February to December, round trip

As I sit here in a Vegas Hotel room, I reflect on how my life has made a hairpin-loop turn from last March.

Back at the end of February, we booked a trip to Las Vegas. I had been in pain for a couple of days, and the night before the trip, I decided I had enough and we went to the hospital, thinking it was my appendix. Turns out I had an ovarian "chocolate" cyst the size of a softball. After the cyst was drained, I got in touch with my OBGYN and found out there were three more cysts on my ovary. A surgery was scheduled, and in the process of removing the cysts and the right ovary, we found out that endometriosis had pretty much tied my tubes for me, so there would be no children "naturally" in my future (and it explained why there were none in my past.)

It was hard to swallow at first. I mean, I had been convinced I couldn't get pregnant, but until the surgery there was still a little hope in the back of my mind. So, I put on my strong face, said "I can deal with this", and with the help of my husband worked through all the emotions that result from this kind of news - it wasn't a one-day process, more like a few-months process.

There are a few things I've realized, and since we finally made it to Vegas 10 months later, I wanted to share - with myself, but if you're interested, I'll share with you, too:

1) I've had the same best friend since I was 8 and she was 10. She's the closest thing to a sister that I've ever had. The day after the surgery she came to the hospital. She and I were alone in the room, I told her about what they found, and she asked about having children. She cried for me. I teased her and said, "Why are you crying? It's not your ovary they removed..." but I have to say, the memory still warms my heart. Not that I like to see her cry, but only the best hand-picked family members would share news like that with the emotions you couldn't feel at the time because you were drugged and trying to be strong.

2) My husband is the most fantastic person I could ever find to marry. He has always had a "wait and see" approach to kids, and when we found out the news, he absorbed it with me and held my hand (both literally and figuratively) to walk through this maze of emotion and facts. There were days I couldn't stand to have him away from me, and he was there. There were days when he went to work and was mentally still at home with me. There were days that he interpreted what I was going through before I could, and knew exactly what to say to help me through it. This man is my miracle on earth, and my heart and soul. He's also very wise and has helped me to recognize that just because we don't have kids doesn't mean we'll cease to exist. He's helped me to understand it's about the relationships we have and the souls inside the body, not about where the sperm and egg came from.

3) There is a difference between "childless" and "child free." Being "childless" can leave someone with the feeling that they will never be complete. However, being child free can give you opportunities that you may not otherwise enjoy - and not just the "we-can-take-off-any-time-we-want-without-a-sitter" opportunities. Although those are nice, I have opportunities to build better relationships with members of my family than I would not have had the time otherwise. There are some pretty great kids inside (and outside) of my family, and I want to help them when I can and where I can.

4) My brother and sister-in-law are incredible, and I appreciate that they share their family with me. Jaiden's world revolves around Mom and Dad, but he's also his own independent little guy. Jodi has found the balance between being his mom and his buddy, and his world is fun at this age. The only pain he seems to know is when it's bedtime and he doesn't want to go to sleep (and maybe when he falls off his bike.) It gives me warm fuzzies to see Carl tease Jaiden the way dads do, and reminds me of the great dad I once had and enjoyed at that age. At four, Jaiden is fun, witty at times, and loves to play with anyone. I know that he can't stay four forever, but I appreciate that I get the opportunity to enjoy him at this age (and that he still thinks Aunt Jessi is cool....I know that won't last much longer...;-))

5) Anyone who is a mother or father, whether biologically or blessed in some other way, connects to that child's world - and it's not always easy. It may have fun times, but I watch some people have trouble feeding and clothing their kids, or struggle to find some way to balance work and family life. Still others struggle with the other parent of the child that they no longer want to be connected to, but the child needs. But, what I don't see is that anyone who struggles loves their children any less. When I was very young, my parents struggled with making ends meet, but we always had clothes and food. As I got older and my mother was widowed, I watched her struggle to balance us and work because we had financial needs that she understood, even if we didn't. I used to ask why she couldn't just go on welfare and stay home with us - and as an adult, I'm glad she didn't take my advice. You see, most kids don't know what "poor" is - they just know what their world exists of. As I think back to our double-wide trailer with hand-me-down furniture, I think of the bedroom that my parents wallpapered for me in pink and even now, my childhood memories make me feel like I was a five-year-old princess living in a palace.

6) My mom is the strongest person I know. Over this year, I found out even more about her struggles - with us, with my father, and with making a better life for her kids. After she was left alone with three kids, she found the strength to tell her parents she'd take care of us on her own and she didn't need to move in with them (maybe for her own sanity as well....) She went back to school, got an RN degree, and continued to work and raise us throughout all of this. There were days we'd spend at the pool or the park while she studied - we played, she worked, and as long as she was there we were happy. And through all of this, she still managed to take us on vacations to Disneyland and Washington, as well as camping trips. I only appreciate her more as I get older.

With a lot of help from my husband and family, I am able to take inventory about what my life holds, and I realize I'm not "missing" kids. My life is filled, but I have an infinite capacity to love, and I look forward to putting it to good use.

My Brain on...Sugar

OK, so the thing about giving up sugar is that, well, it's everywhere. It's tradition when you have a meal with a guest that you end it with a dessert - a sugary, sweet, often chocolate, ooey, gooey dessert (and if it includes ice cream, even better!)

Last weekend, my mother's church had a a ladies' tea social. I had promised her I'd go over a month before the program started, so bailing was not an option. I arrived, figured that tea wasn't going to be bad for me - (I actually like unsweetened tea - no sugar, no sweetener), but then the food came out. A plate of delicious warm chicken salad (that was passable), a fruit cup (fruit is OK with a meal, right?) and then a blueberry muffin. I ate slow, took my break, and was doing pretty good, and only ate 1/2 the blueberry muffin. Then they brought out a slice of cake for everyone.

The moment I put the cake in my mouth, my brain went CRAZY. My taste buds sang. I'm not kidding - my brain interpreted a singing noise! I thought, heck - half of a 2 inch by one inch square won't hurt, right? I'll skip the frosting and just eat the cake.

And I did stop after 1/2 the slice. Portion control was in check.

Between the cake and blueberry muffin, the next half hour was STRANGE. I have never had this reaction to sugar, even when I was a kid. I sat, listening to the guest speaker, while my face felt flushed and my brain had a slight pounding sensation. I felt like someone who had dropped acid or something (not that I've ever done that, but if I could imagine it, this was it.)

About an hour later, the effect wore off, and I was back to being my regular self. That evening I went to dinner with my mom (we were celebrating her birthday as well), and then we went to a movie. It was so strange to go to the concession stand for two bottles of water and nothing more - no popcorn, no drinks, no licorice. But I didn't feel bad - it just felt different.

After our class on Monday, I swore off sugar. After the last "head trip", I didn't feel like it was a good idea. Then Friday came.

You see, Fridays we eat dinner with my in-laws, and that usually wraps up with ice cream, cookies, cake, pie, or something like that. My mother-in-law had just come from the local Mexican market where they have these fantastic Neapolitan-type sugar cookies - strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate in a triangle shape. She also had some "pan dulce", or sweet breads. I wasn't interested in the sweet breads, but when I saw those cookies after dinner, I had to get up and go outside - the urge to eat them was so strong, even though I was comfortably full from dinner. I reasoned with myself - I don't have to eat the whole thing, just one bite from each flavor, right? After all, a little sugar won't put me over the edge...

After I left, she put the cookies away so they weren't in site. We watched TV for about 15 minutes, then my father-in-law suggested a walk. Since I knew the cookies were still in the house, I jumped at the chance to get out of the house again. My husband and mother-in-law joined us, and we spent 20 minutes walking around the neighborhood, talking to neighbors, and laughing and enjoying our time together.

As of this morning, I'm proud to say that I swore off the cookies. I'm on my way to one week without even a bite of sugar. And the time spent walking and talking with my family was far better than the three bites of a cookie ever would have been.

My husband is the greatest person in the world to me. I know, every wife probably says that every once in a while, but I really, truly mean it.

I recently went though a second surgery - I had more cysts on my ovary, and my OBGYN was afraid that it would cause the ovary to twist. Since they were growing and I was put on "exercise restriction", we decided to get it done as soon as possible. Steve had some vacation time he could use but had to be used by the 20th of May.

I thought I had prepared myself very well - I cleaned the house, got the laundry wrapped up, and the day of the surgery I felt fine - I wasn't nervous or anxious, especially since my Mother-in-law and Father-in-law were with Steve (he didn't need his mommy and daddy, but I did - it made me feel better.)

The day of the surgery, I don't remember much - family came to visit, but I was so drugged up that I was floating in and out. I do remember when they wheeled me into my room, though, I saw Steve and I knew I was in the clear.

The next day, they told me they'd want me up and walking - since I had to get up to use the restroom, I figured I'd try to walk a bit. Steve was extremely encouraging all along the way. The first time we walked down the hall, he held my hand and I held onto the railing on the wall. As we were returning to my room, an employee walked by and said "You should take a picture." I was like, huh? I don't want a picture taken - I look like crap! Then he explained that he was a social worker, and to see a husband and wife walk down the hall, supporting and helping each other was a beautiful picture. He didn't see much of that in his line of work.

Steve was great - he'd set little goals for me, and let me know I was doing well when I reached them. His encouragement made the whole ordeal very pleasant.


As I got home, I was feeling OK for a day or so. Steve was there to help me, encouraged me, and then went through my emotional roller-coaster with me. You see, physically I felt I was on the mend, but mentally I felt like I might have been going nuts! Apparently when you have surgery, you can go through a post-traumatic stress disorder. I wasn't aware of it, and all I knew was that the slightest things made me cry - watching Glee made me break out in tears when they sang a couple of sad songs. I felt sad for no reason sometimes. I was kind of afraid of all of these moods, but he smiled at me, let me cry it out, held me when I needed him. He was full of love and compassion, and wisdom beyond his years - he's been through many surgeries himself, so he understood exactly what I was going through, even though I didn't.

He was going to go back to work on Monday - or so I had thought. On Sunday night, I felt sick and couldn't sleep. He told me he knew that I would need him one more day, and he already told them that he wouldn't be back until Tuesday. I was so happy I cried (yes, again, I cried) and he said "I got this!" I knew I didn't have to worry.

The morning he did have to go back to work was hard for both of us. His mind was at home with me, and I was feeling sick and throwing up. I was so scared that it might have been serious (even though he was sure it wasn't), I called the Dr's office. They had me come in to check my incision (since the throwing up caused it to drain a bit), and my OBGYN explained to me that surgery is very stressful emotionally, and what I was going through was perfectly normal. As soon as the appointment was over, I called Steve - and I felt really, really good knowing that everything was OK on all fronts. He and I were able to go on with our day (mine to the store for some anti-nausea medication and Gatorade, his at work.) He came home, made a delicious dinner and then we went for a drive. By the end of the day, I knew why I was afraid for him to go back to work, but I knew we made it through and it was fine.

As I'm writing this, I'm in tears. The amount of love I feel for my husband is unmatched by anything else on this planet. He has been my support, both physically and emotionally, not just through this process but throughout my life. Steve has made numerous sacrifices for me - his time, his patience, his body. I don't know of a way to give back to him for all that he has given me. He is the foundation of my efforts, the light at the end of the tunnel, the reason I get up in the morning and the reason I can sleep at night. My love for him runs so deep within me and grows stronger every moment we share together. I'm the person I am and the person I can be because of his love and support.

So, you see, he might not be the greatest person in the world to everyone, but to me, he is the greatest husband who could ever exist.

Goodbye Vegas Trip, Hello Morphine Drip!

So, Steve and I had been planning a little Vegas excursion with part of our tax refund to celebrate our anniversary and my birthday. The rooms were booked, the tickets for shows bought, and the schedules had been set. I was looking forward to a little sun and some fun.

Turns out my body had other plans. After two and a half days of severe pain, I was worried I had appendicitis. I decided that we should probably go to the ER, because the sooner it was taken care of, the sooner we could go to Vegas without pain.

Well, it wasn't appendicitis. There were two endometriotic cysts - and one was so large that it was causing the pain. They said I would be in the hospital overnight, and maybe even through Monday. Needless to say, Vegas was canceled and we couldn't recoup the cost of our show tickets, but the Bellagio was nice to refund the amount of our room deposit, even without 24 hours notice. We'll go back there again, definitely.


When I think about how long the whole process took, I'm kind of shocked - it was a 2:30 in the morning when I checked in, and I had a diagnosis by 6:00 am. I had the cyst drained without having a scope or surgery (I love radiology!) around noon, and around 8:40 pm they determined there was no infection and no need for further surgery. Until that time I was on "NDO" (no food or drink), and I don't think I ever craved water so much in my life. By 9:00 pm, they gave me a percocet and authorized some food, and before I could finish my meal, I was falling asleep. Between the relief that everything was going to be OK, the sheer exhaustion, my sensitivity to narcotics (they work really, really well on me), and the sandwich I ate, everything hit me at once and I couldn't keep my eyes open.

I have to say I was very impressed with the staff at IMC. Every single person I had to work with was professional and very descriptive in every way. They must have some great training and skilled staff there, because they put me at ease every step of the way. They controlled my pain, took the right steps to make sure I was safe, and based on this hospital trip, I would recommend them to anyone!

My mom came to help us out so Steve could take a break. Her many years of nursing experience sure come in handy - but it seems that she felt she could never do enough. Just having my mommy there so my husband didn't have to bear the full burden was much more than I could ask for.

I also can't say how much I appreciate my husband. I know this is hard to believe, but a hospital trip can be a sick kind of romantic situation: every time he could be, he was right there with me. Getting back to my room after the drain, it was his face I looked for first - and was happy to see it. Any need I had, he was right there to help me. Sadly, I even needed help to use the restroom (they had me "wired for sound, cable, and satellite," he said,) so it was nice not to have to call a nurse every time.

The next morning was our anniversary. I woke up and said, "happy anniversary. Sorry we're stuck in a hospital." His response was "It doesn't matter that we're here. What matters is that we're together." Tonight we're planning pizza and a movie. After 14 years of marriage, that's what we both really want to do after this trip - just hang out in our own home, with each other.

Every year we're married, I think we have the best anniversary - then I realize it's not what we're doing, but who we're with that makes it special. I think this year is the best anniversary yet.

Grandpa

My Grandpa Johnson passed away yesterday. I can't say it was unexpected, he was 87 years old, but I can say that it's an awe-inspiring moment to witness his graceful passing.

Mom had told us that he was in the hospital on Thursday, and on Saturday it was looking like he might be on his way out. However, overnight, things took a downward turn, and I received the call at 7:00 am on Sunday that he may not make it through the day and to come right away. Although Steve had been unable to sleep the night before, he and I were both awake right away, got dressed quickly, and were on our way to Heber.

When I arrived, Grandpa was still breathing but wasn't conscious. I sat beside him, touched his head and his chest and whispered that I was there. Within a few minutes he let out his last breath, a soft moan, and he was gracefully on his way to his next journey.

I'm sure that wherever he ends up in heaven, he'll be greeted by his family, his two poodle companions, and my own father. I'm sure after a few war stories and embraces, Grandpa will be on his way building the streets of heaven or whatever there is to build, since that's what he seemed to be made to do: build things with his two very capable hands.

My first memory of my Grandfather was when he and Grandma would come to visit while we lived in Roosevelt. Grandpa and Grandma had two little poodles named Missy and Squirt, and every morning, regardless of where they were, he would take the poodles on a walk. "They have to burn extra energy, because for every step you take they have to take four," he'd tell me. While he visited, he and my father would spend time winterizing the trailer or building whatever would be useful, and sometimes things that were not necessarily practical but brought a lot of joy, such as my playhouse. When I was 6 years old, he built me a one-room palace with a split entry door, real windows, and wooden soldiers to guard it. It had a real shingle roof, and even a utility table where I could spend hours making mud-pies and weed cakes (inedible, of course.)

When I was about 9 years old, we kids spent an entire summer with Grandma and Grandpa while Mom stayed at the Weber State dorm rooms to work on her RN degree. That summer, he was our constant guardian and would do whatever we asked. One day he'd sit next to the pool while we swam, the next day he'd take us for a walk over to the library, and the day after was a weekly trip to the Bean Museum, where we'd discover new things about animals and even get to hold a boa constrictor. He never seemed to mind when we ran all over, just as long as we didn't leave his sight. He never spoke harshly to us on our trips. We spent an entire summer exploring Provo, and sometimes even talked him into buying us ice-cream cones from Reams but not telling Grandma so we could have ice cream again that night. I certainly inherited his love of ice cream, and there was no one that seemed to enjoy it more than he did.

When I graduated from High School, I moved to Provo with Grandma and Grandpa to attend college. They let me have the room near the garage, which used to be his music room - it was the one room where he could hide away and listen to the country music he was fond of but that Grandma didn't care for. It must have been a bit of a sacrifice, now that I'm older and understand the concept of a "man-cave", that sacred place where a man can go to be with his thoughts. While I was studying, he would give me hugs and tell me how proud he was of me.

As an adult, I had an opportunity to stay with him when Grandma and Mom took a trip to Germany. He had fallen and broken his arm, and Grandma didn't want to leave him, even for a trip to her home country. I agreed to take 1/2 days from work to stay with him. During that week he and I spent time talking, listening to Johnny Cash, and he would tell me stories from his times in the war, his trips with work along the West Coast, and about some of the things he learned about other people. These were stories that were difficult to come by in a family setting, as he was often overshadowed by our own boisterous voices. I enjoyed every moment of staying with him and learning about him as an adult.

In my life, I have never known anyone who was filled with so much love or felt things as deeply as he did. When his beloved poodle companions passed on, he vowed to never have another animal because it was so tough to lose them. No matter how much prodding, he wouldn't consider another animal, but still showed love and tender care to the rest of our family's cats and dogs.

My Grandfather's passing isn't really a sad occasion - it's more of a celebration of the love he had for his family and all those he had around him, including his two great-grandchildren, which made him smile even bigger than the usual every day smile. He had lived a full, happy life, married to his wife for over half a century, and almost every day he had something he had to do - mostly for her. On the day he died, she said "It was such a pleasure to take care of him, because he spent his entire life taking care of me." He was surrounded by his family when he left this earth, and he will be waiting to meet us on our own journeys past this world.

Well, this post used to be a link to Sammy's page on Petfinder. We went to Shop-ko today and before we got out of the truck, Steve gave me $85.00 and said, “Urf (Obi) has saved up his allowance for a little brother. We need to even out the numbers. We need another boy, and Urf needs a kitty who doesn’t yell at him. I think we need to keep Sammy for Urf.” ($85.00 is the normal adoption fee for a kitten from CAWS.)

So, apparently Sammy isn’t going to be a foster kitty anymore.

Welcome our new kitty, Sammy.

Bad Hotel Art

While Steve and I were in San Francisco, we had the opportunity to stay at the Hyatt at Fisherman's Wharf. Although the hotel itself was very nice, and had some spa-ish qualities to the rooms and lobby, I just can't explain this hotel art. Steve walked by this picture, and said "Stomach:"

OK, Granted, it's a cow's stomach, plus one, but I thought it was interesting that's what he saw. Then we got to this one:

And this is an X-ray of Steve's hip, after replacement:

Do you see the comparison here? (Apparenly I need to make it known that the "white" area between his leg bones is not his family blessing. It is his tailbone. Sickos!)

Whoever picks this stuff out needs to have a head check. Or maybe the person who came up with the designs needs to have a head check.

Around the corner, we have this beauty:

Well, I won't go into details about the symbolism of the three holes, but Steve said, "Edamame."

Then, before we enter the room, we have this:

Um, an X-ray of a woman in a corset? Shoulder blades and a spine?

Last, but not least, we have the piece de resistance:

"Alka Seltzer." (Can you tell that Steve might have had heartburn one night?)

I suppose it would have been more exciting to tell you all about the trip we took, but I started thinking about vacation pictures - they never really mean as much to the people looking at them as they do to the person who was there and took the picture. So, I'll just leave you with this: