Finding my way back...

So, there is an image that each person portrays.  Sometimes it is accurate and sometimes it is not.  Sometimes that is on purpose and sometimes it truly is just the way a person expresses themselves.  We all have a story.  We all have a ride we are taking and you’d probably be very surprised at how much you don’t know about most people.  There is a saying about the people in your life that hear you when you aren’t speaking.  Those people- those are the keepers.  Those are the people you are looking for and that’s the kind of person I pray I can be.  The one that is selfless enough to know when someone else isn’t ok and doesn’t have the words.  It is very easy to judge a book by its cover.  To really believe you know about someone’s life based on the clothes they wear, where they live, what kind of car they drive or how their kids are dressed.  The truth is- you don’t.  You don’t know a damn thing about anyone unless they specifically told you so. We don’t really ask questions anymore.  We just assume things and I feel like that is why so many people are lost.  They are trying to live up to false expectations that others have created around them.  Trying to reach a height they never intended to create.  And, they end up falling.  Alone.  And scared.

That’s what happened to me.  As open and honest as I am about my life- I still fell and the world had no idea.  It started as being very tired.  Not being a great sleeper ever in my adult life was a really great excuse.  Then came the darkness.  The sadness.  And, the anxiety.  Man, was that powerful.  Debilitating is a better word.  I was all consumed and lost in a dark, dark world and most people in my life had no idea for months.  Months!  How is that possible that all of my so- called friends and family had no idea.  No idea that I sobbed for hours and hours a day in a ball on the floor of my bedroom.  Nobody knew why I didn’t show up to volunteer in my sons classroom other than she “didn’t feel well.”  They didn’t know I was pretty sure I cracked a rib crying so hard that I couldn’t actually move to get there.  My husband knew enough to remove the kids from our home on many nights to protect them from seeing me- but he didn’t know why.  I didn’t know why.  That is the worst kind of sadness, the kind that you can't explain.  All I knew was I couldn’t see anyone anymore.  I couldn’t breathe when I left my house and I surely couldn’t properly care for three children.  My kids knew I had a lot of really bad headaches that I had never had before in my life.  At least that is what I thought they knew.  Until that devastating day where my two oldest children let me know in the best way they knew how- that they knew my secret.  They knew I wasn’t ok.  My son told me that he hears me crying in the bathroom every day.  And, my poor daughter, out of desperation told me I couldn’t lay in bed for the rest of my life.  These little children were scared to death of me.  Their own Mother.  The one that is supposed to make everything OK.  The one that is supposed to dry their tears.  The one that is supposed to guide and steer them.  But, instead they were guiding me.  They were telling me that things weren’t ok.  They were telling me that they knew.  They didn’t know exactly what was happening- but they weren’t going to keep quiet anymore.  These kids missed their Mom.

The few days following my kids verbalizing what they knew were very scary.  The very last thing I wanted to do was scare my children so I would lay in bed all day while they were at school- and as soon as they were due home, I left.  I drove around parking lots.  I drove down dirt roads.  I cried so hard I had to pull over.  I wanted to go stay at a hotel alone.  I wanted to disappear.  I was terrified.  I was not OK and I didn’t have a clue why or what to do about it.  I went to see a therapist who was just as afraid of me as I  was and it only took about three visits to know- she was not equipped for someone like me.  The desperation continued and the sadness grew stronger and stronger every hour.  I could hardly eat, my blood pressure was through the roof and medically my body was giving out on me.  It could not handle the stress it was under. 

A very good friend of mine put me in touch with another therapist.  A life changing move.  This woman took me on and understood what was happening immediately.  She made herself available via phone or text 24/7 to me.  She assured me I wasn’t too far gone and she was going to help me.  She was so confident that I trusted her from our very first phone call.  We talked for over an hour every day that first week and I finally started to feel like I might be ok.  I went back to work and I gave life a shot.  I immediately fell flat on my face.  I couldn’t face the world and pretend like it was ok.  I was sleeping about one hour per night and I had zero fight.  I was crippled.  I went to visit a Psychiatrist and he put me on some old school medication that at first did absolutely nothing and then gave me the biggest migraine of my life.   A twelve day migraine from hell.  I couldn’t have any lights on, I lost vision in my left eye, my short term memory suffered and I had to apply pressure to my forehead to even sit up.  It was complete misery and basically the final straw to my existence.  I honestly thought I was going to die.  I didn’t know what was going to kill me… a heart attack, exhaustion or something else but I had an overwhelming feeling that my physical body was all done.  It had carried me as far as it could. 

The next day after truly feeling like I was going to die- I called my therapist and said two words, “ I surrender.”  I gave up.  I was all done.  Nothing left to give.  No more fight.  Just, done.  She told me to hang on tight and she was going to handle everything.  She called facility after facility after facility looking for the perfect match for me.  Looking for a place that could take me immediately and also a place that fit my needs.  She put me in touch with three different places and I immediately knew which place was the best fit.  Cottonwood de Tucson in Tucson, Arizona offered a 30 day inpatient stay to treat all kinds of disorders but was great in dealing with co-occurring anxiety and depression.   They were willing to take me that day. 

Telling my children that I was leaving them one hour before leaving them for a whole month was one of the most difficult things I have ever done.    The fear and sadness in their eyes and the sound of their cries- I will never forget as long as I live.  I knew I had failed them.  I knew I had let them down and yet at the same time, I had to go save myself to get back to them.  I wasn’t acting like their mother.  I was a shell of the human I once was.  I lost my life and I didn’t have a clue how.

My husband bought a plane ticket to take me out to this place we had never heard of.   I quickly made him cancel that ticket to stay with our children.  They needed him and I needed to do this myself.  I needed to fight for myself, by myself.  Terrified is not a strong enough word to describe what boarding that plane was like.  I honestly had no idea if I would even go to the facility once I go there or if I would just run away.  The hopelessness and desperate sadness I felt was all encompassing.  I didn’t recognize myself at all.  I didn’t recognize who I saw in the mirror or even my hands when I looked down at them.  I was a stranger in my own skin.  I was headed out to fight a battle I was pretty sure I couldn’t win.

I arrived at the Tucson airport at midnight which was 2:00AM my time.  We arrived 30 minutes early and my driver from Cottonwood was not there.  I’d be lying if I didn’t think to myself that it was a sign I should run but honestly I was too tired to figure anything else out.  So, I went.  To the unknown.  In the middle of the night.  In a state I had never been to.  And I endured the strip search, crazy people questions, weight check and vitals.  I signed papers I didn’t read and handed over my cell phone and all my belongings to complete strangers.  The only thing I had with me was a single hope and a single prayer.  I hope I survive.  I pray they can fix me. 

The first place they put me was a “detox room.”  This place was sterile.  It had two beds and looked straight out of a psychiatric movie.  Clearly I didn’t need to detox but since I arrived in the middle of the night, they didn’t want to wake other patients by moving me in and they weren’t 100% sure of my mental status so this is where I landed.  Let me just tell you that those rooms were not the plush, nice rooms with luxurious bedding that I had seen online.  It took me about 20 minutes to completely lose my shit and cry so hard that they ended up moving me “into the community” in the middle of the night.  Of course, I had no orders for any medication to calm my anxiety or put me to sleep so I simply waited for the sun to rise in a pitch black room with no clock and with pure sadness in my heart.  I can’t imagine a worse feeling than I felt those first few hours.  It was one of fear, desperation, lonlieness and the deepest level of internal pain.

The next days came and went as a blur.  The silent tears never stopped flowing from my eyes.   I met people but couldn’t remember any names.  I went to groups but had anxiety attacks and couldn’t stay.  The migraine from the old drugs had not subsided and they couldn’t prescribe me any new medications until it was gone.   They tried every drug in the book.  Finally gave me a shot of something in the butt and put me to bed.  It helped for two whole days before it came screaming back.  I took a bunch more drugs, another shot in the butt and tried not to puke with all the nausea that followed.  It felt like I was wasting time and getting nowhere quickly- if at all.  You guys, I was broken.  Into a million shattered pieces.

I kept thinking about back home.  About my husband and my children.  I kept thinking about how much better off they would be without me.  Those kids deserved a Mom that could participate in their life and it sure as hell wasn’t me.  I just hoped that she would remind them to brush their teeth and make sure they said their prayers and tell them how loved they are multiple times a day.  And my husband.  I just wanted a partner for him.  Someone to participate in life and care for him.  He deserved that.  That person wasn’t me.  Not anymore.   That’s the one thing I thought I knew for sure.  That’s how powerful the brain is.  That’s what my brain told me over and over again.  All.  Day.  Long.

The days came and went and I was prescribed an anxiety medication that they described using a light switch.  They said they wanted to dim the anxiety light but not me….and that is what they did.  Within a day or so, I felt like I could see straight.  I stayed in my groups and I even spoke to a few people.  I listened so intently to all the people around me.  Some were heroine addicts, some were alcoholics, some had tried to commit suicide, some were court ordered and came straight from jail, some were suffering from the despair of depression or from great loss, but the one thing I knew right away – they were all just like me.  We came from all walks of life.  We were close in age and decades apart.  We were male and female, married and single, Moms and Dads.  We were all here because somewhere, somehow, our worlds fell apart.   We were all there because we lost our way.

I was active in treatment once I was able to catch my breath.  I participated in what I was supposed to do, I attended the groups I was assigned to and I took the medications they prescribed.  I was put into trauma therapy right away which made zero sense to me. I couldn’t identify a particular trauma but once I attended the group- I realized I did have trauma.  Secret traumas I never talk about.  This type of therapy was sometimes in a group setting but mostly one on one.  In these groups with this amazing woman, I cried.  Hard and often.   The kind of crying where your soul hurts.  The kind of crying you don’t think can end.  It induces physical pain to your heart.  Its painful and its therapeutic.  These hours were more exhausting than any type of physical activity you could ever imagine trying.  The instructions for after the one hour therapy- go directly to your bed and just rest.  Ha, as if there was another option after that.

The only communication to the outside world was via phones inside the nursing clinic that you had to use a calling card to dial and only during certain hours were the phones even active.  No incoming calls were transferred to patients.  No cell phones or media were ever allowed through your entire stay.  You were truly disconnected.  I spoke to about three different people the whole time I was gone.  People weren’t sure where I was.  My kids told a story of my headache that was so bad I was leaving for 30 days so I can only imagine what people told themselves and what stories were circulating.  I didn’t care.  Nothing mattered other than me holding on to that one hope and that one prayer.

I would say it took about 10-14 days before I actually smiled.  Before I put on some lip gloss.  Before I could see a very dim light out of a very long tunnel.  On day 15, the halfway point, I was granted permission to FaceTime my children.  The craziest thing happened when I saw them.  I MISSED THEM.  I felt something.  I actually felt something.  I missed my kids and I wanted to be their Mom.  I didn’t want to find someone else.  I wanted to do it.   I was the one for them.  I felt it and I knew right then and there that I was gonna make it.  To be clear, I thought of my children and spoke to them before this day but the only thing I felt was the same muted sadness I had felt for so long.  I just felt sorry for them that I was their Mom.  But, now everything shifted.  I was going to get it together and go home and be the Mom I have always been.

After that phone call, my husband flew out to see me for three hours.  Yes, he flew from Michigan to Arizona to spend three hours with me.   He  got to meet my team and I was excused from one group.  These people didn’t mess around.  They only had you for 30 days and they didn’t bend many rules if any.  I told Matt that he did not need to spend the money or waste the time for three hours but he said that he couldn’t  have me go away to this place and not have one person from my whole world ever lay eyes on it.  I’m so fortunate to have him on my side.  The team held nothing back and discussed my progress thus far and expectations they had of me.  Matt left feeling like things were going to be ok if not for just the simple reason that he saw me smile.  Life had been bad.  There are so many things that Matt saw and heard from me that I can’t take back and he will never be able to erase from his mind but he never gave up on me and I’ve got a real good feeling he never will.

The rest of my stay was just hard work.  Lots of groups, lots of sharing, lots of homework and projects to be presented to groups.   There was a couple of fierce yahtzee games and there ended up being some moments of laughter. I read a book.  A whole book.  I haven’t been calm enough or without anxiety to sit still long enough to read a book in YEARS.  There were lots of hellos and just as many goodbyes.  It’s a process.  As ones journey begins, one is about to take the next step.  Its humbling.  Its inspiring.  Its sad.  Its heartbreaking.  Its awesome.  Its life. 

So, this was the month of February 2016 for Lindsay Clark.  I’m not proud of it.  Im not ashamed of it.  Im not perfect or anywhere near that unattainable notion.  I have great days and miserable days.  I feel excited and deep sadness.  I’m constantly making changes and rolling through life in the very best way I know how.  There really is only one thing that matters at this point, and that is that I am most certainly not broken.

My admission photo and a 2 weeks after I was home.

Thanksgiving. Again. Keeps coming back...

5:18Am on Thanksgiving and I've been up an hour already.  Yippee.  This day.  This single day of every year just tears me down.  It's always my very least favorite day.  Remember, last years post??  I pretty much have the same awesome attitude.    This year I decided that life was too hard and I would just shut down a couple days ago.  I mean, I was up and taking care of kids and doing my daily routine but I had very little to say and so many tears over nothing.  Then, yesterday afternoon, it hit me.  Thanksgiving is this week!  See, that's how little I think about it.  I literally blocked the entire holiday from my brain and had no idea it was coming the next day.  Once I had this huge revelation in life, I actually started to feel better.  I started to think that at least there was an answer to my uncontrollable anxiety and sadness.  Like I said last year, this day for me represents all the struggle in my past and even present.  Its a day that hurts my soul.  I can quite literally feel all the hard things I've been through creep back through my body.  Trust me, I'm all about wading through the struggle.  I love people that have been to hell and back.  I love people that fought their way out of  or through something.   I like tough people.  I'm drawn to people who know how to figure things out.  That is my commonality with so many people.  "We can do hard things." That's what Glennon Melton, who is my favorite blogger and would probs be my BFF if we actually knew each other says.  Its simple and its true and its on repeat in my brain today.  

I believe we are our own story.  We are involved in every step of it and we participate in most of it.  However, its always changing.  We do not have to be our past, we can still mold our present and our future is yet to be determined.  I may have been a very, very sick adolescent and young adult.  I may have spent way too many years putting all my energy into an illness that stole so much time from me.  I may have been scared and weak and sick and vulnerable and had no voice.  I can and will own the fact that I literally almost ruined my body and starved it and broke it down to the point of it hardly functioning.  I put my family through hell.  I was a closed book that let nobody in.  I was lonely.  I was in a world by myself surrounded by a so many loving arms.  Today, I can feel that girl.  Today, I remember that life.  Today, it hurts.  Today, I remember it all.  

Here is the good news.  I'm not her anymore.  I did hard things.  I made it to the other side.  I. am. not. that. girl. anymore.  And, I don't ever have to be again.  That's the best part.  I can decide this.  I do have a voice.  I do have an opinion.  I have a body that is strong enough to sustain the life I lead and I am now living in a world that I participate in.  My family knows me. My family understands who I am. I've created a circle of "my people."  They know who they are.  My family and "my people" are the most important part of  my life.  I need them.   I count on them.  They are there.  And, there is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for them.

I don't know what the future holds.  I don't know what tomorrow will bring but I do know that I'll be an active participant in it… most days.   I look forward to whats coming next.  This world is full of surprises and challenges and there is one thing I do know for sure- I can do it.  And, by "it", I mean life. Even on the days I don't want to, because that definitely happens, but I know, I really can do it.  All the hard things.  

So, today.  Thanksgiving.  Now that I have sorted through all the crazy, I do realize I am the proud mother of three of the cutest small humans on the planet.  And, they are fired up about Thanksgiving.  Of course they are…  Easton came home yesterday wearing this Turkey vest thing made out of a paper bag and feathers on his head.  Oh, yes he did.   He isn't sure what kind of chicken he will eat today and he actually hates potatoes but other than that- he is ready to roll.   I am thankful for Easton and his fight to live every day of my life.  I don't need a day to announce that but I will because after all, it is just another day.  That little boy is my living, breathing miracle.  He's got more strength and courage that I could ever dream of.  He may drive me insane and scream all day- but he fought to be here so he is just making his mark.  Loudly.  I'm lucky to not only be his mother but to watch the way he lives.  Paige knows more about Thanksgiving and what it means than I do because as it turns out- Its not just about how Lindsay hates the day!  Shocking, I know.  She is also always real excited about anything that involves food and an outing, so today is fantastic for her.  Oh, and she heard about "this really awesome parade" that she can't wait to watch on TV.  Bless her.  Today I will curl her hair and dress her up and paint her nails and Thank God that I actually got a daughter- and that it was Paige, the perfect girl for me.  I pray she never has have the struggles I have but most of all- I hope she sees her Mama as an example of how to rise to the occasion and to do hard things.  I hope I'm teaching her the way.   Carter is not pleased about having to eat Thanksgiving food because he hates it all and he is gonna be real ticked about the line at Zehnders in Frankenmuth!  Atta' boy.  He can stick with me today because we have sweet matching attitudes!  Carter did say he is very happy about four days off of school so his world isn't totally terrible.  He is so my boy. That first born baby changes every ones life.  He gave me something greater than myself to focus on.  He gave me a reason.  A reason for so many things.  He changed my world in ways he will never know.  A Mama's boy he will be.  

Today's plans include fitness first, obvi.  Then family and Frankenmuth for dinner.  I promise to smile and try very hard to enjoy most of today.  I also am going to try very hard to pretend to love riding on horse drawn carriages in the freezing cold with wet snow and wind blowing in my face in the dark- if my kids happen to win the battle of dragging me around downtown Frankenmuth tonight.  I said, try.  We can do hard things, right?

There you have it.   #truthtelling.   I am not afraid to put it all out there because I know we all have struggles.  Although I do enjoy Instagram and Facebook so much, I do not believe half of the perfect little pictures that are painted.  If your life is really that perfect- Congratulations. That's pretty awesome. Mine is also very awesome and messy and insane and wonderful and crazy and real.  I'm just going to continue trying to keep on swimming over here in Goodrich, Michigan if you need me!

Happy Day!

Oh, and I know you are all on the edge of your seats waiting for the Matlock/Clark/Gomez matching pajama staircase picture.  Don't worry- we won't let you down. 

Its 5:30AM on a Saturday.  I don’t have to leave my house until 8:45AM but I’m up.  Earlier this week I got up at 3:30AM one day and 4:00AM a couple others so today must be my lucky day.  I slept in.  Lately, I’m always awake.  I’m awake fifty times a night.  I’m awake all day.  I literally spend very little times with these eyes closed.  I have anxiety.  Always have.  Comes and goes.  These days, I’ve got so much that I am convinced an entire bottle of Xanax would have no fighting chance at it.  It sucks, its not fun, my heart feels like its beating outside my body but there are days where you really do have to dig deep and rise up.  You know, embrace the struggle.   I’ve not seen my husband in two days.  He is here while we sleep but he is coming home after the kids and I are in bed and leaving before we are up.  I get it- it is his busy time of the year for work.  I know he is working for us and I’m doing my best by just trying to keep my mouth shut (which if you know me- is no easy task) and take care of these little humans that need me to… with or without sleep.  Here is why, I’ve learned that they could care less if I’m tired or anxious.   They still want help with things and to eat and to fight with each other and to have someone say their prayers and to complain and to eat again and to fight again and well, you get it.  They need me, no matter what.  Lets be clear, I said I’m trying.  I’ll tell you about Monday.  It went like this.  I was up all night.  I went to get out of bed and get my kids ready for their days and I was in a zombie like mode.  They wouldn’t listen.  They literally acted like I wasn’t even speaking. I had a headache too.  So, I went a little bat shit crazy on them.  I yelled at them.  I slammed doors.  I cried in my closet.   I made Matt “handle this shit” and be late to work.  It was really awesome.  One of my finer moments in life.  I decided I hated them all and that they could just figure this whole morning- do a million things and don’t miss the bus- thing out on their own.  Yeah, it was ugly.  Once I heard the door chimes signaling the coast was clear and they were all gone, I emerged from my closet to land in my bed where I stayed for three hours…even though I was supposed to be at work.  That was it.  I had a limit for functioning as a human and I had hit it.  I gave myself a break.  For three whole hours.  I stared at the wall, I closed my eyes, I felt sorry for myself and then I got up.  I dried the tears, put on some clothes and went into work.  I spent a couple of hours doing the things I needed to do there and then I hit the gym for a workout so intense that I could focus on nothing but that and trying not to die.  As soon as I survived that, I ran off to pick up my kids.  I bought them a pizza for dinner as a peace offering for my behavior in the morning and took them to FroYo for desert.  But, here is the thing.  They weren’t even mad.  Kids are so  forgiving.  They didn’t mention one single word about me flipping out.  They got off that bus pumped that there was pizza in the car and told me all about their days.   We should all be more like that.  Nobody is perfect and they teach me so many lessons.  They loved me the same at 4:30PM that day as they did that morning and every other day.  They are loving and accepting.  They are who we should all be.

I’m not proud of that story.  I didn’t write that story because I think any part of it is awesome.  I wrote it because its real.  I wrote it because you don’t see many of these stories on Instagram and Facebook.  I wrote it because I think so many people are over scheduled with work and kids activities and social obligations and everything else and we all feel like we just can’t hang on some days.  Maybe, a lot of days.  But, rest assured that many of us are hanging on to a rapidly fraying rope as well so you are not alone.  And, if nobody else will admit this to you- I will.  My rope is a frayin’ but Lord knows I got a tight grip.   As my favorite blogger, Glennon Melton says, “We can do hard things.”  And, sometimes just getting through the day is a hard thing!

Its not all bad.  Life is pretty good too.  There is a balance.  I talk about the ebb and flow.  I seem to ebb a lot, but I flow too.  In the end, we have to look for the good.  Here are a few good things that have been going on with the ones that teach me all about life.

Paige.  This girl.  She is constant.  I actually believe she really knows more about who she is and has a better grip on some realities than some women will ever have.   This beautiful, long blonde haired dream of a girl needed a Halloween costume.  This is always an adventure with her.  One on one, I take her to the store.  We walk all the way around this store where she makes several obseravtions and comments including, “I’m never, ever, ever doing that Princess ‘thing!’”  Okey dokey, nobody said you had to.  Then I show her a few other things I like which she replies with, “There has got to be another store around here.”  Sure thing, doll.  So, we rolled on over across the street to store number 2.  Truthfully, store number 2 was better.  They had a cool Cheetah thing, and a cute Bumble bee and a lot of cute non-princess but still girly things.  Paige carefully examines the entire store and decides that she will be a Pink Power Ranger.  With a mask.  That covers her face and hair.  I said, “You cannot be serious.”  Oh, she was.  Serious as a heart attack.  She said she isn’t going to be like every other person in her class.  Shes real “into” Power Rangers and that’s her choice and can we just get it and go home.  She had me at not wanting to be like everyone else.  I respect that.  Can’t imagine where she gets that?!  So, yeah.  My daughter mixed in with my two rough boys is going to wear a plastic mask on her face and be a Pink Power Ranger.  At least its pink!  I must add this.   Later that night I was standing in the kitchen and she says, “Mom, I just love, love, love your pants!”  (They were lulu leggings, obvi.)  I said thanks and kept doing what I was doing.  She then says, “So, yeah.  I really like them and I was wondering when I can start wearing lulu.  I’m ready.”  Matt’s jaw and heart are still on the floor of my kitchen.  #proudmoment

Easton.  Man, this kid is so much work.  He is always in trouble.  They told me in the NICU that these little miracles are always a lot of work.  I should have prepared myself a little better.  Those people don’t lie.  However, he is the funny one of our group.  He says the funniest things.   He is beyond cute and he likes to be a little different himself.   Since October 1, he has been adamant that he has to have a big white pumpkin.  Not orange

 
friends, white.  Asked him why, he said “because.”  Good enough.  He now has two pumpkins…. A big white pumpkin and little orange one to carve:)   The leaves are changing and we have this really bright yellow tree across the street.  Earlier this week, Easton was walking out to the car and said “Hey dad, see that tree?  Jesus lit it up.”  Duh.  I’m telling you- this kid knows things.  You should all try to buddy up to this one.  He’s got connections and he is gonna keep us all safe!

Carter.  My first born sweet boy.  Thanks to him, I’ve learned so much about pollination and photosynthesis and leaves and stems and chlorophyll and life cycles of plants.  I was a little bent I couldn’t get a copy of that science test because I’m positive I would have nailed it!  He also went to school yesterday with no loose teeth and handed me a tooth when he got off the bus.  Weird, but ok.  He asked me recently if I would ever rent a camper and take him camping.  I said never in his life would I do that.  Guess what,  six days later his best friend invited him to go camping for a night in their RV and go trick or treating while he is there!  I owe a little thanks to the man upstairs for saving me on this one!  Or Carter, maybe Carter owes him because we all know I was probs not going camping.  Ever.  I’m just so happy he gets to go and so is he!  Yay.

 

Yesterday I got into a 20 min long wrestling match with a barbell that weighed the same as me.  I managed to lift it, squat it,  throw it over my head, and swear at it 141 times in that 20 minutes.  Now, that was a good time.  <3  Also, I have hot pink nails that make me smile and its almost an acceptable time for me to start bolting to Florida once a month. 

Life is hard.  Its always gonna be.  Just gotta look for that silver lining some days. 

Have a great day and remember:  the struggle is real!  Hang in there!

Just Keep Swimming…

The adventures continue over here at the Clark House.  My dearest friend always tells me, “Go big or go home,” and Lord knows, I’d hate to let her down.

Naturally, Easton is the one to stir the pot the most but allow me to just try to paint a picture of the last three weeks here!

 It all started one fine Saturday at Crossfit when I thought I would just try to throw a 72 pound kettle bell onto my shoulder to see if I could.  Sadly, it did not go as well as planned and landed on my foot!  I ran out of the building crying and threw a small tantrum in front of the building before regaining my composure and completing a 45 min WOD on it.  So very smart.  Later in the day, I took my blue and throbbing foot in for an X-ray to find out that the bone right next to my big toe was cracked.  That’s right, cracked not broke because as I like to say, I’m #unbreakable.  This put quite a damper on my style as I had to wear this awesome boot (that was most definitely made for walking and working out and dancing and shopping) but really hurt my squatting abilities!  Basically, it was just a major pain in my butt. 

About a week later, the wind blew in Goodrich and knocked our power out.  For more than 2 days.  We were incredibly lucky to be one of only twenty five houses in the area to lose power.  Naturally, Matt had purchased $300 worth of groceries only hours earlier.  I don’t know about you but I do not like to put away my groceries when I buy them but loading them into coolers and then to my parents house and then back to my house- was extremely fun.  Oh, and we live with Easton who is petrified of almost everything and no lights was no fun for this little guy!  We finally did borrow a generator and Matt may or may not have burned a permanent scar into the side of his leg!

The power comes back on at 12:30AM on August 16.  At approximately 12:45AM, Easton wakes up crying and holding his head with the worst headache ever and a fever.  Awesome.  We give him some Motrin and don’t think much of it.  The next morning he is not right.  Super lethargic, 104 temp, and just not coming out of it.  Matt had plans for the day so I sent him on his way but just started to get a bad feeling about Easton.  He always gets “really” sick when he gets sick but I just didn’t like what I was seeing.  Eventually around dinner time, I asked Matt to come home and bring me some Pedialite because I didn’t even think I could put him in my car.  The temps continued to spike through the night but I had to switch focus quickly because at 7am the next morning, Carter was having Oral Surgery where they were using IV sedation while extracting four teeth and clipping his tongue tie.  Matt was supposed to go with me because I hate seeing my kids under sedation but when your other kid has to steal every ones thunder and be 104.3 the morning of surgery- you gotta go alone!  Carter ended up doing great, just took awhile for the Anesthesia to wear off because he is so little and probably felt the need to freak me out just a little bit.

I spent the rest of that morning and into the afternoon taking care of both boys with the help of my assistant Paige, who was wearing a Doc McStuffins lab coat.  By 4:00, Carter was great and acting normal but Easton spiked a temp of 104.7 and was complaining of neck pain.  I don’t really do ER unless its for Paige to get stitches.  I hate ER.  I’ve actually always managed to get my kids a direct admit from the Pediatrician every time we have had an admission but not this time.  My normal Pediatrician was not in so when I called about his fever and symptoms- the backup refused to even see him and sent us straight to ER.  Once we were back in  the room, it became clear pretty quickly that he was not going to go home.  Of course, I was not prepared and brought nothing that would get us through a FIVE day stay.  The initial concern was Meningitis which meant he had to have a spinal tap.  Not fun.  So sad and scary for him and us.  Nobody wants to see their child in pain yet I knew that he wasn’t just “sick.”  He is my Easton and I know my Easton.  He wasn’t OK. 

I want to stop and say something that I find interesting.  On August 1, my friend Kim had her baby earlier than expected and way smaller than expected.  Sweet Sloan had to be admitted to the NICU for a week.  I talk a lot about the NICU.  When someone I know has a baby there, I call all my nurse friends to keep watch.  I hang out with NICU nurses all the time.  I love the NICU.  What I didn’t realize…Is I don’t actually “do” the NICU.  I used to take E on his birthdays.  I used to go visit the first few months after he was born.  As time went on- I quit.  I don’t like it there.  The air is thick.  I can’t breathe near the hand washing station and it makes my heart beat too fast.  I am so grateful to that NICU but I cannot go there.  And, then I had to.  When your best friend has a baby in the hospital- you have to go.  Its not really something you can wiggle out of.  Its mandatory.  Like, make or break your friendship kind of stuff.  So, I went.  I had more anxiety than I knew what to do with- but I  did it.  Four times.  The reason I bring this up is because I truly believe God prepares you for hard things.  I had no way of knowing that I was going to see my Miracle Baby back in a hospital bed on too many drugs not knowing what was wrong with him in just two short weeks.  Sloan forced me to get back in the environment that terrifies me.  She helped prepare me for the 2^nd floor at Hurley.  Again.  

Watching the team diagnose Easton was so interesting.  We were dealing with an Infectious Disease Doctor who was really on top of his game.  He checked for everything.  It was so frustrating to watch everything come back negative when clearly something, somewhere was positive.  It felt like so much time was passing and nothing was happening except the fevers were getting higher and harder to break.  Having a sick baby is so hard.  But, having a sick child is worse!  This was the first time Easton was old enough to fight back.  He didn’t want to be poked, or swabbed or “shotted.”  He was terrified and in pain and begging and pleading for people to “quit hurting me pretty please!  I’m a good boy!”  It was heartbreaking.  It was a desperate feeling for me because I had to allow people to do things to him and even help in most processes and he is not old enough to understand why I can’t save him.  It’s a very different experience to deal with a sick baby versus child.  I wish I didn’t know. 

Easton was admitted on Monday.  On Wednesday, a culture came back positive for Adnovirus.   He was already on three IV antibiotics and an Antiviral medication.  With this result- they stopped all antibiotics.  Matt looked and me as soon as we were told about the virus and said, “that’s not it.”  Yes, the culture was positive.  Yes, he had Adnovirus but as parents- we knew that wasn’t it.  The gut feeling said there was more.  In true Easton style, 30 minutes after stopping all Antibiotics, his ear ruptured a very disturbing substance.  It took about 5 minutes to culture that and re-start all antibiotics.  It was the missing link.  The pain in his neck was actually right below his ear… but still his neck.  He is a very dialed in four year old.  He never wavered from his stance on pain and complaints.He knew where the problem was the whole time.  It just took the rest of us awhile to find it… but he knew.  This rupture was exactly what we needed to be able to finally help him.  A CT scan was ordered that showed infection in the bone and the culture was positive for Staph.  Boom.  An answer.  That’s all we needed to get this boy better.  He was such a champ.  He was really weak and in a lot of pain most of the time but once that final fever broke- he was ready to play some basketball and he never looked back.  That was it.  Like nothing ever happened.  He’s not bitter,  or mad or even upset about it.  He just rolls with it and he is the strongest most tolerant human being alive.  This, I know for sure. 

 






 

Easton has had two staph infections, 5 stomach flus, infectious mononucleosis and a bone infection as well as countless ear infections in the last 5 months.  We had a full blood panel drawn by an Immunologist on Thursday and are just waiting on those results.  It’s a journey with this kid.  There are so many things in life I doubt.  I worry constantly about my ability to do certain things or decisions I make but there is one thing this last episode taught me… I can do Easton.  From day one, I promised him that if he survived, I would do anything for him.  Sometimes I get overwhelmed but I really do have him.  No matter where he takes us- I got him.  He was made for me. 

I also cannot fail to mention the incredible care we received.  No, its not because I am a Board Member.  Nobody even knows that.  From everyone in ER to all of his doctors, nurses and residents- we were blown away.  The nurses were so loving and patient and kind.  They helped me care for him when I wasn't sure I was doing ok and then they listened to me when I had a gut feeling or needed help.  The Child Life Specialists were like magicians.  They literally showed up every time something was about to go down and we needed help.  It was the best care I could have imagined.  I still do love Hurley.  Here is what happens though- they all take great care of you and then your child is better and you go home.  So…. you say, "Thanks??"  That word is not enough.  Its not enough for picking up my sick boy and caring him to his bed from the stretcher because he was too weak to walk- even though she had no idea what disease he had.  It is not enough for the nurses that helped me change his bed 12 times a day or held the bucket when I couldn't.  Or for the Dr. who got paged every time that fever spiked over 104 and came back in to re-examine him to try and find the missing link.  Or for the child life specialists' who have the best distract tactics in the world when scary things are coming.  Our hearts are overflowing with gratitude.  There really are no words.  

Oh, and Facebook.  Facebook is an entertaining social media outlet.  I enjoy seeing what people are up to.  However, when it comes to Easton there is a major following.  It started back in the NICU days when it seemed the easiest way to update.  I swear we feel the love and prayers from people near and far and they work.  The support system we have as a family is unlike anything I ever dreamed.  I personally read every single post and appreciate all calls, texts, visits and voicemails.  We need you and you never let us down.  Thank you, Team Easton!

As of today, we are all good again!  One week left of summer and we are waiting for the madness of new school schedules to kick in.  Paige has Dance Team and Cheerleading.  Carter has football and Easton has soccer.  As much as I like summer- I do love a little structure.  The Clarks are like a hot mess these days.  We need a routine to get our booties back in line.

One. Of . A. Kind.

Until next time, we will just keep swimming!