How to Lose 25 Pounds (and your sanity) in Two Weeks

    So kids, have you ever had an experience that has changed your life?  I have - big time.  This experience was absolutely terrifying, but this experience made me an enormously better mother, wife and person in general in many ways.  If you wonder where I get my patience, empathy, emotions and faith from, here it all is.
    Before I go into everything that happened, I feel the need to spell out how normal of a person I am.  I was always a good student in school and never got in trouble.  I got good grades and exceled in music.  I took piano from five years old and transitioned to trumpet in middle school.  My real love was marching band and I was section leader from sophomore year on in high school and even went on to be in the Michigan State Marching band - where I met your father.  I can sincerely say I've never done an illegal drug and I haven't even smoked a cigarette just because I find it gross.  I never drank in high school and very rarely in college.  I have both a bachelors and masters degree in accounting, the most difficult business degree to earn.  I had two successful internships in college and went on to be a good employee and through various job movements and promotions, doubled my salary in five year's time after graduating from college.  I married my college sweetheart and have only loved one other person before him.  I prided myself in having it all together and looked down at other people who struggled.  Then, things happened...
    Natalie, I can't tell a lie.  I had a hard time bonding with you and becoming a parent in general.  I wanted my free time and sleep back.  In my defense, you were a terrible sleeper.  I missed being able to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to.  I felt emotionally distant from you and sometimes felt you were a burden-keep reading.  After you were born, I started having problems sleeping and relaxing in general, especially when your daddy was gone for the night.  Me, the girl who hardly drank at one of the biggest party schools, turned to a glass of wine, or two or occasionally a whole bottle after you were asleep to help me sleep and calm my nerves.  This was not normal behavior at all, but I chalked it up to what happens after you have kids. 
    I continued with this behavior until we started trying for a second child.  All of a sudden, the anxiety worsened greatly, I had problems focusing at work and I had my first full blown panic attack.  I hope none of you kids ever experience the helplessness of a panic attack-they are the scariest thing I ever have experienced.  I sincerely felt I was going to die.  You name it, heart palpitations, racing thoughts, muscle tremors, the whole nine yards.  The scariest part was not knowing what was going on with me, the feeling of being completely out of control.  I like being in control.
    The next thing I knew, I was pregnant, but instead of feeling joy, I started having flashbacks of the day I was told I was going to lose you, Natalie and the ultrasound with no heartbeat.  Of the week I spent in limbo not knowing if you were going to make it and waiting for a dead fetus to fall out of me.  That's really graphic, but that's what was going through my head.  I was in a state of complete terror all the time with no relief.  I had so much adrenaline running through my system I lost twenty five pounds in two weeks and was awake for three days straight.  I went to go see my obstetrician, and she was completely lost as to what to do.  She prescribed me some sleeping pills but they did absolutely nothing.  I did all the natural "stuff" they tell you to do to calm your nerves and make you sleepy.  I avoided caffeine and ran on a treadmill, but I had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins I could've ran forever.  Nighttime started to make me anxious because I knew I would probably be up all night, alone with my thoughts.  I worried about the baby growing inside me and I began to blame myself for what was happening to me and asking "why?".  I remember sitting out on our patio at 3am talking to God for the first time possibly ever and asking Him to make it stop and why He picked me to go through this.  As I was thinking about this, my mind thought about someone else I know who has had issues with flashbacks and insomnia - your grandfather.
    My parents hid the issue from me until I was in high school, but my father had been coping with undiagnosed post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) from Vietnam and had recently sought help for it.  Growing up, I always sensed something was a bit off-he never was able to sit still, often acted anxious and irritable and often had problems sleeping.  I always felt he was emotionally distant from me, and I used to be mad about it, but all of a sudden things started making sense.  Even though it was hard to grow up without a "regular" dad, all of the sudden I "got" him.  In the thick of this, he flew down and we were able to have the talk only two people can have that have both suffered from anxiety disorders.  He finally told me what exactly happened during the war that had triggered his PTSD-it took him thirty years to tell me, and that is something I won't share here.  Trust me, it's something that would give *anyone* issues.  It was awful.  Instead of being mad at him for not being normal, I felt something I had never felt for anyone, which was empathy.  It was surreal. 
    My obstetrician was clearly over her head with what I was dealing with.  She suggested that I see a psychiatrist, but since the waiting list on those are so long, she referred me to Shoal Creek Hospital-Austin's mental hospital-the worst place anyone could've sent me.  The hours I spent in the waiting room with people murmuring disturbing things to themselves still traumatize me.  I waited hours and hours to finally get evaluated.  When they asked what drugs I was on, they were referring to street drugs, what?  After talking with them, they said to me "honey, you don't belong here-go home!".  Okay, I was pretty sure I didn't belong here either, but I knew what I was experiencing wasn't normal.  They refused to treat me because I was pregnant and told me that "it's normal to experience anxiety during pregnancy".  Ignorance...not "this" type of anxiety.
    Thankfully, I was able to get into a doctor soon who finally diagnosed me with a severe panic disorder coupled with some PTSD.  I was given proper medication and treatment.  This doctor gave me my life back.  All of a sudden I started gaining weight back and acting normally again.  I slept for ten hours straight and woke up a somewhat whole person again.  I truly feel God gives us doctors to help us.  I had no problem getting help.  I saw myself repeating my childhood except I played the role of my father, and I didn't want to do that.
    As if I knew something was going to happen, a few days later I started to bleed.  I was in denial how bad it was, but it was bad.  It was like what I thought was going to happen with my pregnancy with Natalie was coming into fruition.  I continued bleeding for 1 1/2 weeks even though there was still a heartbeat.  I remember sitting in a tub with blood coming out of me.  The minute I started having hope, the heartbeat was gone-devastating.  I couldn't even miscarry a child normally, I had to have them removed by a D&C procedure.  I can't describe the empty feeling of having a child removed from you that you didn't get a chance to meet.  It was especially hard because I had to stay strong for my Natalie, and I spent the next few months learning the lesson of how important it is to appreciate what you have instead of what you want.  I found myself bonding with you, Natalie, emotionally in ways I never had before, playing with you and, in general, finally being the mother you deserve.  I stopped drinking entirely because it makes panic disorders and insomnia worse.
    I got through the next few months because of the love of my daughter and my amazing husband.  Even though he's never experienced what I have, he was there every step of the way, learning about my condition, praying with me, and being there for me.  At 19, I had no idea how great of a guy I had picked.  When he said those vows, he meant them.  I truly feel that if my faith hadn't been there and I hadn't had a strong marriage, I would be an alcoholic divorced single mother of one, or worse.  I am almost certain of this.
    So, the next few months were recovery time and reflection time.  I have been a completely changed person.  Sure, what I went through stunk and I'm left with so many questions like "what if my panic attacks caused the miscarriage", etc., but I learned that amazing things can happen through the toughest of times, and you're not always going to know "why".  I don't really wish an easy life on my kids, but I wish you a fulfilling life and relationships with your parents that are very open.  You can call/message me (day or night) for whatever is needed.  I won't be mad and  won't judge you, got it?  I'm extending that offer to anyone who has read this post that needs help.  Think of how many years I could've lost if I hadn't got help.  I've gotten to a place where I want to pay it forward and really help someone else out.  Please feel free to share this with whomever you think could use some encouragement.  Even more tough times were ahead, but I got through them.  You just have to keep going and know you're going through this for a reason and you will come out the other side a better person.  You can do it, to!  Through prayer and support from a few others, I was able to face my fears again and have two more children, despite even more complications.

My favorite piece of jewelry-a cross with the birthstone of the baby I lost.

Why Yarn Makes Me Cry

Annabel Lee Evert
your great grandma
(circa 1946)

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So kids, the older you get, the more you realize what is important.  So much of who you are is based on critical people in your life and your relationships with them-especially the ones you have while you were growing up.  What is heart-wrenching and beautiful about this is that the people that matter most will not be here forever.  You *have* to treat them as a gift even if they are not perfect and *let them know how much you love them when you have the chance* because you never know when it's their time to go and be with God.  If you keep on believing, this will bring you the peace that you will see them again, but why wait the rest of your mortal life when you can just tell their mortal self now?  Your great grandma Evert was one of the most important people in my life.  Not many people knew her because she was quite an introvert, but I knew her quite well.  She passed away two years ago and I still am processing it.  Due to circumstances beyond my control, I never got to say goodbye to her, so I wrote her this letter.  I know she is over my shoulder proofreading right now.  She was always nosing about - that is said with much love, by the way.  That was one way that she showed me she loved me.




Grandma,
Today I got to crochet for the first time in forever.  I love creating something, the rhythmic counting and the feeling of yarn slipping through my hands.  But, yarn sometimes makes me cry, as does a freshly picked strawberry and looking into the beautiful blue eyes all three of my children have.  Why?  Because it makes me think of you and how much I miss you.  Why did you die?  You are the first person in my life that has died that has been a loss that lingers on.  Why?  You weren't just a picture on the wall or someone I occasionally saw from time to time and had superficial conversations with on a holiday.  You were part of my daily life.  I was your only grandchild-you were and still are very important to me.  I feel like I let you down and wasn't there for you in the end-I can't express how sorry I am.
       

my grandma's remaining yarn stash-what to do?

When I think back upon my childhood you were always there.  You taught me so many things-how to crochet, cook, bake and decorate cakes.  I have so many wonderful memories of playing cards with you, picking strawberries and raspberries with you and coming over to your house for potato soup and dumplings.  I'm fairly sure it's "illegal" for an Irish person to not have potatoes at every meal, correct?  And where do I start with those meals-I'm pretty sure you could've made a piece of cardboard edible.  Your cooking was simple but delicious.  So much of the food you used you grew yourself.  Some of my favorite memories were sitting at your kitchen table after a tough day at school while you cooked for me.  By the way, every Easter I stink up the house and make pickled eggs because I think of you.  Scott hates the smell but he deals with it because he knows it's a way I remember you.  Natalie asks me to "do yarn" with her, and I think that's awesome.  I'll teach her everything-I got it.




Among the other things that I love about you was your sassiness and spunk.  I *may* have a similar personality trait-I don't know if my mom told you that raising me was like raising a little version of you, but it was. You told me how it was when I really didn't want to hear about it-and (regrettably so) especially after becoming a mother, I have looked up into the heavens and said "You were right, grandma, okay?  You were right?!?!?"  And then, it makes me think of you and laugh.  It is *uncanny* how much Natalie reminds me of both of us.  Her stubborn spirit drives me crazy and makes me smile at the same time because I know that trait will serve her well and endure tough times.    I even think about how our marriages seem to have a similar dynamic.  I am the high strung one and Scott keeps me sane and somewhat relaxed.  Sound familiar?  One thing is true - we both found very good, faithful men that love us for who we are.  That is a gift from God Himself, especially to put up with gals like ourselves!




My mind originally went to you when doing a combination of crocheting and watching a show about school killings, which jogged my memory about how my great uncle Ralph was lost at seven years old in the Bath School Disaster.  I didn't realize how soon after this tragedy you were born.  I can only imagine the joy you brought to my great grandparents after they went through the ultimate of tragedies, but I have to wonder what the family dynamic was for you-coming after such an event.  I so wished I would've asked these questions, but I ran out of time.  My mom mentioned that great grandma used to play violin and piano, but the music seemed to have stopped.  Did it stop when Ralph died?  Was there an overall somberness?  Were great grandma and great grandpa overprotective of you given what happened?  I could find that very believable.  I find it curious that you never learned music-what was your life like?  You were very stoic on the outside, but I know underneath that you loved deeply.  I can relate.  Why do we do that?




What was left of the school.  The whole school had been filled with explosives, but only part of the explosives detonated.

          My Great Uncle Ralph-the mom in me makes my heart break when I see this picture.  Would I be here if he wouldn't have passed?

One thing is true-you were a fighter and didn't stop until the end.  How did you lose your mother at 16 and carry on?  I can't imagine the strength that must've taken you.  One of my favorite memories of you is rescuing my mom and I from a small gardener snake which had found its way inside our house.  My mom called you over to rescue us and that snake met its maker when you took it outside with a shovel!   The image of a small elderly woman whacking a shovel around in the driveway makes me giggle.  Later in life, you were diagnosed with type II diabetes and managed it for 20 years.  Every time I had to give myself an insulin shot during my last pregnancy I thought about you and how you coped with this disease for so long.  In addition, you had two heart attacks and came out of a quintuple bypass successfully.  That's *a lot* to cope with physically and emotionally.  Why wasn't I there for you?  Well, I didn't grow up until after I started having medical complications myself.  I began to give people a break after I started seeing the importance of trying to walk in their shoes.






Later in your life, dementia started to really hit.  I feel like dementia took my grandma from me.  You became short, bitter and hateful.  What was so hard for me to understand is how I had to separate these things from who you really were and remember who you were, but I really struggled with this.  It scared me to see someone who played such a huge role in my life become so difficult and combative.  I think if this had happened after I got a few more years under my belt, I would've had so much more patience with you-instead I stopped calling and cut off a lot of contact-simply because it was confusing and it hurt.






And then-after enduring two heart attacks, the onset of panic attacks (something I can relate to) and a quintuple bypass, you got cancer?  Oral cancer?  This hardly seemed fair.  They tried radiation and they thought it worked but it didn't.  The cancer came back with a vengeance.  We were left to either let you succumb to the horrible death of head and neck cancer or try to surgically remove a part of your palate.  This was the last resort..  At this point there was significant brain activity and surgery was worth it, but unfortunately dementia and anesthesia aren't a good mixture.  You never really came out of the surgery.  You never really ate again or performed basic human functions.  Most painful for me is that you could no longer talk, which meant that I couldn't communicate with you.  I couldn't even talk to you on the phone.  Oh how much I wish I could've held your hand during those times.  I feel so guilty because during this time I was consumed with a high risk pregnancy and due very soon.  It was my first baby after a miscarriage-my mom was your baby after your miscarriage.  That is an amazing amount of joy to experience.  All the while thought, I knew your time was coming to a close.  That whole year was a blur to me.  So much anxiety, so many doubts and uncertainties-and to know my grandma that was so much more than a grandma to me was slowly dying halfway across the country was too much.




I so wish I could "redo" the last few years of my life, but I can't.  I didn't call you enough.  I wish I would've grown up just a little quicker to have more patience with you and to take a step back and realize what all happened to you in life that made you "you", and to love and support you for it instead of wishing you were someone else at times.  In hindsight, I wouldn't have wanted anyone else, because you were a fighter to the end, something I can all too much relate to.  I think it's in our DNA, grandma.  You just have to keep going no matter what hand life deals you.  Thank you so much for not just being a picture on the wall.  I love you and I will see you again.