Random Recovery Stuff & Where We Are Now

I got back to my room after the fourth drain was placed, in more pain than from all prior surgeries. 

To be fair, I got the second drain just three weeks after the first. It hurt worse, being close together without a lot of time to heal.

I had the gallbladder surgery/third drain placed four weeks after the second. I never had a chance to recover from that to see how long it would take, because:

I was only one week out of gb surgery/third drain when the fourth was placed. 

Fourth Drain

I could not wrap my mind around how this stomach (mostly the right side) full of teeny-tiny holes and incisions could hurt so, so badly. It seemed wrong to complain about such small marks on my skin. And yet, here they were, making me cry out with every move. I felt like such a wimp. 

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I learned something disgusting in the longer hospital visits. Post-gallbladder bodily functions are... well, soft. Freshly inserted drains do not allow twisting and good muscle-movement right off the bat.

I also learned a fundemental of hospital living: it is always the prettiest nurse who has to wipe you clean after a visit to the bathroom. :/ :/ :/ 

*cue Debbie Downer wah-wah-wahs*

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SO, here we are on the Eve of Easter. March is winding to a close, and I am living life as I have lived it all year long: with a disgusting drain sticking out of my stomach, paranoid that it will have to stay in longer or be replaced yet again. 

Becoming septic and having my body completely crash like that added another layer to my emotional roller coaster. I am fatigued all day long in a way that reminds me too much of laying in that hospital sicker than I have ever been. Thus, being so tired that I cannot attain an 'awake' feeling makes me feel that I must be terribly sick. That makes me feel that I will not get to have this drain removed. THAT makes me feel that I will continue to live in an endless cycle of drains being moved and failing to fix my problems. 

I have also been on heavy oral antibiotics the entire month. They are ravaging my body on a whole new level. I finally hit the last day of their cycle yesterday. I was so excited, taking my final six pills through the day and night! In fact, I even felt awake and present in my body and my life! I felt like a person for the first time since the new year!

Feeling like that gave me something I have not had - hope. I was excited and hopeful that this process really is almost done. This drain has been in for almost three weeks. I will have another ct scan on Wednesday to assess the situation. If it is good, they will remove the drain! If it is bad... who knows what is ahead. 

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That brings us to today (now yesterday, since it is after three in the morning). I was so weak and tired that I fought all day to keep my eyes open. Instead of feeling awake and present in my body, I felt locked inside my head and had to force every word and action out of some hidden depths. This was very discouraging. It is easy to slip back into that traumatized place of anxiety and fear. 

I can't let that happen, though. I can't. This has been the hardest year of my life, health-wise. Even mentally, it has been a challenge. I've tried to keep smiling, keep laughing, keep being open and vulnerable - asking for help when I'd rather hide away and curl up and cry in my bed. 

This whole thing has made me feel weak. It has made me feel exposed to everyone. It makes me feel like a bad Christian to watch people with real problems like cancer have (at least outwardly) a much better attitude than I. After surviving Giraffe's horrific birth and the years of depression and trauma that followed, I finally felt like a strong person. This trial has stolen that strength. 

The thing is, the people who love me are being so gracious. They are giving me permission that I will not give myself to be weak, to take the time I need to eventually get better. They are upholding me in prayer and supporting me and my little family in many other ways. 

My girls, too, are showing so much charm and grace. They keep telling me how glad they are that I am home. The baby asks me if my belly is trying to get better, and is pleased when I tell her it is. :) 

My husband has been my rock. He is still working long weeks, but will hold me when I need held, or help me out in a thousand little ways. My church family, who have not seen my face in months, continue to pray for me instead of writing me off. My pastor calls to check in. My Lord sustains me by His grace. He brings friends to lift me up and pray for me when the fear chokes me and I cannot pray for myself. 

Yes, there has to be an end in sight. It is beyond time. I am ready. We are all ready. By God's grace, this journey - perhaps the longest gallbladder saga ever  - has to be winding down. Please, Lord, could it be this coming week? lol

Never Say Never: the Fourth Drain

We stopped the last blog post with me laying septic in the hospital bed, almost a week after my gallbladder surgery. 

After the infectious disease doctor met with us to let me know that the source of infection in my body was an abscess at the site of my gallbladder surgery, I told Chris that night that I felt another drain placement coming on. I couldn't fathom what else they'd want to do to empty an abscess other than a drain or another surgery. 

You have to understand that by this point it had been eight weeks of living with drains - longer than that (all year) being sick/weak. I had been through eight weeks of limited physical contact with my pets, husband, and children. I was completely depleted. My body was wrung out like a rag, with my emotions all over the map. A survivor of nearly fatal depression in the past, I have been struggling all year not to spiral down into a dark place. That is no easy feat.

The next morning Dr. M came in and confirmed that he wanted I.R. to place a drain into the abscess. Tears hit my eyes immediately and I told him how the last drain that the I.R. department had placed not only went as badly as the first, but I had been treated horribly throughout the procedure. I told him, told my nurse, and told anyone who would listen that they will not treat me like a person. They will treat me like a problem. 

Hubs was supposed to return to work that morning, but called in. Here our week of being together while I recovered was over and then some, and all of it was spent in the hospital except one uninterrupted 24 hour day at home. I cried on and off through the morning and as the day went on. My nurse - that same beautiful blonde who had taken care of me five weeks earlier - had been with me all day every day this time around. She was peppy and sweet, great at her job, and is sincerely a wonderful person. She promised me that she was advocating for me. She had talked to my attending, and both of them had talked to the nurses and doctor downstairs in I.R. 

My dad stopped by to pray with me. A retired pastor from my church did too. That meant a lot to me. My Granny, family, and bestie prayed so hard from a distance that I could feel it. Still, my stomach was sick all day long as I waited.

This time, I was more hopeless and sad than scared. I was resigned to having the new drain, because I thought it would only be for a day or two. Still, I panicked off and on and freaked out once, begging hubs in sobs not to make me get back in the bed. I was keenly aware that I'd been shut in buildings for most of the year - that I had no access to the outside or fresh air in around a week. I was grieving that my nursing Koala would never get to have mommy milk again (I was dried up from all of this), and that my nursing had already been reduced to sitting side-by-side. 

I swear, I went through all of the stages of grief that day, ending at a sad, sick, acceptance. When they took me downstairs we politely discussed with them how I simply do not respond to the meds. They promised to go slowly and try to give me a chance for them to kick in. 

It didn't work. I was wide awake and alert. Last time, I fell asleep after and stayed gorked out for nine hours. This time I never even felt slightly drowsy or loopy. Nada. This was my third surgeon for this procedure, and I found him impressive. He jerked perceptibly when I asked him what the three pops were (the needle punching through the layers of my skin). I think that was the moment he realized that I was not lying or exaggerating about feeling it. He went slowly and talked to me through the procedure. It hurt, but it was not the traumatic experience of the other two times.

I praised the Lord so hard and so fully from my heart. It wasn't good, but it was great, comparitively. "I did it!!" I had to let everyone know. God was gracious, and I got through!

(Continued on the next blog post.)

The Hospital Again! Denial, and Other Stages of Grief

Hubs and I arrived at the emergency room of our hospital on March 4th. I was told to come in as a precaution for a low fever that was inching up. It was cold outside and our car has no heater, so by the time I was rushed into a room, I was shaking uncontrollably again. 

It was as if all of the strength went out of me. I couldn't do anything but close my eyes and let them do whatever. Someone was asking for consent to undress me, someone else was going to get hot blankets, a third - a man - was trying to get me to stop shivering long enough to get a needle in my arm. 

I'll stop here to say a couple of things. First, my veins have always been fat and healthy. This two-month experience of dehydration, toxic body organs, hospital visits, blood draws, I.V.'s had made them go into hiding. I was now officially the patient you cannot stick. 

Secondly, when I ended up in the ER with my first drain pulling out, I had gotten a smart-mouth male nurse. My eyes were shut, but I know that I had him again. How? He made the same smart remarks that a sick person doesn't appreciate as he did the time before. For the record, I do not like this guy. Also for the record, I did not say so. 

Okay, back to that night. They tried all up and down my arms, in my hands, and I am not kidding you - in my armpit - to get a vein. (I thought I hallucinated that but no, there was a mark and bandage glue on my armpit after.) There was no vein to be had, even using the 22/butterfly. 

During all of the shaking and vein chaos, Chris was answering questions and I was mumbling along trying to answer between chattering teeth as well. Did I have pain killers? Yes. I think that is why I am so dizzy and feel so sick. I do not like to take them. When was my last dose? Uhm, was it around three or five? 

Last dose... got that? Not 'only' dose. Last dose. I had spent March 1st and 2nd in the hospital on whatever drugs they were pumping into me. I had spent March 3rd and (up to this point) 4th at home taking Norco half and whole doses on a regular schedule because, even though it makes me feel so sick, I had woken up with all meds worn off and it hurt so bad that I could not take it. That is four days of drugs. Four. Add to that the fact that I was completely dehydrated, and believe me, I felt SO sick. 

Somewhere in the shuffle, nurse Mr. Smartmouth (in my defense, he and the gal down in I.R. are the only nurses out of dozens that I genuinely disliked... I'm not a nurse-hater. I love my nurses and treat them well, trying not to ask for help unless I absolutely have to have it) thought we said that I was in the E.R. 'for pain' (no, the surgeon called me in for fever/chills) and that I said I had only had ONE dose of Norco. Uhm... what? No. 

Instead of clearing this with us, we heard him in the hallway saying that I had said I only had one dose but my blood showed more pain meds than that. I'm sorry, but I have never been more insulted in my life! I go off pain meds before I am supposed to - ALWAYS. I got by after my c-section (which was also a hernia repair) on just ibuprofen the second I got home from the hospital on day three. I did the same after my tubal on day one or two. Shoot, I did not even have a tylenol after my traumatic and very damaging vaginal birth. So, for him to imply in a heavy tone that I was in there for pain pills about made me come unglued! Thankfully, nobody else seemed to share is arrogant ignorance.

Anyway, I still couldn't open my eyes. They brought in someone who specialized in placing lines using ultrasound (Chris had to tell me that). I heard this man tell them that he set about 3" of tube 3/4" deep into my arm. I was so thankful to have an I.V. that wasn't in a bend and wouldn't pull out or break down a fragile vein. 

I stayed in the hospital longer this time, on antibiotics round the clock while they figured out what they were dealing with. At first, my surgeon assured me up and down that this had nothing to do with my surgery. Two more ct scans and a list of other tests later, they determined that an abscess had developed at my surgical site and was sending infection throughout my body. I was told that I was septic, and very lucky that they figured out why and were able to treat it in time. My surgeon was struck. He is still trying to figure out if this has ever happened to him before.

I had been saying the same thing - half tongue-in-cheek - that I have been saying since the beginning of January: "I can deal with anything, as long as I don't have to have another drain."

(Continued on the next blog post.)

All Roads Lead to Surgery

By the time my second surgical drain placement was over and I was home from those few days in the hospital, my world had shattered. 

I was trying VERY hard to be grateful. I was trying VERY hard to look towards the future. What was happening, though, is that I had been sick for a month already. I had missed two weeks of time spent with my children. My lovely Christmas and Happy New Year had faded into this nightmare of trauma and physical pain. I can handle physical pain, mind you. I'm not that great with trauma anymore. 

My sisters tried to be peppy for me. My parents and friends were encouraging. I just felt broken. Tired and broken. This time, it took eleven full days after I returned home from the hospital for me to stop feeling like my body was being ripped to shreds. The pain, other than the still-frequent gallbladder attacks, was finally tolerable. 

I was highly protective of my tube and drain (thankfully with a smaller bag this time), to the point of paranoia. I carried my boppy (a baby pillow shaped like a C) with me. I sat with it cradled around my wound, making a barrier between myself and my children. I stopped holding them in my lap in January but kept my physical interactions brief and at a distance if I could. I breastfed from the side - left side only - and kept those sessions as short as possible. I stopped holding my loving little lap dogs, leaving my most closely bonded foxy little pomeranian feeling confused and abandoned. I could not lay with my husband, or feel cherished in his arms. 

Human contact is what I craved 

- and feared - most. 

All of these things were weighing heavily on me. Get through this six weeks. Just get through this six weeks." I repeated this on a loop in my head. 

Five weeks in, I got to see Dr. M. He agreed that we were ready, and sent me across the hall to schedule. My date was set for two weeks later: March 1st, a Tuesday, this horrible nightmare would be over and I would *truly* begin to recover. 

I was so relieved! Facing this surgery - for which I would be completely under - was not at all like facing the horror of drain placement. My pre-op visits showed that my heart won't stop racing and my BP was rising. They put me on beta blockers and declared me good-to-go. 

I hugged, kissed, and cried on my babies Sunday afternoon, February 28th, and then sent them off to spend a third week away from me. They did not want to go and I did not want them to go. Sure, they wanted to see grandparents, but we were all hurting by this point. We are a family that does not spend long periods of time away and here we were about to spend the third week out of eight apart.

I followed all of my pre-op instructions to the 't' and by Tuesday morning, I was ready to go. I got to my pre-op room in a good frame of mind, telling myself how calm I was. My body wouldn't agree with that, though. My blood pressure was over 200 on top and 100 on the bottom. Valium, they said. That'll take it right down. Plus, Dr. M had been told about (and witnessed) the intensity with which I reacted to my second drain procedure. They weren't going to mess with having a high-strung woman. lol 

Valium Smile Pre-Surgery

So, that was my first (and only) Valium. Hubs and his parents seem to think that I have quite the personality on that stuff. ;) lol

I woke in the recovery room in pain, but not as high a level I was in after both drains had been placed. For some reason, though, they wouldn't let hubs come be with me. I kept asking for him. Apparently they told him that he could not see me until my pain was better under control. I'm not sure why they don't understand that him being around me would put my pain under better control. 

Hot mess, swelling more and more

Instead of sending me home, they recognized that I was a hot mess and kept me over again. We got up to my room and I asked to pee. The nurse that night said that I could do that. I told her I was thirsty, and she said that I could have a drink if I'd walk up and down the hall for her. 

I was still in sleepy half-lala land, and did not appreciate being treated like a child. I no sooner thought that, than she laughed about treating me like a toddler. *sigh* I peed, they wiped me clean (what a treat), and I obediently took their lead out into the hallway for a walk. 

When I got back into the room I drank and burped as much as I possibly could, familiar all too well now with the shoulder pain one gets with trapped wind. Someone brought me a lemonade Crystal Light, which was cold and refreshing. Unfortunately, I gave it right back to them - all over myself, my bed, and the unremarkable gray barf bucket. I was still on oxygen, so puking out my nose and mouth with tubes in was a whole new experience. 

I and my bedding were cleaned up and changed. The night was long and nightmarish because I could not feel awake or asleep, or anything but dizzy and trapped inside my body, really. The drain that Dr. M had inserted after surgery - my third, if you are counting - was the most painful I have ever had. It was inserted directly into the soft ligaments in my right side. By this point I both look and feel like a human hole-punch.

They kept me another day and sent me home the following night. I was sore, but so relieved to FINALLY have my own body back, sans gallbladder. I kept looking at my stomach; a foreign mound of ripples, bumps, scars, and fresh holes (nobody stitched the drain sites, so I had two bloody red straw-sized holes). 

Waking up in my own home to recover in private with just my husband was bliss. I felt bad but good that whole 24 hours. The following day, I could not get up energy to save my life. In fact, I felt more tired and weak as the day progressed. I got to enjoy being side-by-side on the bed with my husband for the first time in a long time but I could not sleep. We came back out to the living room and I began to shiver uncontrollably. That was followed by a fever that I blamed on myself for over-covering while I was cold. More shivers, followed by a low fever that was inching up. We called the hospital and were told to come in, just in case. 

(Continued on the next blog post)

As Long as I Never Go Through That Again

I closed the last blog post having finally gotten the mind frame of acceptance of my situation. 

Don't get me wrong, I still found the biliary drain and bag to be completely degrading. I hated how my body looked with a tube hanging out. I worried about the copious amounts of blood that came through to begin with, the crusting of bile around the tube on my skin, and the bile that was pouring out of my body into this none-too-subtle bag. I was just trying to convince myself that the next three weeks would be much easier, now that I could move without feeling like I was ripping my body open... when it happened. 

The tube, visibly longer after being pulled

My daughter accidentally grabbed the bag I was concealing the biliary bag in, from under the blanket I had draped around me. I looked at her in shock and tried not to panic. I told Hubs discreetly what had happened later. He agreed that I should call the I.R. department at the hospital. They said that as long as the drain was putting out bile, I was fine. I was cautious for two or three days, but did okay. 

Sunday arrived, and with it the cessation of fluids in my drain. :/ No bile. Oh, how I prayed and begged others to pray that it would keep working! I knew if it stopped that they'd have to adjust the tube. Hubs parents came to feed us and to be on hand in case we needed them. We had lunch, and then another massive attack came on. We called the surgeon on call this time and were told to get to the ER a.s.a.p., given the lack of drainage and the present attack. I was run through tests again, including another CT scan. If you've not had one of those with a tube painfully jabbed into an infected organ, I do not recommend it. 

It took hours to know what was going on. Night had fallen, and the grandparents took the girls off home with them. Then, the news I most feared in the entire world. The tube was only in at the very tip. I had to have a new drain place. 

I cried. 

No, that doesn't even describe it. 

Friends, my "girl in the E.R." persona is a woman who is polite and uses humor to ease personal discomfort. I do what I can to be pleasant and to make people laugh. When the attending physician told me that a new drain was to be placed, I was triggered into a vivid flashback of my first experience. The humor was gone. I flat-out broke. I emotionally shattered in that moment. I've been in pieces ever since.

I sobbed inconsolably. I could not be comforted for anything. I cried all over the room in the E.R. so loudly that the doctor sent the nurse in to offer a sedative. Tears trickled out of my eyes on the way up to my room. Of course, on this most personally devastating night, my transport nurse was a man of six-foot-six. I felt vulnerable and exposed as it was, but he had to notch up the height of the bed so he could push me without bending in half. 

Yup. I was not just feeling vulnerable, scared, and exposed: I was also at eye-level with all of the short people. Aaaand the hallways were full. It was a busy night. *sigh*

I got to my room and encountered the same lovely nurses who had taken care of me the last time I stayed a few days. Hubs ran home and brought me yarn. 

I crocheted snowflakes for my nurses, tearing up repeatedly while he slept on the long couch to my left. Whatever they gave me kept the sobs at bay, but my heart was troubled. That night made me realize that knowing what was going to happen and having to actively wait on it was worse than being suddenly thrust into the situation. 

My uncle had just two days prior gone in for a gallbladder removal, which nearly killed him because his gallbladder was also toxic. Knowing this threw a glaring light on the fact that my surgeon had been right to drain and treat me first. I tried desperately to be grateful. "You are alive. You are going to get well. This is hard, but it is the safest route. All things considered, this is the easy route. "

The morning came and with it a beautiful, tiny, thin, blonde nurse. She chatted with me a bit and then told someone in the hall that I had a great personality. I couldn't decide whether or not to be offended by that, as a woman of size. Hubs left to get his breakfast. While he was gone, my lovely nurse came back into the room and said, 

"They are coming to get you right now!"

There went the calm! I freaked all the way out, HARD. They were coming, and I was ALONE! No hubs to be my anchor, my rock, my advocate! A head full of trauma and fear and the knowledge that I. Will. Feel. Every. Bit. Of. This. Hell. I sobbed. I wailed. I begged to God. I flipped out to my family. I cried. I cajoled. I prayed. I sought for peace. 

Hours - yes, HOURS went by. They called up to say that I was going right away, and then left me sit for hours. My pain meds came and went. My anxiety meds wore off. My hubs returned. 

My pastor stopped by to tell me there was nothing I could do about it, so... 

I honestly couldn't wrap my mind around how that was supposed to bring me peace. I wasn't panicking bc I was afraid of what it would be like. I was panicking because I had already been through it and already KNEW what it was going to be like. I wasn't just fearing the future or not trusting God. I was having PTSD-like symptoms from a trauma that had already occurred! Thankfully, he did talk to and pray with us until I was in a better frame of mind.

My Daddy showed up, God love him, and then they finally came for me. I did 'okay' until I was in the operating room about to move to the table. 

They had let my hubs and dad into the O.R. with me. My husband advocated for me with the nurse to make sure I was good and out of it. He told her firmly that I had felt everything the first time, as I was awake for every moment of it. Her response?

"Oh, no you were not!" in a half-mocking tone.

My eyes locked with my dad's sweet, encouraging "you are going to be okay" face, and the tears sprang up. 

My mind whimpered silently back into his gaze, 

"I'm not going to be okay Dad. 

I'm already NOT okay."

I honestly do not want to relive this experience too much again, either. Suffice to say that my hubs and dad left the room, I got set up and they hit me with a LOAD of drugs. I again waited patiently for them to kick in. This time I talked the entire time so they could see and hear my level of consciousness. 

This surgeon - a different guy that before - tried to simply reposition my original drain. That did not work. It was too twisted. He said he'd have to place a new one (which I already knew, but I appreciate that he tried). While he was waiting for them to get the supplies he needed, I went into a horrendous gallbladder attack. It was so bad that I began to cry. 

The doctor and the nurses said, "We're not even touching you!" They thought I was just being crazy emotional or imagining fake surgical pain, or something. 

"I know!" I gasped, "I am having a gallbladder attack!" 

Again, the brute nurse who invalidated me before we ever started rudely spoke up, "How would you know?"

Oh, I'm sorry. Of course, your drugs were at such high amounts that my body should not feel them. Please, tell that to my aching body, will you? I have never felt more demeaned and belittled in my life. She made me feel punished for my body not responding to their meds the way it was supposed to. I have no control over how my body responds to these things. 

She continued to be rude to me as the operation went on. When the surgeon announced that he was finished, I verbally confirmed that. 

"You are done?" I asked, relieved.

"Yes, I am done." he answered.

"I love you for that!" I exclaimed, so grateful to be finished. 

Awake through the second procedure, and in so much pain.

Nurse Brute rolled me out to my waiting father and husband with a cheery, "She did just great! She was asleep the whole time!"

I was squinting at them, and shook my head no at my dad. 

"I was not. I've been awake this whole time. I felt everything." I said, trying still to be a voice for myself and stand up for myself as a patient who had felt her procedure, and NOT as some problem-causing mess.

"Oh, you said you loved him!" she quipped back. 

What. A. Horrible. Woman. 

Which is it, nurse? Was I asleep the whole time, or did you just admit that I was awake AND TALKING to you and to the doctor? Hmmm? 

I felt so invalidated, belittled, and unheard. I forced hubs to take a picture of me right then and there, to prove that I was still awake. 

(Continued in the next blog post)

Catching Up To 2016 & The Start of Everything Bad

I have been away from my blog a lot, I know. I keep feeling the need to write. I am just at a loss for words. I haven't been consistent in updates, but it would seem wrong to pack everything in all at once. I am not great at giving the nutshell version. This is probably going to be long... 

I realize that I never finished posting updates about how last year's garden did. We enjoyed the fruits of our labor very much, harvesting from every plant we planted. 


The home-grown watermelon were an absolute favorite. They were small (we got excited and greedy), but they were delicious. We even got to share our very largest watermelon with our favorite neighbors; a little family that lives two houses down from us. We do not talk a lot, but we do occasionally. They seem to be really nice people. :)

We had a beautiful summer and fall, dotted with trips to the zoo and the apple orchard. Smiles, love, laughter, an early start to the school year, surprising several-week stretches of the flu, but overall a very good year.

In August we got to bring home a new dog, Coco Chanel. :) She is four now, but was three at the time. 

She's a huge bundle of fur that we ended up trimming down to a much smaller bundle. Isn't she pretty, though? She is such a well-behaved girl. Giraffe is especially fond of her. Koala is too, but that passion is not exactly returned in spades. lol I'm sure she'll be more affectionate as Koala grows up a little. 


Winter came but did not really come. A sneeze of snow here, a dusting another time or two. Christmas came, with much preparation. It was an 'us' year. (We rotate on a three-year schedule of my family, his family, just us.) I knew we would not be able to afford a huge amount of gifts so I put every extra penny that did not go into the reduced number of gifts into food. (We were not able to make very much the last several years.) 

Why food? Food means time invested. It means that the girls and hubs and I laugh and sing and get messy together in preparation. We made way too many goodies. Giraffe and I threw ourselves into crochet, too. I made a ton of snowflake and peppermint dish/washcloth/potholders. Giraffe made and sold over fifty dollars worth of Christmas ornaments. It was so fun and so fulfilling! Come the actual day, we smiled as the girls opened their gifts and spent the day stuffing ourselves like pigs. It was lazy, messy, and lovely. It was perfect. :)



A day or two later, we got a cat! This is not a big deal to many people, probably, but considering that my husband and I are "not cat people", it is a big deal to us.

Her name is Katniss (yes, yes... HG). 

She's almost five and needed a new home with a loving family, so we gave her one. She was a slow warm-up (cats do not like change), but she is a lovely addition to our little nest. :) The girls are excited and Hubs and I have been won over, too. 

New Year showed up with plenty of fixings still in the fridge, freezer, counters, and containers of every size and shape. My parents came down to spend the day with the girls and me since hubs had to work. It is the last time I remember feeling like a person, actually.

The Start of Everything Bad...

I went into pains that came and went like a brewing storm in my body. This had been happening for three years. I always brushed it away as trapped wind even though the surgery that gave me that side effect was long past. 

By January 7th, I went into an attack that would not end. Ten hours later (the next morning) I was in the emergency room, utterly embarrassed that 'gas' had brought me here. The doctor came in and declared my gallbladder was full of stones and sludge and was inflamed. He said that I needed to have it removed, but figured the surgeon would rather schedule it. He sent me home with an appointment for five days later. Those five days were pain-wracked days of misery. Grandparents took the Koala and Giraffe, and I laid around wanting the pain to end. I couldn't read, couldn't relax, couldn't play games to pass the time. I felt every minute like I was just waiting... waiting... waiting to get this poison out of my body.

Dr. S, the surgeon, walked into the room at his office the following Tuesday - literally took one look at me - and sent me in to have the offending organ removed. Hallelujah! We drove around the side of their building to the hospital entrance and rolled in, relieved that this long wait (Ha! Five days! Long!) was almost over. 

I was quickly admitted and placed into a 'jump' room so my new surgeon - Dr. M  - could get right to me after the patient he was already working on. The nurses tending me said the same thing we'd heard at Dr. S's office earlier that morning. Nobody could figure out why I'd been left to sit on a sick gallbladder for five days when my bloodwork spelled out clearly that it needed to be removed. 

Dr. M came whooshing in, touting his 26 years a surgeon and his 5,000 surgeries. He said, simply put, that by leaving me the extra five days, my gallbladder had become toxic and would more than likely leak and quite possibly kill me, were he to remove it that day. 

The First Drain Placed

To my dismay, he recommended a billiary drain be inserted into my badly infected organ... aaaand left there for six weeks. He wanted to drain as much infection as he could. We were really shocked by this news but he assured us (stating again his experience) that this was the only safe way to do things. 

My Disgusting Biliary Bag

In truth, we did not have too much time to process it as I was sent down to interventional radiology right after he left. I was supposed to be loopy and mildly sedated enough that I wouldn't feel/be aware of anything during the surgical procedure. 

Instead, I was wide awake and ended feeling the three pops of the needle followed by the indescribable pain of it searing into my sickly, inflamed organ. I panicked and began to sob, the surgeon panicked, the staff panicked... it was hell. I gripped the sides of the table and tried not to flail around or run for the hills. They yelled at each other to add x amount of drugs to my drip. I still feel like crying just at the thought. I wrote a longer version of that in a trauma group but I don't feel capable of reliving it again in greater detail right now. 

Flowers From Hubs and Sis

I was kept for two or three days and then sent home. It took me an additional six days for things like moving around and using the toilet to stop making me want to scream and cry. I finally got into the groove and tried to patiently wait out the six weeks. I also tried so hard to forget about the trauma of the drain insertion itself. I've had too much trauma in my life. This was not going to get me. I said to anyone who would listen, "I am okay as long as I never have to go through that again."

(Continued in another post, since this is already too long.)

What the Childless Woman Knows

This morning in a blog, I told my daughters that they will not understand exactly how I feel about them until they have their own children. This is true, and yet... well... frankly, I remember something about being childless. I remember what I thought and felt. I remember something that sometimes we physical mothers forget. 

I was already a mother. 

Oh, the booties were not yet purchased. The crib existed in my heart and not my home. The little symbols of hope were tucked in a closet out of sight, but my heart was already there. My heart was already full. My body felt empty and barren... it felt like a traitor, especially once it began to discard the children I so desperately wanted... but my heart was pregnant, heavy-laden with the children I could not bring forth. 

I knew what all would-be mothers already know.

I already knew the aching love I would have for my children, because it existed where they did not. 

I already knew the wild abandon with which I would throw myself into caring for them, even though they were not here. 

I already knew how careful, watchful, and protective I would be of them because I was already desperate that this world should not hurt them. 

I already knew... so much. 

The childless woman knows what it feels like to be a mother. She just has not been able to show that knowledge or manifest the actions of motherhood. It is cruel, painful, and unfair. The childless woman is a mother. She is the unseen, forgotten mother who finds herself on the fringe - left out by mothers who were blessed enough to bring their children into the world. We don't mean to leave out these unseen mothers. We do not mean to render their opinions invalid. The truth is, no two of us agree on child-rearing at every turn as it is. 

The woman who would be mom maybe doesn't understand how *your* children work, but she does understand what it means to be a mother. She knows this because her mother's heart is fully developed and has been there all along. 

I haven't forgotten this.

I don't think that I will ever forget this. 

To My Daughters

My Loves, My Princesses… J

            I have decided to cover my bases, as I am generally want to do. I would be remiss not to take another chance to tell you how loved you are, and how you are the light of my life. J

            How does one put all of that into words? How do I tell you at these tender ages something that you will not understand until you have your own children one day? How do I tell you that you are my heart walking around in the flesh, or make you understand the way that my body physically aches to be near you when you are not around? In fact, I physically ache for you even when you *are* near. My heart yearns to wrap you up in the tightest of embraces. I look at your sweet faces while you play, and I miss you so much that it hurts.

            You see, when I watch you going about your day I am not only seeing you in the moment. I am seeing the pink newborn in the hospital. I am seeing the spaghetti-covered infant in her high chair. I am seeing the little girl, so independent, choosing her outfit for the day. I see paint-spattered hands and faces, wearing impossibly wide grins, beaming with pride over a work of art accomplished. I am seeing the young woman in love with that special someone. I am seeing the new mother holding my first grandchildren. I am seeing the woman you will be at the middle of her life, watching her own kids grow. I am seeing you gray at the temples, looking back on a life which has – I pray – been lived to the fullest.

            My darlings, you are my every breath. We live in a world that has down-graded motherhood to something that only weak women do if they do not have the brains or the strength to go out into the world to be all that a man can be. This could not be farther from the truth. Motherhood is still important. It is still necessary. It is still the means by which life continues on this planet.

I do not consider raising you to be my sacrifice. I do not consider you to be my un-paid job. I do not need you to be measured and assessed and found to be extraordinary to affirm to me my own self-worth in this world. I gave birth to you and I choose to devote myself full-time to motherhood because you are where my heart is. I am keenly aware of the passing of time. I bear the weight of realization that you are only with me for a small fraction of this life. I want to spend that fraction *with* you.

I adore watching you grow. My heart surges in the rhythmic waves of the ocean with love too deep to be measured. This love is unconditional. Sometimes that is hard to express because a mother is also set on this earth to provide boundaries of safety for her children. I am to show you the ropes of life in the best way I know how. I am also very human and very flawed, so sometimes that unconditional love can look a little messy. I assure you, it is there. <3 Whatever you do in life, wherever you go, whatever paths you walk… I will love you breathlessly and forever.

I took vows with your father on the day that we were married, in front of God, family, and friends. I held his hands, gazed into his eyes, and spoke traditional words to him from my heart. I made vows to you too, though: the unseen, unheard vows of a mother’s heart to her child. I made silent promises about you long before you were born. I spoke vows to God in the naiveté of a young woman, unmarried and hopeful for the future.

I spoke vows again when your father and I discussed the possibility of having children and how we wanted to raise you. I spoke more vows into the shattering silence every time one of your siblings was lost to us, and the ache shuddered through my being like so many crevices in the ground after an earthquake.

More vows, sacred vows, released from my heart in unseen waves of aching love when I saw the pregnancy test showed positively that you were on your way. I sent thoughts of love and made an unending list of vows to you all through each of pregnancy. I made vows to you in the N.I.C.U. of the children’s hospital (Giraffe) and in the suite at St. Francis (Koala), as I held you and looked into your faces with a mixture of grief and love.

Every time I believe that I have failed you in some way, my resolve grows and I make yet more vows… my dears, I live to do better, be better, try harder in all things for you. I think this process begins for every mother and never ends. I imagine I will find myself making vows to your future partners in life, and to your children. A mother is never done making promises and trying to live up to them.

So, perhaps the world looks at motherhood and sees a woman who does not have the self-worth to go forward and make a difference. I look at motherhood and see just a small amount of time to make little humans feel loved in such a way that will carry them into their own lives with confidence. I see a way to make a guaranteed difference. My mother gave this gift to me, and I am trying to give it to you. J

Be strong, my beloved ones. Be gentle to those around you. Be kind to every person you meet. Reward kindness with unconditional love, and battle hatred even harder with the same. Find your path in life, and know that you are supported. Search out with your hearts what the Lord has for you. Do not allow the world to tell you that faith is a small box in which to live. The truth is that faith is ever-growing, ever-expanding, ever-loving, and will continue to grow your heart and life into a rich and full place.

Ah, my angels. You are such a gift to this world. I know that, because you have already been such a gift to me. J I am so excited to get this surgery over with and bring you back home into my outstretched arms. We have a school year to finish, we have a house to spring clean, we have seeds to get started and to soak in love while we wait for spring and the chance to plant. There are crafts to be crafted, games to be played, imaginations to be exercised, stories to write and tell, movies to watch, and best of all there is so much love, joy, and laughter to be shared.

Never doubt my love for you, my girls. Never doubt that in all the world, nobody will love you as deeply or with as much abandon as your mother. Never doubt that you special. You are precious. You are loved. You are worthy. You do not have to say, do, or be anything at all other than what you are. You are whole persons, worthy of respect. Please respect yourselves. Protect yourselves. Face the world before you with bravery and a sense of wonder and purpose. It is yours to have, yours to protect, yours to enjoy, yours to change.

Conquer the world, my loves. <3