Chronically Ill Mom, Part 2

After about a year after having my gallbladder out, I figured it was time to go back to a GI doctor about my intestinal problems. I still had spasms where my gallbladder used to be, and still had terribly IBS most days. I was also seriously contemplating getting a nutritionist/dietitian so I could see if a diet program would work better for me than what I was doing. On top of these decisions, we also felt that it was time for us to get pregnant.

It was scary and exciting to contemplate having a child. Scary, because initially we had planned not to try for a while longer, and because of my health. Could I safely carry a child? Would I have the energy to care for a child when he or she came? Would being pregnant help or hurt my health? Hormones had often helped my gut during my periods, but sometimes they really hurt it too. It was a toss up. I worried that my pregnancy would be a toss up.

It was exciting because, well, Stephen and I have always both loved children and often talked about our future family. It hurt some, thinking about having a family without our oldest child, but it was also nice thinking of actually being able to raise a child ourselves. There has always been mixed emotion. But excitement was still incredibly strong.

Regardless of our mixed emotions, we still felt it was the right decision. So we started trying, and I started seeing a dietitian and a new GI doctor. The GI doctor did a bunch of tests that came back negative, gave me some other gut-health pills to try, and told me good luck with getting pregnant. There wasn't anything else she could do for me. She was very sweet, though, and I feel she did her best, so I had no animosity toward her. Oh yeah, and she was also the doctor to finally just diagnose me with IBS.

My dietitian had more helpful things for me. She gave me a more comprehensive list of foods that can aggravate IBS (on which were mot of my food allergens, surprise, surprise), and had me start recording my meals. She also had me increase my calories, partially to gain weight, and partially to start preparing for the baby. Through the food journal, we eliminated a couple more foods from my diet, and I did gain a bit more energy from eating more.

Very soon after starting to see the dietitian--or maybe just before?--we got pregnant! Wow! What exciting news! I could hardly believe. I had to keep checking. It was a miracle.

We withheld the news from everyone (except my mom, since I needed her advice; sadly, my mom isn't great at secrets, so everyone living with her ended up finding out) because I was worried about miscarrying. My oldest sister miscarries a lot, so I wanted to be cautious, especially since this was my first pregnancy. Luckily, my health really was about the same the first trimester, with only a little more acid refux and only one time throwing up. Everything else was EXACTLY the same symptoms I'd already been dealing with for two years.

We announced the pregnancy at the end of the first trimester. Once I entered the second trimester, my health improved BIG time. Turns out the hormones were VERY good for my body, which is good, because we ended up moving out of our apartment during that time.

I still had quite a bit of fatigue, but I still had more usable hours to my day and was able to keep up with light exercise throughout the summer. (I got pregnant in January, and we moved at the end of May.) Steve introduced me to some video games that require thinking skills, so that helped combat my brain fog. I still couldn't push myself too hard or far, but I managed to get by. Overall, it was not that bad.

Then at the beginning of August, right around the start of my third trimester, we moved again. It was hot, humid, and miserable! And I couldn't do as much to help out since I was so far along. It was frustrating, but I got through it. We all got through it.

Now in our new place, my health started tanking again in the final stages of the pregnancy. I got a part-time job as a writing tutor, working at the EAC writing center. It was nice because it was light work and got me out of the house, where I was slowly going crazy.

I became anxious for the baby to come. October came, and so did he. Another miracle. And a tremendous blessing.

During the whole pregnancy, my fears of being able to care for my son did not cease. I was worried the whole time. What if my joints flared up and I dropped him? What if I was too fatigued and he needed me? My sister moved with us, so I at least had some support, but I desperately desired to care for him largely on my own.

I will not lie, after our baby came, things got drastically harder. I ended up having postpartum anxiety, but all the tests came back with different results, so they sent me to an endocrinologist just to verify what it was caused by. Turns out it was postpartum thyroiditis, namely hyperthyroidism. So fun on top of my other problems. I suffered from debilitating anxiety attacks and spent most of my days irritable. My sister and husband were absolutely wonderful during that whole time. They were patient and were able to care for Isaac when I couldn't. I'm so grateful.

The endo got my hyperthyroidism under control in under four months, and I am already off the medication. But I still have fatigue, IBS, and arthritic flare ups, among my other health problems that crop up.

It's funny, because I've often been told my doctors that I'm still healthy regardless of all this. But I don't feel healthy. Pretty sure I'm not in good health. But because it's difficult to pinpoint what's wrong in all of this, I guess they think it's comforting to hear that I'm healthy?

Despite the fact that all my fears have been realized since Isaac was born (namely, my inability to care for him at times), I don't regret having him. And honestly, I believe the Lord knew exactly what kind of child we needed. Isaac is a patient, happy baby who doesn't mind if mommy can't always play with him. He's pretty independent, which is helpful when my sister and Steve are at work, because I can relax or, if I'm feeling halfway decent, clean, and not worry too much about him.

My doctor here is working on getting me diagnosed with fibromyalgia and getting me to a pain specialist, and I'm seeing a wellness coach for my stomach problems, so hopefully soon I can be a more independent mommy. The hardest thing is really accepting that I can't always take care of everything, or even just take care of Isaac, and that it doesn't make me a bad wife or mother. My health may hinder me, but it doesn't define who I am. And I don't regret having a child with all of these health challenges. When something is right, it's right. Isaac keeps me going when I'd otherwise sink into depression. He brightens my world and keeps me from being lonely when Steve is gone.

So I keep plugging on, because that's all I can do. And I hope that I can get my health troubles managed so that my boy, and other children that come along, can have a working mom instead of a banged up one. But if my health never improves, we'll work through it and I'll love my kids as best as I can. Because that's what a mom does.

Cheers~

Chronically Ill Mom

I've pretty much been ill off and on my entire life, mostly due to allergies, but also from colds and stuff. My body decided that food and pollen and dander are more evil substances than things like colds and flus. It wasn't until college that I really felt I had good health. I was eating better, for one, and I biked to school and to the post office (I got rides to the store, thankfully), so I was in pretty good shape. My food allergies didn't bother me so badly and I didn't get fatigued as often. I did still get fatigued, though.

Then I want on a mission. The first six months, my health was still pretty good. We had to exercise every morning and we did a lot of walking. That, coupled with some good meals provided by members, and I was still doing really well. Toward the end of my time with my third companion (during the end of March/beginning of April), things started getting worse. First, my knees started going. They started swelling and hurting, first my right and then my left. I ice packed them, wrapped them, and took pain meds, but nothing was really helping. Then, in my last week with that companion, we caught the stomach flu (courtesy of the Elders). My comp got over it in about three days, while it took me a week. So I got transferred with my knees in disrepair and still feeling whoozy.

The flu symptoms totally went away by the end of another week, but my knees got better. Over the course of the next three months, the pain spread down to my feet and up to my hands, back, and neck. The pain was excruciating. I couldn't move anything without hurting. The mission got me to a doctor, who got me on pain meds, and then proceeded all sorts of testing to figure out what was going on. I also got some knee braces and a loooooooooooot of aid from sympathetic members. One of the hardest things was whenever I did have an especially bad flare up and then get something to help it, the release of pain would always knock me out. So much fun.

I almost came home halfway through my mission because of it, but ended up staying out (that is a story for another time). As part of the deal for me to stay out, my mission president promised me unlimited miles on any vehicle for the rest of my mission, because walking and biking made my knees swell worse. It didn't help either that this was all happening over the summer months, so it was already hot and humid many days.

After a couple of more months, I was able to get in to see a rheumatologist. That didn't help any. She did a bunch of testing, which all came back negative, and told me she couldn't do anything for me and not to bother coming back. My joints were OBVIOUSLY swollen, still, but whatever.

Another few weeks and the mission got me into a physical therapist, to see of that would help (I had gotten writer's wrist in college, which affects the joints, and physical therapy had helped me then, so the church thought it might help me now). Transfers happened and I got moved to a place about an hour and a half away, so physical therapy always took up more than half the day. Wheeeeeee....

But it worked! The therapist worked on my legs and feet, and within a month the pain was cut in half. It was also October, so the temperature change helped a lot too. Of course, the therapy also wore me out, so I would be out of commission the day after therapy as well. (I only got to go three times because of insurance. I got an at-home program to do so I could keep up on it.)

With that being mended, you'd think that it would have been smooth sailing, right?

You'd be wrong.

I got a cold or flu like every other week all through November and repeatedly had to be told to rest (by leaders and by the Lord whenever I prayed or received a blessing). I got transferred to Ely (my first area!) again in December. That was one of the happiest days of my life, let me tell you. I loved Ely 3rd Ward, and couldn't believe the blessing it was to be sent back.

The stomach flu came around pretty soon after arriving there (thanks a lot, Elders), but then I had a month (January) that wasn't too bad for my health. I would just get achy walking around in the cold (yeah, sure it wasn't arthritis) and need to half the car blasting heat.

Then February came around and I thought the stomach flu was coming around again because I got ill in my stomach again. Then I woke up one morning and dumped my stomach in the toilet; which, the stomach flu can get pretty bad, but this was worse than any flu I'd ever had.

After some weeks of it not improving, and a doctor saying that I may need a colonoscopy to figure out what was wrong, it was decided that I should come home a transfer early so I could get taken care of. As much as I hated that thought, I also recognized that I couldn't work most days because of the constant diarrhea and accompanying nausea and headaches. So I came home.

It took eight months for the doctor to figure out what was wrong. In the meantime, I had tried going gluten free and a couple of other dietary changes, but nothing at all helped. Then, in October, they were able to diagnose it at gallbladder failure, and in November I got my gallbladder out. There wasn't anything specifically wrong with it; it was just inflamed and not working. Turns out, that's a genetic problem on my mom's side. Nearly all the women have had to get theirs out, and at young ages.

Still and yet, my health didn't get as better as hoped. I got color back in my skin, and had more usable hours to my day, but I still had severe IBS symptoms and there were several days I could barely get out of bed. "Exercise!" some helpful people would say, but anything strenuous made it worse. "Get a job!" others would say, but mental and physical strain also made it worse. "Rest," my doctors prescribed, as well as a bunch of medications that were either a) too expensive or b) didn't work. I got a pretty good GI doctor who gave me a list of foods that could be irritating my gut, so I started avoiding some of those foods, and it helped, but didn't heal me. I also would get periodic spasms where my gallbladder used to be, which were pretty debilitating.

I'd gotten married the May after my gallbladder removal. My husband is a saint:I don't know too many people who would willingly date and marry someone who could barely take care of themselves, but he did it. He worked full time, and then he would come home and take care of me. I wasn't completely useless all the time, so there is that, but I know it was still a lot for him to manage. We also had a ton of other emotional things going on during our engagement and start of our marriage (that was the period of time we were working on having our son adopted out, and we had a ton of resistance from family over everything we did). But Steve didn't give up on me. He stuck to me.

So we were married, and he'd be gone to work Mon-Fri. and I would sit at home, usually by myself, and not do a whole lot. Sometimes I was able to hang out with my family or his at their respective homes, which helped my loneliness. And some days I could do more. But many days I couldn't do much. Oh, and I also still had arthritic flair ups happen, which would also incapacitate me to varying degrees.

When a year since my gallbladder removal came around, things started shaking up for us again. But, since this post is already way long, I will save the 2nd part for another day!

Cheers!

Guilt Gifts

Ever been in an abusive relationship, or had a fight with someone, and then that someone feels bad and decides to give you a gift to make up for it? I call those guilt gifts. They're a way to show that someone feels bad/guilty without them putting in the emotional effort of actually addressing what's wrong in the relationship. Now, some people DO talk things out when they give reparation presents, and then those aren't guilt gifts. I'd call those ice breakers that lead to reconciliation.

A guilt gift is specifically when someone realizes that they did or said something to hurt or offend you and want to shower you with gifts to prove that they still love you despite whatever it is that they did or said, or to get you to shut up about whatever you have a problem with, or to assuage their own guilty conscience and has nothing to actually do with you.

Now, you could argue that the fact that they're giving you a gift at all is very generous and really does show that they're trying to make amends. But if the person still doesn't address the source of the hurt, then it's pretty meaningless. I've been given too many guilt gifts in my life to trust them.

To me, a true desire to make amends has to involve mending the relationship, which generally takes communication and a willingness to listen without censure. Gifts, no matter how expensive or needed, can't make up for loss of trust in a relationship (unless, perhaps, your love language is gifts; then, I don't know what to tell you). And it can be frustrating, because you want to acknowledge the thoughtfulness of the gift, but you also want the actual issues addressed.

I should also probably clarify that I'm not talking about a conversation of, "Honey, you never buy me anything, or get the things we really need," followed up by a gift. I'm talking about, "What you said really hurt me, and I would like to see if we can make better communication," followed up with a gift instead of a conversation.

Armed with this knowledge, what can you do if someone hands you guilt gifts instead of addressing the actual problems in a relationship? I'm not an expert, so I can't really say. Do you accept the gifts? Do you not accept them? Do you keep trying to establish good communication? Do you leave it alone? These are really hard questions.

Personally, I'm never satisfied with guilt gifts. Yeah, they kind of feel nice because it at least says that the person recognizes that SOMETHING isn't right in what's going on, and sometimes the gifts are things that I really need, but they don't make up for lack of communication for me. To me, it feels less like the person is trying to help stitch up the bleeding gash in our relationship, and more like they're just trying to slap a band-aid on it when stitches are needed. The best way to make amends with someone is to communicate with them on THEIR level and to figure out how THEY feel loved. Otherwise, it's more about you than it is about them.

Giving me gifts doesn't tell me you listened to what I said. Actually listening to me and actively working WITH me to fix things is what tells me you listened to what I said.

If something you've said or done has hurt someone, don't just throw gifts at their heads and expect them to feel loved. Give the gifts of time and a listening ear to your loved ones. Give the gift of change. And if you can't find a middle ground to tread, maybe give the gift of space so that both of you can work things out on your own before trying again.

That's just my two cents worth on it. Cheers.

All About Me

Since I'm starting afresh, I figured I ought to do a bit of history of myself, just so any new readers can get a feel for who I am.

I used to tell people I am a figment of everyone's imaginations. The more people I "met" the more I spread. My reasoning was that everyone's collective imaginations was strong enough to create a mass hallucination (the mind, after all, is quite a powerful thing). There was also the fact that I don't usually go to new places alone; thus, to meet me, anyone would have to be introduced to me to accept the hallucination as real.

It was a bit complicated, and came about because I never knew what to say when people asked, "Tell us something interesting about yourself." So that's what I started saying.

Now, on the other hand, I can think of a few interesting bits about myself. Here they are in bullets  (because I can):

• I was born and raised in Arizona, but none of my siblings were born here.
• I'm the youngest of six.
• My parents have been divorced for nearly 10 years.
• I went on a mission for my church at 19. I served in the Nevada Reno mission, which takes up pretty much the entirety of the northern half of Nevada. (This is something that will probably crop up in later posts, so stay tuned!) I came home six weeks early (though that's hardly early by mission standards, it still felt early) due to illness.
• I had my gallbladder removed at the tender age of 22. This was the principal reason I came home early, and it took eight months to get the diagnosis. By that time, my gallbladder was only functioning at about 13%, and they usually take them out at 30%.
• I've been sick most of my life due to allergies and a fairly poor immune system. The last few years have been especially bad because of my gallbladder, which inflamed my system and gave me IBS. I can no longer breakdown food super well, and I had lost a ton of weight when I got home from my mission.
• Pregnancy saved my weight. My body received strength and the hormones helped my stomach. Because of that, I'm actually at a pretty healthy weight again, which is great.
• Stephen and I met in high school; he fell in love with me then, but I didn't know I loved him until I came home from my mission. Our relationship progressed pretty quickly from there. (Definitely going to have more on that later. I think our love is a fun story, and I'm dying to share it.)
• We have two sons, although one of them is technically not mine. Even though our oldest son isn't mine, I still consider him mine, and the pain of having to adopt him out is just as real as if I'd lost my own child. (I'll probably go into that more, too, but I have to be careful not to share too much in respect of his adoptive parents, who have asked that we not be too public about him. I'll probably just go into my feelings about it, when I do talk about it.)
• Our younger boy is a delight and joy, and my buddy, and I will talk about him shamelessly.
• I am a DEVOUT member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. My faith definitely contributes to who I am, and I will speak of it freely. It shapes my views of the world and teaches me how to handle different people and situations. I won't apologize for it, so if it is a problem, I recommend something else to read.

There's probably a lot more that can be said; I think the best way to know who I am would be to just keep getting to know me. Which is something that is true for everyone.

As of right now, I am an at-home mom who's trying to regain her health and finish her Bachelor's degree in English. I plan on taking courses online so I can be home for my boy and so as to be more flexible around my husband's schedule. Honestly, I'm pretty content with that. The best career I can think of is being a wife and mother. Everything else is secondary. What I really long for is my health back, so that I can do more things. I'm an introvert and a homebody, but I have to find ways to spend my energy (when I have it) or I get restless. That's my biggest challenge. My body is weak, and sometimes my brain is too, but my spirit loves work, creativity, and things that make me grow. Sitting at home, barely being able to take care of my son some days, has been a huge trial of patience and faith.

Happily, I have found someone who thinks she can get my gut health back up, and I've started exercising again (note: it sucks because I've become so weak). It is my hope that within the next couple of months I can really get my health and energy back. You don't know how much you take just being able to move for granted until you can't move anymore. I try not to let my illness define me, but sometimes it feels like that's all there is. Stephen and Isaac keep me out of myself. They're the biggest blessings of my life.

I'm working on getting back into creative spheres. I don't like to showcase myself, but Steve says I should go out of my way more, so I'm getting back into art, writing, and the other things I love to do that I've been too sick to do since I got home three years ago. That's really nice. As one of my friends said just today, it is important to have creative outlets, especially as an at-home mom. You have to do things to recharge. So maybe some of that will end up on here. We'll see.

Anyhow, I think that's about all I've got for myself right now. I'm sure more things will come up as I go along.

Cheers~

Long Time Coming

It's been absolute ages since I touched this thing. I honestly can't even fully remember why I started a blog--I think it was probably because my oldest sister had one for her family, and I somehow ended up thinking it would be good to have one of my own. Then, of course, my author friends all have blogs or other pages around to get their books out there. I remember perusing several of their blogs and enjoying them, and I as was an aspiring author, I thought it couldn't hurt. I don't know that this will ever be that popular or exciting, but here it is.

My husband, Stephen, is the one we can blame for this sudden desire to blog again. I mean, I'd been thinking about it for a while, but his words confirmed my worst fears: I should blog again.

Why blog?

Well, it's a way to express oneself without the rapid pace of social media life. Everything on social media is flash emotions, "quick, spread the word!" and other such adrenaline addictive things. There's not as much time for reflection. And honestly, if anyone responds to these, I'd probably care less than on social media. It's not as attention grabbing, and I'm not sharing my thoughts to make a statement or start a riot. I'm just sharing some things to get them out of my head and make a mark of my life.

The last few years have been exceedingly difficult for me. I write in my journal on occasion (that's something I'm also working on improving), but I've discovered I have an easier time expressing myself if I think someone's going to read what I say. My journal is the record of my life and my emotions; this is less a stream of thoughts and more a way to articulate my life in a way that would make sense to others. At least, I hope it will make sense.

Anyway, I've been bottling a lot of things up, and I can't get out very often, so Stephen thought I ought to blog a bit. And who knows? Perhaps someone can benefit from what I have to say. That would be nice, to help others. I think that's probably at least 50% of the reason I want to write out my life stories. If I can help anybody reading this, then that's a good thing.

Perhaps, too, if I can get back to writing consistently, some of those things could wind up on here.

I can't promise this will come out in a chronological order. It probably won't, because brains don't always work like that. But it could be fun, though. It could be.

Kind of a lame post, but I figured I ought to create some kind of expectations for myself and anyone reading this. I doubt anyone will, but you never know.

So here you are, at the reboot of my blog.

Also, if you see glaring grammatical or typographical errors, you can let me know privately (my email should be available, I think) and I will fix them. As an author, I like things to be tidy. Just have some mercy, will ya?

Cheers.