Enough

To say that the last two months have been rough is something of an understatement.  Every time I think I have reached my limit on the amount of stress I can handle, something else got dropped onto our plates, and we had to make room for more.  Fortunately, we have been well provided for, and each of these episodes* has been resolved positively.  Still, it would be nice if we didn't have to keep figuring out how to solve more problems.

*My brother and sister have decided that we are experiencing a saga.  As such, I have come to refer to the stressor events as episodes, a la Star Wars.

Episode 1:  The Grandmothers

On September 27, one of my grandmothers passed away on her 96th brthday.  Six days later, her funeral was held.  Because of my pregnancy, I could not attend.  That evening, we received word that my other grandmother, who was 97, had passed away.  Again, I could not make the funeral.  Everyone understood, but I was crushed not just by the double loss, but by my inability to join my family in mourning.

Episode 2:  The Bathroom

Our bathroom needed fixing for close to two years now, but it finally reached the point where it was unusuable, between the non-working tub drain and tiles falling off the shower wall.  So, we finaly made arrangments to get it redone.  The original plan was for it to be finished before Jellybean arrived.  However, the day after work started, we found out that the subcontractor who was scheduled to start the next day had just been rescued after a week lost in the wilderness and was in the hospital close to death.  This put things a week behind as we got a new subcontractor.  Several other hiccups came along, as they always do in remodel projects, and it finally got finished this week.  It looks amazing, and we are totally thrilled with it and the people who did it.  However, next time, I will not schedule remodel work for when I am 9 months pregnant or about to have a child undergo heart surgery.

Episode 3:  Jellybean

So, we knew Jellybean was going to have issues and expected the heart surgery, but just because we knew about it didn't make it any less stressful.  He did so well with his recovery the first few days after surgery that we got our hopes up that he was going to beat the curve.  However, progress slowed and then things went backwards for a time as he lost weight, got congested, and refused to be weaned off the oxygen.  Progress has started again, but it is slow-going and the waiting is sometimes tedious.  This is, by far, the biggest stressor, and the unknowns don't help.  Still, we know we're getting amazing care and we are in the very best place for him.  We just hope we get to bring Jellybean home soon.

Episode 4:  The Mentor

On November 11, we learned that Phil's mentor, Rev. Dr. C, was going into hospice.  Just as we were starting to process the news, we found out that he passed away.  This was a huge hit not just for Phil, but also his parents, who are busy watching Lil' Bit for us in absentia, because Rev. Dr. C was their pastor and friend for so many years.  Because, you know, what we really needed was more death and grief stress while our son is fighting for his life.

Episode 5:  The Emergency Appendectomy

Yesterday, we got a call that Phil's mother was in the hospital with what was ultimately determined to be appendecitis.  They called the surgical team in last night so that they could take care of it before it ruptured.  Still, we had to figure out arrangements for Lil' Bit for the afternoon and evening since Phil's folks were out of service.  Fortunately, her godparents stepped up and Lil' Bit got to spend her birthday with four of her favorite people.  Chuch members also stepped up and started planning meals to bring to the house.  So, everything turned out well, but again, lots of extra stress.

Episode 6:  The Furnace

While my mother-in-law was convelescing in the hospital overnight, our furnace quit working and my father-in-law woke up to a cold house.  Phil headed home to oversee repair stuff and also to visit his mom and see Lil' Bit, while I held down the fort at the hospital.  Fortunately, the furnace problem was just a pilot light issue, so it was an easy and relatively cheap fix.  Even so, it was one more d*** thing.

So, here's the deal.  I am done.  I have had enough.  I know better than to ask if anything else could go wrong; there's always something more that could happen.  So, instead, I would like to kindly request the universe to give us a break.  Let us get through the rest of Jellybean's hospitalization without additional episodes.  I'm glad we've been amazing and handled all kinds of stuff so well (so far), but I am tired of having to be amazing.  I'd like a little quiet, please.  But, if that's not in the cards, then I'll just ask that we continue to find positive resolutions for whatever comes; that we have enough emotional and physical energy left to do whatever needs to be done; that we have enough love, prayers, and support to see us through.  My simple prayer is for "enough."

One of a Kind

Jellybean arrived on October 29 around 11:00 p.m.  He was 8 lbs even and 21 inches.  He had a few issues and was transferred to Children's Hospital that night.  After performing a four-hour echo on him and all of the cardiologists conferring with each other, they found that they were still confused by what they saw.  They sent him for a cardiac catheterization, which provided a few more answers, but they still needed more information.  After a cardiac MRI, they had exhausted all methods of looking at his heart structure and finally had enough to make a diagnosis and surgical plan.

What follows is going to be fairly technical and my best description/regurgitation of what we have been told.  The short version boils down to this:  Jellybean's heart structure is one of a kind.  The reason the doctors had such a hard time coming up with a diagnosis--either from the fetal echo or the recent testing--is because he doesn't have just one issue.  Instead, he has roughly three separate issues, none of them standard, which then combined to create a very complex and problematic heart.  His surgery today is not a complete fix and, until medicine progresses to a point that stents can grow, he will need additional open-heart surgeries throughout his entire life.  This information has been overwhelming, to say the least.  What normal approximation of life we have created to cope with Lil' Bit's medical issues will likely disappear as we learn to adjust to Jellybean's uncertain future.  And yet, we feel blessed to have Jellybean, for however long we get to have him.  We will do our best to enjoy every minute we have with him.  Other than that, all we can do is make sure we get Jellybean the best care we can and the rest is out of our hands.  A very hard lesson for this control freak, to be sure, but I'm working on it.

Without further delay, here's as much technical information as we have:

After our last fetal echo, the diagnosis was likely hypoplastic left heart but possible truncus arteriosus.  The official diagnosis is:  truncus arteriosus with discontinuous pulmonary arteries and mild to moderate hypooplasia of the left ventricle.  In other words, some of both, plus more.

Truncus arteriosus occurs when the truncal vessel fails to split into both the aorta and pulmonary artery during fetal development.  Truncus always appears with a VSD which allows the blood to mix between the two ventricles.  As a result, there is a single great vessel and both the body and the lungs receive mixed (i.e. both oxygenated and unoxygenated) blood.  Because the vessel was supposed to become two separate structures, the valve is usually problematic being stiff (stenosis), leaky (insufficient), or both.  Jellybean's valve is somewhat leaky, but generally good.  It will likely be the least of his issues.

Usually, this condition is repaired by closing the VSD in such a way as to isolate the truncus into the left ventricle and a new pulmonary artery is created and attached to the right ventricle.  The first shunt usually lasts 1-3 years before it needs to be replaced because the body has outgrown it.  Shunts are then replaced through open-heart surgery roughly 3-5 years later, again 5-10 years after that, and by adulthood, roughly every 10-15 years when they wear out.  This is called a "complete" repair.  

This is not an option for Jellybean, however, because his left ventricle is clinically smaller.  Thus, although he does not have a classic hypoplastic left heart, there is some question whether it is capable of pumping sufficiently well to get the oxygenated blood out to the body.  Instead, they will do a partial repair, which involves placing a shunt (a 4mm diameter goretex tube) between the pulmonary arteries and the subclavian or carteroid artery.  By doing only a partial repair, we give Jellybean time to grow to see if the left ventricle continues to increase in size to the point where it looks capable of functioning in a 2-ventricle system.  If so, subsequent surgery would complete the truncus repair.  If not, subsequent surgery would convert his heart into a univentricular system the way they would with a classic hypoplastic left heart condition.

The final complicating factor is the discontinuous pulmonary arteries.  Usually, truncus presents in a variety of types which are classified by the placement of where the pulmonary arteries attach to the truncus vessel.  Jellybean's left pulmonary artery comes off the truncus on one side, but his right pulmonary artery is connected to a ductus arteriosus--a fetal structure that usually disappears after birth.  This type of truncus is incredibly rare and, except for a single case from the 1970s, generally involves the left pulmonary artery coming off a ductus, not the right.  

Jellybean has been on medication, called prostoglandins, to keep this fetal structue intact while they figure out how to fix things.  However, once surgery is over, the medication will stop and the ductus will disappear.  The surgeon will remove the left pulmonary artery from the truncus and then utilize a patch--made of either homograft or pericardial tissue--to connect it to the right pulmonary artery.  This process is called unifocalization.  Unfortunately, because the right pulmonary artery comes off the ductus that will disappear, the distance between the two is fairly significant.  The hope is that the patch will allow the pulmonary arteries to continue to grow and feed the lungs, but the patch, like the stent, will not grow.  So, Jellybean will have a lifetime of heart catheterizations to fix any narrowing of the patch and open-heart surgeries to replace the patch as he grows or it wears out.

Much of the surgeon's work will be done "on the fly" because he has to wait and see what everything looks like when he gets in there.  For eample, he doesn't know how much pulmonary tissue there is on the right side after the end of the ductus and he doesn't know how much pulmonary tissue there is from the left side and how far it will stretch toward the right side.

Recovery from surgery will be roughly 3 weeks on the good side.  Approximately 10 days to recover from surgery and 10 days to learn how to feed (he hasn't ever eaten because, the way his blood flow works, his lower body doesn't get enough blood and feeding him would tax the intestines and kidneys which may not be getting adequate blood supply, thereby causing lots of problems).  He will then be followed closely, likely with weekly doctor visits, to check the status of both the shunt and the patch.  He may need oxygen when he gets home, but we won't know until close to the end of his recovery.  At around 4-6 months, he'll need a heart cath to see how he's doing.  If his growth (weight), echos showing pulmonary development, and blood saturations (sats) are all good, they will likely put off his next surgery until he is closer to one year.  If any or all of them are less than they would like, the second surgery will be closer to six months.  And, as noted above, what that surgery will entail will depend entirely on how the left ventricle has been functioning and whether it is sufficient to pump blood to the body.

If it turns out that the left ventricle cannot function in that capacity, but pulmonary growth has not been sufficient, it is possible that Jellybean will need a heart & lung transplant.  His anatomy is such that you could not place a healthy heart into it and have the system function.  Thus, only a full transplant of both would work.  Although this is certainly on the continuum of things that could happen, at this point, the doctors are feeling good about the chance of fixing things.

Things in Jellybean's favor:  his size.  Although he's lost some weight (just under .5 lbs as of this morning), he's still much larger than most kids who undergo this type of surgery.  We grew him big and it is to his benefit.  He also doesn't have any other health issues other than the heart, so they are only dealing with the heart stuff.  This gives him an excellent prognosis.

As I write this, Jellybean is in surgery.  It's going to be a long day followed by a long recovery, but we are hopeful.  The surgeon gave us a roughly 10% mortality risk with the surgery, but admitted that it was really just a guess because there simply aren't any cases of this condition.  Jellybean is unique, his required repair is unique, and there simply is no case to which he can be compared to guess at survival rates.  All we can do is wait and see.

One final note.  Many people have asked whether Jellybean's condition is similar to what Lil' Bit has.  The answer is sort of.  Jellybean's right pulmonary artery being attached to a ductus arteriosus is likely the same things Lil' Bit had with her left pulmonary artery.  However, because we didn't know she had the condition, she didn't get prostoglandins, and the dutus disappeared and the left pulmonary artery shriveled and was gone.  The surgeon indicated that these similarities are not likely coincidental and, therefore, are likely genetic.  As such, we are certain that we are done having children.  We have our hands more than full with the two we have.

More Than I Can Handle

I am now three days away from my induction.  Assuming it’s true that second labors are faster than first ones, I am a mere four days away from meeting the little dude who has been camped out under my ribcage lo these many months.  But, as excited as I am to finally meet this little guy, I am also quite terrified.  There is no question that, no matter how uncomfortable I have been, Jellybean is much easier to take care of inside than he will be once he arrives.  I am terrified that I won’t get to hold my baby or have any pictures with him before he is whisked away to the NICU and attached to tubes and wires of various sorts.  Terrified that the official diagnosis after he’s born will be worse than we know.  Terrified of the upcoming surgeries and all that they will entail.  Terrified that he may not survive.  But I’m also terrified of leaving my daughter behind.  Terrified of how all of this will impact her.  Terrified that I am not up to the task of taking care of two special needs children.

 

And worse, there’s nothing I can do about any of this.  I have done my part.  I have read and prepared emotionally as much as I can for whatever is ahead.  Everything that’s left is all outside of my control, which only makes a control-freak like me even more terrified.  People have been telling me how well I am handling things, and maybe I am.  I don’t really know.  But I haven’t spoken much about the terror before now because it usually elicits a well-intentioned response to which I do not subscribe.  Namely, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” 

In my experience, God often gives people more than they can handle.  There are children in protective services because their parents got more than they could handle.  Addicts get high because reality is too much for them to handle.  People maim and kill themselves in an effort to escape life because they feel unequipped to handle a situation or circumstance in which they find themselves.  As my sister recently wrote so eloquently on Facebook:

Whence this crazy belief that God doesn't give us more than we can handle?  Cain got more jealousy and anger than he could handle.  Noah got more stress than he (and his son) could handle without abusing alcohol.  Moses got more power than he could handle and for on the "ineligible" list for the promised land.  David got more temptation than he could handle.  Absalom got more power over his sister and more consequences from his father than he could handle.  St. Peter got more temptation to violence and denial than he could handle.  Judas got more temptation for betrayal than he could handle.  The list goes on... and on... and on...  Every last one of us is given more than we can handle.  If we're lucky, we have communities who extend the mercy, support, and love necessary to get us through, and we pay that favor forward by supporting rather than judging others when they fail to handle everything in their own lives.  If nobody got more than they could handle, there's be no need for grace.  Fortunately, in addition to too much of everything else, God gives more grace than any of us can possibly use up.

If my sister’s right, and I think she is, then grace and community are what will get me through.  And, lucky for me, I find myself in the midst of an amazing community made up of friends, family, congregants, neighbors, and even people I have never met.  We have been the beneficiaries of some amazingly generous and unexpected acts of kindness over the last few months.  We are being constantly prayed for, cared for, and provided for.  Thus, even though God has given me more than I can handle, He didn’t give me more than my community can handle.  But, when I’m in the middle of the fire, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and alone.  So, my plan is to take some tangible reminders of the love and prayers of my community—a prayer shawl, pictures, notes, etc..  That way, when things get hard, I need only look at them to know that that I am not alone in this; that there are all kinds of people who have my back and will help make it possible for me to get through whatever is coming.  And when I remember that, I remember the truth—that even with all that is to come, I am so very blessed.  And for that, I am so very grateful.  

T-minus 3 days and counting...

A Trial Run

Last night, we received a reminder that we are not in control.  Around 6:30 p.m., my stomach started feeling really hard and uncomfortable.  I wasn't really sure if it was contractions because it was just an uncomfortable tightness that slowly came and went; I couldn't really count or time what was going on.  Per the instructions from my doctor's office's website, I drank water and laid down on my left side to see if the feeling would go away.  It didn't.  After about an hour, we made plans to drop off Lil' Bit with her godmother and headed out to the hospital to get me checked out.  The sensations became more distinct to the point where I was able to identify two separate "contractions" in the 20 minute drive to the hospital.

When we got there, all the triage rooms were full, so they put me in a labor and delivery room.  This turned out to be a real perk because those rooms are way more comfortable than triage--more private, too!  They put me on the monitors and checked me for dilation.  I was roughly 1-2 cm dilated, which surprised me, but is apparently totally normal at this point for a second child.  Jellybean looked great on the monitor, an ultrasound determined he had plenty of fluid, and they didn't find any evidence of an infection or dehydration that might be causing the contractions.  However, the monitor made clear that I was having contractions, and the longer we were there, the more regular they became.  They didn't hurt, although they were uncomfortable, and they never got above 40.  By the time they discharged me, they were very regular, coming three minutes apart and roughly all the same strength.  I didn't know you could have regular contractions only three minutes apart and not be in labor.  Turns out you can.  They aren't considered Braxton Hicks because they were too regular and don't go away with rest, but because they didn't seem to be causing labor to progress, they were deemed "preterm contractions." 

We were at the hospital until about 11:30 or so.  They checked my dilation again before discharging me to see if the contractions had caused any further dilation in the 2-3 hours I had been there.  Because I wasn't any further dilated, they were sending me home.  I was surprised that they weren't going to do anything to stop the contractions, but given Jellybean's gestational age (34 1/2 weeks) and the fact that any meds they gave me to stop the contractions could cause issues for him, they explained that their preference was not to stop any contractions.  Generally, when the body goes into labor at this point, babies generally do just fine and most don't need ventilators or any special care and there's usually a reason for the labor, so they prefer to trust the body that it's time.

It was certainly odd to be discharged while still contracting.  My orders were to come back if they got worse and they gave me a method to attempt to gauge that.  At the same time, they didn't want me to wait too long if I thought they were getting worse because they hoped to be able to transfer me to Detroit if I was, in fact, progressing, but they couldn't do it if I was in labor.  So, we were left with this grey, fuzzy area to decide when and if we thought we needed to come back.  Fun!  On the plus side, I was already scheduled to see my doctor today, so the on-call doctor from last night left word to have them check my cervix again today and make there hasn't been any further dilation.

We picked up Lil' Bit and got her home, but getting her back to bed was extremely difficult--particularly given that it was 12:30 a.m. at that point and all three of us were very tired from being up way past bedtime.  By this morning, the contractions seemed to have stopped--yay!  Outside of two doctor visits (and writing this post), my goals for the day are sleeping and drinking water.  Ah, what a glamorous life!

What surprised me most about this whole incident was how calm I was.  On the way to the hospital and as they were hooking me up, I was more worried that they were going to put me on the monitor and tell me I was crazy because nothing was going on than I was that it would turn out I was actually in labor.  Once it was clear I was contracting, I was so relieved I'm not sure I ever processed what it would mean if I was really in labor.  Fortunately, I didn't need to.  And, we got the opportunity to test out our contingency plan for Lil' Bit and local delivery in the event we don't make it to the induction, which makes me feel a little calmer about that, too.

Still, it was a very real reminder that Jellybean is going to come when he wants, and all I can do is try to be prepared for whenever that is.  Even so, I spend a few minutes every hour or two singing the "Just Keep Swimming" tune from Finding Nemo to Jellybean, except the words I use are "Just keep cooking."

T-minus 4 and 1/2 weeks and counting...

A Transfer of Power

Today we met with the high-risk OB in Detroit--Dr. P.  The ultimate determination of the meeting was that we need to transfer my care to her practice.  I will still go to my local OB's office to do my twice-a-week non-stress tests (NSTs or antenatal testing as the doc called it), but all of my weekly visits, ultrasounds, blood sugar regulation, etc., will now be done by the Detroit practice.  Personally, this seems pretty reasonable to me.  If I were a doctor about to take on a high-risk patient with delivery of a newborn who needs surgery, I would want to be the one primarily responsible for her care.  However, she will not necessarily--in fact is unlikely to be--my delivering doc.  So, because I will have weekly visits, they will do their best to introduce me to as many of the people in the practice as possible so that hopefully I will know whomever ends up being on call when I deliver.

We reached agreement that we should schedule me for an induction for just after 39 weeks so that if I haven't delivered before then, that's when we'll get this party started.  Dr. P indicated that there are almost no "wet lung" issues after 39 weeks, so that Jellybean should be sufficiently grown for the cardiologists' purposes, but that because of my gestational diabetes and the increased risk of still birth after 39 weeks for gestational diabetics on insulin, we don't want to go much beyond that.

I'm a little scared, as we are now only 6 weeks away from my scheduled induction.  In fact, as I calculate things, by the time I start seeing the doctor in Detroit in two weeks, I will be only 4 weeks away.  Thus, I will probably only being making 4 additional trips to Detroit in addition to the one we were already anticipating.  I guess that isn't too terribly horrible.  At the same time, it doesn't give us much time to meet the other docs.  It also means I now have to freak out about all the things I need to accomplish in the next 6 weeks.

We also reached an agreement that if I went into labor while still at home, I should go to the local hospital and let them determine whether to medically transport me to Detroit or just deliver Jellybean locally.  If I deliver there, the local hospital will transport Jellybean to Children's Hospital and I will do my best to get the heck out of there asap to follow.  Although being stuck in a different city than Jellybean will be difficult, it is far better--for him especially--than ending up delivering him by the side of the road without any of the interventions we know he needs.  To that end, we have started talking with friends about contingent plans so that we can have someone with Lil' Bit, someone with me at the hospital, and someone with the hubster following baby to Detroit in the event this occurs.  Hopefully we won't need to use this contingency and we can just head over to Detroit for the planned induction.  But, we all know babies come when they want to, so we just have to wait and see if Jellybean is willing to go along with our plans.

I'm pleased to have a plan.  I'm pleased to have some answers.  I'm frumpy that I have to go to Detroit weekly, but pleased I can still do my NSTs locally rather than driving 2 hours to Detroit for a 30 min test and then driving 2 hours home.  I am sad I won't be seeing my regular OB.  I was supposed to have two more visits with her, but both of them have been switched to other docs in the practice, so now I won't see her before the official transfer to the new practice.

I am both excited and terrified about the end of this pregnancy.  It has been less than a glowing good time, but Jellybean is much easier to take care of and doesn't need surgery as long as he's inside.  Labor will bring me my beautiful baby boy, but it will also bring a whole new host of challenges--and not just the usual newborn ones.  It's starting to sink in and it's pretty scary stuff.  Don't get me wrong.  I know when the time comes, I will be up to the challenge.  I will put my head down, thrust my metaphorical horns forward, and charge full-throttle into whatever is to be--that's just who I am.  It doesn't make it any less scary, though, which makes me extremely thankful for the support of my friends, family, and community.

T-minus 6 weeks and counting...

Dear Doodlebug - 2 years, 10 months

Dear Doodlebug,

We're about 2 months away from your third birthday and I wanted to take some time out from the whirlwind of dealing with your brother's pending arrival to celebrate how wonderful and amazing you are.  I want you to know how much you make your parents smile and how much you heal our hearts.

Where once we were worried that you weren't talking enough, now you are quite the conversationalist.  You can make long, fairly complicated sentences which positively amaze us, like, "When I go to H-y's and play in the sand and take my shoes off, my feet get sandy."  When you parrot us, it's fun to see ourselves reflected in you--like when you got up from the game and held up your index finger, and told daddy "I'll be back in 1 minute" while you went to eat a bite of cereal; or when you go upstairs and say, "I'll be right back"; when you put your Pooh bear to bed, tuck him in and tell him, "Good night.  I love you.  I see you in the morning."; or when the kitty runs away and you look at me and say, "That happens sometimes."  We love how when daddy calls us his "ladies," you giggle and say, "I not a lady.  I a big girl."

You are so polite with your automatic "Thank yous" and your "pleases" are coming along nicely.  You've even begun asking to be excused from the table--you obviously didn't get that from us.  You are working well at picking toys up after you play with them and I am working on letting that happen more on your schedule rather than making you clean up each item when something new catches your fancy.  You are doing a much better job at taking turns while playing games, although sometimes TAD (toddler attention deficit) kicks in and you forget it's your turn.

You can do puzzles well beyond your age-rated abilities, practically make your own coffee from the Keurig (if you could but reach it and if you actually drank coffee), and pick out and play your own DVDs.  Your ability to memorize books and songs is so impressive.  It's fun to hear you tell us stories or "read" us books-- how every page starts, "One day," and then you attempt to describe what you see in the pictures.

You seem to be adjusting to the idea of a brother/usurper fairly well.  You always take his "C pillow" (a Boppy) back to his room if we use it for nap time.  You point to my tummy and tell me I have a "baby brother" in there and then, sticking out your belly as far as you can, you proudly announce that you have a baby in your tummy--although you have declared that yours is a girl.  You announce happily that you will help him learn his letters and numbers as he gets "big and big."

You still love to jump--whether on your bouncy (trampoline) or across the floor from blanket to blanket (thereby avoiding the floor/lava), or down off the couch in full flight.  We have harnessed some of that into gymnastics class which you seem to adore.  I love how you show me what you learned and then say, "I do dat in dymnastics."  It's very clear you are proud of what you can do and you have every right to be.  I love the joy you have when you run back and forth across the room, shouting, "watch me, Mommy."  I love the twinkle in your eye when you grab my arm or leg and say, "I got you.  You can't get away."

You can be amazingly clear about what you want at times and other times you will regress and simply point at your mouth, or point at a desired item and refuse to use your "big girl words."  Still, your big girl moments far outweigh those times.   You are working on being so independent whether getting your clothes and shoes on and off by yourself; working to figure out the whole potty thing; or getting your own yogurt from the fridge, spoon from the drawer, and getting the lid off without any help.

I am amazed every day at the differences in you that have come in less than a year.  When you watch the DVD of your birthday from last year, I can't believe how much you have grown and matured in just 10 months.  In some ways, these differences feel bigger than those between your birth and 10 months.  But, the best part--or at least my favorite part--is when you give spontaneous hugs or say "I love you too, Mommy.  You're my best friend."  Those times help me feel healed and I think I can make it through just about anything.

So, thank you for being my doodlebug.  Thank you for being so amazing.  I can't wait to watch you continue to grow into the person you are becoming.  I am so proud of you.

Love,
Mommy

Remembering Gratitude

Today at church, a friend gave a powerful testimony about a lesson she had learned this week.  Her lesson was best summed up in her last sentence--you can't be pitiful and grateful at the same time.  It was a timely reminder to me that, in the midst of preparing for the whirlwind to come, I have much to be grateful for.  So, I wanted to take a moment and give thanks.

I am thankful for:

1) Being a parent.  As hard as all this surgery and medical stuff is, I am blessed that my journey with infertility ended with my having children.  Not everyone is successful, and I am grateful that I was one of the lucky ones who was.

2) My marriage and my husband.  Marriage is hard enough.  Ours has survived law school, infertility, and high needs children.  I am so lucky and so grateful that he has my back and that we're in this together.

3) My family--both by birth and by marriage.  They have been so supportive in all of the difficult moments.  Just feeling loved and supported can do so much to get me through the day.

4) My job and my co-workers.  I am lucky to have a job I love and to work with people whose company I enjoy and whose opinions I value.  They have also been a great support to me, finding ways to help and reminding me it's okay to cry, even if I am at work.

5) Health insurance.  I am grateful to have good health insurance. I am also grateful that there are no longer pre-existing conditions or lifetime maximums, so I don't have to worry about my children being uninsurable before they are even 5.

6) Reliable transportation.  With all of the trips to the doctor, including lots of trips to Detroit, I am grateful that my car is in good condition and I don't worry about whether I can make it all of the places I need to be.

7) Our medical providers.  I am grateful for such an amazing group of doctors--both for me and for my children.  Having confidence in their care makes things so much easier on me.

8) My special people.  I am lucky to have friends, near and far, who do amazing things for me.  Whether sending prayers, providing pick-me-ups, giving hugs, standing beside me when times are tough, coordinating care for my family, providing food and clothing, babysitting, messaging to make sure I'm okay, or any of the other myriad ways they show their love, I am blessed by and grateful for each and every one of my friends.

I know that the next few months, maybe even years, are going to test me.  I am so grateful for all of the blessings I have that will help me not merely survive the times to come, but find the joy and love present there as well.  And, hopefully, even in the dark times yet to come, I will remember to be grateful for all I have.