Monday, February 25, 2013

Melissa said, "Having children is hard, NOT having children can be even harder."

I said in my first or second post that I would speak about my infertility, and for some reason tonight what I wanted to say starting coming to my mind.  Danny and I got married when I was 18 and he had just turned 22 the day before.  I am now 33 and he is almost 37, we will have been married for 15 years next month.  That is a LONG time for a couple to be married and remain childless.  What often saves us from the outright question as to why we do not have any children is people do not realize how long we have been married.  I think we both look relatively young and no one in this day and age gets married as young as we did.  Inevitably though the question does get asked...why don't you have any children yet? After the question comes the awkward mumble of an answer.  We can't, we have tried, blah, blah, blah.  How do I answer what seems like a simple question with what is an entirely complex answer.  Most of the time I just answer, "not yet," but that does not nearly cover it.

When Danny and I got married somehow I knew i would have trouble getting pregnant.  It took my mother and father 13 years to conceive me, my older brother was adopted when he was 4 weeks old.  I thought I had youth on my side however.  I was so young when I got married, I would be very young when I started trying, so even if it took a few years, I should still be a young mother. After a few years of trying with nothing happening, I decided to consult a doctor.  They put me on clomid, which stimulates ovulation.  I tried that for several months with no results either.  I went to injections, and after the first round the nurse called me and asked that I check the expiration date on the box of hormones, because they must be expired since they had been so ineffective.  I was so heartbroken by the conclusion of the nurse that I gave up medical intervention into my fertility for several years.  That is when children came into my life, albeit in a completely different way.

I started breeding cats, Bengal cats to be specific.  The story as to how we got roped into that is a completely different one, but what is relevant to this discussion that that we did.  We started bringing these little mewling creatures into the world.  I remember my first litter.  I was scared to death.  I had never owned a cat until my first Bengal and I had never seen a live animal born.  I am not squeamish at all, but to see this precious mama cat push out that kitten, to see her clean it, to see that baby start to nurse, it was magical.  This little animal's body did so easily what my body just could not seem to do, even with medical intervention.  Somehow this was able to fill a need in me for a time.  I got to play midwife for my beautiful girls, got to cradle newborn kittens in my hand, watch over them and help keep them safe, and then see them off to their new families.  I loved this work, I could be a mother of sorts to my beautiful Bengal babies, but even that only served as a band aid on a wound that would soon start to hemorrhage again.

Some years later with better health insurance we tried again.  More hormones again, more sterile rooms where I was poked and prodded, had very embarrassing procedures performed on me to make sure that my...eh... plumbing.... was still working as it should be.  This was painful and humiliating.  Then it was decided that we would try an artificial insemination.  They thought this was my best chance.  Take the best of Danny's swimmers and put them right up where they needed to be.  Well, needless to say it did not work.  Devastated barely describes what I felt, but I still had my cats, still had these little lives that I helped bring into the world that hopefully went on to be loved and cherished, went on to make another family complete.

My next step was the weight loss surgery, my doctor told me that losing weight would help me to ovulate, which the lack thereof seemed to my only real medical issue.  Well, we all know by now how that little surgery went.  Whether or not the weight loss surgery ultimately will help my fertility still remains to be seen.  What is the most sad to me thought now is that I do not have the cats to comfort me.  Seeing these little wiggling balls of fluff be born and grow into beautiful little kittens was always a source of comfort to me.

Infertility is a very hard thing to deal with.  Baring children is my God given right as a woman, and yet I have failed at it.  One more thing in a long line of my particular failures (at least that is the way I look at it.).  I absolutely love my husband and I will learn to accept our family as a party of 2, but I am sad and grieve for what might never be.  Every time I hear someone complaining about something their children are doing I WISH that I could get the chance to complain about anything my child could do.  For those of you parents that wistfully think about all of us childless couple that can do whatever we want to do, remember, we are thinking about you, and just as wistfully wishing that we could have a sweet chocolate smudged good night kiss and a hug.  We would trade any perceived freedom for the chance to have a family.

Melissa said, "Sometimes your childhood dreams become your adult wish I would haves."

I love watching the Oscars.  While the gowns are of course beautiful, and I like critiquing what everyone has on, especially with my husband, which is too funny, what I really love about the Oscars is seeing these people turn their childhood dreams into an adult reality.  If you ask most of these stars, they would say that their dream as a child was to be an actor.  Watching the Oscars you see all these adults that made that dream happen.  Whatever you think about their acting talent, morals, or personal lives, these people managed to make their dream come true, and the dream of acting in Hollywood isn't exactly an easy one to have fulfilled. How many of us can say the dream we had for our lives as children came true?

When asked that proverbial question when I was a kid "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I had several answers over the years.  My first choice was probably to be a singer.  I recall a first or second grade drawing of me standing in front of a microphone with SINGER written in my best first or second grade handwriting under it.  Problem with this particular dream is that I actually got to meet several musicians and singers as a kid because of my dad.  I saw what it was like being on the road all the time, what most gigs are REALLY like while you are in the "trying to make it" stage of your career.  Even if I had been good enough to be a singer, I learned rather quickly that I did not really want the lifestyle that comes along with it.

I spent some time thinking I might like to be an attorney.  As a kid I loved to argue and I loved watching lawyer TV shows like Perry Mason and Matlock.  When I found out how long you had to go to school it started getting a little less attractive.  Also, I have never been very good at memorizing things unless it comes with a tune, and I knew being a lawyer meant a lot of memorization, so that was out.

The thought of being a writer always cropped up.  When my teacher would bring out that magic paper, the paper with the lines at the bottom and the place at the top to draw a picture, I was in heaven.  The magical story paper, where I would get to craft in a few lines a daring tale of whatever my first or second grade mind could cook up and then masterfully illustrate that tale above it.  Now, my pictures ALWAYS left much to be desired, I was never a good artist, but even then I tried to write something that was as good as I could make it.

When I got older that story paper was replaced by the blank book.  In 6th grade my teacher introduced us to blank books.  We got to craft a story, type it on a computer, cut out the type, glue it in the blank book, and then illustrate as needed.  This was absolutely awesome.  When I was finished I had what looked like, at least to my 11 year old self, a real book.  I even remember what my story was about, it was about a group of friends who stay after school for a club project and find their teacher murdered and they work to solve the murder.  Pretty unoriginal really, but I thought it was full of suspense and mystery and I was extremely proud of my finished product.

When I got a little older I considered seriously becoming an optometrist.  I have worn glasses since I was in second grade and have always been fascinated by the eye.  I went to far as to visit the University of Alabama campus in 10th grade with a friend and investigate what classes were involved in this major.  When I saw all the math classes involved in that particular career choice I knew that was out.  I was barely keeping my head above water in algebra.

My final abandoned career choice of that of a band director.  I absolutely love music and the last two years of my high school days were filled mostly with music classes, with a few core classes sprinkled in there.  I was in concert choir, show choir, jazz band, and marching band.  I was drum major of the marching band and also was a teacher's aide in the beginner band class.  How could something I loved so much NOT be my chosen profession.  When discussing it with my beloved band teacher Mr. White he gave me some surprising, yet sound advice.  He told me that band director jobs are few and far between and he knew I was quite serious with my boyfriend (we were engaged in secret actually), and he told me that being a band director means that you sometimes have to move around to find a job.  He told me to do it only if that is absolutely what I wanted to do.

After thinking about it I realised that there was one job that I could do that would encompass all the things I ever wanted to do.  I could be an elementary school teacher  I got to teach science, showing my students the wonder of the human eye and many other amazing things.  One year I got to teach elementary music and I even got to do a Christmas program and a Grandparents Day program.  Being a teacher required arguing many times and I often felt like an attorney when I had to deal some particularly difficult parents.  One of the things that brought me the most joy as a teacher was teaching writing to my students.  I spent three years as a fifth grade teacher and in Alabama students take the Writing Assessment in 5th grade.  I got to write for my students.  Crafting examples of the three forms of writing they would have to be capable of producing for the test I got to share my love of writing with my students.  I never was more excited about teaching than when I got to prepare my students for this test.

There are times when I wish I would have done something different, something more exciting, something that made more money, but what else could let me do everything I ever wanted to do all at once?  Some dreams still feel unfinished, like being a writer myself, but being an adult does not mean all our dreams have to die.  This blog is my step toward making that dream happen, instead of it being a regret.  I hope I get to teach again.  I was devastated when I was pink slipped from my teaching job just before I was tenured, and then spent 2 years looking for a new job to no avail, but I KNOW when I do get to teach again I will be so much the better for all the things that have happened to me since.  

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Melissa said, "Thank God I do not remember everything."

Danny and I have started going to the gym, we have been going for a few weeks now and I am really feeling good doing it.  It feels good to move my body, to feel my legs and feet working as they should.  One of my favorite things to do is leg press, specifically calf raises.  I like this exercise so much because it is the one thing that really shows me how far I have come.  The memory of me not being able to pull my feet up and not being able to move my feet up and down is a memory that is seared in my brain.  I remember so clearly what it felt like to stare at my feet and try so hard to move them and not be able to, like I had a short circuit in my brain.  Now when I do my calf raises and I push down on that plate and them pull my feet back up with 80 lbs on that bad boy, I feel great, I know I have come so far.

The memory of me not being able to move my feet is very clear, and hopefully something I will never forget.  I do not want to forget it because it forever reminds me of what I couldn't do then, and what I can do now.  When I am feeling down about not making progress in some all I have to do is move my feet up and down and I know that what once seemed impossible is possible.

Some memories from my experience are not so clear.  I was talking to my Mom about this tonight. I know I walked around the house slowly feeling the strength leave my body.  I know I tried to stand and walk one day and just fell and knew something was seriously wrong.  I know I spent so many days sitting in the hospital waiting room, waiting for a room to be ready so they could check me in.  I know I felt agonizingly awful.  I know I spent days laying in the hospital bed, dry heaving every 30 seconds or so, burning pain in my legs.  I KNOW all these things happened to me, but the  MEMORY of it, is very hazy, like a thick wall of smoke has enveloped it.

Mom and I talked about it and we agree that we think God lets us forget some things for our own good.  God told Job  in Job 11:16, "You will forget your misery; you will remember it as waters that have passed away." The memories that are fresh and clear with me are the ones that teach me the most.  The memories that remind me to be grateful for how blessed I am, that show me how far I've come, that remind me to be humble, and show me I can accomplish what I set my mind to, are the ones that are right there, clear and present.  The memories that remind me of how dark a place I was in for so long, that only bring up feelings of pain, anguish, loneliness, and fear, they are more distant, harder to bring to mind.

I think this is no coincidence, but a gift from our Father to His children. The memories that are easily recalled are not all experiences that were easy to go through,  but they are ones that are needed to teach us a lesson or remind us of something.  Many of those memories are of intense pain or terrible circumstances, but remembering them is necessary for our growth and because those memories teach us something, recalling them does not take us back to a place of pain, but rather a place of gratitude.  I believe that some experiences God lets us forget because they were so horrible and remembering them will truly do us no good.  Some memories will only serve to bring us back to a dark place. Job 21:6 says "When I remember, I am dismayed, and shuddering seizes my flesh."

This also brings to mind the fact that when I am in a dark place spiritually and I am sinful, that when I repent God no longer remembers my sinfulness.  Hebrews 10:17 says "I will remember their sins and their lawless deeds no more."  Thank God that HE does not remember our dark days as well as long as we ask Him for forgiveness.

There are days that I really hate what I call my "anesthesia brain" when I can't remember the word for something, or can't remember to do something.  My memory truly is not what it used to be after all the anesthesia that I have had, however there are many days that I thank God for my poor memory, and rejoice in the memories I do have.  While not all of them are pleasant memories, they are all to help me grow as a person and show me how far I have come, which is a long way dang it!  80 lbs on the calf raises..... boo yah!

Friday, February 15, 2013

Melissa said, "Scars are beautiful."

As I was was in the bathroom washing my face this morning I started thinking about scars.  I have been battling some acne since my hospital stay.  I blame it on my change in hormones and stress of the whole situation.  I finally broke down and went to the dermatologist and have a whole regimen now that has helped a great deal.  I was thinking that I was glad that the scars are my face are starting to fade, but that made me think of the other scars I have on my body.  I have never really minded scars anyway and now I appreciate them more.  Most of my scars remind me of things I have overcome.

I have the scars from my gastric sleeve and gastric bypass, the scars that represent the beginning of my ordeal.  I have the muscle and nerve biopsy scars, which are particularly funny to me.  This surgery was done by a plastic surgeon and these two scars are by far my craziest looking scars.  When the surgeon came to explain the surgery he held up his fingers about 2 inches apart and said the scar on my upper thigh and ankle would only be about that big.  Well the scar on my upper thigh is at LEAST six inches long and quite deep and the scar on the side of my left ankle looks like he cut me open with a jagged piece of glass.  Even though the scars look crazy, they represent the knowledge that I did not have permanent muscle or nerve damage. I have the scars on my Achilles tendons and the backs of my calves that represent being freed from the searing pain that I was having every time I tried to stand up and put my heels on the ground.  I also have the scar on my right ankle from my broken ankle repair.  It reminds me not to get too cocky and try to stay humble, because no matter how confidant you are feeling, something can make you slip and fall.

I also have scars that are attached to memories.  I have a scar on my chin that I got when I was about 5 or 6 years old.  I got it when I went with my dad to the gym one day.  He told me not to play around on the equipment but as soon as his back was turned I went to the dip bars and tried to do the dips that I saw the guys doing.  Well needless to say I could not hold my chubby self up and I fell and hit my chin against the thick bar.  I probably needed stitches, but my parents patched me up.  This reminds me that listening to your parents is probably a good idea most of the time.  I have an almost perfectly round scar on my right elbow that is attached to a particularly good memory that has to do with Danny, but I won't go into details about that. *wink*

Scars are also not always visible.  Things happen to us that scar our hearts and minds.  I remember being teased as a child about my weight.  These hurtful words seared my soul and would shape the way I think about myself until this very day.  My parents moving us around from city to city in Oregon and then from Oregon to Alabama was terribly painful for a young girl, but just like a scar, once time passed the mark faded and I realized that new places and new experiences open our minds and hearts to things that we might not have had the opportunity to experience otherwise.  Watching my parents' have a loving, sometimes frustrating, but all the while lasting marriage left a mark on me that would carry over to my own marriage that despite the odds and some pretty serious struggles, has lasted almost 15 years and will last a lifetime.  I remember my favorite teacher, my band director Mr. White, asking me after I had not done very well as drum major at a competition if I had done my best.  When I responded that I had, he said that is all he asked  of me, to do my best.  His words of comfort cut through my disappointment and tears and would forever shape the kind of teacher I wanted to be and how I wanted to empower and encourage my students.

Scars may look ugly, jagged, and raw in one sense, but remember they represent healing, time, and transformation as well.  Some people may think that scars are ugly, but I think scars are beautiful.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Melissa said, "Dating your husband is fun!"

There have been a lot of things about my situation that has really well...sucked, I can think of no eloquent word that really sums it up properly, it has just sucked.  There have been a couple things that have been kind of good though, one I will ponder here.  Currently Danny and I do not live together.  This unusual situation has brought forth an arrangement that usually does not happen after almost 15 years of marriage, we get to date. Danny either comes over a couple times during the week or we go to the gym and work out together.  Friday night he comes over for dinner here and Saturday night is usually our formal "date" night.  Now do NOT get it twisted.... I would MUCH rather be at home with my husband every day, but there is a certain excitement to our relationship now.  I get very excited on the days I know I will see him. I look forward to it all day.  If it is a date night and we are going out to dinner or a movie I think about what I will wear (though I do not have many clothes still, and he is has seen everything), but I still really think about what he will think is pretty.  I take more special care with my makeup, I pick my earrings carefully. I do all the things I used to do when we were dating.  When he comes to pick me up I am so usually ready and waiting for him.  When we are out, we hold hands or he holds my arm (now grant it, a lot of times that is to make sure I do not fall over when stepping up a curb or just walking in general).  I love being close to him, we have great conversations.  When he takes me home he walks me to the door and kisses me.  That kiss means so much more now because I do not get one everyday.  That kiss is not just a peck we do as an afterthought because that is what is expected.  That is a kiss I cherish because I do not get one everyday.

Throughout my ordeal I have tried to focus on the positives.  Sometimes it has taken a lot of searching to find those positives, but this is definitely one.  Danny and I will have been married for 15 years in April, we dated for 2 years before that.  Before all this happened we still had date nights, but didn't always hold hands.  We still kissed, but often it was those absentminded pecks that almost really don't register in our minds and are done more as a reflex than a reflection of love. We had conversations, but often they were about menial things, now we talk more about things that are more important to us.  I get butterflies waiting for him to pick me up, and my heart sinks when he gives me that goodnight kiss.  I appreciate every single minute I spend with him, whether we are just taking a nap beside each other or watching a movie.  That kind of shot in the arm to a relationship like ours has been a good thing.  In our marriage it is "just us." In the movie Sex and the City 2 a couple are talking to Carrie and Mr. Big and ask them when they are going to have children, and they say they aren't, that it will be "just us."  The other couple look horrified that they dare have a marriage that would not include children.  I have had one of those marriages for 15 years.  I still pray everyday that children will be in our future, but I am 33 and Danny is almost 37, there is a REAL possibility that our marriage will be "just us." We have to maintain a strong, fun, fulfilling marriage if it does end up just us two forever.  

These circumstances have shown us what we mean to one another.  The card Danny gave me said that he knows how hard the last two years have been for me and I have been an inspiration to him and it has made him love me more daily.  I cannot tell you how much these words meant to me. I told him in his card that these two years apart has shown me how much I love him and how much I can't wait to be next to him again.    So no matter what this experience has given us a shot in the arm of romance, and that ain't so bad ya know?

In case anyone was wondering, I made Danny a bouquet of chocolate and graham cracker dipped marshmallows.  They were really fun to make and Danny said pretty yummy too.


Happy Valentine's Day everyone.  Remember you never know what will happen in your relationship, so remember to still "date" one another, trust me, it's pretty fun.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Melissa said, "This is how it started."

So as I promised in my first post, I am going to explain how this whole big adventure got started for those of you that don"t know or did not get the whole story.  It will be a bit long, but I implore you to stay with it till the end.  This post serves as background for my subsequent posts.  Future posts will both be reflections about past events and observations about current ones.  Also, I must give a shout out to my childhood friend Brianne Kughn Hendrick for the idea for my blog name.  She has an awesome blog called "Briantics," obviously a play on her first name.  I wanted something similar and my much wittier than myself husband came up with the name for mine.

So, I wanted to lost weight.  Weight has always been a struggle for me, and my doctor seemed to think that my weight was a contributing factor in my fertility issues (topic for future posts). My husband Danny had his Gastric Bypass first and he sailed through with flying colors.  By the time I had my surgery our insurance had changed and our new insurance paid for a new procedure called the Gastric Sleeve.  My doctor, who was not the doctor that did Danny's surgery, recommended this newer surgery because it was safer.  I took this advice and March 9, 2011 I had my surgery.

I have always seemed to be a magnet for complications and this was no different.  The Gastric Sleeve cuts off the greater curvature of your stomach so your stomach is now the size of a banana. Great for weight loss, smaller stomach, less food, but the SAME amount of stomach acid being produced.  Most patients can control this acid with medication, I however, could not.  My acid reflux was so severe that I could not eat anything at all.  The burning pain in my stomach and throat was torturous.  After several weeks my doctor said the only way to remedy this problem was to revert my surgery to a Gastric Bypass.

I had the revision surgery which led to further complications.  I developed strictures, which is scar tissue where my esophagus is connected to my new stomach pouch.  The scar tissue caused all food I ate to come back up.  Because I could not eat I started getting weaker and weaker.  I was in and out of the hospital for several weeks, going in to get re hydrated and then coming back out with no solutions and still with no way to eat.  I proceeded to get weaker and weaker until the end of May when my legs literally gave out and I could no longer support my own weight, my legs and feet numb and tingling with pain constantly.

I began my "long stay" in the hospital in June.  After a couple of weeks on a regular floor I was transferred to a floor called "Easy Street." I love the irony of the name because nothing about being there was easy.  This was the physical rehab floor and I have physical therapy twice a day, every day.  All the while I was being experimented on to try to come to some conclusion as to what was causing my condition.  I had my entire body MRI'ed, two spinal taps, a muscle and nerve biopsy, and more blood drawn then I can remember.  IN the end it was concluded that the cause of my neuropathy was nutritional.  I had a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) placed and began TPN (IV nutrition).

I received my TPN 24 hours a day.  It gave me all my nutrition and vitamins. I had to have pain meds every 4 hours because the pain in my legs was so intense.  I could not walk so I had to use a bedside commode.  You have not felt any kind of embarrassment until you have had to use the bathroom basically in a bucket and then have a total stranger empty it for you.  Physical therapy was terrifying and grueling.  I was fitted with special leg braces which I fondly call my "magic shoes" (thank you Forest Gump}. I remember the first time my therapist stood me up.  I rolled with my wheelchair inside a set of parallel bars.  I had one therapist behind me, one in front of me, and one on either side.  I stood up, legs and arms shaking, tears streaming down my face and took maybe 3 or 4 steps.  It was agonizing.  I had electric stimulation on my legs to try to wake up the nerves that had been so badly damaged by malnutrition.  My days consisted of therapy during the day, sleeping, and very lonely nights alone.

My mother came every single day to see me even though most of her time was either spent alone in my room while I was in therapy, or watching me sleep when I was in my room.  I cried many, many days when she left. I was put on an antidepressant.  Danny came on the weekends to see me.  It was just not feasible for him to come much during the week with him working overtime and trying to take care of our cats.  I was so lonely, I cannot remember ever being so lonely in my whole life.  My dog Harley had to go live with my parents because he was depressed with me gone.  I remember one day my Dad brought him to the hospital. My mom wheeled me outside and I saw him as my Dad pulled up, I thought he was going to jump through the window to get to me.  That was a good day.

It was the end of July when my insurance company kicked me out of the hospital.  By that time I could walk a little way with a heavy duty walker, but I was still pretty much stuck in a wheelchair.  I had to go to my parents' house because I could not be alone during the day and my house was not big enough to accommodate my wheelchair.  I also had to have help with my TPN solution since I was still getting it 24 hours a day.  I had to have someone mix the additives into the bags and help me flush and clean my lines.  I still had to use a bedside toilet except now it was my mom that had to clean it. I finally got to take a shower instead of just using washcloths in the hospital.  My parents have a big enough shower that allowed me to use a sliding board to transfer from my wheelchair to a shower chair.  Let me tell you, that first real shower after 2 months absolutely felt like heaven.

Over the next months I continued outpatient physical therapy at the hospital here.  My TPN was slowly tapered down from 24 hours, to 18, then 16, then 12, and finally it was ok'ed to be taken out.  I still see my nutrition doctor regularly and he monitors my nutrition levels closely, in fact I had one of my nutrition blood tests done today with results coming next week.  I worked very hard in therapy and gradually went from my wheelchair, to a walker, to a cane, to just my braces, and now I do some walking without my braces, though I do still wear the "magic shoes" most of the time.  In order to help me walk more normally again I had to have a procedure done called a Strayer procedure to lengthen my Achilles tendons because I had such severe foot drop that my tendons had drawn up so tight that I could not stand with my heels touching the ground.  That surgery caused me to have to walk in very heavy walking boots that kept my feet at a 45 degree angle so my tendons could heal stretched.  That procedure actually helped resolve a lot of pain for me because the constant stretching every time I put my foot on the floor was awful.

After recovering from the Strayer surgery I got up to walk to the kitchen and had a bad fall and ended up breaking my right ankle in two places which led to surgery to repair the damage. This was a huge setback for me.  I had to go back into a wheelchair for 8 weeks.  This was very emotionally hard because I had gotten to where I did not have to use it anymore.  Once I got out of the wheelchair I was back in physical therapy for a few weeks.  During that time I actually got my PICC line out as well.  This was a banner day for us, as Mom was really tired of mixing those bags and I was tired of having to be home at a certain time to hook up to my own special "go go juice." (I know, I know, sorry for the Honey Boo Boo reference).

Since then I have continued to improve.  I still walk with my magic shoes 80% of the time. I do not wear them at home but I rarely go out without them.  The one exception is the gym.  Just recently Danny and I joined a gym so I can continue to work on the things that are still hard for me.  Walking up and down stairs is still very difficult.  I still use a shower chair for bathing, I am just not ready to stand in the shower yet.  I live with a lot of fear, mostly of falling every since I broke my ankle.  I still live with my parents mostly because I am afraid to be alone.  I am terrified that something will happen to me and I do not want to be alone.  Also, in my absence Danny has really struggled to keep our house in order but he has lots of cats that have to be re homed. While I was sick and in the hospital he just could not do the things I used to do, like advertise and post ads on facebook and yahoogroups.  I was the one who always posted pics on facebook and updated out website, so kittens that were born grew up and they are still with Danny. Danny shut off our satellite service and some other things to help save money since I am not working and my disability payments are not very much.  Needless to say we have a lot of stuff to get back in order at my house before I can go home.  Most importantly I need to find homes for our cats,

I miss my husband terribly.  He comes to visit me and takes me out on dates, but it is just not the same.  My husband is my best friend and I hate being apart from him.  I do still have several doctor appointments and I have not really tried driving much so being with my parents makes it easier for my mom to take me to my appointments.  I long for the day when I am with my husband again, I miss sleeping next to him very much.

This is the shortest way I could tell this story.  I divide my life into two periods...before surgery/after surgery. When I walk around with the braces I wonder all the time if I will ever be "normal" again.  Sometimes I wonder if I even want to be normal again.  In many ways this experience has in many ways changed me for the better.  I definitely appreciate life so much more now.  I appreciate being able to just get up and go to the restroom when I need to.  I LOVE hot showers, after going 2 months without a real shower, feeling that water run down on you is like heaven.

Overall this experience has changed me irrevocably and those changes are what I will explore in future blog posts.

Melissa said, "In the beginning..."

So I decided to start a blog...I do find it a little hard to just bare my soul to friends, let alone strangers, but I decided that I was tired of wishing I would do something and instead have decided I will stop being afraid and just do it.  I have always wanted to write.  When I was young I kept diaries all the time.  I loved the creative writing assignments in school and even participated in a couple young authors' conferences.  Somewhere along the way I just stopped writing, stopped keeping a journal, and didn't think much about writing anymore. Since my health ordeal (which I will address in another post for those who do not know what happened to me) I have decided that I am going to stop being scared to try things, and just do them. I started keeping a journal again and I decided to start this blog and hope that maybe someone might like to read about the strange musings that go through my head.

While ultimately I want to get back into creative writing, I think just putting some writing out there will be good for me.  Since my disability I have found myself kind of blowing in the wind, stuck in limbo, not knowing what I am going to do with myself.  I hate feeling this way so I think writing about what happened to me and how it has changed my life will be a healing process.  A way for me to work through the feelings I have about the situation and a way to maybe encourage others in the process.  That is my hope, that someone will benefit from seeing what happened to me, seeing that I made it through, and be encouraged and know that whatever their trial may be, they can get through it too.

Finally, I hope to also gain insight from my readers.  I have a lot of feelings and questions that I struggle with everyday.  I hope that maybe someone who reads this can help me through these struggles and I can be encouraged that I will get through the journey that I still have left to travel.