s no medical reason they can determine as to why I can’t breathe. They’ve added another inhaler, and Lasix to get any extra fluid out; my blood pressure and pulse are through the roof. I feel like I may as well not be on any heart meds, because my numbers are stupid—159/97, P100. That’s ridiculous—I’M ON 3 CARDIAC MEDS!!!!!!!

I’m waiting on lab results to rule out another round of congestive heart failure—a relapse. The thought of that scares the crap out of me, even though I know it’s treatable. I have an echocardiogram scheduled this afternoon; depending on what happens, I may have a lung CT on Friday to rule out a blood clot in my lungs.

3 cardiac meds. Steroids. 2 inhalers. I finished the $%*(% antibiotics. Lasix.

I want to cry….but that would make the breathing even worse.

I’m miserable, cranky, exhausted…my husband has been picking up the slack for the entire month of March, and I am tired of asking for favors. I am so frustrated that every time I try to pray, all I can think about is how terrified I am that my heart is going to just crap out on me, and I won’t be able to see that beloved little boy of mine grow up…I know that’s being dramatic, but I can’t get it out of my head. My mom says (so nonchalantly), “Well, it is what it is.” That’s BULLCRAP. Don’t give me that crap. I’m doing everything I can to work, to parent, to be a wife—I don’t have TIME to feel this lousy, and I sure as hell don’t have the energy. We also don’t have the money to deal with these kind of medical bills.

I’m going to admit right here that I’m totally freaking out.

I am having one of those times where I want to ask for prayer, but I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me…I just want to be able to breathe without this rattling, and to sleep solidly…I want my BPs to settle down and for this %$*( bronchitis to go away.

So, if you don’t mind, could you please pray for me? For David and Bug—David needs an extra measure of understanding and patience. He’s been nice about this, but I can tell he’s at his limit. JD is cutting teeth, so he’s congested and fussy, and it’s taking a toll on all of us.

And me—I need to breathe (physically/mentally/spiritually). To have an entire month of illness has stretched me beyond my limits, and I need grace…and I need to be able to tap into the grace I know Jesus supplies.  I don’t need sympathy or drama…just support (and for Oprah to adopt us, LOL!).

Thanks…it’s not easy to write this stuff, because I feel like a self-pitying schmuck. I have to accept that sometimes, it’s okay to vent and ask for help…:)