When The Hubby and I decided the time was right to be open to a new baby joining our family, I had a few worries and concerns. The first was medical, of course: after my last pregnancy, expecting a baby became a medical condition more than a natural state of being, courtesy of hyperemesis gravidarum. We did a lot of planning and preparing. I wrote a treatment protocol, gained some safety pounds, and searched out a doctor who knew HG, knew it well and was up on the latest treatments and research. Through God, I had conquered my fear. I was ready to try again.
With all that in place, I was both elated and a little overwhelmed when we conceived the very first month we stopped avoiding conception (for information on the scientific form of natural family planning we use, go check out http://www.woomb.org/ . You do not have to take chemicals or use artificial barriers or devices to control the timing or size of your family. Stepping off soapbox now.) "Wow, that was fast!" was my first reaction when I started getting sick in the mornings, followed by a pink plus sign on the test a week later.
My biggest worry was the reaction of well-meaning family and friends when we told them about the new arrival.
There were a few negative reactions when we announced Toddler N.'s conception. Most were very well-meaning, of course, and were simply the mouth moving faster than the brain's editing button. A lot of people think two children are more than enough, and do not understand why Hubby and I would want more. Even so, pregnant women are not the most rational creatures on the planet, and I was a little hurt by some of it.
Little did I know that was just the beginning. You see, people started to really worry when I got so very sick carrying N. Worry breeds fear, and fear can make well-meaning and loving people say some pretty stupid things. And some of the things people said crushed me.
I had good, dear and loyal friends who were worried sick about me and sometimes said things that stung -- but looking back on that, I understand why. They thought I was going to die. They were terrified, and fear is always a bad motivator. I know these people love me so very much, and it was easy to forgive them.
Funny thing was, the people who loved me most and helped me the most during that experience -- who took on the greatest burdens, whether helping me at home or being available to listen to me complain (thanks, Mom) or just worrying themselves into a frenzy -- were the people least likely to say the really, really stupid things. In fact, it was acquantances rather than good friends, and extended family rather than immediate family, who said the real doozies. The worst, the very worst, was when people ordered me to not have any more kids, as if these people who did not love me and did nothing to help me were somehow burdened by my ill health. They acted as if it was their decision to make.
So, going into this pregnancy, I was reluctant to share the news. I didn't want to worry those I love and who love me, and I didn't want to listen to everyone else.
Then two miracles happened.
The first is that I did not develop HG, but managed to avoid it through early, aggressive treatment with anti-vomiting drugs at high doses, and a dash of pure luck (read Providence). I prayed so very hard for this to happen, but I don't think I truly believed it would. I knew the Lord could spare me, certainly; I also knew the tremendous good work He did for my soul by allowing me to suffer HG last time, so after preparing as best I could, I just left the illness to His will. (Praise Jesus, and thank you St. Gianna Molla for favours received.)
The second is no one has said a single stupid thing about this baby to me. No one! Instead, there has been such an amazing outpouring of good will, congratulations, prayers and love. It seems almost everyone has reacted to the news with real joy.
What a stupendous gift to my family! I had prayed about this too, but also had decided that, besides my own parents, I didn't give a hoot what other people thought.
So, to all my wonderful friends and family, my co-workers and former colleagues -- thank you. Thank you for respecting my family's faith and our decisions. Thank you for loving me through hard times and good ones. And thank you, from the bottom of the two beating hearts in my body right now, for biting your tongue out of love even when you think I am insane.
I love you all. Come on over and snuggle the baby anytime (once he or she has arrived, of course!) And while you're here, do you mind washing some dishes and throwing the burp rags in the washer? Thanks.
Showing posts with label HG. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HG. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Little L.
Because of my work with the HER Foundation, I know a lot of women across North America I have never met in real life, and I "know" their babies and children.
One of those women, the brave and tenacious C., lost her two-month-old daughter today.
L. was diagnosed in utero with a serious heart condition. C., ill with hyperemesis gravidarum, continued to fight for her baby, planning for delivery in a children's hospital where doctors operated on L.'s tiny heart right away.
After multiple surgeries, L. was transferred to her home town children's hospital, then released and sent home with her overjoyed family. She was doing well, growing, blooming. She was beautiful.
She was readmitted a few days ago, and died suddenly today.
I have no words for how sorry I am, and for how utterly devastating this must be for C. and her family. How do we understand the death of an innocent child?
The thing I am struggling with the most tonight is this: My God, don't HGers give enough? After such horrific, sometimes life-threatening, isolating and frightening pregnancies, don't all of my HG sisters deserve to go home with a healthy baby? A live baby? A baby who learns to crawl and walk and dance and sing?
The author Anne Rice, after her reconversion to Catholicism from atheism, was once asked by an interviewer if her husband's death from cancer made her wonder why God took him. She shrugged and said, "I never look at it that way. I think God was just as sorry it happened as I was, and he cried along with me."
Her thought gives me some small comfort tonight. Until I think of my unmet friend and her enormous grief.
I know life isn't fair, I know that. But sometimes its cruelty is breathtaking.
One of those women, the brave and tenacious C., lost her two-month-old daughter today.
L. was diagnosed in utero with a serious heart condition. C., ill with hyperemesis gravidarum, continued to fight for her baby, planning for delivery in a children's hospital where doctors operated on L.'s tiny heart right away.
After multiple surgeries, L. was transferred to her home town children's hospital, then released and sent home with her overjoyed family. She was doing well, growing, blooming. She was beautiful.
She was readmitted a few days ago, and died suddenly today.
I have no words for how sorry I am, and for how utterly devastating this must be for C. and her family. How do we understand the death of an innocent child?
The thing I am struggling with the most tonight is this: My God, don't HGers give enough? After such horrific, sometimes life-threatening, isolating and frightening pregnancies, don't all of my HG sisters deserve to go home with a healthy baby? A live baby? A baby who learns to crawl and walk and dance and sing?
The author Anne Rice, after her reconversion to Catholicism from atheism, was once asked by an interviewer if her husband's death from cancer made her wonder why God took him. She shrugged and said, "I never look at it that way. I think God was just as sorry it happened as I was, and he cried along with me."
Her thought gives me some small comfort tonight. Until I think of my unmet friend and her enormous grief.
I know life isn't fair, I know that. But sometimes its cruelty is breathtaking.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Abortion as art
Warning to HGers: please do not read if sensitive to discussion of abortion. I'm about to lambaste someone.
My girlfriend Megan recently blogged about a woman at Yale who claimed to self-induce abortions as an art project.
This is what I wrote in her comments box.
As someone who volunteers with pregnant women whose pregnancies are life-threatening, many of whom contemplate aborting much-wanted babies and some of whom do abort against their true wills in order to stay alive, this makes me want to vomit.
I'm going to be blunt: I know what an abortion looks like, a real one at a Morgentaler clinic. It is NOT art. If you're pro-choice, it's a nasty surgical procedure. If you're pro-life, it's homicide (note I use the word "homicide," which means the killing of another human being, and not "murder", which has a different legal definition.)
If you haven't guessed, I consider abortion homicide. Full disclosure: For a full week (week 18 of gestation, to be exact) I considered killing my youngest child in the womb due to a terrifying and life-threatening pregnancy disease called hyperemesis gravidarum (for more info check out www.helpher.org). I'm holding that sleeping child, alive and well and 20 months old, in my arms right now as I type this.
I cannot stress how deeply I feel abortion is a subject where brutal honesty is necessary, no matter what you believe about it. And this kind of artsy-fartsy nonsense is nothing but pretense and lies.
An embryo or fetus is not menstrual blood and semen, but a living human organism with a system that is dependent yet distinct from its mother. Any scientist will tell you human life begins at conception, duh. So we need to cut the bullshit about this and be honest. We need to say: when is it OK to kill a defenceless human being? Is it ever OK?
My eventual decision was the disease which threatened my life may take both of us, but it wasn't taking just my daughter. It was the hardest decision of my life, choosing death or life together. I never got to a place where I had to reconsider; I found a treatment regimen that relieved most of the disease's effects. I won't judge a woman who chose to abort in order to live. I often spend my spare time mourning with her over the Internet.
But people like this woman, who has taken that week I spent on my bathroom floor wishing my daughter dead and made it into some kind of game, some school art project to cause scandal and attention? Yeah, I'm going to judge her. What a f*cking bitch.
*With apologies to those with sensitive ears, and to my Lord for my judgemental attitude. But I have to be honest, Lord, and I am very angry at this woman and her flippant nonsense. Trying to pray for her and failing utterly.*
My girlfriend Megan recently blogged about a woman at Yale who claimed to self-induce abortions as an art project.
This is what I wrote in her comments box.
As someone who volunteers with pregnant women whose pregnancies are life-threatening, many of whom contemplate aborting much-wanted babies and some of whom do abort against their true wills in order to stay alive, this makes me want to vomit.
I'm going to be blunt: I know what an abortion looks like, a real one at a Morgentaler clinic. It is NOT art. If you're pro-choice, it's a nasty surgical procedure. If you're pro-life, it's homicide (note I use the word "homicide," which means the killing of another human being, and not "murder", which has a different legal definition.)
If you haven't guessed, I consider abortion homicide. Full disclosure: For a full week (week 18 of gestation, to be exact) I considered killing my youngest child in the womb due to a terrifying and life-threatening pregnancy disease called hyperemesis gravidarum (for more info check out www.helpher.org). I'm holding that sleeping child, alive and well and 20 months old, in my arms right now as I type this.
I cannot stress how deeply I feel abortion is a subject where brutal honesty is necessary, no matter what you believe about it. And this kind of artsy-fartsy nonsense is nothing but pretense and lies.
An embryo or fetus is not menstrual blood and semen, but a living human organism with a system that is dependent yet distinct from its mother. Any scientist will tell you human life begins at conception, duh. So we need to cut the bullshit about this and be honest. We need to say: when is it OK to kill a defenceless human being? Is it ever OK?
My eventual decision was the disease which threatened my life may take both of us, but it wasn't taking just my daughter. It was the hardest decision of my life, choosing death or life together. I never got to a place where I had to reconsider; I found a treatment regimen that relieved most of the disease's effects. I won't judge a woman who chose to abort in order to live. I often spend my spare time mourning with her over the Internet.
But people like this woman, who has taken that week I spent on my bathroom floor wishing my daughter dead and made it into some kind of game, some school art project to cause scandal and attention? Yeah, I'm going to judge her. What a f*cking bitch.
*With apologies to those with sensitive ears, and to my Lord for my judgemental attitude. But I have to be honest, Lord, and I am very angry at this woman and her flippant nonsense. Trying to pray for her and failing utterly.*
Friday, March 21, 2008
Agony in the Garden
I share last year's post with you all, and a happy update: My friend gave birth to her second son, and now is the happy mother of a healthy and growing baby. Please remember all mothers suffering hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) in your Easter prayers, especially those who are considering abortion or who have aborted due to this terrible disease.
I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)
Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it. I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.
Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.
Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.
I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.
My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.
I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.
There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.
I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.
Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.
I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.
"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13
May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.
Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.
I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)
Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it. I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.
Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.
Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.
I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.
My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.
I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.
There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.
I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.
Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.
I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.
"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13
May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.
Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I'm so sorry, Jenny
There are no words for how sorry I am about your angel. I shared this verse with you before; I share it again knowing it is hardly any comfort right now. But to Whom else can we turn?
No matter what has happened, know I love you and your children.
Matthew 6:19-21
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
God bless you and your family.
No matter what has happened, know I love you and your children.
Matthew 6:19-21
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
God bless you and your family.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Welcome HG sufferers and survivors
My Site Meter tells me I'm getting many hits through Google and another site for the HG news video. Welcome! If you want to know more about my HG story, please follow this link.
For information, help and support, please visit the Hyperemesis Education and Research (HER) Foundation at www.helpher.org. I'm a moderator there, and happy to listen and help.
For information, help and support, please visit the Hyperemesis Education and Research (HER) Foundation at www.helpher.org. I'm a moderator there, and happy to listen and help.
Monday, April 02, 2007
M3 W4 D3: There can be no greater love....
I'm on my way out of my little dark night. March break has ended, our routine has returned, and Easter is coming.
I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)
Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it.
I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.
Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.
Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.
Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.
I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.
My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.
I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.
There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.
I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.
Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.
I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.
"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13
May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.
Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.
I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)
Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it.
I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.
Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.
Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.
Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.
I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.
My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.
I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.
There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.
I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.
Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.
I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.
"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13
May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.
Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.
Friday, March 23, 2007
M3 W2 D7: Emerging
Sorry about the radio silence here. It took FOREVER and a trip to the hospital to get Little I. more or less back to normal. He had a "para-influenza" with delusions of grandeur, and got a bit dehydrated for awhile. He's fine, although he sounds like a barking seal. (Yum, muktuk.)
Anyway, things are settling in here. Still have a week of March Break, though.
Caribou Carnival started today; the fireworks are popping outside as I type, but I'm also nursing a cranky baby, so I'm stuck. I'm taking the boys to the ice tomorrow, so I'll post pics then. Yum, tire d'erable!
As for housework, the kitchen, floor, fridge, bathroom and laundry are done; still trying to get the polishing, Windexing, dusting, vacuuming and fish tanks done.
By the way, if you're the praying type, please remember my friend Brooke in yours. She is 22 weeks pregnant, has HG, and is in the ICU with a blood infection (sepsis). Her baby's name is Gabbey. St. Gianna and St. Gerard, pray for Brooke and Gabbey. Lord Jesus, give Brooke strength and please bring them through this. Amen.
Anyway, things are settling in here. Still have a week of March Break, though.
Caribou Carnival started today; the fireworks are popping outside as I type, but I'm also nursing a cranky baby, so I'm stuck. I'm taking the boys to the ice tomorrow, so I'll post pics then. Yum, tire d'erable!
As for housework, the kitchen, floor, fridge, bathroom and laundry are done; still trying to get the polishing, Windexing, dusting, vacuuming and fish tanks done.
By the way, if you're the praying type, please remember my friend Brooke in yours. She is 22 weeks pregnant, has HG, and is in the ICU with a blood infection (sepsis). Her baby's name is Gabbey. St. Gianna and St. Gerard, pray for Brooke and Gabbey. Lord Jesus, give Brooke strength and please bring them through this. Amen.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
M2 W4 D5: Half-way point
Today marks the exact centre of my journey into solo parenthood, and The Hubby's basic training. There are many things I'd like to write about; I could fill several pages. But for the sake of brevity, I'll only give you a few:
- I am amazed at how good and kind and caring the people around us truly are. I thank God every single day for such wonderful friends. I also thank Him for the opportunity to rediscover that.
- I'm getting through this day by day. Some days I don't do well. Others I do amazingly well, and my home and children just seem to sing with order and cleanliness and happiness. The bad days often outnumber the amazing ones, however.
- Busy and hectic as it is, I've discovered this time is a great time to work on myself and to do some small things for me. I don't think I could have started Weight Watchers with Hubby here, although I don't know why. He would have been supportive. I just think I need to start this on my own.
- My children are adjusting as best as little ones can to essentially losing a parent for a quarter of a year. I am mostly proud of them, but that pride is well mixed with exasperation most days.
- Baby N. is so cute I want to eat her! Except now she's discovered roaring like a lion gets everyone to run to her to see what's the matter. She laughs now after she does it. Drama queen.
- Although my mother is an entire country away, she is still my rock. Thanks, Mom.
Thank you, Lord, for giving me strength one minute at a time, one day at a time. Seven and a half weeks down. Seven and a half weeks to go.
PS. By the way, the Dr. Phil show will be airing an entire segment on hyperemesis gravidarum, or HG, sometime in the next three weeks. Stay tuned to find out the exact date.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Random musings after two and a half weeks
It's been two and a half weeks since the The Hubby left. Some random thoughts buzzing in my head, in no particular order:
- I never truly realized before now how much children crave and demand order and routine. The more our days are predictable and patterned, the happier my kids are. If I get the kids washed and dressed and breakfasted right away, rather than lounging in our pjs in front of the TV, the day goes smoothly. Wait even a half an hour to start the routine, and I can expect tantrums and bickering the rest of the day. Weird.
- My boys never liked being up late, as I used to think. They went to bed late because Hubby procrastinated getting them to bed. He's a great dad, but bedtime is his weak point.
- My default tired, hungry and overwhelmed setting is Screechy, with Guilt. If I don't watch myself, I sound like a fishwife.
- Modern women are spoiled rotten. Now that I don't have time for the little luxuries in life, such as lunch with a friend, professional facial waxing or even a supper where I eat a hot meal rather than a lukewarm one, I realize they are just luxuries.
- I don't know how women survived before the invention of washers, dryers and dishwashers. I haven't cleaned my bathroom in two weeks because I don't have time. My house would be condemned by a health inspector if it wasn't for all the time-saving devices in it. When the dishwasher does my dishes, I have time to sweep and mop.
- Anyone who wants to help me this week is more than welcome to come clean my bathroom or my fridge. :-)
- I think I'm going to have to start actively looking for a new owner for our tropical fish. Two fish tanks are too much. I can keep up with the goldfish, I think.
- I miss my husband terribly, but I am remembering what it was like before we were married, when I was at university alone, in a city and province of my own, no family and no boyfriend. It was okay and I was happy despite missing them. I am the same now. I suppose I am just a happy person.
- I took Baby N. to the doctor today for her six-month check-up. The oinker weighs 16 pounds, 15 ounces. It's time to look into getting her a bigger car seat.
- I found out today that Dr. Phil is planning a show on HG, that pregnancy condition I suffered! I was so excited I called Mom. Finally, some attention and press to a frightening and under-treated condition.
And I'm spent. Time for bed.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Day two: Helping hands
When our friends and acquaintances found out The Hubby was leaving for three and a half months, many of them offered their help. They volunteered to cook meals, help with chores, and watch my older boys.
I always thanked them profusely for the offer, but never believed they would actually do anything. It's not that they aren't kind and caring individuals; they certainly are. It's the whole once bitten, twice shy thing.
When I was pregnant with Baby N., I was very, very sick. I had a pregnancy disease called hyperemesis gravidarum, or HG. (For more info, visit http://www.helpher.org/.) HG is a debilitating form of nausea and vomiting in pregnancy. It is NOT morning sickness. The best way to describe it is this: imagine having bad food poisoning every day for three to nine months. Imagine throwing up water the instant it hit your stomach. Imagine being unable to eat or drink anything without the help of several medications. Now imagine this while trying to grow a baby and placenta and five extra pounds of blood. That's HG. Correction: that's a MILD case of HG.
When I was sick, very few of my friends helped me. There were two who really came through and helped me and my family consistently, and with great love and compassion. One of them baked my birthday cake and brought it to my home after I spent a day in the hospital receiving IV drugs and fluids. It was the first thing I'd eaten in over a week. I love this friend so much just because of that.
I'm working on letting go of my hurt feelings about all those people not helping me and Hubby when we desperately needed it. Maybe we didn't ask clearly; maybe, since I was so socially isolated, most people had no idea how sick I really was. (I think that's a big part of it.)
The point of this digression is this: I had no expectations about help during Hubby's time away. But I was going to clearly ask for it anyway.
I have never been so glad to be wrong.
I took the children to Mass this morning, and actually got there on time. At the end of the service, two friends of mine from Church came over and immediately began helping me dress the children. One of these ladies then invited us to her home for lunch.
We spent several hours at the L-ergs house, being fed and spoilt. A.L. told me she is going to stop by once a week and help me with chores (during time she would have been taking care of her own home and family). I was delighted, of course -- I am so utterly startled by this generosity. Then she hauled a large suitcase of baby clothes out of the basement and gave them to me. Her husband packed them in my van.
I needed groceries, but Little I. fell asleep in the minivan, so we went home. I put a roast in the oven. I was good for supper, but we needed milk and eggs and bread and cereal. I swallowed my pride and called my friend C., asking if she could watch the children for an hour. Even though she was packing her house for a move in a month, she came right over.
I shopped for groceries all by myself. It was almost as peaceful as a day at the spa.
And to add to all that wonderfulness, my friend D. (the one who baked that birthday cake) has offered to take my boys one morning a week so I can run errands with just the baby. This woman is at home with a toddler and a 3-month-old.
I am stunned, truly stunned. I prayed last week for help, and for the humility to accept it when offered. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for answering the prayer about help. As for humility, I know I'm a tough nut, Lord, but I promise to try to keep saying "please", "yes" and "thank you!"
I always thanked them profusely for the offer, but never believed they would actually do anything. It's not that they aren't kind and caring individuals; they certainly are. It's the whole once bitten, twice shy thing.
When I was pregnant with Baby N., I was very, very sick. I had a pregnancy disease called hyperemesis gravidarum, or HG. (For more info, visit http://www.helpher.org/.) HG is a debilitating form of nausea and vomiting in pregnancy. It is NOT morning sickness. The best way to describe it is this: imagine having bad food poisoning every day for three to nine months. Imagine throwing up water the instant it hit your stomach. Imagine being unable to eat or drink anything without the help of several medications. Now imagine this while trying to grow a baby and placenta and five extra pounds of blood. That's HG. Correction: that's a MILD case of HG.
When I was sick, very few of my friends helped me. There were two who really came through and helped me and my family consistently, and with great love and compassion. One of them baked my birthday cake and brought it to my home after I spent a day in the hospital receiving IV drugs and fluids. It was the first thing I'd eaten in over a week. I love this friend so much just because of that.
I'm working on letting go of my hurt feelings about all those people not helping me and Hubby when we desperately needed it. Maybe we didn't ask clearly; maybe, since I was so socially isolated, most people had no idea how sick I really was. (I think that's a big part of it.)
The point of this digression is this: I had no expectations about help during Hubby's time away. But I was going to clearly ask for it anyway.
I have never been so glad to be wrong.
I took the children to Mass this morning, and actually got there on time. At the end of the service, two friends of mine from Church came over and immediately began helping me dress the children. One of these ladies then invited us to her home for lunch.
We spent several hours at the L-ergs house, being fed and spoilt. A.L. told me she is going to stop by once a week and help me with chores (during time she would have been taking care of her own home and family). I was delighted, of course -- I am so utterly startled by this generosity. Then she hauled a large suitcase of baby clothes out of the basement and gave them to me. Her husband packed them in my van.
I needed groceries, but Little I. fell asleep in the minivan, so we went home. I put a roast in the oven. I was good for supper, but we needed milk and eggs and bread and cereal. I swallowed my pride and called my friend C., asking if she could watch the children for an hour. Even though she was packing her house for a move in a month, she came right over.
I shopped for groceries all by myself. It was almost as peaceful as a day at the spa.
And to add to all that wonderfulness, my friend D. (the one who baked that birthday cake) has offered to take my boys one morning a week so I can run errands with just the baby. This woman is at home with a toddler and a 3-month-old.
I am stunned, truly stunned. I prayed last week for help, and for the humility to accept it when offered. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for answering the prayer about help. As for humility, I know I'm a tough nut, Lord, but I promise to try to keep saying "please", "yes" and "thank you!"
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