My very first blog... oh, my!

I never thought of creating writings in Cyberspace. I have postponed my first entry for weeks as I have struggled with my first topic. A cyberspace "friend" told me that she used her blogging as a tool to keep family members and friends informed of her health developments without having to repeat herself over and over. I am not quite sure who I would like to read my blog. Maybe no one at all, but as I told her, I was taught at a very young age that writing was a great release. I have tried to instill this theory on my two sons. Perhaps, that is one reason my eldest is taking journalism in college.

My life at times has been somewhat trying. There have been many times in my life when people have told me that I should write a book. I started one, once. Then I read it. Who would really want to know what life offered me? Who would be interested in my thoughts, my feelings? And would I really want to be so open about my experiences? I have been called "an open book" many times, but I really do not allow a lot of people to know me. I am not sure why, but that's just me.

I was talking with a very nice lady the other day. She had told me some of the issues she has in her life. I told her that I am the type of person who believes and relies on fate. I feel a very close connection with God and knows he is the force that leads my life. I accept that. I welcome it, too. I would not say that I am pushy with my beliefs and I don't think anyone else would say that I am. I "testify" only when I am explaining who I am or some my thoughts. This blog will not be one filled with preaching. But it will show itself, I admit, at times. It is who I am.

I explained to this nice lady that there have been two times in my life when life was a little too much to bare. It was at these times, I threw my hands in the air and asked God to take over. I could not handle my life anymore, but I trusted him to lead me through it.

Once, when I was 29, I found out that my eldest started to have seizures. Now, I guess the positives of this experience were that he eventually outgrew them and the were the petite mal type. He would stare off into space, not hearing anything, not moving. When he "came out of them", he would not remember how to do the simplest of things... putting on his pants, turning off a water faucet, folding a napping mat, and the list goes on. Two weeks prior to taking him on a three hour, monthly drive to a ne urologist, I had an appointment to get a second opinion about some "bad tissue that needs to be removed". The disturbing part of the "bad tissue" was that I would be able to get pregnant but would not be able to carry a baby again. The thought of going through the pain of losing another child was reason enough to get that second opinion. The day before my appointment, my grandmother, with whom I lived with for 15 years of my life, was put in the hospital with chest pains. Now, gramma had been in and out of the hospital for past months with these pains. I guess they called it angina. I made it a point to allow time to visit her prior to my appointment. My uncle was there. We sat on the heater while gramma was lying in bed. Converstaion was good and light. She asked if I was coming back after my appointment and I told her that I would try, but at that time I was married to a dairy farmer and was not sure if I would have to rush home to help with the milking. I told her that I loved her and I left.

I went the the doctor's office for that wonderful second opinion. This was the doctor that I trusted with my life. He had been there for me during the trials of fertility drugs, pregnancy, losing a baby, and the miracle of my first son. I trusted his opinion. I clearly remember him walking into the exam room, saying hello, asking if I would like to talk first or have the exam first. I told him it was his choice. He openned my medical folder and started reading the results of the test I had done with the first doctor. He asked what I was told. I said, "I was told that I had bad tissue that needed to be removed. I could still get pregnant, but would never be able to carry a baby to full-term." He opted to exam first. After the exam, he questioned, "... and you were told what again?" After telling him again, a fear rose inside me. He sat me up on the exam table, proceed to remind me that he believed that I deserved to know the truth about what was going on with my own body, and told me that I should know he doesn't beat around bushes. Then he said it. Cancer. The fear rose into my throat and out every inch of me. But, stop. I was the only person there. Collect yourself and listen to the options. I asked what we should do, what is the next step? He said that I could have the surgery that would allow me to get pregnant or I could have a hysterectomy. I asked what were his thoughts. With much hesitation on his part, and more pleading from me, he finally gave me his opinion. It's simple. Why try to have another child, when I already had two, if the mother may not be around to watch them grow. The words made sense. It was a Tuesday and we scheduled the surgery for the next Tuesday.

I walked out of the doctor's office in somewhat a state of shock. I knew what needed to be done, but the sorrow I felt was somewhat overwhelming. I knew what I needed to do at that time. I needed to see my gramma. Now, you should realize that I always felt my gramma had a higher connection with God. Many times in my life I had called her on the phone and asked for her to pray for me. I could pray too, but it always seemed to be heard a little better if she would pray. I proceeded to go to the hospital once again. When I arrived, my uncle was still there. Gramma was sleeping so he and I had a chance to talk.

During our conversation, I found out that he and I were the only people that were not with my granfather when he passed away. He had stopped earlier that morning to give him a shave and was tired after working, so he went home. I did not go because the next day was the first day of my senior year. I was told that if I wanted to stay home, someone would call if something happened. We both realized that we both never forgave ourselves for our absence. He also told me a story of how he had been in a restaurant a few weeks prior, eating a piece of steak that got caught in his throat and had to have someone perform the himelink maneuver on him. He said he was embarrassed. I tried to reassure him that he should not have been embarrassed and that things happen like that all the time. I tried to tell him to focus on the fact that he was so very lucky to have that stranger near that probably saved his life.

Gramma woke up, looked over at us and smiled. She said, "You're back! How did it go?" I struggled a little at my answer. You see, I am very big on honesty and trust. But I couldn't tell her. Not at this time. Maybe later, when she was out of the hospital. So I smiled and told her that everything was fine and she didn't need to worry. A sense of releif and a heavy sigh rose from her as she said, "Good!" The nurse came in, as if he was cued by some movie director. He asked if she would like some jello or ice ream. She smiled again and said she could probably eat some ice cream. He told her that he would set her up in bed and pushed the button to raise the upper portion of the bed. Half way up, I saw the look on her face was going from relieved to concern. I turned my focus to the heart monitor and watched the numbers increase. Her heartrate was skyrocketing! The alarm sounded and uncle and I were rushed out of the room. We were instructed to wait in the the waiting room. Tears were flowing drastically from both our eyes. Panic took place of my blood and was running frantically through my body. When all of a sudden, I felt a warmth on my face. It was calm and quiet. My panic and tears stopped, just as suddenly as they had started. I looked to the window and a large ray from the sun shone on my face. A peace like I have never felt swept over my entire being. I looked at my uncle. Such a strong man turning into mush with the fear. I took his hands. He looked at me, confused-like. I told him. That one statement, those couple of words. "It's ok." As he looked at me the tears in his eyes dried. He questioned, "It's ok?" I said, "Yes. It's over. It's ok." We sat there, calmly now, peace in our hearts, smiling at each other. It was about five minutes later when the doctor finally came to give us the news. "Your mother", he said to Uncle, "has passed. She requested not to be resusitated. There was nothing we could do. She left us about five minutes ago." There were no tears. The peace was overwhelming. We knew.

We were leaving the waiting room, when we were called by one of the nurses. My mother was on the phone, calling to check on her mother. You see, she was on vacation. The one that she did not want to go on. The one my gramma pushed her and convinced her to do just one day prior to her having to be admitted to the hospital. Uncle asked if I would take the call. I hated that call. Of all the times I have talked to my mother, this was definately the worse. I will never forget the scream of pain in her voice. I will never forget my stepdad picking up the dropped phone. They would be coming home.

My aunt flew in to town on Wednesday. I think we had the the viewing on Friday and the funeral on Saturday. For whatever reason, these details are somewhat blurry, unlike the others. On Tuesday, I had the operation. I was released from the hospital on Thursday. Life sure is tough sometimes, to say the least. This was the first time that I did not know I was strong enough to handle everything life was throwing at me.

The second time I had to be stronger than I thought I could be is in the process of passing... at least I hope it is. To "set the stage", my husband was sticken with an illness that to-date no one can completely diagnosed. He was the bread winner in our family and was unable to work since the illness. His condition has had no improvements, only more symptoms and side effects of the drugs. His rheumatologist wants him to have a CT Scan. He has been experiencing vast amount of pain in his abdomen. She also wants to send him to the city for a a second opinion. Because we cannot afford medical insurance for him and other reasons, he qualified for medical assistance. Though, financially, it has been a godsend, it seems to limit us to the doctors he can see and it creates a lot of paperwork and pre-authorizations. The lady doc said she could not get the pre-auth and told us that our family doc had to submit them. We had just gone to the family doc and found our trusted doctor had left and we were to meet his replacement. He took half of my hubby's pain medication away, stating that "he didn't need them". He also refused to do the needed paperwork because he felt he was not the one who wanted the test and second opinion. The three way converstaion (lady doc, new doc & assistance office) took two weeks to straighten out. It was during these two weeks that we lost my father-in-law. Two days later, we lost my step-granmother. And two days after that, I was informed that I would not be recieving my bonus at work (there goes Christmas for the children this year), nor will the staff receive any raises in 2010. Oh, and they want the staff to start paying for some of their own medical insurance. On Saturday, we went to visit my mother, then we went to visit my dad. He looks awful! I am so scared. There is something wrong and I think he knows it, only he doesn't want to admit it. He retired at the first of this year and has lost over 50 pounds. He should be gaining, because he told me that his day is scheduled by TV Guide. He is not as active anymore. He created a wood working shop in his garage last winter and has not even gone in it for months. I fear he will be the third. Throw into that, oral surgery today.

"Life is tough" sometimes is an understatement. I told the nice lady that I have to keep focusing on the "other side of things". The other side will come. There will be peace again and less worries. I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe I am blessed. Though my husband is ill, I still wake up every morning to him lying beside me. Some people do not have that luxury. And even though finances are not even half or a third of what they used to be, there is food in the freezer, a roof over our heads and we are all together. Bad days happen, and they make me appreciate the good ones even more. I try to remember all of these things, especailly when times are tough.

I trust that there really is a reason for everything. Who am I to question it?