What I Learned While My Family Was Hurling

I think I already knew this, but I definitely know now that I have a little secret. You know all that hard, "thankless" stuff that comes with being the mom? I love it. I always sort of loved it that I was the only one who could make that one baby stop crying. I had all sorts of techniques worked out for surviving the long, lonely hours in the baby's room in the night. I took pride in loving my child so much that I would comfort them no matter what- even if it meant letting them throw up in my lap. At the time, I didn't love all that stuff so much, but I did know that all that stuff meant that I loved them. It was so tangible. That kind of service and sacrifice was a way of seeing how I loved them. I was willing to give up my own comfort for their sakes.

***This is an added paragraph*** Upon reading this, I realize that it may sound hard to anyone in the baby crying all night phase. I don't think that you have to do "mommy" the way I do/did it to be really loving to your child. It looks different for everyone. And it really didn't feel like a picnic. Believe me. I just have a different perspective on it now, and I'll never tell you "Oh, love this time... " because it is really hard, and you just can't always love it. *** K, I'm done***

ENTER CHRONIC ILLNESS

Suddenly (well, not exactly suddenly...), I wasn't able to do that stuff anymore. I couldn't handle being up 3 times in the night. I couldn't afford to let them cry their snot all over me because I'd be sick for weeks. I couldn't get up the next day and take them to the park or the zoo after a rough night. I couldn't keep breastfeeding. All those exclusive, mommy-only rights started to fall away. I needed more care than they did sometimes! Sometimes, I still feel like the weakest little link. We don't worry so much anymore about overtaxing the kids or skipping their rest time, but we definitely worry about those things for me. I'm basically the baby now, the one whose physical needs can dictate the course of an entire day.

I HATE that part of being sick the very most. It is everything I never wanted. Instead of feeling like the reliable, go-to comforter, I feel like the one everyone else needs to worry about. There are a lot of deep reasons why this bothers me so much. I'm sure I don't understand all the reasons, but I do see that this concept, being the weakest link, worms it's way into most of my fears. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with growing up in the ballet world where there is always someone waiting to take over the minute you can't hack it. There are other old reasons too. Whatever the reasons the challenge exists, the challenge itself is now to not succumb to the wrong belief that I'm useless because I'm physically fragile.

"Wow, she just got really deep really quick, and I thought I'd just be reading some funny puke stories..."

But, enough of this deep stuff. Let's talk about the vomiting family. To set the scene for my profound learning, here is a timeline of our last week:

Monday AM:
Learn that my much awaited hematology visit of the previous week revealed exactly what I didn't want: red blood cells die off too quickly giving me low hematocrit which make you feel crappy but really can't be fixed.
Monday PM:
Get call from principal's office because son is in trouble for "disrespectful, violent talk." Oy. For SOOOOO many reasons...
Tuesday:
Hazel and Ivo: sick with colds
Me: POTS symptoms going crazy from stress and allergies. Terror over "violent talking" son's surgery scheduled for next morning. Lying on floor with rib out due to growing pregnant belly crying into my ears and carpet. Quitting "job" via text message to my "boss."
Brendan aka Boss: Leaving work early to scrape me off the floor, so I can go to counseling where I lay it all out. (A good counselor is THE best)
Wednesday:
Surgery for son goes well after sleepless night for mother. Mother, me, gets some time to rest.
Thursday:
Things are looking up. Surgery son back at school already. I go on MUCH NEEDED friend date to U.Village with some besties. Get text message (20 minutes after it was sent) that Hazel is vomiting.
Thursday Night:
Hazel throws up every 10 or 20 minutes for 6 hours straight before switching over to uncontrollable diarrhea... in her sleep.
Friday:
Boys at school. I help Hazel recover and wait to begin vomiting... which never happens.
Saturday AM:
Worried about the girl, I take her to urgent care at Children's to rule out things that would need medication. Ezra begins having abdominal pain. I do my best to be in denial about it all so that I can go to the school auction night with my husband because that's about the best we can do for dates these days, and I've been looking forward to it for months. Seriously.
Saturday around 4:00: 
Ez and Ivo develop fevers. Ivo starts complaining of nausea and crying because he is so scared that he is going to throw-up. I continue pretending I'm going to the bleepin' auction and do my hair. Hazel helps pick out my dress.
Saturday around 4:30:
Ivo vomits on me and the nicest chair in my house, that rocker from Land of Nod. I text babysitter that it's a no-go. Repeat (to myself) a NO-GO.
Saturday around 5:00:
Ezra's pain becomes so bad that he is crying with each cramp. I get on the phone with doctor who says if a tums doesn't do anything to take him to the ER. Tums makes him vomit. Please note: there are now two vomiters.
Saturday around 7:00:
I start getting the people settled for bed. Brendan says he doesn't feel well. I think, "FML."
Saturday after 7:30:
I have people put to bed, and I come upstairs. Brendan takes one look at me and immediately runs to toilet to vomit like a fire hydrant. Correlation does not equal causation.
Saturday 8:00:
Ivo vomits all over his bed and cries for a while because he "is so stressed out. Just so stressed out."
Saturday around 9: 
I settle down to get some sleep only to hear someone screaming for me over the monitor. It is Hazel. She is vomiting. Vomiter Count: 4 people
ALL FREAKING NIGHT LONG:
Hazel vomits and screams about how she doesn't want to vomit. I develop a soon-to-be-patented method of dealing with this involving a multi-layered towel nest. I commit to aborting plan to downsize our towel volume.
Sunday around 5AM:
Hazel finally settles down. Ezra wakes up and comes to wake me up to make sure I know that his tummy still hurts, but he thinks he's done vomiting. Good to know.
Sunday around 7AM:
Two boys come up to tell me that they are awake and feel fine. Again, good to know. Kids then played for two hours together downstairs without incident. REPEAT: TWO HOURS WITHOUT INCIDENT (and I don't mean vomit, I mean cruelty and infighting. This is nothing short of a miracle.) I help Hazel with her "poop squirting all over." I also send a desperate text to my mother-in-law to come with supplies.
Sunday 9AM:
I tuck Hazel and Brendan in to rest in our bed. Even though they don't smell the best, I note that they are the cutest thing ever. Hazel makes nursing face in her sleep. I go out to see the boys and begin their pedialyte/apple sauce regimen. Ezra suggests hot beads as an activity, and they play while I BLEACH THE WORLD.
Sunday around 10: 
Mother-in-law comes with color-coded vomit buckets for the kids and more Saltines and applesauce than any mommy ever hoped for. She also brings me breakfast, Lysol, and Clorox Wipes. She is great.
Rest of Sunday:
I do laundry, change sheets, rock kids, force fluids, wipe bottoms, sneak food into my mouth after bleaching my hands, take a little nap while Brendan and kids watch some Netflix. We have a pretty fantastic, chill day ending with bowls of white rice.
Sunday PM: 
My POTS symptoms become extreme. We all go to bed. We all sleep all night.
Monday:
Brendan stays home. I sleep a lot. Everyone starts to feel better. I become obsessed with watching Escape to River Cottage. I realize how much I loved taking care of everyone.

So, here's what I learned while my family was hurling:
I still can physically care for the people. God gives me what I need when I need it. They saw me as comforter, and none of them acted surprised. They still see me as Mommy and bearing all the qualities I want to have included in that glorious title. I appreciate the ability to physically serve in a way I never did before. Now that those "thankless" jobs aren't always a given for me, I'm so happy when I'm able to do them! This is a huge encouragement to me because I have been concerned about how I'm going to deal with a newborn. But, there is a part of me that is looking forward to the opportunity to lean on God in new, dramatic ways for that privilege of rocking a baby in the night. I know it will be hard. I KNOW. I know with the knowledge of a lady who had 3 babies in 3.5 years and then got sick with a "probably forever" kind of sickness. But for every degree of difficulty I can fathom, I have knowledge too of what God can do and does do through people who pray and trust in him.

Thanks to everyone who prayed for us and in any way covered and provided for us over the last couple of weeks! I'm praying for you all to be blessed for your kindness!

Coping Chronicles: Kids and Chronic Illness

I participate in a few POTS groups on FB. There are some awesome conversations happening there. People are forced to ask very personal, difficult questions and share some sad circumstances. For the most part, it's been a great community for me, though I was VERY slow to join in (hard to participate when you'd rather be in denial about being one of those sick people). One of the groups is dedicated entirely to POTS, family life, and pregnancy. Pretty much right in my wheelhouse. Today a young woman asked for help for her and her serious boyfriend as they work through the difficult question of whether or not kids and family could be in their future. The responses were great! I took the time to write these two paragraphs. This is info I've been wanting to write out and share as part of my effort to help other moms figuring this stuff out. Not too fancy, but some practical stuff and a little encouragement:

I have three children all under the age of 6.5, and I chose to get pregnant one last time after my POTS diagnosis to add that fourth kid we had always imagined. I've made a few choices that help. These may not be possible for everyone, of course, but they are good to consider. 
1. We bought a house that has good indoor and outdoor spaces for play b/c I'm not always able to get the kids out for a walk or trip to the park. Big outings like museums/zoo are only possible with another adult. When I do choose to blow my energy on a big outing or family event, I enjoy it fully, but I just plan to pay for it with a few days of recovery. 
2. I have one afternoon of babysitting every week, so the kids can be with someone who is able to be active. I can use that day to crash if I planned/achieved something fun or big earlier in the week.
3. I force myself to be completely honest with a handful of friends about how hard it really is. That way, they can sort of help spread the word if I'm unavailable or other acquaintances start getting crabby about me not showing up for stuff or not taking on enough volunteer responsibilities at church/school/etc. 
4. I have learned to let go of some cleaning/aesthetic preferences in my home! I basically keep just a couple areas looking good for my own comfort/sanity, but I try to be really flexible about the rest. If I'm not, I just turn into a tyrant! 
5. I think it's good to spend more money on occasional cleaning/organizing help rather than childcare. Kids will only need this intense, regular attention for a few years (unless you homeschool, but even then it gets less demanding as they get older.). I'd rather lie on the floor doing puzzles or watching them play than bust my chops to get the kids babysat for me to spend my scant energy on less important things like mopping.

Oh and... I have seen some really beautiful character qualities beginning to develop in my young kids because I am a sick mom. They care more about people and experiences than doing everything just so. They are empathetic and perceptive to other people's needs and pain. They know it is ok to need and ask for help. They know that other adults in their lives are great resources of love and wisdom- not just mommy (though they do still love me the best!!) They are learning that a person's worth is not based on how much she can accomplish! I always hoped to be a supermom. I always told myself that I was going to be cheerful and energetic... But, here I am. I'm seeing that my vision of being a good mom and actually choosing each moment to be the best mom I can be are very different things. I and my family are learning tons of great stuff, and I try to take the long view when I get really bummed out or overwhelmed with the immediate difficulties.

I will add here that I 100% get overwhelmed by the immediate difficulties sometimes. There is very real, hard stuff going on here, and this week I've been beaten to tears by all the stress more than once. Without the prayers and love of first my God, then my great husband, and then my family and friends, I do not know that I would climb out of these pits that I sometimes find myself in. My counselor helps a lot too!

The Artist's Challenge

Perhaps you have noticed the "Artist's Challenge" going around. It's as contagious as the flu. As an artist who met a challenge that was too great to overcome, the whole thing has pretty much made me feel like I have the flu. The symptoms of artistic nostalgia, intense fits of longing, and a heart full of stifled movement cannot be managed by medication. However, gratefulness is an antidote to the bitterness that threatens to develop. I wouldn't have posted this except that I was actually nominated, and I'm grateful. I wish that I had piles of beautiful ballet photos to share, but I don't. I do have a few from my student days, and I'm so happy that I was allowed a taste of living that dream. My dancing days are going on being half my lifetime away from me. It's a weird sensation because I still identify as a dancer on the inside (and still use ballet as my excuse for my ugly feet when the pedicurist rolls her eyes!). My own little "artist's challenge" for years now has been figuring out how to live artistically and express myself without access to the medium In which I was trained.

I have managed to find some ways to do this- mostly through dance partying with my children. But, I also like to cook, garden, work as a doula, write, make jewelry, create terrariums, and (lately) felt. Here's the thing, though: I'm pretty consumed these days with my main job, being a mother. All those other things fill in the gaps, the very few and narrow gaps. I think that what is important is to apply the love and skill I had for dancing to all the other areas of my life. Training to be a professional ballet dancer requires great commitment, sacrifice, risk, and LOVE. You have to love it so much that you are willing to keep going. You have to believe that it is worth pursuing- not just for you, but for the world. So, I try to believe that creative pursuits are worth the trouble. It is easier to live mundanely- MUCH easier. It's less messy, less risky, but less fun. Choosing to do crazy things like covering my kitchen counter in dirt, plants, rocks, and moss for an afternoon of putting terrariums together even though I KNOW my kids are going to get dirt all over my house is my way of being an artist now. Are the results always terrific? No. Does my world feel richer? Yes. 

My willingness to live in this manner has been challenged by the development of chronic illness in my body. So far, my life displays a pattern: fall in love with something; become damaged in some new way; try to move on without bitterness. My life is not uniques in this. I think that's just being here and growing up, and we all have to do that. I think the real nugget of goodness in this whole "artist's challenge" business is that it reveals what artsy people know already: it's ok to be proud of what you make. It will feel weird most of the time, and it comes with lots of insecurity. But, artists love what they do so much that they just can't help but do it anyway and hopefully share it with the rest of us. So, I'm writing a blog post that makes me feel insecure. But I love writing, so I'm doing it anyway. And I'm willing to believe that posting it will be worth the risk of exposing myself. And I bought the America's Test Kitchen D.I.Y. Cookbook because even though I can buy pickles, I love them so much that I want to figure it out myself. The pursuit is worth the time to me. My kids will know where pickles come from! And I submitted a terrarium full of hand-felted plants to the school auction because even though it may actually be extremely dorky, I loved making it and want to share it.

I don't dance for very many people any more, but I certainly don't love dancing any less. For me, the risk of pursuing an artistic life did not pay off in the way that I hoped. At least, though, I learned that the pursuit itself is worth it to me. Enjoying creativity at the cost of practicality is a challenge I hope to meet everyday- even if I'm doing it from my bed. My children love to talk about and even re-enact (oh, the joy) my ballet accident because even though it makes them sad, they see that moment as the start to their own stories. "Mommy loved ballet so much, but then she got hurt and couldn't do it anymore. So, she had us and now she has a job she loves even better than ballet!" What a great story! The thought of my kids growing up to love something like ballet actually terrifies me because I know how painful it may be if it doesn't work out how they want. But, if I can communicate to them through pursuing my own interests over and over, engaging them in the messy, rewarding processes, that art is for knowing more love and beauty and sharing with others- and not necessarily about "success," then I know they will be blessed by it for a lifetime as I am. 

I nominate anyone I know to accept the challenge of doing something you love even if it may be a bit inconvenient. I challenge you to share something with someone else. 

Clearly, photography is not one of my gifts!

Goal-Setting

I have felt so homebound lately. It's tough for me because I'm so extroverted and at least was formerly adventurous. Being trapped in my room or bed drives me nuts, but I'm finding new ways to excel and enjoy. In the words of that famous cat, "It's fun to have fun, but you have to know how." Knowing how to have fun within the walls of not just my house but the confines that my limited energy creates is requiring new learning and creativity.

Here are a few things in which I have invested time and thought:

1. How to take a perfect bath 

Lock the door if another adult is home. If not, place children in a nearby location with "the babysitter." The babysitter could be books and coloring (if you have those imaginary children), but it's probably Netflix and a show that they think you don't really like for them to watch but actually YOU just don't like to watch. The moment you decide to take a bath, plug the drain and start the water even if it's not a perfect temperature. Too hot will cool when filling the cold tub and too cold is easily fixed once the hot water warms up. Feel good about not wasting any water. Throw in a handful of baking soda. DO NOT FORGET TO BRING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR AND YOUR DRINK BEFORE YOU GET IN. I have worked long to develop the foot dexterity to adjust water temperature and turn water off using only one foot. You too may be able to achieve this with hard work and determination (to not raise your body out of the water.)

2. How to make a delicious fennel salad

Order things on AmazonFresh. You need fennel bulb (buy 3, you'll want this a lot), orange, apple, onion, olive oil, apple cider vinegar, salt, pepper. Thinly slice the fennel bulb and a few tablespoons of the leaves. Thinly slice half an apple. Finely chop about a tablespoon of onion. Peel and chop up about half an orange and save any juice that runs out on the cutting board. Throw all this in a bowl. Stir together. Add a drizzle of olive oil and more apple cider vinegar than you think. Generously salt and pepper it all. Allow salad to change your tongue's life.

3. How to watch Project Runway with a 3 year old girl

Get snacks. We recommend these gummy bears and pretzels. Turn on the subtitles so that you can see the word "bitch" coming. They use it a lot. Cough on cue to cover the offense. Encourage 3 year old girl to decide whose team she is on. She will probably pick a color. Think she is adorable. Give her more candy.

4. How to cheer up

Use music.

5. How to not ruin the rest you got during your long stay in your room

Pretend you are a kid home from school on a sick day for at least 2 days. Enjoy activities with your kids. They like quieter activities just fine when you are doing them too (unlike when you are trying to force them to do them when you need to get some work done). Puzzles, drawing, beads, play dough are all good choices. Watch movies, but make it an event and snuggle together without scrolling through your phone the whole time. Eat simple meals. Resist the urge to freak out over the disaster that is all around- Mt. Rainier sized laundry pile, Mt. St. Helen's sized pile of dishes, Oregon's dunes' worth of dust on the floor. This step requires at least 20 rounds of bed confinement requiring recovery time to achieve. 

With time and effort, you too can begin to lower your expectations beyond what you ever imagined, and fennel salad, a bath, and a glow in the dark T-Rex puzzle can be your week's greatest achievements too!

Feeling Better and Seeing Baby

This month I learned the importance of always knowing your own TSH number. That may mean nothing to you, and I actually hope it means nothing; that would imply that you maybe have a thyroid that works. My thyroid, however, is a dead crusty thing that no longer does its job. I've known this for a long time, and have been on replacement thyroid hormones for about 7 years (Dang! I'm getting older!). When that TSH is high, it's bad news. My first pregnancy measurements showed that my TSH was super high and that I needed more medication. Long story short (and some alarming, insensitive comments from an endocrinologist about my baby omitted), it took me awhile to get on the proper dose. The 7 day half-life of the medication means that it takes about a week after beginning a new dose to feel its effects. MORAL: know my number and get the right medicine quickly.

Because...

I feel so much better!! POTS still sucks, and I do have experiences of it even on good days, but I have mostly functioned like a semi-normal person (or at least a normal pregnant person) for 4 whole days! Cue the singing princess and the chirping little bluebirds! I went to the store even! I don't know how long this will last, but I'm hoping I may be sliding into the 2nd trimester and the hope that POTS symptoms will improve. I also can tell that I'm on the proper thyroid doses, and that is a very good thing (just ask my endocrinologist).

I had a visit with my midwife today that I was very much looking forward to. For one thing, I love her, and she is a dear friend to me. Secondly, I was pretty worried about my baby, and I really needed to hear that heartbeat. Hypothyroidism is connected to miscarriage. I also have only lost weight (which is not that unusual but is not reassuring). I also just worry about that stuff because of my history, my family history, and too many bad things happening to good friends. Well, we couldn't find the heartbeat with the doppler, and I was thinking, "oh no, so this is how it goes." Thankfully, my midwife now has an ultrasound machine and ultrasound training, and she pulled it out immediately. Right away, as if already displaying the family traits, there was my baby doing a crazy dance as if he or she was aware of being on stage. PRAISE GOD! Baby looked great! 4 limbs and a heart beat- I'll take it! I will be 12 weeks on Tuesday (not that I'm counting...)

Today's technological visit with my baby was such a comfort to me and just made me fall that much more in love with the child. I can't wait to meet him or her and can already sense the joy that is in store for us. Just telling the boys about the ultrasound made them giggle and smile. The fact that they can't wait to have this kid in our family too makes the whole thing just that much more fun. I really do love kids. And I mean all kids, but I also mean MY kids.

(Of course, as I write that, my daughter is downstairs throwing an epic fit about bedtime to St. Brendan, and one of my sons has left a duplo mine field around my bed. Still- I love my kids!)

I'm grateful tonight for celebratory frozen chocolate cheesecakes from Trader Joe's, ultrasound technology, a fantastic midwife, and the bravery required to undertake this pregnancy. All of these have been opportunities for me to see God's love. It is always there, and I wish I was ALWAYS looking for it. I can even be grateful for the terrible few weeks in a row I suffered because they help me to keep my eyes open.

I think this one is really just for me

So, I wrote all this out, and I'm glad that I did. But, I'm really hesitant to post it. Sharing these parts of it all is really hard. It feels like people are left with such a one-dimensional impression of who I am. And, honestly, a post like this inspires pity, and I hate pity even though I do need it! Alright, conclusion of meta-post.

I spent the last three days in bed. I knew I'd be crashing at some point, but it doesn't usually take me this long to recover. Of course, given all the medical facts of the moment, I shouldn't be so surprised. I think the baby has increased my requirements for recovery time.

So, what am I recovering from? Not entirely sure, but I think I'm paying for my New Year's Eve activities. I went to the park with my family, and even though I just sat in a blanket with Hazel the whole time, it was the most significant outing I've done for a while. It felt good to get some fresh, cold air in my lungs and sunshine on my face, even if it was only 38 degrees. I should have stopped there, but I had already decided to pretend I wasn't sick and enjoy some NYE festivities. I REALLY should have thrown in the towel. In fact, the whole time I was struggling through putting a dress on I was saying to Brendan, "I should not do this. I do not want to do this." First stop was dinner at a Chinese restaurant with the extended family. Normally, this would have been fun, but I was trying not to vomit (POTS, not preg-related, I think...). And given my state, dealing with the very exuberant child to my left who shall remain nameless was extremely taxing. I took our first opportunity to get out of there just to be done worrying that they were going to rip the tablecloth off the table or upset the lazy susan because it was raising my heart rate by the minute. Brendan and I left our kids in the kind and capable hands of their aunt and uncle and departed for one of my favorite events of the year and the reason I was so committed to the fact that Denial is a river in Egypt. The all-adult dress-up party was lovely as always. Sadly I couldn't enjoy it. I perked up a little bit being around my friends, but I quickly began to flag. My brain fog became ridiculous as did my headache and heart-rate, and I wound up standing on the porch just to be away from everyone while I waited for Brendan to come out and take me home.

I started out angry, but wound up crying my brains out for the next hour or so about my deepest fears and disappointments (no biggie) and going to bed where I have pretty much stayed since.

So, why was I telling you all this? Ah, yes, this morning. Because I've been trapped here for so long, I was determined to turn the denial back on and get my butt to church this morning. Mostly, I wanted to be able to teach my Sunday School class, but I also really get so much rejuvenation from worship. I'm definitely needing some rejuvenation. When things get really tough like this, I just sort of go into this shallow-thinking mode where I kind of disassociate from what's happening. I try to keep myself on a steady diet of non-demanding Netflix watching and snuggling with whatever child comes in to see me. I braided Hazel's hair about 20 times. Giving yourself a day like that is probably fine, but three is way too many. All the real feels that are trapped inside just really start banging on the walls and driving me crazy. It's hard for me to want to engage with God when I'm like this. I KNOW that it just takes me breaking the ice by cracking open my Bible or even finding a song to listen to, but I get very lazy and resistant. Coming to God means being honest about my need, and that doesn't mix well with shallow-thinking denial. So, anyway, I was looking forward to church because I knew that would help snap me out of my awful funk and give me some new hope.

But, I woke up feeling dizzy. Not good. Waking up means I'm still horizontal. After whisper screaming some expletives to myself, I dragged on my BP monitor. Super low blood pressure. This was no surprise to me since I had been up late dealing with chest pain. It's a POTS thing that no one really understands. Comforting, right? I stood up to see what the damage was. (For those just joining us, POTS stands for POSTURAL orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, so the real test for how symptomatic I am comes with checking my heart during postural changes) The first time I started the monitor it was flashing at me that I was arrhythmic, and I think my pressure was so low that it couldn't get a reading and displayed an error. So, I tried to start it again but had to sit down because I blacked out and my ears filled with cotton and clanging. DARN IT. No church for me.

The Holy Spirit convinced me to do my own little horizontal worship time. I followed the regular order of liturgy and used music from my church website and the site of another musician I love, and his church's website as well. I called myself to worship with these words of Moses and God from Exodus 33: "'If you are pleased with me, teach me your ways, so I may know you and continue to find favor with you. Remember that this nation is your people.' The Lord replied, "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.'" I listened to songs and tried my best to sing along as they were choking me up. Confession flowed easily as I knew full well I'd tried hiding from God for three days. I was going to find a sermon to listen to, but I decided that I was preaching to myself already. And, really, that's what I pulled open the blog to try to write through, but I guess just narrating the last several days was what needed to happen first.

Maybe all this is the offering portion of my worship. "Here's what I have, Lord. This is what I'm working with. You might as well take it because only you can make good of stuff like this. And I love you." These thoughts are taken from the speaker we enjoyed on our church's women's retreat. She presented the concept of just giving God what I have, even if it feels unworthy, like the widow's mite or a kid with a fistful of dandelions, because God will receive with love and acceptance. What a relief!

My ears are still ringing. My heart pounds if I get up. But, my deepest health need, the need for spiritual comfort has been relieved some now. God, give me strength for tomorrow and the week to come! But help me to give all to you so that you can make good from what is happening whether I like it or not.

1st Trimester Report: FOG

Boy, this 1st trimester is bad.
HOW BAD IS IT?
It's so bad that I can't recommend anyone TRY MESSIN' with it.
BA DUMP CHHHHH!!!!

But, seriously, folks: this pregnancy has not been romantic. I can write pretty stories about it all, true stories, even, but it has not been pretty. By now, you've read of my nausea in other posts. I've never experienced anything like it. Still, everyone has had stomach virus, and many have had much worse. I could never be glad that Brendan suffered from CVS during highschool and college, but it definitely has made him empathetic. Actually, knowing that my episodes were causing him flashbacks helped me to be a little braver about the whole thing! He's full of helpful, normalizing information like: "Oh, yeah, coughing up a little blood for a while after is the worst." And, "Believe me: throwing up something is better than throwing up nothing." My poor baby. I wish he didn't know these things. (I say that, but I have had to repent of all the times that I wish he DID know how POTS feels.)

I'm not glad that I finally got a rough 1st trimester on what will likely be my last pregnancy, but I am glad to know a bit more fully why so many women hate pregnancy. I have to admit: I realize now that I felt pretty judgy in the past about women who would complain about pregnancy. I think beginning my child-bearing career with a miscarriage set me on a path of never wanting to utter a negative word about pregnancy because "at least my baby is alive." That's a tough standard. I was truly thankful and willing to put up with a lot, but I see now that it's not a very generous position to take. Of course, with each subsequent pregnancy and the increasing discomforts that accompanied them, I became a little more empathetic. I suppose the trend continues.

Because I believe so strongly that children are blessings worth bending over backwards for, it's difficult to admit that I have frequently asked myself over the last weeks "What is wrong with me???? Why did I just have to have another one of these people?! Where do I get these ideas!?" It's a good thing I wrote down my pretty story about wanting this baby because I definitely have had to go back and read it a few times. I've not wished the pregnancy away; I've just needed a lot of reminders of the Why. This rough trimester reminds me of being in Seattle summer morning fog. You go to bed with all these hopes for the predicted sunny day. Then, when the day actually begins, you look out and WAH-wah: gray clouds. You can't see from your place down in the city that it IS a beautiful day; there's just a marine layer. It's easy to get discouraged and wonder why you ever were dumb enough to make sunbathing plans when you KNOW you live in SEATTLE! You have to keep hope and remember that, as any seasoned Seattleite will undoubtedly say, "this will burn off." So, yes, I decided to take the risk of getting pregnant with POTS and the OB's words that the first trimester would be bad. We decided to try to do it anyway because with a long-term perspective it's easy to sign-up for 3 (or even 9, or even 30) rough months because ANOTHER PERSON!! A wonderful blessing! The three we have are incredible, so why not do it again? But then... you wake up on that cloudy morning, and it's inevitable to wonder for at least a moment, "What were we thinking exactly?"

After the fog does indeed burn off, the summer days in Seattle are incredible. There's nothing like a perfect Seattle day, and I think they are a little bit better because of all the suspense of that dang morning fog. Am I trying to pump myself up? You betcha. I need all the encouragement I can get- even if I do just write it myself. Being a pregnant POTSie is really hard so far. My blood pressure has been very uncomfortably low and has seriously exacerbated my POTS symptoms- particularly the racing heart and dizziness in upright positions, digestive troubles, fatigue, and weakness. BUT, I do take some solace from the fact that I was told this would happen. I'm hoping and praying that this fog will burn off as I get into my second trimester in a couple of weeks. The increased blood volume of the latter stages of pregnancy has, for some, even given the feeling of curing their POTS for a few months. I look forward to reporting on the subject.

There is one thing of which I'm sure: God will love me whether I feel better or not, and I will be looking for that love to shine through no matter how long the fog lasts. I'm so grateful to my family for being the number-one source of God's love to me. My children have empathetic abilities beyond their years, and it's no wonder to me that my husband bears the name of a saint. I don't know how this story will end. It could go badly; and though I do not dwell on that, I know enough to prepare myself to accept it as a possibility. I can only survive this if I keep my eyes fixed on things above because down here I feel like I'm gonna barf or maybe pass out.

But it is fun to think of baby names.