Looking Back

You never know how bad it really was until you look back and see what you just went through.   I didn’t know how sick I was, I really had no idea.  The only one who possibly had any clue was my husband.  He watched my quick decent into sickness, but I don’t think even he could really tell how sick I was.  It took me a while to realize that this wasn’t a passing thing. 

It took me even longer to realize how not normal I had become.  Normal people don’t pass out every day.  Normal people don’t get so tired after going to church that it takes two whole days to recover.  Normal is not being so weak that it was difficult to lift a laundry basket or getting winded by going up and down the stairs.  It was a slow realization two years ago that I was truly ill.  It has even been scary, there have been ER visits, many times of passing out, a few times of passing out and then being unresponsive, but mostly it has been extreme exhaustion.

This illness started to affect my thought processes.  My thoughts were foggy and I lost words in the middle of sentences.  I would go to do something and then forget about it for days.  I missed two very important conferences for my son.  Even reading became a chore because I couldn’t keep my train of thought for long enough to finish more than a few pages. 

My husband and I started referring to the “Old Heather.”  The one that seemed more vibrant, that got out and did things, that wrote, that had ideas, and so much more.  The worse it got the more I feared that something was desperately wrong, but the less able I was to make concrete decisions to help myself.

Then one day in November of 2010 I got a break through.  I got on an elliptical machine with a heart monitor.  I watched my heart rate soar into the 200’s almost immediately.  I suddenly became lightheaded and wanted to pass out.  I did it again another day with the same effect.  Finally I was able to go to the doctor with two concrete symptoms; passing out and a high heart rate.  Finally a doctor took me seriously.

It took almost a year but I was able to finally see the specialist I needed.  I finally got an answer; Dysautonomia.  It’s a big word that means your autonomic system is out of whack.  Your autonomic system controls all of the unconscious functions of the body, including the cardiovascular system, gastrointestinal system, metabolic system, and endocrine system.  All of mine are severely messed up.  It’s not fun.  It’s also rare and so it is not something most people or even medical professionals even know about. 

Bad day

I got to go on a steroid for a while, but that caused major side effects that made everything worse.  Honestly the worst side effect was that I was bleeding constantly.  One of my biggest struggles is that I don’t have enough blood.  Thus I have low blood pressure.  Not the good kind of low blood pressure, really low blood pressure.  It’s the kind that makes me exhausted all the time, I don’t get enough blood to my brain and that makes it hard for me to think, I pass out because my body is trying to get blood to my brain and it makes me fall down for gravity to accomplish that. 

So all the traditional therapies didn’t work for me because my blood loss was too great every month.  The older I got the heaver my period got and thus the more blood I lost and couldn’t reproduce it fast enough.

This was compounded by my miscarriage in 2010.  I almost died when I lost Elya because I almost hemorrhaged to death.  We didn’t know about my blood issues at the time or I think different steps would have been taken.  After the miscarriage I was severely anemic.  For six months I struggled to get that under control.  My doctor thinks I never recovered from the miscarriage and that is why between that and the monthly bleeding I was getting worse with every month. 

If I wanted to get better I had to stop my monthly cycle.  In my case the only way to do that was to have a uterine ablation or a hysterectomy.  Either one meant the lost of my ability to have any more babies.  It was devastating for me.  In March of this year I had a uterine ablation.  It was an awful experience and I ended up in the emergency room later that day because of complications. 

Even with all the complications a couple weeks later I started to notice a difference.  I had energy.  My mental confusion started to lessen.  I looked around the house and was horrified about how messy it had become.  How did I not notice this before?  I looked at the relationship between my husband and I and saw how much it had suffered, and the same for my children, my friends and my family.  I had been afraid to drive because I passed out once while I was diving.  I realized how much time I had spent at home. 

Everyone around me had suffered because of me and I still feel a tremendous amount of guilt about that.  If you are reading this and you are one of the people I have let down in the last four years, I am sorry.  Terribly horribly sorry.   

So now here we are five months after my surgery.  I’m not all better, not by a long shot.  I’m still learning to manage my chronic illness, but I can manage it now with traditional therapy.  Learning to take care of myself is difficult, it doesn’t come naturally, but I’m trying one day at a time.  There are days I forget what is required of me, or days I’m lazy and just don’t want to.  But I know now how sick I was and I don’t want to be there again.  It’s a learning process and I still haven’t figured it all out yet. 

It sounds corny by I feel like I’m starting a new part of my life.  I want “Old Heather” to be the sick Heather.  I want my identity to become something that is different than what I have experienced the past four years. 

Thus I want to chronicle my victories.  A victory is anything that I do that is creative again, or organizing a closet out of chaos, or turning my chaos into cleanliness, or just writing again.  It is being with my family in a real way, or having fun with friends.  A victory is anything that I haven’t been able to do these last few years. 

I can’t wait to start this new part of my life.

not enough ______, too much _________

i haven’t written a good adoption post for a couple months now. There has been a reason for that. I’m avoiding. That and I have too much to say that really can’t be said. That is why I’ve titled this the way I have. I am going to try to attempt to get some of these thoughts out of my head so that maybe I can have a little peace if only for a few hours.

Not enough sleep. I am so tired. The dreams that I have been having are horrible. I dream constantly about Calvin and Hobbies (my new name for my twins). In the last dream I had the birth father got to go visit them. In my dreams about the twins I always get to visit them, or at least see them in varying degrees. And that wakes me up with too much longing, but the horrid part is that those longings don’t go away a couple minutes after I wake up. Those stay with me all day. All week. Sometimes all month. But the problem is that even in my most hopeful moments I know the adoptive parents would never let me have a visit. So that longing will be unfulfilled. I will never see their eleven year old faces in person, only in a photo. Only in my dreams.

Not enough willpower to stay away from the adoption community on the internet. Why do I subject myself to this? Why? When things are said like:

"im an adoptee and im tired of hearing these birthmothers saying how the agencies stole there children i dont belive that one bit i think there just not taking the responsabitires of there actions they chose to give up ther child nobody forced them i think they just dont want the responsabilty of rasing a child so they dump the child on some fool that thinks they should raise a child thats how my adoptive parents made me see it the birrthmom would rather go out and party than change diapers i think a mother that thinks like this shouldnt be aloud to have anymore children after she gives up a child have there rights taken away for once instaed of the adoptees rights."

Now I know I have to take these things with a grain of salt, but there are adoptees out there that feel that way and adoptive parents saying horrid stuff about birth mothers. And it breaks my heart even more. I try to stick to the boards but that isn’t much better. Happy gottcha day, I’m a mommy now (before termination of the birth mom’s rights) posts abound. Let’s not forget the combative adoptive moms that pretend to care (or at least in their own head think that they are being caring, when really they are being condescending). We are talked down to like we are small children, when really I have more education, have lived this longer, and am older then a good portion of them. Honestly they might not see their own insecurities, but they come out loud and clear to anyone remotely trained in the helping profession. I just shake my head as too much frustration builds, and I need to walk away. But I feel like the proverbial dog returning to its vomit when it comes to the boards.

Not enough trust in the public school system. My almost three year old went to school yesterday so he can learn to speak. I almost had too many panic attacks to count. That is a whole post in and of itself that I really don’t want to get into today.

Not enough patience with my children, but too much fear to leave them with someone so that I could get a break. So we are watching way too much t.v. I feel like the worst mom in the world.

Not enough energy to clean my house, but too many good ingredients to waste and so I add to the mess by baking and cooking and leave the mess for my husband. Poor guy. But it has been my only release. At least the poor neglected children and husband are eating well.

Not enough time with my husband. He is working crazy hours as a UPS driver right now. Some days he is gone for 14 hours a day. There has been more than one night he got home close to 10pm. And I am so frustrated because the church he is a part time pastor is at doesn’t understand. It is Christmas time after all! So they are asking for more time from him too. So I am spending too much time alone. I miss my support system.

Not enough guts to write a letter to the Calvin and Hobbes, but getting impatient to send off the letter to the adoptive parents that has been ready for months. I have too much fear about letter writing in general and this time, well I think this might be the death of me.

Not enough money. Too much demand for it. $1,400 is due so that my hubby and I can keep our licenses as ministers. Ya know couldn’t they do it in July? Christmas is such and awful time for these things to be due.

All these things together culminated into what I can only assume is the beginning of an ulcer. Last night I was in so much pain I could barley breathe. I’m not sure what to do about it. I didn’t have my coffee this morning, but that makes me more crabby. I am sore and frustrated about the whole thing. It’s been years since I let things get to me like this. On top of that we are weaning the Bear off his pacifier. Why now Bear’s Mommy? Good question, internet. Good question. Simply my house is such a mess that I couldn’t find one at nap time, and well it was my only option. So Elmo came and took all the Bear’s paci’s for all the poor kids for Christmas when he was at school. It just popped out of my mouth. I think I’ve lost it. Really I have.

So there is my humongous whiny post. I could go on, but I think if you’ve made it this far you get the point. If you made it though than obviously you care so please pray for my sanity, pray for my poor tummy, and pray that I find a constructive way to deal with my stress. Oh and pray that I will have the kahonas to write that darn Christmas letter.

the boys, harry potter, mary jane, & the girls

did you all know that UPS is open on the Saturday that Harry Potter comes out? It’s crazy. They are having a sign up for the drivers if they want to work that day. The management says that it will be a full 8 hour day and all they we will be doing is delivering “The Deathly Hallows” all day long! Holy cow batman! That’s a lot of books. Of course I will also be anxiously awaiting my delivery from UPS or if my husband works that day, for him to get home with my copy.

Little Bear and I quite often frolic in the huge lawn that is outside our apartment. We are very lucky to life in a nice area that is relatively free of crime. Unfortunately, our apartment complex is the one spot in our entire area that is sometimes less than great. For example a couple of months ago around 9pm my hubby and I noticed a police officer with his gun drawn sneaking around the clubhouse. I was a little freaked out about that. I guess the police also think this might be a scary place. Later I found out that someone had just tripped the alarm when going into the workout room. It does make me feel a lot safer though that the police station is only ½ mile away and that they drive through our parking lots quite frequently. Anyhow as we were frolicking the yard I found this:

I thought “We really need to move if this is just randomly growing in our yard.” But after some research on the web I found out that it was just cinquefoil, a little herby-weed. Relief washed over me. Ahhh, I guess I don’t live in ghetto-land.

I’ve been exhausted lately. My princess just isn’t interested in food and at almost 8 months old and that is a really bad thing. She loves nursing and just doesn’t want to eat solids. She is also teething. . . . . Plus after 7 ½ months “she” finally came back. The only good thing about “her” coming back is that I thought I might be pregnant again because I was tired, crabby, etc . . . I was relived I wasn’t. But after more intent research I find “she” is a major reason for nursing woes. I was pumping in order to mix with her food so that she would eat better. Then I actually saw blood coming out with the milk I pumped. The pump went back in the closet – maybe never to come out again. The pain was so intense for a few days that I wanted to cry every time I nursed, but all is getting better. I just plain took a break from trying to feed her. Yesterday I could tell she needed more than just milk so we are going to start the battle again today. Any suggestions about late eaters and how to work with them would be VERY appreciated.

On the adoption front – I GOT A LETTER! Just when I needed one. A few days earlier I cried out to Jesus that I really needed something. I really think He knew and heard my prayer and saw the desperation of my heart. I think he moved her heart to write me. It is the fastest I have ever received a letter back (three ½ months). I am praying that it is the start of really good things for our relationship. I admit that if I am more stable (about contact and my life – or at least appear to be)than maybe their mom will be more willing to write me. I don’t think I have been as stable as they had hoped. Maybe? I know so, and I am ashamed of it. But I am committed to be more consistent with them and maybe just maybe something good will happen . . . at least I can pray in that direction.

domestic goddess

sometimes I hate the fact that I have become so domestic. Wasn't it me in college that was "the feminist?" I was the only woman in the pastoral program. I was so very proud of that too. I fought for the right to take those classes along with the boys, I fought for the idea that women could be ministers too. I was labeled as a feminist. I was looked at as radical. No one really stopped to hear my views, or really listen to what I had to say, if they had they would have realized that I am not all that radical and that I don't believe that women should be senior pastors except in special situations. That gets into Theology and interpretation of the scripture and I am really really tired of explaining that to people, so I'm not going to bother here.

The whole point is that I fought for a really long time to be respected as a woman minister. There was a point that I didn't even want children. And now look at me. I'm a SAHM with a very part time church job. I cook and clean and wipe kids butts every day. I'm gardening, baking, and sewing. When did I turn into this person? The better question how can the same person who was such a feminist now be enjoying the role she is playing now? It's crazy to me that I take so much pleasure in domesticity.

This week was a pinnacle in my domestic goddess status. I sewed a dress (that I altered from the original pattern) for my beautiful little princess this week. Oh. My. Goodness. I had so much fun doing so. And when I put it on her I think I squealed in delight. I baked the best banana bread I have ever tasted - it was of my own creation. I used fresh herbs from my garden to roast a whole chicken, I used the pan juices to make some of the best sauce ever. And why didn't anyone ever tell me gardening was so fun? Getting my hands in the dirt and taking care of flowers is so rewarding. Not that I have a huge garden -I live in an apartment, but I take joy in sitting on my patio with all the beauty that I have nurtured around me.

I started all this domestic stuff in the attempt to be the perfect mommy. I think that that is one thing that birth parents and adoptive parent often share (not all the time, I am generalizing), the feeling that one must be perfect. But along the way I have found that I really do enjoy being domestic. I still HATE cleaning and especially washing dishes. But I love creating. My creativity can go crazy in the kitchen, garden and on fabric. And there is something amazing about saying - "I made this!"

the dress on my beautiful princess

banana bread and coffee on my patio


fresh herbs for my cooking!