Turn around

I am writing this on behalf of all diabetics,and anyone related to, or even an acquaintance of a diabetic.
I do not know what it is like to be a diabetic. Don’t stop reading, I am not done.
I do not have to watch what I eat, calculate how many carbs vs. exercise or inject myself with animal or human made insulin.
I do not have to prick my finger several times a day to check my blood sugar.
I have never had a seizure due to low blood sugar.
Or have the military tell me I am unworthy because of my medical condition.

I have though, seen as a very close bystander to the horrors.

November 22 2007 was the first Thanksgiving that fell on my fathers death anniversary. It was also the first time my husband openly tried to take his life using his insulin.
Let that sink in.
Here I am , in the worst excuse for an apartment I have ever entered ,almost willingly. When you entered my apartment all you saw was my living room and my kitchen. The only way to get to the bathroom( which leaked on my downstairs neighbor) was through my bedroom. It had dollar store linoleum squares on the entry way and kitchen that we had to keep re-glueing. And one whole wall was painted brick. Not painted like”Busy City Loft” or even cute rustic look painted, but solid white. Our ceiling was caving in ,in so many sporadic areas we had to keep moving our precious television so it didn’t get rained on during the wet season(year) of Washington.
I had one area of countertop in my kitchen;a whole whopping two feet of area. Ari and I danced around our tiny kitchen prepping thanksgiving dinner while Tim slept. Tim sleeping in until noon was nothing for us to be concerned with at the time. Newly blind his depression was crippling. He went from a man who was on his way to making 100 grand in a year, to a guy scraping by on social security. He was horridly depressed. his depression kept him in bed all day for almost two years.
When I finally ventured in to see if he wanted to join us all I saw was a blur of sheets as his body quaked. Then I saw it. The needle and vial next to his pillow. He had purposely overdosed. I quickly ran to the living room and got some cartoons on for Ariana, and snatched his glucagon kit.
Since he was seizing I had to wait it out a bit or else the needle would break. His body is so thin and boney I need the muscles to be relaxed. While I waited I wiped down his sweat with towels and ensured his head was protected. Quite honestly I know I am supposed to watch all limbs, but to me the head is a bit more important than an arm. Take his arm, he needs his head , at least that I my logic. After a few minutes he slowed his rapid movements enough that I could finally administer the shot.
When he came to he started to cry. Why did I care? Why did I give him the glucagon? Why wouldn’t I just let him die? Why?
I felt so selfish. Yet I cannot take back, nor do I want to take back ,giving him the shot. He is my husband.

When he goes low I am attacked. Normally I know it is going to happen so I send the kids to their room until it is over. Ariana has seen the seizures, but ever the viciousness prior to. He has bitten me on my face, pulled my hair, scratched me, punched me, thrown objects at me, spit on me, and he also says horrid things. Every name under the sun that you can think of .Even with some entertaining adverbs prior too. This is also his favorite time to tell me how he wants a divorce,or how he never loved me, and his most favorite “you are nothing more to me then a little ‘b!tch that gets me coffee” I am not allowed to be offended. He doesn’t recall doing anything like that. So I have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.

I think he tried it again. He denies it, but after that episode I have lost my trust with this ‘go low’ business. He keep talking about how this is the year he will die. He also has the handy dandy (massively annoying,time consuming ) insulin pump now. All he needs to give himself insulin is push a button.
Last night he was irritated that our children acted like children at the grocery store. Plus the added stress of going out to eat with our lovely louder then life Ryker,and our “sir throws a lot”Lincoln, he was frazzled. He didn’t see the half of it thankfully! How do you approach a man and tell him “sir, I am sorry but my son threw his macaroni in a fit of joy and one landed in your hair”. You don’t normally, you just pay, tip way to much and run for the door. Which we did. I know, I let this guy who was probably on his first date, sit there with my son’s macaroni in his hair,I am a horrid person.
After the absolute joy of spending time with the family Tim was done. He said he never wants to go out of the house ever again with the boys.( yes Ariana was there but she is a seemingly good child most of the time,no food of hers flew anywhere) I never want to take them anywhere either. I do get a lot of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ over there unmissable cuteness, their personalities together are too much for the public eye.
Tim was silent the whole way home. The only sound was the beeping of his insulin pump. I thought it was odd but nothing worth stopping the car and fraking out over. When we arrived home his blood sugar was 53 ( low) and he said he wanted a shower. He didn’t want any juice or anything so I thought I better give him a minute to shower and get over the fact that kids are tiresome. About ten minutes into his shower I hear some thumping.I thought he was just being a jerk and throwing a fit. This is where I failed as a wife. I dismissed it and kept picking up my house. It was pretty rhythmic after a few minutes, and a panic set in. I dashed over to his pump and it said he had 12 active units. 12! When you are low you need 0 active units and sugar. 12 will kill you if you are already dropping.
His bathroom door was locked so as I picked it( a talent I got from my con artist bio dad) I had Ari grab the shot and tester. At this point I could hear him moaning. I knew it was bad. Finally after the longest thirty seconds of my life I burst in door to see my naked husband wrapped up in the shower curtain seizing in the tub. Ari grabbed the two boys and headed to their room. I unwrapped him and then I saw the blood. He was covered in blood. Still seizing I tried to get him out of the tub and I couldnt do it. I rewrapped his lower half and had Ari try to help me. It didn’t work. We ended up just filling the tub with a few blankets to ease the pounding. After the shot was given he took an hour to finally communicate. He swears it wasn’t suicide. Or an attempt. If I had ignored him like he wanted ,who knows what would have happened. He could have died naked wrapped up in a shower curtain.
Dear diabetics, although I do not feel your pain, or know exactly what it is that you go through. I have seen the anguish. I have seen the highs and lows. I have seen a man’s body go from vibrant and mobile to a blind amputated sedentary shell. Listening in envy as the other men we know play with their kids and strike home runs on their church baseball team. I have held that hand.
Just do one thing, think of this as a plead from all your friends and family members. Insulin suicide is not the answer. I won’t bring God into this,even though He is everything to me. If you die due to diabetic complication you leave at least one person in utter and complete guilt. If you choose this method , whoever cares for you( and I do not mean strictly just in the caregiver sense) will forever feel as if they should have found you sooner. Life gets better. I know this. I used to live in a cockroach infested , crackhouse apartment and now live in a messy home that maybe someday I will own. The doctors do get what you are going through. Only those you love and love you can even get the slightest hint as to the horror of this silent disease. I am not going to go over this and re-read this in fear that my message to you will be tainted. I think I have said what I need to say, and hope you heard me.

Walk for a cure

So Ari and I are planing on walking the 5k multiple times to walk for a cure of renal failure.
Join my team or donate here!
Join or Donate Here

Letting Go

My daughter just turned nine. She is halfway to society’s vision of the adult age. She is young , vivacious, and still plays with dolls. Not baby dolls, don’t get me wrong here, but Barbie type dolls. Yet as young as she looks, and as young as she acts, she is growing up. My darling little girl is half way to her adult decline.
Watching her grow this past year has been difficult. Where her legs grow longer, her hearing has grown less effective. As her feet grow, her value in my opinion seems to be overshadowed by her own.
All I want for her, as an adult, is to be happy and healthy. I do not care if she ever marries, or has tons of children. I chose that life for me, she doesn’t have too. I hope she chooses a different life then I did. I love my life, but the road I took to end up where I am was hard, and I could have made better decisions.
She has already picked out her wedding dress, planned her wedding, picked her husband main attributes. She has her vision of who he is already. All little girls do this.
My mother married a man prior to the man who raised me. He ended up being more like a dark looming thought more than anything else for me. I rarely saw him, and if I did it was stories of how wonderful he was. All these stories coming from his own mouth, so who can really gauge the merit on that. She ended up divorcing this man when I was too young to know any different life and remarried the man who raised me. I had 15 blissful years with him before he was taken from us.
I followed my mother’s footsteps in a way. I married a man,had a baby,then remarried. My biggest fear is that Ariana will do the same. The fear she will marry a man who becomes sick and leaves her keeps me up at night. I want to tell her to not marry a diabetic, but who am I to tell her who to marry or not? Is that discrimination? To have a fear that my daughter will also marry a man who will leave her and beg she chooses someone I didn’t?
Is that me saying Tim is not an upstanding man? Is that me saying that I have regrets? I don’t have regrets in marrying Tim. I don’t , believe me. The life I
chose to live is not something I would wish on my own child. We ARE happy, we do love each other, he is what I wanted in most senses of a little girls dream. But I do not want my daughter looking into her future and seeing nothing but fleeting possibility.
That being said brings me to the main point. I am letting go. Letting go of what I thought I wanted and comparing who Tim and I are ,to who I wanted us to be.
Today at church I saw a couple during worship ever so slightly holding hands. I know church is where you come to learn about God, and to worship and praise him. The fact that they were worshiping yet touching each other ever so slightly was beautiful. I almost took a picture. Yet I am sure my phone would have made a loud noise and I would have been glared at. The thing is, is I wanted that.
Once upon a time when I was young ,back when my barbies were fighting over who was married to Ken and before they all died of AIDS…..yes I understand how sick that is. It was all over the news and quite honestly my friends and I were odd. Back all those years ago I had dreams of being married so long our picture would end up in the Guinness Book of World Records. I wanted to be so old with my husband that people thought we looked alike.
As a child I would watch couples hold hands and banter back and forth and I imagined my life like that. Now Tim is blind. He doesn’t hold my hand, he holds my arm for guidance. He doesn’t open my door , I open his. I carry the heavy loads because he is busy trying to stay balance due to lack of stability.

We have all seen Titanic and know the real couple that stole the show was the older couple who died holding each other. If you have yet to see the movie, oops spoiler alert,and quite honestly don’t even bother watching it. I wanted to be like that couple. Not in the suicide pact , give up on life and let the ocean suck us under kind of way. In the ” hey we are old and I want to hold you until I die” freak kind of way.
During the Christmas rush this heavy sadness hit me. I saw grandparents shopping for their grandchildren and I know that I will never have that. You may think that my husband getting a transplant will cause him to live normal and forever. It doesn’t. Most transplants like the one my husbands needs last only 5-10 years. That means considering our age he would need four to eight surgeries to get him into his 80’s. That is if we get one today.
I have a confession. Most of my friends are married. No that’s not the confession. I used to be jealous of them. They all have husbands who hold their hands. Why do they get to be seen, or hold hands , or grow old while I wake up to seizures, while I am unseen and used as a guide instead of held like a woman should be? Why do some grow old and some are forced into an early demise? I am letting that go. No more comparing and feeling envious of them. I am letting go the dream of growing old wi my husband. I am not giving up. I am altering my path. I am letting go of the thought of growing old with the father to my children. My husband. If we get the chance to survive this then I will relish it. But as of today, I am not longer held hostage by the stupid little girls dreams of years ago.
This has been a hard process for me. This “letting go”. Who wants to give up on their dreams? Someone who knows even the simple wishes and dreams are ridicules and unable to be achieved. Holding hands, Christmas shopping for the grandchildren, who wants to do that anyway? I did. I won’t be able to. Regardless of the turn out.
What I do have that most do not though is amazing. My husband trusts me enough to let me guide him. Yet I have walked him pelvis first into big rods before. He trusts me anyway. We flow well together,no awkward bumping , we follows my body language and knows how I move when I am approaching a turn or a steep hill. We may not have forever together , but we have now. A lot of people don’t live for now. They live for the future. Someday we will yadda yadda, one day we will blah blah. We get our yadda yadda blahs now. If you know Tim and I , we yadda blah pretty well together. I am letting go of what everyone else seemingly has, and embracing what I do.

Only cool guys where helmets

Today started last night, with the highs and lows of Tim’s blood sugar. He started out down in his 30’s , spiked to unreadable,and then dropped again. Typical Tuesday night. Needless to say, today was one of those days I am ok with his being blind so he didn’t have to see my bed head all day.
By morning he was throwing up and cramping. Never a fun time,from what I have heard. After massive monitoring he is finally level. I have no idea the havoc this caused his kidneys. I am not sure I really want to know right now.

But on a good note…..my Lincoln got his helmet today! It is light blue and he has to wear it 23 hours a day. It matches his eyes. He seems to not mind it too much.

Help me think of some decor for it! I tend to be almost crafty. So if you have any ideas on how to decorate it leave me a comment!

Thin Line

Let me just say I am sorry. I have not kept up with this like I had originally anticipated. The weight of the world has overwhelmed me. My husband has had conflicting answers from doctors. I am lost and honestly wallowing in doubt for our future.
I am a Christian. I believe in God,in Jesus and the whole shebang. There are many things that can make you personally question God’s intentions. I have had my share. I am sure you have also. I am not saying that I promote doubt. Doubt is a very sad place to be.
My husband is dying. I tell everyone I meet. This is just something I randomly blurt out for no reason. There is nothing it really does for me,other then I guess it is my mouth filters not working. The people tend to think I am lying, or crazy. They frown at me, like I am a emaciated dog and they are out of biscuits.
I think I am done telling people. I have no idea what I want out of it. Maybe an answer? Advice? A cure? Or a reason as to why my husband has die.
I said it. We are all thinking it. I know people have snuggled next to their spouses and whispered about how sad it is that my husband is going to die. How sad it is that I will be alone with my hoard of kids that seem to multiply every year. I know it happens. I would whisper to my husband if I knew someone in our situation.
On a good note his sugars are under better control. He seems to be in better spirits. He is also on antidepressants, but hey at least he isn’t sobbing or yelling. On a bad note, his gfr dropped. If you remember the gfr is the percentage of kidney function left. And his protein levels in his urine has drastically increased.
You and I are normal at below 30. My husband shoots out around 782. That’s not a good thing. Also his face is puffy when he wakes up, he is weak,he sleeps all day, and he says he is having a hard time breathing. Along with the fact that he ins winded by walking to his recliner, these are all signs that point,scream shout and beg for a transplant. Yet I get a slight nod, or a frown from his doctors. Nothing is going to change there. Nothing.
My husband will not make the list.
I have been raised to never look to science,to only seek God. My father was very adamant on never crossing the thin veiled line. Science is bad, it is not an answer. Yet he chose chemo, and radiation. Odd since I was taught to trust God,not science. Now though, now I question everything. Science didn’t help my dad. He died anyway. Science seems to be screaming that my husband is a walking time bomb. Yet I am supposed to sit in my church seats and know God will heal him.
He didn’t heal my dad. Not blaming God, but it is a fact. My dad died. Science and Faith,and yet he died. So what do we do now? I guess we continue on, walking the thin line. Sometimes faith is too widespread to fit into one hole.
And all you who read this shocked by me saying this, don’t bother correcting me. We all use science everyday. The gas in our car, the electricity , everything. So don’t even bother. I am not saying I don’t have faith in God. I am just saying sometimes you misstep. Sometimes you look at things from different views and it seems impossible.
If my husband is cured, you better believe I will credit God before science. And if he isn’t,well , I guess we will just cross that bridge then.

Dear you

Dear diabetes

You and I may not be the best of friends. Although that is the case I need to let you know some things before we continue this evil dance we do. You see, you have invaded my husbands body. I know you think ” but you guys used to fight,you argued,you don’t even spend time together”. But hear me out before you think we are not close.
My husband and I have been broke, as in -300 in the bank and avoiding phone calls broke. We survived it. We even gave our daughter a christmas. He held my hand during this time,we whispered to each other at night. We even (gasp) ignored you and decided to buy shoes for her,and dinner for her , cause that was more important then supplying you with your tainted disgusting metallic smelling insulin. We don’t do not have regrets either, which may honestly hurt your feelings,but as you will find out, I don’t care.
I don’t care what you have done to his eyes,his teeth, or his metabolism.i don’t care that we have to test his blood sugar,and avoid certain foods. I don’t care that making him a cake for his birthday is ridiculous because you sit inside festering. I don’t care.
My husband and I have dealt with death before. We have lost many people together. We both broke down. We cried,we scream,and wept silently. We held hands during this time too. Maybe you too busy destroying him from the inside out to notice that even at our lowest,we were connected.
We went through blindness. I have you to thank for that. No serious,honestly thank you. You see he worked too much,we almost broke apart. But your interference bound us together.your little scheme didn’t work this time. Although you almost brought him to his death at this time, he over came this,and I was there holding his hand.
Yes, you have put us through a ton of random horrible things. But I never hated you until his doctor told me because of you,our family would stay small. But once again God came through and gave us not one,but two wonderful boys. You must have been livid. Yet here we sit,in our little house , with our large family you tried to prevent. Your sick scheme to hurt us didn’t prevail.
I am writing you to let you know I am not done fighting you. We won’t back down,you know we never really have. You see ,when Tim met me he had a purpose. Suddenly he had a reason to fight you. I have been your biggest enemy. I always will be.
We will win this war you have started in his body. You cannot take him completely. I won’t let you do this with out a fight. I would say exactly what I think of you,but I have been going to church lately and quite honestly I can’t think of words to replace the ones I want to use. I assume you understand my meaning.
If you do win, if you do succeed in taking him. I promise you I will be that woman who has a vendetta. I will walk,run,ride, scream, beg to get the funds to destroy you. I would make it my mission to never allow you to destroy one more person from the inside out. You,diabetes, can either stay your course and run into my wrath of fury I will bestow upon you, or you can go away like a dog with his tail between his legs. Either way I will win.
Just thought you should know before you try to continue. Seizures my dear, high blood sugars my dear, kidneys my dear, teeth sight, no babies…. Try your best. I will win,just you wait. Keep pushing me. I still have my husband, he still holds my hand,you have yet to win this homicidal war. You won’t win, not even if you try.
Danielle Renee Lomax

Not our last Father’s day.

Fathers day this year I could not help but feel the similarities between my mom and I. October 11th 2001 my dad Vincent was diagnosed with brain cancer. He left us November 22nd 2002. Leaving my mother who was barely starting out her life with him and had plans of traveling the country and going to dog shows ,so he could do his ridicules golf clap when her dog won. He left my brother who was barely 13, and still playing Pokemon. He left me at 17, right when a little girl needs her dad to tell off boys.
My dad struggled for 13 months with radiation and seizures. After they did the biopsy to confirm it was cancerous, which to me was complete ridicules, it’s a tumor in the brain folks. Take it out or kill it. But they couldn’t. He passed away any way. People told my mom to have hope. People told my brother and I to have hope. Honestly I think that is all people said to Matt( my brother) and I. We just sat there bright eyed and lost while everyone spoke with mom. Which is perfectly fine because we were children and honestly if someone started really talking deep to us they might have worried a bit too much at our massive innocence.
We had the picture perfect life my brother and I. Dad worked weekends to afford the two week vacations we took every year. My mom worked hard to provide us with our extracurricular activities. We played in the back yard with our dogs. Matt and I always had anything and everything we ever wanted. Everything but a picket fence. If there was a possibility that my dad could have one upped the neighbors and built a white picket fence ,he would have.
October 11 th our world crashed around our feet. Leaving us with the rubble of the fact that they had a daughter,who was scared of being ugly and terrified of boys. And leaving a shy 13 year old boy who was more innocent then most. My mother, who I had always thought was the strongest woman on earth,cried herself to sleep. My dad changed from this God fearing,loving man who screamed Shit in church….yes he screamed it in church. I cannot help but think that was the only highlight of those horrible 13 months. Mr.Perfect Vince said a bad word,not in the quiet confines of his home,but the solid walls of the church.
Everyone thought he was the greatest,most funny guy they had ever met. He did jam street for the kids in bad neighborhoods, he helped the children’s pastor on Sundays. He golfed with all the ‘uppers’ of the church. But he flipped his lid if Matt or I walked in his freshly laid beauty bark,or wore our shoes in the house. He would literally sit and scrub were we stepped in the house. He was a bit obsessive.But we love him, my mom relied on him. He promised her,like Tim did, to just be there. But he left.
My mom came to visit us, originally to meet Mr. Lincoln. But when we received the news on that Monday prior,I think our plans changed a bit. Yes she wants to spend time with my newest addition,but she also wanted to make sure Tim was ready to fight. Not that she or I don’t trust him,but his track record for this kind of fight is not very convincing.
In 2004 Tim lost his right eye to blindness, his car literally broke a piston, he lost his job, then he lost his fight. At this time I was a silly 18 year old girl who had just had a baby and was infatuated with his blue eyes and blond floppy hair. I mean come on he was 25 with a sports car,a job with the word supervisor, a history of amazing ventures, and his own apartment. He was gold to me. I was hooked.
That was about two months into us dating, when he lost everything other then the silly girl who had just had a baby. His depression hit so hard I think his body turned on him,his blood pressure dropped,and his stomach couldn’t digest food. I thought he was going to die. He made it though. He started to fight when he realized I wasn’t going anywhere,and I loved him even if he was pushing me away.
Then two years into our marriage he lost his other eye. The doctors called NLP. No light perception. I can put a fog light up to his face, turn it on,and he doesn’t know the difference. He lost his mind that year. He stayed in bed,and let the depression take hold. After two years I told him to get out,get up,get dressed,and stop acting as if you have nothing. I think he had forgotten that he is loved.
This time though,faced with bad news, Tim is shining. He has three kids who he wants to grow up with. He has me who has learned to cook a good meal once or twice a week. He has a mortgage and we promised Ari she never has to move again. He has to fight. He knows this.
My mother lost her dad also. So here we are two generations with out our earthly fathers,celebrating my children’s dad. June financially killed us. We do not have much of an income anyway, but you add extra trips to Phoenix,and a circumcision, a higher water bill,and more electricity, and we are sitting pretty in our house until payday. So for fathers we didn’t go running to sears for the newest tool. Instead we bbqed some steaks and made potato salad. Which for Tim is the greatest gift ever,next to tools.
I felt bad that possibly the last fathers day I couldn’t go and buy him the new face razor,or a new set of sockets that he would eventually lose. I wanted him to know how much he means to us. Honestly his new diet restrictions have helped us in the lackluster attempts at fathers day. He is only allowed one serving of red meat a week,so steak was a great idea. Tim is that guy who always says he doesn’t want anything. He was happy to just sit with his family and eat good food. He is amazing.
We did end up getting him some new shorts,and my mom bought him licorice. So he wasn’t completely with out material presents. That is my favorite thing about Tim. Even of he wants a Lexus,and for us to have the coolest clothes,and all the new gadgets that come out, he wants it for us. He is happy with just a warm edible meal. My cool,sports car driving, always has his hair to perfection man is way more simple then I had ever imagined. He gave up everything for us,so we can have it all,so we can be happy.Our happiness is his joy.
Fathers day, the day most dads get a tie,or a wallet to leave empty in their pockets, or a new wrench. Fathers day when most dads want to watch the game. Fathers day,and my hubby is thrilled with just listening to kids laugh. I could not have asked for a better husband. He is the best father. This will not be our last fathers day. It just cannot happen. Not to three generations. I hope.because there is always hope.

Unexpectations

Life tends to throw you curve balls. Like, when I got the call at work from my husband telling me to hurry and come to the hospital. He had contracted MRSA and they said he might lose his leg. Or the day he proposed I was on my way out to move back with my mom. Then there is the day he called me from a 7-11 and he said he could no longer see to drive. Our life has been filled with unexpectations.
Tim and I have always considered ourselves as little people. No,actually I am lying. Tim has always thought we are the hot shots,while I thought we were the peons. we live a very modest life. We have a nice home that is filled with more toys and love then furniture. Our walls display the hand marks of Tim and the children. Our kitchen is always full,but we tend to never have enough clean towels. We don’t have much in regards to material things, but our house is filled with what’s important.
Nothing thus far has really stuck with a plan. We tried for four years to have a second child. Tim and I counted days,took tests,and tried to the point where trying was no longer fun. We gave up. God had given us a gorgeous little girl,Ariana Skye. She is well behaved, kind,empathetic, and filled with this joy only kids seem to have. She is perfect. When we finally gave up on the idea of having a fuller house, Ryker Vincent came along.
That March we bought our home. It fit all four of us,had clean carpets, clean walls, and a very open floor plan. We couldn’t be more happy. I spent my pregnancy painting the kid’s rooms. Setting up the house with our meager furniture.It was glorious.
A few months after Ryker was born I had realized I was not satisfied. I was angry that a house ,two kids, and Blind, diabetic husband was too much it seemed for me to handle with ease.I had postpartum depression. Not in the way that I was going to hurt anyone,or I regretted having kids. In the way that with a mortgage, two children,a blind husband,and cars that seem to always need tires or an alternator was too much.
Odd since in reality my life is simple. Tim is on disability so our bills are paid,and we can afford to eat. But the little fun things never were in our budget,and children have expectations. I felt as if I couldn’t take care of my family the way I should. My insecurities got the best of me and I was mad. Lived actually. I would watch my friends and the ease they seemed to have to supply life making memories with their children and I wondered why my children had to go without. I couldn’t sleep,my anxiety got the best of me.
Then the minor OCD tendencies came into play. I had Tim smell the milk every time I poured a glass, he had to smell the meat even if I bought it that day. Everything was on my shoulders, if a bill was too high it was my fault since I do the finances. If the car broke down,it was my fault since I am the only driver. I started to have panic attacks. I would scrub potatoes until they had no peel just in case they had some germs. It was weird, I couldn’t change my own son’s diapers. I couldnt even do what every other mom in the world could do.
In August of Ryker’s first year I landed a great job. Well at the time it seemed great. I had the prospects of medical and dental in three months,and a weekly paycheck! We could go on vacations and take Ariana to cheer practice, buy the kids the things they wanted. I was living the dream. Two perfect children,a husband who literally loved everything about me, and a house that fit my little family.
Tim and I were on cloud nine. The first week of October in the midst of planning Rykers first birthday we were tossed another curve ball. I was pregnant. Not even one year after giving birth to my son I was expecting again. We were in shock. No, I am lying again. Tim was thrilled,I was scared. I had just landed a job that made it so Disneyland was attainable. Now all that “extra cash” was going to go to one more mouth, more diapers,and tiny socks.
Everyone who knew me well enough let me go through the motions of disbelief. How can I support one more? I thought God didn’t give us more then we could handle. I am in the midst of getting over my depression and we are pregnant again. How could this happen? I know what you are thinking, I know how it happens. It is just we had tried for Ryker for years and we thought he was a fluke.
We silently went through the pregnancy. I didn’t pick a theme,or buy anything for the new baby. I thought if I could just through the pregnancy everything would settle the way it should. In January they had lay offs at work. I thought I was safe. They couldn’t possibly fire the girl who was pregnant could they? They could apparently. I felt ashamed. If only I had not gotten pregnant not only could I take the two older kids to Disneyland,but I could buy them a souvenir!
Tim as always was more then supportive. It sickened me. How can he always look at life and see the possibilities? Didn’t he know that less money was not a good thing? He knew,he worried with me but instead of worrying outwardly he held my hand and let me grieve.
May was approaching, my new son Lincoln was going to born soon. I finally cracked. We were at target to look at baby clothes and I had a meltdown. I hadn’t enjoyed the pregnancy, I didn’t buy him his going home outfit. We hadn’t bought him one single thing that was just his. I had ignored him. I felt ashamed, I cried through out the store and filled our cart with things for my new son.
Lincoln was the easiest pregnancy,and delivery,and the weeks to follow after we was born were so quiet(except for the fact that Ryker found his voice and chose to scream all day). Lincoln was perfect. Big round eyes and little bald head. I love him. I am so glad to have him in our life.
June,ah June. I will never forget June 11th. We piled everyone in the car and danced all the way to Tim’s kidney doctor. We sang songs and laughed. Probably the most fun I had had in over a year. I got my groove back. I was the mom I used to be. Tim held my hand and we laughed about the silly things our wonderful children do. Ariana sang too loud, and Ryker was almost a good passenger.
At the appointment they crammed all five of us into a room. Luckily I had this app on my phone that made farting noises to entertain Ryker so we didn’t have to be that loud family everyone hates at the dr’s. When the doctor came in she was very kind. But the words were not. Terminal,kidney failure,one year,kidney and pancreas transplant. Words just seemed to rush out of her mouth. While the kids played quietly Tim and I sat silently holding hands and nodding.
On the way home we tried to keep up appearances. Ariana is very smart and if we show any signs of distress she will pick up on it. So we played the game of silly stupid happy family. She still doesn’t know. For that I am grateful. How do you tell your children that daddy might die? You don’t, you sit in silence and pray.