Waiting for Surgery

My husband is going to have a muscle flap surgery the day after tomorrow.

This comes after eight months of trying to heal a large wound left on his chest after debridement of infected tissue was necessary back in September.

We have talked, debated, hemmed and hawed ad nauseam over this surgery. At first we worried it was too invasive, with a lot of blood loss possible, and that Mark's body maybe couldn't handle it. Then Mark said he was having a bad feeling about it, which was unusual, because he usually says "do whatcha gotta do" to whatever the doctors say.

So we decided to stay the course with wound VAC therapy, which has included home health visits twice a week and wound care clinic visits once a week.

For eight months.

I'm Still Lucky

I read some awful news on Facebook yesterday.

A blogger friend's wife passed away. I knew she had been diagnosed with breast cancer some time back, but I had apparently not kept up with how she was doing...

But that's not my point. It floored me, of course because of the loss, but also because fuck yeah, that does happen. People do lose their best friend and significant other. All the time, in fact.

And there is a very real possibility that it will happen to me.

A Post About Puke

I hate vomiting.

I don't think anybody likes it, but I have been known to feel so strongly against throwing up -- and try with all my might not to -- that when I finally do, I also pass out. And cry.

Then fall against the bathroom door so my husband can't get in to check on me.

You see, before I met Mark, I wasn't around people who had serious health problems. In my mind, if you needed to expel the contents of your stomach back out through whence they entered, you were really sick.

And probably dying.

My Anxiety

For me, anxiety manifests in mainly two ways:

1. All the terrible, awful, scary things that can happen flash in my head.
2. I become Chicken Little crying, "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!"

Social Butterfly

A party.

What if I don’t know anyone?

A social spouse fuels my insecurities.

The View From Here: I am String Cheese

 This week is, honestly, one of those weeks when I am very happy I have a guest blogger

to fall back on for some quality content! If you have liked the Dancing in the Rain Facebook page,

you may have seen my posts all about my husband's double surgery on Tuesday.

Between that, my kids and so many logistical things to take care of,

I have not had any time or energy to write.

 So, today's View is from The Sarcasm Goddess of For the Love of Writing.

Her online persona is usually one of humor. She can be very funny indeed.

But today you will see her serious side. Her vulnerable yet brave side.

She asked me if I thought it was too depressing. It's so not depressing.

I am honored that she feels safe enough to share this side of herself here.

__________

I am String Cheese

I am string cheese. With each pull, a layer of me is peeled away. I have left strings in the bed and in the shower. I have left strings in the closet, my hands trembling as they skim the hangers. Which clothes will conceal the strings of me that remain, the ones that, in time, will be pulled away until there is nothing left of me?

A New Product for Stress & Anxiety Relief

I am writing this post on behalf on 1Hour Break to help them spread the word about their Indiegogo campaign launch and open up the discussion on stress and anxiety. All opinions expressed are my own.

Did you know:

• Stress is linked to the top five causes of death in the United States. 
• 95 million Americans suffer from stress-related illnesses every week.
• 1/4 of all women in the US suffer from anxiety disorders.
• Stress and anxiety sufferers often self-medicate with pills, alcohol, cigarettes and food.

I have a lot of stress in my life and I suffer from anxiety because of it. I talk about it here all the time.

My doctor prescribes a low dose medication and it works to smooth out the rough edges. It helps me not be too wound up or easily agitated, and helps me to not go from zero to panicked when something stressful comes up.

I still fully feel all of my emotions. I still cry easily. I am not "switched off" like some anti-anxiety medications or anti-depressants can make you feel.

I like that my medication hasn't turned me into a robot, but I don't like sometimes still feeling the racing heart and churning stomach when something stressful hits me. I don't like losing sleep or not being able to catch my breath.

I know that those things mean my body is having a reaction to a stressful situation, usually something related to my husband's health problems, and it might be hurting my body.

So when I heard about 1Hour Break I was immediately intrigued.

• First all natural oral spray that relieves stress & anxiety.
• Made from Kava Kava root, widely known in Hawaii for its stress-relieving properties.
• Made more effective by adding three herbs that help with relaxation; Lobelia, Passion Flower, and Lemon Balm.

Check out this awesome infographic:

I haven't tried it yet, but I'm looking to get more info (and hopefully win a bottle!) during their Indiegogo campaign launch Twitter party on Tuesday, March 24, 2014 from 6-7:30 PM (PST).

Because if an herbal remedy can help me quell the unhealthy moments of panic I sometimes feel, that would be pretty great.

The makers of 1Hour Break are launching an Indiegogo campaign to raise money for manufacturing and bottling costs without getting big investors involved. The goal of the Twitter party to help open up the discussion on anxiety and give away great prizes!

RSVP for the Twitter party HERE!

Will I see you there?

Years of Friendship

26 years of friendship.

Well, to be completely honest, there was one year that we didn't speak (because of a stupid boy), so maybe we can only claim 25 years of friendship.

But not just 25. Technically, we met in 7th grade (1986), but remained mostly acquantances until 9th grade (1988).

Regardless, I've known her for more than half my life. She is the closest thing I have to a sister.

My best friend shares my name, where we graduated high school, divorced and remarried parents, sticky family dynamics, weddings, babies, long distances and now even blogging.

She calls me Jenni and I now refer to her as JHo. "Jenni" is left over from high school when I let everyone call me that, and "JHo" (since she married Joe) is a play on JLo. Also extra funny because "Ho".

The BANGS!

Over the years we have danced at prom and each other's weddings. JHo is partially responsible for Mark and I finally getting engaged (nudge, nudge) and she was instrumental in planning my wedding. We are both mothers to one girl and one boy. She is Godmother to both my kids, and I am an honorary Godmom to her son. She is ten times better at the Godmother thing than I am. She is "Auntie Jen" to my kids.

JHo says some of her favorite memories include:

• Number one would have to be the notes we passed daily! I guess I can think about the days since high school…
• Or maybe the day you called me to tell me you had just given birth to a baby girl : “I am woman – hear me roar!”
• Hearing your giggle as I toasted your marriage at your wedding (a la Princess Bride).
• Oh! Your bridal shower!

I too loved our note passing, especially because JHo drew these awesome little comic strips illustrating what we were dishing about at the bottom. I absolutely LOVED her "wild, wild west" themed wedding and was beyond honored to be her MOH and Camryn a flower girl.

She HANDMADE all the dresses!

My most recent favorite memory was when we hooked up while I was visiting my mom in Lake Tahoe. Loved that our kids got to play together!

Most of our relationship has been a long-distance one, so we do each have our local besties too, but she has proven to be one of the Constants in my life. Distance be damned!

__________

This year, as we both turn 40, we are looking forward to commemorating this milestone together on a little cruise between LA and Ensenada in early March. I've never ever been on a cruise before, so I'm so EXCITED!

(Maybe you've noticed the PayPal "Donate" button I put up there in my sidebar? You know, just on the off-chance someone would like to help me finance a massage, mani-pedi or a drunken stuper on the ship....)

It's going to be wonderful. We will get to warm up from winter, see the beautiful Pacific ocean, be gluttonous, talk and play and just be us girls TOGETHER. I almost don't even know what to do with myself.

This is so huge because for years I hesitated in traveling away from Mark for fear that something bad might happen with his health without me here. Little by little -- crisis by crisis -- I have been learning to let go of that. Taking this trip with JHo is part of my year of living Bravely. I knew I wanted to do this years ago, but I wasn't sure if it would really happen. At least if I would actually leave home;  maybe she would just come see me here.

I am nervous, still. I will probably have to battle my anxiety a few times as the date approaches. JHo will need to be armed with plenty of reassurances that everything will be OK and I CAN let myself have this. let myself RELAX.

But I know it's going to be great! And I love her so much for gently pushing the issue.

Now, just get me to March 5th.....

Just a Blip

I was really enjoying not spending time at the hospital.

I have loved not feeling completely freaked out.

But I knew something was coming. I don't know how I knew, but I did.

I was starting to feel overly anxious out of the blue. Unsettling thoughts kept rearing their ugly little heads in my mind.

Always, though, we think of ways to try not to worry needlessly. When Mark didn't feel well on Sunday it was easy to explain it away as, "Oh, he just needs his dialysis on Monday."

I did ask him, "Honey, do you think how you feel could have something to do with your heart?"

"No!", he replied. "This isn't that."

When dialysis didn't make him feel that much better, but he went to work anyway, it wasn't hard to assume he'd be alright. Eventually.

Monday night after work he complained of how tired he was. And proceeded to help me with dinner. So I thought he was just tired.

Right after we ate, however, he started complaining of being very achy and he could not get comfortable in any position. He was sick to his stomach and short of breath.

I was feeling increasingly uneasy. Mark had dialyzed just that morning and I've never seen his blood sugar level (which happened to be high) have any bearing on his ability to breath.

We decided to call 911. Their blood pressure and EKG results seemed good, but just based on how high Mark's sugar was, they took him to the hospital.

I knew, though, his blood sugar being high was just an added complication. I was certain it wasn't really the problem. It was high only because his insulin pump hose had gotten clogged while he was at work.

The ER confirmed my fears, that Mark may have been having a heart attack. As it turns out, an Angiogram on Tuesday confirmed a blockage. It was opened up and a stent was placed.

Problem. Solution. Right?

It took a good hour after learning it wasn't anything worse, for some relief to settle in on me. I wasn't feeling celebratory by any means. I'm still not.

I was just so scared. So scared.

This is Mark's third heart attack. He has had double bypass and Ventricular Tachycardia. His heart has stopped and been shocked back into beating.

I have gotten phone calls from the hospital. The worst phone calls.

All of this has damaged me. There are scars, both literal and figurative. There is trepidation.

My dad gave me a list of reasons I should be happy about how this played out:

• Before the Holidays
• Before winter has set in
• We did the right thing, getting Mark in when he needed it
• He will feel better now
• All things considered, this is minor

I suppose I can agree with all of that. My dad's not wrong, by any means. I'm all for putting things into perspective....

I'm pretty sure I will sleep better tonight.

It's just that, now my fears, the heaviness that comes with loving someone who is chronically ill and whom you will undoubtedly outlive, are all stirred up again.

This may be just a blip, a hiccup, but there's simply always more to it than that. For me, anyway.

Can I Let My Guard Down?

It has been since March of 2012 that my husband has had a major medical crisis. He's had just a couple of one-night hospital stays for minor issues.

It has taken me 18 months to be able to even start entertaining these thoughts.

I have a slightly superstitious side. A small part of me that thinks maybe one can jinx themselves or something. You know, those moments when you say, "Oops, spoke too soon."

So I haven't wanted to give voice to it.

Can I stop thinking Mark is going to die soon?

The roller coaster ride that is loving someone with chronic health problems makes your head spin. Mine was given a whirl when Mark's heart stopped after bypass surgery. Then it was like a never ending merry-go-ride when he had the arrhythmia, didn't seem like he was going to get better but then did.

I guess I don't think about what, up until that point, was the worst night of my life much anymore. The anniversary of Mark's double bypass came and went the other day but I didn't notice. Three years since the first time I thought I might lose my husband.

I guess that's what happens when something even bigger and scarier, something you had no idea would or could come, rears its ugly head.

In comparison with the aftermath of bypass, Mark's arrhythmia was indeed a bigger, meaner beast. The experience of his heart stopping, being shocked back, several days if sedation with a breathing tube and pneumonia were very traumatic for us both, in different ways.

When Mark came home from that hospital stay, I was prepared for the idea that he would be permanently much weaker. I didn't think he'd work again and wasn't sure if he'd even drive. I still think his personal determination made those things happen. Mark never thought he couldn't, so he did.

Each of these crises have left his legs weaker for some reason that I don't understand. He now always uses a cane to help him walk, gets tired from walking easily and often chooses to use those shopping cart scooters in stores.

His blood sugars still fight with the insulin his pump delivers and he just finished a nearly year-long battle with a few foot sores. He's still on dialysis.

All these things remain, but for crying out loud, MARK IS OK. He might even be better than OK. Now that the foot sores are healed, he is trying to use scooter carts less and has even begun doing some exercises each day.

And then there's the maybe could happen possibility of a kidney transplant.

A glimmer of HOPE.

I don't even know what to do with it. I mean, can anyone out there understand even a little bit how bewildering dealing with all this push, pull, up, down and sideways shit is?

OK so, your husband had bypass and that lasts a long time so he should be pretty good for awhile. Oh wait! Sorry, forgot to warn you about the possibility of developing Ventricular Tachycardia and that it might kill him. Oh shoot, it IS killing him. Better prepare yourself. But wait, he got better! Now let's see if he can have a new kidney!

Head. Spinning.

So I ask, when you've understandably built up a wall to hide from the scariest thing imaginable behind, and then it doesn't happen, is it safe to let your guard down and start peeking out?

That's probably a rhetorical question.

Dear inner Child

source

Um. Hi.

It is apparently time we get to know each other a little bit considering I didn't even see you there all this time.

Except, I don't really want to get to know you. Because all you're actually doing right now is pissing me off.

You know, I started therapy because I was worried about the impact of PTSD on me after my husband's two near-death experiences, and the weight of the fear of losing him sitting on my shoulders. That, and my kids. My ACTUAL children. Ahem. I know I need to be at my very best for THEM.

But you? Cropping up and muddying the waters? Is not what I was expecting.

You see, I thought I was actually a pretty well-adjusted person. Didn't think I had much angst or underlying mommy, daddy or childhood issues I had never worked through. Didn't recognize that I have neuroses and hang-ups, that what I thought was other people being mean to me is really my own crap reacting to any given situation (not that people are never jerks, but that's not the point here, stop distracting me!). My parents never showed me a lack of love growing up. They weren't abusive in any way. I had never been abandoned.....

Or had I? See the water getting murky, my little friend?

Not acknowledging you, my pain-in-the-ass Inner Child, is just one more instance of me trying to fight my feelings. To push them away and claim they're no big deal. I'm stronger than my feelings, dammit!

Maybe I am stronger than the feelings you cause me, but apparently not unless I work through them. My therapist says that if I keep trying to push them down and ignore them, they'll just keep resurfacing.

See why I'm pissed at you? I mean, don't I have enough shit to deal with? I have a sick husband and two kids to raise here!

I just want to be a good wife, mom, daughter and friend. You coming around, wanting to play peek-a-boo with me, messes with those things. You make me feel things. Irrational things.

Oh wait. My therapist would stop me here and point out, "Feelings are not rational, Jennifer."

Fine, fine. Whatever.

Do you see what you're doing to me? See my head spinning around like the possessed little girl in the Exorcist? So glad I'm not the pea soup spewing type.

Look, here's the deal: I get that you're there, deep down inside me. I get that it will only be good for me in the long run to work through YOUR issues. But the extra emotions and anxiety you're making me feel, and the way I seem to have no clue how to be with other people right now? Really not appreciating that.

It's making me feel so awkward and like I need to tattoo an apology onto my forehead.

Warning: I am carrying a small bag of crazy right now, but please don't be afraid, I won't spill it on you. At least, I'll try not to.

Sigh. So, yeah, I'll do this. But I don't have to like it. All I can say is, if you're going to mess with my life, I better end up with a heap of new pearls of wisdom to boast about!

(Yes, I realize you've probably always been messing with my life in one way or another. Shut up. Know it all.)

Neurotically yours,
~ JAH

Strength and Fragility

On most things I am a middle of the road kind of gal. I see shades of grey where others see only black and white. I am uncomfortable with extremes.

Yet there is something I have noticed about myself. Something that was, and still is, somewhat confusing and distressing to me.

How can I have the strength it takes to walk the path I am with my husband and his poor health, and also feel so very fragile, insecure and vulnerable?

You know, I grew up in the talk show era, with Phil Donahue and Sally Jesse and Oprah. And now we have Dr. Phil. I bow at the altar of Oprah and her "live your best life" and "light bulb moment" mantras. I am not unaware of the idea of an inner child.

For some reason, though, I didn't really think I had one of my own. I naively thought events from my childhood hadn't been that big of a deal, hadn't effected the adult I've grown into.

But there are these triggers....and a pattern....and when you sit down with someone trained to see them and how they pertain to the bigger picture, you can see them too.

My therapist can so easily point it all out, like I should have known all along where most of my insecurities have come from. And when I think I'm pretty sure I know where they're coming from now? My fear of ending up totally alone? He says no, not really.

Yes to FEAR, but it's my wounded inner child that feels the brunt of it all. This is why I can have both the strength I need for Mark, but still feel insecure and vulnerable in other areas of my life. There is a separation between your adult ego and your child ego.

Yeah yeah, I'm psychoanalyzing quite a bit here. I find it fascinating. Especially about myself! That I still have so much to learn about myself at my age is amazing to me.

The most surprising thing I've learned this week is that I, Miss-Open-Book-Wears-Her-Heart-On-Her-Sleeve-Blog-It-Out-for-the-Whole-World-To-See-Give-the-Benefit-of-the-Doubt, have some trust issues.

I can rationalize till the cows come home that there's nothing to worry about. But feelings are not rational. They are your feelings and you will have them whether you want to or not.

The problem lies in when your feelings lead to irrational THOUGHTS. This is a huge issue for me. I have the ability to bury myself in irrational thoughts. Everything from having a sudden flash of one of my children being gravely injured, to being told Mark is dead, to losing my friends. Those thoughts feel like a sucker punch to the gut. I can literally lose my breath for a moment and immediately feel tears stinging my eyes.

But none of those things happened. I believe we call this anxiety, kids.

So yeah, I'm apparently a huge mess of a person. But on the other hand I'm not. How do these things work together to complete the picture of me? I haven't figured that out yet.

I'm working on it.....

This Day Means Nothing

It doesn't matter that a year ago today my husband was admitted to the hospital for observation due to possible arrhythmia.

It doesn't matter that in the middle of the night, about 3:30 AM, I was awakened by my cell phone ringing. It means nothing that this wasn't the first time I'd gotten a phone call of this nature.

It doesn't matter that the person who jarred me awake was a doctor at the hospital where Mark was only spending the night for observation.

What the doctor told me doesn't matter. That Mark had experienced arrhythmia and that it had stopped his heart.

It's not important that the doctor went on to tell me they had shocked and rescusitated him, then moved him to the ICU.

It doesn't matter that less than an hour later a nurse called me back and told me I may want to get to the hospital as soon as I can because he was real sick and they were worried.

It was no big deal when I called my friend and dad over to help me with my kids and transportation, or when I called Mark's parents to tell them what was happening.

It's inconsequential that what transpired over the next week sent our loved ones, Mark and myself into a tailspin of stress, worry, fear and grief.

The changes that have come as a result of these events don't matter either.

None of this means anything nor matters because I don't want it to. Because I don't want it to sit on our shoulders, pressing down, threatening to suffocate us with continuing stress, worry, fear and grief.

It all mattered at the time. But my husband made it through that trauma. He survived it. He is still with us.

That is what matters now.

Hope, love, endurance and strength are what matter.

For better or worse, in sickness and in health are what matter.

Always.


Linked with the Yeah Write Weekend Moonshine Grid.

Beginning Therapy

I've held out long enough. Been stubborn stoic long enough.

It's time to admit that I need professional help.

I guess.

__________

Do I have to?

::balls up fists and stomps foot::

I should be strong enough to handle my life, dammit! I'm not the only person in the world with problems. I'm not the only one carrying a heavy load.

I deal. I cope. I cry and laugh. I find the good and positive amidst the crap.

I get a little bit stronger with each passing crisis.

Or do I?

__________

Maybe I get stronger with each crisis, but they break me a little too. Like one step forward, two steps back.....

I have diagnosed myself with PTSD and anxiety. I don't know anyone who would disagree with those presumptions. I have flashbacks to the nights Mark's heart stopped, and my breathing catches and tears sting my eyes. What is minor to someone else is difficult for me because my emotions are  constantly raw and at the surface.

I think, time will heal. It does some, but not entirely. The nerves and fear are still there.

I'm strong yet sensitive. Courageous yet afraid. Positive yet cynical. I am a walking contradiction.

The contradictions are hard to reconcile.

It's time for me to accept some help figuring all this out. As much as my friends and family love me and blogging is free therapy, neither holds the understanding I long for.

I'm not sure why I find this so hard to do. I have pushed and pushed the idea of therapy away for a  long time. I do know I worry it will only serve to muddy the waters more.

But it's my children, although they don't know it, who are inspiring me to give in. If and when we lose their dad, I will need all the help I can get to be everything they need me to be.

__________

Tomorrow.

Not like Scarlett O'Hara's "I'll think about that tomorrow", although I admit I have done plenty of that.

No. I will begin seeing a therapist first thing tomorrow morning.

I am such an idiot!

Never mind the fact that I Googled "half of 2/3" while baking this weekend.

::Face palm::

That's a minor thing.

No. I proclaimed more than once over the summer how I was looking forward to September, starting a new chapter with both of my kids in school full-time.....

It was gonna be great!

And it is.

But.

It was a CHANGE. A pretty big one. And I'm not always the best at change.

I have to warm to it. The idea has to grow on me. Then I'll be all, "Bring it on!"

One would think this was happening over the summer. That I had ample time to be ready for this new normal.

Apparently not.

When September 5 rolled around and my little boy was gone just like his big sister, it broke me a little.

Not so much that day. More like as the days marched on and both my children left me for six hours of each one. It started to sink in. The change had come.

I became a mess.

If I really think about it, it's not so much that something changed. It's not even really that it has to do with facing my babies growing up. At the heart of it is the fear and anxiety I write about so often.

This is why I'm an idiot. I should know by now that a change like this can set off a chain reaction of crazy emotions inside me. I should have expected it and planned for it.

I'm doing much better now. I've found a new routine and have plenty to do. And I like it. But man, I wish this past month had gone differently.

How do I proceed?

I thought I was doing just fine. Thought I was moving through my day-to-day with an ease and grace in the aftermath of what we experienced last March.

Because I am beyond grateful and living in the moment.

And then BLAM! I am smacked in the face with nerves and worry and insecurity.

I am FULL of anxiety.

Perhaps I can blame my kids going back to school leaving me with time to think. Thinking is not always a good thing.

__________

At first I assume I'm feeling insecurities because my friend and I aren't talking as much as we sometimes do. This is my go-to feeling. I've felt this many times before in my life.

Why hasn't she called me?

Why hasn't she texted me?

Is everything OK?

Did I do something? Is she mad at me?

Doesn't she care about me anymore??

Try as I might not to say these things to my friend, I always do. I vomit them all over her and she doesn't know why. She doesn't think anything is wrong. She's just going about her life.

I get offended that she doesn't see it. I think she's being mean to me. Cold and uncaring.

I take a breath. Maybe the angel of friendship (there must be one, right?) whispers in my ear. And it occurs to me that it isn't really about her or our friendship at all.

It's something else entirely. I apologize profusely to my bewildered friend. Who, as a matter of fact, is very concerned about me.

In my utter confusion as to what is really going on with me, I have hyper-focused on entirely the wrong thing. It's an easier thing to focus on than the real issue at hand.

Which is, my ever-present fear and worry of losing my very best friend and soul mate forever. Not my friend whom I've just dumped on, but my husband, my kids' dad.

__________

It has been needling at me for pretty much two full years now, since Mark's bypass surgery on 9/21/10. A year after that I thought it had been the worst night of my life. Until 3/1/12 when Mark's heart stopped again, this time due to arrhythmia.

There was so much talk of death last March. I will never forget how my knees buckled in the middle of the ICU floor hallway when my MIL, dealing with her own fear and worry, bluntly stated, "Well he is going to die." My mother and father both reached out for me, ushering me into a Quiet Room, all of us trying to absorb strength from one another.

We really did think that was going to be it. All our worst fears were about to come true.

And then they didn't. Mark said, "I'm not dead yet!", and proved us all wrong.

I'm not saying it was a miraculous recovery after which all was right with the world. Far from it. We still have much to deal with, and will for however much longer Mark is with us.

And, I think, therein lies the problem. No matter how grateful I am that my husband is still alive. No matter how much I "live in the moment", "soak up the good" or "hold onto joy", I am traumatized. These near-death experiences are haunting me.

Oh and it makes me SO ANGRY! I hate that it's impossible to let go of. That I'm not strong enough to beat PTSD's ass. That it's f*cking with my head.

So now what?

My friend urges me to seek out counseling. I remind her that I did last spring but it seems that if my husband wasn't actually about to die, I don't really need it. It seems that if you're simply having a hard time and would just like to have some help processing, no one knows how to make that happen. I figure with my or Mark's or our kids' insurances, somehow, someway we should be able to afford it.....but I haven't found a good option.

I may ask my doctor if he thinks we should up the dosage of my anxiety med. I take only the smallest amount right now. I will probably start taking the Vitamin B6 my dad swears by....

Regardless, what I know today is that I have to keep swimming. My family needs me. And I can.

__________
Update: I didn't intend to publish this for a few more days; I hit publish accidentally. There is an option to "revert to draft", but since I didn't realize what I did until I started getting comments, I kinda gotta go with it, right? Also, the comments are so nice, and since it's World Gratitude Day, I will just be grateful for a happy accident.

The Stress of Poor Health

For various different reasons Mark and I have been stressed over things regarding his health lately.

His broken chest wire, the infection it caused, having the wire removed only to find out the infection was bad.  Spending 3 days in the hospital right before Christmas to treat the infection and help the chest wound heal properly.  Being on a wound VAC requiring M-W-F visits to a clinic for dressing changes and carrying this heavy purse-like thing around and trying to sleep with it....

All of this caused much tension and anxiety all the way up until Christmas Eve.  Thankfully, Christmas Day went well.  It was a true Holiday.  I was so thankful that Mark woke up that morning a little more rested and in good spirits because I had been worried all week that I would have to put on a happy face and make Christmas good for the kids on my own.

I life truly is "one day at a time".

In the week after Christmas, Thursday I think, while shopping at Target with gift cards, Mark got a phone call from his dialysis center telling him he no longer qualifies for the state-funded Kidney Disease Program which was helping us with his medical insurance costs.  This caused our stomachs to turn and blew the wind right out of our sails.  We let the kids spend their gift cards and just left.

The KDP was reimbursing us for Mark's monthly Medicare premiums and payed his monthly secondary insurance premiums, $96 and $284, respectively.  That's no small amount of money.  We hoped through until yesterday someone made a simple mistake somewhere.  Alas, no.  We spent time on the phone with the financial services manager for the dialysis center yesterday morning brainstorming our options.

All this, and Mark paid the ER another visit on New Year's Eve.  There wasn't anything wrong with HIM, thankfully.  It was the dang wound VAC.  It was malfunctioning and we couldn't reach anyone on the phone who knew what to do about it.  Turned out the ER didn't know what to do either, and didn't even redress his wound properly.  It was a huge waste of time and Mark and I didn't even get to give each other a kiss at midnight.

I couldn't believe I cried both Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve.  What the hell?

Mark's health problems have been taking more of a toll on him emotionally since his bypass in September 2010.  That experience brought his mortality right up in his face big time, and really rattled him.  Add to that his male pride....that he's not the same as other men....yet still a MAN in every other sense.... He is simply FEELING it all more intensely now.  He is way more easily stressed and worried and even cries more.  Not being used to this side of him, I keep making these mistakes in how to deal with it that cause us to argue, which is the last thing we need.

I am having to hold him up a lot, to reassure him that everything will be OK, everything will work out.  We've had this major role reversal in our marriage where this is concerned.  I used to be the one who freaked out easily and he would be my rock.  Now he acts as if the sky is falling during times when I used to.  While I too feel the stress and worry (and anxiety), I am now able to take a deep breath and tell myself it'll be alright.

I don't know how this happened, but I suppose it's the way it was meant to go.  That I would develop my strength to the point where I had enough for the both of us just when Mark needed me to.  He is kind of a mess right now.  We can't both be messes at the same time.  We have to maintain some semblance of normal life for our kids.  And I just can't let my husband fall completely apart.

Thank you, Shell, for giving me permission to pour my heart out once a week if I need to,
with the knowledge that someone will hear it.

Climb Aboard the Hall Family Roller Coaster!

I posted this on Facebook on Monday: Climb aboard the Hall Family Roller Coaster! Sit down & buckle up. Our ride begins with a broken chest wire, we will pause for just a sec to remove it, there will be several very fun loops and things during a perfectly normal weekend and then we will end by heading back to the station (hospital) for IV antibiotics. Enjoy the ride!

I am so witty online!

For those of you who don't know, my husband Mark had heart bypass surgery a little over a year ago and they use wire similar to piano strings to hold the chest plate together for healing.  Well, Mark broke one of them, possibly by sneezing hard, it got infected and he needed to have it removed.

And now....

My husband is in the hospital with a staph infection requiring IV antibiotics after he tried to get himself treated before it got to this point.

I am angry, frustrated, bummed and completely OFF.  I just wrote last week in a post about my priorities how when something is not OK with one of the four of us, everything feels off, and here we are.

I know I remind the world all the time of Mark's health conditions, but it seems to be necessary, even to the medical professionals who care for him.  He is a Type 1 Diabetic, has been since the age of 9, with a 6 year reprieve when he had a successful kidney/pancreas transplant.  He is 43 now and since losing his transplanted organs, has been back on insulin and dialysis for nearly 10 years.

These things make him extra susceptible to infection.  Last year when heart bypass was required it was discovered that he had pericarditis, a septic staph infection SURROUNDING HIS HEART.

People?  Mark may have survived that, but this is not a man we take chances with!

So yeah, I and just about everyone we know are pretty frustrated that Mark's doctors dragged their feet on this.  That might be a bit of an understatement for me.  Because a staph infection could KILL MY HUSBAND!

I don't think this is just me being melodramatic.  Or maybe it is....buuuuuttt it happened to my uncle.  It happens all the time.  It could happen to Mark.

On the other hand, I do think PTSD from "the night from hell" is rearing its ugly head right now.  I am having to force myself to see this as a separate thing.  I am having to force myself to not think about death.

And it's really hard to do.

This infection was caught early, in spite of the initial bumbling efforts of the doctors.  This will be OK.  Mark will be OK.  EVERYTHING WILL BE OK.

This is just another hiccup, bump in the road, minor inconvenience...yada, yada.  I feel like people think I should just be used to this.  That these things happen with Mark and we just have to deal them.  Well yes, that's true, but "these things" are actually serious, and they suck.

I'm allowed to hate it, aren't I?

I'm allowed to hate taking my kids to see their dad at the hospital.  I'm allowed to hate all that Mark has to deal with.  I'm allowed to hate what I have to deal with, what our parents deal with, and our friends deal with.  That there are perfectly healthy people out there who have no flipping idea how good they've got it!  I hate it all.

When you've been traumatized the way I have it can be hard to be OK with the little hiccups.  They tend to all feel like big, scary things.

It's almost Christmas.  Mark had his first heart attack on Christmas Day of 2008.  Such lovely timing.

I'm sorry if this post is rambling and doesn't totally make sense to anyone else.  Just gotta get it off my chest.

We're hoping he will be able to come home today and we can get on with Christmas....

(This post was linked with Shell's Pour Your Heart Out at Things I Can't Say.)

* *

Update 12/27/11: Mark did come home that day, but it was difficult to "get on with Christmas".  He was really tired and bothered by the wound vac they sent him home connected to.  We were both very tense and on edge all the way up to Christmas Eve.  But Christmas Day was great!  We had fun, the kids loved their gifts, we saw extended family and had a fantastic dinner in spite of a power outage.  Yesterday, at the Wound Ostemy Clinic where Mark has his dressing changed, the nurse said his chest is healing so well and so quick he may not need the wound vac much longer.  This I believe is due to all the care and concern from both and near and far, and I am grateful.  Oh, the roller coaster!

#37

The Worst Night of My Life

The title of this post is not an exaggeration.

One year ago yesterday, September 20, 2010, my husband Mark went to the ER having his second heart attack.  The next day, a year ago today, he had double bypass surgery.  While in surgery it was discovered that he had pericarditis, a staph infection surrounding his heart, and he was septic.  This can easily kill a person.

That night, after Mark had made it through surgery and seemed stable, his heart stopped 3 times.

After a year I still gasp a little when I talk about this.  I still want to cry.

I didn't start writing about this experience until November 2010, when I and my closest friends realized I needed to do something, to get it out somehow.  The first step was to admit I was having a hard time.

I realized I probably had post-traumatic stress and that helped me understand what I was feeling a lot more.  I went through fully feeling my love for Mark to being deeply touched by movies I watched.  I easily felt like the sky was falling any time any little thing was off in my world, and there was a lot of crying.

By the end of November I felt like things were shifting back to the positive and maybe my head was too.  Yet I still also felt heavy, like the weight of the world was on my shoulders.  I had this one really good moment when I didn't think about the night from hell, instead thinking about the day they pulled Mark's breathing tube out and he was finally awake.  I was so on an emotional roller coaster, but I spent the rest of the Holiday season focusing on the good things.

I had hoped by the new year I would somehow just snap out of my funk.  Unfortunately you can't simply order these things up.  2010 had been split pretty much in half, the beginning an exciting time when we bought our house, and the end dealing with the aftermath of the night from hell.  I wished so much I could wrap it up and tie it with a pretty bow and be done.

Life doesn't work that way, does it?  I was apparently on a slow path to learning some pretty effing huge life lessons and it was kind of pissing me off!  But I kept plugging along, writing about whatever revelations came to me.  I had this one really awesome day that I just had to share....

Then 6 months post-surgery came and I realized I was still traumatized.  But I also realized I didn't care anymore about whether or not that was OK or normal.  I was where I was with it all and I would get wherever I needed to be whenever I got there.

That bit of wisdom allowed me to start blogging about more of the other things in my life.  I actually just realized this going through my posts.  Wow, it is so interesting to look back at things after some time has passed!

So where am I at today and what does coming to the 1 year anniversary of the worst night of my life mean for me?

It means a lot has changed.  I've changed.  Mark has changed.  We've both learned so much and gained so much wisdom.  Do I wish it didn't take traumatic events to teach us thick-headed humans important things?  Yes.  Do I wish we had never had to experience that?  Absolutely.  Do I wish Mark's doctors hadn't felt the need to repeat over and over again that he should have died?  Ya think?  Pretty sure that didn't help me a bit.

But as I sit here now, I think coming so close to losing my husband is now just another notch on my belt, so to speak.  It's just one more thing we've gone through.  It's one more experience woven into the proverbial tapestry of our lives.  I know now that what I felt that night will always be with me, sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear.

But maybe that's OK because then I can't take anything for granted.  It's not allowed.  I have come away from nearly realizing my biggest fear with a fuller heart and with so much gratitude, I can't even fully express it.

I will always be traumatized, damaged, scarred.  But that's OK too.  It's all part of who I am and I think, who I'm meant to be.  I'm not saying it doesn't suck, because it totally does.  But it's not all bad.  In fact, there's plenty of good.

I've shared this quote before:

"We have no right to ask when sorrow comes, `Why did this happen to me?' unless we ask the same question for every moment of happiness that comes our way."

~ Author Unknown

I Miss....

As I am preparing to leave with my kids on our trip to Lake Tahoe this morning I want to share some things I've missed in the 7 years since I've been there.

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1. The awe - the Tahoe basin was formed about 2 million years ago.  Two million years. And it's just so gorgeous! When we're driving up Spooner Summit from Reno and a little triangle of the Lake appears, it never fails to take my breath away. In my personal opinion, it is the definition of "God's country". This is Emerald Bay, just one little corner of the Lake.

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2. The size - Lake Tahoe is the largest alpine lake in North America.
It's kind of awesome.

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3. The color of the water - several shades of blue, my favorite color, and some green.

4. The clean mountain air

5. Being up above it all - perched at 6,225 feet above sea level.

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6. Dining next to the Lake at sunset.

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7. Mt. Tallac - I've climbed this mountain. Didn't I say something about God's country?
(look carefully at the mountain)

8. My mom and step-dad's little house where I lived with them and graduated high school

9. My Grama whom I haven't seen in the last 7 years and who hasn't met my son.

10. My best friend JHo, her husband and kids who I haven't seen since AJ's Baptism 5 years ago and whose son I haven't met, even though JHo named me a Godmother to him.


I am SO EXCITED for this trip!  My mother is beyond generous for buying our plane tickets.  I was am very anxious about going without Mark and leaving him home alone.  I worry so much about him having a medical emergency.  But my theme for this year of my life seems to be all about being open, and working on letting go of my fears. "Working on" are the key words there.