You Have to Walk Before You Can Run!

I am pleased to announce that on May 5th, Isabelle had her cast removed!  It was a long six weeks of sponge baths, not getting to play outside, no running races, and needing mommy to help with many tasks she could no longer do for herself.  "Cast off" day finally came and Belle's excitement mirrored the enthusiasm she had had the day we went to Cedar Point!

I had decided against telling Belle how the cast would be removed unless she asked me.  She was so excited and I didn't want her joy to turn to anxiety.  Just before we left for the doctor's office, however, Belle finally asked, "Mommy, how are they gonna get it off."  I explained that they used a little saw to cut through it.  It's very loud, but not sharp.  You can touch it with your finger and not get hurt.  I could see the worry in her face, but she didn't complain.  During the car ride, Belle sang an impromptu little song about getting her cast off and how happy she was that she'd be running outside soon.  I wish I could have recorded it!
 

I hope the following pictures amply share Belle's story and the next part of the process of correcting club feet.   

The loud saw

less than a minute and almost done!

Not happy, but not crying!

Now to cut through the inner wrappings

She's free!!!

All done and it finally hits her....

Nothing that a little chocolate from mommy can't cure

Happy again....

Dr. Buerk removing the last bandages

removing the button holding the tendon in its new position

This is scary and a bit painful.  Belle's foot and leg haven't been touched in six weeks. 
They tell me the nerve endings are hyper-sensitive and make everything feel like pins and needles.

Checking the new position of the foot...everything looks great!

Re-wrapping the foot to put the cast back on...What??  Belle will need to
keep the cast on to support her foot until an AFO (custom fit brace) can be made.

Luckily they cut the cast down and clean out most of the stinky goo

Belle was not happy about being back in the cast and surprised
Dr. Buerk when she tried to take it off.

 

We left the orthopedic surgeon's office and headed to the orthotic center. 
Belle was mad she wasn't walking yet but was very excited about the play area! 



Belle's cast had to come off again, which didn't make her happy.

Belle was a good sport and didn't put up a big fight.  The specialist
marked and wrapped her foot...

and then put a plaster cast on Belle.  She was really ticked off now! 
I tried to explain that it was only for a few minutes, but she was done
listening to big people. 

After the cast hardened, it was carefully removed and preserved to make the AFO. 
It has to be an exact mold of her leg and foot.  She will wear it for up to 6 months!

The first thing Belle wanted to do when we got home was take a bubble bath!



One week after the cast came off, Belle's brace was ready.  It's rather large and has to be worn for up to 6 months.  The orthotic center doesn't supply shoes to go over it.  We went to Stride Rite and tried on dozens of shoes before realizing that we had to get a size 10 wide.  These sandal tennis shoes worked because they had long adjustable straps.  We still had to get shoes 2 sizes too big which is a problem for the other foot.  I opted not to get a second pair in size 8.



Belle walked all the way from the store to the mall fountain!  It was her first time without the walker and she was so proud!  She is moving slowly and with a limp, but making great strides towards recovery!  Thanks for all your prayers and love, we have been so blessed by all our friends and family!

 

 



The Art of Lying

Before I begin, I have to give kudos to my sister for her poignant insight into my little world.  She called me this morning as I was going to take a shower.  I commented that it would be so nice if they would just make showers with telephones built into them... It's a bad idea now that I think about it.  Her response, which didn't miss a beat, was that I would never get any thinking done.  She really does know me best!  So this blog is dedicated to her...  not that it has anything to do with her.  This is what I pondered as I shampooed.

As a mother of school-aged children, I have become aware that my children are frequently telling lies.  I don't consider my kids defiant or devious, they are just going through a part of childhood that someday they will not be very proud of.  I know this because in my youth I told some fabulous lies.  They were so good that I actually believed them myself.  I like to think of my mind as complicated, not psychotic.

The first horrible lie I remember vividly was when I was in the first grade.  My best friend Meredith came over to play one afternoon.  We were like peas and carrots.  As our playtime came to an end, we talked about how cool it would be if I could walk home with her after school instead of taking the bus to my house.  The next day at school all I could think about was going home with Mer.  I was so excited.  As my teacher was getting us ready to go home at the end of the day, I told her I was walking home with Meredith.  Mrs. B, we'll call her, asked me where my note was and I immediately began balling.  I told her I left it on the table at home.  This was not true.  There was no letter.  I had not even mentioned the idea to my mom.  I was so convincing that Mrs. B let me go home with Mer!

My mom was home with my three-year-old brother and brand new baby sister.  Meredith's mom was nine months pregnant with her sixth child, and sat miserably in the 90 degree weather on the couch when we arrived.  Mer's mom knew how to "roll with the punches" and I don't remember her being upset about having another kid in her house...she just looked really hot.  My mom, on the other hand, freaked out when the school bus passed our house.  She called the school, and from what I hear she had a few choice words for my teacher when she found out where I went.  Then she called me.  I remember being handed the phone and feeling my stomach drop to my toes.  I don't recall being punished for my lie, but I fully understood that I was not going to do it again.  I think my teacher took most of my mom's wrath, because the next day at school she gripped me by the wrist and threateningly told me to never do that to her again.  As a mom and elementary teacher in retrospect, she should never have allowed me to go anywhere without the facts first.

This brings me back to my children and their convincing lies.  It's so hard to know the difference between fact and fiction without being all knowing and omnipresent.  I struggle on a daily basis trying to discern who is being truthful and who is not.  As a parent, it's so discouraging that no matter how earnestly you try to instill good values in your children, they seem to need to fail and reap the consequences of their actions to really "get it." 

So this is where I insert something positive and encourage my parent readers who struggle with the same problem.  I could quote scripture or tell you to be consistent with your discipline and someday it will pay off, but that's not what I'm feeling right now.  I keep thinking about the crazy convincing lies I told as a child....like when I ran the water in the tub, scrubbed my arm with soap, and changed my clothes instead of taking a shower.  Who knows if mom really believed me when I put my arm under her nose and asked to go play, but it worked.  My only hope for my children comes from the fact that somewhere in my life a change occurred and I became a horrible liar!  I am so acutely aware that lying is wrong that I just can't do it anymore.  I can't even lie in jest or to keep a secret!  So there you have it.  My Epiphany in the Shower for today is:  The more a person lies as a child, the less likely it is that she'll be able to lie as an adult.

Boys are Better than Girls

I just had to share a conversation Matthew and Isabelle had while playing with their Lego guys. 

Matt:  (In a very man-like voice)  Our family only has boys in it and we are cool because boys are better than girls.

Belle:  (In an equally man-like voice)  Yep!

-brief pause-
Matt:  (normal voice)  Belle, do you really think that boys are better than girls?

Belle: (continuing in her man voice) Yep!

Matt:  Did you ever wish you were a boy on your birthday cake?

Belle:  Yep.

Matt:  But it didn't work?

Belle:  Nope

Matt:  Hmmmm.  Well, that's okay.  I like you the way you are.

Being a mom is the greatest gift.  I have my own built-in entertainment everyday!  I wish I had someone here to witness the funny stuff and laugh with me, but it's great to always have a story to tell!

Part 2: Letting you inside my heart...

As promised, I finished writing about my experiences with miscarriage.  I had second thoughts about sharing this very personal part of my life.  After writing about my first three miscarriages, the emotional aspect really overtook me.  I had to let it go for a few days and prayerfully ask the Lord if I should continue.  He encouraged me with many people's positive feedback and thanks for my honesty.  So, for those of you who needed to hear this and those who may appreciate it in the future, I'll continue.

My pregnancies with Noelle and Matthew were flawless.  The Lord gave me no reason to worry and I give him all the glory.  During my first trimester with Isabelle, however, I hemorrhaged.  The ultrasounds showed that there were two spots shedding in my uterus.  All I could do was rest and pray.  I cried out to the Lord for days and after about a week the bleeding stopped!  Looking back, I think something in my body was changing then.  I'm so incredibly grateful that God gave me my sweet, beautiful Belle in spite of my inept body.  She's a miracle...all of my children are.

Isabelle was born in 2007 and my husband and I were exhausted caring for three little ones.  We knew that someday we wanted one more baby, but we had to put that desire on pause for a bit.  Much to our surprise, contraceptives didn't work for us and I became pregnant in early 2008.  We were shocked, but thrilled!  My OBGYN had made the decision to move out of state and so I chose a new one near my home.  I went to my first ultrasound visit alone.  I don't remember why.  I hadn't had any bleeding and actually felt great!  I was so excited to see my baby's little heart beating.  I watched the little screen, knowing what to look for and my heart sank.  There was my little baby, but no heart was beating.  The ultrasound tech confirmed what I already knew. 

The death of my baby was worsened by the poor care I received from my new doctor.  Most women would have had what's called a D&C.  The American Pregnancy Association explains, D&C, also known as dilation and curettage, is a surgical procedure often performed after a first trimester miscarriage. Dilation means to open up the cervix; curettage means to remove the contents of the uterus.  My doctor did nothing.  I went for weekly blood checks of my Beta HCG levels.  This is the human growth hormone that increases as a woman's pregnancy progresses.  The numbers should have gone down, but they continued to incline and I still had no signs of miscarriage for several weeks.  Secretly, I hoped God was going to miraculously revive my baby and shock the medical community. 

During the eleventh week of my pregnancy, I went into labor.  I didn't realize that was what was happening to me.  After two hours of agony, I let my husband take me to the E.R.  I had grown to hate hospitals.  As I walked back to the emergency room, I began to deliver.  I had no idea that's what was happening.  All of my previous miscarriages were at about 6 weeks and though painful, there was no visible baby.  Before they took our baby away, I got to see an underdeveloped fetus with a head and body about the size of my hand.  It still haunts me.  I was well taken care of by a doctor and we were given cremation papers to sign.  Then we went home.  The weeks to follow I mourned in secret.  I had three children to care for.

June of 2008 my mom and I were having a garage sale.  I had been working pretty hard and ignored the horrible pain in my right side.  It went all the way up to my shoulder.  I thought I had pulled a muscle from all the lifting I had been doing.  Naproxen worked on my discomfort for a day, but by the second day, nothing took away the pain.  This time I waited for several hours in a packed emergency room with pain I'd rate at a 10.  My mom was a nervous wreck, but I told her not to complain to the nurses.  When I was finally admitted they ran all the normal blood work and....of course without trying again, I was pregnant.  I just cried and said, "not again, not again!"  I immediately knew that it was ectopic and told my doctor.  She sent me for another one of those painful ultrasounds.  I had been given nubain, so I was a bit "loopy."  After viewing a screen she kept hidden from me, the ultrasound tech kindly made me comfortable and told me not to move, she needed to go see the radiologist right away.  I actually remember telling her, "take your time!" When the E.R doctor came to talk to me, she told me I was right, the pregnancy was ectopic.  This time it was worse.  The pregnancy had ruptured my right fallopian tube and I was bleeding internally.  They called my doctor and his response was to keep me comfortable until the morning when he would do surgery.  I have no idea why I wasn't paying attention to the "red flags" that this doctor wasn't qualified to care for me.

A few months later I had a procedure to check my left fallopian tube to see if it was open.  I didn't want to go through another ectopic.  My doctor told me the tube was completely closed and my chances of ever being pregnant again were one in a million.   It took months for me to come to terms with the fact that I'd never have another baby.  I felt like a failure.  I rationalized that the only way to make up for the deaths of my children was to have a baby to honor them.  That wasn't going to happen.  My husband told me that sometimes God answers prayer with, "No."  As much as I hated this truth, I started moving on with my life.  By the following summer I decided to get rid of all our baby supplies.  All the sweet little clothes, toys, furniture, bottles...you name it, I sold it.  I was really enjoying moving forward.  Life was getting easier as my children got older.  We got sleep at night, didn't have to stop for nap time, went to soccer, baseball, and school activities.  I didn't have to carry my kids or spend a half hour putting on coats, hats, mittens, and boots before I ran a five minute errand.  I was happy.

January of 2010 arrived and I was extremely "late."  This was normal for me at times, but I knew something was different.  I had switched back to my first OBGYN who had changed his mind and stayed in town.  I called and he told me to take a pregnancy test.  That sounded absurd.  I was shocked to have a positive test!  It was impossible!  God had given me a miracle!  I worried that the baby was ectopic, but that pain never came.  I worried that I would start hemorrhaging, but I didn't!  I worried there would be no heart beat.  Three weeks later, I went in for my first ultrasound with my husband at my side.  We were looking for that heart beat we were told was a great sign that everything would be okay.  I really doubted we would see it, but much to our surprise, there was our little baby in a perfect spot in my uterus with a heartbeat! 

You would think that I would have cried or jumped for joy, but I was in shock.  I just remember being speechless for a long time.  We kept our news private, only telling a select few and asking for their prayers.  By mid February I started to spot.  Ultrasounds showed that my baby was hanging in there, but his heartbeat wasn't as strong as it should have been.  I was so confused.  I thought a heart beat was a guarantee.  I hoped that since God had given me this miracle, surely He wouldn't take it away.  By eleven weeks of pregnancy, I delivered another fetus in the E.R.  I wasn't given the chance to see this baby, but had to endure listening to the doctor show her students the baby and identifying it's body parts.  They stood right next to me and I watched the excitement on their faces as they got to see this for the first time.  I understand they were looking at my baby from a medical perspective, but they had no compassion for the parents that just lost their child.

You might ask me how I could I endure these horrible tragedies and still love God.  Here is my response. 

Hebrews 4: 14-16  Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess.  For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way--yet was without sin.  Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. 

Jesus took the form of a man while He was still fully God.  He endured pain, agony, hatred, sorrow, betrayal, and died.  He is a God who knows our pain from personal experience.  He loves us and pours out his mercy and grace when we need it.  He doesn't just pat us on the head, telling us not to worry about it.  He wraps his arms around us and weeps with us.  This was not His plan for our lives.  I love God for taking better care of my six babies than I ever could and instilling a hope in me that I will meet them in heaven someday.

Letting you inside my heart...

Wikipedia states that, Miscarriage or spontaneous abortion is the spontaneous end of a pregnancy at a stage where the embryo or fetus is incapable of surviving independently, generally defined in humans at prior to 20 weeks of gestation. Miscarriage is the most common complication of early pregnancy.

Recently, I have been battling with the thought that I should share my experiences with miscarriage.  It seems to be a topic that until recently, has been swept under the rug because of grief and shame.  When I had my first miscarriage, I barely even knew the word and didn't think that I would have to worry about it.  I didn't know anyone who had been through a miscarriage and my family was full of fertile women.  After sharing this experience with several friends, my eyes have been opened to miscarriage's prevalence, the lack of knowledge and research for women's health issues, and the absurdity of it's treatment and undertones of shame. 

After a year of marriage my husband and I began to discuss starting a family.  Becoming a mother was at the top of my list of things I dreamed for my life.  I wanted six children.  A full house of fun and energy.  We compromised down to four.  I was so excited and immediately got all of the popular pregnancy books to study and fully prepare myself.  The sections on miscarriage in my books were about a page long...I didn't even bother reading them.  After several months and negative pregnancy tests, I was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher and could barely stand up.  I had never had a period that painful, so I called my doctor.  I didn't have an OBGYN at the time.  My family doctor told me to take a pregnancy test which I thought was silly.  I took one two weeks previous to this and it was negative, but I did what she said.  When the test came up positive I was over-joyed.  Miscarriage was the farthest thing from my mind. 

We went to the emergency room and waited four hours to be seen.  We were told the more "life-threatening" situations came first.  My first nurse was a student and put me through so much pain that you could hear me screaming down the hall.  I had no idea what I was about to endure.  I will leave out most of the details and just try to tell my story medically.  In order to find out what was wrong, the doctor ordered an ultrasound for which they had to fill up my bladder to its maximum for about a half hour.  It was the most painful torture I have ever been though.  The ultrasound tech who was visibly angry that she was called to work in the middle of the night, took picture after picture.  I apologized that I had inconvenienced her and asked through my tears and gritted teeth, "is everything okay?" but she just said, "I can't tell you anything."  When we finally saw the doctor again, he told me to take some ibuprofen for the pain and follow up with my family doctor.  I had to ask him, "IS MY BABY OK?!"  He simply replied that they didn't see a baby.  He was cold and aloof.  He made me feel like I wasted his time.  In a matter of eight hours I went from doing the dishes in pain, to ecstatically expecting my first baby, to the most morbid pain, physical violation, and emotional trauma of my life.

I followed up with my doctor and was referred to an OBGYN.  He told me that miscarriage was the body's way of naturally getting rid of a bad pregnancy and that statistically, I would probably never have another problem.  We were encouraged to wait a month and then keep trying.  After several months, I was "late."  We were going to a movie with some friends and picked up a test on the way.  I was so excited to take it, so we stopped at a Taco Bell and I came smiling out of the bathroom exclaiming, "We're going to have a little bambino!"  I told everyone I could over the next three weeks and even started reading my big book of baby names.  At about six weeks, the bleeding began.  My doctor said there was nothing he could do and told me to try lying down.  I didn't move from my bed for anything.  The pain increased and the trips to the bathroom made it evident that there would be no baby.  I became an emotional zombie again until one night I cracked.  My husband held me while I screamed, "I want my baby!" and sobbed uncontrollably.  Nothing makes that pain go away. 

I couldn't understand how God could allow this to happen to me.  ME.  I wanted to be a mom more than anything in the world and had framed my life so that I could!   I had dreams that I abandoned.  There were young girls and women out there that didn't want children and they were having them left and right!  It was NOT fair! 

My doctor encouraged me that this was not the end.  He told me to keep trying.  They don't do tests or worry about there being a problem until after a third miscarriage.  I had to lose another baby before I'd get answers.  Late in 2002 I woke up with the worst sharp pain.  I couldn't stop getting sick, so my husband took me to the emergency room.  I thought maybe it was appendicitis.  The doctor did blood work and came in the room with a huge smile and said, "You're pregnant!"  I just looked at her and smugly said, "no I'm not."  This was different than the other complications I'd had, but I knew there wasn't going to be a baby.  I didn't cry.  I was sent for an ultrasound and it revealed a mass in my right fallopian tube, an ectopic pregnancy.  Wikipedia explains that, An ectopic pregnancy, or eccysis, is a complication of pregnancy in which the pregnancy implants outside the uterine cavity.^[1] With rare exceptions, ectopic pregnancies are not viable. Furthermore, they are dangerous for the mother, internal bleeding being a common complication. Most ectopic pregnancies occur in the Fallopian tube (so-called tubal pregnancies), but implantation can also occur in the cervix, ovaries, and abdomen. An ectopic pregnancy is a potential medical emergency, and, if not treated properly, can lead to death.

I spent the next few days heavily drugged for pain in the hospital until the baby passed.  My doctor had his reason to send me for testing and because of my strong desire to be a mother I had killed a third baby. 

I was sent to a specialist who did tons of blood work on my husband and me.  Nothing came up as a problem for him, but my blood work indicated several clotting disorders.  They weren't sure if this was a problem, but advised that I take baby aspirin or even injections of heparin when I became pregnant again.  Through an advanced ultrasound the specialist found that I had what was called a bicornuate uterus.  Wikipedia explains that, A bicornuate uterus or bicornate uterus, commonly referred to as a "heart-shaped" uterus, is a type of uterine malformation where two "horns" form at the upper part of the uterus.  My doctor explained that there was a procedure that might correct the deformity.  Just after the New Year, 2003, I went in for out-patient surgery.  When I woke up they told me the deformity was so severe that they couldn't fix it, but they had found that I was full of endometriosis.  Wikipedia's definition isn't very clear, so I'll explain that I was told endometriosis is like a scar tissue that forms due to a woman's hormones.  The doctors removed all of it and said to try getting pregnant again. 

A month later I was pregnant and then made it to my first ultrasound!  I was a nervous wreck.  I clenched my husband's hand and watched the little screen as they showed me my baby, with a heart beat!  The doctor said everything looked great and with the heart beat I only had a 3% chance of miscarriage.  Late 2003, Noelle Faith was born.  Upon my doctor's orders to have my babies quickly, 17 months later Matthew Joseph arrived, and 23 months after him Isabelle Grace was born.  I was in mommy heaven! 

My husband and I had three of the four babies we planned for.  We were happy, extremely blessed and so tired.  Sadly, this wasn't the end to my heart ache.  I will post a part-two to this blog in the near future.  Miscarriage was not over for me and had not even shown the worst of it's ugliness.

Side Effects

I was in my think tank, a.k.a. the shower, and was really despising the lengthy daily ritual of a woman.  It's exhausting!  I wished that I could take a shower and be done and fully dressed in 5-7 minutes like my husband.  It's just not possible!  I'd have to shave my head and forgo the razor for any other use.  I'd never be able to moisturize my face or lotion any dry spots.  Make-up would obviously be out, along with anything yummy smelling from Bath & Body Works.  There would be no eyebrow plucking, no nail filing, no blow drying or straightening.  Brushing my teeth, flossing, and daily use of Listerine along with an occasional whitening treatment would be reduced to a quick spin around the mouth with my toothbrush.  Finally, getting dressed would go from staring at my clothes for a few minutes, selecting a first choice and examining it in front of a full length mirror from every angle with self-loathing, trying a few more options, finally going with my first choice accepting that this is as good as it gets, to simply grabbing jeans and a sweatshirt and getting on with life.

Next I was on to swimming suits.  You'd never see a woman in a water t-shirt and swim trunks that go past her knees.  Why is it that men get to cover so much up? 

Then there's stubble.  On a man's face it's ruggedly handsome.  On a woman's legs it's just gross.

Bed-head...makes a man look cute and endearing and a woman like she's off her meds.

Wrinkled clothes on a man reflect badly on his wife.  Wrinkled clothes on a woman make her look like a slob.

Do men not worry about coffee breath?  I see them talking and carrying on as if the big elephant in the room doesn't exist!  I try to never drink coffee in public.  If I do I keep my distance or apologize as if at least acknowledging that my breath stinks makes it better. 

After thinking through all of this I was singing Beyonce's, If I were a Boy...which sadly, those were the only words I knew and sang them repeatedly.  It made me wonder what men would gripe about if there was a song, If I were a Girl.  Well, maybe they wouldn't actually sing those lyrics.   I started to feel awful about my ungratefulness for my position in life.  Being a woman has so many positive aspects, it's just the side effects that I begrudge.

The Other Side of the Mountain

My brain has been on overload for far too long and is subsequently giving me a bit of writer's block.  While this might not be the most eloquent or clever blog post, I wanted to update everyone on Isabelle's condition.  We went in for surgery last Wednesday morning and your prayers were immediately evident.  I had a great sense of calm about the procedure after a good night of xanax induced rest.  We received a call the day before the surgery that it had been moved up to 7:30 in the morning.  This was great because I was no longer stressed about Belle having a fit because she was hungry before the surgery.  (They had ordered that she be NPO)  My wonderful Aunt Rita, who was taking care of my other two children, had no problem arriving at my house at 5:30 in the morning!  Matthew doesn't have school on Wednesdays and Noelle stayed home because she was diagnosed with strep throat on Tuesday.  The doctor assured me that Belle was not infected and with all the antibiotics she'd receive, she was covered anyways.  It could have been worse.  Noelle could have gotten sick on Wednesday.

When we arrived at the hospital Belle was sleepy, but actually liked her "hospital clothes."

We were blessed by several people that came to pray and wait with us during the surgery.  Pastor Chad arrived early to pray over Belle.  My mom and sister, who have always been my biggest supporters, took several days off work to help me.  My brother's sweet girlfriend Claire also joined us on her day off and came bearing gifts of coffee.  The love and support were wonderful.  
When it was time to say good-bye, David was given permission to take Belle back into the operating room and stay with her until she was asleep.  I am so grateful that he is such a strong Daddy.  I couldn't have gone with Belle without crying, so I stayed behind. 


Daddy and Belle dressed for surgery!

 The surgery took a long almost 3 hours, but the doctor said everything went smoothly!  Recovery was the next part and my biggest fear and challenge.  I hate to see my babies in pain.  Belle was not happy, but dealt with the pain with a sweet attitude.

Belle in the recovery room

 We had great luck to get a private new room in the recent addition to the hospital.  It was clean, very large, had a full private bathroom with a shower, a beautiful view, and sleeping accommodations for parents!  I was thrilled.  The room we had with Noelle was small, shared, very dirty, no shower, and only had a wooden chair for me to sleep in.  My sense of calm and joy that God took that stress away was huge! 



Belle and me in her "suite" with the balloons her brother and sister brought for her.

 Belle received excellent care and I believe it's because of that, that she was able to go home the next morning!  She still was occasionally sick from the anesthesia and zonked out from the meds, but we were so glad to be home. 

The comforts of home

There's nothing like a devoted doggy to make recovery easier :)

Noelle and Matthew were wonderful playmates and empathetic care-givers!

By Friday Belle was willing to try using her new walker to get around.  It was slow at first, but a week after surgery she's getting around with no problem! 

First try!

"Old pro"

Belle went to see her doctor yesterday an is making great progress.  She had her cast rewrapped to tighten it up and is scheduled to have it taken off May 5th!  We are grateful for all of our family and friend's prayers, meals delivered, time spent, texts, phone calls, and love.   

Feet of Strength

Yes, I couldn't help myself but use a line from Robin Hood, Men in Tights for my title...It's cheesy, but such a serious topic needed a little comic introduction.

In two weeks my youngest daughter will be having corrective surgery for club feet.  I wanted to give people a clearer picture of what it is that both of my daughters have conquered.  When they were born, there was no one for me to talk to and get answers about what my babies futures looked like.  We faced this birth defect blindly, and at times it was extremely painful emotionally and for my daughters, physically.  I wished there was someone out there who had been through this that could tell me what to expect and that it was going to be alright.  Maybe this blog post will be that to someone else.

Noelle was born with one club foot.  We didn't know about it until she was born, but I was already prepared for it.  I have a bicorniate uterus and so did the mother of one of my former students.  Her daughter was born with a club foot and she had briefly told me about it when I was pregnant.  That little conversation was a gift from God because when Noelle was born and the doctors were panicked, I had this unnatural calm.  I knew it was going to be okay and wasn't even shocked or upset. 

Noelle was put into a cast the week after her birth.  Each week I went to the pediatric orthopedist and she was re-casted, slowly bending the foot to the appropriate position.  The casts were made of plaster then and the process was very time consuming.  I'm go grateful to my sister for taking me to these long visits because I couldn't drive for six weeks after my c-section.  God sent me angels wherever I needed them.

My son Matthew was born with normal feet and I hoped that meant Noelle's club foot was just a "fluke" as the doctors put it.  At my 20 week ultrasound with Isabelle, they found that she had not one, but two club feet.  I was devastated.  I felt like it was my fault for wanting another baby.  In my mind I thought I did this, I caused this. 

It's weird to say, but it was a blessing that I had three-year old Noelle running around.  Living proof that Club feet can be fixed.  When Isabelle was born, my guilt and pain for her deformity made me extremely protective.  I didn't want anyone to see her and shudder.  She was beautiful and so I wanted her to have a name that meant beauty, "Belle."  The day after her birth, a nurse came in and took Isabelle from me and said, "the doctor wants to see her."  She wouldn't tell me which doctor.  I could barely walk after having a c-section, but that didn't stop me from "chasing" after her.  I found Belle being prepared for casting not even 24 hours after her birth.  They weren't even going to tell me!  I told the doctor that there was no way he was going to do this.  My baby needed a week to be pain-free before months of agony.  I won the argument.  Belle was casted five days after birth.

This is my mom holding Belle in her primary casts.  She had to have them changed weekly and her feet were slowly bent in the opposite direction.  It looks unnatural.  Belle cried ALL THE TIME!  This process took an exhausting 6 weeks.  I told my mom during this time, "I love my baby, but I am not enjoying her."  I feel like my daughter's infancy was stolen. 

After six weeks, Belle required a surgery that Noelle never had.  Her feet were "tight" and in order for Belle not to walk on her tip-toes someday, my little baby had the tendons in her heel severed to lengthen them.  Then, she was casted for another six weeks.  It was miserable.

 Finally, at 14 weeks old, Belle was free...almost.  Now she would have to wear her new shoes 23 hours a day.  These shoes helped maintain the feet in their new position. 

We took them off for bath time...which she had never had before.  I was so happy not to have to give her sponge baths and so was she!

She also got to do a little standing in her Exersaucer.  Her muscles were very atrophied from being in casts for so long. 

By five months, Belle only had to wear her shoes at night.  She was happy and I enjoyed being a mommy again!  Both of my daughters wore their shoes until they were 3 1/2 years old.

Nine months after Belle was out of her casts, it was time for Noelle to have the next surgery.  This surgery lengthened the tendon in her heel.  It also moved another tendon from the inside of her foot to the top of her foot, through the bones where it was anchored in the bottom of her foot.  It was more painful than we were ready for. 

The only thing that distracted Noelle from the pain was watching movies.....

and codeine induced sleep.  I can't believe I actually thought doing her hair and putting her in a brand-new dress to go home in would be appropriate.  I had no idea that it was going to be so rough.   After about 10 days Noelle's swelling and pain were much better!  She had a walker and could get around.  She played and made it through the next 6 weeks like a champ!

Noelle's left leg and foot are still much smaller than her right.  Shoes never fit her well.  That hasn't stopped her though!  She is an amazing soccer player, loves swimming, and is an extremely active 7 year old now.  She still has a little pain when she does a lot of running, but every year it's gotten better. 

Belle will have this same surgery this month on her right foot and then again in six months on her left foot.  I am so scared for her, but like Noelle, she is an amazingly strong little girl.  I am so thankful that God gave me this challenge to overcome.  It has made me a stronger more patient mother and created an incredible closeness with my daughters.   I can't say, however, that I'm glad my daughters have had to endure this deformity, but I am in awe of the strength, perseverance, and love for life it has created in them.  Please keep my fun-loving, beautiful Belle in your prayers!

Go

Have you ever heard the expression, "Be careful what you pray for?"  The more secular version substitutes "pray" for "wish" and ends, "you just might get it."  I have been saying some rather weighty prayers for a long time.  Specifically, I have been praying for several people and families God has placed on my heart, my church and it's outreach and missions programs, and for God to use me how he sees fit no matter how uncomfortable it makes me. 

It was mind blowing, after months of praying, that God showed me in one day that he was listening and working on all of my prayers!  I was elated that God could move mountains and do it with amazing timing.  I just wasn't prepared for the many ways God wanted to use me.  I was completely excited, but overwhelmed and taken to the limits of my comfort zone.  My joy turned to panic.  I began to worry that I wouldn't know what to do or say.  I felt like Gideon, needing more proof that God was with me.  (Judges 6)  Retreat was immediately on my mind, however, God used Gideon with an army of 300 men to defeat an army of about 135,000 men! (Judges 7)  He doesn't need me to be perfect for the work, he just needs me to go and have faith that He is perfect for the work.  It's God who changes lives, reaches hearts, and wins the battles.

Zest for Life

Today I received a gift. 

My kids have the day off and so we were able to sleep in a bit.  At 8:00 my three year-old climbed into my bed fully dressed, hair brushed complete with a matching headband.  She was carrying the game, Twister, and bounced on my bed asking, "Mommy, do you want to come play?"  My eyelids were still stuck together and mouth guard glued to my teeth.  I could barely say, mmhhmm.  At that point my five year-old climbed into my bed to snuggle and moaned, "I'm never getting dressed today."  My seven year-old, never made it out of bed until 9:00 and only spoke enough words to get what she wanted for breakfast, "Cinnamon Life, no milk." 

I remember a day when my older children were up and running with the sun.  Every morning was a joyful new day, full of fun and exciting things to do.  It occurred to me that this zest for life is lost at some point, apparently between the age of 3 and 5 for my family.  I don't know if kindergarten, alarm clocks, or responsibility are to blame for killing our joy or if it's just natural.  I wish life could always be met with as much zest as my little girl. 

She just ran screaming into the computer room, "Mommy, Mommy, come look outside, I can see the grass,  Woohoo! Spring is here!  Can we go play in the sandbox?"  I am happy to say, it's 9:30 and I've had my coffee, lost a game of Twister and now I just might get dressed and enjoy some fresh air. 

If Every Day Were a Special Occasion...

I've been preparing for Valentine's Day this week and during my shower I started thinking about what I'd like to achieve in time for the special day.  (My shower is my alone time and where I do my best thinking...the place of many a great epiphany)  My "to do" list got longer and longer.  I then, began thinking about my husband's thoughts for the holiday.  Here's how they compared in my head...

Me:  Buy some candy hearts to give to my children and husband.
David:  Yum, candy!

Me:  Pick out valentines with the kids to hand out in their classes.  Help them sign, get the cards ready and put in their school bags.
David:  Do what my wife said and help my son write his name on his valentines, Matt H. not Matthew because she said that would never fit, stick the matching tattoos on with tape just how she showed me, and then put them in the bag labeled Matthew.

Me:  Make sugar cookies shaped like hearts and let the kids help decorate them.
David:  Eat sugar cookies

Me:  Make pink cupcakes in the cute little heart paper cups I bought.
David:  Mmmmm, cupcakes.

Me:  Shave legs, exfoliate and use some good lotion to get silky smooth.
David:  It's about time!

Me:  Put on some make-up
David:  What's taking her so long?

Me:  Whiten teeth
David:  Gross, my wife is foaming at the mouth.

Me:  Make a special dinner, clean up the house, clean my bedroom, read valentine themed books to the kids, and make sure everyone knows they are special and loved.
David:  Love my wife and kids everyday.

Even in my inner monologue, David is the one who truly knows what's important.  I struggle to make everything "perfect."  I want to be the BEST mom and the MOST amazing wife.  In my mind, that revolves around what I do for my family.  In reality, who I am on a daily basis is what will make a lasting impact on their lives. 

Rebooting My Brain

I've become aware of so many things that I tell myself are true...or should be true and so it's not wrong for me to believe.  It's driving me crazy that I can rationalize things in my life and make it seem that what I'm doing is right, when it's just plain wrong.

While driving, I consistently go 5 miles over the speed limit because "there's a law that the real limit is always 5 over what's posted."  Cops aren't going to pull me over because they tell you to go 25mph but really mean just don't go above 30mph.

Telling the clerk at Kohl's I lost my coupon when I really gave it to my dad is fine.  Everyone is getting 15% off right now and I could have printed another one.  I was nice to my dad, so she should be nice to me.

I hate this one.  When my kids want to play and I just plain don't.  I rationalize that I am owed time to sit on my butt and do nothing.  I cook, clean, chauffeur, do homework, and blah blah blah blah blah...  Everyone with a paying job gets breaks so I should take one too.

That case of formula I bought years ago still haunts me.  The check-out girl scanned the first one and didn't realize she had to scan them all even though they were packaged together.  I didn't figure out why my bill was so cheap until I was driving away.....but I didn't go back.  I thought, maybe this is a gift from God.  I mean, how many times do I drive away from McDonald's and have paid, but didn't get what I ordered.  This is just God evening it out.

There's more, lots more.  But, I've already said enough to show that my brain is whacked out and needs a reality check.  I think we all do this stuff...some more, some less.  I think that's why I tell myself it's okay.  "Everyone stretches the truth and so we all should or we'll never survive in this world.  It's not like I'm really hurting anyone."  In all honesty, there are always consequences for our actions. 

Sibling Wars

I've noticed that my children, though only 3,5, and 7, are beginning to really annoy each other.  This morning at breakfast Noelle yelled at Matthew for the way he was chewing his food.  Yesterday, Matt couldn't stand the song Noelle was singing....over and over and over.  Belle hates it when either of them try to take over what she's doing and "do it the right way."  The screaming in this house is at an all time high and just causes the chewing, singing, and controlling behavior to persist at even more annoying levels. 

I have thought about yelling at them for being so mean to each other over such stupid things, but it really reminds me of my childhood.  I remember how my brother truly annoyed me to the point I thought my head would explode.  It was simple stuff...changing the channel, not doing what I said, breathing.  I was so truly enraged by his presence that I really didn't think I was being over-sensitive or mean.  At the time, when my mother yelled at me, I just got more annoyed and thought she was so unfair.  In light of my memories, I have decided to scream back, "You're all annoying and no one is allowed to talk anymore!"  This way I'm not invalidating their feelings and I'm not allowing them to continue in the behavior.  I'm not saying any of this is right, but it's working for me.  I can't wait to see what they say to me someday when they are parents and try to do things "better" than me.

Being Honest at Three

Isabelle hasn't been feeling very well for a few weeks.  She's had an ear infection and finished antibiotics a week ago.  Since then she has had a super runny nose, been really cranky, really constipated, complains of random itchiness, sore throat, and is occasionally pale.  I'd normally take her back to the doctor, but she hasn't had a fever, plays happily, eats, drinks, and seems normal.  It's so hard to know when a three-year old is really sick or just complaining for attention.  My guess is she just has an old-fashioned winter cold.

So, last night when she was hiding behind a chair, not wanting to go poopy again, I asked her if she would tell me the truth.  I was not ready for the conversation that followed.

Belle questioned, "About cuz I don't wanna poopy?"
I replied, "Yes, and what else is bugging you.  Does anything else not feel good?  Be honest."
Belle, "Well, my froat is kind of yucky and my hair hurts."
Mommy, "Oh, and is there anything else?"
Belle, "Well my ear is not good."
Mommy, "Which one?"
Belle, "This one....no wait, this one."
Mommy, "What does it feel like?"
Belle, "Bugs and bees and stingers and dog stink."

You'd think after seven years as a mommy, I wouldn't be surprised by anything.  All I could do was cover my smile and say, OK.

On a happy note, Belle says she feels really good and all the bugs and bees flew away when I was carrying in the groceries today.

Sticks and Stones

Lately, I've felt so alienated in this world.  I have a wonderful family and really great friends, but outside of my little world everyone seems foreign. As much as I love them, I can't relate to most of my family members and many people I've called friend for years.

I watch the news, sitcoms, talk shows, listen to the radio, see comments on facebook and read Internet articles, all of which are so far from my reality.   I welcome diversity, but feel that the "common truths" our forefathers agreed upon have become so tissue paper thin.  What a life is, is debatable, freedoms are only for the people of great influence and their followers, and trying to be happy seems to be difficult to do without being judged.  I'm constantly on my guard not to offend with my comments or actions.  It's so hard to be myself.  I like me, but I don't set any current standards for normalcy.  My values are definitely not aligned with common ideas.

I feel that today's mentality is to focus on ourselves.  "It's my right to voice my opinion and your opinions are hateful."  "Let someone else help out, I've got my own stuff to do."  "I couldn't possibly do something that mundane, it would stifle me."  It's easy to fall into this trend, but I don't see how looking out for "number one" is making anyone happier.  We were not created to progress as solitary beings.  You might respond, "I'm not alone, I've got tons of people in my life!"  Be honest though, how many of those people could you truly bare your soul to with raw honesty?  One if you're lucky.  Just being truly honest with yourself is painfully uncomfortable.  How can man hope to find progress, if he is the king of his world, but so is everyone else?  How can man be productive if he is the basis of all truth?  Which tomorrow, could change.

I'm not looking to change the world with this little entry on my blog.  I have just been so sad at the state of our world.  I have been so sad for my loved ones, great friends, and neighbors.  I have been so sad for my countrymen, people in the media, politicians, citizens of other countries and world leaders.  I am so sad that it is far more intelligent to stand alone than to stand solidly unified.  Maybe there is such disunity and unrest among people because we are not all anchored into one solid truth.

I was listening to a song that questioned, "What will happen after we're gone?"  I thought about the body that we leave behind and how it's just a shell of who we are.  I've never really been able to feel at home in my own body.  It's awkward, slow, gives me a lot of pain, addictive, and physically inept.  I've always said the true me is looking out through my eyes.  The true me is locked inside this flesh.  I don't need another person, a book, or out of body experience to tell me that there is more to me than Emily, 1977-20??. 

This world makes me feel uncomfortable, sad and alone.  The Truth gives me rest, joy and hope!

Oh What Fun It Is!

Today, I found my constipated three-year old standing next to the potty with toilet paper hanging from between her pinchable cheeks.  She was just standing there, pants at her ankles, leaning on the tank singing "Jingle Bells."  I waited and watched her with a grin until she noticed me.  She jumped with surprise when she saw me and whined, "I don't wanna poopy!"  It's moments like these that I just can't keep a straight face. I think we can learn so much from children.  When there's something we don't want to do, just sing a merry tune and it might not seem so bad.

Thanks for the Sliver of Soap

I need to take a moment to say thank you to all the people who caused my jaw to drop and say, "ah, man!" and occasionally a "come on!"

Thanks, to the guy who watched me try to parallel park between his and another car.  You could have backed up a bit, but no, you stared with bug-eyes that could only mean, "stupid woman's gonna hit my car!"  I don't know what was worse, your demeaning expression or the fact that your car was parked right on the line.  Well, lucky for you I got super nervous and found another spot. 

Thanks, to the person who always leaves just one square of toilet paper.  No, that's not enough.

Thanks, to the guy who wanted my parking spot and watched with his turn signal on while I tried to get my three-year old in the car and loaded my groceries in the freezing rain.  No, you didn't make me super nervous and self-conscious every time I had to bend over.

Thanks, to the lady having a garage sale for selling me broken stuff.  When I ask, "does it work?" please be honest.

Thanks, to the waitress for rolling your eyes when grandma indecisively ordered.  She's lived a long life!  Give her a minute to make a decision.

Thanks, to the parent in the drop-off lane who threw up his hands and gave me a nasty look when I got out to take care of my crying son.

Thanks, to my father-in-law for congratulating my husband on a yummy dinner when I was the one who spent hours in the kitchen.

Thanks, to an acquaintance for telling me I was a plain kind of pretty.

Thanks, to people who wrap tiny presents in big boxes.  I shouldn't have gone out and gotten you another gift.

Thanks, to my oblivion for not noticing what day it was and rushing to the grocery store because all my coupons expired the next day....only to find out they were expired today.

And finally, thanks for the sliver of soap left in the shower this morning...I was all wet by the time I looked. 
 

My first official post worthy of reading....

I wanted to start my blog with something of substance.  I just can't stop thinking about how proud I am to have David as my husband.  Sappy, I know.  "Pride go-eth before a fall," I know.  Sappy and proud are two things I am so uncomfortable with, but that's just going to have to be me today. 

David has been working on starting a children's ministry at the Perrysburg Heights Community Center for at least six months now.  It has been a lot of work and has almost constant set backs.  As of now, he is going once a week to work with children who need help with homework and mentoring.  The reason I find this so impressive will probably embarrass my husband, but hopefully he'll see the awe and respect in what I have to say. 

I wouldn't say David is shy, but he really avoids most social settings.  He is just really uncomfortable talking with people...I tease him for making me call to order the pizza.  So, for my husband to come so far out of his comfort zone and decide he not only wants to help at the community center, but that he also wants to lead a "Kid's Club," I am in awe. 

The point of this post is not only to share my amazement, but to ask for your support.  David's desire to lead this ministry has not been dampened by the many set-backs.  He is happy to wait for God's timing in this.  As of today, he has materials for 6 weeks of lessons, backing from our missions committee at Oak Bend, approval of the community center director, and great mentors from "Kid's Club."  We are waiting on approval of the board at the community center, a time slot opening, three to four volunteers to substitute if there is ever a need, and interest from at least one child and his or her parents.  

Your prayers, encouragement, advice, and interest in helping out would be really wonderful!   

Putting an end to my technology rebellion...

First of all, Mr. Kaiser, this was your idea and if it goes terribly wrong, I will blame you.  Secondly, thank you Google...you have been there for me from finding stupid movie quotes to saving a load of laundry from crayons in the dryer.  How exciting it is to simply type the words, "How do I start a blog" and half an hour later I am writing these inspiring words to all of you fine people. 

I have no idea what will become of my new endeavor.  I might try to inspire, make you laugh, share something yummy I cooked, or tell you about my family.  So far...I got nuthin'