Always Doing Maryland...

Funny, isn't it?  Lori Does Maryland?

That was supposed to be a very sarcastic title.  When we moved from North Carolina to Maryland, I was not happy.

I liked North Carolina.  No, I loved North Carolina.  I did not want to move.

And, growing up in NoVA (Northern Virginia for all of you not-so-lucky-enough-to-be-from-there), my mentality was always, "Why cross the Woodrow Wilson if you didn't have to?"

So, Lori Does Maryland was my attempt at 'navigating' that new and different military assignment.  I mean, really, I'd never even heard of Test Pilot School.
Yes, I realize I am a poor, poor excuse for a pilot's wife.

I didn't bother changing it when we moved back to North Carolina.  Contrary to the, "Test Pilot School is a career killer and you'll never leave Maryland," flung at us all the time, we DID leave Maryland and TPS was certainly NOT a career killer.  And though, enough had happened in my life that made me think I never, ever wanted to leave Maryland again, I was happy that if I HAD to move, it was back to North Carolina.  Safe.  Familiar.  A fun two (ahem, three)-year vacation!

And it was.  It was also supposed to lead us back to Maryland...where me "doing" Maryland would again be applicable.

But it's not.  We have moved to Jupiter, Florida.  A crazy, unheard of, totally not-on-our-radar job that is a really great opportunity for John and a very different one for me.  No military base.  No military community.  Thankfully, a few people I know and love, and that helps, but otherwise?  Totally, totally far from any comfort zone.

I.so.love.comfort.zones.

A few weeks ago, we came back to Maryland to clean out our storage space.  THREE years of storing stuff and I realized I could have BOUGHT everything in that storage shed new already!  We were only here (I say here because I am currently typing this from Maryland...John has some work and I am able to visit with friends!) for a day and a half, and it was a whirlwind trip.

It was also the first time since we've left that I did NOT visit Matthew's grave whenever we came back to Maryland.

It stung.  I told myself that we'd be back in a few weeks and Luke had been such a trooper traveling and I didn't even have any flowers...all excuses.

The reality was that I just didn't want to cry.  I knew I would if I went and I didn't want to cry.  I was already dealing with an emotional little boy who didn't want to leave the only home he really knew (North Carolina) and trying to tell myself that jumping into the total unknown was going to be GOOD for me...but really, I was overwhelmed with emotions that I've not had in several years.

I cried as we passed the hospital.  I cried as we passed the funeral home.  I cried as I walked in the baby aisle at Target. I cried as I drove into our neighborhood.  I cried when I drove into our driveway.

I was all cried out.

I told John that several years ago, I didn't want to move, but God knew better.  I don't think people really understand that when I went back to Shady Grove, Matthew had died only 3 months before.  When I got pregnant with Luke?  He'd only been dead five months.

Five months is all I had to grieve.  To process.  To breathe.

Five months.  I know  that it's nearly been five YEARS now...but I feel like I only had five months to do some really hard griefwork and then?  I was lucky enough to get pregnant again and lived joyfully every second for my sweet little Luke.  When we moved?  It was as if God was saying, "You need to go away. Go and see how sweet life can be.  Let me show you that happiness still is yours.  Go.  Go away.  When you are strong enough, I'll bring you back and you can continue growing as you live, breathe and grieve.  You just aren't strong enough now."

He was right.  I wasn't.  The last three years in North Carolina have been nothing short of amazing.  Amazing relationships and adventures and mostly?  Balm for my heart.  North Carolina is where my sweet little third son's heart beat for most of his life...and for the last time.  North Carolina reminded me that the life I live is so extreme--extreme joy and extreme sorrow--but that they both coexist because they've become part of me.  Ask anyone.  I'm pretty complex.

Moving to Florida was a surprise, though.  And still...when cleaning out the storage space, I heard it.  Loud and clear.  "You'll come back here.  Just not now.  You're not strong enough yet.  You've done well.  I'm pleased that you are working your way back to FULLY trusting me.  I understand you're not there.  I understand why.  I understand you need more time.  I'm giving it to you.  Take it.  Use it.  Grow with it.  Look for the opportunities I'm going to give you.  Grow.  Enjoy.  Heal.  And then, come back...bravely.  With more strength and courage and determination than you've ever had.

Because you'll need it."

I feel like I've been lucky enough to not have constant triggers in my day-to-day life.  Moving has allowed me space and the pleasure of living in a pseudo-sort of denial and I won't lie.  I'm grateful.  It's allowed me to grieve at my own pace and in my own reasoning without being FORCED into things because I couldn't escape landmarks or people or whatever.

And I feel like I've been given two more years to get stronger.  Braver.  More ready to deal with things that I only had a mere five months to deal with when Matthew died.  I realize that by the time we move back to Maryland, he'll have been gone nearly seven, maybe eight years...to many, for me to do griefwork or face things I've been able to avoid for years will seem very odd.

As if I've not moved on.  Or will be dwelling.  Or whatever.

No matter.

Moving out of comfort zones has also given me some pretty thick skin.  People can think whatever they want to of me.  I don't really care.

I know what strength is.  I know from where it comes.  And, if I'm being given it in the form of a few more years away from things my heart may be too weak to deal with right now?

Taking it. Not feeling one.bit.guilty, either.

So, while I considered changing the name to just "Lori Does,"  I'm holding off.  Because no matter where I am....trust me.  I'm always, always, always 'doing' Maryland.

Peace That Surpasses Understanding...

Honestly, I don't think it is a secret that I'm sappy.  But, I really get overwhelmed sometimes with how many messages and texts and emails I've been getting these last few months.  I mean, truly, there is gratitude that I am not sure conveys when I tell people, "Thank you for thinking of me."

I mean it, though.  I am very thankful for so much kindness and support.  So much so that I also feel a level of guilt because there is such an outpouring of concern for me...and I don't feel that I'm necessarily in as much need.

Really.  I feel great.  (Ha ha, amazing what medicine can do, isn't it?)

I do.  I am FINALLY feeling more back to normal health...sometimes you just don't even realize how poorly you felt until you feel better and look back.  I think that's been a big factor in just having this cloud hang over my head this year.  When you feel sick, everything seems more dreary.

Which is not to say that we've not had our challenges lately.  We have.

I have.

And there have been times where I just kept begging for a break.  A breather.  Just something to be easy.

I hate that in that begging, what IS easy gets buried.
There is so much easy in my life.

Just mine for the taking if I just remember to realize it.  All the time.

I purposely have NOT been googling much about all this cancer/cyst/estrogen reactive/genetic risk factors/mastectomy situation stuff because the decisions I need to make are too big for me to have water muddied by Dr. Google.

I choose health care so that I can trust my providers.  If you can't trust your providers, you need to find new ones.  I am thankful that I have access to excellent care.  And, I'm thankful that I have had multiple opinions with various bits of information and perspective.

I had the MRI yesterday.  Perhaps I should have googled that a bit more.  I had no idea what to expect. I just figured it was kind of like a CT scan, and I have had lots of those.

Sorta.  It was sorta like a CT scan.

I didn't realize there'd be need for an IV for contrast ( I don't love IVs) and I didn't realize it would be so tight.

I'm a smidgen claustrophobic.  Plus, I had to lay on my stomach, and I (much like Luke) sort of choke when my neck is strained just so.

Like it was yesterday.

The nurse told me that they had a fabulous high-tech machine, but the downfall of it was that it was loud.  (I'm still thinking that whirring, engine sound like in CT scans, but louder.)  The tech asked me if I wanted music (couldn't be too loud if you could hear music, right?) and I said, "Sure."  She asked me what kind I liked to listen to and I answered, "Ummmm...Christian?  Or Motown?  Whatever you've got."

And I climbed on.  Got positioned.  Started freaking a little bit, but kept my cool.  Got the headphones on and heard Hillsong United singing Oceans (Where Feet May Fail).  Thought, "Ok.  I can do this...don't love it, but I can do it.  Keep swallowing."

Then I went in.  I lifted my head and realized I couldn't lift my head.  Freaked out a bit more.  Started to tear up, but the tech said I was doing great and the first scan would start....

Enter, in my head, the LOUDEST alarm-like sound I've heard in a long time.  It scared the mess out of me.  It's not this whirring noise...it's this horrible, loud, crazy scary alarm-like thing and I freaked out.  It lasted about a minute (or eight hours, hard to tell) and then I was asked how I was.

I said, "Um, is it going to be like that the whole time?"

You can guess the answer.

So, while they kept saying they could take their time, and maybe I could get a xanax, I just said, "No.  I need to get home.  I'm tough.  I'll do this."

I closed my eyes and just started praying.  Prayed for God to take the fear.  Prayed for God to give me peace.  Prayed to stop shaking and crying.

Then it started again.  This time, the volume of the music was louder, and I could hear the song.

"One Thing Remains" by Jesus Culture started.  This song came out right before Matthew's 1st  birthday.  I was about 32 weeks with Luke, and remember feeling the lyrics in my soul:

"Higher than the mountains that I face

Stronger than the power of the grave
Constant through the trial and the changeOne thing… Remains..."

I started crying.  What were the odds that a song that was over several years old and so special to me would be played at the very minute I'm crying because I am afraid?
Instantly, I felt less afraid and started singing.

"On and on and on and on it goes
It overwhelms and satisfies my soul
And I never, ever, have to be afraid
One thing remains"

Then...as if that wasn't big enough for me, the next song came on: "That's What Faith Can Do" by Kutless.

Y'all.  I wrote about this song and what it meant to me a little over a month after Matthew died.  Wrote how I was begging God to help me because I was desperately trying to survive my broken heart and glorify God and couldn't He just help me out some?  I just reread that post.  Sometimes I just have no words for the awe.

"I’ve seen dreams that move the mountains
Hope that doesn’t ever end
Even when the sky is falling
And I’ve seen miracles just happen
Silent prayers get answered
Broken hearts become brand newThat’s what faith can do."

I spent the next 15 minutes or so crying.  In gratitude.

With.no.fear.

I know we have a lot going on.  I know there are lots of unknowns and circumstances that aren't ideal and things I wish I had more certainty in.

But I am at such peace about everything.

Houses are rented.  We'll find somewhere to live.  I do not believe for one second that MRI or any blood work is going to come up with anything that says cancer, and I have no reservations, whatsoever, about holding off on a mastectomy and watching for a bit longer.  We have food in crazy amounts, so much water that Luke plays in it all the time, and though I complain about the size of this house—it's ginormous in world standards.

It may seem like there'd be a lot of turmoil in my mind (and there has been, make no mistakes), but there isn't.

Not one bit.

Gratitude In The Storm...

I'm sure many are familiar with "Praise You In This Storm" by Casting Crowns, and if you are not, it essentially is the heart's cry of many—

"And though my heart is torn...I will praise You in this storm."

Lots of people who have lost children and then gone on to have subsequent children call those children "Rainbow" babies because they are like the rainbow of Promise and Healing and Redemption after a turbulent storm.

Without question, Luke is all of those things in the aftermath of losing our Matthew.

And, I did go right back to church after Matthew died.  Less than two weeks after he died, I sat in Sunday School and participated in the current study we were doing:  Why Do Bad Things Happen To Good People?  I tried to keep it together while the room was really, really heavy with grief and awkward glances at us; people wondering how in the world we were even functioning, much less able to talk about how bad things could happen to 'good' people.  Answering questions like, "Has anything ever happened that you begged God could be different?"

Yeah.  Ummmmmmmm.......

But I should be honest.  I don't think I was doing much praising.  I was sure as heck in a storm; of that, there was no doubt.  And, I went to church.  I smiled when people told me they could see God working in us and through us, and I listened to NOTHING but Christian music around the clock.

I didn't praise, though.

I mean, I praised God for Matthew.  For a perfect process from IVF consultation to the last minute before John told me he'd gone.  I'd spent nearly ten months of bliss and I was finally a mother, and my son was beautiful and I *did* praise God for that.  I praised Him for the support we had.  I praised Him for the medical care I had.  I praised Him for those things.

I didn't praise for the situation, though.  I did not praise Him for Matthew's death.  I did not praise for a lot of things, and I vowed I never, ever would.

This mother's heart could not possibly be expected to praise God for a coffin.

I don't know that I will ever be able to do that.  If I do, I can guarantee, it will not be of my own doing.  My heart is a very different heart, but it is still the heart of a Mama.


How abundantly blessed I am has been so much at the forefront of every thought I've had lately.  I'm doing a new Bible study by Jen Hatmaker (Interrupted) and I love it.  Did you know that if you make $50k or more a year, you are in the top ONE PERCENT of the WORLD's wealthiest people????
Truly, I am so blessed.  If you are reading this, using Internet, my guess is that you are so blessed too.

I used to hope my gravestone said, "She had impeccable manners and adored good grammar!" and now?  Just one word.

Grateful.

"She was so grateful."

These last few months have been crazy.  We've had a HORRIBLE experience with tenants that has been a major stress on our finances, but more on my heart.  To be taken advantage of—and I'm talking REALLY taken advantage of—hurts, and in lots of ways.  Me, John, Luke....our family.  It's been awful.

My sinus surgery recovery didn't go so fabulously. In the healing, I ended up with a sinus infection, double-ear infection AND walking pneumonia!!!  For the last month, I've really just felt MISERABLE. (Which is par for the course in March, because I can't think of a birthday in the last few years that hasn't been riddled with some sort of icky.)

We are looking at a move in a little over two months and there is no forwarding address yet, and that is driving.me.nuts!!!!!  The rental area in West Palm Beach is hot, and we won't get anything until right before we head down in June.  Not to mention people are more concerned about John having a pick-up truck than they are dogs!  Crazy, right?

My appointment at Duke earlier this month really didn't give me anything new but perspective.  They agreed with all that's been done before, but before they recommended mastectomy, they felt I should do some more genetic testing and have an MRI.  That's scheduled for tomorrow.

Unless the genetic testing comes up with something new, I've pretty much decided that I'm going to just continue to be really watchful in the next few months and year.  It's very easy to say I'd "get rid of them" before faced with the reality of doing just that...and as much as well-intentioned people say "Hey, now you can get a perfect set!" it's just not that easy.

Reconstructive surgery is a lot, lot, lot more than I thought it was.  And, very different than augmentation.

In any event, what I've prayed for in all of this was peace.  A clear, decisive answer of what I should do.  No doctor has given me that yet, but still—I have peace.  I feel 100% comfortable with waiting and watching some.  I'm not ruling out a mastectomy if things change or come up, but for now?  I'm completely, completely confident in that decision and so is the specialist I am seeing at Duke.  In her words, "You've had a lot of things happen in your life that would make you expect the worst because the worst happens.  I understand if you feel you need to do this.  But, I want you to feel secure in knowing that it's not always the worst, either."

I believe that.  It's not always the worst.

It's not.

So, people have been so kind—emails and texts and messages and calls—just checking in and telling me, "Man, you totally need a break!"

I want to say, "Right????? I mean, seriously!  I'm getting a bit tired of all of this!"

But I can't.  Because as tired as I am....I am just grateful  There are so many things for which I am grateful.

While I definitely feel like it's been somewhat storming for a while lately—there is gratitude.

And gratitude makes an amazing, amazing umbrella.

Normal and Anonymous...

It.is.just.not.meant.to.be.

As I cried to a precious friend about just wanting to be "Normal and Anonymous," she said:

"Lori.  You are never going to be normal and anonymous because it is not who you are.  You are fabulous and fantastic.  People look at you and think you are strong and amazing."

This humbles me more than I can express...even more so because I am doing a pretty great Bible study and the other day, the focus was on realizing that God made me to be exactly.who.I.am.  We always think about our personality and character traits as gifts given, but we rarely see who God made us to be physically as strong gifts as well.

I mean, let's be real.  4'11", crazy frizzy hair and humongous mouth...strong gifts?  A broken body that looks fabulously fertile (again, even more amazement at this since I'm almost 41) but has lost more children than it has kept? Purposed?

Yes.  Even me.

My ovaries and endometrium look great.  No masses, no cancer, no nothing.  I was sort of disappointed because I was hoping to hear, "You need a hysterectomy," and then would not need to keep thinking about a mastectomy.  I know that sounds horrible, but in my mind, taking ovaries out is kin to taking tonsils out, while taking breasts off?  A big difference. (And please...obviously I know it's more than taking tonsils out.  I am STILL recovering from that blasted sinus surgery I had nearly a MONTH ago!)

I did not realize, however, that though removing my ovaries would take my estrogen away and lower my breast cancer risk, doing so would also increase (significantly, because of family history) my risk of heart disease, and that's the number one cause of death for women in America.  According to my doctor, there's less physical trauma to the body with an ovariectomy than mastectomy, but an added inherent health risk (heart disease) that does not exist with removing breasts.

He essentially said my risks are significant and I get to pick which I want to deal with.  Breast cancer or heart disease?

Isn't there an option C?

As I told this to my friend, she mentioned how this day and age offers so.much.support for women—so many women who have gone through mastectomies and so many support groups for women as they face all that comes with them.

I agreed.

I am just tired.

I am tired of reaching out.  I am tired of needing support. (But please, please, please don't confuse that with not being grateful for it.  I am so grateful.)

I just want to be normal and anonymous.

But since I'm not, and apparently made that way, I press on.

I go for a third opinion on Monday.  It's at Duke and then I guess I'll make some decisions.  I'm not likely to hear anything different; risk assessments are pretty formulated.  I'm hoping that this doctor will be the one who just tells me what to do instead of tells me I need to do something.

I know I need to do something.  I recognize that I cannot spend every month wondering if this time, the lump(s) is cancer.

I also know that 'chopping' them off is not as easy as it sounds, and 'getting a new, improved set' is a LOT more of a process than people think.  More than I ever thought.

Either way...'normal' just isn't in the cards, is it?

You'd think I'd totally learned that by now....

Getting Real About Fear When You've Been The One.

So look.

I know, I know, I know, I KNOW we are told not to be afraid.

I know it is futile to worry about things out of our control.

I know that stress and anxiety steal joy.

I KNOW.

But I am afraid.

All the time.  Every day.  Every second.

I am afraid that something terrible is going to happen to Luke or John and I just.can't.bear the thought of picking out another casket.

That said, (and before any judgement on why I am not being faithful, a good Christian, being pessimistic, etc.,)—————

I work very, very, very hard to LIVE as if I am NOT afraid.  When Matthew died, I made a strongly purposed decision to not let fear guide my life.  I would NOT let fear dictate my decisions or steal anything more than had already been stolen.  When pregnant with Luke, I refused to let terror or fear overshadow my joy.  When pregnant with Trey, same thing.

Outcomes different, but my attitude the same.

Afraid I may have felt, but BOLD AND BRAVE was how I chose to live.

I still make that choice—the choice to live like I am not afraid—every single day.  Every hour.  Every minute.

Friends—it is NOT easy.  As a Christian, I hear and sing songs and read words ALL.THE.TIME about not being afraid.  Not being anxious.  Relying on God to rescue and heal and save.

I, without question, believe He does.  A lot.

But I know, within the depths of my soul, that I could sing and read those words every day of the week and twice on Sundays and I will still be afraid.

Because when you've been on the end of Him not rescuing...not saving...not healing????

You know that every situation has two outcomes, regardless of how much you pray and beg and plead.

We all have to make our peace.  I've made mine with God.  I know that trusting Him and having faith does not always mean the outcome will be the one I want.  I know that hearing "No." on a job offer or state to move to or relationship to pursue is VERY different than hearing, "No, your children will not live." and while it's not mine to compare grief and loss, I feel like God and I are at a good place of understanding.

I understand that I will never know, and He knows that I will never understand.  

So I don't ask.  There's no point in it for me.  I believe in a God who is good and bad things that happen do not take away from His goodness.

The gratitude I have for the privilege of raising Luke is a constant, constant reminder of His grace.

And I am afraid—because I know that His being good and faithful doesn't mean that bad, horrible things don't happen.  Won't happen.  To me or to loved ones.  The thoughts terrify me because I know pain that I don't ever want to experience again.

EVER.

But I choose to LIVE unafraid.

Tomorrow, I have surgery for my sinuses.  I am excited to finally have a few months sinus infection free, but more, to have a few days of drug-induced, mandatory sleep!  My eyes tell the tale of my insomnia, and even though I guess I am 'middle-aged,' I don't love looking so tired all the time.  "Allergy eyes" don't help.

I saw the breast surgeon a few hours ago.  I left with the option to remove my right breast.  The gist of the consult was that I have, based on some physical findings and risk factors (family history and IVF), close to 30% chance of acquiring breast cancer.  I could be continue to be vigilant, watch the lumps I have closely and be on the look-out for more, or I could remove the breast altogether and not worry about developing cancer and possibly leaving Luke motherless.

Who says stay-at-home-moms don't make exciting decisions?

I asked the very respected doctor several questions, mainly whether or not removing a breast would be silly or radical and overreacting.  He did not think so, on any account.  To paraphrase his words, I am a young woman with a lot of living to do and a young child to raise.  Taking the elevated chance of cancer away is a big decision, but one he'd certainly respect and suggest.  He's left the decision in my hands, and I'm at a loss.

The odds of Matthew's IVF cycle being successful were 31%.  Luke's? 28%.  Trey's? 23%  Odds of miscarrying Trey when I did?  1:300.  Matthew dying from vasa previa complications?  1:10,000.  Him having one normal kidney and one pelvic kidney? 1:10,000.

I've been 1:4 twice.  I've been 1:3 three times. 1:300 once.  1:10,000 once.

I am good at being the one.

The one no one wants to be, that is.

I have more scans and more discussion March 5.  I think I will also seek a 2nd opinion, though honestly, this is not really surprising news. I was a bit surprised it was confirmed, but expected it as a possibility.  After the next appointment and second opinion, I guess I'll make a decision.

I do not want to make a decision based on the fear of getting cancer.  But, I don't want to wonder every day if that's the day that will change my life.

Again.

Totally off-topic?  That's a cape I got to wear this morning.   Seriously.  A cape????  Luke was sooooooo jealous!

Yo Yummy???? SOOOOO Yummy!

Y'all know how picky Luke is.

Rather, how *resistant* he is.  I don't think it's fair to call a child who sees a therapist for sensory food aversion 'picky.'

He is not willfully being disobedient.   When a kid won't try candy or something sweet?  Not willful.  Or picky.

Something else entirely.  And therapy has done a WORLD of good.  He tries things now.  Sometimes on his own; sometimes because I tell him he needs to.  But still, he tries, and that is so much progress.

He still does not want things on his fingers or mouth, though.  He won't eat without "a wipe" (wet washcloth) and dabs his face or fingers after EVERY bite.  Now that he is trying more, we are noticing more aversion to the texture of things.  He's much more willing to try, but then he starts gagging (something he never did before) because of the textures of new and different things.  Basically, continued exposure and desensitization will help that, but it's a slow process.

So HOW EXCITED was I to try a new yogurt product?  He loves yogurt.  It has always been one of his staples, even when he'd only eat maybe three things.  But, he's never been too much a fan of the yogurt on mouth.  He likes yogurt tubes, but around here, it's not always easy to find them without all the sugar and dyes and such.

Ta Da!  Introducing to our lives YO YUMMY!  I am part of an awesome Moms group, Moms Meet, and we get the opportunities to sample and share things with friends.  I jumped on the chance to let Luke try these yogurt pouches and I am SO glad I did.  They have 10% less sugar than most 'kids' yogurts out there and NO dyes and NO high fructose corn syrup (seriously...why even use that stuff????).  Each pouch has more protein than even the awesome organic brand I pretty much exclusively buy and best of all???

Luke LOVES them. 

LOVES them.  He loves all flavors I got to sample, and always immediately asks for another when he finishes one.  He likes that he can eat yogurt from a pouch, and therefore make far, far less mess.  PERFECT for him! I like that they are a dairy farm in Vermont and though it's not organic, they only use rBST free milk from their OWN dairy farm.

The only thing I don't love is that they aren't easy enough for me to buy (yet)...for now, some of my favorite (but not-so-near) places carry them:  Wegman’s, Costco, Hannaford, Stew Leonard’s, Fresh & Easy, and Sprout’s Farmer Markets. 

My hope is that the locations will continue to grow, but honestly, even though our nearest Costco is over an hour away, these will be on our list to go for—Luke likes them that much.    If you are near any of these stores, and have the opportunity, I'd definitely try them out.  Sometimes, when I do reviews of things, I am hesitant because I worry about how to be kind if I don't like something or find value in it.

TOTALLY not the situation here!  SO, YoYummy, thanks for the opportunity to try something we think is AWESOME!

Come to more stores, closer to me!  And fast!

***I received this product for free from the sponsor of the Moms MeetSM program, May Media Group LLC, who received it directly from the manufacturer. As a Moms MeetsSM blogger, I agreed to use this product and post my opinion on my blog. My opinions do not necessarily reflect the opinions of May Media Group LLC or the manufacturer of the product.

On Maintaining A Happy Face...

I got the results of the node biopsy last week. As predicted, they were "Non-cancerous.  Benign alternatives all within normal limits."

Thankful.  I posted on FB because I was just so grateful!  One big thing down, one to go...sort of.

Well, I posted too soon.  Later that morning, I got a call from radiology about something on the mammogram that required more imaging and then got a letter too just to reiterate that in further studying, etc., there may be more to look at.  Awesome.  I've not gone back for another mammogram because next week, I see an amazing surgeon and he will be the decider of what to do with the "We're not sure what that lump is but it doesn't look like cancer," lump.  Speaking to my OB again today, he reiterated his happiness that I was seeing the surgeon and told me to be prepared for him to want to take a better look at it.

Prepared used to be my middle name.

I went in for my pelvic ultrasound this morning, to be followed by an endometrial biopsy.  (Seriously, tons of fun.)  The tech was nice and as often happens pretty much any time I am laying on an ultrasound table, looking at the ceiling and hearing the whoosh-whoosh of prenatal heartbeats nearby, tears slowly came out of the corners of my eyes.

I couldn't help it.  I cannot count how many times I've been on a table like that.  Praying.  Rejoicing.  Pleading.  Sobbing.

No matter how far away from infertility and loss I feel like I get...I am always reminded that I'll NEVER get away from it.

Never.

So, as she's looking and telling me how fabulously fertile I look, and sharing her sorrow over "my story", she tells me that the endometrial lining looks great.  I saw the coveted triple stripe that sooooo many IVF gals are looking for at transfer time, and 4 dominant follicles.  Yep.  Totally, totally look like (and have blood work to prove) a gal with the fertility of a 30-year-old.

Except I'm not.

My pain has been primarily one-sided.  She spent a lot of time there, but didn't say much, so I didn't figure there was anything going on.  Then, after, I said, "Well, if the endometrium looks good, maybe he won't want to do a biopsy, right?"

She said, "Probably not on the endometrium, no. But...there's something going on with your right ovary.  He's probably going to want more testing."

I nervously told her, "Well, at least I know I wasn't crazy and this pain wasn't fake!"

She sort of fidgeted and smiled and then asked if I needed any tissues.

That does not sound very encouraging, does it?  It didn't to me, either.

I went back into the waiting room to wait on the doctor.  The HUGE, very filled with happy-pregnant-people, waiting room and just bit my lip to hold back the tears.  I wasn't necessarily afraid; just anxious...and I felt very, very small.

I looked around.  I try not to be jealous.  I am blessed beyond measure.  I try not to let what-will-not-be steal any joy of what-is-right-now.  I try to be grateful for all I have instead of wistful for what I've lost. I try not to let bitterness and anger over how I should have a house full of little boys cloud the unimaginable joy that I have in one amazing Threenager who calls me Mama.

But friends, it.is.hard.

IT IS HARD!

I want to scream that sometimes.  IT IS HARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Attitudes, in my opinion, are choice-based.  I choose joy or peace or happiness over depression, anxiety and anger.

I think, though, sometimes it is forgotten how difficult those choices are.  How gut-wrenching infertility and loss can make someone feel and how deep a valley they have to come from just to get to those 'choices'.

I'm not looking for pats on the back.  I do NOTHING in this world without the grace of God.  NOTHING.  But for His grace and provision of support in friends and outlets and healing through my sweet Luke?

I'd have let myself die off a long time ago.

But the pull to go the other way is strong sometimes...to just throw myself into the natural inclination, which right now for me is, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" and still, I feel guilty even saying that because I'm not even sure about what it is I'm being kidded.   The pull to break down and cry is just pretty strong.

So I did a bit today.  And am now.  And feel better for doing so.

When Luke wakes up from nap, I'll go right back to the Mama he knows and loves—silly, giggly, wildly-in-love-with-him Mama and he'll not have a clue that I had a little pity party for myself.

And we will have Krispy Kreme donuts.  Because seriously, they make my kid (and me) smile.

Grateful.

As for what the doctor said...essentially, he does not think the cysts found are cancerous, but took some blood and wants me to come back in 6 weeks for another pelvic ultrasound.  Given my mother's and sister's history, he said that I'm valid in being concerned about cancer.  Given MY history of PCOS and ovarian cysts, he feels pretty confident that it'll be ok but he wants to be sure since I've been having pain.  He feels the pain (gut-busting!) is probably residual scar tissue from surgeries and endometriosis and he still wants to do an endometrial biopsy but will wait for 6 weeks so as not to put me through it today and compare ultrasound findings from today with 6 weeks' time.  He is a really great doctor.  Said he wished he could be more comforting but for now, odds are this is all just vigilance but if there is cancer or whatever, it's very early and things should be just fine.  I feel that way too.  I am not going to really rest too easily for the next 6 weeks, BUT...I do feel like whatever is going on is not something huge.  Then again...if you know me in real life, or have read this blog long enough....you know how *great* my gut instinct is, don't you?


Oh, hey, did I mention I'm having sinus surgery in two weeks?

You know...because I just like a few more things on my plate....

Guess It Went Well...

Wow.  Way to make a girl feel loved! Thank you all for thoughts and prayers.  I honestly feel pretty ashamed of myself for alarming anyone before I knew what was going on, so forgive me.  I just got home.  There is a small (3mm) cyst they found not by mammogram but with ultrasound.  (Apparently, I have the breast tissue of a 20 year old—which means DENSE—and will now always have an annual ultrasound with mammogram.  Who knew?  A new law was just passed that requires breast tissue density to be scored **true to my nature, I am at the TOP of the charts!** so that people can know whether a mammogram may miss something.  I'm one of those that a mammogram missed.  Is there any way to know it was there in October when I had my annual mammogram?  No.   There isn't.  But,  I don't think it was.  I'm very, very, very vigilant in self-checks.  The lump I found at the end of December was sizable and new.  It's shrunk (a good sign) but still there. And, according to the radiologist, doesn't look like cancer but he is not sure what it looks like.  Fun, right? Always one to keep them guessing....

The lymph nodes are still swollen but look normal.  I didn't (and still don't) know what swollen nodes feel like, apparently.  A bit disconcerting.  Still, the radiologist did not recommend biopsy but left it to my doctor.

My doctor wanted biopsy.

He said if I was just a gal with all this and had done IVF, he'd probably not biopsy.

If I was just a gal with all this and a mother who had died of breast cancer, he'd probably not biopsy.

But, since I'm a gal whose mother died of estrogen receptive breast cancer, and I've pumped my body in loads and loads with the very stuff that probably killed her?

He isn't taking chances.  I'm with him.  He feels confident the results will come back negative (a couple of days) but is still puzzled by the mass...could be fibroid, could be benign cyst, could be mild duct back clog (did you KNOW that existed?????)...could (and probably is) just a quirky little part of me.

So, I feel pretty confident it's fine.  I have to follow up with the oncologist surgeon on the 29th and recheck with mammogram and ultrasound in 3 months (or sooner if more lumps or pain in nodes) but I'm sure it's going to be fine.

I'm a bit more concerned about the 22nd and the endometrial biopsy, but even still...if it turns out to be something (and with a couple of c-sections, a few laparoscopies and endometriosis in my bag of tricks, could be a ton of other things!) serious, it's early.  And there are a lot of things that can be done.

Sooooo....again, thank you for all of the love and well wishes and prayers and good thoughts.  I really do feel a bit like I threw a big temper tantrum anyway by throwing it all out on FB before I really knew what I was dealing with.  I won't lie, though.  It's really, really nice to have people rally when you are scared.

And I was, a bit.

So thank you, thank you.
More to come as I learn it...

Temper Tantrums Flare, But Gratitude Wins

So.

Right after Christmas, I found a lump.  It scared me because it was much bigger than the one I found in October of 2012.  Similar area, but much bigger.  I called the doctor and because of the holidays, yesterday was the earliest I could get in.  It's shrunk since then, so I almost canceled the appointment and didn't waste my time...figuring it was fibroscystic breast disease, which is fairly common.

I went, expecting him to tell me it was nothing.  He did not.  He said it was very different, and he was concerned because I also had lymph nodes swollen.  I had no idea.  My mother's initial breast cancer started with swollen lymph nodes as symptomatic, but back then, it was chalked up to a virus.

My doctor said that may be the case here, but given history and IVF, he wasn't taking any chances.  I am scheduled for a mammogram and ultrasound, as well as biopsy of the nodes tomorrow.  He wanted it done quickly.  I'm never fond of that urgency.  It doesn't usually pan out well for me.

We also discussed some other symptoms I've been having recently.  I'm going to be 41 in a few months, and I did have endometriosis, so I just assumed the issues were age/hormone related.  He said that normally, he'd say they were, but he was concerned again because of my history, my family history (mother -breast and sister- ovarian cancers) and the IVF.  He did a pelvic check and found a mass.  More appointment scheduling.  His words were, "I wish I could tell you I wasn't looking for endometrial cancer, but I am."

Well, okay then.

IVF is an old, new technology.  While it's been around for 35 years, just now are we able to have any long-term studies (ha ha, 35 years is long-term?) done on the effects on women.  Some are fairly encouraging, but most say that it's still too early to tell.  The important take-homes for me are that women with unexplained infertility (me) who undergo IVF (me) have higher risks of uterine/ovarion/endometrial cancers.  Throw in my mom's oncologist telling me (a month before she died) that I should NEVER do hormone replacement therapy,  (and IVF might as well be that times on a million) and well....I'm not finding the irony of any of this funny.

I had a choice in doing fertility treatments.  If I did, I had children.

Granted, 2/3 of whom I don't even get to raise, but that's another bitter post.

If I did, I had children.  Apparently, I also risked leaving any said children motherless.  No, the irony is not humorous to me at all.

So, that's it in a nutshell.  I have a MILLION other things that are BIG news.  Okay, not a million, but several.

We are moving.  Not back to Maryland, either.

John will have a new job.

I have a new job.

Luke, over the course of just a few days, has transitioned to a toddler bed, given up the boppy (paci) and been dry in the morning regularly.  He turned three and seemed to turn into a BOY all of a sudden.

There are more things in the fire and more I want to do.

But now—things stand still as I wait.  I'm sure it'll all be fine.  Then again, I've heard that before in a lot of things.

When you've had it NOT be fine?  Repeatedly?

Little comfort.

That said, I am trying to not be angry, as is my natural inclination right now.  I want to be very angry.  I was yesterday, but honestly, today, just cannot justify it.  I have a great life, great things to come, and *if* anything should come of this, odds are it really will be just fine.  I wanted to throw a temper tantrum yesterday.

Today, I remember that I am grateful.  And gratitude always wins.

Looking For Some Awesome Holiday Gifts? A Giveaway!

While I have pretty much written things for about as long as I could write, I don't know that I'd have considered myself a writer.

But, one of the fabulous perks of others reading about what I write means that I often get the chance to sample some pretty cool family-oriented things and tell you about them.

One such opportunity was presented when an AMAZING box of books appeared at my door, waiting to be opened and perused.  Being in the classroom for as many years as I have, I am very familiar with the impressive quality and content in National Geographic books.  In fact, my classroom libraries (and now, Luke's personal library) have always been filled with some really rich and interesting Nat Geo books I've bought through the years.

I was super, super excited to see what Luke thought, though cool as they were, I had to wrestle a few away from daddy first!

Most of the books I received for sampling are a bit older than Luke's age range, but that did not stop my little bookworm from digging right in.  "Mama, can I look at that squirrel book?" (what he called the book about Meerkats) and "Ooooh, look, Mama!  Donees!" (what he said about the picture of a donut on the First Big Book of Why book) came peppered at me as he grabbed the books with the zeal that does a teacher's/Mama's heart proud.

After I read him the Meerkats book and we talked about them (and how they are NOT squirrels), Daddy got back in the picture and he and Luke looked through the First Big Book of Why.  It is a REALLY cool book.  Big, bright colors and short enough little excerpts that allow a Mama or a Daddy to offer as a piece of information to a little guy or gal and a great talking point for older kids. 

John said, "This book is really cool because it has stuff Luke and I can talk about," and I agreed. 

Luke also really dug the Everything Pets book and I nearly teared up as he opened one of the first pages and began, "Once upon a time, there was a kitty cat who needed his Mama."  

Not only was my sweet boy utilizing some fine pre-reading/writing skills (if I say so myself!) but he reminded me how he has such a tender heart!

Speaking of tender-heart...there were two books that tugged at mine.  As a dog lover, the Devoted book  just made me give the pups some extra loving, and reminded me how much more enriched my life has been with dogs in it.  The Mother's Love book...true stories about moms in the animal kingdom?  Yeah.    Do.not.read.unless.you.have.tissues.and.want.to.learn.about.the.sweetest.mothers.on.the.planet.  Seriously, again, though a bit older for Luke, this book is a coffee-table/stocking-stuffer kind of book that I think every mother on this planet can appreciate and relate to.  Just really touching.

One of the things found in the Mother's Love book...so, so, so, so true.

From the parent perspective, I love having some fascinating non-fiction to share with Luke, even if above reading level.  I think kids will soak up what you throw at them, and several of these books have already proven to be entertaining, educational and permanent parts of our bedroom library.

From a teacher perspective, I had no idea that Nat Geo even had something like the Funny Fill-In book (a mad-libs type book that is sure to inspire even the most reluctant writer to forage into descriptive words and writing) or the Just Joking book.  I can, without question guarantee that the joke book will be a hit with elementary/early middle school kids everywhere.  This is the type of book that all the kids fight over when it is free reading time, and then beg you to take home for the afternoon because they want to keep reading it.  I cannot wait until Luke is a bit older and we can share jokes like in this adorable book!

The best thing about buying National Geographic books is that profits from sales help go into conservation, exploration, research and education programs.  Pretty much a win-win.  Even better, if you check them out at ngbooks.org/momsmeet, you can find these and lots more on sale for 30% off!  (Seriously, they are sooooooo reasonably priced! Hellooooo, holiday shopping!)  Best yet, because they were such awesome books, I am giving one of the books away—simply enter the rafflecopter and if you win, you will get to choose between Best Friends Forever (cute early chapter book about animal friends) or the Funny Fill-In book.  Win-win-win!

*** I received this product for free from the sponsor of the Moms Meetsm  program, May Media Group LLC, who received it directly from the manufacturer. As a Moms Meetsm  blogger, I agreed to use this product and postmy opinion on my blog. My opinions do not necessarily

reflect the opinions of May Media Group LLC. or the manufacturer of the product.***

a Rafflecopter giveaway

On Black Friday....

http://stillstandingmag.com/2013/11/real-black-friday/

What Happens In Four Years...

Four years ago, I was BEYOND ready to give birth.  Not that I'd not enjoyed being pregnant or wasn't BEYOND grateful to be so, but because my 'little turkey' was overdue already and the symptoms of preeclampsia we weren't aware of were taking their toll.

You can see...I was ready.

But I was thankful.  So, so, so thankful.  An excerpt from that night's post:

"There are so many things I have to be thankful for this year...even as I sit waiting for Matthew to make his debut, and am admittedly a little nervous about what labor is going be like, I am thankful that I have had the blessing of pregnancy--something I basically thought was never going to happen. Mom and I were talking last night about how different this time of year is than we thought it would be. We never in our wildest dreams imagined that we wouldn't have a little baby girl eating her first Thanksgiving dinner with us and we certainly didn't imagine that we would be waiting for a chubby-cheeked little baby boy to decide he was going to come out after all.

Again, Lord, thank you for your many, many blessings."

How could I ever, ever have known that not only would I not have a little baby girl eating her first Thanksgiving dinner with us, but the following year would not include the chubby-cheeked little baby boy who was born just two days later?

I honestly do not know how four years has gone by.  I look at Luke and can't believe that he's nearly THREE...but I remember the details of these days four years ago so.vividly.

I remember with a heaving chest and a knot in my throat that I just can't seem to swallow.

That night, laughing about how Matthew had already outgrown an outfit and he wasn't even born yet, I decided to look and see if his birthday could ever be Thanksgiving Day.  I looked at years and years ahead and basically figured out that unless Matthew was born that day or the next, he'd never have a birthday on Thanksgiving.  I'd thought that was kind of good and kind of sad...good that he'd never have to share his special day but sad because if there was ever anything in the whole.entire.world that we in our family would be thankful for, it would certainly be John Matthew Ennis!!!!

Whether I just misfigured or was just suffering pregnancy brain, I was wrong!  Matthew's birthday IS Thanksgiving this year.

It's hitting me very sharply.  Maybe because I never thought it would actually be on Thanksgiving Day, and after he passed, I was SO glad I'd never have sit a table recounting my blessings as I should have been helping my little boy blow out birthday candles.  Maybe because it reminds me of how naive I was...how silly I was figuring out things about his birth when I should have just been on my knees 24-7 praying I got to bring him home and raise him.

Maybe it's just because no matter how much time passes, I will never not miss him.  Never not ache for him and wonder what life would be like with him and his brothers.  Never not wish that it was different and that he'd lived.

Never.

So, what happens in four years?  Nothing and everything.

Because while my heart aches particularly deeper this year, it is also filled with so much joy and gratitude.  There is this little boy...a precocious two-year old who proudly tells everybody that he's a 'free-nager' (threenager; he overheard me talking with a friend, little stinker!)...who calls me Mama and tells me he loves me "the whole world" and calls his Batman slippers his 'Datman slip-flops'; is a hilarious prankster and actually ate bok choy for dinner the other night...he makes me smile and he fills every.single.day with fun and laughter.

My heart is overwhelmed with Thanksgiving for his life and his place in our family.  Just overwhelmed.

 

About Sums It Up....

This face pretty much sums me up these days!

John made it home, safely!  Thank God!  Pictures to come!

We went to Beaufort and Disney and Sea World and Myrtle Beach and saw Kirk Cameron and have carved pumpkins and dressed as Captain America to "get those naughty troublemakers!"  Pictures to come.

We celebrated what would be Trey's first birthday.  Picture to come.

I've participated in and will participate in some projects I'm really excited about and that are bittersweet at the same time.  Words to come.

In fact, that's the gist of this post.  Pictures and words to come.  I have THOUSANDS of pictures I've taken and would like to post.  I have thousands of words that churn through my head all day long.  Feelings that surprise me and thrill me and for which I feel great remorse-- I want to put to them to words but don't want to let them out of my head because I don't want them to come out in a way I didn't want them to.

I've never been one to not speak my mind.

But I've been feeling very, very possessive of my mind's thoughts...for a big part of this year.
I'm still feeling possessive, but mainly because I want them to be purposed.

So, Luke's face is perfect for me.  Silly, contemplative, concerned and bold all at the same time.  He reminds me so.much.of.my.mother here...a face that says, "I'm not sure of the details....but there's something. Just give me some time.  It's coming."

Something's coming.

I feel it.
Rather, I'm feeling for it.  Feel like I've been feeling for it for a while.

Waiting for it to find me?

Maybe.
Maybe not and I keep working on figuring it out.

You see why his picture is perfect, no?

What Does Miss America Have To Do With Us?

Lots.

I do not care about pageants much.  I mean, I'm certainly not pageant material, and save being psyched that my sister was Mrs. Wichita one year, not my cup of tea.

But man, oh man, was there uproar in my Facebook feed about the new Miss America.  Apparently Miss Kansas should have won.

Who knew?

(Don't get me wrong, Miss Kansas is gorgeous and patriotic and I totally dig her.)

More, apparently Miss New York shouldn't have.

Because she's....

...Of Indian descent???????

For real????

The woman was born in Ohio.  She's brilliant.  She's beautiful.  She had as much a right to compete in that contest and win as any other woman.

Even Miss Kansas.

So what does she have to do with me?

With Luke?

Turns out, we are of Indian descent also.

Yep, that little sandy blonde boy of mine has more INDIAN in his genetic makeup than any other ethnicity.

I don't hide the fact that my dad is not my biological father.  I didn't even know he wasn't until I was twelve (they got married when I was a baby) and admittedly, that was sort of a life-changing thing for a tween to find out.  I was ashamed and embarrassed and don't even remember why.

Different.  I didn't want to be different.

Short, frizzy-haired and huge glasses...gracious...last thing we needed to add in to that equation was a sperm donor who got my mom pregnant, told her to have an abortion (this was before abortion was legalized, friends...sperm donor was a real prize, no?) and left her high and dry to make my self-esteem just rocket.

Not.

Anyhoo...it should be noted—I could not have been given a better father.  He was exactly who God chose to raise me and walk me down the aisle and let me tell you something—that sperm donor has missed out on one heckuva daughter and grandsons.

People (rudely) have always asked me "What I was"...basically questioning my ethnicity because of my 'beautiful skin color'.  I imagine most meant well and were, in their own ways (?), trying to be complimentary, but all it's done is make me very self-conscious.

Again.  Different.

For a long, long, LONG time, I'd tell people I was Irish-Italian.  Stereo-typically, that would make sense...even John thought I was Mediterranean when he first met me, and I have a personality some could see tying in.  Do not ask me what it was about being Italian that I thought was better or more respectable than being Indian, but for whatever reason, I did.

Yep.  I was embarrassed to say, "Indian."

On the rare, rare occasion that I would answer the question of 'where I got my beautiful skin,' with, "Indian," I'd get silence and a stare.  Then, I'd get asked, "What tribe?"

For the love of sugar and cream!!!

I'd then go on and say, "No, like the country of India.  You know, dot on forehead?"

(Again, ashamed, ashamed I'd say something like that.)

Somehow, saying things like, "Dot on forehead, 7-11/gas station owner, etc." INSTANTLY took people to the 'right' type of Indian.

Sad, sad, sad.

Do you know that once I went to meet the sperm donor?  Once I wanted to see what he thought—if he was curious—what his medical history was like because John and I were trying to start our family.

Once.

He shut the door in my face.  Immediately hearing my mother's name made him turn white, literally, and he shut the door in my face.

I wasn't upset.

I mean, truly, I've never wanted for anything growing up and the man who married my mother and committed to raising me as his own flesh and blood in the process was such a better deal for me.

But I just couldn't believe that man's callousness.  His arrogance.  His cowardice.

Several years ago, my sister met her husband.  He was a young, hard-working man who had immigrated to the US with his family from India a few years before.

My sister has a life-threatening disease.  Her husband and his family have stood by her and with her for years.  They are hard-working and beyond, beyond, BEYOND gracious to my family when we visit. (In fact, John loves to visit because my sister's mother-in-law cooks up a crazy amount of Indian food just for John...)

And you know what?  Several years ago I realized that I was being petty and ridiculously ignorant by lying about Indian descent because my brother-in-law's family was just a beautiful picture of what it meant to be hard-working, family-loving AMERICANS.

So, while I don't go around broadcasting my lineage (in fact, this blogpost is probably one of the most revealing things I've ever written), I don't hide it anymore.

But things like I've read today are the exact reason I did...(Excuse the language.  It is vulgar and grotesque and makes my heart hurt.)

*****

mcshakes @j_murr22

I don't understand how you can be up for miss America you're not American you're a fucking dot head!! #MERICA

Jules_Liberta! @Jules_liberta

“@monicaamurphyy: Do you not have to be American to win MISS AMERICA anymore?! #whatisthis 👑”

Jake Amick@jakeamick5Follow

How the fuck does a foreigner win miss America? She is a Arab! #idiots

Savannah Dale@savannah_dale97Follow

Miss New York is an Indian.. With all do respect, this is America.

*****

Ummm....with all DUE respect, I'm just sick over the IGNORANCE.
Those are just a very few of the  tweets I found.
This is the kind of mentality my kid will grow up with.
This is the kind of ignorance that has made me ashamed much of my life.

This is the kind of stuff that breaks my heart.

I don't even know what to make of this.  My mother was as blonde and blue-eyed as they come.  My relatives fought in the Revolutionary War.  Most days, no one would think about saying things like that about me because I don't 'look' a certain way.  Luke certainly doesn't look like he'd be the victim of racism.

But could he?

By rights, to quote my mother, "I reckon' he could."

And I'm just sickened at the thought.