reset button

Dear Sophia,

Nobody said it would be easy. This motherhood thing -- it's tough. It's tough because I care so much about this tiny human (who would be YOU) and doing what's right while not messing up and worrying that I'm missing something and realizing there's bound to be something I'm forgetting. It's a scary venture filled with self-doubt, second guessing, and the need to dig deep and hang on.

Your daddy reminded me yesterday that we all have our days. This would be our crappy, not-so-good days. Yesterday was one of yours -- which started out with you waking throughout the night, nursing on demand every 1-2 hours, refusing to nap at all during the day, and scream-crying in between (roughly 7 of the 11 hours you were up). I tried walking with you, carrying you in the sling, talking/singing to you, playing music and making you dance, lying down with you, snuggling, swaying, shushing, white noise... But you were inconsolable, and it left me with a helplessness I hadn't felt before. At one point I had to put you down so I could have a few minutes to collect myself (as in scream and cry it out). I told myself that I could handle it, up until I really couldn't. So I called in your Daddy at work for back up, and willingly handed you over when he returned from work.

I found refuge in a warm shower where the water swallowed the sound of your cries and until my fingers were nice and wrinkled. That was where I had a chance to regroup. I reminded myself that the only way you can communicate with me is to cry, to tell me that you're not feeling so great or like your silly smiley self, that at your age fussing is normal. And that I can't fix everything, even though I want to so badly.

I know this will probably be a struggle of mine throughout your life -- to protect you from harm; to want to kiss it and make it all better. And I know it's not possible, but it won't stop me from trying. There will come a day when I won't be around to tell you these things, so I want you to remember I'm never, ever giving up while I'm here and present. I just need a reset button once in awhile, and it's okay if you need one too.

Love,

Mommy

a grateful heart

“A Grateful Heart”

Thanksgiving 2014

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be thankful, and not because it’s that time of year again where we often stop, take a much-needed breath in our busy lives, and reflect.  What does it mean to have a grateful heart, not gilded by the need for reason and significance, expected in reciprocation for good deeds, or overshadowed by humbling loss or sacrifice?  How can I have a free and open heart, a peace that comes with trust – trust in oneself, trust in humanity, trust in a higher power?

Frankly, I think it’s easier to be thankful when it comes with parameters.  I am thankful today because, well, it’s Thanksgiving, a day to be thankful.  Or, I’m thankful in spite of… whatever circumstances we’re in at the moment.  And in life, there always are circumstances.  There’s suffering, there’s sadness.  There are the things we want and don’t have.  There’s a whole lot to understand, to gripe about, to push through, to make it to another, hopefully better, day.  Yet even then, I’m thankful that I’m healthier, safer, better off… because how does that saying go?  There’s always someone worse off than you.

But being thankful, with no strings attached… that can take alittle more.  Like a leap of faith.  A liberating proposition, being able to be content without being tied to obligation or supposition.

Our gospel lesson last Sunday was from Matthew 25, the parable of the sheep and goats.  At first glance, it seems that this message is about achieving salvation by doing good works.  Instead, we learn that the path of righteousness is not by keeping score, but by faith and loving one another, treating our neighbors with kindness and compassion, not by what we seek to gain by giving.

This passage reminds me that I am loved, simply and deeply, without attachments.  The thought is comforting because I realize that I can do the same.  To love, to want for nothing, to know that I am already blessed with so, so much.

So today, I am thankful.  I’m thankful for an adoring husband, who loves me like no one can.  I’m thankful for our angel babies, who’ve always been with us.  I’m thankful for my loving, supportive parents, who will forever take care of us, probably when we least expect it and especially when we need it.  I’m thankful for my beautiful sisters, both inside and out, who’ve been my sidekicks since they were born.  I’m thankful for my wonderfully generous in-laws, who really never stop giving or helping or cooking for us.  I’m thankful for my amazing sister-in-law, who’s shown me what it means to have courage and persistence.  I’m thankful for my resourceful brother-in-law who takes care of my sister and our family in his own understated way.  I’m thankful for an incredible grandmother who I can call my own, who manages to still surprise me and who always seeks a smile.

I’m thankful for family.  I’m thankful for those who are like family.

Today, I am thankful.

schooled

A year ago today, my water broke overnight and I was admitted directly to labor & delivery.  I was under careful watch for 48 hours and then sent straight home on bed rest.  A week later, I gave birth to Lily at 21 weeks, and 3 short days thereafter, Lucas followed his big sister to heaven.

It's been a hard week.  As much as I've wanted to delay this day from arriving, it showed up anyway, just as every new day does.  Acknowledging it is heart-wrenching, that an entire year has passed without the sounds of crying or cooing or chaos.  What would our daughter Lily look like now, with features that so distinctly mirrored mine?  Or Lucas, with his long, stringy limbs just like his father's?  I miss them terribly, every day.

I do, however, remember what it was like after we laid our babies to rest.  I couldn't comprehend making it the first year, time stretching impossibly before me.  Moving on felt alittle like leaving them behind, and I was terrified.  Yet I'm here now, walking forward from our loss and sharing some of my lessons learned.

Life is precious.  Well, duh, you're probably thinking.  But I've seen firsthand what a fragile balance it is, how one seemingly innocuous moment is made up of circumstance and consequence.  I can't remember how many times these past few months that I've pushed myself to be present with family and friends.  Not just to show up, but to make that time count.  To hug alittle more and awhile longer.  To send a note just because.  To say, "I love you."  To appreciate this miracle that's been given us.

Motherhood is forever.  I may have only been a mother for a couple of hours, but something innately kicked in when I held Lily's lifeless form in my arms.  When I heard Lucas's first cry, watched his little chest expand and contract until his last breath.  I knew then I was forever changed.  And motherhood doesn't stop because our babies are gone.  That first week after I left the hospital, I'd constantly touch my belly and belatedly realize, with a bone-aching sadness, how empty it felt without an answering flutter from the other side.  When my breast milk came in, being able to provide without actually being able to provide was more painful emotionally than it was physically.  And every day since the very last day with our twins has made me want to be a better person, to be wiser and stronger for our babies and hopefully, for our future kids.  It's because I'm no longer the same as I was before; I'm a mother.

Trust in God's plan.  This has been my biggest challenge to date.  As someone who only feels comfortable planning everything to a tee, you can imagine how difficult it's been accepting life's hurdles.  The thing is, as perfect and packaged as I want everything to be, in the end, it's never been my design.  Even when I struggle to understand, I remind myself that I may not be meant to.  That's what faith, in my opinion, is all about -- giving myself up to be completely free knowing God will show me His way.  And I do believe His way is good.

Love is limitless.  The outpouring of love Anthony and I have received is proof of that.  Love knows no bounds.  It's my mom taking care of me physically so I can be strong in body and mind.  It's my dad christening our babies with Chinese names.  It's my in-laws planting flowers by the twins' graves.  It's my sisters crying gut-wrenching, sloppy tears with me.  It's my sis-in-law sending a note because she knows I need it.  The list goes on and on, because love -- powerful, indestructible love -- never ends.

Be honest with yourself.  Healing comes from within.  Anthony and I needed each other to get through this year, but I had to be willing to dig deep and pull myself out of the abyss to truly start anew.  If that meant avoiding baby showers or giving myself a private moment when I really wasn't in the frame of mind to celebrate, that was okay.  It was learning to forgive myself.  It was trying to shake it off.  And it was taking each day one at a time, the good along with the bad.  Because that's all a part of searching for truth.

Empathize.  We're in this human experience together, so why not share it with each other?  I've always subscribed to the notion that saying something is better than nothing.  Silence, I've found, can be deafening.  This was amplified tenfold after my pregnancy loss.  A simple, "I'm thinking of you," would have been enough.  The unfortunate thing is that it's the wordlessness which sticks and hurts the most.  So whenever someone I know is going through a difficult time, I make sure I'm there.  Even when I don't know what to say, I understand that trying to is what matters.

Other takeaways?  It's okay to edit as I go along.  And despite the hardships and challenges that inevitably turn up, there are always pure, unadulterated glimpses of joy and contentment that shine through.  Do those instances make up for what we've lost?  No.  Do they make our struggles worthwhile?  Probably.  Do they show us life can be indescribably beautiful?  Definitely.

floor plan

while hubbie was out in the yard today, my bff came over to help me tear up the floor -- literally.  

our house was built in 1989, and hubbie and i are pretty sure the linoleum tiles were put down by the original owners.  being that it's 25 years later, the tiles have been gradually chipping to the point where even i felt the need to do something.  we have many items on the DIY home improvement list, but as neither of us are particularly handy, this is probably one of our biggest projects to date.

i could tell hubbie was pretty skeptical about how much my bff and i would accomplish.  when i mentioned that we'd need to move the refrigerator out of the way, he eyed the floor and pretty much said we'd get to that when the time came.

but i was a woman on a mission, and my bff came to work.  the scraping, hammering, prying, and chipping was therapeutic.  within a few hours, we had most of the floor up.  when hubbie came in to check on us, he seemed a bit surprised by the progress -- but true to his word, he moved the fridge and jumped in to help.

so part 1 of the project is done!  more to come...

on the job

whenever someone asks me about my job, it's kind of hard to explain.  if i don't feel like clarifying, i'll say i'm in medical records, and usually the conversation ends there.  i'll bet an image of me filing papers comes up, which is enough for anyone to stop asking.  (and btw, the last time i filed papers was when i was a clerk fresh out of school).

my role, though, involves so much more: management principles, business operations, information technology applications, electronic health records, data analysis and integrity, quality and patient care... i also play a supportive role for our internal customers.  physicians, for example.

it's not uncommon for me to be paged in the evenings to take care of something.  i do what i have to do, because ultimately the service we provide affects our patients, and that is our #1 priority.  whenever i think of it like that, it's what has me returning the page that much quicker.

when i called a doctor back tonight to confirm details of a report with him, he was extremely appreciative.  and in his words, not mine: "especially at almost 8 o'clock... on a friday."  it's nice to have that acknowledgment once in awhile.  that even though i'm the helper, the supporter... there's gratitude for the part i play.  it surely makes my job worthwhile.

busy bee

work has been a blur of activity... it's that time of year where a number of things happen at once: end of fiscal year stuff, start of new fiscal year stuff, new and visiting residents starting = volumes pick up, which is a domino effect of its own.  so in other words, yeah, it's busy.

add to that a number of projects, test plans, meeting after meeting in preparation for a whole new EHR... and yeah, you can call it crazy busy.

the kind of busy where i don't realize it's afternoon until i glance down at the clock.  the kind of busy where i somehow find myself in 7 hours of meetings with literally 9 minutes to gobble down lunch in between, stuffing my face with one hand while jotting down notes in the other.  the kind of busy where i don't get up to pee until i absolutely can not hold it any longer.  the kind of busy where i've lost track of what day it is, and then realize it's already... thursday?  the kind of busy where i work straight through 10 hours, come home, get paged after 11:30 p.m. just as i'm starting to unwind, and am now blogging after 1 a.m. because i'm waiting for a stat report to be completed.

but busy is good.  busy is what always makes me feel like myself again, the person who throws herself into work and isn't all that bothered by having to be on-call or feeling somewhat... needed.  essential.  productive.  busy, i've found, can be rather healing.

(especially following a week of being not-so-busy - per doctor's orders).

battle wounds

list of things i've come to dislike about surgery:

• the IV.  especially in the hand.  especially when i have to be poked more than once.

• having to take off my glasses before walking to the OR.. because i can't really see anything, including the people working on me.
• how incredibly chilly the OR is.  i mean, i understand why, but it's freezing!  and all i get is this little gown and a robe i can't even keep on!
• being strapped down to the OR table.  yes, i get it, but it always feels a bit odd.
• feeling like i have no control over when i go under.  every time i've had anesthesia, i have this weird thought in my head that it won't work, and then... nothing.
• waking up later, as if from sleep, and realizing there's a chunk of my life that's missing.  and the fact that things were being done to my body, and what those things were, i have no idea.  probably for the best.
• recovery.  "taking it easy" is not an easy thing to do.