Health Update

I have had lots of questions regarding my health lately, so I thought I would give an update here for anyone interested. I have a hard time sharing about my physical health in general because I don't want to come across as "sick" or needy. It's a weird feeling since I have no problem being completely open about my mental health struggles, but when asked about my physical health I automatically downplay and side step. So here's what's going on (without using the words "I'm fine").

Let's start with some background: I have had three pregnancies in two years. The first, as many know, involved severe hyperemesis gravidarum-extreme nausea and vomiting resulting in serious weight loss and a plethora of other complications. My second pregnancy resulted in an early and emotionally challenging loss. And this pregnancy has come with its own set of challenges. In addition to pregnancy and all of its joys, I also suffer from chronic migraines, anemia, stomach issues, and kidney stones. With this information, we can move on to the most recent update.

Throughout this current pregnancy I have dealt with mild to moderate hyperemesis along with my other more chronic issues-the works. Occasionally due to these issues, or so I thought, I would become very faint and pass out. In the beginning it was written off as dehydration from the vomiting, treated with IV fluids and rest. Around 22 weeks the vomiting stopped completely. It was a beautiful gift. Unfortunately and fortunately at about 24 weeks my fainting episodes became more frequent and concerning. I realized it was a problem when I passed out in the middle of Nordstrom. That was just all kinds of embarrassing. But after a few days and a few more episodes I had an increasing feeling of something being just not quite right. On a sudden impression I decided that I needed to go to the emergency room even though I was relatively ok at that moment. I knew I just needed to go. So I calmly drove myself there and checked in. Well, they don't take passing out lightly in those places so I was seen and tests were started pretty quickly. It was quickly discovered that my heart rate was extremely elevated even while resting. After fainting twice while tests were being run, I was admitted to the hospital where I spent 4 days while doctors tried to stabilize my heart rate. I was blessed to meet with a doctor who specializes in heart rhythms and I was diagnosed with an arrhythmia that can be exacerbated by pregnancy. I was sent home with a heart medicine and a 24 hour heart monitor and strict orders not to do most everyday activities, including but not limited to: climbing stairs, lifting or carrying my one year old, and driving. These limitations have by far been the most challenging part of this whole situation. I am about three weeks into this now and am becoming more stable but am still having occasional episodes of tachycardia, dizziness, and fainting. The hope and the goal is to completely eliminate these episodes before delivery as they can become worse during labor if not managed properly. The good news is that I have some amazing doctors and an even more amazing support network. I am hopeful (most of the time) and very grateful that I am receiving the proper care and treatment. I am also scared a lot of the time. And pretty disappointed that I don't get to give birth in a bathtub anymore. But I know that it is all for the best. I am making it through day by day with tons of help and lots of prayers. Life is never what I expect, but even in the stress and the struggles I am constantly reminded of how blessed I am. So this is where I am. It sucks a lot but I am managing. And even though I am not fine, I know I will be eventually and it's nice to have that to look forward to.

Mama Feelings are Sometimes Pretty Sappy

It's late and I have lots of mushy thoughts, which is how most of my terribly infrequent blog posts begin. So here we go.  My sweet, 14 month old, rock star sleeper woke me up about 30 minutes ago screaming in his crib. The boy who would sleep a night through the apocalypse was wide awake in the middle of the night so heartbreakingly upset it made me want to cry. Cuddles and kisses cured the nightmare in a matter of minutes and my not so little baby was back asleep in no time. But I was left feeling sentimental. How on earth did he get so big? How has time gone so quickly when sometimes the days of motherhood feel long and arduous? Short as this moment of midinght snuggles (and the past year) may have been, my mind was set hoping for the both of us. I hope I am showing him my love to the fullest each day. I hope I am teaching him to be a good person. I hope he grows up to be kind. I hope he remembers that I try my best every day and not how often I lose my patience. I hope he always relies on his mama and daddy for love and support-even in the middle of the night. And as we prepare to grow our love for another little human, I hope he loves her fiercely and will always be her protector, friend, and champion. I am in awe of the love little people are capable of. I know I am getting really sappy, but it really is just so amazing to me. I have all of these hopes for my son and I have so much faith that each and every one will be and are a reality. There is also the reality of temper tantrums, picky eating, learning to share, and nap time, but that is life. We are learning  to take the good with the bad and ride the wave each day. So when my once tiny baby who is now a big toddler wakes me up in the middle of the night needing to know I am there, I will cherish that moment and have all of the over the top mom feelings to go with it. Please always be sweet and pure, my little angel boy (mostly so when you are kicking and screaming because I won't give you my phone I can still remember why I like you so much). Love, your really tired but mostly grateful mama.

Zen

I am finding my zen. In my bathtub, diffusing some hippie oils, listening to the kind of music they play while you do yoga. You know, the kind with the wooden pipes and nature sounds. Zen. I am pretty sure it's out there and I am pretty damned determined to find it. Every day I tell people how this pregnancy is better than the last-and this is true-but it still sucks eggs most of the time. "Better" is really relative and at the risk of being super non zen, I still hate being pregnant. So here I am. In the bath. Listening to my granola music. Waiting to not hate it quite as much. Daily I tell myself "I only hate what's happening, I do not hate my life." And it works (most of the time) but I am still counting the seconds until I have this little girl in my arms and out of my body. Let me tell you, I have a lot of seconds to go. But I also have a lot of seconds to love and be grateful for. Every laugh, smile, hug, and milestone my son experiences keep me here on this earth. I live for his wild golden locks and hearing him say "mama". So as I seek my zen, I am reminded of how worth it my life is. How sometimes things suck, but those moments can never overtake my husband tirelessly serving me, and my baby boy endlessly loving me, by being surrounded by love and goodness. The horrible times cannot consume the Hope my future holds. And there inlies my zen. Now to just hold on.

I Will Keep Existing

I am no stranger to writing about mental illness-my mental illness, my thoughts on mental illness, blunt and honest, as real as I can be. So here we are again, as I blog seeking catharsis. I have found very rare moments in my life where I feel "normal" and/or "balanced" mentally, physically, emotionally etc... these moments always seem to be fleeting and related directly to a careful balance of medications. I have no shame in my daily cocktail of psychiatric stabilizers that make me the kind of human being that other people don't mind being around and that make me feel like I can function at a satisfying level-actually I kind of love them. I love that modern medicine and science have made ways to improve my quality of life and keep me from losing my bananas for no reason in the middle of the grocery store. Science rocks. But what happens when for one reason or another I cannot continue my amazingly perfect routine of immaculately balanced medications? What happens when, in fact, I have to stop them all together and rather quickly? In the past, I have done this and gone through addict-like withdrawals. Raging and screaming, my body painfully detoxing antidepressants as I huddled in bed for days or weeks crying, sweating, and throwing up from the shock to my system. This was an experience I quickly learned from and with the help of some amazing medical professionals have never had to experience again. But, even titrating safely off of psychiatric medications has consequences. Although my body isn't physically reaping the repercussions, mentally and emotionally I am left with only fragments of what I had built as a standard of normal functionality. Where I once was industrious and productive, I am left sluggish and inefficient. Often distracted and easily confused, and definitely impatient with myself and those around me. I am reintroduced to the cloud of anxiety that overcrowds my every thought and decision as well as the accompanying guilt that is always just one step behind each move I make. Of course I am now afforded much more room to experience highs, damning impulse control but these moments are always fleeting and undoubtedly leave me feeling worried that I may have taken a misstep. Most of the time I feel as if I am swimming through molasses trying to get somewhere that I can see but never quite reaching my destination. Always sidetracked by anxiety, worry, guilt, self doubt, and lack of determination. Suddenly a friend's casual remark becomes suspicious and my day is ruined worrying that maybe she never really liked me anyways. But none of it is logical. And this is the battle to no end-the raging war between logic and emotion. Where the two could once coincide peacefully, they are now meant to battle it out in my soul until usually emotion wins guns blazing. It is utterly exhausting. To know with every thought in your brain that you are being unreasonable, but still break down with every feeling in your heart. So I wait. I wait to achieve a new state of "normal". I wait to learn to function again. I wait to react when I know I am being irrational. And I wait to one day just be okay with who I am and the challenges I face. So while I wait, I will keep fighting. I will keep myself and my son fed, safe, and alive. I will feed Nilla wafers from my spot on the couch. I will take three naps a day. I will try not to end any friendships. I will do my best to keep being a good person. I will probably let lots of people down. I will eat ice cream. I will love my son and my husband with everything I have. I will not clean up the toys every day. I will let my husband do the dishes, and the laundry, and give the baby a bath. I will spend too many hours watching netflix. I will not wear makeup, or probably pants unless really necessary.  But I will not give up hope. I will keep existing.

Life These Days

I have been avoiding writing this post for some time hoping and waiting for some more positive inspiration. Days and weeks have passed trying to think of something happy and motivating to write and post here. Life has been overall pleasant lately if not fairly uneventful, so why can't I think of something rose-colored to share with the world? Don't get me wrong, I am not moping around dwelling on doom and gloom, crying woe is me. Really, I am not even that sad most of the time. But every few days, when I least expect it I get a little twinge of pain in my heart. Folding up outgrown baby clothes, storing away rockers, bouncers, and car seats that no longer fit my growing boy. In these moments I feel time taking over, reclaiming what it already owns. I miss my tiny little baby, and some days I miss the little babe I never got to meet. Absence fills my soul for fleeting seconds as I let go of the things of days, weeks, and months passed. As I watch myself, and the world, and my baby change at unimaginable speeds. As I remind myself that it is ok to nurse a broken heart. As my big boy stands up only to fall and experience the bitterness of disappointment for the first time. As I realize that I can't always protect him and keep him safe. But never failing, absence is replaced with wonder as a watch my little person learn and grow so quickly each day. Discovering new places, new abilities, and new emotions by the minute he is in constant amazement-and so am I. We learn and grow together, experiencing the world for the first time. It is as beautiful as it is heartbreaking. And the laughter which fills my home also fills my heart as I am afforded the much needed peace of knowing we are not alone. In those moments of sadness and joy, I am reassured that life goes on and although every second is not perfectly happy, every second is worth experiencing and with each second we will grow.

New Slang

One of my favorite things gained from my crazy pregnancy is the international network of women whom I have had the privilege of getting to know through online support groups. One of my favorite things gained from these international friends is the vastly different vocabulary I get to learn from each of them. One of my favorite new terms these days originates from the U.K. And it is just so perfectly descriptive I couldn't not share. Without further ado I give you today's international slang word of the day:

knackered

spent, near death.
Origin from 'knacker's yard' where one took old horses to become pots of glue. 

On my feet all day and I'm knackered.

And with that, I am going to bed because I am positively knackered. 

And then, Nothing Happened

Whilst feeling sorry for myself recently, I had a realization. In my general efforts to keep my writing as real and honest as possible, I forget most of the time to write about things that are not horrible, hard, and devistating. But normal, everyday life is as real as it gets because it isn't everyday that I am passing kidney stones, or puking a million times because I'm pregnant, or having panic attacks, or having a miscarriage. In fact, most days I am not doing these things. So with that, I will tell you about my day.

Today was exceptionally normal, and nothing bad even happened. Sam woke up early with the baby and let me sleep in-actually, he does this most days and it is a beautiful gift. We did chores, and laundry, and ended up organizing and purging lots of unneeded junk. It feels pretty good to be able to walk inside of my laundryroom again. I bleached a once white rug that has been sitting in the laundry room for months waiting to be treated (who even puts white rugs in high traffic areas anyways?!). That rug almost looks white again so I am going to call that one a success. We talked about going to the zoo but ultimately decided to go another day because staying home together sounded kind of nice. I played with my son and fed him some new foods-he was pretty sure he liked them. Discovering new things with him is one of my favorite pastimes. I changed a few diapers and made a few bottles, but when he took a three hour nap I did a little victory dance in my head. The dishes got done but the carpet didn't get vacuumed. I convinced Sam to pare down his costume collection which cleared up a ton of storage space.  I convinced myself to pare down my wardrobe which saved even more. Most importantly I found my glue gun-not that I needed it today but that thing had been missing for, like, ever. We both wiped a runny nose over and over, but we also got lots of smiles and laughs form our littlest Sam. Leftovers and a frozen chicken pot pie got eaten for dinner in between random chores and getting buddy ready for bed. Dad Sam did bedtime and I got to spend a few quiet moments by myself. We sat together in bed and Sam watched a movie while I drafted the Relief Society newsletter and made a birthday list. Feeling pretty proud of myself for being a week ahead of the game there. Bath time for me was enhanced by my amazing (read: not actually functional) home made bath bomb-but at least it smelled nice. Instead of being annoyed my insomnia I painted my toenails and shaved my legs for the first time in probably weeks. And as my polish sat drying I decided to write about my beautifully average  day where nothing bad even happened. What a blessing real life can be. I am so glad that my everyday looks a lot more like this than the days I most often blog about. So here's to all of the entirely forgettable days that fill up so much of my life. Without you, I would be a complete mess.

Life

You spent the day marching. I spent the day crying. You marched for lots of rights that I want just as much as you. But as you marched for the singular right to choose to take away your child's life, I was losing mine. I was given no choice. No one marched for him or her. No one marched for me as I sobbed on the bathroom floor. Women's rights ARE human rights. But HUMAN rights are also human rights. I had no choice when the human inside of me, whom I had only known for mere weeks, lost its little life. I have never been so devastated not to have a choice. The inability to choose LIFE has left me powerless and disheartened. How a woman could not fight with everything to preserve this is beyond my reaches. Life is life and until one is lost it is nearly impossible to fathom it.

The Rest of the Story

Months have passed since I began retelling my story, so  with the start of this new year I am determined to finish it. Details have grown thin over the months but what is left must be preserved. So here the story continues:

Thirty long weeks of pregnancy had passed in a hellish fashion and I was finally regaining strength and normalcy through the blessings of modern medicine. Food was no longer the enemy, so I ate. And ate. And ate. It was glorious. Gladly I watched the numbers rise on the scale at my bimonthly appointments. Seeing my body do what it was supposed to brought me joy and relief and eased much of the anxiety I had about my impending delivery. I was healthy and I was ready to do things the healthy, natural way-forget the 7 months of malnutrition, my body was made to birth a baby and I was going do it the way God intended. Determination was the name of the game at this point.

Six weeks later and I was in OB triage with stomach pain and a blinding headache. Just a migraine and a stomach ache, no big deal. Another week passed and I was back in triage getting the stink eye from some salty nurses for coming in for a headache. Never mind the vision changes, swelling, stomach pain, dizziness, and high blood pressure-if I laid on my left side for a while it would go back down so clearly I was just being a baby. Over and over again I was told that there was no way I could have preeclampsia because I didn't meet this or that requirement. Over and over again I was promised that nothing could possibly be wrong.

Thirty eight weeks pregnant and I had gained almost ten pounds since my appointment 7 days prior. Ten pounds in a week after not gaining ten pounds my entire pregnancy. Eyebrows were raised at this point and my induction was scheduled for a week later. Relief was in sight. So what if I had started out adamantly opposed to being induced, I needed this baby on the outside of my body. Hope wasn't totally lost for a natural delivery though when a few days later I started contracting. Several hours of hard contractions two minutes apart made me feel confident in my decision to head to the hospital. I was having a baby, I just knew it. Back to the salty nurses I returned to OB triage where I was hooked up to monitors while eyes were rolled and patronizing voices were used. Contractions were coming hard and fast, but after an hour my cervix had not progressed a millimeter. Time to walk. And walk. And walk. Hours of walking, contracting, and waiting, and still no progress. In fact the nurse who came to check me after my latest lap around the hospital informed me that my cervix was actually less dilated than the original nurse had reported. More waiting while the baby and my contractions were monitored. Out of sheer boredom and frustration I began listening to the nurses' conversations at the desk right outside of my open door- a patient comes in screaming and a nurse proudly states "she was making too much noise so I told her she wasn't in active labor. She is actually dilated to a 5." laughs and chuckles leaving me with absolutely no trust or confidence in the care I am receiving. Watching my monitors I notice that my baby's heart rate seems to be dropping with each contraction I have, to which the nurse tells me "its just the position of the sensor, everything is just fine. You aren't in active labor so we are going to send you home. Don't come back unless you are bleeding or your water breaks."

Two more days I walked and contracted at home, waiting for my water to break. Hoping and praying to do it on my own, to have the natural delivery I had planned and hoped for. July 22 rolled around and still nothing. I headed into the hospital at 7AM to check in for my scheduled induction slightly defeated, but mostly relieved for this all to be over. Paperwork was filled out and an IV was started (after 6 tries, 3 of which by the nurse anesthetist) and in went the pitocin. Not my ideal, but everything was going fine so far. Contractions were not unbearable and I was able to move around the room and bounce on a birthing ball. Once again I felt hopeful. Once again, however, my baby's heart rate began to drop.  My nurse would come in to reposition the monitor and have me change positions and things would go back to normal. By 2PM very little progress had been made so when the doctor offered to break my water I gladly said yes. At this point I was all to happy to throw out my ideal birth plan to get this kid out. Just like that, things started happening. Here came the REAL contractions. In my back. Like burning, firey, lava of stabbing, pounding pressure. I had to be dilating. Something had to be happening. And I had to get an epidural. 4PM and no birthing ball, or rocking chair, or breathing techniques were giving any relief to the intensity of the back labor I was experiencing. Pain and stress led to diarrhea, which led to a nurse cleaning that diarrhea, which led to much crying and begging for the lower half of my body to be put to sleep. Sweet relief came in the form of a tiny indian woman with a big needle. After the epidural was in, my cervix was once again checked and I was told once again that not much progress was being made. Now confined to the bed, my monitors were set and more clearly reading each contraction and carefully tracking the baby's heart rate. It was dropping. The stronger the contraction, the lower it would drop. I was turned on my side. Not much improvement. Turned on the other side. Still the same. Pitocin was turned off. Contractions slowed and almost stopped. But baby's heart rate perked right back up. Slowly the pitocin was started again. I was angled, and positioned, and carefully monitored as the dose was brought back up enough to restart my labor. But with new contractions, the decels returned. My angel nurses never left my room, trying everything possible to keep me contracting and to keep my little guy safe.

10PM and we were all still struggling. No progress in my cervix. Decels still coming with each contraction. Pitocin stopped and started several more times. And my epidural was beginning to wear off to boot. Time for a new game plan. Only, I was not interested in hearing it. My doctor came in to tell me what happens in a c-section. I shut him out. Sam asked him question after question and I was so hurt that they had lost confidence in me-that they were just giving up. After all I had been through was a vaginal delivery just too much to ask for? Kindly and obligingly my doctor gave me one more hour. One more hour for my cervix to magically dilate. One more hour for my baby to suddenly stop being in distress. One more hour for me to wrap my head around having major abdominal surgery to save the life of my sweet son. One hour came and went and I was speedily prepped for surgery. Before I knew it I was on a table, and sam was in a white paper suit, and I was being cut open and hearing the words "thats not good" while crying, and praying, and waiting to know if my baby was alive.

July 23 2016, at 12:46AM Samuel Joseph Fuller was born via c-section. During the course of the procedure it was discovered that his umbilical cord was trapped between his head and my cervix, in prefect position for each contraction to stop blood flow. My body, in response did not progress naturally. Instead it preserved the life within it. Frustration morphed into awe as I realized that my body had not been working against me, but had been working for my son. Months of illness and changed plans gave way to lifesaving measures. My baby was here. He was healthy. He was safe. Most importantly he was alive. Had each of my complications not arisen this may not have been the case. What I thought had been my worst trial turned out to be my greatest blessing. I will forever be grateful for the gift that hyperemis gravidarum gave to me.