Here We Go Again!

I really need to keep up with my blog. I've written on scraps of paper, and I can't even tell you where they are right now. I should have a notebook or a journal. I used to journal all of the time. I carried my journal with me constantly in high school. Well, things are just a wee bit crazier in my life than they used to be, and so the writing doesn't always happen like it should.

This will be disorganized, and the writing will be personal rather than poetic or technical, but this is me jumping back in and getting my feet wet.

I'm at an exciting time in life, and as I've mentioned before, I love my late 20s. It's so much easier being 28 than it was to be 18, 21, 24...I figure myself out more and more each day. I like who I am. My husband is my best friend, but I had to go through absolute crap to get to him. Now I cannot picture my life without him in it. My kids are at really fun and interesting ages, and they're all so smart and fun to be around. I have wonderful family and friends, and I am so blessed in that respect.

I have major things to worry and stress about and wake up in the middle of the night several times a week having a panic attack over...but many of us do. Life has to go on, so you deal with it, and you make it work. I have been getting better at this. I have to work at it, but I don't let things get to me as much as I used to, and I'm proud of my progression.

This is my final year in school to become an Occupational Therapy Assistant. I want to become an Occupational Therapist, but that requires a Master's degree. I'm starting here so I can get to work, gain experience in the field, and work more directly with people. I can apply for the Master's program after a year in the field, and it will require more hard work and sacrifice--but I am so beyond excited that this is the career path I've chosen. This is the perfect fit for me. It took me a long time to get here, but the combination of being an educator, a counselor, a nurse, and more--PERFECT career for me. I considered all of those fields, but I always knew they weren't quite right. This is for me, without a doubt. The holistic approach, the diversity of patients, the opportunities--the helping people--this is for me. I am nearly in tears writing this because it means so much to me that I've finally found the direction my life is meant to take. I will truly be making a difference, and I can't ask for more than that.

The classroom hours are long, the fieldwork includes travel and being away from my family, and the workload is intense. But we as a family are going to make it work, and it'll all be worth it when all is said and done. Without a doubt.

So I thank my husband, for being an amazing partner and father, and working with me to make this dream of mine a reality while he goes to school full time as well to fulfill his dream of being an educator. I thank my children, for being understanding when I'm tired, busy with schoolwork, or have to be gone for a few days for fieldwork. This is for their future, just as much as it is for mine. They know, because we tell them every day, that they are the most important people in the world to Mom and Dad. They know that everything we do is for them, and so we're teaching them to be tolerant of the time we have to do what we have to do so that they can have the best life we can give them, just as our parents did for us--which is why I thank them too. It may have taken my husband and myself a little while to find our paths, but we wouldn't be the people we are without our families.

I thank all of my extended family members who helped me throughout the years, my aunts and uncles who drove home the importance of reading, of traveling, of family support.

I thank my grandparents. My grandma has been gone since May 28, 2011, but I know she's always watching. She inspired me to choose this path, and the tears that threatened to fall earlier do now as I write this. She's absolutely my angel, and was just as much as when she was on this earth as she is now.

I am so blessed, and motivated, and passionate about being the best I can be, and helping as many people as I can. When it comes down to it, we are all in this together in this crazy world, and if we can make it just a little bit easier for our fellow humans, why wouldn't we?

I'm definitely on the right path. Now I just need to buckle up for the bumps ahead, and remember to enjoy the ride.

Living in Fear

Once again, life got in the way, and I neglected the blog for several months. That's okay. I'll start from right now.

I had a facebook post recently about the things people complain about. It's a pet peeve. I understand life's little annoyances, but a little perspective is never a bad thing. My family is in the best place it's been yet as far as general life stuff. School, work, family, home, health, it's all fantastic. I am beyond grateful for all of this. This is the stuff that matters.

However, this is also a terrible time for us. I wonder what it's like to NOT have to live in fear. I wonder what it's like to be able to share pictures of your family and joyous occasions on social media sites. I wonder what it's like to not have to look over your shoulder everywhere you go. There's someone who wishes us harm, who's trying to find us. And he's close. I don't want to go into more detail right now. I'm just trying to be strong.

ADD...Sort of...

I have a confession.

I have career ADD.

Those of you who know me will laugh, because I really have changed my mind a thousand times. I'm excited for the degree I'm currently pursuing, but I'm already thinking beyond that. The reason I got my A.A., and am now pursuing a career for which I need an A.A.S., is because I want to do so many things in this life. I used to think I would get a Master's or Doctorate in whatever (it's been a million different things since childhood)...but I realized that I have so many diverse interests, it would be foolish to limit myself too much.

The other thing? I LOVE school. Absolutely adore being a student. I'm only slightly looking forward to having the summer off (phase two of my program doesn't begin until the fall semester, as many Allied health programs are apt). I would take more classes just for fun this semester, but I've already taken so many credits that my school has limited the amount of financial aid I have left (for the record, this makes sense from a financial standpoint, but pisses me off from a scholarly one).

I'll finish this degree, and hopefully be able to get a job in my field fairly quickly after graduation. After a few years though, I know I'll be itching for my next career conquest.

I look forward to constant change and freshness. I want to make a big difference in this world, and I am confident that I will--even if that just means for a few people--or a few million.

The future is mine.

Home of My Heart

When I was born, I was my mother's first child. My mom was sixteen when she got pregnant with me, and she and my dad married when she was about 5 months along. My mother was the youngest of nine children, in a family with six boys and three girls. She was definitely the baby of the family. We lived in my grandparents' house because my mom was so young, and so, the first child of a new mother became, in essence, the tenth child of a very experienced one.

It's Christmas Eve, and my grandma has been gone four days shy of seven months. Grandpa brought her ashes to my house tonight, so she can be here to celebrate with us. When he leaves, he tells me she can stay the night here, and I can bring her to the big family Christmas celebration tomorrow. I'm so touched, I can barely choke out that I'll take care of her. She spent her whole life taking care of me and everyone else in this family. And as frequently as she started sentences with, "When I'm gone...", you would think that I actually would've realized that someday, she really wouldn't be there, still taking care of everyone. But despite that, here she sits, on my desk, watching over me--just like I know she always, always will. 

When I was two years old, we moved out of my grandparents' house--to a trailer in their yard, 30 yards away from their front door. When I was six, we moved--my mom, dad, and then two-year-old brother, three houses down from my grandparents. Three houses down, and you would've thought they were trying to move me to another continent. I hated it. I referred to it at Jerry and Peggy's house (the former owners) for the first several months, until I got in trouble. I didn't want to leave my home. I didn't want to leave my grandma and grandpa.

 I won't be able to tell everything tonight, because I'm not ready for that yet--but I can start. 


When I was fourteen years old, we were tasked with writing an essay for English class, about a place that was special to us. There wasn't a doubt in my mind of where that was for me. This is what I wrote:

     My grandparents have a large house full of dusty old cardboard boxes--many of them forgotten in the attic or out of sight and out of mind in the basement. The rest of the house is full of parrots: Indian Ringnecks, macaws, African Greys, and other exotic birds. My grandma is always baking cookies and cakes. My grandpa always has a funny joke or story to tell. The house is pulsating with life and full of love. 
     The house has meant so much to me in so many ways throughout my whole life. There I learned to ride a bicycle, to cross-stitch, to bake. There I gather with my family to celebrate holidays. There I fostered my love of reading. My grandparents constantly bought me books. I learned of nature in my grandma's flower gardens. Much of who I am has come from my experiences in that house. 
     Responsibility was just one of the virtues my grandparents instilled in me. I learned to feed and water the birds, and to keep their cages clean. All living things need love to prosper, and in that house, they do. I grew knowledgeable about exotic birds and was introduced to my favorite bird, the Scarlet macaw, in that house. I can feed and handle small baby birds because of the patience my grandparents taught me. 
     One of my absolute favorite things about the house, however, is the history it contains. Those old cardboard boxes are full of photo albums, report cards, diaries, and other interesting items. My grandfather also collects antiques, so it's like stepping into the past whenever I look through the boxes. I've learned of my family's past, my heritage, my ancestors, and my roots from the contents of those boxes. I've played with toys that belonged to my mother and her eight brothers and sisters. I've read old books, and played dress up with old clothes. 
     The house is not special because of its location or architectural structure. It's special because it's a home away from home. It always smells like something sweet and warm. It can make me happy no matter what kind of miserable day I've had. It's a safe haven...like no other place I've ever been. It holds two of the most important people in my life--my grandparents. 
     All of my friends love my grandparents' house, too. Those who don't have grandparents refer to mine as theirs, also. Anyone who enters the house instantly feels relaxed, comfortable, and at home. My grandparents and the house itself have that effect on people. This is a place to grow and learn--to leave the outside world behind. My fears and anxiety melt away when I'm in that house, surrounded by love, peace, and happiness. The house is like therapy within itself--a utopia. 
     Who I am and what I am are composed of many different things, but that house is a part of me. All the things I've learned, all the books I've read, all the photographs I've looked at, and the stories I've heard make me a better, more caring person. The significance that old house has had has been to make me the best that I can be--pushing me out into the world, while always remaining constant and true for me to come back to. 


**Grandpa encouraged me to enter my essay in a Grandparents' Day contest that the local newspaper was having. I won. This is me, age 14, reading my essay to my grandparents at the award luncheon.**

This, this place, this old farmhouse in all of its chipped-paint glory, is the home of my heart. I wouldn't have it any other way. But I've come to realize over the years, and especially in the months since my grandmother's death, that so very, very much of the magic of that house came from her. Even the jokes and funny stories that I wrote about in my essay are few and far between from Grandpa these days. Who can blame him? Sixty years is a lifetime. Nine children, over forty grandchildren, and I don't even know how many great grandchildren. A lifetime. And as a woman who now has three children of of my own, and a husband who I'll have my own sixty years with if I'm half as lucky as my grandparents were, I know that as sure as that old house still stands--the one that my mother, myself, and my two oldest babies were born in--that it's my grandma who will always be the true home of my heart.

Taking a Moment...

I haven't written in a long time again. Things are about to change, in ways I don't want to think about, but have to face. I have to prepare myself for the worst, and hope for the best. I just wanted to get through the holidays without worrying about this mess, but unfortunately, it reared it's ugly head. Oh, well. I knew it was coming...but just for a few minutes, before I bury myself in more studying and projects for finals, I will breathe. I will think about the good things in my life, and I will be grateful for the way things are, right now, in this moment...

My Eye Exam

Optometrist: Is this clearer, or blurrier?

Me: It's still blurry.

Optometrist: What about this?

Me: It's blurry. Maybe there's some condensation on the lens?

Optometrist: Oh, let me wipe it off. Here you go. Now, how's this?

Me, laughing nervously: Well, that's blurry too.

Optometrist. Okay...one, or two?

Me, pulling back to blink a few times: They're both fuzzy.

Optometrist: Let's wipe that off again. Okay, let's try this again. One, or two?

Me, wiping my eyes: I can't focus. I don't...I don't know. They both still look fuzzy to me. I've never had this happen before.

Optometrist: Okay, come on out here.

I blindly follow. I have always had terrible nearsightedness. I have an astigmatism in my right eye. I found out during a retinal scan at another eye exam two years ago that I had undiagnosed, and therefore untreated, amblyopia as a child. It wasn't apparent, since I didn't have the characteristic "lazy eye" look, but it's made my vision much worse. 

Optometrist: We're going to take a picture of your eye. Have a seat here.

Optician: Ok, just look at the blinking light. You'll see the flash when I take the picture.

I'm blinded even further by the dazzling flash aimed at my eyes. I get pictures of both eyes taken, then sit back, rubbing my eyes again. I put my glasses back on, and blink at the image of my eye, blown up to show the detail. I stare at it on the screen, about 20 inches tall, and even though my vision is still blurred, somehow I know something is wrong. 

Optician, pointing with her pen to the area around the image of my macula on the screen: Dr., is this...

Optometrist: Well, let me take a closer look.

He looks at the screen, then turns to me slowly. My heart starts beating a little faster. 

Optometrist: Does anyone in your family have macular degeneration?

Me: Yes, my grandma had it.

My heart is in my throat as he points to the area on the screen that the optician had indicated. 

Optometrist: Well, this is drusen. They're deposits around the retina. It's early stage macular degeneration.

Me: I...what?

Optometrist: You're much too young for this to be happening.

Me: What am I supposed to do?

I'm in a half-state of shock. One of my greatest fears is going blind. I once accidentally put in my husband's contacts (he has much better vision than me, so everything appeared very blurry) and I called him, my mom, and my best friend crying, thinking that I was going blind. It was funny at the time, but now...

Optometrist: It can't be reversed. You need to take daily vitamins, fish oil supplements, and eat a diet low in bad fats and high in good ones. Frequent cardiovascular exercise and staying in good shape are imperative.

I tell him I eat pretty well and exercise already, but he tells me I have to do more. He starts discussing atherosclerosis and the evils of the American diet, but I'm still having a hard time wrapping my mind around this. All I can think of is what a hard time Grandma had with her macular degeneration...and how she didn't develop it until later in life...so what the hell was going on with me? 

Optometrist: We need to continue to take pictures to track what's going on. You're just really, really too young for this.

He looks at me sympathetically. He tells me if there's anything they can do for me, to let them know. I just look at him. What am I supposed to say? How the hell do I know what I need? He picks up my chart and makes a notation on it.

Optometrist, looking at my chart: Well, this certainly changes things.

I look at the optician. She's silent. I think she suspected some issues when she did the initial examination. I can tell she feels bad for me. The atmosphere has changed. There's a heaviness in the silence. I manage make my follow up appointment and make it out to the car before I start to cry. I call my mom, and drive the couple of minutes home to my husband. I cry to both of them. I tell my husband that thing that scares me most is not being able to see my children's faces, or someday, my grandkids'. He holds me and lets me get the tears out. We look up more information, including the foods I need to eat for optimal eye health. I tell him I'm afraid of the heredity factor, because I don't want any of our kids to have it. There's obviously nothing I can do, but I feel terrible. 

How someone with advanced macular degeneration sees: 

As macular degeneration develops, clear, normal vision (shown. left) becomes impaired by a general haziness. With advanced macular degeneration, a blind spot forms at the center of your visual field (shown right)

The main things affected by macular degeneration are reading (horrible, I love to read), driving (self-explanatory), and my biggest fear: recognition of faces. While I'm not going to go blind next week, we really don't know what the outcome is going to be. I have such bad vision and so many other issues already. To top it off, my nearsightedness has drastically changed for the worse since my last exam. Even though it can't be reversed, I'm hoping I can improve my odds of diminished central visual acuity for as long as possible by doing all the "right" things. It's scary, though. I'm only 27 years old. I really am way too young for this.

When Things Come Together...

...it's easier to not fall apart. I feel compelled to share my experience with Postpartum depression. PPD affects a lot of women--probably more than even realize what they're experiencing. The CDC reports up to 20%, but those are just the ones who've sought help. It could be much higher. I experienced a horrible bout of PPD after my twins, but it took me almost six months to get diagnosed. Everyone experiences it in different ways. Mine was intense anger. Intense. I didn't think about hurting my babies, although that can be common in PPD. My anger was directed at everyone else around me. Nobody seemed to understand, nobody seemed willing to help, and severe lack of sleep and support took their toll. I had trouble breastfeeding, so I suffered feelings of inadequacy, and was really angry at myself too. Looking back, I could've had more help, especially from my grandparents, if I wouldn't have had such an overwhelming fear of letting go of some of the control. I felt that something would happen to my babies if I let them out of my sight for too long. My parents helped some in the first weeks, but right around that time, they got divorced. I was in isolation from friends, partially from having just moved back to my hometown before getting pregnant, partially from being on bedrest literally the entire second half of the pregnancy, and partially because of my age--the early 20s can be an awkward time to have children.

This time, things have been different. I still experienced PPD with my six month-old, but I'm positive that a LARGE part of that was because my grandmother was sick in the hospital from the time he was a few weeks old. She passed away when he was just five weeks old. My grandma helped raise me, she was a huge part of my life. I still can't believe she's gone most days, and I'm still grieving. The point is, I got treatment much sooner this time, at about four weeks from delivery. I still had trouble breastfeeding, but I tried, and was able to deal with it better when I realized I just wasn't providing enough nutrition. I still have my bad days, but there's a world of difference from last time. I'm older. I have experience (and yes, one is SO much easier than two!). I have a mellow baby who was born about a month further along in development than his siblings. I have my husband, who is the best father I could possibly hope for for my children. I have experienced so much more, and have learned there's always a light at the other end of the tunnel. This time, I can breathe. I can laugh. I can let things go.

If you think you might be experiencing PPD, please, please get checked out. Too many families have suffered. Too many mothers have lost out on valuable bonding time with their babies. Too many children have gotten seriously injured, or worse. It's not a shameful thing, it happens. With treatment and time, it does get better--but without them, it could result in tragedy. Talk about it, get support, and get help.