tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42179312995595367402024-03-05T03:04:27.626-07:00long days short yearsThe days seem so long but really the years are flying by. Welcome to my randomness as I try to savor those long days because I know someday the years will be gone and I'm going to miss this!Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.comBlogger159125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-46390265723667887012021-04-01T10:03:00.001-06:002021-04-01T10:03:48.140-06:00sunsets and sunrisesIt's been two weeks. In that time I've tried to figure out how do I say my dad has died? How do I say those words without feeling like they are coming across as calloused? How do I process before I feel?<div><br /></div><div>The feelings finally came and they came like a tsunami, crashing over me and leveling me. When my father in law died my grief came quickly and intensely. When my dad died the reality of his death and the subsequent torrent of emotion took nearly two weeks. Both of the men I've called dad are gone and it feels vulnerable. </div><div><br /></div><div>He'd call me his darling daughter Dawn. I would grin and reply by calling him my darling father Dad. When asked what he wanted for his birthday, Christmas, Father's Day he would respond with "a basket full of hundred dollar bills". One year I decided to give him his basket full of hundred dollar bills. I bought money designed wrapping paper and cut out each individual "bill" and put them in a basket. He laughed so hard. It remains to this day my second favorite gift I ever gave him.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you asked him how he was he'd say "finer than frog's hair." I'd giggle and tell him frogs didn't have hair. Eventually he moved on to saying "never been better." That was how he became known to friends and strangers alike. His gravestone will even include the words never been better. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I was a teenager, a traumatic event rocked my world. I pushed through and buried my emotions until they spilled over and I just couldn't push through anymore. My dad knew I had reached my breaking point. He called me out from school and took me to the arcade to blow off steam. I don't remember what I played or what we had for lunch that day or what we talked about or even if we talked at all. What I remember is how I felt. I felt seen and protected and loved. That day recharged my emotional tank and gave me the strength to keep pushing through the situation. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I was little and I'd have a nightmare, it was my dad who held me. He'd let me fall asleep on his chest and carry me back to bed. During baseball season my grandpa would come over and sit in the chair and my dad would lay on the couch; I'd lay next to my dad, squishing him terribly but he never complained, and I would fall asleep with the sound of his heartbeat in one ear and the sound of the Cardinals game in the other ear. </div><div><br /></div><div>Listening to his heartbeat was comforting. The sound of my daddy's heartbeat always brought my anxiety down. It was like in those moments I could believe everything would end up ok no matter how chaotic it was at the time. And now, the heartbeat of my dad, the most comforting sound of my childhood has stopped.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad, I love you. I'm glad I got to video chat with you shortly before you left. Until we meet again, my darling father Dad. </div>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-5373802610081541532020-10-16T10:04:00.001-06:002020-10-16T10:04:16.067-06:00when my fears are brought to light<p>I had an epiphany moment last night and couldn't stop the tears from falling. My oldest and I were talking about politics. We were talking about disagreeing with others with grace and agreed that very few people have that skill mastered. She brought up how much she loves talking with her grandma, my mother-in-law, because though they disagree on several issues politically they can talk and both at times offer a perspective the other hadn't thought about. They leave each other better for having had the conversation and love each other dearly.</p><p>I realized that I don't talk about the areas we disagree on with my mother-in-law. I smile and add nothing to the discussion and look for the closest change of subject without being rude. And the tears started falling when I realized why. </p><p>I adore this woman with everything in me. I have said a few times that my parents raised me but my in-laws parented me. I love my parents very much and we have a complicated relationship. Last night as I talked and processed my thoughts, the feelings escaped from my eyes because I knew in that moment the reason I don't want to talk about any disagreements is because I never want her to think less of me. </p><p>I also know this will not happen. She loves me as if she bore me. We have a phenomenal relationship. We live next door to each other and I go to her home to sit and talk over coffee or wine a few times a week. She is there when I need to cry and there to celebrate the wins. She is everything I hope to be to my kids partners. I seriously won the in-law jackpot. </p><p>While I know she will not love me less if we disagree on a political issue, I really don't want to discuss things that might make her disapprove of me. This fear is a byproduct of other relationships. I've seen and experienced the breakdown of relationships due to not seeing eye to eye and few things would break my heart more than a rift in the relationship between me and my beloved mother-in-law. </p><p>I was astonished at how deeply I felt the emotions as I talked this out. I was floored by how deeply the fear of rejection ran in my heart. In that moment I felt the pain of other rejections in my life. And I feared feeling that from this woman whom I adore. </p><p>Fear isn't logical. I know that I know that I know she will love me no matter what and that we can disagree on things. We have disagreed on many things over the years and have always loved each other even when we don't see eye to eye. So my fear that she will think less of me or love me less if we disagree on politics is not logical and yet it is there. </p><p>I guess it is time to do the work on my own heart to heal and not project my own fears onto a proven relationship. </p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-37176955237270515942020-09-25T19:02:00.000-06:002020-09-25T19:02:09.520-06:00Instant friend, just add Nerf guns<p> It was appointment day and Youngest dillydallied leaving the hospital. He wanted to say hi to his physical therapist down the hall and he wanted a drink of water and I was pretend sighing at him to hurry up. That was the day we met J. </p><p>We met when his wheelchair nearly collided with ours. I chuckled while his parents scolded and apologized. J was leaving with a petrie cast. I poked Youngest and said, "Hey, you had one like that!" J launched into telling us he had Perthes Disease and just like that the two boys were fast friends. While the kids got to know each other I got to talk with other Perthes parents. We talked about school and wheelchairs and braces and how hard it is to tell an active kid to stop. I felt an instant connection to the parents while the kids were discussing their own instant connection. </p><p>We exchanged phone numbers and met at the park. When we got together again at their house the boys had an intense Nerf gun battle while the moms sat and chatted. There was a three year age difference between them but the way they got on with each other you would never have guessed it. I've had countless requests of "When will we see J again? Can you call his mom?"</p><p>J was one of those people who never met a stranger. His smile and laugh were contagious. One day while out with my family we ran into their family. Once again the kids played and the adults chatted. When it was time to part ways J begged both sets of parents for Youngest to come home with them and stay the night. We hadn't talked about it in advance so I gave the typical parent hesitation. I didn't want my kid to impose if they had other plans. I didn't know how their family felt about sleepovers. His mom gave the same hesitation. J promptly told us that it was the same as having his cousins come for a sleepover and that Youngest was like his cousin. We ended by promising for parents to connect to plan out a time rather than something spontaneous.</p><p>That is a promise that was broken. Youngest would remind me and I would say I'd call J's mom and then would get busy with life and forget. Last week in a tragic turn of events J's life ended. I wish I'd called every singe time Youngest asked me to. I wish we would have made those sleepover plans. I wish I hadn't assumed there would be more time just because they were young. </p><p>Today was his funeral. I've attended the funerals of too many children. It never gets easier, and it shouldn't. I think it actually gets harder with each funeral. He was a beautiful soul. He made the world a better place in his few years here. Hug your kids. Tell them how much you love them. Call your loved ones. Buy the potato salad. Make the chili. Show up to the functions. Be fully present. Because we aren't promised tomorrow.</p><p>When my time comes I hope I've made the kind of impact J did, that the memories of me are beautiful and comforting to those I leave behind. </p><p> </p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-57378620447209770822020-09-10T08:51:00.000-06:002020-09-10T08:51:17.250-06:00Learning from mistakes<p> As my husband and kids would say, mistakes were made. </p><p>It turns out that when your doctor puts you on medication to help with anxiety, she does so for a reason. And it also turns out that the half life of that medication isn't very long. It also seems that if you go to bed too exhausted to remember to take the medication two nights in a row that you will wake up remembering why you were prescribed the medication in the first place and will likely need to use your "rescue medicine". </p><p>I grew up feeling like depression and anxiety were sins. In my adulthood it has taken a long time to come to terms with the fact that mental illness is an illness not a decision. It took waking up in the middle of the night feeling like I was having a heart attack that turned out to be a panic attack to decide going back on medication was the right move for me. </p><p>There was a time in my life that I was too embarrassed to admit that I struggle with depression and anxiety. But the reality is that I do and I know so many others who do as well. I don't love writing about my mental health; it is a very vulnerable topic. I also have come to value authenticity and those who will remind us that we are not alone in our journeys. I am choosing to be open about this so that those who stumble across my writing will hear a voice saying, "I get it. You are not alone." </p><p>I know plenty of people who would be horrified to hear I take medication to manage my mental health. I also know plenty who will applaud that fact that I do. The reality of it is that for me, this medication helps me to function at full capacity. I breathe deeper when I take it. I show up better for my family and friends when I take it. Honestly, I show up better for myself when I take it. </p><p>Yes, mistakes were made. Now we move on. Now I will take my medication and go to bed on time so I don't collapse in my bed too exhausted to think about opening that daily pill container. And if any of you are in the same boat I would like to remind you to take your meds, drink your water, get some sleep. Take some time to take care of you; you are a valuable asset worth protecting. You are loved and you are needed. </p><p><br /></p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-16489695446086640982020-09-08T08:00:00.001-06:002020-09-08T08:00:27.079-06:00I'm thinking about....<p> I'm not a morning person. But there is something satisfying about being awake with my coffee and computer when the house is quiet. I don't love remote learning but I am enjoying being able to drop my daughter off at work and not have to jump straight into the hustle and bustle of a school day. </p><p>Maybe I'm more contemplative because it actually feels like fall today. It will feel like winter by the end of the day but right now it is chilly and drizzly and feels like fall. I'm thinking of things like how Hubby has shown up for over 20 years. I'm so very grateful for the way he takes care of my heart. It isn't always easy, we sometimes drive each other crazy, but we keep choosing each other day in and day out. A friend recently said the secret to her long marriage was being willing to go through the shit together and honestly I could not say it better. </p><p>I'm thinking of my kids nearing adulthood. I talked with a friend recently and we discussed how as our kids are getting older what level of input we have as opposed to being able to make their decisions. Funny, as I typed that I realized I've had that conversation with a couple of friends recently. I'm thinking about what it will look like when my kids launch and I no longer have the daily hugs and comments of "you're the best mom ever." Sometimes I look back and wonder what things we did as parents that our kids will tell their spouses. What things will they look back with fondness and what things will they say, "Wow, my parents really blew it with that one." We all have those moments of nostalgia or hindsight and I wonder what they will look like for my kids.</p><p>I'm thinking of the woman next door. She raised the man I love. She once told me she always wanted another daughter and that she is so grateful she got the other daughter in me. I seriously won the in-law lottery. My mother-in-law is a strong, fierce woman and I hope to be even half the woman she is. She has been such a beautiful example of allowing someone else to capture first place in your child's heart. I hope my kids have mother in laws like her. I also hope I have learned from her enough to be that mother in law to my kids in law.</p><p>I'm thinking about the job posting I saw this morning for the exact job I want. And I'm wondering how to make it work as full time with kids who have physical therapy during the regular work week. I have worked part time for several years and have scheduled kid appointments around my work schedule. I know plenty of people who work full time and make it work. I think I still get nervous about needing to take time off because of Perthes. He will need at least one more surgery and possibly two. That makes me feel overwhelmed about which job I take.</p><p>I'm thinking about politics and religion. Absolutely not writing about those thoughts right now. But definitely thinking about them. </p><p>I'm thinking about the beach and how much I missed going this year. I am so ready for next summer and for the pandemic to be over and for camp to happen. I am so ready to dig my toes into the sand and watch the waves while I journal. I'm afraid of the ocean but I love the beach. It is my serenity place and I long to go back.</p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-34266588022704305402020-09-05T15:31:00.003-06:002020-09-05T15:31:23.055-06:00Trying to Find My Voice<p> Part of what makes public writing hard is determining where my story ends and someone else's begins. I am me. I am also a wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend. The wonderful thing about life is how our stories intersect. Where our stories intersect is also sometimes hard. </p><p>Sometimes I want to share how people have shown up in my story. But when they show up in a way that is painful it is hard for me to write about it. I'm hitting a lot of that right now. I'm not sure which parts are ok to type out and hit publish. I want to be transparent and authentic but I don't want to hurt others, even if they have hurt me. </p><p>I want to share stories about my kids. They are nearing adulthood and I want them to have the choice of how their stories are shared. When they were little it felt different but now it often feels like it's their stories to tell not mine. </p><p>So when I don't talk about how others are interacting in my story, I forget how to use my voice. I need to remember who I am. I need to remember the things that I am passionate about. I need to hear my own voice again. It seems like this is going to be a bigger thing than just writing again because I can't write without rediscovering my voice. </p><p>I have controversial opinions. And I hate controversy. So publishing my thoughts and opinions seems risky also. It is shaping up to be an interesting ride in finding myself. </p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-26259383319940221922020-09-01T11:29:00.000-06:002020-09-01T11:29:14.209-06:00Endings <p>I have far too much to process. How funny it is that it is always in those times of overwhelm that someone reminds me I need to write. This time, that someone was Hubby and his persuasion that the world needs my voice. I don't know the world needs it but I do know writing helps me process my thoughts and emotions. I guess it is time to write again.</p><p><br /></p><p>A month ago I was laid off from my job of eight years. I saw it coming but it still was hard. I told my work wife a month before it happened that I thought they would eliminate my position in September. She assured me that wouldn't be the case but I just felt it in my gut. I was wrong, it happened the end of July. It didn't go down well. They called me in on my last day of vacation to let me go. They let go of 11 of us and said it was due to COVID that they had to make some tough decisions to eliminate positions. But then I learned they were hiring five new people. They said it wasn't personal but it sure feels personal when someone is being hired to do the job you used to do.</p><p>It was time to move on. I knew that. I just wanted it to be on my terms. I spent eight years of my life pouring my heart and soul into a company that easily discarded me. I want to be excited about my next but I have to grieve the loss of my community first. I've spent the last several weeks just surviving. I've played way too many games on my phone and barely done anything else. Today I finally feel like the fog is lifting some. </p><p>I miss my work friends dearly. They had become so much more than coworkers to me. We have supported each other through so much over the years. But I don't actually miss the job. I thought I would but I don't. I find myself relieved that I'm not the one answering the emails wondering why the organization, including the volunteer team, was restructured. I find myself relieved to no longer have to have the "work voice" that spoke for the company. I find myself relieved to no longer feel fractured. I find myself relieved to be able to be fully true to myself, something I haven't felt in a couple of years.</p><p>I am going to be ok. I am going to find my next. In the meantime, I'm going to stop avoiding the emotions and embrace all the feels. I'm going to sit with my discomfort. I'm going to find my voice again. </p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-1422511210526799452019-08-31T14:06:00.000-06:002019-08-31T14:06:35.260-06:00Did my muse die?Recently my husband has asked me why I stopped writing. I tried to think of a reason and I can't think of a good one. My father in law died two years ago and I think my muse died with him. It's not that he was my muse, it's just that the grief that came with losing the man who had been my second dad for twenty years took all the creative thought out of me.<br />
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I guess I wasn't ready to share my heart. I didn't even realize that the last time I wrote was just before he died. See in the last three years I've lost two of the dearest people I've ever loved and I have not had words to describe my heartbreak or even my basic day to day life. So I stopped. I stopped writing. I stopped journaling. I shared little and what I shared was in spoken words not written words. I shared in a way that I could always control who heard my words and I guarded them greatly. How do I move on from that? How do I put words out there for the world again?<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-4453393105136369482017-08-18T08:35:00.001-06:002017-08-18T08:35:28.796-06:00Georgie PorgieI recently read <i>Furiously Happy</i> by Jenny Lawson. I loved the book. I laughed until I cried at some points in the book. I nodded my head in agreement at several points. In one of my favorite chapters Jenny describes going into see her therapist and talking about extremely random things that were on her mind. That chapter had me laughing at her thoughts and reminiscing about my own.<br />
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You see, I totally get it. Several years ago I walked into my therapist's office. I sat on her couch preoccupied and annoyed as she asked, "So what's on your mind today." I tried to tell her what was on my mind wasn't important but she persisted. So I told her <b>exactly</b> what I was thinking.<br />
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"You want to know what I'm thinking about? Well, I'm thinking that Georgie Porgie was a jerk." Her head cocked to the side. I knew I had her attention when she said, "Georgie Porgie? Ooooookkkaaaayy?" I proceeded, "You know from the nursery rhyme?<br />
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<i>Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie</i></div>
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<i>Kissed the girls and made them cry</i></div>
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<i>When the boys came out to play</i></div>
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<i>Georgie Porgie ran away. "</i></div>
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"I think Georgie Porgie was a bully and a coward. I have been kissed when I didn't want to be and made to cry. He's a bully. And then when the boys who could kick his ass came out, Georgie ran away. What a horrible story to teach our kids!"</div>
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I may or may not have spent the rest of the session discussing the disturbing trend in children's classic nursery rhymes. </div>
Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-9498933150503211072017-07-28T21:20:00.001-06:002017-07-28T21:20:26.041-06:00Post Op UpdateMy husband says write. He says people need to hear my voice. Maybe he's right but we have had so much happen that I don't know what to say or where to start. I guess I could write a book about Perthes, about our third summer of surgery but no one wants a book for a blog post so I'll try to write and keep it abbreviated.<br />
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Surgery was July 3. We tried to cram as much fun as possible into the weeks leading up to surgery. We went swimming a few times. We had another middle finger Perthes party with cake and water balloons. We went to the movies and the museum. Our extended family decided to have the fourth of July picnic early so Littlest (and the rest of us) didn't have to miss out.<br />
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The weeks leading up to surgery were painful for my boy. He couldn't sleep. He had multiple nights that he was falling asleep as we were waking up. He had multiple nights of waking up from pain. He had multiple nights of crying himself to sleep. Those nights of extreme pain destroy a mama's heart. By the time surgery happened, we were all ready for some relief.<br />
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There were two facets of surgery. First reshaping the femoral head and then a <a href="https://hipdysplasia.org/wp-content/themes/hipdys/includes/FileRepository/Infant%20Hip%20Dysplasia/Treatment%20Methods/Osteotomy/Salter%20Osteo%20600px.jpg" target="_blank">pelvic osteotomy</a>. We were prepared ahead of time that there was a possibility of needing to do the procedures separately. Two surgeries possible and we wouldn't know until they began surgery if he would need one or two. That raised our stress level significantly. As the time allotted for surgery starting coming near, the waiting got harder. Finally the nurse called to tell us that they had finished the first part and were going to move on to the second part. One surgery!<br />
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We are extremely grateful for one surgery but it came with a price. Our boy was in surgery for eight and a half hours. It was exhausting. He woke up from surgery with a very angry sciatic nerve. The doctors said it is common with the length and type of surgery that Littlest had. He is still dealing with nerve pain. They said it can take some time for the nerve to fully wake up and calm down.<br />
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Our boy is in a spica cast. He has decided that last year's petrie cast was easier than this year's spica. Last year though both legs were in casts, he could still sit up all the way. He also was allowed to bear weight last year and not this year. The cast is heavy and hard to maneuver. The upside is he's just over half way through the time in the cast.<br />
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Still he smiles. Still we laugh. Some days are discouraging. Some days we know we'll make it through. He's the strongest person I know. He faces painful recovery head on and smiling more often than not. He's my hero.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Middle finger Perthes party<br />cake courtesy of my dear friend Robin at <a href="http://cakesfromthehart.com/" target="_blank">Cakes from the HART</a><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Daddy and the boy chilling in pre-op</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RDM_9vNr3k1kt5CUMWfhQogYaL220s-PjWfssZF8F-xcZRmfwFeuOvICT1QzqR8hhee-ZoPS91b4I7IsJU5EJXLl6StZ_SRoc3QBW6dEk774vUEg6jRduYywTKKXHZWgAXk9cAveAG6U/s1600/spica+cast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RDM_9vNr3k1kt5CUMWfhQogYaL220s-PjWfssZF8F-xcZRmfwFeuOvICT1QzqR8hhee-ZoPS91b4I7IsJU5EJXLl6StZ_SRoc3QBW6dEk774vUEg6jRduYywTKKXHZWgAXk9cAveAG6U/s320/spica+cast.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">spica cast</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweIV0vdg4BUzJdn3CuYYVEi_mWs6fgPjUk8uGAeVaDgy708Lerg0ikL8hhrIoGSkEtaa618jO7ky6hijN3ahIUDZ3yCUx_Q4zQYyh3jRsH0h7q-_z2Hphsa_5pcOnBgyY26srsmiCaIyn/s1600/root+beer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweIV0vdg4BUzJdn3CuYYVEi_mWs6fgPjUk8uGAeVaDgy708Lerg0ikL8hhrIoGSkEtaa618jO7ky6hijN3ahIUDZ3yCUx_Q4zQYyh3jRsH0h7q-_z2Hphsa_5pcOnBgyY26srsmiCaIyn/s320/root+beer.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Root Beer the monkey has been his comfort through every surgery</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicfGtYmDZBVndK10uuqnbtbK6HXPRwfD8yGSf59r5ZYjZpbVDUyh9dgI_issZ8u74xBJejbzSCFarQerzvwTd_RLWCV4GYX6v8ND7H73NKid3g-VwjwHg-ZoUXbYsxAy0db9JXQxelRxR/s1600/my+boys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicfGtYmDZBVndK10uuqnbtbK6HXPRwfD8yGSf59r5ZYjZpbVDUyh9dgI_issZ8u74xBJejbzSCFarQerzvwTd_RLWCV4GYX6v8ND7H73NKid3g-VwjwHg-ZoUXbYsxAy0db9JXQxelRxR/s320/my+boys.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">field trip at the hospital</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWg08gamHFVAmLsYWxqJthr6O_gpIfu_F2xnciCIZJDrZSRwbTJCrU-CPm6C5-0qyDnMEE7wZLn7GXUA7uEMfXjiuqoEQLWLBFxzJ3NdMaFQfA4c5iVm3Jdf40Y97CtOkwQRFSGH3Ywiw/s1600/hospital+date+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWg08gamHFVAmLsYWxqJthr6O_gpIfu_F2xnciCIZJDrZSRwbTJCrU-CPm6C5-0qyDnMEE7wZLn7GXUA7uEMfXjiuqoEQLWLBFxzJ3NdMaFQfA4c5iVm3Jdf40Y97CtOkwQRFSGH3Ywiw/s320/hospital+date+night.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hospital date night. The fabulous uncle stayed in the room with Littlest so we could go outside for a half hour</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZ1UC_MMHxqeAqpOCtUGbiRMdxMxMb0zJd9ZQqY6Xl-PJXSkIsYXsb_wR6zqPFIuXf17NULIXXYa2kC4Yo90Ba9duhxvm547bZYegqv6X-sQa0ExXmqel9qjFqBsW2agXZ8eZIgfazZXi/s1600/date+night+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZ1UC_MMHxqeAqpOCtUGbiRMdxMxMb0zJd9ZQqY6Xl-PJXSkIsYXsb_wR6zqPFIuXf17NULIXXYa2kC4Yo90Ba9duhxvm547bZYegqv6X-sQa0ExXmqel9qjFqBsW2agXZ8eZIgfazZXi/s320/date+night+2.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hubby brought me dinner that wasn't cooked in the hospital. We can make anywhere a date!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsW-iaH9eCHW9sYR8DQrN4_K6KWT0RQ1gtoZtLfkN1FL_eGQUPxoTK2dCW8vzRc1Rj4x508elZFXTdbABZIYZDdBDVGO-uTZGOesa1iFjO0jyp92tsa3apyLTKQCRuuzlybW_KZDV3CUkT/s1600/clowns.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsW-iaH9eCHW9sYR8DQrN4_K6KWT0RQ1gtoZtLfkN1FL_eGQUPxoTK2dCW8vzRc1Rj4x508elZFXTdbABZIYZDdBDVGO-uTZGOesa1iFjO0jyp92tsa3apyLTKQCRuuzlybW_KZDV3CUkT/s320/clowns.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2 weeks earlier Gramps wore a clown nose at the hospital<br />Littlest wanted to do the same<br />clowning around in the hospital runs in the family</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-n3mLV-e_SZRwwKQSl7tdMVlWgWRPWBvpW3qe_EgX9Fbf6Uj7twd3mG1A_t6z8UCO5n2kZigO0p8ipcVWYW6yp5z3lHMq1K0KsaHtwMH843zDuEN3550Mz7Mxz69c0HLczUzWfynV8fP/s1600/discharge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-n3mLV-e_SZRwwKQSl7tdMVlWgWRPWBvpW3qe_EgX9Fbf6Uj7twd3mG1A_t6z8UCO5n2kZigO0p8ipcVWYW6yp5z3lHMq1K0KsaHtwMH843zDuEN3550Mz7Mxz69c0HLczUzWfynV8fP/s320/discharge.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">discharge and heading home</td></tr>
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-10124949001359445232017-05-14T22:57:00.000-06:002017-05-14T22:57:31.449-06:00here we go again...Many times I thought I would write some how to advice of how we managed having Littlest in a Petrie cast last year. I thought I would post pictures of how we modified clothes and how he managed to get in and out of the car with both legs cast. And then I thought I'd post updates like when he got the cast off finally and when he was in the brace. I'd think of things I'd like to say but wouldn't blog about them because I wanted the congruent timeline of events to be perfect. So for the last 10 months I've just stayed silent.<div>
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I can't wait and hope for my perfect timeline anymore. I need to write. In mid-April his pain started escalating again. This time we were prepared for it. The surgeon had told us it would happen and that we would do nothing until doing nothing was no longer an option. When day after day the pain level stayed high we knew it was time to bump up our doctor visit from August to immediately. New x-rays show his hip getting worse again and our surgeon had reached the end of her ability to help him. I'm not exactly sad about this; the surgeon we have had for the past year is a good doctor but not a hip specialist and doesn't have the warmest bedside manner for working with kids. Even so, it is difficult to hear that your son's condition is beyond the ability of his doctor.</div>
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The new surgeon team she referred us to took even more x-rays with some added angles. The short version is that my boy needs surgery yet again. The new team spent nearly two hours with us explaining everything they saw and the procedures they would like to do. It is major. Instead of focusing on the femur as they have in the past they will reorient the pelvis to cover the femoral head and possibly need to reshape the femoral head to fit in the hip socket. The positive in this is we really like the new team and we trust them. They were great with our boy and great with us. They appreciated and applauded the fact that I insist that Littlest be part of all discussions because it is his body and his healthcare. Yes, mom and dad make the decisions now but he needs to know how to advocate for himself and how to navigate the medical world as he grows. Someday he will need to do this on his own and I plan on giving him as much of a head start in that department as I can.</div>
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We don't have a surgery date yet. MRI is in a couple of weeks, pre-op is in early June, and then surgery as soon as they can arrange it in the schedule, probably late June to early July. Even though we knew at the last procedure that another was likely it is still difficult to hear out loud. We had so hoped to have a summer of fun not another summer of surgery. When the last visit had the results of "no change, see you in six months" we thought we had managed to at least have a summer without medical issues. But Perthes is a terrible disease and has not proven to be predicable in the least. </div>
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I've had a hard time with this. I've told some people but I haven't wanted to tell everyone. I've wanted to hold the news close. At first diagnosis when friends would ask how they could help I knew, I had answers. Now as we approach the forth surgery, I no longer know what to say when asked. Four surgeries in three years, I feel like I should be a pro at this but I'm not. I feel like I should know what to say when friends want to help. Early on I felt like this was a fast easy journey. We have said often that in the beginning we understood Perthes more like an injury than a disease. We thought surgery would be one and done. Now three years later still facing the same things, I feel like a burden. I feel like my constant narrative of having a kid who hurts so much he cries himself to sleep and wakes in the night is difficult for my friends to still be hearing. I'm probably wrong about that but it is still my current perception. </div>
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My Littlest is frustrated. He's hurting to the extreme. Hubby and I would do anything to take his pain away but we are helpless to make a significant difference. Brothers are stressed out about this. Sometimes average playing results in someone bumping the leg and tears. Yet somehow in the midst of it all we still laugh, we still play, we still love, we still hope. We hope that this will be the surgery that will bring relief. We hope that soon this will be a memory instead of a current reality. We hope for a cure for Perthes so that other kids can avoid the pain that our son lives with constantly. Did I mention that we hope this is the last surgery and after this he can go about the business of being a little boy?</div>
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-35091135346267010612016-07-25T22:53:00.000-06:002016-07-26T12:54:07.998-06:00Middle Finger PerthesThere are days that watching my boy in all that he goes through that I feel awed at his strength and his joy. There are also days that I watch my boy struggle and I cry after the kids are asleep. Some days are bright, we know we all have each other and that we will make it through this. Some days are life draining and discouraging. On one such discouraging day, with all the kids in bed, Hubby poured drinks and the two of us toasted an expletive. Because some days only a swear word is strong enough to express how much you hate watching your child suffer. That toast is the back story for this post.<br />
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Littlest is very conscious of others. He doesn't want his disease to be a burden for anyone else. He's also a huge people pleaser and a genuine optimist. When you put those things all together you have a recipe for a little boy who says he's good all the time even when he's not. One day the dam finally broke. Tears of frustration ran down his face after we had to call him in because of his leg. While Hubby held him and we exchanged looks of "How do we help him with this?" I thought of the toast and blurted out my suggestion.</div>
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"Repeat after me. And if you tell anyone <i><b>I'M</b></i> the one who said this, I'll deny it. Okay? Okay. Now say this, 'Middle Finger Perthes'." My boy stared at me and the look on his face said that his mother had finally gone off her rocker. I said it again and asked him to repeat it. Finally he did and ended the night laughing. We told him that it is okay to be frustrated and even angry. And then we told him what we always say when things get hard, acknowledge it and feel it but don't unpack and live there. </div>
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Let me clarify, we don't advocate children swearing. He's not allowed to say the actual word. He's not allowed to do the action. But on days when he needs to acknowledge that he's angry with the disease, he is allowed to say (in our home with our family only) "middle finger perthes." Yes, it is unconventional parenting but it works for us. This is how we are acknowledging the anger of a disease that causes a child chronic pain. We just don't unpack and live there. We aren't constantly angry but we do allow ourselves to feel the anger when it comes up. </div>
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Somehow the idea came up to have a middle finger perthes party. We decided to have cake. And of course a pinata, because beating a paper mache creature with a bat and then having candy would somehow be therapeutic. We were right, it was. Littlest, his brothers, his parents, and one of his uncles went to the park and had a party last week. Pictures at this point tell the story better than words.<br />
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If you are the toasting type and you decide to toast tonight, we'll join you with a middle finger perthes toast. Cheers.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVMPITXGsTYH93VEKCoiE6O2GpK8b2TpdpQY8MU7n11FS9FR06EF5uEUAfn5sLL47TOinT15QpV9ek-VsvgpQWBMSVb3ghr_EsmyB6H3Km5lAYj2Nr1XMTO4duE_rQw76XEhD-e2NBetI/s1600/hanging+the+pinata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVMPITXGsTYH93VEKCoiE6O2GpK8b2TpdpQY8MU7n11FS9FR06EF5uEUAfn5sLL47TOinT15QpV9ek-VsvgpQWBMSVb3ghr_EsmyB6H3Km5lAYj2Nr1XMTO4duE_rQw76XEhD-e2NBetI/s320/hanging+the+pinata.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hanging the pinata</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOO1QzW00yHJsXZvED6slxD14-u-1B7_KmTODbcQcj4PKTZB9M5mPStjBF9VBgtaxIpsilsdcZ2XveEcnVA38kGwSVaZmrrAzlDvfLjrrJ4lEYuVF-RPYClBcILuBv3Is65W2v8QzHQyle/s1600/pinata+moves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOO1QzW00yHJsXZvED6slxD14-u-1B7_KmTODbcQcj4PKTZB9M5mPStjBF9VBgtaxIpsilsdcZ2XveEcnVA38kGwSVaZmrrAzlDvfLjrrJ4lEYuVF-RPYClBcILuBv3Is65W2v8QzHQyle/s320/pinata+moves.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">laughing that dad moved the pinata up right as he swung</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimYPTyzYz1sqrxKqX4eK4Q_0udErrnMCaapamnuZ1cnNmASvfyDTm62lwGHi1woIzwV4raEcdy8dIWdx9hJxuHxCXEL1jNxwJSj1sNY_r8zvyAOeURs89nHJwft_-3ajWuiLRi2oA8E9W/s1600/ev+pinata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimYPTyzYz1sqrxKqX4eK4Q_0udErrnMCaapamnuZ1cnNmASvfyDTm62lwGHi1woIzwV4raEcdy8dIWdx9hJxuHxCXEL1jNxwJSj1sNY_r8zvyAOeURs89nHJwft_-3ajWuiLRi2oA8E9W/s320/ev+pinata.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Middlest hitting pinata</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzH3owmfGyuLmSy2Y9g0fgFh1K0UD8zM5pCI-6gNc6JbF28CL5SLDiN9ud-FGbgVUSZ0-66_AtAc2j8j9BmWDeGNkZ7qFtoqbdvZECg9ti0Hon-yPHGJFPvZ3f8-rcf_z8TQikrEYoNLjX/s1600/Will+pinata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzH3owmfGyuLmSy2Y9g0fgFh1K0UD8zM5pCI-6gNc6JbF28CL5SLDiN9ud-FGbgVUSZ0-66_AtAc2j8j9BmWDeGNkZ7qFtoqbdvZECg9ti0Hon-yPHGJFPvZ3f8-rcf_z8TQikrEYoNLjX/s320/Will+pinata.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oldest taking a swing as well</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCQg1DcQ5mD8KpotPQBEeRGVw5AeQMOYS-iweBwVMAQI2GbI8PTBnkyEw-wR5gGvrCiPEVrIfwllsebX2clR_HEmdzEC0gPKlOQd9QfwR2Eu09C_cShaX3LXdV_bpVT9IKPru6KEPnZmE/s1600/uncle+mark+pinata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCQg1DcQ5mD8KpotPQBEeRGVw5AeQMOYS-iweBwVMAQI2GbI8PTBnkyEw-wR5gGvrCiPEVrIfwllsebX2clR_HEmdzEC0gPKlOQd9QfwR2Eu09C_cShaX3LXdV_bpVT9IKPru6KEPnZmE/s320/uncle+mark+pinata.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the parents and Uncle took a turn</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiigeQBkTKhZYtjeKSjZ2O0kVsnCsq3FcHdYA2QvEjz_4KfWmqbTxbXJMKUlYc1i3PyCJl-LCScD-nIxO6UCGiq111qscKp5n1jPFaB_7mUsijV4LV1Z5IH8CV7UrVb7zr5ApArYuPj6oh8/s1600/pinata+candy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiigeQBkTKhZYtjeKSjZ2O0kVsnCsq3FcHdYA2QvEjz_4KfWmqbTxbXJMKUlYc1i3PyCJl-LCScD-nIxO6UCGiq111qscKp5n1jPFaB_7mUsijV4LV1Z5IH8CV7UrVb7zr5ApArYuPj6oh8/s320/pinata+candy.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">candy, glow, bracelets, and....</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFB_YJz6YjtAtEGmDiiFLqE2_T0l4x7gT6AKUv0YvHHQ1VEeS2bfjgS4u-U8r5fm88svWhWDfq1sVu7Le5z3rArwifTmbipwOzmbZO6KQvqLeRmil6AbkeHrKIJtdAvqhXHDGZ5kBbpaz/s1600/party+poppers+in+the+pinata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFB_YJz6YjtAtEGmDiiFLqE2_T0l4x7gT6AKUv0YvHHQ1VEeS2bfjgS4u-U8r5fm88svWhWDfq1sVu7Le5z3rArwifTmbipwOzmbZO6KQvqLeRmil6AbkeHrKIJtdAvqhXHDGZ5kBbpaz/s320/party+poppers+in+the+pinata.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">party poppers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginxO-WlIrc23E2z2YcKpHAK1n4tHdGsH0QAEBYhkCzjh4JlGvd7BhdYW8MsF-_e2cWp7mLN0eWxUMcWsZof5ue9uwOejnLChomBqpaZ-Sf_PKyAP624jppGKxApjDC9PnOxlkgYuUmwiT/s1600/pinata+destruction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginxO-WlIrc23E2z2YcKpHAK1n4tHdGsH0QAEBYhkCzjh4JlGvd7BhdYW8MsF-_e2cWp7mLN0eWxUMcWsZof5ue9uwOejnLChomBqpaZ-Sf_PKyAP624jppGKxApjDC9PnOxlkgYuUmwiT/s320/pinata+destruction.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">after all was done, he wanted to annihilate the pinata a little more</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFe-G1q7J1aj8PyqXqcI9RVPaP4BeySHkD05jhcdP6VV_TZWtM7K_pvq3fC4hMQuWb3R4Ihq4ds24fshEbCT7j3-zNhflPOjX8q__1BkEU88YKxlt38nvLBD4fuVt5RMV4Y-0Yp6eXzu5/s1600/beating+the+pinata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFe-G1q7J1aj8PyqXqcI9RVPaP4BeySHkD05jhcdP6VV_TZWtM7K_pvq3fC4hMQuWb3R4Ihq4ds24fshEbCT7j3-zNhflPOjX8q__1BkEU88YKxlt38nvLBD4fuVt5RMV4Y-0Yp6eXzu5/s320/beating+the+pinata.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Took some vicious swings at the remainder of the pinata</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBumvgXDyT3d7D65zvFJIzjvWqdSNb4WKCyP_zR1TKGlamLlrZHj54ZWQahaSlcpRpHatRWjQSROyt4Kca-AIMxxlvuEn2rty7ggcRAbWuSKWKctZQYVijjMzoAK1k7fHIFjCzGcJ65ay/s1600/chillin+in+the+circle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBumvgXDyT3d7D65zvFJIzjvWqdSNb4WKCyP_zR1TKGlamLlrZHj54ZWQahaSlcpRpHatRWjQSROyt4Kca-AIMxxlvuEn2rty7ggcRAbWuSKWKctZQYVijjMzoAK1k7fHIFjCzGcJ65ay/s320/chillin+in+the+circle.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">chillin in the circle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv-mg1W09hjCDftCZliG4JB5lFzttJRxNU-j2Xm5AIwYSIKNjfmDJ9h_KCmEVzV1aL8iX7Me-bU-BEOg6cUy00OH3yzuYOSRU9bL9FXSBS1yAq3CLcajJ5wYoNsCmETSz-uyqDoInnXzAr/s1600/boy+and+his+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv-mg1W09hjCDftCZliG4JB5lFzttJRxNU-j2Xm5AIwYSIKNjfmDJ9h_KCmEVzV1aL8iX7Me-bU-BEOg6cUy00OH3yzuYOSRU9bL9FXSBS1yAq3CLcajJ5wYoNsCmETSz-uyqDoInnXzAr/s320/boy+and+his+cake.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what's a party without an awesome cake?<br />
Glad I personally know the baker, it could have<br />
been an awkward order otherwise! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPMMq0gnmTjhZSIYhQuE1yuQsEjbsFlF-xjOLZIDEON9M6msBLASdJF0aIxQYyymHafZI0m4Z30M0zk2p7TOgbufZtNb9UWQ7NNM2SIGsQIpkXxhunBJkUPzqI2hz-H_0vt_TD87XNOf_U/s1600/monkey+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPMMq0gnmTjhZSIYhQuE1yuQsEjbsFlF-xjOLZIDEON9M6msBLASdJF0aIxQYyymHafZI0m4Z30M0zk2p7TOgbufZtNb9UWQ7NNM2SIGsQIpkXxhunBJkUPzqI2hz-H_0vt_TD87XNOf_U/s320/monkey+cake.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Monkey Man eating the monkey face</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDrSX1nP0ejSCvF9WwtOHdA1Qvs-uT0HLavqEGN0SAwWc1JYkXo4VxfkKU4FVzHAfWslfxjrMM-p24RlJAoho4gd_dhVN7rq5MgFQlkHpb-bgXL3u-6SWKbVbMiXaz9VaSLvt58FE9pwt/s1600/perthes+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDrSX1nP0ejSCvF9WwtOHdA1Qvs-uT0HLavqEGN0SAwWc1JYkXo4VxfkKU4FVzHAfWslfxjrMM-p24RlJAoho4gd_dhVN7rq5MgFQlkHpb-bgXL3u-6SWKbVbMiXaz9VaSLvt58FE9pwt/s320/perthes+party.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">silly faces of a Middle Finger Perthes party</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9I9GZK_CBkErf0Y032FVqvJ18ewCluKJKr5L9v9-CoDKNTGdpeeQhZJQnsEfOBYFetRUCMA6xnra8N2Y7H_NOoexXTWTaDDL3oivuzGOyDdZ3dsiSZnqyHTUjKd0Lk6aUgvx-KAytqkv/s1600/silly+faces+perthes+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9I9GZK_CBkErf0Y032FVqvJ18ewCluKJKr5L9v9-CoDKNTGdpeeQhZJQnsEfOBYFetRUCMA6xnra8N2Y7H_NOoexXTWTaDDL3oivuzGOyDdZ3dsiSZnqyHTUjKd0Lk6aUgvx-KAytqkv/s320/silly+faces+perthes+party.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One flying a kite and one dabbing....love those crazy boys!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxwGPijGWIhxxP4jBMNKbOY7M8Yvkz_kEcbTfdygdRmu1YZN5ysNSLOc9kzaLv4x-f4oZAeP5USSmddu3PcRZcgQTyLnIWfOcKv2nv0Z9FKs3L8dZT0_sPyWdtEyxO0-024eGzer9sDpY/s1600/me+and+my+boy+perthes+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxwGPijGWIhxxP4jBMNKbOY7M8Yvkz_kEcbTfdygdRmu1YZN5ysNSLOc9kzaLv4x-f4oZAeP5USSmddu3PcRZcgQTyLnIWfOcKv2nv0Z9FKs3L8dZT0_sPyWdtEyxO0-024eGzer9sDpY/s320/me+and+my+boy+perthes+party.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">proof I was actually there as well<br />
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-35498667530888563642016-07-09T11:06:00.000-06:002016-07-21T21:45:59.221-06:00Legg-Calve Perthes Disease Pending SurgeryI've had a lot of questions about Littlest and his upcoming surgery. I've answered them as they have come but I've had a hard time getting ahead of the questions this time. Emotionally this has been the hardest of the three surgeries to prepare for and some days have just downright stunk. It finally feels like the time to write about it. Questions don't bother me so if I miss one of yours, feel free to ask.<br />
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Littlest was diagnosed two years ago with Legg-Calve Perthes Disease, or Perthes for short. It is a condition that interrupts blood flow to the ball of the femur causing in his case nearly complete loss of the femoral head. Though Perthes is not life threatening, it is life altering and very painful. His, as our new surgeon reminds me regularly, was very advanced at the time of diagnosis and he was over the age of six. Either of those factors make recovery more difficult and he had BOTH. </div>
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In April we went for our regularly scheduled check up and x-ray and the doctor showed us how the bone has stopped growing properly. His femur sits inside the hip incorrectly and is causing him a lot of pain and limited range of motion. She recommended another surgery. We sent the x-rays and recommended treatment plan to our former surgeon, a Perthes specialist and an amazing man, who confirmed our new doctor's assessment and treatment plan.</div>
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This paragraph is for those of you who ask for details, if you're squeamish feel free to skip ahead to the next paragraph. In the surgery, the doctor will release the abductor tendons in his groin which will hopefully allow her to push his leg into the hip socket. If cutting those tendons do not give her the range of motion to get the femur back in the hip socket, she will also cut into the hip capsule. The goal is to maneuver his leg to the position it needs to stay in.</div>
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When the surgery is done he will be put in a petrie cast (both legs, thigh to ankle with a bar in between) for a minimum of six weeks. Depending on the range of motion the doctor can get he may be in the same cast the entire time or they may need to recast him widening the legs each time. Once he is out of the cast he will be in a leg brace for at least four months.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgDe5_jXR9ZEnY9xRm-IoOc-nKUMGw3QDCS7CnqB_Cg0tILaCHNZr6LjpR-Ps7lD07OuCeMWbKGHH7_dTS_poDNe7hu1BnQZPukqyrFgJo0xwSZhUabSoUhI-CxN9QhvojWOFictMd34Hp/s1600/abdcast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgDe5_jXR9ZEnY9xRm-IoOc-nKUMGw3QDCS7CnqB_Cg0tILaCHNZr6LjpR-Ps7lD07OuCeMWbKGHH7_dTS_poDNe7hu1BnQZPukqyrFgJo0xwSZhUabSoUhI-CxN9QhvojWOFictMd34Hp/s320/abdcast.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">picture of petrie cast used from <a class="_ZR irc_hol i3724" data-href="http://www.bcchildrens.ca/our-services/clinics/orthopaedics/orthopaedic-cerebral-palsy/hip-displacement-surgery" data-noload="" data-ved="0ahUKEwjw4t3w5ubNAhVRxGMKHZBmBawQjB0IBg" href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjw4t3w5ubNAhVRxGMKHZBmBawQjB0IBg&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.bcchildrens.ca%2Four-services%2Fclinics%2Forthopaedics%2Forthopaedic-cerebral-palsy%2Fhip-displacement-surgery&psig=AFQjCNGVJFc9VmnH-QLsHcc-IfLYDt1YRg&ust=1468167936268814" jsaction="mousedown:irc.rl;keydown:irc.rlk" style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #d6d6d6; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; outline: none; text-align: start;" tabindex="0" target="_blank"><span class="irc_ho" dir="ltr" style="margin-right: -2px; overflow: hidden; padding-right: 2px; text-overflow: ellipsis; unicode-bidi: isolate;">www.bcchildrens.ca</span></a></td></tr>
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He will be allowed to be weight bearing which he wasn't after the first surgery. Although he will be able to stand and walk as needed, he will spend much of his time in a wheelchair again and will once again start school in a wheelchair. I love our new school, they are already preparing for his needs at the beginning of the school year. </div>
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I've been asked several times what makes this surgery more difficult than the others. I think partly we have more time to think about it. At the original time of diagnosis, his disease was so far advanced that surgery was scheduled just over a week later. We didn't have time to prepare, we just had to act. It is amazing the strength one has in an emergency situation. The wear of doing life while waiting is much harder than relying on the adrenaline of the emergency.</div>
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The biggest reason this is harder though is we were supposed to be done with childhood surgeries. This summer was supposed to be the finish line. Last year his former surgeon told him he could play soccer this year and rather than playing sports and running around, he's in constant pain and facing another surgery. The active stage of Perthes is 2-4 years, this is the two year mark and it feels defeating to still be in this much pain.</div>
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For the logistics, surgery is July 28. We are working on getting our house prepared. The younger boys currently share a room and we are moving Middlest to his own room. It is good, it will give them both the space they need, AND it is a ton of work! In the next two weeks we will have a wheelchair ramp built, something we should have done the first time around and now we know. Grandma is helping sew "breakaway" clothes to fit over the cast. He obviously cannot go commando for six weeks! </div>
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I'll update more later. I'll tell you more about how we are all feeling but for now I just wanted to answer all the questions that have been floating around. Love to each of you. We appreciate all the prayers and well wishes that have been sent our way.</div>
Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-88966027124222353512016-03-01T10:13:00.000-07:002016-03-01T10:13:45.660-07:00RefugeToday is a big day personally, professionally, and politically. I have a lot going on in case that sentence didn't clue you in. And I'm not going to lie, sometimes the anxiety of it all creeps in. I've been reminding myself that God is in control no matter the outcomes.<br />
<br />
This morning I sat at my kitchen table, coffee in hand, and read from the Psalms. I absentmindedly turned the pages struggling to focus. Honestly, that is why is was in Psalms, I can read it even when I cannot focus. These words from Psalm 118:8-9 jumped off the page and I want to share them with you.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="text Ps-118-8" id="en-NIV-15878" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative;">It is better to take refuge in the <span class="small-caps" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-15878N" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-15878N" title="See cross-reference N">N</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span></span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-118-8" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">than to trust in humans.<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-15878O" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-15878O" title="See cross-reference O">O</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span></span></span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="text Ps-118-9" id="en-NIV-15879" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; left: -4.4em; line-height: 22px; position: absolute; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"> </span>It is better to take refuge in the <span class="small-caps" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-118-9" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">than to trust in princes.</span></span></blockquote>
Oh how those words touched my soul. No matter who is nominated today for Super Tuesday, I find my refuge in the Lord not in politicians. No matter what happens in my personal life with the decisions that are to be made, I find my refuge in the Lord.<br />
<br />
Today, no matter its outcome, I will choose to rejoice. I will trust that whether things go as I hope or otherwise that I am still in the hand of God. He has not forgotten us; He has not left us. My hope and my joy come from God, the maker of heaven and earth. And through the uncertainty and the anxiety, I will choose hope. I will choose joy. I will choose love.Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-8829379888915863352016-01-15T09:32:00.000-07:002016-01-15T09:32:04.419-07:00Perthes updateI've mentally started this post at least 20 times but haven't actually written it. I think there is just so much to say that I don't know what to say. In June 2014 my littlest was diagnosed with Legg-Calve Perthes disease. Yeah, I know you have no idea what that is. Most people don't. Quite honestly, I wish I didn't need to know what it is. But that said, I have become fluent in the speech of the disease over the past year and a half. Quick overview....blood flow to the femur becomes interrupted which caused, in our case, a complete deterioration of the femoral head. Surgery, wheelchair, physical therapy, and a lot of high strung craziness ensued.<br />
<br />
In October we started noticing him limping more, subconsciously guarding his leg, and hurting at night if we had spent much time walking during the day. Just before Thanksgiving his pain had escalated so severely that we ended up in the ER for pain management. Xray, labs, narcotic drugs, nothing gave us answers and nothing helped the pain. A nurse told me it was just a perthes flare up. She expected that I knew about them and that they can last up to five days. Ummmm, nope. Up to this point, flare ups were a day or maybe two.<br />
<br />
The uncontrolled pain lasted the full five days and then miraculously went away. Four days he was great. Then four more of excruciating pain. Then three of being ok. Then pain again. The roller coaster was exhausting for all of us. I couldn't believe that the pain that had escalated for six weeks to bring us to this was just a flare up. He was missing too much school. I was missing work.<br />
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The night he woke up from a dead sleep crying was the night that sent me over. I called the surgeon the next morning and begged for something to help the pain. It had gone on for too long and was too severe to be a flare up. She scheduled a steroid injection for the next morning. It didn't help instantly but by the third day his pain had gone from consistently hovering in the 7-9 range to hovering in the 3-5 range. It was enough improvement that he was able to move without "Ow ow ow!" He was able to sleep through the night and able to return to school.<br />
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One set of xrays showed the bone to be "spotty". The surgeon ordered an MRI and prepared me that she thought he was possibly having a new episode of blood flow interruption in the femur. This was so discouraging to look and think we might possibly be back at the beginning again. MRI was just before Christmas.<br />
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Last Monday the surgeon called to tell me that the MRI results were good. The spotty appearance of the bone is new bone growth not further bone death! The blood flow has not been interrupted a second time. His bone did grow back flat and is not an ideal shape. There are things he physically cannot do because of the deformity of the bone (like sit "crisscross" or sports that involve crouching like baseball catcher). He will need hip replacement as an adult. At this time though, we are not looking at any further childhood surgeries. That is a relief!<br />
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Remember in the second Harry Potter movie when Professor Lockhart tries to mend Harry's broken arm but instead removes all the bones from his arm? When he goes to see the nurse she has this conversation with him.<br />
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"He should have been brought straight to me. I can mend bones in a heartbeat but growing them back...."</blockquote>
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"You will be able to wont you?" </blockquote>
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"I'll be able to, certainly. But it will be painful. You're in for a rough night, Potter. Regrowing bones is a nasty business."</blockquote>
I showed littlest the clip from that scene and he smiled. I told him he's like Harry Potter and that Harry understands how much it hurts when bones grow back. And just like that our new mantra became "Regrowing bones is a nasty business." And he always responds with, "Yes, yes it is. A very nasty business." It keeps us all smiling and pushing forward when we feel overwhelmed with his pain. Once again it is the smallest of things that encouraged us and reminded us to keep pursuing hope. We finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.<br />
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-39894909828057960672015-12-09T12:03:00.001-07:002020-09-01T11:42:04.881-06:00An Ordinary Day Like No Other<div style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: "open sans", arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<i>*this post was originally written for MOPS International and published in their weekly emails in February of 2014*</i></div>
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My husband and I were driving the other day and crossed an intersection that brought a flood of memories. Nearly 12 years ago we were in an accident in that intersection. A sweet old lady had turned left into our car. As we talked about the accident, Hubby made a comment that he felt so bad for that lady that day. Tears filled my eyes as I told him at the time of the accident I couldn’t feel badly for her. I had too much else to feel at that moment. I realized a grief that I have rarely acknowledged and not fully processed. </div>
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<span style="font-weight: 700;">It was December, an ordinary day that was like no other.</span> I woke and got ready for work. In the early hours I was always alone at work which I loved but that morning I needed. I turned on my computer and went to the restroom. I started bleeding. I screamed. I wasn’t spotting, I was bleeding. I cried out, “Not my baby! Please God, no. Please no! “I sank to the floor, pulled my knees to my chest and sobbed as I rocked back and forth. I put a note on my boss’ desk that said I was sick and wouldn’t be in, and I drove home. </div>
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<span style="font-weight: 700;">It was the longest 10 minute drive I have ever made.</span> I cried so hard my glasses fogged up and I couldn’t see. I was distraught. I sat at home, alternating between gut wrenching sobs and staring into space. I realized I couldn’t be at home, it hurt too much. I aimlessly wondered around Wal-Mart and Costco, looking for any distraction until my husband would be home to hold me. It seemed that every woman I passed was full with child. Hand on my belly that was no longer carrying life, I let the tears flow silently and freely down my face. </div>
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The next day I had a scheduled appointment with my infertility doctor who confirmed what I already knew; my body was rejecting this pregnancy. We talked next steps in the infertility journey while my brain was in a fog of grief. I only remember hearing the words that my baby didn’t implant properly in my uterus and that we needed to do an artificial insemination next month. Somehow I made it to the car for my husband to drive me home while I tried to process the words I had heard and the pain in my heart. It was on the way home that our car was hit. </div>
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I remember sitting on the edge of the car door after the accident. I remember the poor old lady asking if I was ok but all that I could think was “Lady, please just go away. Please, please, please just get out of my face.” It was surreal. The paramedics asked the questions they do, which I tried to answer until they asked if I was pregnant. No. No, I’m not. When did you have your last period? Yesterday. I snapped my answer as the knife of grief went through my heart yet again. Somehow I made it through that day and those weeks. Seventeen days later I laid on my doctor’s table as we did the procedure for the artificial insemination that resulted in a pregnancy that did implant and brought forth my oldest child. </div>
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I acknowledge the miscarriage now but I rarely allow myself to think about or feel the grief. In the early years following, my husband and I would sometimes ask each other, “Do you ever wonder about the baby we lost?” Any grief I felt would instantly be overshadowed by guilt. If I felt grief over the loss of that child, was I saying that I wished for that baby instead of the incredible child that God has given me? I wouldn’t have this child who blesses me daily if the child that we lost had been born. It has been a complicated journey of acknowledging that the miscarriage did happen and it grieved me and yet being head over heels in love with the child that God did allow me to hold in my arms. The loss of my baby was quickly overshadowed by the joy of another pregnancy that did come to fruition. <span style="font-weight: 700;">Now, nearly 12 years later, I realize I need to feel the grief of our loss.</span> </div>
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I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. And I have just now come to the realization that grieving the loss of my baby doesn’t mean that I don’t love my daughter. <span style="font-weight: 700;">It means that I have room in my heart to love all four of my children, even the one I never held in my arms.</span></div>
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-52654281166307743792015-09-18T22:51:00.001-06:002015-09-18T22:51:20.739-06:00Hearing the Words UnsaidIt's been a long time since I've written. Nine months here. Less than that in my journal but even there is further between visits than I prefer. It has been so long that I almost fear I have forgotten how to write. Earlier this year I made the mistake of sharing a very personal piece of writing with someone who wasn't safe. I've been hiding my heart and healing since. I longed to find my muse again but my heart hurt so much that I felt actually felt trapped rather than freed by my writing. And now it has been so long that I don't even know what to write about anymore.<br />
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I decided that even if I wrote a Seinfeld post (a post that was about nothing at all) that it was still a step in the right direction. I don't even know if this will end up as an update on the insanity that has been my life these past months or if I'll write about the battle in my heart or the opinions in my head. I'm just showing up. I'm putting my fingers to the keyboard and seeing where this post takes me. I've mentally started a post a hundred times in these months and never opened the computer.<br />
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I had the joy of visiting long lost friends a few months ago. One a friend I had not seen since her wedding over 25 years ago and one a friend I had not seen since my own wedding more than 10 and less than 20 years ago. One friend told me upon arrival of some difficulties in her marriage. I paused and wondered how I had not known. Well, we hadn't talked face to face in so many years that I suppose it could be easy to miss by Facebook standards.<br />
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The following night I saw the other friend and boldly expressed that Facebook is a liar and I wanted to know how she really was. I specifically asked how her marriage was. She too told me that marriage was in an incredibly difficult season for her. As we talked I realized that Facebook had not lied at all. It had been a long time since I had seen a post about her husband. She had still been there, she had still been posting, but what she posted about had shifted. The things that brought her joy were still there. Unfortunately it took her saying it for me to realize I had seen it happen before my eyes, I was just paying attention to the wrong things.<br />
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This happened again recently. I realized too late that I had seen a friend getting more and more unhappy in a situation they were in. Unfortunately I didn't pay attention to what I was noticing until that friend was past the point of being able to continue in the situation and still maintain her personal peace. As we discussed her situation, I knew instantly that I was watching the same exact thing happen in another dear friend's life. I was watching her pull away, I was watching her become unhappy. I had a front row seat to a life changing moment for her and thankfully, I noticed this time. In the end someone I love was still hurt, but I had the chance to walk beside her through the hurt. It was just as simple as noticing what wasn't said.<br />
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Sounds simple right? Yet somehow I seemed to miss the first one and only catch the second one in both of these instances. When I looked back over it, they had all told me in one way or another, just not with spoken words. I want to be a noticer. I want to love my people through the ups and downs. I want to love them well. Often loving well means hearing the things left unsaid. It isn't even close to something I've perfected but it is what I strive toward, to love well.<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-54292379106816034922015-01-16T07:51:00.000-07:002015-01-16T07:51:38.200-07:00Dreaming in 2015I really didn't plan to take on a "word" again this year. Last year I chose the word hope. I choose a word out of desperation. I chose the word I needed more than anything in the world. I didn't really think directly about my word for much of the year and yet I experienced hope on levels I hadn't known in years. For the first time in recent memory I celebrated Christmas feeling hope and I brought in the New Year with peace and anticipation.<br />
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As 2014 drew to a close, I pondered the year, it's accomplishments and hurts. I looked forward to 2015 and mentally decided that I didn't have a word jumping out at me and that it's OK to not be trendy and it's OK to not have a word for my year.<br />
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Just as quickly as I decided I felt a tugging on my heart. I felt God asking me, ever so gently, to put my hands in his and dream again. And instantly I knew that I was going to have a word for 2015. <i>Dream.</i><br />
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This is a big step for me. Somewhere along the way of growing up I traded dreams for reality. I let the hurts of life steal my ability to dream. When my life turned upsidedown a few years ago, I refused to allow myself to dream because dreaming big leaves you open to being hurt big. I was too hurt to have any desire to do anything other than curl into my self and protect my heart from further damage.<br />
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So this year, I choose to speak from a place of healing. I choose to open my heart and dream again. I'm taking the steps, dusting off the cobwebs in the unused room of my heart, putting my hands in God's and allowing him to lead me to new dreams. I'm terrified but I'm also excited. I'm ready for an adventure and can't wait to see where this path leads.<br />
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<a href="http://www.faithbarista.com/category/belovedbrews-linkup/" title="Beloved Brews Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-56755005311143045802014-12-21T22:56:00.000-07:002014-12-21T22:56:12.374-07:00ColorblindMy kids are colorblind, in the best possible way. We have made a point to share our views that ALL people matter with our boys. We are all God's creation, even the people that rub us the wrong way. God loves everyone. We are all created in His image. And on a less spiritual note, we all bleed red.<br />
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One of my children has 31 kids in his class. He is one of only four white children in the class but he has never noticed that. These kids are his friends and he tells me stories about school that only mention his friends and how they played, never the color of their skin or the language of their origin. My boys love people and really don't see color. It makes me proud as a mother to see that my children are colorblind.<br />
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<i>The problem is that I have failed them in teaching about racism</i>. I have taught them well that the color of ones skin doesn't indicate the character within but I didn't realize that I was missing something in this lesson until recently. The news stories that have broken our hearts, the stories of racism at its fullest, have also reached the ears of my children. One of my boys, having heard only small clips of some of the stories, told me one day that the man who died must have done something wrong because no one would shoot someone just because of the color of their skin. That would just be stupid.<br />
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My heart stopped at that comment. I've shared my love for all people with my children. And in our quest to raise colorblind adults, I have helped perpetuate the problem. I have taught a message that forgot to share that racism still exists. I have children who think that someone would only cause harm to "bad guys" and have forgotten to teach them that we live in a broken world where people hurt other people sometimes without provocation and sometimes because of the color of their skin.<br />
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I'm thankful that I realized this mistake now, while they are still young. Now, while I still have a place of great influence in their lives. I don't want to perpetuate racism by raising adults who don't believe racism still exists. I don't want to raise men who turn a blind eye to injustice simply because they don't believe injustice happens. I am happy that my boys are colorblind but I want them to grow into men who are <b>more</b> than colorblind.Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-28710015967714190322014-08-10T00:00:00.000-06:002014-08-10T00:00:50.659-06:00tangible encouragementChildren's Hospital called, there is finally an OT (occupational therapy) spot available for my middlest. He begins therapy for his food/texture/variety issues the week before school starts. It's at least a starting point but it's a starting point that once again makes me realize how big this iceberg might be. He will have to leave school early once a week for therapy because it is the only time slot available.<br />
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My littlest is finally starting to heal from surgery. His bone is healing nicely but his incision has taken a long time to heal. He had a reaction to the stitches and while his body was rejecting the stitches and trying to push them out, the incision got infected. Thankfully with a round of antibiotics, a mom who can handle pulling stitches out as they began to emerge from his body, and an AMAZING medical team, his incision is now also on the mend. He gets out of the wheelchair the first week of school and then starts physical therapy. He'll be on crutches for about four weeks after getting out of the wheelchair. He also will have weekly therapy.<br />
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I'm finding myself already anxious about the new school year. Two kids in weekly therapy plus nightly homework puts me on edge. And there is still more screenings to go. The specialists who evaluated Ev for his food issues all unanimously agree that he has sensory issues but we are on a waitlist for the screenings that can give us a formal diagnosis.<br />
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In the midst of it, sometimes I forget how to breathe for a few moments. I feel the familiar tightness begin to close around my chest and use all of my coping skills to keep myself from falling off the precipice into the bottomless cavern of anxiety. It's good to be able to put words to those feelings. They seem as random as they are overwhelming until I actually write them down.<br />
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I have a favorite wine glass. I once joked to a family member about this glass in the midst of last year which was truly the most miserable school year EVER for my middlest. I told this family member that on really tough days when my son was screaming at me and melting down, that I could count on my wine glass to encourage me and remind me that I am strong, bold, fearless, beautiful, amazing, gifted, and incredible. I realized after I said it that I wasn't really joking. That glass gave me words to remember who I am. Sometimes I'm a little thick so seeing the glass was a tangible reminder that I can do this.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpK02KuQl6eX66iTHQ5HoXJ9kFMOUgjDDwAvzHPYZ_sfax12dSp0bQq55dhTRTL8W8-W4ahclzXdlebzhHEIrR6r0GT9mHcyrglZBdc1GY_nqe1sLuzZUjpQxSUToYU6_ik9GAVwjF2Dp/s1600/PhotoGrid_1407626144292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpK02KuQl6eX66iTHQ5HoXJ9kFMOUgjDDwAvzHPYZ_sfax12dSp0bQq55dhTRTL8W8-W4ahclzXdlebzhHEIrR6r0GT9mHcyrglZBdc1GY_nqe1sLuzZUjpQxSUToYU6_ik9GAVwjF2Dp/s1600/PhotoGrid_1407626144292.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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Along the lines of sometimes needing a reminder. When littlest was in the hospital for surgery, I found a bracelet at the gift shop. I rarely ask for jewelery so Hubby immediately agreed when I asked for it. I would turn it so that the words I needed most were facing me. I love, love, love this bracelet.</div>
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Though neither of these things define me, they both encourage me. Do I need a glass and a bracelet to be who I am? Absolutely not, but I do appreciate the reminder of truth that both items give me. I'm strong, stronger than I feel. I'm brave, braver than I feel. And most importantly, God is my rock and my fortress, a very present help in trouble, my strength and my shield, and I can rest in His arms knowing that he will carry us through. </div>
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-38187480317170789182014-07-10T22:42:00.000-06:002014-07-10T23:03:39.334-06:00what brave feels likeLast week at the store my favorite cashier was asking how the family is doing, in particular how the littlest is recovering. We chatted about how he continues to amaze all of us. At the end of the transaction she smiled and said, "Well keep doing that (pointing to my Be You Bravely t-shirt I was wearing). Keep being you bravely."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(picture from the <a href="http://co-store.com/mopshop" target="_blank">MOPShop</a> website) </td></tr>
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Then this week at work one day my boss came up to me and gave me a quick hug and whispered in my ear "I'm proud of you. Keep being brave."</div>
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See the funny thing is that I don't feel brave. Not even a little bit. Today I had a sudden urge (that I did not indulge) to run out of the office, away from the meeting I was in, away from my cubicle, away where it was warm and bright and quiet. And all that I could think was </div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">What does brave FEEL like?</span></i></b></div>
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I began thinking about what brave looks like. I thought of my friends who have had to walk through cancer or heart transplant with their children. I thought of my son who just had surgery. I thought of their bravery and I wondered if they know they are brave. I wonder if they feel brave. I don't. I feel scared. I feel tired. I feel anything but brave.</div>
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All of this led me to analyze what bravery is. The conclusion I came to is that being brave doesn't mean that I will feel like Superman. It doesn't mean I won't feel fear. It means that I will continue to put one foot in front of the other even when I am scared. It means that I won't hide from adversity, even when I really want to. </div>
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I've done a lot of brave things in my life but I cannot think of a single time that I have <b>felt</b> brave. So even though I can define what bravery is, I can point it out in others and at times in myself, I still don't know what bravery feels like. I think that true bravery feels like being scared to death and still doing the next right thing.</div>
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<i>What do you think? Have you ever felt brave? What does bravery feel like for you? </i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">side note, I saw this meme just a few minutes after hitting publish. Is that perfect timing or what????</span></td></tr>
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-43828259365540607652014-07-10T12:54:00.000-06:002014-07-10T12:54:16.194-06:00a picture says a thousand words<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgisQwvA2oG1ladpi46bqxV0uEPOIzo6wUw3TVf09sFIgy3J3c5a9ocHlTmvbH1W2LxBLMqpW2ZtBnj1nDFr0P_-G1o7wDHDQUf2ueKJZRdOxfz_1gYgru9H8ZKCYaa9Lzu6HZXG6TZjeE/s640/20140619_114938.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just before surgery</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">just after waking up from surgery, of course 2nd question was "can I play DS?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spiderman came to visit and gave an autograph</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">worn out and waiting for discharge</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">leaving the hospital</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">first trip out of the house means walking to get Slurpees. Just because it isn't the summer we planned or wanted doesn't mean we can't have fun.</td></tr>
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-7817083455167561212014-06-29T13:36:00.000-06:002014-06-29T13:36:18.835-06:00Finding Spiritual Whitespace, the book review that led me to rest<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0800721799/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0800721799&linkCode=as2&tag=faithb-20&linkId=PYVCSZ6H3SJKN4KK" title="Finding Spiritual Whitespace"><img alt="Finding Spiritual Whitespace" src="http://www.faithbarista.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/spiritualwhitespace-bookad.jpg" style="border: none;" title="Finding Spiritual Whitespace" /></a><br />
<i style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Droid Serif', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25.200000762939453px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">This post is part of the “Finding Spiritual Whitespace Blog Tour” which I am a part of, along with a group of soulful, journeying kindreds. To learn more and join us, <a href="http://www.faithbarista.com/finding-spiritual-whitespace/for-bloggers/" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(44, 176, 179); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #2cb0b3; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">CLICK HERE! </a></i><br />
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I was first introduced to Bonnie Gray's writing through a MOPS blog challenge. I immediately fell in love with her writing which I found to be both beautiful and real. I began following her over at <a href="http://www.faithbarista.com/" target="_blank">Faith Barista</a> and even linked up with a few of her blog prompts from Faith Jam (now <a href="http://www.faithbarista.com/category/whitespace-linkup/" target="_blank">Whitespace Linkup</a>). During the winter months when anxiety was once again overwhelming me, I treasured her voice that spoke out about how Jesus met her as is, where she was, in the middle of anxiety attacks. It is a perspective often lost in the Christian community and one that I desperately needed.<br />
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When Bonnie sent an email to her blog followers offering a copy of her book <i>Finding Spiritual Whitespace</i> to those who would review it on their blog I was all in. Sweet, free book only for the cost of doing what I love, writing about it. I planned on flying through the book and putting my fingers to the keyboard in record time. Bonnie writes in an easy laid back style that breathes beauty from every word, getting through her book and writing about it was going to be a piece of cake and gave me a goal to work toward.<br />
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I did not however expect that the story she told would cause me to pause to reflect time and time again. I didn't expect to be underlining passage after passage. I didn't expect that I would spend time reflecting my own journey to healing. I didn't expect anything that I actually encountered with reading this book.<br />
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This book is not a book to bring to the beach for brainless entertainment, it isn't the book to bring to the salon while waiting for your highlights to cure. This is a book to curl up with after everyone else is asleep. This is a book to make sure you have a pen and a journal handy. Bonnie told her painful story but never left a single chapter without hope. She asked us to walk alongside her as she found rest in the midst of pain and throughout each chapter I found myself seeing my own story.<br />
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Although my story is different from Bonnie's, I felt as though she were telling my story through the pages of her book. The rejection I experienced came from a different source than the rejection she experienced, and yet I knew that we both shared that part of our stories. The PTSD that I have suffered has come from a different avenue that the PTSD that she has suffered, but yet in the pages of this book we were soul sisters.<br />
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Bonnie never once projected her pain onto the reader but yet beautifully expressed her story in a way that helped me to embrace my own story. Each chapter ministered to a place in my soul in a way that words seem to fail to express. As I wandered through the pages of this book I encountered soul rest in a completely new way. I took time to seek beauty. I took time to daydream. I took time to journal again.<br />
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One of the many concepts that I loved in this book is that God didn't create me for rest but rather created rest for me. God brought rest at the end of creation because He knew that through rest we would find strength, inspiration, and beauty. God created me to long for beauty and through these pages I allowed myself to crave beauty in a way that I had previously thought to be selfish and extravagant.<br />
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This book has made my list of life changing books. Few books in my collection are as underlined and dog-eared as this one has become.I say it is a must read <i>(</i><i style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Droid Serif', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25.200000762939453px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">You can<a href="http://happywivesclubbook.com/" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(44, 176, 179); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #32b8d1; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"> </a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0800721799/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0800721799&linkCode=as2&tag=faithb-20&linkId=PYVCSZ6H3SJKN4KK" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(44, 176, 179); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #2cb0b3; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">get a copy HERE.</a>) </i>and I also say read it with the knowledge that while the reading is easy the thinking is deep. The chapters are short and easy to read but the best part of reading this book was sipping it slowly rather than gulping to the finish.<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-56221052830897899222014-06-24T20:30:00.000-06:002014-06-24T20:30:02.568-06:00we're home from surgeryMy son is my hero. The MRI showed that only a small sliver of the femural head was left. While the surgeon told us how serious the condition of the bone was he simultaneously informed us that the tiny sliver left was the most important piece of the bone. As we spent last week prepping for surgery, I held tightly to that bit of good news.<br />
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Thursday we headed to Children's for surgery. I cannot begin to tell you the level of impressed we were with the care given to our boy. We were both with him when he fell asleep before surgery, holding his hand, whispering encouragement in his ear.<br />
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Surgery prep (IV, catheter, etc) and surgery lasted just under 4 hours. It went well and a touch quicker than planned. Friday morning they turned off his epidural and began oral pain medication. PT came and helped him get to his wheelchair and we took a small field trip to the vending machine and the gift shop.<br />
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Later that evening he hit a pain crisis. I've never heard my little boy scream like that and I pray that I will never hear it again. I asked the nurse to call our surgeon who I knew was still in the hospital and the on call doctor for the weekend. Dr N came in quickly and ordered IV pain medication and an ice pack. He also in a moment of over the top bedside manner, put his hand on my shoulder and assured me that my boy would be ok and that I was doing a good job.<br />
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The pain was finally managed and he fell asleep around 1:30 in the morning. JJ came home Saturday evening. The transfer from hospital bed to wheelchair to car, driving home, and then transferring from car to wheelchair to house to couch was very painful and draining for us all. I'm so thankful for the hot meal I came home to because I was in no shape to think about dinner by the time we got home.<br />
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He's doing great. He's my hero. I don't think I could have handled this as well as he has. Yesterday we decided to try a small field trip and took him in the wheelchair to Dollar Tree. Today we field tripped to 7-11 for Slurpees. We are limited to trips by foot for a time as riding in the car puts his hip at an angle that he's not allowed to do yet.<br />
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He is such a trooper and I am amazed by his strength. He is in great spirits. I'm tired but good. I look forward to sleeping in my own bed again. Right now JJ and I are sleeping on the L shaped couch so that I'm next to him for middle of the night medicines and bathroom help.<br />
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I'm grateful for time off work to take care of my baby for a couple of weeks. I'm grateful for the amazing support we have received from friends and family near and far. I'm grateful for meals that have been provided and will continue until I go back to work. I'm grateful that my boy is doing so well. Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4217931299559536740.post-39502209719800317442014-06-15T23:38:00.000-06:002014-06-16T00:02:15.709-06:00surgery<p dir=ltr>Sometimes I write to preserve my sanity. Sometimes I write to share my story. Sometimes I write to remember that shutting down doesn't help me or anyone else.</p>
<p dir=ltr>The last week has slapped me in the face. When my kids are awake I'm strong. When I'm alone in the quietness before bed, I am scared.  My husband reminds me that I wouldn't be human if I weren't scared but I've decided that logical fear is easier than emotional fear.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I was talking to my husband last week when my phone rang. There was no name on the caller id but I paused and said "Hang on, this is Children's Hospital" and I proceeded to answer the phone. I was almost immediately struck by the fact that Children's called and I recognized the phone number. That isn't the status that any parent wants.</p>
<p dir=ltr>This time it is my youngest. It started with a limp. Two and a half weeks later the limp had gotten significantly worse and so had the pain so I took him to the doctor on a Friday. She poked and prodded and decided that it didn't feel bone related and is likely a pulled/strained muscle. She takes blood to check for infection and tells me to give him ibuprofen three times a day, keep him off of it, and bring him back the following week if he's still not better.</p>
<p dir=ltr>The following Friday I take him in again because once again, not only is he not getting better, he's getting worse. Different doctor and she decided to take x-rays which I fully agreed it was time for. We sat in her office waiting for the results when she finally walks in and announces that she is waiting for a call back from Children's ortho clinic. SAY WHAT?!?!?</p>
<p dir=ltr>She tells me his hip is deteriorating and shows me his xrays. I'm no doctor and I could even see the problem with his hip on the xrays. Children's called back, said they thought it could possibly be Legg-calve-perthes disease* but that a specialist would need to confirm it. I needed to go home and wait to hear from Children's.</p>
<p dir=ltr>*perthes is an uncommon condition in which the blood flow to the femur stops which causes the ball of the femur to die. The hip then, with no bone to hold the joint, collapses. There is no known cause. It affects mostly boys but a few girls as well between ages of 4-12. *</p>
<p dir=ltr>Less than an hour later I recognized the number and answered to hear that they needed to see us Monday morning. Keep in mind this was a Friday afternoon. So this past Monday I took him to see the hip specialist who confirms the diagnosis of perthes and tells me we need surgery and an MRI which his assistant would come in to schedule. He gave a brief overview of what surgery would entail and told me that my baby would be in a wheelchair for three months post-op. He asked my son if he had questions, to which JJ shook his head.  Then like a fabulous pediatric doctor that he is, he asked my son's stuffed monkey, Rootbeer, if he had any questions. My son made Rootbeer shake his head no also.</p>
<p dir=ltr>The doctor asked me. I think I had a million questions and not one would come out. I knew I would have questions but the staggering weight of hearing that my baby needs a surgery that involves cutting his femur and recovery involves three full months of no weight bearing activities had completely frozen my mind. I did what moms do, I kept on being a mom. I didn't fall apart. How would that help? I simply stepped into a place of adrenaline and took the rest of the morning one step at a time.</p>
<p dir=ltr>The assistant came in and said the doctor was booked pretty far out but wanted to get us in sooner rather than later. My brain translated that to, the doctor is scheduling 3-4 months out by were going to squeeze you in in 3-4 weeks. Knowing that's what my mind heard, you can imagine my shock when she said "We can get you in for MRI this morning at 11 and we want to schedule surgery for next Thursday." WHAT? Did I hear that correctly?</p>
<p dir=ltr>The next 3 hours were spent getting crutches, getting the wheelchair order, filling out paperwork, and doing the MRI. *note to self and to any other parent who heard that their young child needs an MRI: putting a child on a table at lunch time and telling them to not wiggle is insanity. Even watching Scooby Doo while in the tube did not keep the toes from wiggling. Better option, feed said child FIRST!*</p>
<p dir=ltr>So my baby will have surgery this Thursday. We have complete confidence in the surgeon and have heard others who work at Children's say he would be their first pick if they needed hip surgery. That is comforting to hear.</p>
<p dir=ltr>And here in the space of quiet I mourn the summer break that won't be what we hoped for. Though this isn't life threatening it is life altering. Whether it alters for a season or a lifetime still remains to be determined depending on how much of the ball of the femur has died.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I worry like any mother would about the surgery, the pain after the surgery, the limitations of the wheelchair, that he will still be in the wheelchair when school starts back up. And I also know we will be ok. We will adjust, we have a great knack for that. We will continue to be strong, even when we're scared. We have an amazing support network. We don't walk this journey alone.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Thank you. Thank you to those who have send us notes, texts, emails, and Facebook messages. Thank you to those who have offered to bring us food. Thank you for the well wishes, thank you for the thoughts, thank you for the prayers. We treasure them all.</p>
Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886626878002819010noreply@blogger.com0