Pity Party for One?

So, this post has been brewing for a few days, but it’s a hard one to write. Plus, I don’t want to sound like I’m having a pity party, but that’s kind of what it feels like some days. See, I’m back in the hospital again…today is two years from when I came to the hospital and was put on a ventilator. This episode has been minor in comparison, but the scary thing this time is that I’m 35 weeks pregnant.


Two years ago, I didn’t know if I’d wake up again. They predicted a rather low survival rate, and no one knew if I’d come off the ventilator alive or not. My prayer at the time, however, was not for my own life. I prayed earnestly for the right influences in the lives of my two boys, and for the healing of the hearts of the people that would be affected. I prayed so hard that the anesthesiologist had a hard time knocking me out. I was comfortable with the thought of the end of my life…no doubt, I have two sweet boys that I don’t want to leave behind, but I know where I’m spending eternity, and that gave me hope.


This year, there was no concern about my survival, and only minimal concern about the baby…and that concern mainly centered on the possibility of an early delivery. (She’s still happily cooking where she belongs!) But something weird happened this time, and it stings more than I care to admit. Life just kept going, without me. This sounds terribly selfish, in my head, on paper, when I say it out loud. Of course life goes on without me, and I don’t truly want to be the center of the universe or anything, but it doesn’t even feel like there was a hiccup. Work carried on, the kids went to their dad’s, home continued to operate, and I didn’t have a hand in any of it.


The last two hospital stays that I got to experience included quite a few visitors, and my Mom was here. And convincing a mom to leave the bedside of her sick kid is impossible. So, I never faced the doctors, or the tests, or fears of those big words alone. This time, however, in the midst of the holidays and the busyness of life, I’ve faced the majority of it alone. And I feel so torn by all of it. I want to say it is peaceful to know that life goes on without me – that the influence I have is real and present and that those people I love can also survive without me. I want to feel like facing these last few days has made me brave, because I did it with very little hand holding. But the truth is, I have felt completely abandoned, easily forgotten, and deeply afraid. I feel useless, and helpless, and very, very small.


So, because I can’t ever just stop there, and I have to find something good, and a lesson, and I want to grow into a better person because of these things, I keep asking what to do with this? What have I gained? What have I learned? And honestly, I don’t know. I have realized why it is important to spend time with the people we love, to let them know they are important and wanted. I am thankful for the time the boys and I spent volunteering in a nursing home, and I hope that we helped someone feel important by being there. And maybe that’s the big thing, we all need to know we are loved and wanted, and that it has nothing to do with whether we can cook and clean, are healthy or sick, or how we look.


So, what am I doing to help the people around me know that I love them, for them, and not based on their performance, their health, or their abilities? How am I helping the people around me feel important in the day to day busyness of this crazy life?

I just need to write something…

I have no idea where to start or what to write about, but I need to write something. It’s Saturday at 1:15pm, the ninth of July, and I’ve been in the hospital since July 3rd at 2pm. I came into the emergency room at St. Anthony’s experiencing severe respiratory distress. I caught a cold, and it all went down hill from there. By the time I came to the emergency room, I was using my nebulizer every hour and receiving little to no relief. Just walking into the ER caused an exacerbation, and I couldn’t wait for triage, they had to stop to help me. They put me on BIPAP – and were considering the ventilator. I made it through the night (a long, painful night, I might add,) and moved to an ICU bed the next afternoon when there was room. I remained in BIPAP for another day or two (these days are running together now), but I know by 10:30pm Wednesday the 6th I moved to a step down room – not quite ICU, but not a “regular” room, either. I was still on constant monitoring, but was able to get out of the bed a little. Yesterday/Friday the 8th, I got moved to a “regular” room, I’m off the monitoring, still on oxygen, and have an IV still in. The IV is not being used because they’ve switched me to oral medications, but they want it in place if they need to use it again. I got to wander the hospital last night and this morning, ate in the cafeteria with Mom this morning, and sat on the patio for an hour! It was great to get some outside air.

I’m again trying to decide if I should stay in OK or go to CO. What about Oliver, Cheeky, Flynn?! My day care? Stacy quit his job to take a different one and is leaving the state on Monday or Tuesday. They just came in my room to say I’m not going home today – maybe tomorrow, but my O2 sats are not climbing/maintaining on room air like the medical staff would like to see. I’m emotionally spent, physically ready for MY bed and MY blanket, I want to see my kids and not be stressed about them playing on a hospital floor. I want to understand why my asthma is so out of control that for twice in a year I’ve been through a serious hospital stay.

I want to trust God in this, but I feel a little lost. Then, He does the amazing and makes sure I don’t have to worry about the actually medical bills of this stay – they have been generously taken care of. Yet, I feel like an Israelite complaining about manna because I’m thinking, “What about the “other” bills, what about this/that/there/where?” instead of just seeing and appreciating this moments provision. Why does God want me to grow so much?! I’m good with my “comfort” zone – this stretching….stretches.

I know I’ve rambled, and even I don’t know what the point of this post is. I just had to write something, I haven’t been writing on my blog as much lately – and I haven’t written anything since I’ve been in the hospital, so I thought I’d start here.

Yahoo published some more of my stuff – that was encouraging!

Thanks for reading my ramblings! I might try writing more later!