#thth (Thankful Thursday)

I haven't decided whether 'throwback Thursday' or #tbt, as it's known on Facebook, is a good thing for me. I do enjoy seeing how far back others go, and sometimes I'll find a fun little photo to share. There was a time on this blog when I made an effort to post a 'thankful Thursday' each week. Kind of sad I can barely remember doing that, much less what I posted (I'll check the labels later).

Here's why I say it might not be a good thing for me: I went through a difficult time after Miles was born and then through our infertility struggles when all I did was look back. I was extremely stuck in my past, sometimes on one specific day. For crying out loud, I wrote an angry letter to my own ruptured appendix! I was angry and hurt, partly because all I did was stay in the past.

Things are better now as far as that hurt is concerned. Moses and Maggie arrived in September 2012, amazing little miracles and more than I could ever hope for or deserve. And it was...wow. So hard.

The sleep deprivation. That was probably the worst, and I was not prepared for how bad it would feel. I did not sleep more than three hours at a time for the first four months. When Miles was born, I didn't even get to take care of him until he was nearly four months old, so this was all brand new to me. But what awesome brand-newness it was, and as each month went by I found myself desperate to slow time down -- funny how perspective changes a person, because throughout my angry and 'stuck' season of life I wanted time to speed along. Just wanted to be caught up with everyone else (whatever that means, right?).

And then 'the babies' as we call them (and I still do) were about to reach one year. I struggled with sadness mostly, wondering where those tiny little things had gone. I was looking back over my shoulder every day. I think it's a struggle many moms have. The newborn, infant and toddler phases are consumed with giving and giving and giving of yourself and of your time and emotions. Did I mention the mental part? Probably forgot that one...see what I mean? So by the time your 'baby' is nearly two, three and four years old, you will sometimes think, "wait, I want to go back again and snuggle that little one for a little while!" There is this constant pushing and pulling -- we're teaching them to learn, well, everything, and yet we are yelling "stop growing so fast!" (either inside or outside our heads, sometimes both).

When Maggie and Moses had crossed that one-year line, I realized it wasn't so bad. I could do this. And I still do struggle occasionally with the deep heartache of knowing they're nearing two in just a few months. But for my sanity, and for my emotional wellbeing, I must make the effort to live today. This hour. This moment. Put everything down and chase them through the house, listening to the squeals of delight. Play ring-around-the-rosy just one more time before saying goodnight. Read one more book. Steal one more kiss. Look straight into their eyes and see who they are.

I found this post I'd written the day before Miles was 21 months old. I can see some similarities in his personality with his brother and sister, and also some differences. In some ways he seemed so much older to me then than they do now. Possibly just a mother's view on her oldest and youngest, I'm not sure.

I've spent the morning and part of this afternoon looking at photos and coming back to type a line or two of this post, and in doing so I have realized this: I do like 'throwback Thursday' and I don't think it's such a bad thing for me. Maybe I'm thinking it would have been a bad thing for the me that used to be. I think it can only become a bad thing if we're still living in that 'throwback' rather than in today. Having said all that, I will share a #tbt of my own, from one year ago today:

Such sweethearts (and stinkers at times). I feel that ache rising up, but I can honestly say I wouldn't go back now. We are here today, with these beautiful 21-month-old kiddos, and each day brings more smiles and joy. Is each day still difficult? Well, duh. But nothing so awesome wouldn't be difficult.

10 years...just a drop in the bucket, baby

My husband has dark, beautiful hair. I thought it was black for, I don't know, a long time until he pointed out that in the sunlight it is a rich, chestnut brown. No matter...I've always loved it, been jealous of the body it has and the fact that he never has to use any product to make it do what it should. But if you're standing close enough, you'll see that this beautiful hair of Casey's is becoming speckled with little white hairs. These were not around ten years ago when I married my 24-year-old groom. My conclusion is that mostly I put them there, what with all the hospital craziness (as I have termed it) and...maybe sometimes just being me. I guess I'll share a few with Miles and the campus ministry.

When Casey and I first fell in love, I would tell him he was 'perfect'. Ever humble, he would add, '...for you.' And yes, over the years I've realized my husband is definitely not perfect, but in fact perfect for me. I always say that my best decision ever was to accept Jesus as my Savior, and my second best was to choose Casey to be my love for life. He is my best friend, the one I want to share everything with first, the other half of my heart. I adore Miles and little Maggie and Moses, but they would not be had it not been for this precious man who I love more every day.

Ten years is a long time. But then, it's not. Casey and I have packed a lot of life experience into the past decade. We have ridden storms and I'm sure we'll ride many more. I don't think either of us planned that we would be expecting our second and third child at this point in our lives, much less at the same time! But that is part of what makes our story our story. And thank God that He is at the center of it all.

Happy First 10 Years, Case. You are definitely the most perfect man...for me. xoxo

Happy CO Day!

The story I'm going to share here today is, as I see it, pretty strange. But when I think about events surrounding my life -- i.e., medical and hospital events -- it doesn't rank all that high on the weird meter.

Occasionally I'll revisit this particular day in my mind, but often it's easily forgotten until something triggers my memory. This morning it was just a matter of walking past our wall calendar and noting that today's date is February 13. Dates and numbers have easily stuck in my brain since I was very young. I remember visiting a different classroom in fourth grade and seeing an August birthday calendar on the wall. My eyes went to the 31st and the name of the boy whose birthday was that day. I still know that kid's birthday, even though I haven't seen him since I was 10 years old.

Back to the story. Why did February 13 jump out from the calendar this morning? Fifteen years ago today I was living with my friend Becky...so many, many great stories about Becky but this is by far the strangest we share. We were both juniors in college, and it was the day before one of our school's biggest events of the year: Sing Song. Becky was one of just six (or eight?) host/hostesses, meaning that between social club and class acts she would be out there singing and performing dozens of different songs. We're talking costume changes, solos, duets, etc. in front of a huge audience. I was involved in my social club's performance and was barely as busy as Becky had to be that week what with all of the rehearsals.

But this was Thursday, the day before 'opening night' as it were. That night would be a ginormous final rehearsal for everyone. It was always insanity during Sing Song. Becky had gone to bed at a reasonable hour on Wednesday evening, and I was doing my usual falling-asleep-in-front-of-the-TV routine. But like any responsible college student, I had at least brought my alarm clock into the living room and had it next to my head. It was set for somewhere around 6:45 or 7 a.m. I can't be sure of that detail now.

I think it was around 6:15 a.m., something like that, when I felt someone shaking my shoulder. I looked up, and Becky was next to me on all fours. It sounds funny now, but her words were "Tracey...it's Becky." When I really got a good look at her, I could tell she didn't seem like herself. She was groggy and her eyes were half-closed. It's like we both knew something was wrong, but we didn't know what it was. Becky had basically crawled over to me because she couldn't stand up straight, and when I tried I couldn't stand up straight either. It felt like my brain was very cloudy and neither it nor my body would work like I wanted them to work.

So now Becky and I were trying to decide what was wrong. For some reason we both thought there was a gas leak and proceeded not to leave the house but instead to look up a hotline in the phone book. Thankfully we made the decision not to stay in the house, but as it was February and very cold outside, we each went to our closets to find warmer clothing. I remember thinking that I needed a jacket, but my brain couldn't decipher what that was or how to find it amongst all those hanging clothes.

Outside in the driveway, breathing clean air, Becky and I were still out of it. We were first sitting in one of our cars and both beginning to develop splitting headaches. All we could do was describe how bad the headaches were. When the gas hotline man came out of the house, I think at that point we were sitting on the driveway. "You don't have a gas leak. You have carbon monoxide poisoning. I measured it at 700ppm (parts per million) in there." And thankfully he had the sense to call an ambulance to our house at that point.

Meanwhile, an older neighbor was walking by and noticed us sitting (Becky might have been lying down) on the driveway. She talked to the man and then directed us to come to her house and wait for the ambulance. In my mind, being a 21-year-old girl who thought she was invincible, this was all a bit silly. An ambulance? The neighbor feeling like she needed to watch over us? Please. But now I just shake my head at that girl's ignorance and misdirected confidence in her own strength.

The ambulance arrived and the EMT taking most care of us was a woman who, over and over, just shook her head and kept talking about how carbon monoxide is the 'silent killer'. At this point Becky and I were both wearing oxygen masks and were still pretty groggy. All I could think was that this ride would cost too much, my parents would be mad...and no kidding, I actually tried to convince the EMT's that I could drive myself to the hospital. Yeah.

We were set up in a small room together, both still on the oxygen masks. Nobody had told us this -- not sure if it would have mattered -- but when your brain is deprived of oxygen and starts getting it back, it can cause a sort of 'high' effect. The doctor came in to talk to us about what had happened and what needed to happen, but unfortunately for him Becky and I were in that 'high' phase and would break into fits of laughter at nearly everything he said. I am so embarrassed thinking of it now, but I'm sure he understood. Maybe he thought it was funny, but I don't remember him smiling at the time.

What we learned, eventually, was that the level of carbon monoxide in a non-smoker's body is 0. The level in a smoker's body is about 1. The levels in my body were 15.6, and in Becky's...23. She had been sleeping up on a bunk whereas I was on the floor, so that was probably why her levels were higher. The very scary part was finding out that a level of 30 is fatal.

It was explained to us that, though using the oxygen masks would be helpful, what would force the carbon monoxide out of our bodies more quickly was a hyperbaric chamber. The hospital had two, and I don't think they'd had them very long. Becky and I were changed and each put into a chamber, which were long glass tubes. There were 'rules' for the hyperbaric chamber, like being aware of the pressure changes (like taking off and landing in a plane) and having to take 'air breaks' because breathing 100% pure oxygen can itself be fatal. But let me tell you...I have never before or since breathed air so clean. It was amazing.

Each of us also had someone sitting outside the chamber to monitor our progress. The entire process took two hours, which really wasn't bad. There was a TV outside the chamber, and the woman sitting with me switched channels until I settled on 'America's Funniest Videos.' I remember this because after one of the videos the woman with me clicked on the intercom to my chamber and said, "That would be so embarrassing." I wanted to laugh, because, really? I was lying in a hyperbaric chamber and she was making comments on a home video? I guess she was just trying to keep me company, which was nice.

Becky and I were able to meet up again later, fully alert, and share the details of the morning. What I hadn't known before was that the only reason she had woken up was because she had to go to the bathroom. When she got down from her bunk, she immediately fell on the floor and realized something was wrong. That's when she crawled into the living room to wake me up.

When we arrived home, I wrote 'Thank you, Becky's bladder' on a Post-It and stuck it to the bathroom mirror, where it stayed for months. Of course, both Becky and I were thanking God rather than her bladder. We found humor in the story, but it was still very sobering how close we came to never waking again. So I share the humorous parts of this story, but every time it comes to my mind I'm so thankful that God spared us both.

Love you, Becky...Happy CO Day!

Playing Catch-Up

Click here to vote for my photo of Miles for Shutterfly's Family Photo Days Holiday Photo Contest! If you don't want to vote, it's cool...just go look at the photo, it's still fun to see!

Side note: Sorry I have not been blogging lately. Catching up with life, tapering off anti-depressants, and there are more holiday things to be working on than I can think of at the moment. Tonight, the three of us will be trimming the tree while eating cookies and M&M's, listening to holiday music and wrapping presents. I'm sure a game of Chutes and Ladders or Wii something-or-other will make its way into the mix.

Oh, there goes the dryer! Back to domesticity. I did manage a workout, something I've been really getting into these days. My body is not happy with me, but too bad. The feeling has been mutual. Hope you're all having a blessed Saturday!

Good. Grief.

When I used to hear the word 'grief,' my immediate thoughts were of someone having lost a person close to them. It meant someone had died, and it was not a word I wanted to know personally. There was also the 'Oh, good grief, Charlie Brown!' thing...but never before would I put 'good' and 'grief' together in a serious way. And I always assumed that grieving was something that happened to someone after something very bad had happened. I didn't see it as a process that one partakes in, that one must partake in at times in their life in order to move forward. I also used to assume that grief was linear, but no longer.

I was ignorant about grief years ago. My life wasn't easy, but it wasn't hard. And then in February 2001 I started going to the doctor for unexplained symptoms, and this went on until he diagnosed me with an auto-immune disorder more than a year later. Four days before my wedding. Casey and I thought, 'Well, if we can get through all of that hospital craziness (one week) and this diagnosis...we can get through anything!' I thought this was my grief. My valley.

Miles was born in April 2006. I was finally rid of the hospital on July 19. Celebration. Recovery. I thought I was moving on. It wasn't until September, when Miles was five months old, that I began to realize all that I had missed in his life. I remember breaking down in the shower one evening, sobbing uncontrollably because I hadn't been able to celebrate my first Mother's Day, hadn't carried him home for the first time, hadn't been able to breastfeed like I'd wanted, hadn't even taken one picture of him until he was four months old. I had dreamed of taking photos of him as a tiny, newborn baby. I had missed that.

Still ignorant about how my grief was working and how I had to be a part of it instead of just waiting for it to 'happen,' I thought that with full physical recovery would come full emotional healing. But the joy I felt after my final surgery in July 2007 was short-lived. Grief was upon me again, and I was just starting to get it. No one had warned me that the emotional pain can long outlive the physical pain. I thought that kind of pain only came with 'real' loss. I was still just beginning to grasp how much I'd lost, and I didn't even know the half of it until we started trying to have another baby in March 2008.

Fast forward to the present day. Grief is not linear. There can be ten steps forward and one hundred steps back. There can be two steps up and four steps down. There can be a valley after a valley -- it's not always valley-mountain-valley-mountain. Your pain is your pain, and it can be a lonely place if you let it -- sometimes even if you don't.

I have handled my grief in both good and bad ways. I don't know that anyone handles it perfectly. It frustrates me greatly sometimes that I can't press a pause button on life so I can have time to grieve and then be caught up with everyone else. I am almost always 'stuck' behind and I don't know that I will ever be able to catch up, but I am learning to accept that.

One thing I've learned, sometimes grudgingly, is that I will never be the exact same person I used to be. Life looks different to me now, but I believe that there are better parts of me that might not have been if I hadn't gone through what I did. And my joys...they are sweeter and dearer because of my sorrows. My pain is deep, but I hold the tiniest moments close to my heart. I don't think I would have done that had things been easier.

I write about all of this because of something that sounds extremely simple, but for me has been a thing of dread. And instead of continuing to avoid it, I decided to walk through my pain because I knew that there would be a bit of healing on the other side. Grief is not a friend of mine, but lately I'm seeing that I have to sit with it in order to heal. There is no other way. I could try to avoid it my entire life, but what kind of life would that be? I am tired of pain, and I know I will grieve certain things until I die, but the deep sadness is something I must be with so that I can move on.

Now, the simple thing I mentioned? I have recently decided to go through every bit of Miles' clothing since he was born in order to sell what I can at consignment next month. That's five years of my little boy's clothes. There were many pieces I set aside, unable to part with them either right now or ever. Ask me about that again next year. But that still left a lot of clothes that have to be washed, sorted, priced and tagged. Today I began washing the clothes and hanging them up until I can price them. But before washing them, I would inspect each piece of clothing to see if they had any kind of stain that needed treating.

I knew it would be tough. It had been emotional just going through them the first time. But today, holding up each onesie or tiny shirt or pair of pants, I felt my anxiety building. And building. And by the time I had started the first load of laundry, my heart was racing and I was finding it hard to breathe. There I stood in the laundry room, crying and asking God to be with me. When I recounted all of this to Casey later on, I cried even more, and as I sit here typing I am still not finished with washing those many tiny clothes.

But guess what? As painful as it has been, and as many memories as it has brought up (both good and bad), I have decided to let grief in my door today...and though I am not at the end of it, I have at least moved in a positive direction. Let's face it: when we're in the middle of it, grief is not where we want to be, right? But if we figure out that there is something good on the other side and we can walk through it, life doesn't seem as scary anymore. At least not to me.

That is good grief.

For a Most Awesome Nephew

Fifteen years ago today, my nephew Kaleb was born. I had the privilege of holding him when he was just one hour old. He was one of the sweetest and cutest babies I had ever seen, and being an aunt for the first time was so special to me. When he started talking, I was 'Shay-Shee,' and I loved to make him laugh. Now he is in high school and almost taller than me! I'm so proud of him in all that he does. Happy 15th Birthday, Kaleb!

Love,

Aunt Tracey