Taking the hard medicine

Rory tested positive for the flu almost two years ago at the end of March, which happened to coincide with the start of croup and a nether-regions irritation requiring baking soda baths (thanks, sensitive skin). The poor thing was miserable. There were high fevers and body aches and gnarly, painful coughs, etc etc. But honestly? The hardest thing was the tamiflu.

We caught the flu in time to get her started on tamiflu, which was a miracle for this (then) pregnant mama. I would have taken anything to shorten those symptoms. But after the first dose she decided she didn't like it, nor did she want to take it.

There was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, literally. There were, of course, preemptive conversations trying to explain why she needed to take the medicine. There was bribing and sugar coating and every trick our frazzled minds could think of. But then, there was flat refusal. Unwavering, tireless, strong-willed refusal.

But the medicine still had to be taken. And it had to be taken now.

Our sweet (and spicy) two-year old didn't care about tamiflu's timeline, or mine. So weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth there was. There was screaming. There was blood. There was hitting and biting and every sort of fight. I would do all I could to get it in, but often had to bring out reinforcements and hold her down. She was furious, and miserable. But the medicine had to be taken and we knew it would be best for her to do it now.

Every day I tried to explain once again that if she just took the medicine (emphasizing that I knew it was yucky) it could be over sooner and we could feel well and do all sorts of fun things. I tried to tell her that this was going to help her get better faster... because remember how bad it feels to have the flu?

Then one day a switch flipped. Nothing had changed, but she decided she would take the medicine. And take it she did- Without so much as a whimper.

The warm sun streamed through the window as we sat there on her little bed together and I had this epiphany. Really hard things happen to us in our lives. The theoretical flu hits us out of nowhere and brings us to our knees, hiding under covers with our bodies shaking. Lucky for us, there is medicine. There is a healing balm provided for each ailment. And there's a Savior who knows the required treatment. And it might not taste like cookies. It might taste like forgiveness when it's hard. It might taste like repentance. It might taste like work and therapy and letting go.

Does taking the provided medicine make our ailments disappear immediately? No. And certainly the more painful and serious the flu the longer it may take to heal. But does that mean that we shirk our medicine after the first dose? Of course not.

And like my girl, we can fight the medicine as the Lord tries so lovingly to administer it. Though he doesn't force it on us, we may weep and wail and gnash under the pressure of knowing what we should do and NOT wanting to do it. Honestly, we may be sick for a long time before we open our eyes to see him sitting there, on our little twin bed in the sunlight- waiting. We may fight the medicine he offers for days, we may fight it for years.

But God willing there will come a day if we so choose, when we just stop fighting. When for some reason it clicks, or maybe we are just so desperate to get rid of the sludge in our chest that we sit in the sunlight and take the medicine. That we revel in the recovery. And I hope that day comes sooner than later, where we sit in the sunlight with the Lord and let him heal us.

The hardest year of my life/how I made it

Last summer my grandpa died, and thus ushered in the hardest year of my life thus far. The 11 months after that included my parents getting separated and divorced, losing a cousin, and a painful miscarriage. It was a lot to take on in a year, and one year later I'm still standing, but in a radically different world than I did before.

I'm not saying I have come out unscathed from the hardest year of my life (thus far). But I am saying I survived- and I feel emotionally stable and healthy and in a good place almost every day now. I know it may not be the worst year of my life ever but by any standard it was a pretty life altering and terrible period of time. There are a million different ways to have a really hard period of your life, but I found that when I was doing certain things I was much more okay than when I wasn't- and the same may ring true for you.

1. Find your therapy. (Also, if you need it, get some therapy) Find something that's therapeutic for you, and make the time to do that thing. I write, and I exercise and I sat down and made goals about those things even though I've got a lot on my plate. This is related to recharging your batteries (below), but distinctly different. Therapy can recharge your batteries, but more than that therapy helps actively clear your mind and recenter your spirit.

2. Say no. There are "no" periods of our lives, and there are "yes" periods. (link here to a podcast I love that talks about this very thing) Essentially, it's ok to say no. Not to everything- but when you are overwhelmed and know what you need to do to stay afloat, say no to the things that are more than you can handle. Narrow things down, cut out the static and focus on the core things you need to focus on. (e.g. taking care of your mind, body, and your family relationships)  If you can't take on another project or responsibility it's ok to say no. I did this quite a bit on my hardest days, and I always looked back and was grateful that I allowed myself some grace. Sidetone: this is a lot easier to do and a lot less guilt inducing when you are open with friends and family. A straight "no" is a lot more harsh and a little less honest than a "you know what, I wish I could. We are going through a lot/have a lot on our plate right now and I really feel like I can't take this on right now"

3. Recharge your batteries SO. MUCH. MORE. OFTEN. For example, I like people and I like being with and talking to people....but when I need to recharge, I am a classic introvert. And so is Jay. I need to stay home and take a bath, and clean my house, and do my nails and read a book. And when you are in the middle of something really hard, you are so emotionally spent so often that you need to do more recharging than you might normally do. Maybe recharging for you looks like girl's nights or long walks or good workouts. Find out what recharges you and do more of it.

4. Sit in your feelings and feel them. Don't wallow in your feelings forever, but don't suppress them in hopes that they will disappear. (Big hint: they don't) Sit and take them as they come. Get mad, cry when you need a good cry, call a safe person and talk it out if you need to explode. If you don't know how to feel and express complicated emotions therapy is a good option to help you sort through them.

5. Hold onto your God and your spirituality with your life. If you've ever heard the term "buy low, sell high" the principle applies here so well. (can you tell I was raised by a father in the financial industry...?) The concept is that people get scared when things (stocks, etc) are low and things are hard and they bail out because it's scary and hard to stay. In reality, that is the worst possible thing you could do. You should evaluate whether to pull when things are high- the low times are when it's most important to stay and ride the curve back up.  Stay in the boat. Ride out the wave. All of these sayings are about staying on board with whatever was keeping you stable and safe even when it gets scary.

6. Keep your head up and look forward. There are so many things you can't control in the past or things that you could dwell on that could suck up your entire day, week, or year. No matter how intense or non-intense our hardships have been, this is true. But we also all have so many good things to look for in the future. We each also have new experiences and hope ahead of us. Tomorrow is always a new day and the good news is we can keep refocusing on the hope ahead rather than the tragedy and heartache in the past and sometimes the present.

Essentially, simplify your life and focus on the essentials. Really take a deep look at yourself and your situation to figure out what helps you. Be kind and forgiving to yourself, and even more than that be a little more kind and forgiving to others- because you know what it feels like to not feel your best.

Miscarriage: A Sorority of Strong Women

I was exactly 11 weeks pregnant on the day of our first appointment.

We were so so excited, and were planning to announce the happy news to our family the next week on vacation. We had braced ourselves for staying home for Christmas, because I was due in early January. We had Rory watch the Daniel Tiger episode about his baby sister to prep her to tell her she was going to be a big sister. My sister just had a baby in March, and our babies would be less than a year apart. Rory was so ready, we were so ready, our world seemed so ready for our growing family.

I had Rory in California, so I'd never met with an OB in Utah before. I'd done my research and read really good things about the OB we were meeting with and in the first two minutes, I knew I'd done a good job. He was gregarious and kind, and had incredible bedside manner. We wouldn't have made a different choice if we could've. My pregnancy had been relatively easy, and I hadn't been nearly as nauseous as I was with Rory. I chalked it up to being at home (instead of working full time) where I could rest more often and graze with a whole pantry of options at my disposal. Jay chalked it up to the baby being a boy. I'd been taking better care of myself and going to the gym 4 times a week wanting to keep that up as long as possible, and wanting to run a race with Jay's family in October if I could. It had really been a breeze, and I was feeling great. I had spotted a little here and there, but I spotted quite a bit while I was pregnant with Rory so I didn't think anything of it. The morning of my appointment, I bled ever so slightly. Jay asked me on the way to the appointment, "on a scale of 1-10, how worried does that make you?" I said a 5- I honestly wasn't worried. 

But the moment the ultrasound started I knew something was wrong. He kept searching and searching for what I knew from having a Rory should have been relatively easy to find. He couldn't find the baby, and when he did- he couldn't find a heartbeat. My reaction then was the same as it is now, almost two months later as I write this. My breath started coming rapid and shallow and I tried with all I had to hold back the tears. I pressed my cheek into the seat and tried to slow my breathing, but it didn't seem to matter what I did. By the time he told us out loud that our baby had no heartbeat I was sobbing. The kind of sobbing where you can't speak, and you can't move. He gave me a hug and told me he was so so sorry. That sweet, sincere man was an angel. He left the room and told us he would be back in a minute so we could talk about what happens next. What happens next is for another time, but giving birth to a baby no matter how small is a terrible thing to have to do if there's no screaming, pink, chubby-cheeked love on the other side. 

There was so much kindness shown to us those few days after and the subsequent week which I will never be able to adequately repay. 

Before this all happened, I really feel like God had prepared all of these tender mercies for me. Months before, I was painting my friend's nails and somehow her two miscarriages came up and she shared her experience. A friend in my neighborhood had a second miscarriage in a row and was brave and vulnerable enough to post what had happened and a public thank you to all of those people who helped her with meals and support. Family members had told me they had experienced miscarriages, and I knew they were not uncommon.

In all the pain of miscarriage, of losing a tiny person that I held and loved and planned for for months and years- I never felt alone. I'll never, ever forget sitting in the car after that appointment with Jay, just crying together and wondering what to do now. He turned to me and said, "You're joining a sorority of strong women". It resonated with me. It spoke truth to my soul. In all this heartache, there was this sorority of women who knew what I was going through and had gone through it before. There's something about standing together, even if it's only symbolically. 

And that's why I share these things that are hard and vulnerable and close to my heart. Every time I go to write things like this, I almost don't, because I don't want to bring undue attention or pity or judgement on myself. I share these things because somewhere out there there's somebody who had a heartbreaking miscarriage and felt all alone. And I want them to know it's ok, and it's painful and it hurts. But you aren't alone. And if you need someone to reach out to, I'm listening. Come join this sorority of strong women who have survived the pain you are feeling right now, and they will stand behind you and succor you. And instead of alone you can feel validated and strengthened. 

Because if we aren't all here on earth together to to that for one another, why are we here?

A picture our happy family of three. Because although I long for the day when there's more of us, we are really happy to be a family.