On keeping Sally - Part 2

Sally was given her release from the hospital, so we headed home. It was so wonderful. She started eating consistently, and our whole family got to be together. I remember one day while Natalie was at school, Noah went outside and took me on an adventure through our yard. I carried Sally in a little sling, and we investigated all the things in our yard. He even showed me how strong he was by picking up this giant branch!

I remember feeling such a sense of rest that life was getting back to normal. My new baby was healthy again, and I was getting to enjoy sweet little moments with my family. 

The thing I did not enjoy was that I was now receiving very condescending advice. I surmise that, because my baby experienced a nutritional anamoly, people were assuming that it was actually my own ineptitude or lack of attention that caused the whole thing. I will never forget venturing out to church for the first time carrying Sally in the little sling mentioned above. I had used it with all three of my babies, and, though this model had been recalled because some babies had smothered, I felt confident in my attention to making sure the babies were always safely elevated within the sling and I was always very careful to make sure their airways were totally unobstructed. My mothering decisions and judgment were not sufficient for one of the ladies in the church, however. She mentioned to me that the sling had been proven to be unsafe. "Yes I read about that, but I....." she interrupted me before I could even finish a sentence. She actually continued to interrupt me and offer me LOADS of unsolicited advice on things so simple as how to hold a baby.....yes. I have been caring for babies since I was literally 9 years old, and I had to stand there and listen to this woman give me instructions on how to hold one. I was absolutely disgusted at the liberties she took after she assumed that an unforeseen medical problem was my fault. 

What I had needed in that moment was support and reassurance and gratitude to God in my presence that Sally had survived something that, had I waited probably just a couple more days, would have claimed her life. Instead I got criticism. What was even more irritating is that no one in my "group" stood up to my defense. They all just stood there letting this woman drown me in her gratuitous, condescending and even archaic advice. 

We went home and spent the next few days trying to settle in to regular life. Natalie went to school. Noah stayed with me and played and napped and learned things. Sally ate and slept, and I had started to do some hair for family and friends.

On about our 4th day home, a relative my age came over for some highlights. She is well known for the liberties SHE takes in sharing her opinions on other people's lives with little regard for the FEELINGS of others or what is or is not appropriate to say. As I was foiling her hair, she looked at Sally laying in her bouncy seat. "LOOK at her neck, SARAH!" she shouted at me. "Yeah. She's still putting back on the weight that she lost. She's still skinny" I replied. "NO Sarah!" she went on "That's what MY daughter looked like when she had RSV! My husband is a nurse. Look at when she breathes!" She pointed at my baby. "There is just no way......" I thought. "She just left the hospital. Please don't speak such an awful illness over the baby of mine that just got out of danger...." I spoke to this woman - all in my head. I finished her hair and then got ready for a date with Sally's dad that evening. I kept watching Sally though. Something was definitely a little off, but, because of her low weight at that point, I really could not tell if she was having trouble breathing or if more of her breathing activity showed because of her low weight. 

We took the kids to their grandparents' house for our date, and I told them to just keep an eye on her. If anything looked remotely off, let us know when we got back, but if she seemed to be going into ANY kind of distress to phone us immediately - not to wait - just call us and we would take her straight to the hospital. 

The evening wore on, and we received no phone call interruptions. My mind began to worry though. I resolved in myself that I wasn't going to let my indignation at people speaking to me condescendingly get in the way of this little baby being healthy. When we returned to their house, they gave us the news. "She did okay...the other kids are asleep....she's alright, but she does look like she's struggling." "Okay" I said and looked at Sally's dad "We are going to the ER right now. I'm not gonna mess around with this. We're going". I turned to his parents and asked "Can the kids stay with you?" They answered affirmatively. Then I gave them strict instructions. For Sally's first stay, we appealed to everyone on Facebook and in churches across the country. Sally's grandfather even stood behind his own pulpit asking for prayer for her. This time, however, I felt the need for privacy. I told them they were not allowed to announce this at church or anywhere publicly. They could ask a few people to pray but to even instruct those people to keep their mouths shut. I wanted us to be able to focus on Sally's care and recovery without the unwanted advice from people like the woman mentioned above. They agreed and we loaded Sally up and went to the ER 30 minutes away. 

When we got there, I seem to remember carrying Sally in my arms - no carseat. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to walk in and them sense my urgency and just take her straight out of my arms to be evaluated. I walked up to the window "I think my baby has RSV, and she left the hospital in Pensacola for 'failure to thrive' four days ago." The nurse handed me a clipboard.....clearly I wasn't getting through. I was beginning to feel a little frantic worrying that Sally would go into some kind of respitory arrest or worse, but all we could do was wait.

Eventually they called us back, and after quick examination the medical personnel confirmed that she presented as a case of RSV. This confirmation was quickly followed by a chest x-ray. Sally had to be held up in a strange sort of bicycle seat/head vice apparatus. They snapped the needed images, and I asked to see what they had found. 

I have always been a researcher. I learned very early in my life that having the most information as possible when something crosses your path is the easiest way to navigate through it, so during Sally's hospital stay the week before, I kept to the same idea. Every time someone would utter a medical term, I would look it up and read as many articles as I could. Apparently I informed myself so well that multiple physicians either asked me "Are you a nurse" or even "Where are you a nurse". When I would inform them that I was actually an out of work hair dresser, their eyebrows would raise. But when your baby is sick, you research. When she got RSV, I was ready and waiting to resume my research, so I asked to see the images from the x-ray. Sally's lungs looked like a sky full of an angry storm......Sally was, once again....in danger.

The hospital in Miramar Beach does not have inpatient accomodations beyond the birthing hospital where I'd had her just a month prior. It is a satellite of the hospital in Pensacola, so we got the news we'd been expecting. We were headed back to Pensacola for her to be treated. There was one ambulance that ran the route from Miramar Beach to Pensacola. That ambulance was going the wrong direction for Sally's first illness - hence her doctor instructing me to drive myself. This time, though, that ambulance just happened to be in Miramar Beach, and the gurney inside had Sally's name on it. She was loaded into the back, and I took the passenger's seat in the cab while her dad drove behind us.

They did not turn on the sirens for our hour and a half ride. This was strange to me, but I had to trust their judgement. The EMT's in the back were watching over her very carefully, so I just sat in the seat and watched the street lights slip past my line of sight one by one. They began to glow even brighter as the tears welled up in my eyes like shining sentinals saluting us on our journey each one granting us passage past its own post until we reached our destination. 

Sally's arrival for stay number 2 is a little blurry to me. I remember very little except that I felt funny wearing heels and "date clothes" in the PICU with my baby so sick. Seemed sort of irreverent to me.

We weren't there very long before the attending nurse came in to check on us.....guess who it was. The smiley nurse. Sally had just so happened to be admitted on another night when this nurse was on duty. I immediately breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her. Something in me knew that, if she was the one watching over Sally, Sally would be just fine. 

Because Sally had a virus that could be deadly for the other babies in the unit, upon entering we had to scrub up, put on a paper gown from a drawer that was outside her room door and then disrobe from the paper jacket and scrub up upon every exit. We were also strongly discouraged from touching Sally with ungloved hands. This was especially difficult for me and was not a rule that I followed all the time. I would always wear the robe and scrub on my entry and exit, but I found myself sneaking off those rubber gloves so I could touch my baby's little cheek or hold her hand while I spoke to her. I just wanted her to feel me touching her. She was once again hooked up to so many wires and even back on a feeding tube for a time. I couldn't help but realize that this was going to set her back from all the work that they'd done to help her in the previous week. I couldn't help but worry that my already weak baby was going to succumb to the ravages of this virus. So I just stared at her, and I sneaked little touches, and I talked to her.

It took another 4 days for her to show signs of recovery and reestablish consistency with her feedings, but with the tender care of our special nurse and rounds of antibiotics, breathing treatments, and everything else, we were given the go ahead to take her home again. 

This time I didn't feel quite so relieved to take her home. I stayed worried. My tiny baby was further weakened, and despite the reassurances from the hospital staff, I was going to be watching her like a hawk. I was going to make sure nothing else went wrong. I wanted to make sure we got to keep this little lady.

This vigilance ended up being to Sally's advantage because there was more coming down the pike for her.......stay number 2 was not going to be her last.

On keeping Sally

Today, my friends, I'm going to tell you a little story - about Sally.

I was overjoyed when I found out I was pregnant with my third child. I was amazed at the number of people that were confused that I would want to get pregnant after already having had a girl and a boy. "So you already have a girl AND a boy?" they would ask. When I would answer "Yes", they would then ask "Then why would you want another baby?". I would just always say "My kids are nice people. I want to add to the group."

My pregnancy with her was difficult in absolutely every respect. I spent most of the second trimester and all of the third trimester having really painful Braxton-Hicks contractions, so when the slot came open for an induction at the hospital, I begged for my OB/GYN to ink down my name.

My labor and delivery with her was definitely the most tumultuous as well, but after about 10 hours of labor versus the 18 I'd had with the other two babies, Sally made her entrance. Out came Sally weighing 7 pounds 8 ounces and 20 inches long with cheeks for days. She was delicious in every way. We were excited to take our little bundle home from the hospital. 

I had always nursed my babies. I knew that, as long as I was able, despite the extreme pain for me right at the beginning, it was the best option for both momma and baby. During my nursing days with the older two kids, I had done a lot of research on how to nurse correctly to make sure baby was getting enough and how to avoid the discomfort of incorrect latches and such the like. I had even helped other people navigate the world of nursing, so I felt totally comfortable nursing baby number 3. She seemed to do so well, but her pattern for feedings was different. She did what her pediatrician described for me as "cluster feeding" as in, she would nurse smaller amounts but for longer stretches of time followed by longer periods of rest. This was new to me, but she was still wetting and soiling diapers at the suggested rate, so I just let baby do her thing.

I started to notice something though. Sally started falling asleep just a handful of minutes after she began to nurse. It was very difficult to keep her roused. She didn't seem to be eating much, and I didn't feel her drawing out very much milk, so I tried to give her a bottle. I thought maybe just the close physical contact was so soothing to her that she was just snuggling and going to sleep. She wouldn't take a bottle, though. I attributed this to a sort of bottle nipple aversion and just figured she preferred nursing.....until one Monday. She was 20 days old.

I always had small babies, and, for whatever reason, my babies always LOOKED even smaller than they actually were. I was often asked all 3 times if my little bundles were preemies. None of them were. They were all born at 40, 38 and 39 weeks respectively. So when my baby looked "a little small" to me after a couple weeks post delivery, I really wasn't alarmed until day 20. Something had happened between the night of day 19 when I put on her pajamas and the morning of day 20 when I went to change her outfit. I saw bones. All of them. 

"What?!....no.....I don't think this is right. I don't feel like she should look like this. This is TOO skinny. I don't feel like I should be seeing ribs through her chest......something is wrong."

So, knowing that some of my Facebook friends are medical personnel, I appealed to social media. I have a friend from high school who I referenced in a different post. She commented on my status encouraging me to just have Sally weighed - that it would not draw any ire from the nursing team at her pediatrician's office. I had expressed on my inquiry to everyone that she had her one month checkup on the upcoming Friday, but this friend told me in a private message "If you're worried, don't wait until Friday. You can always drop in to your Ped's office without an appt for a weight check." 

A healthy 3 week old baby will consume about 2-3 ounces per feeding. Sally was only taking in about 10 ml. That's an amount smaller than a bottle of nail polish. That's all she would take and then she would fall asleep. 

So I packed up my baby and headed to the pediatrician's office. When the nurse undressed her and put her on the scale, I gasped. She looked even worse under the lights....and then came her current weight flashing on the scale's little display - 5 pounds 8 ounces. Sally had lost a third of her body weight. I began to tear up. I felt like a failure. I racked my brain trying to think of what I had done differently with nursing her than I had done with the other two children that had nursed very successfully...nothing. My poor baby!

She sort of solemnly wrapped Sally up in her blanket and handed her back to me. We headed to an exam room where I waited for the doctor. When he came into the room, we went through rounds of questions that yielded no answer. Then this sweet old man held out his arms for my tiny, sick baby and laid her in his lap. He silently unwrapped her and very promptly but gingerly wrapped her back up again. He looked up at me and broke his silence with "I want you to drive to Pensacola right now. You can go home and very quickly pack a bag, but then head straight to the ER there. I will call ahead so they know you're coming. I want you to drive because you will be able to get there faster than an ambulance."

"FASTER THAN AN AMBULANCE?! I need to be faster than an ambulance?!" I thought. My eyes were wide open with fear. My baby was officially in danger. I fought back tears while I waited for the last bit of instruction and then loaded her into the car to make the 30 minute drive home to collect a small bag and get in the car with Sally's dad for the trip. I made several phone calls to the important people in my life to beg them to begin to pray. 

When I got to the house, Sally's Grammy opened the door. She was taking care of the older children, and everyone was in position for getting Sally to the hospital as quickly as possible. She pulled back a corner of the blanket around my baby and then started to cry. Then I fell to pieces for only a matter of seconds before the importance of my assignment overtook me. I had to leave with Sally. I had to be faster than an ambulance. It was time to go.

I don't remember the trip there, but I remember sitting in the busy waiting room of Sacred Heart Medical Center in Pensacola. I found myself getting annoyed with all the coughers and non-hand washers that were being seen before my baby. I went to the desk multiple times after our check in just to make sure that I hadn't missed our number. Finally our turn came. 

We went back to the exam room where the doctors asked me similar rounds of questions to the ones Sally's pediatrician had used. Their prospects for what was hurting my baby were grim to say the least. 

"She's very weak and severely dehydrated. We need to get a line in her to get some fluids in her. Then we're going to run some tests."

The nurses came in and tried with all their might to get a needle to successfully penetrate a vein. Blow. Try number one exploded the vein in her hand. They tried  the other hand. That vein blew. They proceeded to try both feet as well and then 3 different spots on the top of her head. She was too weak to cry for the first few, but by the end, my baby was letting out these little squeaks begging us to stop. My heart was broken. 

When they came in to cathedarize her, they required me to move away from her to a stool against the wall. Her tiny body writhed around in pain while she squeaked out the biggest cry she could muster. My baby was in excruciating pain, and I HAD to let those people hurt her. There was nothing I could do to ease her pain. I sat on the stool not blinking. My hand reached up to Sally's dad's. He was standing next to where I sat. We both just stared silently at the baby on the table. I was later informed that the nurses were alarmed because, when they cath'ed her, absolutely no liquid came out.

So many people came in and out of that room asking the same questions as the person before, and they were all perplexed. 

"We want to rule out meningitis. In order to test for that, though, we have to do a spinal tap. Because she is so small and so young, she will have to be awake for the procedure. You will have to leave the room for this because it has to be a surgically sterile environment."

Then the doctor explained to me what a spinal tap actually is further cementing the horror in me when I came to grips with the fact that Sally would be awake for this.

We were directed to some chairs far down the hall from the room where they were performing the procedure. After a couple of minutes, I heard an absolutely blood curdling scream. I looked at her dad "OH MY GOSH! DO YOU HEAR HER?" I asked with emphasis - though I could not utter more than a whisper through my angry, horrified tears.  "That's not Sally. That's a bigger baby. That's a different baby" he told me trying to reassure me. But there's this thing with a mother and her baby's cry. You always know which one is yours. You can pick your baby's cry out of a crowd of screaming infants. THAT cry.....was from my baby. THAT cry meant they were shoving a 22 gauge needle into her tiny and very awake little back. I just sat there and cried. 

Very soon after that, we were ushered back into her little room where I grabbed up my baby and cradled her while I worried and prayed. 

It took a couple of hours to wait for a room in the PICU to open up. The hospital was up to the gills with sick little people and sick big people alike.  During our wait, they informed us that the spinal fluid was crystal clear. We were not facing deathly meningitis, so that news was good, but the doctors still seemed so confused. This was very unsettling to me. When they would come into the room, the expression on their faces was always very urgent concern. They could not figure her out. 

Our turn came to go to a room upstairs....finally. They got Sally hooked up to more machines and inserted a feeding tube. Then into the room came a pretty red-headed nurse with a giant smile on her face. I couldn't help but wonder if she realized how sick my baby was, and if she had, if she would be smiling so big. She quickly went to work standing over my baby's bassinet and untangling the spaghetti plate of wires. She did this over and over again and kept the smile on her face. I decided to be thankful for her smile because she had been the only one to offer one during the entire day's events. 

As the evening wore on, Sally's dad stepped out of the room, so I was there alone. The head pediatric physician entered her room and offered me a quick greeting. He then stood over Sally's bed and just stared at her. I had been used to the medical team saying at least something to me about their opinion, and I wanted to start a repoir with this man as well, so I said "She looks pretty bad, huh?" I had totally expected that he would give me a very canned, diplomatic response that they were going to help her every way they knew how - that they were working hard to figure out what was going wrong - that she was in good hands....SOMEthing.....no. He just kept his gaze fixed on her little body, sighed while he shook his head and said "...yeah.." and then turned and left the room.

My baby was dying right in front of my face, and not even this man with all of his years of experience and all the state of the art equipment in that hospital could figure out how to stop it. 

This is the first time this image has appeared anywhere even remotely publicly. I have looked at it many times and have been unable to have any reaction except to burst into tears. Even now, I feel ill. 

This picture was actually taken at the end of our second day at the hospital. By this point, she had been receiving nutrition via a feeding tube for an entire day, so she had begun to fill out a tiny, tiny bit. 

So this is what that doctor looked at so hopelessly.

We spent the next few days signing endless numbers of  papers giving permission to the hospital to run absolutely every kind of test they had. Every time they ran a test, the results would come back totally normal. They checked her blood. They checked her spinal fluid. They checked her heart. They ran tests to see if she was a very mild case of Down Syndrome....everything. There was one last test that I just can't remember.  Every single doctor in that place was scratching their head trying to figure out what was wrong, and their last resort was a test that would require that she be be given a general anesthetic. We were given very clear warning that the anesthesia alone could compromise her health so the running of the test was our decision, but they wanted to try if we were willing. "No." I said. "No. I don't want to do that one. All of these tests are coming back normal. I just don't feel like this one is going to give the answer. I'm sorry I just don't want to do it. I just have this feeling that you're not going to find anything." So that same physician mentioned above looked at me and smiled a small smile. "You know, I've been doing this a long, long time" he said. I braced myself for a chiding for balking at his medical knowledge, but then he continued "...and I have been proven wrong several times by a mommy's intuition. That intuition is strong. You should trust it."

Part of me was thankful that he felt I'd made the right decision but this mental celebration was quickly followed by a fear that I might just be wrong. 

As luck would have it, after sleeping in a chair on our first night in the hospital, my back decided to seize up, and my sinuses revolted, so that just added to the difficulty of the situation. There was that smiley nurse though. Every day she would come in and untangle Sally's chords, and she would talk with us about our other kids and our lives away from the room we occupied just then. She would also update us on everything she could. She would break things down and explain what the next step would be. On day 4 of our stay, she informed us that the speech pathologist would be paying us a visit. My brow furrowed because......Sally did not use speech. She was 3 weeks old. She did not talk. This made me skeptical, but the SP came nevertheless.

I will never forget the wavy haired brunette coming into Sally's room. She scooped my baby right up and scooted herself back into the rocking chair in the room. The smiley nurse stood at staunch attention over her shoulder watching every move the Speech Pathologist made. The SP touched a bottle nipple to Sally's lips and then slid it into her mouth. Sally's chin bobbed for just a second and then stopped. "OH!" the Speech Pathologist exclaimed. Then she kind of smiled smugly as if to say "These people are going to be so relieved, and I am SO excited to tell them this". She did more wiggling and then SUCK! Sally drew in some of the formula. Then she did it again, and then she stopped. The nurse sort of hunched forward as if to cradle Sally with the top half of her body while the baby lay in her lap. "Okay" she explained "This is called 'failure to thrive'. We do not have a way to know why this happens. There is no way to prevent it. It just happens sometimes. What has happened here is that she gets sort of lost when it comes to eating. Babies use a suck, swallow, breathe reflex when they eat. This pattern allows them to sort of eat and breath at the same time to maximize their energy. Sometimes, though, babies just get.....off track. They get mixed up on which thing to do next, and it just wears them out so they end up using more energy than they should. They tire out before they're full so they don't eat enough.....This is what has happened with your baby. So we just have to reteach her how to eat." She did not seem remotely alarmed. She did not seem like this was at all insurmountable. It was just a thing. It was a totally fixable problem.

 Sally was going to recover. There were no congenital, neurological or cardiovascular anomalies in her body. Just this weird, slightly rare but not unheard of one of "failure to thrive". The SP continued to talk giving instructions to our sweet red headed nurse about the process for reteaching a baby to eat. The steps were very simple. She could and most likely would make a total recovery from this, and I should feel no guilt, because this was not caused by negligence or ineptitude on my part. It was just one of those crazy things. 

Over the next two days, the smiley nurse came into Sally's room more times than I can count. She would go through her same routine of untangling all the leads while she cooed at my baby. Then she would spend hours and hours wiggling a bottle in Sally's mouth per the instructions given by the speech pathologist. With every feeding, Sally would suck down a little bit more formula until the feeding tube wasn't needed any longer. Soon Sally was off of every monitor except the one charting her heart rate. That nurse was tireless. That nurse showed love to my baby and had a presence that could nearly calm a soul in the heart of a hurricane. 

By day 6, Sally had begun taking a couple ounces per feeding. She was beginning to show weight gain, and all her vitals were very steady. I was given a strict regimen for how much she should eat and for how long and how often. It was a fragile situation still, but she had been given the help she needed to get back on track - to find her way so her little body could grow. 

During the middle of the morning, we were informed that Sally was being given papers for release. I took those and my instructions and cases and cases of formula the hospital gave to us, and we headed to the car. We stopped at Red Robin across the street so I could eat real food. 

And then our next stop.....home to the biggers. I had gotten to see my older children just a couple of times in the last week, and I couldn't wait another minute to kiss their faces and hug their little bodies. I was bringing their baby sister back home to them. Sally was going to be just fine.......

.....until she wasn't.

More tomorrow.

On being told no

There are many things in life that humans almost universally try to avoid. One of those things is being told "no". We have all witnessed very small children absolutely fall to pieces when those two letters are uttered together and in that sequence.

 As we get older, the being told no can get harder. Your understanding of the world deepens and you develop the enablement to make decisions for your own life, it gets harder to hear the word "no". It's not the procurement of toys or cookies that hangs in the balance of the type of answer we receive. It's bigger things. It's our dreams. It's our goals. It's the payoff for a bunch of work that we did. It may even be our welfare or the welfare of others. Hearing "no" can feel like the ultimate destruction of things that are genuinely important - not just important "to us" but actually important. But sometimes in life, you still get told that word at times when you NEED to be told yes.

So then what do you do? What do you do with the pieces that are left after you have been told no?

There have been so many things for which I have prayed to people and to God during the coarse of my life for which I have received a negative answer when I wanted and felt like I needed a positive one. There have been situations to which being given a negative answer invoked absolute horror in me. I felt completely stripped down and then beaten by the realization that my ultimate fear had become reality. My head spun, and my heart broke. Over and over this has happened. I spent many moments being very frustrated and resentful....

But then light would shine through.

As more and more of this began to happen, I started to notice patterns. I learned some things.

The first thing I learned is that you canNOT change other people. You are never responsible for another person's behavior (unless that person is your small child and even then there's only so much you can do). If you assign yourself the responsibility of absorbing the consequences of someone else's behavior, you're going to end up very limited and very frustrated. You also do not have the ability to change someone else's heart or mind. You can do your best to present facts to them so that they are informed, but the final decision for what they are going to do is totally their's. There are even certain folks that, the harder you try, the farther from your objective they're going to go. They're actually going to do the opposite of what you ask or say just out of spite, so it's best to abandon that effort altogether.

I also learned that there are circumstances that are out of your control....and you have to be okay with that. In lieu of my point above, once another brain outside of your head makes a decision, there will be events that follows, boundaries that exist that didn't before, consequences and limitations....that you cannot change. They're set in stone unless or until someone somewhere changes their mind. When this occurs, you have to be okay with it. Worrying is futile. It will do nothing but make YOU sick. The other person or people or the abstract idea of the situation that exists is not going to be affected by the amount of worry you devote to circumstances that you do not like.

Also happiness. You've got to find it. You're entitled to it. You can go to any war torn country or empoverished society, and you will always find this: there will always be at least one child with a smile on their tiny face, and they will have found something to play with. They do not go for lengths of time without inventing ways to enjoy themselves. Adults only do that. We are the ones that, despite our inability to force everything to go our way, spend energy trying to do just that. Go find a toy. Go find a smile. If you do not find any happiness, then you are CHOOSING sadness. Maybe ask yourself why because you can't tell me that a little pumpkin with flys crawling on his eyes and dirt covering his blistered feet should wipe the smile off his face. He found happiness because he looked for it. He put in the effort because that robbery for his entitlement to it has not yet occurred. Go back to that. Look as aggressively for it as that little guy.

Remember the "long game". These words were used with me the other day by a grown child of divorce in regards to how I relate to my children. He was encouraging me on how to love them and what strategies to use. It was very good advice on keeping things in perspective. It makes me think of when I had my babies. I will never forget the first push. It felt SOOOO difficult! I would always be so worn out from at least 12 hours of painful contractions that the notion that I was going to have to muster strength to push this baby out seemed ludicrous....but every time I would just think "But I HAVE to! I'M the only person on planet earth that can push THIS baby out of THIS body.....cause it's MY BODY!" so I would take a breath and bear down and push and push as many times as it took to give them their first breath of air. Long game - I had to get those babies out. Long game - life can be very, unbearably painful, but you are the only person who can live your life. There are goals that only you can bring into the world. You have GOT to push past the pain so you can accomplish those things. No one else in the world has YOUR life - just you. Push past the crazy. Give birth to everything that your life is supposed to represent.

Another huge lesson I've learned in "hearing" "no" (I used all those quotes on purpose....wait for it) is because sometimes when we "hear" "no", someone or something else is actually "saying" "wait" or "not yet". Don't assign a hard "no" when that's not what has been offered to you. If there is something that is terribly important to you, do not be dissuaded by obstacles or struggles. Keep working towards your goal. If the desire is still burning in your belly to accomplish something or become something, do not stop until you've achieved it.

The last one is this: Don't.....get....bitter. Bitterness is the daughter of worry, so watch out for both of those. Unproductive worry leaves you frustrated, and staying frustrated with something you cannot change will make you bitter. Bitterness is a terrible thief. It does not a single thing but steal from you. Find a way to take your hands and your heart away from things you cannot control, and don't you let that weed take root. You prevent this by being honest with yourself. Arrogance has no place in struggles in life. If your attitude is wrong or your efforts to change things outside your control futile, admit that and move on.

These are hard things to implement, but they are necessary. Take them for what they are - the ramblings of a girl just barely in my 30's, but trust me. They are usable. They are true. They work.

If you are the girl

Yesterday I made a request on Facebook for suggestions for posts. My journey has been quite a battle for me, and sometimes I worry that my posts will seem redundant since I have to address my personal issues constantly. I want this to be a place of comfort and resource. That is a lofty goal, but that's what I want. I don't want it to be me just sharing the minutia of my struggles, so I asked my friends.

The request came from a friend that I have known for just shy of 20 years in regard to a friend of hers that is going through some similar struggles. I don't know the name of the friend of a friend. I don't know any of the specifics of her life except for the fact that she, like I, has to be away from her babies right now. Our mutual friend wanted to know how to ACTUALLY offer comfort to her, so she graciously enlisted my help. So here goes:

Hey you girl. I don't know your name, but this is for you. This is to provide you with a chance to rest your mind and heart and know that people love you. I don't even know you, but my heart is giving love to you. I want to address some things with you while you are experiencing the pain of not seeing your babies. I'm going to give you a list, so take what you like and throw out the rest, but know that you're obviously loved far and wide!

1. Remember what is true. When you are going through something that seems like life has ripped away from you everything that is important, you question what you could have done to change things. You question who you are as a person. You question your worth. You question what is wrong with you. Everything. You question everything. Do NOT stop asking those questions. Just be very careful about the people or sources from whom you seek answers. Make sure these are sources that guard you heart as ferociously as they guard their own. It might only be a handful of people. That's okay. Wars have been won and groundbreaking discoveries have been made with the minds of just a handful of people. If you've got at least one other heart bolstering you up, you've got plenty.

2. You're still breathing, so you have not been defeated. I know the road seems endlessly long at this point, and your energy may be gone. You may feel like your reserve is gone and the enemy has won. Nope. You're still breathing. You had at least enough fight in you to wake up this morning even if you didn't get out of bed. Embrace that. An acorn that has been smashed into the ground and is tread upon by those who forgot its existence still becomes the mighty oak. Don't lose heart in the fact that you're still the acorn.

3. GO TO THERAPY!!!! I know it's expensive, but if your appendix had ruptured, would you refuse to go the doctor because of the expense or would you say "I am not a physician with nearly a decade worth of training. I do not specialize in how to treat an internal organ. I've got to seek out someone who does." You would do the latter. In fact, you would probably travel very, very quickly to find someone who meets those qualifications. Understand this. Your emotional and mental appendix has ruptured. Every day that you let pass without the direction of someone who ALSO spent time in rigorous training, you allow your spirit to become as septic as a ruptured organ. No one expects the appendicitis patient to treat themselves. No one expects you to do that for yourself either. If the money is the issue, swallow your pride and start to seek out the friends that you know are true, and ask them for help. If you can find 4 friends who will sponsor one appointment a month, you're covered, and you're not gouging anyone for their resources.

4. Be sad. Emotions are real things. It's unfortunate to me that most people absorb the misconception that it is inappropriate to share the burdens of our hearts, but that is what most often happens. So not only do we bear our burdens alone, we also beat ourselves up when we experience painful emotions. Okay that is weird! To once again compare things to physical injuries, if someone reveals a physical wound, they can tell you that a very common question is "Does that HURT?". People expect that physical wounds hurt. Well guess what, sugar butt. People expect your emotional wounds to hurt too. No one thinks ill of you for being in pain for the tragedy you're experiencing, so if you feel sad, be sad. You're not crazy.

Also:
5. Feeling pain or being overwhelmed by your pain does not make you weak. This does not indicate that you are unable or illequipped to fight more battles. I was talking with a friend last night who is in pain, and they said to me (about feeling so much pain) "I hate it. I thought I was stronger." I reminded this friend that the inability to feel pain is not an indicator of strength. It is a very STRONG indicator that someone is actually.....dead. Don't let that pain make you feel like you're weak. Let it remind you that you are ALIVE!!!! Because, my love, as deeply as you're feeling this pain, there will come a day (maybe just one at a time) that you will feel happiness in an even greater way! I PROMISE that!

6. Know that this will NOT last forever. Be careful about living life to get specific results because you will often be disappointed, but do not stop dreaming. Many times I have had to remind myself that I could NOT change circumstances, and I could NOT change someone else's behavior. I COULD, however, do everything within my power to show love to my children. I have not been able to be around them for months now, but that has not stopped me from finding ways to show them love. Phone calls, boxes for their birthdays, prayers for them, unconditional love even when they're naughty. These things I can control, and when your heart is to just show love, it translates...every....single.....time. Love goes a long long way, and it lasts way longer than vengeance. The day will come when life settles down. If you show that as strongly and truly as you can, you may not get results as quickly as you would like, but they absolutely will come, and they will be solid. Love speaks so terribly loudly to your babies. Speak it, and they will hear it. That is another thing I can promise with confidence. If the other parent also offers them true love, then your kids are going to get it from both sides. If that prospect is doubtful, then they'll get it from you, and you are giving them a place of safety. You will be giving them advantage greater than a lot of kids that are even in two parent homes.

7. Don't forget to breathe. When life gets to be too much, just start there. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Seriously, when we're upset, that's one of the first things affected. So breathe. Once you've got control over your breathing, THEN work on standing. Once standing makes sense, take ONE step. Just one. When that feels comfortable, take another one. After a few steps, you'll be able to look back and see how far you've gone. Use this literally (because some days, that's what it takes) and figuratively.

8. Live in their world. I was not from a broken home. My parents married each other when they were 19, and their devotion to each other was palpable. Their marriage ended when my dad died after 27 years of marriage to each other. When I found myself forced to give my children a life history of being from a "broken home", I felt lost. So I started asking a lot of questions. I had no idea how to meet the needs of kids in that situation, so if I found out that someone I knew (adults) has been through the divorce of their parents, I asked them about what they wish had gone differently or what they wished they would have heard or gotten through the process of growing up outside of conventional family structure. Do this. Grown ups that are past the initial experience would love nothing more than to offer help to someone that represents the younger "them".

I also try to remember that this was not their choice. My 3 little people did not ask to be born. Their dad and I made that decision. They also did not ask to have parents whose relationship was dysfunctional, and they absolutely did not ask for their home to be broken. Those were decisions made by adults whose divine obligation is to offer them the very things that were taken away. These kids DESERVED a whole, stable, conflict free home, and that's not what they got. There were a LOT of uncontrollables for me surrounding the circumstances of the demise of quintessential, healthy family life, but they were still robbed. The credit for that robbery is actually unimportant to me now, because, after I have spent the past 2 years of my life doing things this way, I see way more advantages, and I am so glad I was given enough insight from grown children of divorce before mine actually occurred to at least start out right.

9. Capitalize, capitalize, capitalize. You have been robbed too, and that is unavoidably obvious, but life did not stop. There is still beauty that you can find in each day. That has been my hardest task but the most rewarding. You're not with your kids, and you have nothing to do? Find yourself again. Find that girl who had hobbies that made her happy. She's in there. Go find her. Go take a walk and breathe in really deep. Find a place that needs nurturers. The moment your children begin to grow in your belly (or at some point thereafter) the instinct to nurture sprouts and does nothing but grow with time. If  you do not have the ability to nurture, something feels very off. Find somewhere to nurture. Go hold babies at the hospital (yes this is still a need). Go volunteer at an animal shelter. Hold all the little babies and comfort the elderly animals that just want to nuzzle someone. Nurture someone or something. You're still able.

10. Do not let anyone place limits on you. You are not defined by your circumstances. You are nothing at this point but burgeoning potential. If someone tells you no when you want the answer to be yes for a dream of your heart, ignore them until you find someone who will believe in you. That person is out there.

Dear love, may these words help you in your journey. May your tears not feel wasted, and may your heart not cease to burst with growth....one step at a time.

Dear mutual friend of ours, ask questions. Be assertive with your comfort. The heart in need will not even begin to know how to ask for help. Make sure her basics are covered, and then don't feel like it's taboo to ask questions about the more complex things. Your heart to love is more comfort than you will ever know. It is a shred of hope in what feels like a hopeless place.

I love you both.

What International Women's Day means to me: a letter to my son

Hey buddy,

Today is the day that we celebrate the contributions made by women in present day and all through history. Women are important! Really, without women, nobody would be born! But women have given the world a whole lot more than that. Here are some names we'll talk about over the next few years: Marie Curie, Susan B. Anthony, Rosa Parks, Florence Nightingale, Elizabeth I, Eleanor Roosevelt, Coretta Scott King, Wanda Pratt (that's Kevin Durant's mom) the Biblical Ruth, Esther, the virgin Mary and last but not least Nannie Bell Pyron Baker - that's your great grandmother.

All these ladies gave the world incredible things, and that list is super short compared to all the women that have given our world amazing things!

Let me tell you what this day is NOT supposed to do. This day is NOT supposed to make you feel like it's a bad thing that you're a boy or that you should be treated like you're the bad guy for being a boy. Boys are so important too! We gotta have boys to make people too, and there are a lot of boys that have given the world things that we just couldn't live without. Here's the sad part - for some reason, girls don't usually get as much credit as boys for what they do. Did you know that ladies that do jobs really well don't get paid as much as the men that do the exact same job even though sometimes the ladies are actually doing a better job at what they do? It's just because they're girls! Do you remember when our country was deciding who would be our President and Mommy and Daddy took you to that church so we could each vote for President? Well, if it had been this time a hundred years ago, Mommy wouldn't have been allowed to vote....just because I'm a girl. Did you know that it used to be that, if a girl wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer or even a writer like Mommy, she would be told "no" and would either have to quit or use a boy's name just so people would read what she wrote?! Yes!! All of those things are true! Did you know that sometimes schools don't work as hard to teach girls Math and Science? They work less time with the girls and more time with the boys even if the girls really, really like Science and Math - just because they're girls. Did you know that sometimes, if a girl gets hurt really bad by a boy, she's discouraged from saying anything about it?.....just because she's a girl!

Even though there have been a lot of people that have worked really hard to make things the same for boys and girls (because really we're all just people that God made to have bodies that look different and do different things), girls still get treated sometimes very badly.....just because they're girls - not because they did anything wrong or because they didn't work as hard or because they don't care. It's just because they're girls.

Here's what I would like for you to do. I would like for you to keep treating your sisters the way that you do. I watch you look out for them. I watch you hug them. I watch you play with their toys AND your toys. I watch you protect them, and I watch you laugh with them. I watch you giving them respect. KEEP DOING THAT! You are just almost 7 years old, and the way you act shows the world what a MAN is supposed to be better than a lot of grown up men. Pat yourself on the back for that. Keep looking at girls like they're people - not some weird animal. Keep asking questions about why it's hard to be a girl, but DON'T be afraid to say why it's hard to be a boy. When Mommy uses the word "feminist" to describe part of the way our family thinks, don't EVER think that means that I feel like girls are better than boys. I just want you to learn to relate to everyone based on their character - not whether they're a boy or a girl.....or have skin the same color as yours or an accent that sounds like yours or the same way of learning that you have. Character. Figure out whether or not you should be friends with someone based on the way they treat others. Look at each person as a brand new chance to have a friend. Look at each person as someone who just may change the world. Look at each person as someone that could change your life whether they're girls OR boys. Look at each person as someone that God decided should be part of this world because they're going to do things that nobody else in the world can do. Do this for every single girl that you see. I do this when I look at people. I hope you learn to do that too.

I need for you to do one thing, first, before I release you out into the world to complete these tasks. Run to a mirror. Look at that boy. Do this for him too, because, as much as I want good things for your sisters and for myself, I will never be able to deny that you have already changed the world for the better. You have already given humanity something that no one else could, and I know you'll continue to do that. Just remember this. While you're doing the world changing and the ground breaking for yourself and for boys, the girls are still going to need some extra hands to help change the stuff that is bad. We're going to need more voices in the chorus to speak more of the things that are true. We're going to need more strong hearts to show a love that is greater than the hurt of being shut out. Be that. Don't forget about that. You've got an important job to do. In a world where boys are still taught to not "throw like a girl" or "scream like a girl" or "walk like a girl", I want you to stand out and stand up because girls are people too. Don't forget we need your help. Don't forget about the girls.

Sleepless nights

It is 6:18 a.m., and I have not slept. This will be a night without any sleep at all. That's just the way it's going to be tonight, I guess. Too many thoughts swimming around my head.

I wish there was a way to make flowery prose out of the things going on up there, but honestly, this week has been pretty painful. I have spent time this week really missing my babies. I have uncovered parts of my story that were more painful than I realized - parts that I had sugar coated. I have discovered parts of myself that were downright ugly....and the ugly showed. I have found myself embracing fear more often than the pursuit of growth. I got a little stuck, really.

This is all very frustrating to me because I have worked so hard to grow past the ugly parts. I have devoted so much time and attention to figuring out just which parts of me were broken and then even greater amounts of time figuring out how to fix them only to realize that the work I had done was really incomplete. Very discouraging. Lots of feeling the sentiment of one step forward, two steps back. I have encountered many moments of hopelessness and self pity.....but then a thought struck me.

I don't get to quit. Quitting would mean that all of this would be wasted, and I.......I am just not willing to settle for that. When I have had opportunity to share my story, after I am finished, I nearly always find the listener sitting slack jawed or shaking their head. The details and the sheer volume of stories that I have to offer does provoke a little....shock. There's been a lot - not more than any other person alive and really not more than most but there really has been a lot.....and I survived. Every time a new struggle has found its way into my journey, the temptation to throw up my hands and run away screaming has definitely presented itself, but then something in my brain would just say "No. Not yet. Don't quit yet. This is not over. You are not over." There's never been a promise of convention to come. Just the knowing that I'm not supposed to quit. I am NOT supposed to give up.

I don't know what my future is going to hold. I know for a fact that there will be more pain, but I know I can't quit. Don't get me wrong. I am tired. I am tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I am tired of waiting for the next attack, and I am tired of being stuck in the middle of an existing one. I am tired of character building challenges. I am just exhausted. I remember when my oldest child was tiny praying "God, just please give me ONE normal year.....just one...then things can be hard again. I just need one year of normal." Well, that was when she was a baby, and she's about to turn 9. I'm still waiting. I don't even know what the "normal" for which I was asking even looks like anymore. That dream is so hazy now. I'm no longer even praying for "normal". This has depleted me quite a bit....but something in me always ends up thrusting my fist up through the rubble of these tragedies Weeks like these, though, leave me very tired, indeed.

Sometimes I imagine myself as an old lady looking back at the whole story of my life. I imagine myself in a place of quiet and rest and satisfaction. It feels like some sort of hopeful premonition that one day, the fighting my way though life will be over - that I will just get to enjoy and be a funny old lady that says inappropriate things and gives hugs and makes people smile. But when I have these imaginings, I am always elderly. My life on earth is always near its end. I am nowhere in the middle of my journey.

Parts of me want to celebrate that. There have been times in recent years that I have watched while God showered me with every last thing that I needed and then some. It sounds hokey if you don't know it, but I have no other way to explain it. These moments have always occurred after something terrible has happened or I have been provided rescue when there was nothing before me but impending tragedy. This inspired me to pray "Okay, God. I feel loved. I KNOW that you're paying attention to me, and I now have a way to share that love with other people. You have stretched me and grown me and given me more ways to know how to love other people. PLEASE don't ever let me find myself in a place where I am less aware of what you can do - where I can't hear your voice this well or see your hand this clearly." There have been times when I made strong, difficult decisions for myself and those around me, and that tended to bear good fruit, but there have been way more times than I can count that things have been bestowed on me for which I did not ask or seek out. They were orchestrated in the song of my story in ways that cannot be explained except by the divine. I did not do this alone.

Maybe that is why I can't quit. I got hope. I was given hope. This experience is not futile. I am actively seeking truth and growth voraciously. I have been given enough that I KNOW there can be good, and I want more. I am truly greedy for the good. Life has barely whetted my appetite for the good, and I am greedy for it now. I am in a place where, though the pain is still so so real and so so strong, I am determined to get more of the good. I know I will achieve justice. I know I will have good success. I know I will have wholeness. I have no idea when I will get any of those in their complete forms, but there is something in me that knows that they will be mine to have. I will not be satisfied until I've gotten those things.

So, hey life, bring it on. Hit me with your best shot. I'm waiting. I may not be ready for you. You will most probably knock me on my hiney, but as I feel every bit of pain from the blows you deliver, I will remember that it's only temporary. You'll stop hitting after a while. Then, I will wipe the bloody nose of my spirit, and I will dust off my knees, and I will take ONE STEP. I'm going to do that just one time, and then I'm going to concentrate on doing it again.....and again and again and again. You'll keep punching over the course of time, but, darn it, I will keep wiping away the blood, and I will keep stepping because one day....one day I'm going to get to have everything that I've ever sought. I'm claiming it. It's mine already. I'm just still on my way, but it's going to be mine. One day...I AM going to get to be that goofy old lady. One day, I'm going to be able to rest. One day, I'm going to be satisfied. One day, it's going to be mine.