One Year Later...

I've struggled finding the words for this post.  Last week was good, so I didn't know what to write, and now I'm feeling all the feels, and I still don't know what to write.  Haha.  I guess I'll just start somewhere and see how it ends up.

It's been one whole year, and yet here I am, and it seems like not much has changed.  In some ways, I feel so strong looking back and seeing all the terribly difficult things that I've experienced in the last year, but in a lot of ways, I feel weak and somewhat overwhelmed moving forward.  One whole year later, and I feel like I'm in almost the same place as I was when this started.  Still struggling on and off so much.  Still no baby #2.  Still not sure what can help my broken brain or when we'll find that miracle medicine.  Still not sure how to handle the most difficult days when they come.  Still not able to do even a portion of what I used to do.  Still spending hours in bed every week.  Still struggling to accept that things are just different now.  Still praying every day that my husband and daughter will somehow understand the deep hurt in my heart and know that I'm trying.

But as the tears well up in my eyes and my heart begins to sink in heaviness, I have to remember that I have made steps of improvement and progress.  I'm exercising regularly now.  I've learned how to simplify my life, ask for/accept help, and use my experiences to try to help others.  I've given my all to finding joy in the most difficult circumstances.  And most importantly, I've survived, even when that seemed absolutely impossible.

Through all the difficulties in the last year, I have seen countless miracles.  I've had prayers answered in the exact way I prayed.  My heart has been lifted by the wonderful family and friends I've been given.  I have been the recipient of heartfelt, thoughtful service that has reminded me time and time again that God is aware of me and loves me.  I have been able to come in contact with some of the most amazing people who have inspired me and renewed my desire to find joy in all things.  My experiences have been able to soften hearts and help others understand those who struggle with mental illness.  My testimony of the enabling power of the atonement of Jesus Christ has grown as He has strengthened me and enabled me to do more than I could on my own.  And perhaps the greatest miracle of all is that, because of the Savior, I'm okay and I'm still trying, and I'll keep trying as long as this lasts.

Last week, I had a few days of small struggle (small compared to the weeks before).  As I was laying in bed one day trying to find the motivation to get up, a thought came to my mind that has helped me to increase in faith and hope: "God's plan hasn't changed.  This is His plan."  It seems so simple, but this plain truth reminded me that it is my plan that has changed, not God's.  He knew this would happen, so He placed people and opportunities in my path as part of His perfect plan.  He knows that I can't do everything I used to do, and that's okay.  I'm living His plan.  He's the one that can help my sweet family understand and accept the changes that have come in the last year.  He's the one who knows what I need and knows how to help me.  He's the one who will give me the strength and courage to fight over and over and over again.  And ultimately, His plan will help make me into the best version of myself possible.

If you're reading this, THANK YOU for all of the support and love you've shown in this last year.  I never knew there would be any interest in the things I write, but this blog has grown so much, especially in the last few months, and I'm so thankful.  Any little bit that I can do to use my experience to bless another person means that these months of struggle are not a waste and have a purpose.  So thank you!  I've learned so much from each person who has reached out to me during this time, and I feel like I've learned from each of you what it means to truly serve someone in the way they need.

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I'm Back!

Yes, you read that right.  I'm back.  My nightmare of this last week and a half is over (at least it feels like that right now and I'm hoping it stays).  I can hardly believe it was so terrible, but it's done now, and I'm so ready to move on.  Several people have asked what happened to make everything so difficult, so I thought I'd write a little bit about that and the caution I learned I need to take.  So this is kind of redundant with things I've already written, but this is the shortened story of what happened. 

First, the counselor I was seeing thought I had a hormone imbalance that was causing my mood cycling, and if so, that would have been a very easy problem to fix.  After several weeks of her very strongly believing this was the case, she realized that it wasn't.  That was hard, because as much as I had tried not to get too excited or hopeful, I had.  I wanted all of this to be done and realizing it might be a lifelong battle after all was very hard to swallow.  But I kept moving forward.  Things had been getting better the weeks before that, especially since I had started exercising regularly, so I knew I'd just have to keep fighting and eventually conquer this beast.  At the same time, I was going to see our infertility specialist, and we were moving forward with our plan to get pregnant.  He wanted me to take clomid to increase my fertility and to help with an anatomic anomaly I have, so I did, even though I ovulate regularly on my own.  When I went to pick it up at the pharmacist, he told me a few of the common side effects-- headache, cramps, and mood swings.  I didn't think much of it at the time.  So what are a few extra mood swings?  I mean, it couldn't be any worse than normal, right?

I took the medication for 5 days as directed and then stopped taking it to prepare for the next step in our plan.  And that's when everything fell apart.  Just a couple of days after taking it, I started to feel AWFUL!  Like the most awful I've ever felt in my life.  It wasn't just the normal darkness I experience on a regular basis.  It was a very intense heaviness that weighed on my whole body and made it feel almost impossible to function at all.  I would get out of bed for a minute to do something and then go straight back to bed.  I didn't eat more than a few crackers or carrots for several days.  I cried for hours every day and didn't know how to cope with something so difficult, especially since I didn't know what was going on.  But perhaps the most difficult part of this time was the incessant, unremitting thought that I should die.  And it wasn't like the nagging thought that sometimes accompanies my depression that I've learned how to handle.  It was so strong, so pressing, and so serious. 

After a whole week of this kind of darkness, I finally told two friends and my husband about how I was feeling.  As I was talking to them, I remembered what the pharmacist had said.  Mood swings.  This was to be expected.  First, I felt a little hopeful that this had a cause and therefore would have an end.  Then, I felt a little bit angry that I had taken a medication that caused more pain than I ever knew was possible to experience, and it could have been avoided.  And finally, I felt like I needed help.  I had barely made it through a week of this, and it was getting worse, so there was no way that I could continue doing this on my own. 

I talked to my good friend and church leader about how I was feeling, and she kindly and forcefully told me what I needed to do to make sure that I would be okay until this got better.  She helped me set up people to be with for the whole week and warmly wrapped me in her arms to let me know that I was loved and would get through this! 

The next few days, I went to people's houses all day long until Kyle got home.  I was exhausted.  I was fighting for my life, and I was away from the comfort of my bed to lay down and rest all day.  I knew it was what I needed, but it was hard.  I appreciated the people willing to help and felt completely surrounded by love and kindness and support. 

The constant pain I felt seemed like too much to bear.  It physically hurt in my chest, and I would sometimes have to close my eyes just to remember to keep breathing and hold on.  I kept reminding myself that it would pass, even though it felt like one more minute of this kind of pain was impossible to handle. 

Yesterday, after laying in my bed crying for hours on end and feeling the greatest intensity I had felt yet, the darkness suddenly lifted.  I took a deep breath and felt relief.  It was gone-- all the heaviness, all the pain, all the struggle.  I wanted to get up, I wanted to live, and I wanted to try to be okay again.  I had made it through what would hopefully be the hardest battle I'll ever have to fight.  I did it, of course with the help of some amazing people who I have been so blessed to know. 

I still can't believe taking a medication could cause so much heartache and pain, but I have learned the hard way that I need to check the possible side effects on any medication every time and stick up for myself when it seems that something might not be a good match for what I am already facing.  It's my job to be proactive and to make sure that I am doing my part to keep myself safe and healthy. 


That We Might Help: Rhonda's Insights

To read Rhonda's story about finding joy through breast cancer, go HERE.

I’m so honored to be asked to contribute to the “That We Might Help” project. I believe that the majority of people who hear of a friend or loved one diagnosed with an illness such as cancer want to help. They may not know how or what things are helpful or unhelpful so I was asked to shed some light on that to make others more aware.

I have an aggressive form of breast cancer and have been through six months of vigorous chemotherapies and several surgeries with more surgeries to come in the next few months now that I’ve completed chemo. I hope that my words will be taken as gentle advice on how to possibly help or support someone going through a cancer diagnosis/treatment, rather than a chastisement if you have done or said things differently than what I might suggest. Any support is good support and we’ve all said things before that later we realize might not have been the best. Certainly, I’ve been told things that may have been insensitive but I do not hold it against a person when I feel their love and care. It’s always a good thing to hear a different perspective though, so we can learn and perhaps be more prepared to be the very best support possible.

The initial diagnosis period happens to be one of the worst nightmares into which a person could be thrown. There is so much testing and waiting, more testing, more waiting. The whole time period from learning I had cancer to the time when I had surgery and a pathological confirmation of my stage and treatment plan was about five weeks. That is a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of time spent trying to comfort my children when I didn’t really know what the future might hold, and many days and hours spent at appointments. It was a full-time job and then some. Had I not had an enormous amount of support I just don’t know how I would’ve managed the mental aspect of it. I had cards, flowers, thoughtful little gifts people brought by with a hug or sent in the mail, and many messages of support. Those things are what helped me get through that dark and scary time feeling supported and loved rather than just focusing on my fears. I can’t stress enough how those things made me feel blessed and buoyed up while I waited and waited some more.

Once the surgeries and treatments start is when the person diagnosed has to gear up for the fight. The fear is just out of this world and I can’t possibly convey it with words. The following are some tips that might be useful if you are wondering what specifically you can do to help:
  • Continue to send messages of support and love.
  • If the person diagnosed expresses fears of death, please do not discount it. Don’t tell them that they will be fine. You don’t know. Nobody knows. Cancer doesn’t care if you’re the strongest fighter or are the most positive person in the world. It can take the best, most determined person and completely ravage them. Instead of trying to downplay the seriousness of what they are facing, offer a hug, listen to them, ask what you can do to help alleviate some stress. I think it is human nature to want to comfort, but we need to be careful that we are honest in our comfort and that we don’t casually dismiss very real possibilities.
  • Most of us that have chemotherapy in our treatment plan will lose our hair. It’s quite easy for people who have their hair, and have no threat of losing it, to say, “It’s only hair. It will grow back.” While that is true for the majority of people (some chemo can and does cause permanent hair loss) it is not comforting. It can feel like it is being downplayed, and I promise you it’s not *just* a hair thing. It’s about so much more than hair. Our physical identity is stripped away bit by bit. First our hair, then our eyelashes, and eyebrows. It’s as if everything that distinguishes us slowly fades away. We turn into an unrecognizable image. Literally, sometimes people don’t recognize us, and we don’t recognize our own reflection in the mirror. We lose our privacy. We walk into a room, and our medical condition is announced long before anyone even knows our name. We get stares, we get averted eyes, and we get unsolicited comments. Instead of acting as if losing our hair doesn’t matter, offer to go wig shopping with them if they are interested in that. Ask if you can buy them a few head scarves. Omit those belittling words and create a positive action instead of devaluing something that is a very big deal. My sweet cousins sent me a gift certificate to a wig shop so I could pick something out that I wanted. It was a beautiful and thoughtful gift and having a wig gave me a feeling of security. I had the option of “blending in” when going in public if I chose to wear it. A sweet friend had me pick out several scarves/hats online, and she paid the bill. Another dear friend came over to cut my long hair very short just before it was to fall out. It was a kind and precious thing to do so I wouldn’t have to have to go through that difficult thing in a public salon. It also gave me a few days of adjustment time before it completely fell out. It turned such a sad experience into something lighthearted and fun. I felt incredibly blessed my friend would think to offer that for me. My new short hairdo was so cute and that transition so helpful that I didn’t even cry about the hair loss until many weeks later when my eyelashes were gone too. At that point, I no longer looked like me. I looked like a dying cancer patient. That was the worst week of my whole cancer journey and that includes the double mastectomy, being very sick, weak, and being in great pain. Please understand it’s not “just hair”.
  • Try not to place any extra or unneeded responsibilities on the cancer patient. Even something as simple as telling them to be positive can feel like a weight on them, an extra “job” so to speak. Instead, if they are feeling downtrodden ask what *you* can do to help them feel more positive or happy. Ask if going out to lunch will lift their spirits, or if having a night out could help but try not to give them added pressure. Their minds are already weighed down, their shoulders already carrying a heavy burden. Lighten it as best you can; try not to add to it.
  • Prayers offered are so welcomed and appreciated. If it’s in your power to do so, definitely offer them… and then get off your knees and take them a meal, do their dishes, offer rides for them to their appointments, and then continue to offer as time goes on. Ask the Almighty to buoy them up and then, as His servant, do something physical to help alleviate their daily stress. The fatigue and exhaustion from chemotherapy is one I have never known. You might think a meal is nothing, but I assure you that it’s huge. It’s needed. If you don’t cook, drop by gift card to a local food place, a frozen lasagna, a fruit or veggie tray, anything that doesn’t require a ton of preparation that the family can eat when they’ve had a long day. Don’t assume their church or friends or family are bringing food. Take action yourself. Yours might be the only help offered. One of our friends has brought us a batch of homemade refried beans every single week for months. Some weeks it was the only hot thing my kids had eaten for days. The appreciation for something like this is immense.
  • Instead of telling them “let me know if you need anything”, ask specifics. Unless the person is already known to call on you when they are in need, they probably won’t call on you now. It’s so very hard to ask for help. Chemo does a number on a person, and there have been times people have asked if they can do anything and my mind goes blank. Then I’ve gotten off the phone and realized we had no groceries, I hadn’t picked up my medications from the pharmacy, and the kids were eating cereal for dinner. Again. It’s not your fault; their brain is on overtime and not functioning well on the spot (it’s referred to as “chemo brain”), but it does help to specifically ask, “Can I go to the store for you?”, “Can I bring some dinner tonight?”, “Do the kids need a ride?”
  • Specific to breast cancer…if you know someone is getting a mastectomy, I beg of you to not say how lucky they are to be getting a “free boob job”. It is not free by any means, and it is not anything close to an elective breast augmentation surgery, not in recovery and not in results. It’s not even in the same ball park. Reconstruction is the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, and it is ongoing for months and even years for some women. YEARS. It’s like equating a hangnail with a gunshot wound. Please don’t do it. A simple, “I’m so sorry you have to go through this.” is enough and is most appreciated.
  • Silver linings are in every experience we can imagine and how grateful I am that even during these past several months of hardship I’ve experienced many them. Although, I do feel like it’s a great idea to let the person with the illness find their own bright spots. Pointing out how they are going to save money on shampoo if they are bald is no silver lining. It’s no comfort. We would much prefer shelling out the few bucks on shampoo and keep our beautiful hair. There is no silver lining in the pain, physical or emotional, that we as cancer patients go through. The silver linings are meeting people who help us along our journey, having friends and family show they care, and being treated at a top-notch medical facility amongst others.
Again, I hope these tips can be helpful should you ever have a friend or loved one diagnosed with cancer. I wish that I had read something like this before, so I could have been a better support to my friends and family, but you just don’t know what you haven’t experienced. Last but not least, just don’t ghost on them. Be there in the ways you are able and provide emotional support however you can or feel is best. I know your efforts, great or small, will be accepted in the spirit intended.


Gratitude in Deep Pain

I never knew it was possible for a heart to feel so much pain and keep beating.  The amount of emotional pain I feel at this time is beyond anything I knew possible, and I feel completely incapable of knowing how to handle and endure such heartache.  The uncomfortable truth is that I'm needing to spend the week constantly with others to keep myself safe.  Apparently clomid and bipolar are a nasty mix, so I'm still struggling as much, if not more, than last week.

Today, a dear friend gave a talk in sacrament meeting about gratitude.  As I laid my head on Kyle's shoulder and listened, my heart was breaking more and more every second.  I didn't know how I could endure any more, let alone find gratitude. But then she read this quote:

My heart wanted to believe that I am excused from finding gratitude right now.  I mean, surely spending every moment trying to survive this incomprehensible pain is a good enough reason to not have to be thankful in this circumstance.  But I knew better than to believe my sorrowful heart.  Surely, I need gratitude more now than ever before as I fight for my life every moment.

So after trying to justify to myself my lack of gratitude in my current situation, I decided to change my heart and open my eyes to the many blessings all around me, even through this incredibly difficult time.

I felt so thankful for my sweet friend who stayed outside the temple with me, when I went on the Relief Society temple trip and didn't realize my recommend was expired until I got to the gates of the temple.  I can't imagine how I would have handled being alone for two hours in Nauvoo in my current condition, and this friend willingly sacrificed her uplifting temple experience to be with me.

I felt overwhelming gratitude for my wonderful friend who has both listened and born my pain with me this weekend and is helping me set up people to be with me this week.  Her ability to love and care and serve is inspiring.

I felt thankful for the people who took over my assignments at church today, because I just knew that my broken brain couldn't handle anything more than breathing and surviving for 3 hours.

I felt gratitude for the many people who have reached out in love and concern the last few days.  I wish more than anything that this didn't have to be real, but to know that I'm not alone through this nightmare is enough to bring me to tears.

I felt thankful for my husband and another man who gave me a blessing of peace, comfort, and eventual healing.  The promises spoken to me from God through these worthy men gave me strength and hope.

I felt overflowing gratitude for the Savior, who willingly suffered a pain that transcends anything I can comprehend, all so He can sit with me in my dark Gethsemane right now.

I could go on and on.  I never would have thought to look for gratitude at this time without the humble and inspiring talk given by one of the most beautiful people I know.  This week will most likely stretch my soul and cause great growing pains, but I am on a quest to find things to be thankful for as I continue to battle and win this fight.


Finding Joy in Hopeless Darkness

This week has been quite possibly the most difficult week I've ever experienced.  This morning, I felt the gentle nudge to think back on my week and find joy in it, since joy was the farthest thing from my mind in the middle of my raging storm.  I couldn't help but cry as I recognized the tender mercies and blessings from a week of pervasive darkness. 

  • A couple of friends planned fun Halloween play dates.  I was so thankful because this 1) gave me something to do with people outside of my house and 2) I just can't do all of it right now-- the planning, preparing, inviting, etc.  I can't even do fun things with just Brooklyn, let alone other people if I'm in charge.  I am surviving, trying to stay afloat, and feeling like I'm drowning most days.  So I'm thankful for friends who plan fun things to allow Brooklyn to enjoy the holidays while I am not doing well and can't do everything I would normally want to do with her.
  • I got to meet up with my fifth grade teacher and spend an evening with her.  It was the perfect timing, since that day had been indescribably difficult.  She brightened my day and my week.  
  • I still made it to the gym every day.  This is basically a miracle, because I felt like I could hardly do anything or even get and stay out of bed.  But I worked out anyway, even with my 100 extra pounds of depression weighing on my body.
  • I started listening to Christmas music.  This is a little bit early, even for me, but I needed something to bring flickers of light and joy into my day, so I did it anyway.  One day, I was really struggling.  As I listened, I started crying thinking about the Savior and everything He experienced, and how the little baby we celebrate at Christmas would eventually grow up to become the only person who truly understands the depth of darkness and pain I know all too well now.  I'm so thankful Christmas is coming and that this darkness has brought me to feel even more appreciation and love for the Light of the World.
  • Tomorrow I get to go to the Nauvoo temple with some women at my church.  Originally, I wasn't going to get to do this, because I had some family photos to take, but it will be stormy, so the pictures are rescheduled, and I can go now.  This morning, a sweet friend sent me an article about the joy that we can find in going to the temple.  It really touched my heart and gave me the strength to know that my experiences tomorrow will bring me the joy I need to keep going, keep fighting, and keep overcoming this terrible monster.
  • Ok, it's time to be honest and get to the deeper stuff.  I don't want to share this, and I don't want to be honest with how much I have struggled, but I do want to share the miracles and blessings that accompanied such struggle, so I will write.  Please know that things are getting better now, and I'm no longer in the dark place I was the first 4 days of this week.  Oh where do I start explaining?!  Well, for the first time since June, I wanted to die.  I really wanted everything to be done.  I thought about it constantly, and I even dreamed about it.  I got so frustrated in my dreams that what I was trying to do wasn't working; somehow I kept surviving.  I thought about possible ways to die and considered what would be the most effective and involve the least amount of pain for me.  I thought about it obsessively and couldn't get it out of my mind.  I didn't tell anyone and didn't want to tell anyone, because then they might try to make me change my mind, and everyone was too busy for me anyway (not true, but it's what I thought at the time).  I spent hours every day laying in bed, not sleeping, but paralyzed with the heavy weight of depression.  I cried for hours and continued thinking the terrible thoughts I had been thinking.  And with this awful dose of my reality this week, I want to share the good side, the life-saving blessings I received when there seemed to be very little hope:
  1. A friend sent me a video she had seen on facebook.  The timing could not have been better as it came at a critical time.  The video was about a man who jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge and survived.  One phrase in the video really touched me.  After he jumped, he said he felt "instant regret."  That phrase brought me back to real life for a minute.  It really struck me that if I did something permanent, I would instantly regret it, but it would be too late.  I couldn't let myself have that kind of regret or guilt.  I had to hold on to anything possible to weather this storm.  I couldn't give in or give up!  I just couldn't.
  2. Heavenly Father blessed me to think through things more logically than ever before as my mind was spiraling down into complete darkness.  He helped me think of reasons why I shouldn't do every single idea I had, which I believe saved me.  
  3. Heavenly Father also brought to remembrance times when I had wanted to die before and then later had felt so much relief and gratitude that I held on when things got better.  It gave me the hope to know that time would come again, and my heart would eventually be okay.
  4. Last night, I was driving home, and for the first time all week, I remembered that it is wrong to take my own life.  This was the first time I had remembered that all week.  As scary as it is to think of now, it had seemed like it was alright, like it wouldn't have mattered at all.  Having the Spirit remind me of that simple truth allowed me to feel more grounded, more safe, and more certain that I would keep holding on.  I wouldn't let the darkness win.
  5. Today I had lunch with Kyle, because we didn't have time to make him a lunch before he had to leave for work.  It was perfect, because I had eaten hardly anything in 2 days, but I still didn't know if I would have the strength to make anything for myself (I can always do it for Brooklyn, just not for myself).  I know the lack of calories contributes to my depression, but I don't know how to manage eating when I feel so awful.  It's something I constantly battle when I am depressed.
  6. Brooklyn was so flexible with me needing to spend hours in bed each day while she watched movies, played, or read books.  She is an angel!  She also napped longer on all of the worst days, which allowed me to lay down without feeling so much guilt about not being able to do more.
  7. Three friends in particular listened to me tell them about my difficulties when things started to get better, and they filled me with all the love and support I need.  They also helped me to make a better plan for what to do next time this depth of darkness occurs.  I am so blessed with people who truly "mourn with those who mourn" and "comfort those who stand in need of comfort."  

I firmly know that God is aware of me and placed certain people in my life for a very specific reason.  I have witnessed that this week when all hope seemed lost.  Now I know that all hope is never lost.  


That We Might Have Joy: Kelsey's Story

I want to share with you a part of my life that's very personal.  I've read stories from sweet friends and know that they can be helpful to many other women, but mostly, I think this will help me to heal and help me to make sense of these past couple days that I haven't effectively been able to mourn through.

Friday started just like any other day-- playing with Lucy, doing chores around the house, making sure her needs are met.  I was suddenly met with the most intense surge of pain that I've ever felt pulsing through my abdomen.  I've always been a really healthy person-- perfect first pregnancy, no broken bones ever, never a concern for my personal health.  As soon as I felt this pain and realized I was home alone with Lucy, I felt hopeless.  I didn't want to be ridiculous and go to the hospital if I didn't need to, and there was no way I could make it to the car with her.  Then, I had a panic attack.  I started sweating profusely, my breathing increased rapidly, and my hands seized up, and I couldn't move them from the new misshapen form they had taken on.  I knew it was time to call Steve.

Steve had been out that day working with his father, and their last client had cancelled their appointment, so he was already on his way home and was there for me in just a few minutes, but those moments felt like forever.  Lucy was crawling on my lap trying to figure out what was wrong with me and started crying when I couldn't hold her.  I'm so grateful that my father-in-law was there.  He stayed with Lucy, so Steve could take me to a nearby urgent care facility.

We arrived at the urgent care and were admitted quickly.  One of the first questions they asked-- are you pregnant?  Well, a little known fact by many, Steve and I have been trying to have another baby for the past 7 months with no luck.  I used to think that if you could have one baby so easily that somehow meant the trend would continue and we'd have no problem having another whenever we wanted another.  I've since learned that the female body is so amazingly complicated and that every birth is simply a miracle, be it a perfect pregnancy or a perfectly painful one.

So back to the question.  I had told the doctor we were trying but having trouble so that I didn't think I could be.  Turns out, I was pregnant.  They ran some blood work and found out I was very early in the pregnancy, only about 3 weeks, but the pain I was having was concerning.  It could be completely unrelated to the pregnancy or the pregnancy could be the cause.  I had several tests and ultrasounds done, and it was found that something (blood) was pooling in the left ovary.  We were praying that, because the baby was so new and so small, it could have been a cyst or something that had ruptured and was causing blood to enter into my stomach.  I wanted this baby so badly, but I knew I couldn't let myself hope just quite yet.

I was then transferred via ambulance to a different hospital with gynecologist specialists that had better equipment for tests that could give us more answers.  By this time, I was tested more, and the testing lasted from 3pm to 11:30pm at night.  More and more ultra sounds, pelvic exams, everything that women have to, but don't love to, endure.

A doctor came into the room.  I was hopeful at this point.  It could have been my exhaustion, but I felt at peace.  It was the only news I didn't want to hear.  It was an ectopic pregnancy.  Instantly, my heart sank, the tears came, but the relief I longed for to cry and mourn could not come due to the severe pain that I was still overcome with.  My sadness was silent, and my heart was broken, as I looked over at my sweet husband who was in just as much pain as I was over the news.

For those who don't know, an ectopic pregnancy is when the baby is growing in the wrong place.  The place where they normally take up residency in an ectopic is in the fallopian tubes which causes severe risk for the mother to bleed out, go into shock, and die.  I knew at that moment that, even if I came out of everything okay, my baby that I longed for would not be saved.

I was prepped for surgery.  None of my ultrasounds showed where the baby was, so I was put to sleep with breathing tubes and all of the works.  I had two amazing female surgeons that I put all of my faith into.  Being surrounded by these strong females who would be responsible for my life gave me comfort.  I knew that I was going to be okay.  Their dedication, love, and care can never be equaled in my lifetime.  After I was asleep, a small incision was made in my stomach and a camera was placed inside to look around for the baby.  Once they found it, they would proceed with the surgery to remove the pregnancy.
In most common cases, a small incision can be made in the fallopian tube and the pregnancy can be removed, or a portion of the tube is removed along with the pregnancy.  In rare cases, the baby grows on the ovary which is even less favorable, and the ovary will need to be removed.  I was prepared to know all of the possible outcomes as well as the possibility of a blood transfusion.
An hour and a half later, I woke up having lost both my sweet baby and, to my surprise, my ovary, and in their words "a bottle of wine full" of blood.  I desperately tried to work my way out of my anesthesia which was just about impossible when mixed with my complete exhaustion at 4am, and was amazingly allowed to go home that same night.  I fell asleep right away and tried to let my 3 small incisions heal along with my mind.
This mourning process has been hard for me.  I feel like I robbed myself of the chance to get through all of the many emotions stuck inside of me due to my need to stay logical in these situations.  The only way I can make it through hard times is for me to think about the facts and to accept them.  I thought at the end of this, after giving myself time to think it through, I would be bitter and angry and hurt.  My faith would be struggling more than it already was with the many unanswered questions that plagued me.   Somehow this was not the case.
I felt blessed.  My husband was able to be by my side almost instantly and found me and held me and got me to the ER.  My husband's mom and dad stayed with Lucy till 5am and loved her and took care of her and made sure she was happy and in bed.  My parents and nana stayed up very late praying for me and sending me love all through the night.  My doctors were the very best, and even though I lost a considerable amount of blood, I didn't need a transfusion and was able to go home to heal in my own home.  I am alive.   I remind myself that I belong to this community of women who struggle and cry and mourn for children they have never met.  My pain is not my own.  It is shared by my husband, my sisters, my friends, and a Savior who loves me and guides me through my pain and pulls me out of the dark.
My recovery will be quick, I still have another ovary, I'll be able to someday be pregnant again, and I am lucky, and not just lucky, but blessed.

The most apparent way that I have found joy through this challenge had been the way that it has allowed me to connect with and be empathetic to other women's similar struggles.  I was paired up with a woman right after I moved to Colorado Springs to visit teach with.  I later found out that she had lost a sweet baby and felt just as alone as I did.  We were able to become quick friends, and I was able to see my suffering through a different lens.



If I had to describe my last few days in one word, that word would be "angry."  Seriously I have been so angry and irritable about everything.  I haven't wanted to see anyone or go to anything.  I've felt irrationally angry at people and things and everything in general with almost no reason.  Clearly, I have not been a fun person to be around, because of how grumpy I've been feeling.

This morning, I wondered why I have felt so angry, why I can hardly handle anything without reacting in anger, and why I have been feeling so upset with normal situations.

Then, I remembered something.  Sitting in counseling on Wednesday, after confirming that this is most likely bipolar disorder and not a hormone imbalance, the counselor said, "You will probably feel angry.  It's okay.  Expect it.  You thought there was a light at the end of your dark tunnel, and now there's not.  You thought things would be improving so quickly and easily, and now they won't.  Let yourself feel angry for a little while, let the anger run its course, and then pick yourself back up and move forward."

After remembering these wise words, I decided that today I can feel it all without restraint.  I won't try to feel anything different than what I naturally feel at this time, and then tomorrow I will get back up and move forward.  I'll take a deep breath, find reasons to smile again, and resolve to be brave, thankful, and joyful once more.

So what do I feel today while I am allowing myself to feel it all?

  • I feel sad.  I really want to be happy again.  I want to feel the excitement of having a baby whenever that happens.  I want to feel the normal emotions that I used to feel that almost all seem to be masked by sadness and pain now.  I want to have everything that I thought I would have again, everything that feels like it was ripped away from me as quickly as I thought it would be coming back.  
  • I feel frustration.  I had so much hope that this would be better in the near future, and that soon, no one would remember this year of darkness.  I felt so much excitement that I could someday put all of this behind me and move on-- refined, changed, made better, and ready to use these experiences to reach out to others.
  • I feel angry at myself that everything I say or do right now feels so dumb.  I feel like if I was better, then I wouldn't feel this way, because I would be the real me again.
  • I feel discouraged.  This is going to take a long, long time to improve.  It already feels like it has been so long, and now there is no end in sight, since I can't start on any medications while trying to have a baby.
  • I feel wounded, and I feel like I need so much love right now.  Thank goodness I have such a good husband, daughter, and friends who are making sure I feel the love I need at this time.
In the end, I know I will be okay, but right now, I'm not, and that's also okay.  It's okay to feel all of these emotions as I try to process what this confirmed diagnosis means for my present and my future.  It might take a long time before there is any kind of overall improvement, but I will not let that keep me from trying and succeeding at finding joy every day (starting tomorrow of course :) )


Joy, Miracles, Joy

Today I received the unfortunate news that this does not appear to be a hormone imbalance and is most likely bipolar disorder.  I thought I would be so sad, frustrated, overwhelmed, or afraid if this was the case, but I'm not.  I feel peace and hope.  I think part of this peace is due to the fact that I'm in a high mood right now, but another larger part is because of the wonderful weekend I just experienced.

This last weekend, I got to listen to General Conference-- 10 hours of inspired, uplifting messages from today's living apostles and prophets.  While I listened, I paid special attention and counted the number of times I heard the word "joy."  By the end, I was amazed to have heard "joy" spoken 62 times (not including the songs and prayers that also said "joy" several more times).  Every time I heard that word, my heart was lifted, and I felt a gentle confirmation that God is supporting me and helping me in my quest to find joy in all things.

Two talks, in particular, really touched my heart.  The first was a talk given by Jean Bingham entitled "That Your Joy Might Be Full" about our ability to find joy through the Savior no matter what is happening in our lives.  The second was given right after by Donald Hallstrom and was called "Has the Day of Miracles Ceased?"  This talk focused on the fact that, even though miracles are real and are all around us, sometimes these miracles include not being healed from our pain and having the faith that what we are experiencing fits into God's perfect plan.

As I have reflected on these two beautiful talks, I have felt true joy and peace, and I know that everything is going to work out perfectly according to what God knows is best for me.  While some of the past thoughts and feelings are returning knowing that this is not going to be resolved quickly, I also know that I am not alone.  Not only do I have my Heavenly Father and Savior near me, but I have a whole army of friends that I have met in this last year who have shown me that it truly is possible to find joy no matter the circumstances.  I believe some kind of miracle will come, whether that be in the form of a medication that will work for me, divine strength to make it through the most difficult times, or the ability to help others through my experiences.  I know there will continue to be miracles throughout this journey.  I just have to have the eyes to see them.