"A-HA Moments" Not From 80's Pop Music

As I was scrolling through my e-mails earlier today, I saw an announcement about the DDPRadio show topic for the night. (For those of you unfamiliar, I practice DDPYOGA and the DDPYOGA program was the catalyst for the beginning of my real journey toward good health. Hence the subtitle of my blog, "A New Me Via DDP.") The topic for tonight's show was to center around your "A-HA Moments": you know those metal pans to the head moments where your next step becomes so clear and you figure out the route for the next leg of your journey. Well, my A-HA moment for me was simple in the beginning. I saw that video millions of us have seen about a Veteran named Arthur who was crippled and began following DDP's program and saw miraculous changes. That moment, those few minutes, were everything I needed in order to understand what I needed to do to own my health again. And boy howdy did I ever run with it!

I ran hard and I ran fast! I began DDPYOGA in January of 2013. I did a lot of cleaning up in my diet and I worked out like a maniac. I saw immediate results and they were good ones. And I was happy. By my fourth month in, I was down 40 pounds; off one of my blood pressure medications; and my overall PsA symptoms seemingly were improving. Just a few months later, however, the weight loss had stalled and I hit a brick wall. I was so angry, frustrated, tired and bewildered. I was working so hard to make so many positive changes and there I was. Face meet wall.

It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened. I had hit those brick walls before. There was one significant difference this time; with this particular wall. Rather than say screw it and throw in the towel, I didn't. Well, not completely. I did gain back a lot of the wait I had lost. However, I didn't gain back all forty pounds and some additional. While I began making some poor food choices, they weren't all bad and I was still making better choices than I had been making before. For the first time, I hit a brick wall, caved a bit, but ultimately kept searching for a way through it or around it or over it. Despite all of the obvious setbacks, I was still trying to inch my way forward literally one minute and one inch at a time.

It took about a year of this brick wall struggle to realize I was really going to have to figure out what the extra key was for me. I firmly felt the AI diseases were the reason I had to find that extra key. I had to have an addition to my DDP Program to get me well. DDPYoga was obviously a keeper as was the clean eating. What else was there? Hmm. Well, there were my many illnesses and the many treatments I had to receive to survive the illnesses. I was not upset I was taking medication to remain functional, but I was upset that there appeared to be no end to the medications and no being funcational without them. I began following Brenda Nair's fight against breast cancer in 2014. Brenda made the very personal decision to fight her cancer in as natural a way as possible. She amazingly and bravely decided to heal herself with as few drugs as possible and focused rather on detoxing her body and healing through food choices, etc. Why my A-HA moment didn't immediately hit me over the head with that proverbial frying pan is beyond me. Maybe because I wasn't ready to full accept that might be what I needed to do for myself. Who knows!

But I did begin researching natural options to assist in my health recovery in 2014. I wanted to find out if there were thoughts or ideas out there surrounding the healing/treating/curing Auto Immune Disease in natural ways. And so I searched. And that's how I found my way to TrueNorth. And that's why I'm at TrueNorth now. The point in all of this rambling is this: Were it not for DDPYOGA, DDP, Brenda Nair, Arthur Boorman, Stacey Morris, etc., and that FIRST A-HA moment, I'd still be back there struggling somewhere at the starting line. And while it's taken me a little over two years to crawl to this point, there's some pretty awesome things going on in my life at this point.

- I'd weigh at least 42.2 pounds more than I did when I began DDPYOGA in January of 2013.
- I'd still be taking 11 different medications.
- I'd still be addicted to nicotine and caffiene.
- I'd still have blood pressure approaching critical points even with medication.
- I'd still be lost and struggling to find a way to get my health back.

We all have choices on what we can do to get our health back. I've chosen DDPYOGA and TrueNorth Health Center. These are my two big tools to get me where I need to go. You may like one, both or neither and that's okay. I'm not here to tell you what to choose. I'm here to tell you my experinces and my journey and let you know what has helped me. If these things can help you, that's great. If it needs to be something else, that's fine, too. The point is: you need to find your A-HA moment andmake it mean something. Every day you spend in misery is a day you won't get back. It's just lost. But there's no point dwelling on what's gone. Focus on what is yet to come.

"I continue to be amazed by our bodies' ability for self repair... Our bodies want to be healthy, if we would just let them. That's what these new research articles are showing: Even after years of beating yourself up with horrible diet, your body can reverse the damage, open backup the arteries - even reverse the progression of some cancers. Amazing! So it's never too late to start exercising, never too late to stop smoking and never too late to start eating healthier." ~ Michael Greger

A-HA. See. It's not too late.

Steph's Way To Well

After much research and discussion, my husband and I have come to a decision. In mid-February, I will be going for in-patient treatment. I am excited. I am nervous. I am terrified. I am thrilled. The range of emotions I feel can't really be articulated although I'm trying. I'll be away from my children and husband and out of work for a minimum of four to six weeks. The only feeling I don't have in regards to our decision is uncertainty.

I've spent the better part of a decade chasing my tail and trying to get well. I have made forward progress; I have given up; I have started and stopped; I've made more gains; and then I've felt loss again and again. Despite the fact I am still not where I want to be a year and a half after beginning my latest journey, I am still miles ahead of where I've ever been before! I actually feel pretty good about that!

Despite the lack of forward progress I would like to have seen to this point regarding weight loss, general health, etc. since I began this, my final journey toward good health inspired by a couple of guys named Arthur and Dallas, there is one very real thing that hasn't happened that has always happened before. I still have refused to give up. Even in every moment that I appear to be failing, I am consciously aware of every aspect of my health and how everything I am doing is affecting my health. While that sometimes leads to some guilt, it also keeps me ever cognizant of new and different choices and, most importantly, the ability to be open to new ideas that could lead to my ultimate goal of good health.

I'm going to work on getting back into the blog every now and then before I go to treatment in February. I also plan to blog the journey through my residential treatment program. 

In preparation for my trip, I have begun a t-shirt campaign through Teespring! I am hoping to help raise funds to help defray my medical expenses since insurance will not pay for a 30 day residential stay that will cost about the same or less than one of my infusions that I have to have every five weeks. For the foreseeable future. Maybe even the rest of my life. I'm unclear on how it makes sense to continue paying for infusions but not residential that could negate the future need thereof. But, I digress. So, just in case you are interested, I'll share the link. Get yourself a cool shirt. Or not. But feel free to share the link! 

http://teespring.com/stephswaytowell

Have a good night. I'll see you soon!

Body at War

2015 is going to be a really big year. I'm turning the tables. My body's been at war with me for a decade and a half. I'm soon going to be at war with my body! Details coming soon on how I plan to turn this thing around and get back to what this blog was started for: a healthy me.

Stay tuned. You don't want to miss it!

Ready to Live Life at 90

Well, I lied. The old Dell was revived! I assumed the worst and figured she was just gone, but turns out it was just a bad power cord. So, for the low price of $34, my computer is back up and running! Yippee! You know what that means? That’s right! Fresh installments on the blog served up just for you! I get it. It’s what you’ve been dreaming of the last several days. Well, here you go…

I love listening to DDPRadio on Wednesday nights. It’s always informative, refreshing, and motivational. As I listened last week and again tonight, I think it really began to hit me why this whole thing has made such an impact on me. By this whole thing, I mean the “DDPYOGA Lifestyle Change”! I’ve been a social worker for over a decade. I’ve been a birth mother, stepmother, “foster mother”, and now an adoptive mother. The roles of social worker and mother are wholly about giving to others; helping them grow; instilling the desire to improve one’s life; and teaching others that anything they can dream is possible with the right amount of inspiration and perspiration. More importantly probably than any of that though, and I really pull this from my years as a juvenile probation officer and motherhood: reminding people they are human and that we are all fallible. We will fall and we will make mistakes. That’s a given in life. The trick is teaching yourself how to not hold it against yourself, but rather to just learn from it and pick up and go on. That’s always been the tricky part for me. When I screw up, I have a tendency to really let that screw up linger in my mind, and drag me down. I’ve been trying more and more since I began this in January to do that less and less.

I work a full-time job. I am a wife and a mother to five children. I am also a patient diagnosed with a very active autoimmune disorder. While I chose three of those four roles in my life, I certainly didn’t choose the last. The first three roles: social worker, wife and mother can be stressful. However, those roles bring me so much joy on so many levels, it all has a tendency to work itself out. However, I didn’t choose to have an auto-immune disorder. I didn’t decide one day that being really sick, in pain and tired all of the time would be an awesome way to live life. It’s not as though I chose to do drugs or become an alcoholic. I was just unfortunate enough to be born with a genetic pre-disposition to this disorder and a little over a decade ago, it decided to rear it’s ugly head. So, there it is.

The way I see it is that I have two choices. The first is to wallow in self-pity, be a Debbie Downer, and stay generally miserable. The second choice is to take the bull by the horns and lead my life where I want it to go instead. I think I’m choosing the latter and I feel there’s something important along the way stemming from all of this. When I think about living my life at 90% as Dallas would say, I realize it’s definitely my choice to react in a positive way to the things that have happened to me. I realize I can let one of the four roles in my life define my every moment or I can choose to have the other three roles I love define my life. It’s all about life being 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react. So, I choose the latter, and I’m going to take as many people with me as I can while I’m on the way!

Suicidal Tendencies and the Auto-Immune Disorder

Years ago, I worked with a lady who has Lupus.  Although she lived with chronic pain, she didn’t miss a lot of work which really impressed me.  I remember having a discussion with another co-worker one day about how awful it must be to live with chronic pain.  While I often had issues with my back at the time, it was transient at that point.  I would have “spells” where it was just horrific, but they would only last a few days.  Then it would slowly get better over time, and then eventually it would almost completely go away.  Despite the fact I was in chronic pain, I was at least appreciative of the fact that it was “livable” pain.  It wasn’t until January of 2011 that I got my first mega-dose of chronic pain when I had the worst “spell” I’d ever had.  That one lasted over a month.  It was horrific.  It was grueling.  It brought me to the lowest point I’d ever had in my life - mentally and physically.

As my co-worker and I talked back then, I lamented the mental state of folks with chronic pain.  Because I had a reference of understanding, I could understand fully why someone with chronic pain would contemplate suicide.  It’s a bitch living day-in and day-out constantly hurting.  You get to a point where you can’t even fake it anymore when someone says, “How are you?”  You either just come right out and say, “Man, it really sucks to be me today.”  Or you might tell the truth and try to liven it up a little  with a smile on your face and say something like, “Well, totally awful but what’s the point in talking about that!  How are you?”  Although fairly rare, I’ve done both I’ll admit.  Although lately, the former rather than the latter is what tries to escape my lips more often. 

As my disease has progressed, I have had to learn to live with chronic pain.  The first of this year for about three or four months, I was waking up practically every day almost completely pain free.  It was enough that I could get by without having to take ibuprofen, but this, this was wonderful.  Slowly though, the brick wall has thrown itself back up, and I’ve found myself sliding rapidly back into the pit of chronic pain despair.  Believe me, it’s not been for lack of trying to stay out.  Although my work out record lately has been less than stellar, I’ve been sticking almost 100% to eating gluten free.  My intake of dairy is extremely low to generally none.  My intake of carbs comes entirely from non-bread, non-pasta, non-wheat sources.  I confess my sugar intake could use some work.  I’ve had a bit more lately than I should.  I’m working on it.

Despite the fact I had been doing EVERYTHING right for several months, and a lot still right for the last few months, my disease has taken back complete control of my body.  I’m not sure why.  I haven’t thrown in the towel.  I’m not giving up on at least minimally eating right, and I’m hoping and praying that soon enough, I’ll be back to working out again daily.  For now, the pain is keeping me at bay.  Between the low back pain, the pain in my upper back, hips, and the return of my beloved Costchondritis (painful inflammation of the chest wall), working out is just not even an option.  Additionally, my feet continue to break out, and now my hands are breaking out again.  My  hands generally only break out when I’m in a pretty significant flare.  This one fits that bill.

I confess I contemplated suicide in January of 2011.  There were moments when I considered the pain to be more than I could bear.  There were moments when I really, genuinely thought my family would be better off without me.  There were moments when the life insurance money seemed to me to be a better deal for my family than keeping my broken down self around.  Then I would think about things like my husband trying to get my four year old dressed in the mornings and it just didn’t seem to be as viable an option as I had thought.  In all seriousness though, I really did feel that low.  And it was hard.  It was hard to dig my way out of that.  But I did.  It left me with the realization that if I didn’t have faith, a wonderful husband who is supportive, and five beautiful children, what would have stopped me?  The answer is simple: I don’t know.  I don’t know what would have stopped me then if I didn’t have them, and friends I love, and extended family who mean a lot to me.  I realized the selfish choice of that momentary desire even if I thought I would be doing them a favor.  I realized the truth of words I recently heard my teen quote, “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”

Am I contemplating suicide now?  No.  Is this blog some veiled threat or foreshadowing to what I am thinking about doing?  No.  Understand what this blog is.  This blog is a reminder that even when you look at someone who looks like they need to drop a few pounds but looks perfectly healthy otherwise, you don’t know what battles they are struggling with internally.  You don’t know how they are feeling at the moment.  I can easily hide or distract from the couple of “visible” symptoms of my disorder, but I’ve really mastered hiding the ones you can’t see particularly if you don‘t know me very well.  Most people would never know on the day to day over the past decade that I’ve battled physical pain and fatigue almost daily.  But I have.  And it’s been hard.  I’ve overcome it this far though, and I intend to keep going.  If nothing else, I’m going to be the poster girl for working women and mothers with auto-immune disorders.

Despite the despair I am feeling today, I am still hopeful.  I go for my next infusion on Wednesday, earlier if there’s a cancellation.  I’ve contacted my Rheumatologist to let him know about the elevated symptoms so that my infusion can be adjusted accordingly.  I’m feeling low.  I’m feeling down and out.  I know this is just yet another storm I have to weather.  I will overcome it.  At the same time, I am cognizant of the fact there are people out there who lack faith, the support I have from family and friends, or who just haven’t yet mastered the skills I’ve been lucky enough to master to deal with my disorder and everything else that comes with being me.  I still get depressed; I still get down.  I always come up swinging though.  I’m saddened for my brothers and sisters out there who eventually go down and can’t make it back up.  I’ll never judge.  I’ve never been in their shoes regardless of what I think my experience has taught me.

If you are reading this and you are struggling with any of the following:

• Chronic Fatigue
• Chronic Pain
• Depression
• Any auto-immune disorder
• Obesity
• Whatever other sorry demon you’ve got in your life

… Remember these problems and/or flares are only temporary.  I have found my golden ticket between DDPYoga and eating gluten-free.  I know this is the combination that will get me where I need to go.  I’ve just got to remember to hang on just a little longer.  I may not ever be “100%” in the world of physical health, but I can give life 100% of what I’ve got.  Faith, patience, and a whole lotta hard work will pay off for me in the end.  As my old pal DDP says, “Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% how you react.” Add those two numbers together and you get 100%.  So, I’m gonna heed DDP’s advice even on my lowest days.  I’m no math whiz, but I’m thinking 90 is a much larger number than 10.  In other words, maybe not today or even tomorrow, but I’m thinking my 90 is going to kick life’s ten in the ass.  

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder... Unless You're Me Looking At Me

 The picture on the far left is the picture I took of Libby that Saturday. Do you see what I see? She will always be beautiful - no matter what.

 

 

On the afternoon of Saturday October 13th, 2012 me and my gal Libby had a rare couple of hours of just the two of us in the house. She was all kinds of giggly and excited as she prepared to go to a slumber party and cookout at one of her friend’s houses. She was flitting about all morning on cloud nine. Then I suddenly noticed her gleeful smile was replaced with a sullen face. I looked at her with the question on my face, and... she said to me, “Mama, do you remember last year when someone at school called me fat?”

I did remember. I remembered it quite clearly because she was devastated and it broke my heart for her that someone could say such a thing to her. Her sensitive soul can barely take constructive criticism much less an outright hateful thing. I remember the sting of the same words being said to me when I was not much older than she. I can, to this day, remember the little boy who said it to me. I remember wanting the ground to open up and swallow me. I remember feeling so worthless. And, as quickly as I was taken back to that moment, I had to take Libby out of hers.

I grabbed my phone. I told her to smile for me and I took a picture of her. I flipped my phone around and asked her if she saw what I saw. She shrugged. I told her that what I saw was a girl who was beautiful – not because she wasn’t fat, not because of her gorgeous brown eyes, not because of her chestnut hair, not because of the adorable spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose and dusting her cute little cheeks – not for just those reasons, but because she’s kind. Because she rarely says anything out of anger. Because she wouldn’t just come out and say anything just to be mean to someone (well, except maybe the occasional dig at a little brother…). She didn’t seem totally convinced, so I had no choice but to grab her and commence to counting ribs. That brought on the raucous laughter and, for a moment at least, those stinging words were forgotten.

I know she’ll remember them again. She will have a lull. Her mind will wander. She’ll go back to that place. I wish I could snap my fingers and make it never happen again. I can’t. Almost 30 years later, I still go back to that same place. I hate it. I wish I could erase it. I wish I could never think of it again. The power of words is sometimes too great. Sometimes no amount of time or space can erase their bite. I have struggled with self-image issues for most of my life although my weight has only been a problem for the last decade or so. I know I am what my daughter was called. But, she is not. She is beautiful inside and out. She is kind. She is loving. She is warm. She is sensitive. She is smart. She is funny. She is silly. She is my baby.

When I think about everything that goes on in this world, and how hurt people are by the words of others, I wish there was any way I could make young people, in particular, understand the power of their words. As I reflect on the recent news of another teen suicide spurred in large part by the cruel taunts of others, I am saddened to know there will be more tears from my sensitive daughter. There will be more hurtful words in the future. I can only hope as a parent that the words I choose for her will be powerful enough to overshadow the misguided and misdirected thoughtless and angry words of others.  Think before you speak. Words really do hurt. Sometimes the wounds run so deep they never heal. Sometimes they overtake people before they find the strength to get past them. That’s the greatest tragedy of all.

I won't lie and pretend wearing smaller size clothes and "looking better" aren't awesome motivations for me when it comes to doing my DDPYOGA and eating clean.  I do want to look better and wear smaller clothes.  What I want more than that now though is to FEEL better and to BE healthy; to feel good about myself not because I'm runway ready but because I could run up a flight of stairs without being winded; to have the energy to ALWAYS keep up with my kids; etc.  I want to be able to feel better not because of what others think about me but because I am learning just how strong an impact my own personal thoughts of myself affect my physical health.  The mind is a terrible thing to waste.  Don't waste it on self-loathing and tearing yourself down.  Use to bring yourself up and others with you!

 

What My Dog Taught Me About Life

My last Christmas with my sweet baby girl, Justice.

December 2012

She was meant to be a champion. I think that’s why she was born on Super Bowl Sunday. And she really was. Not a show champion, but a champion in spirit. It was Easter Sunday, April 23, 2000 when I brought her home with me. I had no idea how much she would change my life or how much she would come to mean to me. She was 12 weeks old the day I brought her home. To that point, she was the most adorable thing I had ever seen in my life. For the moment, it was just me and her against the world. I was going through the worst time of my life at that point. I was only a couple of months out from kicking Mr. Wrong to the curb, and our divorce wasn’t even final yet. I was lost and lonely and had no idea how much she would fill the void.

As a newly living single woman, I thought long and hard about a good name for her. It seems to me there was only one name that ever seemed right and it was the name I gave her. I joked about how I needed to give her the name I chose, because who in their right mind upon trying to enter my home uninvited would continue in after hearing her frenzied barking and me calling “Justice” down? Those were my thoughts anyway. So, it was me and Justice.

As a pup, she would curl up on the pillow right next to me and sleep. She was always by my side. I learned early on she was terrified of thunderstorms. No matter how big she got though, she never realized she was too big to sit in my lap when the thunder started rolling (or any other time for that matter). That was easier when she weighed 20 pounds than it was once she hit 90! She was with me always and for as much as I comforted her through the storms in life, she comforted me far more than I ever did her.

When the time came that our little family of two would expand, Justice welcomed every new member heartily. She became our protector. She looked after and loved my husband and children more than I thought was possible for an animal. The more they loved her; the more it seemed she loved them back. My children delighted in using her as a pillow, an object to pull up to standing, a trash compactor, a friend, a comforter and so much more. Each new role she was presented with was met with patience and grace. Those were her babies, too.

I never imagined when I brought her home over 13 years ago that our relationship would develop into such a strong bond. I had no idea how just her mere presence would comfort and calm me through my own storms in life. The most poignant for me being the days following my miscarriage. She instinctively knew something was very wrong. As faithful as ever, she stayed with me every moment. She was there for me and comforted me right down to licking my tears. Losing her two days ago, well, it’s left a hole in my heart I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to fill.

I have long heard the adage, “I want to be as good a person as my dog thinks I am.” There’s so much truth to that. Honestly though, I think it’s almost a little backward. I wonder sometimes if it shouldn’t read, “I want to be as good a person as my dog is.” I know this may sound trite to a person who isn’t a big animal lover, and I recognize we can’t all be. I also know some people don’t understand the love a human can have for a dog or vice versa. That’s cool, too. Some people are animal people and some are not. Regardless of what your personal feelings are in regards to animals, it doesn’t change the fact that my dog taught many things.

Here are a few of those things:

- There’s no such thing as giving too much love.
- You should let people know you will miss them even if you know you’ll see them tonight.
- Forgiveness is divine.
- Thunderstorms are really scary, but less scary with someone you love.
- Exercise can be a lot of fun especially when it’s a thrown tennis ball.
- Comforting someone you love doesn’t require knowing the “right” words to say. Sometimes it requires no words at all.
- It’s as important to accept praise as it is to give it.
- Patience is a virtue.
- You should let people know you are happy to see them even if you just saw them this morning.
- The desire to help and love can transcend almost any barrier.

I could probably create an endless list if I really tried. These are a few of the bigger points. I guess what all of this boils down to is simply this: It’s easy in life to get caught up in the negative. It’s easy to get stressed out. It’s easy to feel sad. It’s easy to feel lonely. It’s easy to wonder, “Why me?” If you really want it to be though, it could be just as easy to find the positive. It could be easy to let go of worry. It could be easy to be happy. It could be easy to not feel alone. It could be easy to think, “I am blessed.”

I always knew my dog was great, but I never really knew just how much my dog had taught me about “living life at 90%”. I’m really hoping as I continue through this process of self-discovery and self-improvement that I can teach others and help and inspire people. I also hope some day I’ll be as wonderful as my dog.

 

Victims? Aren't We All?

On January 4, 2013, I did it. And when I say I did, I mean I really did it! I jumped into DDPYoga head long! I jumped right in the deep end! I figured since I knew how to swim, it was going to be all good. I started working out EVERY day! I began eating gluten-free. Even though the weight started coming off almost immediately, it still just didn’t seem quite fast enough. Before I knew it though, I had lost 37 pounds! 37 pounds! I lost 37 pounds in four months! I couldn’t believe it. Holy crap! That’s a lot of weight in four months. More important than a loss of weight equal to my four year old child was how I felt. For the first time ever after starting some kind of weight loss program, I actually was feeling better. Any idea how much MORE that accounts for than just pounds lost???

And, I felt great actually. It was awesome! I was like a freaking Energizer bunny! I was working out every day, working full time, taking care of my five children, smiling the whole time, and NOT hurting! I was waking up practically every morning pain free. It was phenomenal and the best I had felt in years. I gave up Diet Dr. Peppers about a month or so in to working the program. A few months later, I followed that with giving up cigarettes. My two vices in life were gone. Out the door. Done. And I was still standing.

By the time I met DDP and Jake in Cookeville on May 4 at Slamfest, I was reeling with delight. I couldn’t wait to tell them both about my progress and how much they had inspired me to do everything I had been doing. It was an awesome meeting. It was literally everything I could have dreamed of and more. They were both so absolutely gracious and nice. I picked up brochures from DDP that night after I had told him how I had gotten my mom started, and had a few more people were coming on board. I was just excited. I literally felt high, and I was just high on life. I felt unstoppable.

Shortly after Slamfest, I learned there would be an Ultimate Workshop in Atlanta. I talked to my husband about going. I really wanted to go because I felt I needed the boost. For some unknown reason, I started losing steam after Slamfest. Not excitement, not desire, I was just literally running out of steam. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I quite simply could feel the energy leaving my body. Like dew evaporating in the morning sun, once again, some unseen force was sucking the life blood right out of me.

Damn. I really thought I had it this time.

I went to the Ultimate Workshop in Atlanta. Again, awesome seeing DDP. Jake wasn’t around, but I got to meet other teamDDPYoga members. It was just an awesome experience and I will do the next one I can. I thought one more hit of DDP live would boost me over the hump. I wanted it to so badly. It’s the nature of the beast though. I have an auto-immune disorder. I have flares and I have dormancy periods. For whatever reason, this flare has hit me with the absolute hardest knock out delivery of fatigue I have ever had to deal with since I started dealing with this over a decade ago. Honestly, I’m still dealing with it RIGHT now. When it began several weeks ago, I tried really hard to deny it. If only I could pretend it away for just a little bit, maybe it would just disappear. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Instead, despite my best efforts, it has just stayed on like an unwanted guest and I’m still trying to evict it. The fatigue, neuropathic pain, arthritic pain, headaches, they’ve all been back even with keeping the diet. I gave up on the yoga. It’s been everything I can do to drag myself out of bed in the mornings. And while I’m at it…

Forget those ignorant confession pages, cause here goes mine: I picked up the Diet Dr. Peppers again. I was struggling so hard in the afternoons to stay awake at work, I started drinking them for the caffeine pick up to get me through the rest of my work day. When I went from plateau to gain, I picked the smokes back up, too. All I could think about was the few hundred calories it would burn. Short term trade off worth it? I doubt it. But, here I am. I also withdrew from teamddpyoga as well as my blog in part to a lot of craziness that is my life. Definitely not because I was too ashamed to admit my transgressions, but because I just didn’t want to be a drag. Even before DDPYoga, I preferred to be a positive person. After DDPYoga, I was a positive person ALL THE TIME. Literally. I like being that person and I didn’t want to burden anyone with the person I felt I used to be. I don’t like feeling like a victim. I like acting the part even less. I only share what’s happened to me in the past as a means to communicate with and to relate to people: not to whine, not to look for sympathy; just a way to connect and understand. I try really hard to never pull the “victim card”. It’s not who I am. I do, however, frequently pull the “Hey, this is what I’ve been through just like you so we can BOTH get through it” card. That’s more my style.

Victims? Yeah, aren’t we all “victims” of this life? We’re all familiar with the memes that cover that. Walk a mile in my shoes, don’t judge, DON‘T GIVE UP, etc. Yada, yada, yada. Don’t get me wrong. I love the memes. I post them ALL the time, but I want them to be inspiration for me to stay where I am or keep me moving another step on the road I’m going: Not to drag me up out of the depth of some God-forsaken, self-created, miserable little victim hole I crawled into. Ick. I.am.so.done.with.that.nonsense.

So, effective, oh, right about now, I’m done. The tally for the year thus far:

HOLE: 1

STEPHANIE: 1

Starting today, I’m working on score two. The score won’t change much from here. It’s going to look a lot like a low scoring hockey game score when it’s all said and done. Hole ain’t scoring on me anymore. I’m working on goal two and it’s game over for Hole after that. Victim? I don’t think so. 

We're looking at day one of the rest of my life, and I just killed Red Hot Core.  It's on. 

A Little Bit of Pixie Dust?

I had an appointment with my rheumatologist in December of 2012. Things had been going okay and we talked about trying to taper down my steroids again. He wanted me to try and start tapering them down one milligram per week and see if that would work. Although my symptoms still weren’t fully under control, he was hoping the medication I was on would be sufficient to hold it at bay. He also mentioned something to me for the first time. He asked me if I had ever thought about eating gluten free. When I got done laughing at his question, I politely answered I had thought about it and had pretty well determined that would not be a path I would be taking. He informed me there were some studies that had been done indicating there might be a link between certain auto-immune disorders and gluten. He told me he would really like for me to try a gluten free diet. He felt it could possibly help with some of my symptoms and at worst it would do nothing and certainly do no harm. He suggested I read a book called “Wheat Belly”. I dutifully smiled, and said I would read the book. Honestly, I really didn’t think there was anyway I could make this happen, but I said I’d read the book.

I found myself perusing the shelves of Books-A-Million. I found the book fairly quickly and purchased it. I didn’t begin reading it immediately. It sat for a few days. There was one more catalyst I needed to get my thoughts really churning. Although I had, in a way, blown off what my rheumatologist had said, deep down I really felt there might be something to it. I wasn’t ready to face it though. I just wasn’t really sure I could go down the road of making more sacrifices again for naught.

A few days after the appointment I was browsing Facebook. A friend had posted a link to a video. The “amazing transformation” got my attention, and I decided to take a look. I was pretty sure it was going to be the same as lots of other “transformations” I had seen on the interwebs. Some ridiculous claim by some ridiculous person that if I just took this pill or drank this juice I could lose weight without even changing my lifestyle. The all too familiar promises of liars who are all too happy to swipe my card, take my money, and leave me feeling dejected when I fail once again with a new “miracle cure.”

Almost immediately I knew this video was different. This wasn’t about some miracle pill or awesome pre-packaged foods that cost hundreds of dollars a month. This was something different. I was intrigued by this “every day” guy who worked really hard to lose a lot of weight. I was moved to tears when he proved the doctors wrong and set himself free from a life of bondage to his unhealthy body. I cried as I watched him fall and fall and get back up again. I sobbed when I saw the man who had given up on ever feeling good again sprinted toward the camera. I was struck by his tenacity. I was awed by his courage. I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to make those changes. I wanted to feel good. I wanted to be free of my self created prison.

The unique thing about the way this video moved me is important. My initial thought was, “Man, if this guy can do it at 100 pounds more than I weigh, what the heck is my excuse???” He’s got a back brace, two knee braces, and walks with the assistance of crutches. Yeah, I have moments of pure physical pain and torture. For me, however, I at least get reprieves. I’m not stuck in that hell all day every day. Although my symptoms can persist for long periods of time, it’s not as though I never have days where I am relatively pain free. I had literally never seen anything like it. That video, that man, made me want to change the direction of my health. I also felt for the first time in longer than I could remember that it might actually be possible. I felt like I really could possibly make it happen.

I chewed on that video for a few days and decided it was time. I wanted had to do it. I began reading “Wheat Belly” and talked to my husband about ordering the DDYOGA program. Talking my husband into the DDPYOGA purchase wasn’t incredibly difficult given he’s a long time wrestling fan. As I was, my husband was also intrigued with DDP‘s program. After reading about it, watching videos, checking reviews, etc., I really felt as though I had finally found a program that felt tailor-made for me. On January 4^th of 2013, I began.

So, there I was. I took my before pictures. I got my yoga mat and I was ready to work out. I had already been grocery shopping and was cutting gluten out of my diet. I was pumped. The only thing I needed at that point to turn from couch potato to a woman working out daily and going from carb addict to gluten-free eater was to hop on the unicorn in the back yard and go for a ride while waving my magic wand and sprinkling pixie dust all over my little universe.  Right?  I mean, seriously, how likely was I really to change 38 years of bad habits over night? 

Good question. I was pumped. I mean really, really pumped. But could I make it happen? Arthur did.  Could Stephanie do it?  Was she fooling herself or was this really it?  Would a little bit of pixie dust be required to get her flying? 

What Story Do I Tell Myself?

I haven’t blogged this week as I had a house full of guests. Ten guests plus my household of seven kept me busier than a one armed paper hanger! So, I’m trying to get back at it now. So, on we go!

I've managed to cover 37 of my 38 years in about 13 blogs. Needless to say I skipped a lot although some might say I shared too much. Either way, I laid a foundation on the story of me for a few different reasons. Primarily I designed the blog this way so a stranger or someone who doesn't know me that well could come to know how I got to where I am. The hope for me being if they he/she could somehow identify with things I've gone through in my life, it might inspire them and give them hope that they, too, could move past the demons that sometimes appear insurmountable. It's also been a journey of self-discovery for me. I won't lie. I'm hoping to gain some better insight into myself as I go through this process. I don't just want to rehash the past and it mean nothing. I want to talk about it, learn from it, put it away, and move onward and upward.

I guess it begs the question at this point if I have learned anything about myself. I'm not 100% sure "learned" is the necessarily the right word, but I think I am coming to a better understanding of myself. I can't look at all the negative events in my life without simultaneously recalling a lot of positive memories. Despite any struggles I've ever been through in life, no matter how alone I ever felt during those lows, in retrospect I see easily how much love and support I have had throughout everything and it makes me smile. I think it's easy in the down times to lose your sense of self and your self respect. The ability to recognize there are people who love you, and you are worthy of a life of happiness seems like some far off unrealistic ideal. I know I’ve been stuck
there: a lot.

Despite my crazy busy week, I was able to catch about half of DDP Radio on Wednesday night. I’ve been thinking about the show a lot. I wish I could have listened to the entire thing. I don’t know if I could have handled it as the half I caught had me in tears. As I listened to DDP say the words “What story do you tell yourself?” I couldn’t help but think of all the stories I have told myself over the years and the impact those stories have had on me. Truthfully, I don’t think there have been that many stories. Really just one story tells the full tale. My story repeatedly to myself was always the story of a girl who had no worth; a girl who didn’t deserve happiness; and a girl who always had to measure her worth by the yardsticks of others.

Even when I decided to leave the last Mr. Wrong and went on later to marry Mr. Right, I continued to measure myself by the opinions of the man in my life. Fortunately, I stuck with Mr. Right and his opinion is a much better one that Mr. Wrong’s, but the fact that my own self worth still hinged on the thoughts of another, wasn’t a good thing. Like all my relationships before, my esteem rested squarely on Mr. Right. Then we went on to have children, beautiful and intelligent children. So, I moved from measuring my self-worth just by my husband and on to what others thought about how well-behaved or how smart my kids were. Again, my ruler for everything remained how others perceived me. I get to a degree that everyone does this. I just never realized until late last year it was all I ever did.

For the first I found myself in new territory. I had tried to get healthy many times before. Every time I tried, I failed. It hit me for the first time in December of last year why I had always failed before.

I had never done it for me.
I had done it for my husband. I had done it for my kids. I had done it at the urging of other family members and friends. Obviously my husband, my children, other family and my friends are great motivators. It was hard though to make all those kinds of sacrifices, not feel better, and keep on doing it. The end goal was worth it to get started, but even my husband, my children, my family, and my friends weren’t enough to keep me going when I couldn’t see the need to do for it myself. Wow. That’s a pretty big admission. It’s a little sad, too. I think that’s why I cried the other night. I knew I had made this discovery last December. I finally figured out I needed to do it for me. And I was. I was finally doing it for me, and I had seemed to figure out for the first time that I was worth the effort.

Then, somewhere along the way, I lost it.

Bam. The mojo was just gone. I feel like an alcoholic or drug addict who was on the wagon for five months and in one large swoop, I fell from grace. I’m not sure what happened. I have no idea what has brought me to this place. In all honesty, I’m not sure how to get out of this hole. I don’t know what else to do other than put it out there.

This is as bare as it gets. I’m in a hole. I want out. I don’t want to go back to the story I used to tell myself. I liked the new story. For whatever reason though, I’ve lost my way yet again and the new story, well, it’s given way to the old familiar one that I’ve been reading for far longer. I know I’m eventually going to crawl right back out of this hole. I just hope you’ll have the patience to bear with me as I do.  I want to think I am worth it again.  I want to think it and I want to become it.  That's the story I want to tell myself.

It's A Boy!!!

Me and my brother Kevin (on the left) meeting our brother Jason for the first time July 21, 2013.  He was a good sport and even held this "It's a Boy" balloon for some pics!  Yeah, we're goofy like that!

I'm shifting gears a little bit tonight.  There will be plenty of time to say all the things I want to say about the road that led me to wanting a healthier me.  (And lucky you!  Less than a year of my life to go!)  For tonight though,  there is something else I really need to focus on and talk about briefly.  I confess it's a ridiculous hour, but sometimes your mind runs faster than you can keep up with. Tonight is one of those nights for me.  I'm finding it difficult to shut my mind down and drift off to sleep.

Upstairs, sleeping in my daughter's room with his lovely wife, is the brother that, until a few weeks ago, I didn't know existed.  It's really quite amazing when you think about how life can turn on a dime when you least expect it.  That's precisely what happened to me a few weeks ago.  Life turned when I least expected it.  Although wary at first, I must say, all things considered, this turn is one of the best of my life so far.

I never accept friend requests on Facebook from people I don't know.  I have a lot of pictures of my children on Facebook and I share some personal information. I keep all of my information private so it's only viewable by persons I'm friends with on Facebook.  Several weeks ago, I received a friend request from someone I didn't know.  I racked my brain trying to figure out what my connection was with this woman.  I even asked my husband if he knew who she was.  I checked to see if we had any mutual friends on Facebook.  Unable to find any other connection, I made the determination I must somehow know her because of DDP yoga.  I have a page on teamddpyoga.com and had made a few friends I had since become friends with on Facebook.  Generally speaking, if I receive a friend request from someone I don't know, i either delete the request immediately or send the person a message asking the person how I know him/her if I suspect I do and just really don't remember.  For whatever reason, I didn't send this woman a message asking how I knew her.  Instead, I accepted the friend request and planned to later send her a message.  The days somehow slipped by me and the friend request was all but forgotten.

About a week or so later, I received a message from the woman who had sent me the friend request. Her name was Britney and she had contacted me because I was from Tullahoma.  She explained although we didn't know each other and she would understand if I didn't want to help, she wondered if I might perhaps be able to assist her in locating her husband's biological father.  All she knew was my maiden name was Mason and I was from Tullahoma. She hoped, because of this, I might happen to know her son's biological father.  Nothing else in regards to that conversation is important other than to say we soon discovered her husband was my biological brother.  So, at the tender young age of 38, I discovered I had a biological brother I never knew.

As it was then, after meeting my brother today for the first time, my mind is still racing a mile a minute. I couldn't really seem to process anything she was saying then and there is still a lot to process after today. I didn't know what to think then, and I struggle to do the same now.  Truth is, regardless of whether or not I knew what to think, at that moment, I was incapable of putting logical thoughts together.  There were just so many questions and not enough answers.  There still are.

I remember speaking with my brother that night for the first time. I felt so nervous. I worried. Would he like me?  Would he want to talk to me again?  Would the shock be too much for him?  I just didn't know what to expect.  I just knew my heart was aching with sadness for everything I knew I missed.  We talked for over two hours that first night.  There was just so much to say it was hard to know where to begin.  We shared some laughter and we shared some tears.  It's always a strange feeling when you're celebrating and mourning at the same time.  The one thing I knew from that very first conversation was the fact I really wanted to know my brother even more and how blessed I felt he was the one.  After meeting him and his lovely family today, that feeling is all the more stronger.

I was tied up in knots that night before we spoke on the phone the first time.  I wasn't really sure what I would say.  It's really strange since that first call, I've found it rather easy to talk to my brother. The only other time I've had any sort of nervous feeling was waiting for him and his family to arrive today.  It was a good kind of nervous though. Butterflies. That's the best way I can describe it. Just excitement.

Our first night together was better than I could have ever hoped.  With both of my brothers in the house along with my six nieces and nephews, my mother, my husband, and my children, there was a completeness and an easiness I can't explain.  The best part of it all is today was only the first day.  There are going to be so many more laughter and love filled days ahead.  For that I am ever grateful.

I'm really thankful for DDPYoga.  Strange  as it is, were it not for the fact I had recently gotten more active on the DDPYoga pages, I never would have accepted that friend request.  I never would have learned I had a second brother.  A brother who, by the way, also lives a gluten free lifestyle and is anxious to do a DDPYoga workout with me!  Now, if only we can rope the other one in, we will really have something!  So, if you happen to see this DDP, thanks!!!  You are touching people's lives in ways you never could have imagined!!!  

Spring of Hope

After a hiatus of several days, I’m back at it hard today.  I took a long weekend off and headed to Baton Rouge last Friday with my STL Connection.  We had an absolute blast visiting with a mutual friend and my family.  It was relaxing, fun, and we have promised we will do it again!  Sometimes it’s just necessary to get away from the pace of your life for a few days, have a little fun, and recharge.  Since I couldn't be in Mexico for the DDPYoga Retreat, I think I managed to drown my sorrows in the most positive of ways! 

Now, on with the blog…

Ten days after the birth of my baby girl Annalee, I began experiencing what has to be the most excruciating migraine of my entire life.  I’ve had a history of migraines for several years, but this one outdid them all.  After about 12 hours with the migraine, I decided to check my blood pressure when absolutely nothing else I was doing was bringing me any relief.  I thought perhaps my blood pressure was elevated more so than normal and was causing my head to pound.  It was about two in the morning when I took my blood pressure.  I was certain when I read the monitor that there must be some kind of error as I had never seen my blood pressure that high outside of a delivery room.  I took my blood pressure a second time and got the same result.  I woke my husband up and took his blood pressure.  His came out normal.  I took mine a third and it was still measuring extremely high.  My theory that the monitor was malfunctioning was now out the window.  I decided to call the on-call doctor for advice on what to do.  Needless to say, I was advised to go to the emergency room.  Immediately.

I arrived at the emergency room sometime after 2:00am.  Although my migraine was still out of control, I was seriously thinking my blood pressure would be normal at that point and I would feel silly for creating all the fuss.  However, it quickly became obvious there was a serious problem with it.  The same measurements were taken in the emergency room I had taken at home:  210/111.  I wound up being taken up to the maternity floor as I was only ten days post-partum.  The next day and a half was literally one large blur.  I was barely conscious and Lord only knows what was done to me try and get my blood pressure back under control.  The only point at which I can even remember being aware of whether it was day or night was when I was taken to have some kind of scan.  I have an extreme sensitivity to light when I have a migraine, and they gave me a towel to cover my eyes on the way.  At one point, my arm slipped off the side of the wheel chair and the comforting dark veil of the towel gave way to the searing pain of sunlight.  In that brief moment until I could coordinate my hands to get the towel back over my eyes, I felt as though needles were stabbing my eyes.  Regardless of the pain though, I couldn’t let myself cry.  Sobbing only made my head ache even worse.  I sucked it up as best I could and tried to breathe out the pain.

The nightmare finally ended after that day and a half although I wound up being in the hospital for a total of four days.  It’s still unclear what exactly happened.  I don’t know if the high blood pressure caused the migraine or if the migraine caused the high blood pressure.  No one else seemed to know either.  Seemed to be the usual case for me.  Nothing ever comes standard for me health wise.  Ever the enigma as I hear from medical professionals on a consistent basis, “Well, I’ve never seen it present this way, but…”  Man, if only I had a nickel…  One thing was for sure, I wasn’t birthing any more babies.

The next year or so would continue on as the last several had.  I would sporadically have migraines, my psoriasis had become an ever present condition on my skin, the acute arthritic back pain and neuropathic pain would come and go, and crippling fatigue would continue to plague me every step of the way.  I continued with work and caring for our two children and would pray for temporary reprieves from my symptoms.  Sometimes they would come and sometimes they did not.

I must have been in a particularly froggy mood when a friend of mine asked me around February of 2010 whether or not my husband and I could temporarily help care for her nephews if needed while her sister underwent treatment for Leukemia.  Without even consulting my husband, I gave her a flat yes.  I somehow instinctively knew my husband would be quite okay with a couple of a little boys in the house to help even out the estrogen to testosterone ratio.  When I spoke with him, he was okay with my response.  And so we waited.  We didn’t know how long it would be before the call would come asking for our help or if it would even come at all.  It did a few months later.


Toward the end of May 2010, the call came asking us if we could take the boys for a couple of months.  We said yes and asked when they would arrive.  It would only be a few days before the number of children in our home was going to double for a period of time.  I knew it would be no easy task, but I had prayed on it and I knew we would be up for it!  We busied ourselves getting a bedroom and ourselves ready for their arrival.  We were very excited to have them with us and with Kim coming to visit soon for the summer, it was going to be quite a summer with five children about!  I simply couldn’t wait to have a house full of children!


Kim arrived shortly after the boys and the summer was off and running.  After Kim’s arrival and several conversations, it became evident Kim wanted to move in with us as badly as we had wanted her to move in with us for years.  We began filing paperwork and doing what needed to be done legally to make it happen.  Although something of a headache, the process went along more quickly and smoothly than I thought it would.  Before we knew it, legal custody of Kim was ours and she was on her way to east Tennessee to pack up her things and head back home!  So, as we were prepping to make Kim a permanent part of the household, we were simultaneously prepping for the boys to return back to their mother.  The two months was almost up and we had been advised they would be returning home as planned.

Word came the Tuesday before the boys were to return home that their mother had been re-hospitalized.  The treatment she had undergone had been brutal.  Her physical health wasn’t near where it needed to be to look after two young active boys.  We were asked if we could keep the boys a few more months to give her additional time to recuperate from the treatment that was almost killing her in order to save her.  Without a doubt, our response was yes.  We had to shift gears from readying the boys to return home to getting them enrolled in Kindergarten and pre-school, getting physicals completed, etc.  It was a pretty major shift as Kim had also just moved into our home.  It appeared we would have a house full for the foreseeable future.  So, it was the seven of us from that July of 2010 until December 0f 2010.  That’s when the boys went back home to their mother.  Although I was happy the boys were going home because it meant their mother was still in remission and doing better, there was a part of me that was so sad to see them leave.  Their mother and the boys spent Christmas with us, the boys would come visit on the weekends, and it was nice that we would get to remain a part of their lives.

It would also turn out to be a good thing the boys went home when they did.  In January of 2011, my body went into a total revolt.  I don’t know what happened.  I’m unsure if it was in some way related to the stress of the whole situation with the boys and Kim moving in or if it was just the natural progression of my still unidentified disorder.  It probably helped little that I had strep in December.  Strep can take my immune system down like nothing else.  Either way, the ride I was about to go on would be a nightmare unlike any other I had yet experienced with my health.

The months of January and February 2011 would be two of the darkest months of my life.  The arthritis in my back had spiraled to new lows.  I remember having said multiple times before when my back would go out a few days at a time that I just couldn’t imagine having to live with chronic back pain.  I didn’t realize that my sporadic issues were going to turn chronic for me.  I missed almost the entire month of January from work.  I was in so much pain I could barely function on the day to day.  Much like the incident from when Libby was a baby, it became a daily struggle to even get out of bed.  The exception being that rather than lasting for a few days, this episode stretched into a couple of solid months.  Each morning would begin the same.  I would wake up feeling nothing but excruciating pain up and down my spine.  Each morning I would spend the first hour of my day getting out of bed and into an upright standing position.  Literally, it would take an hour just to stand up.  I can think of little in life that has ever been more disheartening for me.

My darkest days came when I seriously considered the point in going on.  I felt absolutely useless and was in so much physical pain, I just wanted a way out.  I seriously considered the worst choice to be my best option because I physically and mentally couldn’t take it anymore.  I thought about overdosing.  I thought about pulling my car into the garage and closing the door.  I thought about it multiple times.  I thought about how my husband and children could survive without me and they would be just fine.  At that point, I could only see myself as a burden.  All the while I still prayed for relief and answers to come.  It just didn’t seem to be happening fast enough.  I was just so tired of fighting with my body, feeling sick, feeling tired, and being in pain.  I’m glad I made the wiser choice of hanging on.


The last two months of my harshest winter were almost over, and with the spring answers would come.  Although I wasn’t going to be “fixed” overnight, I was at least happy to finally know there was an answer.  It was a relief to find a “name” and an explanation for all I had been going through.  I knew there was still a long road ahead of me, but at least the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel was visible to me.  Hope.  Hope means a lot when you thought you’d never find it again.

Pregnancy: It Ain't for the Faint of Heart

Libby dancing in the rain at my dearly

departed Grandmother's house.  She was three here.

The five and a half years between the birth of my first and second child were full of many wonderful and memorable times.  The year and a half I spent at home with Libby after she was born was a time I will always treasure.  We had so much fun together, and there are many days I wish I had made different choices that would have allowed me to stay home with her longer.  I felt some guilt and remorse about going back to work as I know many mothers do.  Being a full-time stay at home mom is a job to be sure, but working full-time outside of the home while being a mother is a whole different animal unto itself.  It wasn’t horribly difficult to manage when we had only one child in the home, but it certainly got more challenging as our family expanded.

Libby only nursed her first six months and when that calorie burning activity ended, I should have immediately picked up some regular exercise.  That would have been the smart thing to do.  Sadly, I did not make that choice.  Instead, I just began picking up weight at a faster pace.  I soon joined Curves and started watching what I was eating.  I slowly started whittling the weight away.  It was frustrating.  It was slow going.  The worst of it though was the fact I never could seem to feel better.  I was eating better, I was exercising, I was drinking more water, but none of it seemed to matter in regards to how I felt.  There was not a “runner’s high” after a good workout.  There was never a moment where I could feel my body thanking me for everything I was trying to do for it.  With the constant sacrificing, the frustration turned the tide into an unbearable level when medical problems cropped up and worsened.  Libby was not even six months old when I was limping my way in and out of physical therapy once again due to my continued back problems. 

I also developed a new problem that would become almost as debilitating as my chronic back pain at times.  It would take several rounds of it to finally get a diagnosis of Costochondritis which is an inflammation of the chest wall.  The first time I developed it, I literally thought I was having a heart attack.  There were times I would develop it and it was irritating, but manageable.  For the most part though, it was just downright awful.  The pain would start in my chest generally localized just left of center.  It would then spread to the other side of my chest and from there it would radiate down both of my arms.  There were times it got so bad, I couldn’t lift my baby out of her crib, I couldn’t wash my hair and I couldn’t even put a shirt on without Mr. Right assisting me. 

It continued on this way as it had for years already.  Back would go out.  Back would get better.  Costchondritis would develop and then it would go away.  I would develop sinus infections, strep throat, viruses, the flu, a cold, and on and on ad nauseum.   The rash that cropped up on my hands the first time years ago, kept returning and each time it returned it seemed to spread wider, stay longer, and got more painful and irritating with each return.  When it made the jump from hands to my feet, I couldn't believe my luck.  I felt like a boxer in a ring getting pummeled round after round, and the opponent always seemed to be stronger and bigger than me.  Then I would fumble my way to my corner and my trainer would give me the same chat every time: pain pills, steroids, wash, rinse, and repeat.  (Sorry.  I know I said I wouldn’t say that again, but it really worked right there.)  It just began wearing me down after a while.  I would reach a point of frustration with my doctors because I constantly felt as though I was being ignored or patronized.  I had a doctor actually initially attribute the Costchondritis to the fact I had a baby and was constantly having to lift her.  Seriously?  She came home from the hospital a whopping six pounds six ounces.  I’ve also known hundreds of women who have had babies and could manage to lift their children without agonizing pain.  Seriously?  Although I eventually would lose 40 pounds, it wouldn’t stay gone.  It would return and then some.  I finally gave up on giving up what I wanted when it didn’t seem to matter anyway.  Sure, I was glad to be wearing smaller jeans, but it just wasn’t enough to keep me motivated.

The stress of going back to work certainly wasn’t a factor that worked in my favor.  I’ve never regretted my decision to go into a social work career, and I never will.  However, it’s no secret social work careers can be quite stressful.  That certainly was the case for me.  Between the guilt of leaving my child in daycare, the stress of going back into social work, the constant ailments, and the physical pain each day was a struggle.  Some days were worse than others.  Some days were more bearable.  Through all of it, there were primarily three things that kept me going: Mr. Right and our two daughters.  My love for them kept me motivated enough to keep getting up every day, but I was angry with myself that I couldn’t be everything I felt I needed to be for them.  It still hadn’t dawned on me to that point there should have been at least one more motivating factor for me.  It would still be a few years before that glaringly obvious motivating factor would wedge its way into my conscience.  Before that would happen though, I would give birth for a second time.  If I thought the first trip down Pregnancy Lane was a challenge, I was in for quite a shock.  The second trip was going to be much more difficult.    Even with a “mental map” of the way, this road would be entirely different.  My map was going to be useless.

Everything started the usual way.  I knew I was pregnant by the smell of bacon.  Yes, I am serious.  I was cooking breakfast food for dinner and almost vomited on the stove.  Dead give-away.  I went straight to the bathroom after dinner and took a test.  It was positive.  I was so excited because we had been trying to get pregnant for many months.  I was beginning to wonder if we were even going to be able to get pregnant again.  I had gotten pregnant so easily the first two times.  Although Libby had an older sister already, Kim lived with her biological mother.  I had begun wondering if she would ever decide to come live with her father and me.  I knew how much it meant to me having another sibling in the house growing up and I didn’t want Libby growing up, in essence, an only child.  There was also the fact I just really wanted another baby.

Everything with this pregnancy went along the same road map for about the first half of the pregnancy.  I was nauseated, anemic, exhausted, and not gaining weight.  Things took a turn at the half way mark when I had my quad screen.  I took the same test when pregnant with Libby.  If we were going to have a child with special needs, we wanted to be able to prepare as we best we could for the challenges we would face.  Particularly for a child with Spina Bifida as there are surgeries that can actually be performed in utero on babies with this spinal defect.  I expected the results for this test would be exactly what they were with Libby – normal.

The results weren’t normal.  Even though it was just a result indicating more testing would be needed, my heart felt heavy.  Not only did I have a “positive” screen, the markers were pointing to Trisomy 18.  Spina Bifida I could have handled.  Downs Syndrome I could have handled.  Anything else I could have handled.  Trisomy 18 was the worst case scenario.  The vast majority of babies with Trisomy 18 don’t even make it through a full pregnancy.  Most die in utero.  The few that do make it through a full term pregnancy generally die within a few minutes to days of birth.  There are those rare occasions where a baby with Trisomy 18 makes it to a first birthday, but those are few and far between.  The news was upsetting.  However, I tried really hard not to panic.  I had to go to a specialist for a more in-depth ultrasound.  I was ready to go to the ultrasound and get the best news ever.  When that didn’t happen at the first ultrasound by the specialist, I was crushed.  I was still holding out hope and working as hard as I could to keep my game face on.  Inside though, well, that was a whole different story.  After an abnormal quad screen and now a concerning ultrasound that would require me to come back for another, I silently wondered how I would possibly be able to simultaneously prepare for the birth and death of my child.  How is a mother supposed to do that?

Additional ultrasounds were performed to check on my baby’s growth.  The following ultrasounds proved more positive.  After a few, the specialist was sure that my baby, although small, was then developing normally.  Those weeks were some of the toughest of my life.  To know my baby had a fighting chance was an incredible relief.  Things could have only been better if we felt like we were out of the woods for more than a few weeks.  Trouble brewed once again when my blood pressure flared and all the issues I had when pregnant with Libby ran rampant in this one; only this time it was worse. Although I had to be induced with Libby, I only had to go ten days early.  With this pregnancy, I would wind up being induced a second time, but almost three weeks early.  I wouldn’t have been so concerned about having a baby three weeks early if I didn’t know from the ultrasound how tiny my baby was.  At the time I was induced, my baby was estimated to weigh just under five pounds.  I couldn’t even imagine holding a baby that tiny.  When we welcomed Annalee Claire on a beautiful March 19^th, I couldn’t look at her enough.  I cried with happiness and relief when I finally laid eyes on her.  She was tiny, but not as little as I thought she was going to be.  She weighed a little over five and a half pounds.  Although she would require scans the next day due to concerns she had bleeding on her brain, the scans came back normal.  Finally, I felt a little at peace.

My sweet little Annalee Claire was barely 24

hours old in this picture.

It's pretty sad when your OB/GYN tells you straight up not to have any more children because of all the issues you had in your last two pregnancies.  It was okay though.  I pretty much decided the day after Annalee was born I wasn’t going to have any more children.  As difficult as my first and second pregnancies were, I couldn’t even imagine what would crop up during a third.  I also wasn’t exactly getting any younger.  The thought of having to go through all of that again was more than I could take.  And I kept to my word.  Well, mostly...