Saturday, August 23, 2014

What I'd been waiting for wasn't what I expected


The first week of the 2014-2015 school year is in the books.  And my baby, Beck, is in first grade.  While I love having my kids home for holidays, Christmas and summer vacation, I do relish some alone time.  And I have my particular ambitions.

Also, I hate the preschool/kindergarten-almost-in-school-but-not-quite thing.  That thing that I have been doing for the last 4 years.

It is this moment that I have dreamed about--when everyone is in school all day.  I had such grand plans of what I'd accomplish during this time.

1. Work part time.
2. PTA (why not start off as Pres of the Junior High)
3. Get more exercise
4. More diligent scripture study and religious studies
5. Get organized
6. Remodel my house
7. Writing
8. Doing fun activities with friends
9. Family history
10. Temple work

It's an ambitious list, to be sure, but I'd have 6 hours alone each day, right?

The first shock came by way of the realization that no, I don't have six hours.  With Emma gone early and home early with high school, the big boys at the junior high, and the little kids 16 minutes away at our city's very best elementary school, I have between 4-5 hours at most.  Plus mega carpooling.

I still can't quite figure out how to make our afternoons work.  And despite having the goal of being done with everything at 2:00pm I've learned, to my shock, that I can't fit it all in.  I just can't.

And I'm back to a familiar place where I realize that something's gotta give.

I keep thinking, "I'll just spend an hour and map out my week."  Then the list I have to map seems depressing.  And I'm bummed about the things that don't make the cut. And I wonder why I'm doing so much. And my week doesn't get mapped.  And I *know* I'm not be as productive as I should.

The answer I come back to is, "I must get up earlier."  But I have arthritis.  And my husband works late moderately often.  And even when he's home at dinner time, we don't really have *us* time until the kids are in bed.  Which is often after 10pm.  And it's nice to decompress and talk and so what if we don't get to bed until 11:30.  Or 12:00.  Or 12:30.  But going to bed late makes it impossible to get up early.  I need 8 hours and regardless of when I go to bed, I've got to be upright and in the kitchen by 7:15 so I can visit and give a proper send off to my eldest.

So I'll readjust.  Scratch a few things off my list.  And think, "Maybe I can do it all next year when I'm not PTA Pres."










Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The Post I Didn't Want to Write

March 2014

Part of me has kept hoping that if I don't write this post, that it's not true.  Yet, time and doctors appointments march on and truth is truth whether I want to write it down or not.

Nathan is not doing well.

There.  I said it.  His last several test for macular degeneration have all be successively bad news.  It is as inexplicable and the good news from 9 months ago.

In January, Nathan had a 6 month follow up appointment along with Emma and Annika.  Emma's eye checked out great.  Dr. Cory thought Annika was in good shape as well.  But Nathan was dramatically worse. Dramatically.

I called our pediatrician, who is also a dear friend.  We increased Nate's meds by 50%.  And waited for two months.  March 4th was reckoning day.  I brought Nathan and Annika in for appointments.  Annika was decidedly doing better, but for Nate it was as if we'd done absolutely nothing.

******

July 2014

My goal when I began writing this post months ago was to go into detail on a somewhat scary, but necessary procedure that my retinal specialist thinks will help.  Despite the tone of opening of this post, I felt incredibly calm about the whole thing.  And was somewhat, un-rushed about pursuing the additional procedure which we cannot seem to get insurance approval for. (Something about Nathan not being able to have "age-related" macular degeneration at 11.  While that fact is technically true, it's the only diagnosis that matches his symptoms.)

Meanwhile, Nathan has now had two appointments with more inexplicable good news.  But it's not quite good enough.  And Nate still needs the expensive PDT and we've made no headway with the insurance.

So we've set a date in Sept.  If the insurance won't pay, Wendell and I will pay out-of-pocket (possibly with some family help) and the doctor will donate his time and laser so we can just Get The Thing Done.

The doctor is quite confident it will help.  Still, we both (the doctor and I) recognize that we are using Nate as a guinea pig because of his age (older than Annika), situation and having and eye to give.  (Unlike Emma, who only has one good eye.) Which isn't exactly the kind of thing that makes a mom comfortable.

One the flip side, if we don't do this procedure and he gets huge lesions in both eyes.  Well, that's not a good option either.

It's a weird place to sit, with no easy answers, but a decision that must be made.  And regardless of the outcome, there will be consequences to be paid.

Nate rockin' Wendell's Oakleys



Tuesday, January 07, 2014

The Hospital?

"I don't know what to do with you, " the nurse told me.  "I'm on the fence."

"What are you thinking I should do?" I asked.

"Well, I might want you to go to the hospital..."

****

It was Saturday Dec 28th when I started feeling a pressure in my chest.  Like a tightening over my heart.  I gave myself my weekly methotrexate injection and went to bed.  In the morning, I felt better. By the evening of the 29th, though, the pressure was back again.  And went on into the night.

Annika had a nightmare and I tried to get her back to sleep.  My heart started racing even though she hadn't scared me.  It was 5:30 AM and I struggled to get back to sleep.

When I got up Monday morning, the pressure was still there.  Like a giant was pushing on my chest until the pain started to seep into my shoulder blade.  Although I had checked online and found that I wasn't having a heart attack, I also couldn't stop the pain or even figure out why I was in pain.

I called my favorite clinic.  I no longer have a doctor there because she defected to the BYU Health Center, but I felt confident in the staff and tried to get an appointment.  They put me through to the nurse.  She found my case puzzling.

We talked about my family history of heart disease, including my dad's recent heart attacks and subsequent surgery.  That seemed to make up her mind.

"Go to the ER.  They have the best equipment.  They can tell you what's going on."

Over breakfast with my kids, I told them about the pressure in my chest.  I told them that a nurse thought I should go to the ER.  I took a shower, got dressed, packed my laptop, a book and my contact and glasses cases and drove myself to the ER.

I called Wendell, told him what was going on and convinced him not to meet me there.

"I promise I'll call if anything gets interesting," I told him.

At the ER they took my blood pressure, ran some blood tests, an EKG and took a chest X-ray.

"On paper," the doc told me, "you look great.  We could do a CAT scan to be sure."  I explained that I had an aversion to CAT scans.

"What I think you have, is inflammation that's causing pressure in your chest."

"Oh!  From my arthritis?"  I'm very familiar with inflammation.

"Probably not," he said, drawing out the phrase like he was politely considering it.

I figured he'd tell me it was my lack of exercise or my over-eating.  But what he said was, "Take care of yourself."  And he tipped his head in a way that was simultaneously sincere and gentle.

After I left the hospital, I read over the paperwork.  The diagnosis on paper cited stress as the most likely cause of the inflammation.  I was having a physiological response to stress.  And there on Monday Dec 30th, in the hospital parking lot, I knew things had to change.  So I began to think a lot about my goals, my aspirations, my joys and how I want to spend my time.  Because, believe me, I do not want to be in the hospital parking lot at the end of 2014 because of stress. It's time to revamp.