Daxten's Birth By Garth

The birth story to end all birth stories. That is probably the expectation. Unfortunately, this one may actually end up being the shortest one of them all. Let me preface this by blazing through the four weeks prior to delivery day and just saying we went to the hospital several times (all at the behest of the physicians that be). Amy had a ton of contractions; but there was no baby.

I had a good feeling Amy was in labor the night of April 24^th when I took the older kids to swimming lessons and not only did Amy not join us, but she did a prenatal workout, showered, and then curled her hair. Priorities right?

Contractions picked up (nothing new), but she acted a bit different this time. Ironically, earlier that same day she had seen her OB-GYN and scheduled her induction for the next week on Tuesday. When asked if we should schedule for the next Tuesday, or that coming Friday (a few days away) he gave no real opinion, but just kind of smiled. 

Well the night of the 24^th we checked in, and as usual, the nurses did not think Amy was in labor. Why? Because she is a freaking boss and was, cool and collected. And was, dilated to a cool, and collected, 6 cm!

Everything about this labor reminded me of Camden’s. Checking in at 6 cm. Spending the next few hours in the tub, breathing through contractions. Getting out and walking around a bit, using the exercise ball to lean on, a nurse that was ridiculously nice and for the most part hands-off.

So after a few hours the nurse checks Amy again, and wa-la she’s at 9 cm. Get the doc! Break the water! Let’s do this thing! So the doctor breaks her bag of water. And then says, “She’s only a true 6 cm”. Wait, wait, wait. She was just at 9, now she’s only at 6/7? What?

And this was the first time I have ever seen Amy discouraged during labor. This is the first time I ever heard her say she didn’t think she could do it. This was the time I started to worry about seizures. And this is the part this story changes. (And you’ll probably notice it too).

Never mind the fact that the body naturally shakes during transition labor as a means of dealing with the adrenaline. Those shakes sent me into over-drive every single time. Every time I thought she was going to seize. Every time I worried about her and about the baby. But every time she assured me she was fine.

It took all of 14 minutes from the time they broke her water until Daxten was born. 14 minutes to go from 9 cm, back to 6/7 cm, to baby boy. That doctor never made it back into the room. (Don’t worry; we still received a bill).

Our nurse had never delivered a baby solo before. She was telling Amy it wasn’t time to push. Amy looked at me and said she was going to have a seizure. Never before in the previous 9 months had I ever tried to persuade her or tell her “You can’t have a seizure”, or “You won’t have a seizure”. Because; it’s a seizure. Not exactly controllable. But in that moment, I got the distinct impression that I just needed to say it. I got as close to her eyes as I possibly could and I just said, “No you are not”. I looked at the nurse, I looked at Amy, and then he arrived. One push. Baby boy. Cord wrapped around his neck twice. I think I held my breath from that moment until he cried and I knew he was breathing. And then all I had to think about was Amy. Daxten was here. He was healthy. He was breathing. Amy was crying, obviously so exhausted, but so thrilled that she had done it. For months all we had heard was that immediately after birth her seizures could get really bad as her body adjusted. I was on edge. I was nervous. I was thrilled. I was stressed. I was exhausted. But some how, some way she had done it. We had done it. He was here. He was healthy. And as Kyra would so eloquently later state, “He is ours forever”.

Yes he is. He is beautiful. Amy has only had a few seizures since. We know birth wasn’t the cure, but not lugging around a baby inside of you certainly helps.

I can’t say how amazed I am. Amy told me a few days later that she felt better than she had in over a year. All I could do was cry. Just like that, it seemed so many of my prayers had been answered. Maybe not in the exact time and moment that I wanted, but in the exact moment I needed. Human life is a miracle, and one that I hope I don’t soon take for granted.

Amy once asked me, if I ever remembered what I had dreamed of my future being when I was younger.

It suddenly hit me then, I literally have everything I could have ever wanted. I am living the life I dreamed of.

I could go on and on about the blessings of my life, too many to count; But the only ones that matter are Amy, Camden, Kyra, and Dax.

No matter what we do or where we end up, nothing compares to being me. Because with me, it’s now a “party of five”.

-Garth

Daxten's Birth By Amy

Daxten Joe Wright was born April 25th at 3:08am 7lbs 4oz and 20.5 inches long.

Leading up to Daxten’s actual birth I had many days of regular (2-3 minutes apart) increasing in severity contractions just like I did with Kyra. I would have these for hours on end. Because I don’t really find any part of labor pre transition (before 7cm) significantly painful I really was struggling with the idea that I would have no idea when I was going into actual labor until I reached transition! And once I reach transition I go fast so I was super worried about being too late. My doctor reminded me that a false alarm would be better than a baby born in the car. Needless to say by April 24^th I was pretty worn out and tired of always wondering when contractions started if they would keep progressing or stop!

The morning of April 24^th I heard birds chirping before opening my eyes and then had the thought “it would be a great day to have a baby”. Sounds cliché but it really happened. I then saw I was spotting a little which made me suspicious that today WOULD in fact be the day I had a baby. All morning I had cramping and irregular contractions, just like every other morning had been for the past couple weeks. I had my 39 week check that morning and when I was checked I was 50% effaced and 2cm, which wasn’t any progress from my last check. My doctor then asked about me being induced and said he wasn’t going to push me either way but knew with my seizures other doctors and definitely my husband were wanting this to be over. He said they had an opening the following Tuesday or the next day. I told him I would agree to the next Tuesday because it would be past my due date but that I just wanted to do this on my own and wouldn’t be scheduling it before my due date. Garth was a little frustrated by this I think but tried to be supportive of me. (mind you Garth would never normally have been frustrated by this – you have to remember how much he watched me suffer this pregnancy and how doctors said the sooner the pregnancy ended the better for seizures going away long-term)

We spent a little time at my mom’s after the doctors office and while we were there I was fairly confident I was going to go into labor but wasn’t ready to tell anyone. With my constant contractions for hours on end for weeks I felt like Garth had been living life on the edge of his seat and I didn’t want to get his hopes up. So I told him he should take the kids to their swimming lesson without me so that I could rest when really I wanted to get ready for the hospital. So after they all left I did a workout, showered and curled my hair. When Garth got home and saw my hair he knew I was in labor, but I made him not talk much about it til I was ready. As it started to get later I decided it would be best to take my kids to my moms so they were taken care of incase things took a quick turn. We loaded everything up and dropped them off then headed to the hospital. My mom offered to come to my house instead of me driving the kids there but I wanted that drive to stall myself from going to the hospital just a little longer. I told Garth on the way to the hospital I wasn’t in pain so I could be in false labor again but that we might as well just go and see.

When we arrived at 11:00pm the nurse kept looking at me with that face that says “there’s no way this chick is in labor”. She seemed a little annoyed, but when they checked she said I was a 6/7 and she looked surprised. I was so relieved – we were FINALLY having our baby! It was FINALLY going to all be over. We headed to labor and delivery and I asked them to begin filling the tub. Several nurses came in and out and asked all about natural labor super intrigued. Being able to say it was my third natural labor helped so much, I wasn’t met with annoyance or nurses who didn’t believe I would do it like previous births, the nurses were just excited to discuss it with me and knew I knew what I was doing. Such a different experience!

They checked Dax and all was looking good so I put the wireless monitors on and headed to the tub. Garth and I just chatted and laughed. He made jokes I relaxed and we fell into the rhythm we always have when in labor. We talked about how excited we were and everything we’d been through to get to this point, Garth reminded me that I was so close to the finish line, and he made ridiculous jokes he always makes when I am laboring. I love that man.

Garth took this picture as I was wandering around trying to help contractions be as productive as possible

 Eventually I decided labor was too easy and slow in the tub so we should get out and get moving around to get things progressing. We got out and walked around the room and I leaned on Garth and rocked through the contractions. For a little while I laid on the bed on my side and just rested between contractions. My mom came in and chatted with us for a while and then left to go wait until he arrived.

My contractions are pretty much always under 5 minutes apart even when in early labor, but I could tell I was beginning to near transition but things weren’t too intense yet. The nurse came in and checked Dax several times and continually reminded me if I felt ANY pressure to tell her because she knew the pushing stage for me is usually short. (20 mins-ish with Camden, about 10 with Kyra). I told her I was starting to feel pressure but didn’t feel like it was go time because the contractions still felt too high in my body. She checked me anyways and said I was a 9. The doctor came in and decided to break my water which I was fine with because I assumed I would be pushing in the next couple minutes. After she broke my water she said she wanted me to push as she stretched my cervix. I was a little annoyed that she was even intervening knowing my body was going to do all of this on it’s own anyways but I obliged. When I went to push I said “nope its still too high of contractions pushing hurts” (pushing is relieving when its actually time).

She then told me the worst news! The pressure I had been feeling was my water pushing and it was what was stretching me, after they broke it I went back down to a 7. 2:54 am and I was only a little progressed. I was so bummed. The doctor said she would be back shortly to check me again.

At this point I got really nervous because I knew if I took too long to progress I would end up having a seizure. Being over tired has pretty much been a consistent trigger my whole pregnancy, along with anything that weakened my immune system. I love labor but I knew if I began seizing I was going to quickly lose a lot of say in what would happen next for me. I started to express my fears to Garth and in  true Garth fashion he kind of ignored me haha! Not in a mean way, but in a he nodded and acknowledged me but just stayed the course knowing we were going to get through it. I also think Garth has learned from previous labors that when I start to feel a little nervous labor is about to end.

That’s when I started to feel that need to push. I started to tell Garth and the nurse that I was having to push and she told me “No it’s not time we just checked you”. She wasn’t wrong, it had only been about 6 minutes since they told me I was a 7. She asked me to sit down on the exercise ball and I said I can’t, it is time to push. She kind of ignored me obviously thinking I was losing my mind and was just trying to help me endure. Finally I got up on the bed telling her I HAVE TO PUSH and I could feel my body REALLY bear down on its own – and I mean REALLY really, and I knew he was crowning though no one seemed to be prepared for that (I wish I could show you what Garth’s shocked face looked like) and then in the midst of that big push I felt it two things: my baby was about to enter the world and leave my body, and also I felt my seizure window. My vision started to go (Garth says my eyes started rolling) and I told Garth I’m going to have a seizure. Garth got RIGHT in my face eye to eye and said “NO YOU ARE NOT.” And out popped Dax’s head! And then quickly followed the rest of his body, the nurse barely caught him. She looked so horrified. There was no doctor in the room, the bed wasn’t ready for delivery, the cord was wrapped around his neck twice, but he was on my chest! 3:08am! In really one BIG push.

The pushing was really involuntary which I can’t describe but if you’ve had an unmedicated labor you know what I mean. When I felt my body really push the nurse looked so scared I wasn’t sure what to think. She later told me she’s never caught a baby before and because Dax had the cord wrapped around his neck twice she was trying to get to it but he came so fast she couldn’t get to it and guide his shoulder through. He was basically forced out haha. The doctor took another 10 minutes or so to come and check me and confirm no need for stitches! (sorry if that’s a TMI but this is my story 😊) She delivered the placenta and then left, I don’t even know her name she wasn’t there long!

All the while we waited little Dax was on my chest and I cried knowing I had done it. The hardest physical thing I’ve ever done was carry Dax in my belly, and it was finally over. I was so glad the trial was over, but I also immediately knew that I was holding a freshly made-by-me baby for the last time. I was flooded with so many emotions, but mostly just felt grateful.

My mom got to come meet Dax and hold him fresh and new. I’m so grateful for that, it is the first time that has happened. Dax nursed like a champ right away and I was able to get up and walk pretty instantly. So many things about recovery and such seemed to have changed since I had Kyra I felt like a newbie with all the things they were using and recommending!

The hospital was full so we were moved to the suites that people pay extra for and it was awesome but also a little excessive! The room was as large as a hotel room, Garth had his own full bed, and the shower and tub are bigger and more complicated than ours at home! We were most definitely spoiled.

We stayed the full time at the hospital because I learned after staying the minimum amount with Kyra (it was Christmas Eve) that it is worth it to just stay in that little newborn haze in the hospital for as long as you can before you return home to the chaos of a full of house of young children. Those few days alone with him were magical.

We are now enjoying Garth’s paternity leave as a family, he doesn’t return to work until June 26^th. We are so grateful for this time of healing, learning, stretching, regrouping, and family. We have pretty much just closed in around our little group and enjoyed doing things all together as I wasn’t able to be an active participant in a lot of things for a long time. I am consistently amazed at how different I feel and how completely fogged and different I was for the majority of the pregnancy. I haven’t felt the constant fatigue of over stimulation as I did when pregnant, and I have learned that my seizures are SO MUCH less painful on a non-pregnant body.

We’ve learned so much as a family, and we are so glad Dax is here safe and happy.

Third Pregnancy as told by Amy

This marks my FOURTH attempt at writing about this pregnancy. It has taken me a long time to realize I just don’t want to write about the hard. I don’t want to spend pages and pages trying to articulate what it has been like for me, or trying to make all the things that have happened make sense. I don’t want to go through a chronological account of how things happened and what they mean. Maybe someday that will be a beneficial thing to share so I get far less questions about when this will end, but right now I just don’t want to focus my energy on doing that. Maybe it’s because I know it will never fully be understood and I could never really do the full scope of the experience justice. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to invoke sympathy and maybe it’s just because the hard parts are not the full story as I see it. And probably, it’s that it’s still a little tender and raw and requires too much vulnerability on my part.

Of course it would be inaccurate to pretend it hasn’t been hard. There’s been fears, deep loneliness and feelings of abandonment, sadness, exhaustion, anger, and a lot of just pressing onward.

But there have also been moments of stillness, clarity, peace, and rescue.

I will be honest that when laid out in front of me the hard moments far surpass the amount of peaceful ones, but the hard has always, at least in increments, passed. The thing about the peaceful moments is though that specific moment may come to a close you can reach back and draw from it as much as you need to. So though they have been fewer and far between, they have been enough – albeit sometimes JUST enough – their weight does seem to be heavier.

So as I have reflected on this experience over and over again and what I do want to share, I have just gathered some thoughts about what I want my new baby boy to know about what it was like when his momma carried him and all he did for me:

I feel I began this pregnancy as one person, and am walking out of it another. Motherhood does this to us often, transforms us in ways we otherwise couldn’t have transformed. My baby boy has already allowed me to grow and be stretched so much – and we haven’t yet met. It makes me excited to be his mom and to carry the lessons he’s taught me forward into raising him and my other children.

My first very stark lesson learned: We are wildly not in control of our bodies. We pretend we are, and we even take pride in all we are doing to not be THAT person. But truthfully we don’t really get a major say in what pops up physically for us.

I have also once again become very acquainted with consistent prayer thanks to this pregnancy. After my seizures it often takes me time to re-coordinate my thoughts with the physical act of speaking. Because my seizures often occur in clusters, this means I  have a moment where I “come back” to awareness and am able to hear things, but can’t yet say anything and then fall back into a seizure. This perspective has allowed me to witness my husband’s moment of surrender. There have been many times I have been able to hear him cry, and heard him ask for help, but I can’t respond and I know my seizures aren’t yet done. These moments have been extremely hard for me. In those moments all I have had is quick but sincere prayers to rely on that he will be comforted, and I have also been able to witness the unique ways he has received such comfort.

I did experience my moment of surrender as well. The moment where I knew physically I couldn’t carry myself further and wished I could quit, and I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced anything like this before. I didn’t feel immediately rescued, and truthfully some days I still wish I had been rescued in all the ways I want to, but it did come. The understanding and the peace came though the physical trial didn’t end. The answers I didn’t know I wanted came and allowed me to find some wholeness in the empty. This is probably my favorite lesson I have been given. I am positive I have far more to learn about rescue, but the insight it has given me into true strength and true weakness, and the ability we have to be made strong within the weak has been profound. I feel I comprehend my relationship and my need for God in my life so much more than I did before, and I feel deeply grateful for the need to surrender.

I really want my little baby boy to know that though there were times I wrestled with it all, I knew, and still know he is worth it. I want him to know I drew strength in the fact that while it often felt like my body was experiencing total system failure it was also simultaneously creating a new body for him and allowing a new life to enter into my world and that’s nothing short of miraculous. In fact I consider that something to be proud of.

I want him to know that while I felt picked on and sometimes quite literally begged for rescue I also felt blessed that I have the ability to even do this, to carry a baby, one last time.

I want him to know his brother and sister have been consistently and ridiculously excited to meet him since the beginning. That Camden can’t WAIT to have a little brother and Kyra is positive he’s going to be “sooooo cute”. That Kyra often asks me to uncover my belly so she can sing him twinkle twinkle little star and then tells me she thinks he loves her. I want him to know that his big brother dreams of helping him learn all about cars, legos, and running fast.

I want him to know that his momma fought so hard to get to the finish line — not just so it would be over — but also because I knew holding him would make it all make sense and make it all okay.

I do of course want him to know it was hard, but that all the hard seems to have had a purpose. I’ve honestly never felt such deep emptiness. But in my emptiness I have truly found a peace.

To do so, I have had to learn to let go of so many little things. Sources of identify, sources of self worth, expectations, and so on. I’ve had to lower the bar for myself, lower it again, and then just accept that the bar needed to rest on the floor a while. I’ve had to accept certain limitations and boundaries I would normally never allow myself to have. I’ve had to actively meet needs that I wish I didn’t have.

At times I have looked out and felt a little left behind, seeing all my friends engage in this race of life, making plans, setting goals, and being perpetually busy -- knowing I don’t currently have the ability to participate. But, to my surprise I have come to know this as a gift.

 It is as if God knew if I could just be made tired enough I would finally be still. It’s interesting because for the last couple of years I have told Garth I continually have received the prompting

 just stand still.

Literally over, and over, and over again.

And then I would go on to frustratedly explain that I do not know how to do that! It is not that I haven’t tried – I stepped back from photography for a time, I left social media, I tried to be still in life, but neglected to be still in my mind and heart.

Obviously He knew I would never find this peace and this necessary surrender while engaging in the race we all so easily fall into.

So as the story goes, I was shown how to be still, and then given the opportunity to embrace it.

I have been made tired, and often tell Garth I feel so bone deep exhausted. I have become acquainted with what true brain fatigue is and how it simply cannot be worked around. In the beginning of my seizures, I would even find myself completely unable to read my own paperwork at the doctors office. I have been made emotionally tired, sometimes feeling like I’m on edge because I can’t gracefully handle one more thing. I have been too tired to be anything but still.

Through this exhaustion I feel I have been made new, and life is beginning to have a freshness to it again as I see all the progress we have made.

I entered this pregnancy with quite a plan. And I’m ending it without any plans whatsoever, and honestly I think that’s better. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t desire to be a more present mom again or that I wouldn’t love to feel more connected to my body. I’m also not going to pretend I’m not hopeful my seizures someday end. I do quite literally dream of the day I put my baby in the stroller and go for a walk and my body doesn’t ache of seizures and my brain doesn’t feel foggy and fatigued. But I have learned I can’t chase all of these things. I can’t run around trying to mold the life I think I need in order to be happy. I can’t gather up my identity in the doings of living in this world and I can’t earn my worth in accomplishing some self-inflicted goal rooted in the mind’s rhetoric of “not enough”.

The seizures may continue, they may pass. I may find rest, I may stumble upon a whole new set of challenges. Regardless of what’s next I know some things now for sure: I am weak so that I can be strong. I found emptiness so I could be whole. I found surrender so I could come to understand the rescue. And finally, I found an exhaustion so deep that I have nothing left to give myself but the grace to just be still.

And for all those lessons I will be forever grateful – so thanks baby boy for trusting me to learn them before you arrived.

Our Third Pregnancy through Garth's Eyes

Vulnerable; That was the word you asked me to use in writing this. Vulnerable; The single term you could with almost certainty say I try to never be. I don’t want to allow it. I don’t want to show it. And yet, you may be right. I’m not sure there is a better way to explain our journey of the past eight months.

I won’t forget that Saturday in Boulder. The way you talked to me imposed something that I hadn’t felt in a long time; fear. I was scared that you were only eight weeks along with this pregnancy. I was scared that you said you didn’t feel ‘right’, and that you didn’t want to go on. I was mostly scared because I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. That was only the first time of many times I would feel that way in the coming months.

You know me better than anyone ever has. And because of that you know I like to always take the high road of “everything is probably fine right?” I tried that for a long time with Camden before I listened to you; Luckily I finally did and one surgery later he is better than ever.

But back to Boulder. I made the phone call, and got the help I thought would work. I was so confident that the prescribed drug would help, even if it took a little while. By that Sunday afternoon you looked like I’d never seen you look before. You were hardly breathing, and shaking slightly. I guess we are lucky to live as close to an ER as we do, although this trip didn’t exactly go as well as it could have.  The doctors and nurses chalked everything up to an adverse reaction the drug and dehydration. I’ll admit, after a few liters of fluid you were looking and talking more like yourself! “Just our luck. An adverse reaction!” I thought.

Four hours later we were at another ER after you had begun having seizures. Again, chalked up to an adverse reaction to your one single dose of medication. That ER physician, fresh out of residency was so rattled and concerned about other patients he didn’t even give you a chance. And worse, he didn’t seem concerned at all about our baby. And no one had seen what I had seen. No one had seen the violent shaking, the interrupted breathing, the gasps where it felt like you were just searching for your next breath. And so, we were discharged. Sent home. “Everything should be back to normal within 24 hours” they said.

When they weren’t I began searching, praying, reflecting, and praying some more. I hated myself for not listening to you over the previous weeks when you said you felt “slow”. I just figured it was the first trimester, of course you felt slower, you were making a baby! I hated that every doctor I called didn’t seem to care. Don’t get me wrong, I’m immensely grateful for all of the physicians we have seen and all they have done to help. And statistically most patients explaining what I had been trying to probably don’t have what you have. So their line of thinking in saying “it will all be alright”, or “it’s probably nothing” normally works out for them. But I’ve never felt so frustrated in my life by our medical system.

I felt hopeless, reading survey’s to you as doctor after doctor tried to say it was all depression during pregnancy. I felt worse when I heard your responses and knew that you had felt abandoned by me; That in some way you felt completely alone. I knew that in some regard depression did have something to do with what was going on, but then the grand mal seizures started happening. And no one believed what was happening. We would drive to every appointment and you would seize the entire ride there. We would drive home from every appointment and you would seize the entire ride home. I hated the car. I hated everything about trying to restrain you while also being relaxed. I didn’t want to cause you harm, but also didn’t want you to put your body through the window. 

I thought we finally had it figured out when I showed the video to a physician that it seemed was finally ready to listen. It had been two weeks since your initial ER visit. Two weeks of fighting and calling and visiting and repeating and seizures gradually building day by day, getting worse and worse. Finally someone listened. Within 25 minutes we were in the ER, an order put in for an EEG to monitor your brain activity during the episodes. We’d been down this road before. Camden’s EEGs always came back normal. Kyra’s did too. But this time I had a striking fear that something was going to be different. “Push the button each time you see an event so we can track the video with the brain activity”. And all you had were the smallest of seizures compared to what I had seen. The Neurologists were sure “everything was fine”. Your EEG looked normal. I felt torn. Had they actually captured everything? Still, after two weeks, no one had seen what I had seen. Some had seen bits and pieces, but no one had seen the full-blown events.

So then we played the waiting game of getting in to see a seizure specialist. How is it that we can’t get in to see a specialist for 3 months? By some miracle we got in early due to a cancelation. For the first time I thought we had it figured out. Non-Epileptic Seizures.  I felt like this doctor took us seriously, even though she hadn’t seen a “big one”. But what was the treatment? Nothing. Find your own doctor who specializes in these things. Find our own?

And so we sat for weeks more. All the while your seizures escalating in both frequency, length, and severity. All the while no one seeing what I saw. I had next to no patience with Camden and Kyra. I felt like I couldn’t keep up with the laundry, and cleaning, and eating or sleeping. Energy drinks suddenly became my “elixir of life” once everyone was finally asleep and I would open my laptop to get plugged in and work. And so I would work each night for 4 to 6 hours. And then I would force myself to still wake up and lift. Those 60 minutes in the gym were my break. Those 60 minutes were my escape. I knew that my body was fatigued and broken and sleep deprived, but I needed those 60 minutes to just let it all go.

And then the kids would wake up. The day would start. I had no idea what each day would bring. And yet somehow, through it all, I still wasn’t truly listening to you. I hated myself for not listening before, but here you were. Fighting with everything you had through every day. Do you remember the beginning of this? Do you remember having 20 or more seizures a day for weeks at a time? I can’t imagine the pain you felt. I can’t imagine the lack of independence. I can’t imagine not being able to control my own body or my own mind. I can’t imagine how empty you must have felt being able to hear me, but not do anything about what was happening to you.

I’ll never forget driving home one night. You want soup. So we went to get soup. Early on in this pregnancy I just decided whatever you needed, it didn’t matter the cost. It was about getting through every day. Every single day. One day at a time.

So Chick-Fil-A Chicken Noodle soup it was. I asked if you wanted me to just run and get it. You said you wanted to come along with the kids. So off we went. We made it to the restaurant and got our food with no events. I was so pumped! And then came the drive home. It was late, and as if riding the car wasn’t enough to normally send your body into a tale-spin, driving at night was just icing on the cake. All of the head lights streaming past seemed to instantly send you into the most violent of seizures. All I wanted to do was get you home. That drive from Chick-Fil-A probably takes 15 minutes at the most. On this particular night it seemed to take hours. This was one of your biggest seizures yet. I tried to help you, and I tried to shield the kids from seeing you, all while driving 80 miles an hour with my knees to get you home as fast as I could. I wept. All I could say was “I’m here Amy. You’re okay.” Followed by “Mommy’s okay guys. She’s just a little sick”. How on earth do you explain to a five and almost three year old that seizures are okay? I remember going to another room once everyone was in bed and just crying. I cried for a long time. I didn’t know what to do, how to help you, how to help our baby, or our kids. And honestly all I wanted to do was talk to my parents. I wanted to talk to someone about how to cope with this. I prayed and felt alone. I felt such a lack of faith. How many blessings had you received? How many had I personally given you? Why weren’t any of them working? I had family and friends I could reach out to at a moments notice. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like any of them would understand. And so I didn’t.

Within another day I had had enough. I prayed for help at the end of my rope. Your OB-GYN called me on his lunch break. I just unloaded on him for 25 minutes straight. I’m not sure I’ve ever had that experience with a doctor. Suddenly a chance at a second opinion went from a three month wait to a “Can you come tomorrow at 11am?”.

Within two weeks we were bringing our bags into Swedish Medical Center for a week long stay in the epilepsy monitoring unit. The week of Halloween. You were heartbroken that you would miss trick-or-treating with the kids. And let me just say that’s how it’s been this entire pregnancy. Even through all the seizures and the sickness your first thought has always been on the kids and on me. I’m not sure how we got so lucky.

After the first two days I thought this would be another EEG with only minor events. Why couldn’t anyone else see a big one? I didn’t get it. And then it finally happened. Three big seizures, the last of which was the biggest I had yet seen. All between 2am and 5am on the third day. I felt immense relief that at least someone else had finally seen what I had been trying to describe for two months. I laughed so hard when you thought your nurse was Jesus, partly because I finally felt free of this burden I had been carrying for months. I had tried my best to be your advocate and until that night I felt nothing had worked. I was so tired driving home that morning at 5:30am, but it was the first moment of true peace I had felt in months. I wept again and was thankful that some prayers had finally been answered.

I was grateful to the friends and family we’ve had helping us out.

I was grateful that we finally had a treatment plan to start getting you help.

I was grateful that the kids had somehow survived.

I was grateful that I had such a flexible job that allowed me to work remotely, and at whatever time of day or night that I could.

But mostly, and above all, I was grateful for you.

Even now, as we approach the end, and your life is still so incredibly miserable you are fighting your hardest through every single day. You are fighting the times when your mind tries desperately to dissociate. You are fighting the physical pains of a torn hip, of a seizure worn body, and of a growing baby. You have fought through multiple bouts of the flu, throwing up dozens of times. You have fought through ER visits for yourself to get fluids. You have fought through ER visits for our kids. You have fought through extra ultrasounds making sure our baby is healthy and okay. You have fought through my days of being irritated, out of patience, and out of energy.

Lastly you have fought through the times when it seems like everyone else around has moved on; the times when just because we got a diagnosis and are getting treatment that doesn’t mean life is any easier. Yes, your seizures have lessened. But they haven’t gone away. Not long ago you seized off and on for an hour straight. I wept again. I pleaded with God to know why these were still happening. And I don’t have an answer. All I know is you are the only person I know strong enough to have endured what you have.

You and I have said many times that no one is made to experience anything more or less severe than anyone else. We have so often heard from others “There is no way I could have gone through that.”

Well there is no way we could have either; we just did. You just did.

So above all I just want to say thank you. Thank you for never giving up. Thank you for giving me the chance to lift you up when you couldn’t lift yourself. Thank you for making me better. Thank you for giving me the chance to learn and listen. I’ve joked several times that the only reason you had to go through this was for me to learn. Although I don’t actually think that is the case, I have learned valuable lessons. I have gotten better and I will always try to continue that trend.

Sometimes our weekly grind gets tiring. Usually two to three appointments a week. My “Chick-Fil-A” Tuesday mornings with the kids after we drop you off at treatment. Our “Einsten Bagels” Wednseday’s with the kids after an OB appointment. Or even our “Mickey Mouse” Friday’s with the kids while you get prenatal chiropractic adjustments. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I know you feel bad for our kids because we’ve all lived in the car for the past eight months. I feel bad for them to because of how out of patience I have been.

But I’m not worried for the future. Because our kids have you as a mom. And every ounce of fight that I have seen you put out the past eight months lives in them.

So thank you for everything. Thank you for carrying another baby for our family.

No matter what happens next with the delivery, or the seizures, or any of it; thank you for letting me tag along. I don’t like being vulnerable. I don’t like really letting others in.

But I’m not going anywhere;

This is what I signed up for.

-Garth

My White Flag

This morning while doing my hair I felt the intense need to write a story that has been bouncing around in my head for some time. Immediately I thought, na, I don’t have a point or a good tie in yet, but again the thought came, it’s time to share.

So here I am, over-sharing again for no apparent reason because I guess that’s just who I am.

I’m sure you’re all keenly aware, and borderline annoyed at how often you’re reminded that my son was sick and had brain surgery.

Come on Amy move FORWARD already.

But I promise don’t want to talk about that.

I want to selfishly, and unapologetically talk about me.

Really, really about ME.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terribly uncomfortable but here goes:

You see a lot occurred in 3 years that I wouldn’t consider normal or easy, but it also isn’t the worst thing people experience. People endure far worse, and people often do so with grace. So I don’t think my story is unique or some amazing feet that the world should be proud of, but I think what happened to me on a personal level happens all too often.

I was 21 when a baby was placed in my arms that would spend the next 2.5 years chronically ill. I would spend 100s of nights up rocking a screaming infant, then toddler, then child, who was in chronic pain. I would see multiple specialists a week, endure many tests, debate with several doctors, and spend countless hours on google. I would spend many nights crying, pleading, begging, and breaking.

The funny thing is that when I look back at just those moments I am proud and I feel peace. I rallied for Camden. I rallied for the baby in my belly (Kyra) who kept trying to come too early in the middle of it all. I relied on my savior and I blasted through it all full speed with positivity and the ability to manage it all. I killed it!

Who I didn’t realize I needed to rally for was me. 

Now when I look back I can see what I didn’t see then. As a coping mechanism, I began to just turn certain needs off, because it simply wasn’t convenient for me to need them.  

Somewhere along the way I wasn’t taking care of myself, I guess I figured I would do that later.

I can’t pinpoint when the decline started honestly. I remember going to lunch with my sisters and watching them talk and laugh and feeling completely unable to authentically participate. I was spent.

To put it plainly, Amy wasn’t there.

Camden’s and Kyra’s mom was there.

Garth’s wife was there.

I was not.

They asked me if I was okay, I told them I was tired, and that’s honestly the last time I remember putting in the effort to be present beyond when my family needed me to be during it all. Unless I was experiencing raw deep emotion, like stress/worry/fear, I wasn’t present. I would attend girls’ nights for a while and answer a million questions about Camden, and then I would sit in my head, going through the motions of being excited about things like hot chocolate and dessert and the things girls do when they go out.  Except I didn’t feel excited. I simply didn’t feel anything, and it was exhausting to keep pretending like I did. I told myself that it was simply because I had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

Eventually I stopped going, and I started hearing a lot of questions/passing gossip about why I didn’t have time to come to things, what I did with my time, etc etc. and I just moved on. Part of me wanted to scream, do you realized what I am dealing with all day? But instead I turned the social part of me off, and turned in more to my family.

Obviously, you know how the story goes. We did surgery, Camden recovered super well, Kyra managed to stay in my belly til near her due date, and life was tied up with a pretty bow.

The next year (this past year) would be the first year in my mom life my entire family was healthy and there were no trips to the ER. We bought our first home. Garth graduated and got a job that he loved, and life was SO GOOD.

But it didn’t feel good.  And boy did this make me so frustrated with myself.

Plainly and bluntly, last year was the lowest year of my life, and I  still hate saying that. But it is TRUE. It SHOULD be when Camden was sick. It SHOULD have been when he had surgery. It SHOULD have been when I was in chronic pre-term labor. But it wasn’t. It was last year. The pretty bow year.

It took me a long time to realize/accept because the decline in me was gradual and to me completely illogical.

I would get up and put on my workout clothes, only to walk to the basement gym and stand there with no drive to get a workout in. I excused it for the fact I take care of three young kids all day. Eventually I stopped even trying.

I didn’t keep in contact with anyone. I never texted people back, and I didn’t reach out. I was always exhausted.

I was walking in a fog I couldn’t navigate or figure out how to fix.

Eventually I completely stopped sleeping. Instead of laying in bed unable to sleep I just started being productive at night and excused away my lack of sleep for the fact that I was so busy. I was averaging maybe 3-4 hours on a good night. I just told myself you’re so busy! When you’re less busy you will sleep more.

I couldn’t make Amy be present.

One day while cleaning the bathroom I stood up and I looked in the mirror. I barely recognized who I saw and I wondered how much I weighed. So I got on the scale for the first time in a very long time and realized I had lost nearly 15 lbs. Which put me at a very, very low weight. I thought about the day and wondered, did I eat? Did I eat yesterday? The day before?

 It was in that moment staring at myself in a mirror I realized I was truly physically ill.

It still took me weeks to tell Garth, but by the time I did I was barely functioning. I was functioning on a level that I met my children’s basic needs but then I spent the rest of the day accomplishing nothing and feeling horrible about accomplishing nothing. Finally one night I managed to simply blurt out “this has been the worst year of my life”.

At first, Garth didn’t understand. I started telling him about my sleep, my weight, my lack of joy in anything, etc. We went back and forth trying to find a common ground. I started researching depression so I could find better ways to explain it to him and we had to work really, really hard together to get on the same page with it.

Depression has never, ever been something on my radar. It took me so long to admit that it could be an issue for me because I have never even had an inkling of it. I’ve always felt like a positive person, and when I looked back at the previous year I felt like I had handled it all with realistic positivity so how could I possibly be depressed now?

The problem was that I had fought so hard for everyone else, I had nothing left of myself in the end. Which forgive me for how dramatic that sounds! But it’s the truth. WE are important. Our needs are important. When we put them on the shelf too long, we break. It’s as simple as that.

I broke. I broke in a way I never would’ve imagined possible for myself.

Long story short, a while ago I was diagnosed with trauma-induced anxiety and depression. I have learned SO much from pulling myself out of such a deep hole. Somewhere along the way Garth helped me get the courage to fight, and I started pursuing every avenue I could to fight to understand and to manage it.

My bishop was wise and told me that first I would need to accept that this could be a life long struggle, not to just assume I could fix it and close the door.

That was hard for me. But because I am a mom I knew that I needed to learn everything I could about where I was at mentally so that I could have tools to cope and fight it should it ever creep in again.

When I look back I still get frustrated. I was so NOT present that the past year is foggy. There are things about Kyra’s newborn days I flat don’t remember. I remember SO much about Camden’s, but with Kyra’s I just can’t and that hurts me still. There are SO many people who I shut out and unintentionally pushed away because I just didn’t have the emotional stamina to reach out. There were so many people I COULD have reached out to, but I didn’t know how. There are a million apologies I probably owe, but will never be able to give.

I am doing really well at the moment, and I have really learned how to slow my mind and just take things a day at a time. Initially it made me feel so weak to be struggling, but I have come to learn that the people battling for the light at the end of the tunnel are SO strong, and they come back into the light that much stronger.

All that I know is that my one new years resolution was to feel like Amy again. A simple, mildly pathetic, goal. And I am so happy to be able to say I’m getting to know her again.

The season of life I am in right now is good. I feel good, my family is doing good, and we have great health all around. However, I have come to learn that everything truly has its season.

There will be times of triumph, times for the battles, times of peace, and times where we are low and we need our neighbor. The tricky part is that our seasons don’t all happen at the same time.

So if you’re in the midst of a battle, don’t be discouraged by someone's season of peace. When you’re low, don’t be afraid to reach out just because it seems like everyone else is so triumphant. We all have our seasons, some of us have every season in one short year.

Sometimes I think we get so focused on this comparing, we either miss the needs of those around us or we hide our own in order to keep up. We could help lift and encourage each other so much more if we weren’t always competing.

So this is me waving my white flag of surrender. Lets not compete, lets not compare, and lets not be ashamed of where we are at in life.  

I fell apart and I broke and I hid it so well that I was completely alone.

So maybe I’m writing this for me because I have this ever-obnoxious need to try to be as authentic as possible. Maybe it’s so I force myself to not feel any sort of shame about it. Maybe it will help someone realize that we don’t all have it all together. Maybe it will inspire someone to reach out to someone who could be struggling. Maybe it will inspire someone to smile more and just be kinder to his or her neighbors. Or maybe it will remind someone who is struggling that they’re not alone.

To My Kyra Girl

Kyra,

Oh Kyra. Where to begin?
I feel horrible that I haven't blogged in so long. I so carefully documented Camden's life through this blog, and somehow this year I have completely failed you. There are so many things I want you to know about your first year and about your entrance into our family.

You came at the perfect time for me. I myself would not have designed the timing in the way it happened, but that's because I have a limited perspective. Thankfully your Heavenly Father knows us best.

Getting pregnant with you required surgery and the confirmation of endometriosis. The moment I knew I was pregnant I checked your due date, and then I laughed and said "whoops". You were due Christmas day. I was so happy to be pregnant, but also so scared of the sickness. I was definitely sick again, sometimes throwing up 15+ times a day. But you gave me random days off, which Camden did not.

From an outside perspective, you entered our family equation during such a whirlwind. I had to be checked for pre-term labor symptoms before I even knew your gender. They told me at that appointment that I could lose you and that they couldn't stop it because it was too early. But we fought on. I couldn't slow down much due to all the appointments and late nights of pain with Camden, but you kept growing and doing well at every appointment. I was able to keep everything with pregnancy at bay until shortly after brain surgery when the constant labor and constant trips to the hospital to keep you in longer started. I remember crying in the hospital when they wouldn't let me leave because they couldn't stop my labor. I was 32 weeks and they told me it could be likely you would arrive soon. I cried because I felt like I couldn't catch a break and I was so tired of hospital stays. Looking back now I can see that you WERE my break. The constant labor, the reminder to slow down for you-- those were my needed breaks. Even being in the hospital laying in a bed, ordering whatever I wanted to eat, that was a break. They were my opportunities to focus on something other than chiari, my opportunities to be selfish and sit down and rest in the name of a healthy growing baby. Counting and timing contractions all day long gave me something to focus on that I could measure, quantify, control. You gave me something else to focus on, something else to be determined for, and something to look forward to. It took me a while to realize how much I needed those "breaks" but I did, and I am so grateful to have had them.

 Your labor was challenging to say the least, you were facing the wrong way the whole time but to everyone's surprise (and my pain) you cork screwed on the last push -- and you have not stopped surprising me since. I can't describe your entrance into this family in any other way than you are the spark off the bench that we needed at this point in the game. I wish I realized then how much I needed your spunk. You are such a funny, loud, assertive, dominant, adorable, little girl. So dainty and skinny, but SO feisty! Seriously, so much personality in such a little body!! You added the extra oomph we needed to push through 2015 and kick-start 2016.

Watching you grow and seeing more of your personality develop has softened my heart, lightened my load, and made me laugh time and time again. You have consistently been a complete Momma's girl. You laugh deep and in your belly. You smile in a way that takes up your whole face. You growl at people and push away their hands when you've had enough of their affection. You push daddy away when he kisses me and I'm holding you. You lean in when you want me to kiss your cheek. You randomly grab my nose and squeal with the most giddy loud laughter you can muster. You snore a dainty adorable snore. You reach for me and squeal anytime I enter a room. You crawl around this house like you own it-- and you kind of do. You terrorize Camden. You crawl so much with your hands full of cars that you look like you have a limp. You babble and laugh at your own noises. Your cry is the most painful horrid cry I have ever heard, and you seem to plan to keep it that way.
You fit perfectly into our crazy messy life, and you have carried me more than I feel I have carried you in this last year.
I'm so grateful to call you my daughter, and I can't wait to see who you become.

Love,
Mom.

Happy Endings and Battle Wounds

When I think about the past year, sometimes I feel a sting. Like I shouldn’t still be thinking about the past year. I have this idea in my head that I should have moved on by now. That people don’t want to hear me talk about it anymore, and like it is now “old news”. I feel a guilt associated with my bad days, as if having bad days means I’m ungrateful and weak. I feel like the fact I have continued to have some bad days means all the strength I felt I had before wasn’t real. I remind myself that things are much worse for so many people, and that things aren’t that bad for me. 

This cycle of pushing myself to find strength and beating myself up for losing it has continued for some time now. This week I decided I needed to either go back and better deal with the situation, or I needed to find a way to reprocess my current state of being. The more thought I have put into it the more I realized that it’s entirely possible that there is a distinct lack of talk about “life after the storm” as a society.

I’ve noticed that when someone is struggling people tend to instinctively tell them it will be okay. We point out how strong they are, we admire their ability to navigate their storm, and we praise their faith. We do not admire the aftermath, I’m not sure we even like to think about it. We want to hear that they triumphed. We want the happy ending tied up with a bow, and if the one suffering doesn’t see their happy ending we feel the need to point out how happy things are for them, or even how much less happy someone else’s situation is. There is no appreciation for the process.

I feel like I have had the concept of “everything will be okay” beaten into me. Everywhere I turned for relief I received the reminder that I just needed to remember things will be okay.

And things are okay, but things are also absolutely not okay. It wasn’t until this time last year that I realized these two states of being could coexist.  

The truth is I am different. My family as a unit is different. Life is different. That concept has proven almost as hard to accept as the chiari itself. I wanted to deny the ability for anything to cause permanent damage. I feel angry and impatient with myself. I tell myself it’s just dramatic and annoying I feel this way at this point.

It is as if I wanted to rely on The Savior hard enough that I would walk out of it all only better.

I am slowly learning that the battle wounds go hand in hand with the testimony gained. I had to fall down for the strength I felt to come, but that strength does not change the fact that I fell. Sometimes for scraped knees to heal a scar has to form.

When Camden points to his stuffed animal’s head and tells me it hurts it seems to shatter my world all over again. The fact that he remembers it is enough of a blow by itself, but the fear that he is using this to express his own pain is worse.

The first time Camden pointed to his head and said it hurt post op I felt it all come washing over me again. The fear, the sorrow, the anger, the questions. It comes back so fast it’s easy to forget how far we’ve come.

The recent drive we had to the ER for Camden’s possible seizures reminded me I don’t get to just turn away and decide I’m done. Life keeps going, and my life frequently leads to Children’s Hospital.  

Camden woke recently at night in what seemed like major pain and my mind can’t not go down the chiari road. We are so used to it being his pain and defining most of what he did. As much as I wish I could I will never separate the chiari from Camden. It will always be a factor, and always a fear.

When the neurologist explained the paperwork that would need to be submitted to any schools Camden attends it broke my heart a little.  

When I signed Camden up for preschool I got a distinct lump in my throat as I stared at the line I was supposed to write any medical diagnoses or chronic illnesses on.

Sometimes I cry that I still have not felt rest. That I am still so tired. So drained from all the guesswork, all the pain and tests I’ve watched Camden endure. I am ready for rest.

Some days as I watch him run around and play seeing his scar physically hurts me. It’s not just the reminder or the fact that he’s different from those he plays with, there’s just something about seeing your perfect little child’s body damaged that hurts a mom’s heart.

So here’s to being real about life after a storm:

 It’s true what they say, things are okay. I really have grown. I have felt fear and I have felt strength, I have felt bitterness and I have felt gratitude, I have been carried and I have crumbled—and I have the scars to prove it all.