Scars

I use to think that Liam was the only one that came out of this journey with scars. After all, he was left with a large scar on his stomach from his repair surgery at 7 days old, A scar in the middle of his chest from his broviac. I scar from the ECMO cannula's. That's just the beginning of his scars.

I never took into account my own scars. The internal ones I suffered from being separated from my baby the moment he left my body. From being interrogated right after a emergency csection because the small town hospital didn't know what he had or what it was called. From not seeing my son until he was 7 hours old, then seeing him hooked up to so many monitors. Then having him once again ripped away from me and flown 4 hours away to UCSF. Scars from having him turn blue on my the first time I help him. Scars from watching him knock on deaths door, time and time again. Then the biggest scar of all. The scar from watching my son die without realizing I was losing him until it was too late. The scars from holding my son's cold, lifeless body. That one makes me angry. I had to say goodbye to my son.

I spent so much time worrying that Liam would one day look at his scars and be ashamed of them. I worried he would be made fun of for them. I worried so much that I took every opportunity I could to build his confidence in them. Make him proud of them. All the while, I hid mine like they were something to be ashamed about. I earned every scar. I walked through what felt like the fires of hell for my son, by his side. I shouldn't hide away from them. The ones that need to be treated, should be treated, but I should never feel ashamed of them.

I've been living with depression and PTSD because of what I went through with my son. It's changed me so deeply and left behind so much scar tissue that I can never be the same. Instead of pretending to be the same person I used to be because I'm afraid of what others will think, I need to embrace the new me, scar tissue and all.

Living with PTSD and depression is ugly. I hide behind a pretty smile all I want, but that only fools others and does more damage to me. The hardest part is the stigmatism surrounding PTSD. Most people think that everyone with PTSD has seen combat and is ready to blow every second. It doesn't work like that for everyone. My "freak outs" mean me in the fetal position either crying or starring at nothing, unable to function.

Employers don't want to hire anyone who had PTSD because of the stigmatism.  People look at you weird when they know you have PTSD. I've even had people physically distance themselves from me. It would come out and their eyes would grow bigger and they'd take a step back. It was hurtful. I was still me. The same person willing to lend a hand to anyone who'd ask. Someone they knew yet the title scared them. But these are my scars that I gained in this CDH journey. They tell a story. That I've walked in the fires of hell and I've survived. They remind me everyday that I survived and I will continue to survive.

Everyone has scars. Scars they hide away because they're ashamed. Just remember, they mean you survived something and that is something to be proud of. 

Breaking the Chains

My therapist loves to tell me:

"grief is a choice. You can choose not to be sad. You can choose to move on"

 This statement, which I've heard others spout, is meant to be reassuring and calming. What they don't take into account, are those stuffing from PTSD. Sure maybe for a normal person they can choose not to be sad all the time, or to move past this and not have flash backs. When you suffer from PTSD, you don't have a choice when the flashbacks strike. Especially if your PTSD has to do with the loss of someone.

Truthfully, I had PTSD before my son passed away. My therapist thinks I've had it since I was around 5. Any traumatic event I went through since then, has only made my PTSD worse. My sons traumatic birth open a flood gate of symptoms and his passing only made it exponentially worse. I have no say when I'll get a flashback or what it's about and I surely can't prevent them. I don't choose to be like this. I don't choose to "live in the past". Having someone say to me that I have a choice is both laughable and hurtful. 

I want to break the chains of stigmatism when it comes to grief, depression and PTSD. When I tell someone that I have PTSD, I can see the change in their eyes. Their pupils get a little bigger, their eyes a little wider. Their mouth opens a little and sometimes even a quiet gasp escapes. All before they even have a chance to school their expression. Some even go as far as taking a step back to put space between us, without even realizing they're doing it. It's not meant to be hurtful. It's just an involuntary action. Yet it still hurts. Everything after that just seems fake and forced. 

PTSD isn't something I go around telling everyone I have. Why would I? In fact it's something I feel I was quiet about all too long. I was afraid of how stupid it sounded that I had PTSD. I have never seen war. I have never been in the military. So yea, even to me it sounded stupid. That was before I found out that the majority of those who have PTSD that is non war related, are afraid to talk about it. 

There are many situations that can cause PTSD. In fact it's name alone explains a lot. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Do you know what that means? It means any situation that is traumatic can cause PTSD. It's a traumatic situation that puts so much stress on your brain that it goes into what I call "safe mode" in order to protect yourself. Some situations can be blocked from your memory for years  before they surface again and when they do, it comes in flashbacks that feel like your there in that moment all over again. 

Your brain then creates triggers associated with that traumatic event. Smells, sounds, whatever. When your brain recognizes a trigger, it goes into "safe mode". You may start feeling anxious or worried and don't know why. You could get clammy, have a racing heart, experience the feeling of impending doom. This is your brain trying to protect you. It's normal for PTSD sufferers to go through this and more.

For parents that had babies in the NICU, they don't just get better once their child is better. For years they may try to prevent their child from getting sick or hurt. When their child does get sick, or even ends up in the hospital, their symptoms once again act up and they even experience flashbacks from their time in the NICU. Here are some statistics for your:

1.5-6% of of mother's reported having PTSS following childbirth.

26-41% of mother's reported having PTSS after having a premature baby.

27% of parents are reported to have PTSD following PICU.

20% of parents who have a child who suffers from cancer is reported to suffer from PTSS.

44% of NICU mom's are reported to suffer from PTSD,

There's more of us out there than we know, but most are just afraid to come forward and seek the help they need or to talk about what they're going through. If you suffer fro PTSD, PSS, or depression you shouldn't be ashamed. It's not your fault. As I stated above, this is your brains way of trying to protect you. For lots of people, talking about it helps. If you don't feel you can talk to your family or your friends, then seek therapy. It always helps to have a sounding board to let all your fears out on. Someone who will reassure you that, if anything, your not going crazy. I know having since I started therapy after my son passed that it helped me. I'm learning more about what PTSD and depression is and how it affects every aspect of my life.

A therapist will also let you know if you need to seek out a doctor to prescribe medication to help you. Never be ashamed to seek help and to get better. PTSD can make you feel weak but know that your not. After I gave birth to my daughter, I suffered from postpartum depression. I was too ashamed to talk about and seek help. I suffered in silence. As each day, week, month passed, I got worse. It effected every aspect of my life. I got so bad that even cleaning was extremely difficult. After a year and a half, my family sat me down and begged me to seek help. I remember crying and apologizing, telling them I tried so hard. Things got much better after a trip to the doctor and we found a med that worked for me. To think, I wasted all that time suffering just because I was afraid of what others would think.

Lets break the chains of silence about PTSD, PTSS and depression because no one should be ashamed or have to go through this alone.


*PTSS vs PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSS) is the name given to the symptoms that are experienced after a traumatic event. These symptoms can also be delayed and appear from up to 3 months after the event, to some forty years or more post-trauma (after the traumatic event).  Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is (in essence) the same thing, except psychiatry prefers to differentiate between symptoms and the fully activated disorder.

April 26 2016

(April 26,2015)

 

I did something today that I haven't done since my son was alive.

I volunteered in his preschool class.

...

...

...

 

You may not recognize it,

but that was HUGE.

 

Every time I had to go in there,

I'd go in before the kids got there.

Then I would sneak out before they all arrived.

 

(April 26 2014)

 

I was scared.

I was nervous.

I was a wreck.

 

There are so many emotions.

 

I saw how far these kids have come.

The two little girls who wouldn't even talk,

and when they did it was Spanish,

they giggled,

laughed,

said hi,

and they talked a lot.

In perfect English.

 

Most the kids got really excited to see me.

Most of the hugged me.

One little boy wrapped his arms around me as I read to them.

He kept saying "I'm hugging you",

and refused to let go.

Several little girls latched onto my arms while in lines.

I had a kid attached to me almost the entire time.

And when they weren't attached,

they followed me around.

 

(April 26 2014)

 

I sat there and watched their morning routine.

I smiled.

I wanted to cry.

I could feel Liam there.

His square sat empty,

but I could feel him there,

participating in everything they were going.

 

I wanted him to be there.

I needed him to be there.

 

I thought maybe if this was a nightmare,

this would be the time I'd wake up.

When I'd look up and see him sitting there in class.

 

But it wasn't a nightmare.

I wasn't asleep.

This was just more reinforcement that this is my reality.

Not a reality I want,

but mine all the same.

 

I know it's not going to change.

I know I won't wake up from this.

I know it's not a nightmare.

But I can't help those little slivers of hope that work their way into my heart.

 

(April 26 2014)

 

I watched as these kids learned.

As they laughed.

As they showed us how far they've come.

I was proud of them.

And I had wondered how far Liam would have come,

if he was still here.

 

It's a parents worst nightmare.

Loosing a child.

Then trying to live without them.

A nightmare I've been so scared I might have to live for so very long now.

I've been scared since my first pregnancy when I miscarried.

I was terrified from the day Liam was born.

I let my guard down in his last 5 months.

I let myself believe he was out of the woods.

I let myself believe that the worst was over.

 

I always say "if I'd only  known".

There are so many things I would have done if I'd only known.

So many things I would have changed.

But I didn't get to know.

 

Why can't we choose our own journeys?

Why can't we go back and change things?

Why can't we have what our hearts truly want?

 

Because that's not how life works.

 

If only that sentence alone could change everything.

How we feel.

How we act.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Positive or Negative

 

 

I used to think of myself as a positive person.

In fact I know I was the most positive person I or anyone I know have ever met.

I was perpetually positive.

Life has a way of weighing down on you.

Of changing you.

I've lived a hard life.

My childhood wasn't the best.

I suffer from chronic constant migraines for years now.

I am in constant pain from Fibromyalgia,

degenerative disk disease,

and arthritis in my back.

I have depression,

PTSD,

and anxiety.

My son was born with Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia,

and was chronically ill his entire life.

Still I stayed positive.

Granted not as positive as I was before that,

but still positive.

 

In December when my son passed,

it felt like the world was crashing down on me.

Any positivity I had flew out the window.

For months I haven't hardly been able to function,

let alone feel positive about anything.

 

Today I feel different.

I feel sad.

I feel empty.

Just like every other day.

But today,

for the first time,

I felt some hope.

Some positivity again.

Not about my grief over loosing my son.

But for my health.

 

After weeks of trying to get into the lab for doctor ordered test,

yesterday I finally got in.

I parked in that underground parking garage,

despite my unreasonable fear and anxiety.

I stayed in that crowded waiting room meant for 6,

yet filled with 20,

despite the anxiety building.

It took 2 1/2 hours for 5 minutes of blood draw.

But I sat through it.

 

The doctor was testing me for h pylori.

I had decided a while back,

after Liam's passing,

that I didn't care about my health.

Or rather that I didn't have the energy to worry.

Last night I decided that even though I knew that h pylori was an infection,

I should do more research about it.

So I sat down and spent hours researching.

 

I found that this could be a major reason to my fatigue,

vitamin deficiencies,

headaches,

allergies,

and so much more.

Turns out you don't show symptoms of h pylori unless it's been in your system for years.

If you don't get treated as soon as you notice symptoms,

then it only gets worse over time.

H pylori can even give symptoms of fibromyalgia,

or at least that's what I read.

 

Today for the first time,

I felt optimistic,

positive about something.

Optimistic that there could very well be an answer to what's wrong with me.

That there could very well be a cure.

 

It won't help my PTSD.

It won't help my pain over loosing Liam.

But maybe in getting rid of the physical pain,

I'd be able to work on the emotional pain.

Find a way again.

Or a start anyway.

 

I had counseling today,

and I explained to my counselor that I keep moving forward,

in hopes that one day something will click,

and things will start to feel better.

Things can't be right again.

We just have a new reality that we have to find a way to get through.

Or I have to find a way to get through.

Because it seems that I'm the only one struggling.

That's my reality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Stages Of Grief

I look at this pic Lanie and I took at bedtime and think to myself "will I ever be strong enough to hide the pain?" 

Pain isn't a new concept in my life. I've dealt with more than my fair share of both emotional and physical pain living with fibromyalgia, chronic constant headaches, degenerative disk disease and arthritis in the middle back is extremely painful. Pain meds barely stave off the worst of the pain to lower it from "I'm dying" to "this is the worst pain I've ever felt". I don't even get pain meds to treat my conditions anymore because the doctors say pain meds for fibro is a no no. So I don't even get anything for the degenerative disk or arthritis. I just deal with it and take IBproffen on occasion. 

I live with depression and PTSD. It's really hard being so sad you don't want to get out of bed. Or reliving tragedies over and over again in your mind. How do you fight that find of pain? 

But still. None of that compares to the pain of loosing my baby boy. 

I can't hold back the tears. The damn I built up years ago is broken so the tears fall as they may. 

I had to stay strong for so long. For Liam. For Lanie. For Justin. 

I can be laughing one minute and a crying basket case the next. It's uncontrollable. 

I don't know if I'll get "better". Or get "fixed" or be able to bandage the wounds. 

They say there are stages of grief. I saw this neat chart showing in which order you will go through these stages. I laughed. And I cried. Because grief isn't this neat little concept. It's not a perfect diagram. It's a jumbled mess. You may get so far, and then you'll scramble back through the stages you already "passed". Next time you might get further before you do it all over again. A realistic chart looks like scribbles. 

(Image shows two charts of the stages of grief. On the left the perfect concept of how we go through those stages. The one I wish grief really looked like. And on the right is the realistic version of grief. No I didn't make this. I found it on google but I couldn't have explained it better myself..literally. My mind doesn't process things the same now.)

I don't know if I'll ever be happy again. 

I don't know if I'll ever not be exhausted 

I don't know what the future holds. 

Right now my emotional pain over loosing Liam hurts far worse than all the physical pain I'm going through. And because fibro is linked to depression and PTSD it's only natural that my physical pain keeps getting worse with my emotional. And still my emotions wins. 

My heart feels like it's been stabbed several times and that at the worst moments, starts bleeding out again. 

My soul feels like a mirror that's been dropped from a 100 story building. 

My mind feels like it's tying to tear itself into millions of pieces. My body like I keep stepping out in front of a semi going 200 miles per hour. 

I miss my sweet little lamb. I've said it 100 million times and I'll say it forever more. 

To survive this life, I need to find a way to build myself back up to hide this pain. 

I'm supposed to rejoin the human society. One day soon I'll have to return to work. Right now I can't. Even my doctor says I can't. So what? 

All I want to do is stay in bed and cry. I want to tell this life to fuck off. That it's hurt me over and over. That it sucks for dealing me one crappy hand after another. Why should I have to pretend that all is right in this world when my innocent sweet boy was taken from me and never got a chance to have a life? Why should I pretend that I'm ok, that everything's ok when it's clearly not? 

There's nothing right with a world in which children are suffering and dying and parents are left empty and broken. 

Im supposed to trust that this is all part of a bigger picture that will one day be clear to us, maybe. God saved me from death many times in my life. Why couldn't he have saved my son? 

I'm trying so hard not to question Gods plan. I know he didn't do this to Liam. But why couldn't he have prevented it. I want to have that blind faith, where I just trust in him and give it all to God and not worry about it anymore. Not hurt anymore. But the pain and suffering just keeps coming and it's making me weak at times. Like right now. This very moment when I just want to hold my son close, feel him breathing, watch him sleep and kiss his cheek. 

I keep praying for the strength to not question Him. To trust in him with all my heart. 

Dear God,

Please help me to be strong. Give me strength to believe fully in your promises and not question you. Please give me courage and strength to face this horrendous grief and find a way to conquer it. Please keep me in your light and out of the darkness. 

Amen. 

I love you sweet boy. Please visit me in my dreams and know that I'll always love you. Forever and ever. Until we meet again. ❤️❤️❤️

One Month Tomorrow

Do you know what I do?

I fix things. 

But I can't fix this. 

I can't make this all better no matter how hard I wish or how hard I pray. 

I'm trying so hard not to question God. 

But every day that passes my heart breaks more. 

I feel like I'm being sucked down a hole. 

The light is gone and I am alone.

I know in reality I'm not alone but grief does weird things. 

I'm sorry I couldn't save you baby boy. 

I'm sorry I couldn't fix you. 

"If my love could have saved you, you'd have lived forever"

I can't make this better. 

I can't take away this unbearable pain. 

I can't bring you back. 

Life isn't the same. 

The color is gone. 

Today school started back up. 

Amanda kept me busy until pick up.

I walked that school without you by my side.

It wasn't right. 

It was heart breaking. 

Tomorrow is one month.

One month ago my world was turned upside down and inside out. 

One month ago I held you as you turned blue. 

One month ago you were rushed to ER via ambulance.

One month ago an EMT scolded me for taking you to Urgent Care.

One month ago since you told me you were tired and wanted to sleep.

One month ago I held your hand and told you it would be alright and to rest.

One month ago  you seized.

One month ago you stopped breathing and your heart stopped beating.

One month ago I watched them do all they could.

One month ago my world came to a crashing halt.

One month ago I held your hand for the last time.

One month ago I held you for the last time.

One month ago I kissed you goodbye. 

One month ago tomorrow. 

I'm a mess without you. 

I walk around with a knife in my heart. 

I have to put on a smile for people and tell them I'm all right.

The truth is I don't give a damn about anyone else.

I don't care if they're done caring or it's too hard for them to come around.

I miss you and the pain of loosing you is by far the worst thing I've ever felt in my entire life and will probably be the worst ever. 

There's no getting over, or around or under this.

I'm drowning here and fighting like hell to reach the surface.

Emotional Struggle

That moment at the end of a long day when you just have to throw in the towel, wave the white flag and admit defeat. 

Between stress and allergies, I feel like I've been hit by a Mac truck with a sinus cold on top of it. 

 Not only did I get the stress of what happened with Liam and preschool today  (click the link to read about it http://mommyconfessionalinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2015/08/liam-1st-and-2nd-day-of-preschool.html?m=1 ) but I found out that my daughters already large, 2nd grade class is getting new students from a they class on Monday. 1st graders making her class a 1st-2nd grade combo. 

Today has been a bad day for my anxiety making everything three times as emotional as it should be. By the end of the day I was almost begging for my PTSD to cause another episode of emotional numbness. It's something I've only ever told one person about. Something, until a few days ago, I didn't know what triggered. 

I found the following on a FB PTSD page: 

I found that I'm not the only one suffering with PTSD who has these episodes. Most the time I'm scared after they hit. And always afraid that another episode will hit.

I don't feel anything during these. Not anger. Not happiness. Not love. Just emptiness. A robot going through the motions. 

By the end of today I prayed for one of these episodes to hit. The over active emotions took a toll. Not just mentally and emotionally but physically. That's why I feel like I've been hit by a Mac truck. High emotions effect my fibromyalgia. 

Clearly the meds I'm currently taking to treat my depression and PTSD aren't enough. I need something for my anxiety. It saddens me that I can't just be a normal mom without all the pain, depression and PTSD. But I've learned that having all this has made me work harder at being a good mom. All that matters are my kids and taking care of them. 

That's what gets me out of bed every morning and what makes me work past the pain and misery. Because my kids are my happiness and I need my happiness

. 

My Beeping Life

Since Liam's birth, beeping has been an ever present exsistance in our lives. From the med machines and monitors and ECMO circuit in NICU to the feeding pump and pulse ox machines at home. 

Over the years the beeping and alarms have become a source of distress and anxiety for me. The pulse ox blaring in the middle of the night to inform me that Liam's oxygen levels plummeted because he forgot to breathe in his sleep (he has sleep apnea) or because his lungs are comming down with infection and aren't working as well as they should. The feeding pump with it's constant alarms saying "flow error" yet there being no blockage in the line at all. 

The last one has become such a source for my anxiety that it's probably raised my blood pressure and set me further back in my PTSD/depression/anxiety recovery. It had gotten so bad that I would sit there after hooking Liam up to the feeding up at night and nervously wait for the alarms to sound because the questions was "if" they would. It was "when" they would. 

At the end of our journey with the Joey pump, and Liam's gtube issues last month, my anxiety had gotten so bad that I would just sit there shaking and crying EVERYTIME the pump alarm went off. If the alarms would go off while I was sleeping, you would have thought bombs were being dropped on my house. It's not a metaphor, this is how it all felt. 

It affected my PTSD so horribly that I started having nightmares again about NICU and Liam's birth. I couldn't hardly sleep and started having flash backs again. Going out into public places became an issue again as well. If there were more than 2 people within a 20 foot radius of myself, I just had to escape. I would walk to a different part of the store and if it continued to happen, I would just leave. 

I never imagined a beeping sound could hold so much power over someone. Never thought anything would effect me the way the alarms do. And even though it's been 2 weeks since we got Liam's new feeding pump (the infinity) and he had his gtube surgically fixed, I am still dealing with the effect of the beeps. 

The slightest beep will wake me up from a dead sleep disoriented and freaked out.  I have issues listening to even the beeps of items being scanned at the store. And all I really know is that this is my beeping life thanks to CDH. 

The beeps aren't going to go away. They're effect on my won't stop with a snap of the fingers. Even tonight being woke up in the middle of the night by Liam's machines was an extremely stressful event. What they represent is an important part of our lives that we can't just turn them off. So I must endure the mental and sometimes physical pain these beeps cause me because it's for the greater good. That act doesn't make me anything special, it's just means I'm a mom who loves her baby boy more than herself and will always put him ( and her daughter) before she does herself. 

Shaken Faith

          Yesterday during bible study we were discussing what we now consider as ludicrous laws. Back in the time period they were written they meant something but in this day and age they are laughable. For instance did you know that in Palm Springs CA there is a law that states you cannot walk a crocodile down Palm drive between 4pm and 6pm?

          Or in New York city it's against the law to suddenly open an umbrella in front of a horse? That seems like a ludicrous law but back when it was written, horses were the main source of transportation and the act of suddenly opening up an umbrella would scare the horse.

          This conversation lead to a conversation about faith. How the devil will do whatever he can to destroy your faith. In the midst of this conversation I was taken back to a time when my faith was shaken. Something I hadn't been sure how to express without making it seem as if I'd given up all hope in God and his love. I haven't made it to church but maybe 3 times this year so far. I admit that it's been very easy for me to find an excuse not to go. Yesterday I put my foot down and decided not to take no for answer. I would drag my butt to church. I'm glad I did too because I feel I was meant to hear the lesson we learned in bible study yesterday. I was meant to hear it and be inspired to write about the time my faith was shaken.

          The moment your faith is shaken it changes everything. Your outlook on the world shifts and changes, becomes distorted and ugly. You not only question God and his motives, but question everything in life.

          When Liam was born with Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia my faith was shaken. The mountain of my faith and confidence felt like a earthquake shattering the foundation around me. I wasn't sure I'd ever have complete faith in God again. I was angry. Furious that this had happened to us, to me. Not my boy, I couldn't loose my son. When I found out I was pregnant, I had prayed hard for a son. A little boy that would play in the mud and track his muddy foot prints all over the house. A little boy to chase after the dogs, climb trees and gross out his sister. I had my girl and now I wanted my boy.

          This would be it, our family would be complete. My dream of bringing home my perfectly handsome baby boy and spending days cuddling and tickling his little toes was shattered. Instead of being presented the perfect dream, an alternate reality was presented. My heart shattered. My faith shook with a force that could move mountains. All I could do was ask "why?". Why my son? Why me? Would God really take him from me after all I'd gone through to have him? Would I never get to hold my son while he was alive and breathing?

          When something this devastating happens, all you can think of is who to blame. Whose fault is this? Did I do something wrong? Does God hate me? I didn't even think to blame who was really responsible, the devil. He set my world on fire and it burnt to ashes. At least that's how I felt at the time. Those first 2 days I didn't know what to do. I was lost and confused. A part of me hated God, another needed him more than ever. I spent many days and nights begging him to heal my baby boy and angry that he didn't.

          I'm not sure exactly what moment I let go of the anger, or at the least decided it wasn't important. Somewhere around 2 weeks after Liam's birth I stopped being angry and accepted that this was the way it was. I continued to pray for God to lay his healing hand on Liam so that once day I may hold him, take him home where he belonged. I remember when it was touch and go with Liam's health that I told God that I wasn't ready for him to take Liam home to Heaven. I told him that I still needed him and that I didn't know what I'd do without it. I also stated that if he had to take my baby that he would give me the strength to not be shattered and broken for Lanie's sake.

          I had begged that if he must take Liam that I had to have the strength to carry on and care for Lanie and give her the love and attention she deserved. But I begged endlessly for him not to take Liam. My heart was still broken and I didn't feel I could survive anymore hurt. My anger at the whole situation would leak out now and then even though I tried to keep it locked up in a vault.

          I had never felt so lost as I did after Liam's birth. Every day I sat by his side watching his struggle I became more lost and broken. Those first 2 weeks were my own personal hell. The only way I can explain how it was is to tell you how I felt. I can't tell you actual moments that happened or what was said to me but I can tell you how I felt. I know the Doctors and nurses talked to me everyday. The nurses almost constantly but I can't tell you what they said. My responses were automatic. I was lost in myself trying to make sense of it all. I was so angry and so hurt.

          I remember thinking that I should talk to Liam. That he should hear my voice because I read a study once that said talking to them can help the healing process. I tried. I really really tried but I was so angry. I didn't know what to say. At first all I could say was his name. When the words "I love you" finally escaped my lips, I cried. I couldn't stop the flowing of my tears. I remember this happening a few times and my favorite two nurses would quietly hand me tissue and hug me. They let me cry it out. It had to come out. No matter how much I cried the pain never eased.

          It's been 3 years now and it still hurts. Not as often and not as long, but it still hurts. I feel like the pain will always be there and that it is now a scar on my heart that will never go away. I don't want it to because I feel like if it does I'll forget how it felt to be so lost and to have my faith shaken so horribly. Even when my faith was shaken, God's faith in my wasn't. His love stayed and surrounded us. God had faith in me when I wasn't sure I had faith in him.

          The devil almost won that day. God's love for me and faith in me kept me going. I may have been angry and had my faith slipping from my fingertips but I held on and fought. Never will I forget the hard, dark times lost in myself, in my misery. God never left my side even when I almost left his.

July 2011

July 2011

09/07/2014

July 2014

I rejoice greatly in the Lord that at last you have renewed your concern for me.

Indeed, you have been concerned,

but you had no opportunity to show it.

I am not saying this because I am in need,

for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.

I know what it is to be in need,

and I know what it is to have plenty.

I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation,

whether well fed or hungry,

whether living in plenty or in want.

I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

Philippians 4:10-13

Coping

WebMD describes depression as intense feelings of sadness, and other symptoms like loosing interest in things you enjoy. WebMD has a great tool to help.

 I'm currently battling the worst of my depression and PTSD. This is my third round of meds trying to treat the depression and PTSD. The side effects were always so bad I just couldn't stay with the meds but WebMD says to stick with the meds, that it could take months to help. They also say to talk to your doctor because you could need a different dose.

WebMD says excersize can help. Thats great and all but I cant find the energy to do so, or the will to push myself.

This last few weeks have been so stressful, especially this last week that yesterday I was maxed. I was so stressed out over Liam feeding supplies still not being here that I shut down. One minute I'm sweeping the kitchen and the next I'm crying and cant stop. It was hard to breathe. I was taking these gulps of air as if I was a fish stranded on dry land. It took me 10 min to pull myself together and calm down. After that I just emotionally shut down. Even today I'm shut down. I'm exhausted and all I want to do is sleep (another sign of depression). I think another factor is my PTSD here. As I'm fighting for Liam's feeding supplies all I could think of was if I don't get his shipment he's going to end up back in the hospital for weight loss, breathing issues and they'll hold him until we get his delivery and he starts gaining weight. All those hospital stays kept running through my head. Seeing Liam behind those metal crib bars, the beeping, cold uncomfortable pull out beds. I felt cold down to my bones and Liams sad face kept showing in my head.

At that point I started crying. I felt like I couldn't keep doing this. Like I had nothing left in me to continue a life of this. And of course that made it worse because its my responsibility to care for Liam. Mine. He should never have to see his mother break down like that and neither should Lanie. I never want Liam to feel that this is all his fault, because he did nothing wrong. That was my last straw, the exact moment when I said no more and refused to wait any longer to begin treatment. I re-starting taking my Paxil and made an appointment with a doctor to make sure I should stay on this med as well as deal with my other medical issues.

I feel resigned to the situation. I have no choice. Things have to change. I'm so angry all the time over everything. I'm angry at every day things as well as everything from Liam being born with CDH and my painful pregnancy. I started having flash backs again and nightmares. So far they haven't been too bad compared to what I've had before.

My life has been one bad card after another since the day I was born, or probably even conceived. Its a very long story that I still don't want care to get into. I was so angry yesterday questioning how bad things could continue to happen to good people. Why on earth I keep getting the short straw when all I do is give and help people. So would the theory be that if I stop caring for others that good things would then happen to me? I highly doubt it. Besides my heart isn't wired to not care for others. I honestly believe its a fault. I will give and give until I have nothing left. This blog post is the last thing I have to give right now, in hopes that maybe somehow something I wrote here today will help someone else.

Yes I had a bit of a breakdown yesterday,

But today I'm still breathing.

Still here to tell my story,

Take care of my kids.

I think that says a lot.

Sometimes you just to let it go,

let it go,

shut down,

and start all over again tomarrow.

I'm taking life one step at a time right now. 

Today I will NOT care about tomarrow.

I will find something today that can make me smile,

make me feel good,

even if only for a few minutes.

Liam is 2 years and 8 months old now. Some days it feels like we were just in NICU yesterday. Every time Liam has a hospital stay I have to start all over in coping with everything. This last break between hospital stays was 8 months. Before that the longest was 8 weeks. It takes work, doesn't go away over night.