What was the cost?

Throughout my life I've had experience with forgiveness.  I can tell you what the word means, how to go about it, that it's healthy for you emotionally, physically, and spiritually.  I can say I've gone through phases of forgiveness... I guess I would liken it as to an onion.  A metaphor most americans have used to describe a multitude of things.

However, I had an experience this weekend, but especially yesterday, that has left me in deep thought.

I will say that I've always known I had keene abandonment issues when it comes to the choices my father made.  The moment, at age 8, that I had to be strapped down to a hospital bed so that the nurses could take my own precious blood to prove Edward Kamerer was my father damaged me to the very core of who I was.  I'm 33  and I can still remember that moment in vivid detail.  It's a memory that damaged my psyche and planted the seed of self hatred, anxiety, and abandonment. I believed that if my own father didn't want me then no one would.  I've had people come into my life that only validated my belief because they always professed to adopt me as family (whether naturally or spiritually) , but then ended up rejecting or abandoning me. I knew that day haunted me, but I didn't know how to really deal with the damage.  Not to mention the damage it caused where I was unable to accept that God loved me.  Actually, I not only haven't been able to accept it, but I secretly hated him.  I felt he failed me.  Not only failed me, but failed in creating me.  I would sing the songs at church, or read scriptures about God's love, and subconsciously I'd always change the word, "God" to "Jesus" because I could accept that Jesus loved me, but not God the father.

To say that I've always struggled with depression is an understatement, but this last 1.5 year has been particularly difficult.  I've been screaming for help so long, with no help in sight, that I started to believe that no one could help me.  Actually, that's the message I was receiving from the doctors I visited.  I was clinically depressed, but this area didn't have any good resources to help.  I was floundering horribly because I couldn't see a door out of the hopelessness I felt almost every day.  It frustrated me to no end because I know triggers.  I know psycology.  I know how to help someone else 'snap' out of the funk, but I couldn't pull up anything to help myself.  I'm embarrassed to admit I woke up last week ready to check myself into the hospital because I saw no hope in front of me.  No door.  I couldn't think or analyze myself out of it!  I didn't want to check myself into the hospital because I was going to hurt myself.  I thought that if I did something that drastic that maybe I could finally find someone to help me.  I called Jason's pastor who was trying very hard to be helpful and ended up calling a therapist that I've heard about.  The experience was interesting and helpful.  I told him my life story in record time and at the end he asked me if I had any questions.  I did.  I asked him, flat out, if this was a waste of my time... could he help me.  He proceeded to tell me what he saw and it was quite shocking.  He believes I have a form of PTSD from the trauma I experienced as a child always looking over my back, trying to make sure I wouldn't experience abuse, ducking and dodging to make sure everything was okay.  He also thinks that my biggest problem isn't depression, but anxiety.  That if you look at a house no one ever thinks about the basement, but that my basement, and foundation, is full of anxiety.  That my anxieties actually trigger my depression.  He helped me remember/understand that I had simply forgotten how to recognize my 'triggers' to anxiety and told me he'd help me figure them out so that I could cope.  I left feeling very encouraged, but two days later I woke up in a funk, once again.

This weekend Jason forced me to go to something like a revival with people who are like minded believers.  I'm not too sure if I agree with everything Jason believes, but I will say that I met a remarkable wise man by the name of Mark.  His wife was great too, Lori.  We ended up talking for quite some time and the revelations he had about fear/anxiety/depression left me in tears.  Fear is actually the counterfiet of the prophetic... where you foresee the worst case scenerio and project it onto everything and everyone in your life and that depression comes in when you can't see an escape or door to escape.  That's when hopelessness creeps in and tries to suffocate the life out of you.  He also identified, clearly, that I have an orphan mentality.  An orphan believes that they have no one to count on.  That they are the only means of survival.  They figure out how to survive by will power, strong intellect, through their emotions, etc.  I've always survived off of my intellect and having the ability to read people or situations.  Not being able to do that, with this bout of depression I've had for the last year, has been suffocating any hope I had.

But that's not what left me pondering.  I met with them yesterday after having a horrible night thanks to anxiety.  They sat with me and then Mark looked right at me and told me it was time to forgive my father for his choices and failures that led to that painful experience when I was 8.  I kind of nodded, smiled, and thought, "Well, that's no surprise."  But, what he said after that has changed my viewpoint of forgiveness.  He said, to forgive, that we must take account of the COST that the incident or person caused you.  What did that cause me?  Well, I took on the belief that I had no worth.  That I wasn't wanted.  That father's were untrustworthy.  That I was unlovable.  That I deserved an apology... amongst a few other things.

He then told me that I needed to acknowledge the cost verbally and then RELEASE my father from his debt.  Acknowledging that he couldn't pay that back even if he was alive to apologize.  Then, ask the Lord to heal those areas and show me the true love of a Father.  Because, the one thing I've always wanted, and felt I deserved, was an apology.  The hardest thing I had to struggle with, after his murder, was that I could never hunt him down to ask "why" or to hear, "I'm sorry."  It's never going to happen so I believed I could never really gain healing.

It sounds so crazy as I type it out, but it was real... and very interesting.  It was freeing to finally identify just what that incident cost me, saying it out loud, choosing to release a debt that couldn't be repaid, and then asking the Lord to help me see the truth of a father's love.

But normally, to forgive, people think they'll jsut give it enough time until the pain goes away.  But, that's not true.  It's not validating the pain you've experienced, or the lies you've adopted, and then really realizing that xyz couldn't repay that debt even if they were able to.

I don't know.  It was interesting.

Also, as I reviewed that situation in prayer, it became clear that day also marked the beginning of my anxieties.  As they strapped me down, held me down, my mom left the room, and they proceeded to draw my blood I went from fear to straight up PANIC.  That moment, as I panicked in raw fear, the seed of anxiety was planted deep in my heart.  I believe that's when all of my high anxieties were born.  Interesting, huh.

I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I'm hoping life gets brighter.  I'm hoping this process of forgiveness  will help me finally be the woman, and mother, I'm supposed to be.  That, as I heal, I can finally accept God as my father.  I hope that I'll no longer hate him, fear him, and cringe when I read, "God is love."  I hope that I can finally accept it, trust it, and see it for Him for Who/Want He really is... and that's Love.

I will also be seeing a specialized doctor in Lubbock in three weeks.  I'm hoping he can help me figure out what's going on with my body/hormones/chemistry that's aiding in the depression/physical struggles I've had since a child.

I realize I'm putting myself out into the world, but I have to believe that there are other women, and mother's who are struggling with such a personal struggle with depression.  It may not be depression you struggle with, but everyone needs to forgive someone who wounded them.  Maybe my journey, and struggles, can some how encourage others to know that they aren't alone.  That God cares for them even if they don't feel it... and that somewhere, some how, there is hope.

God Bless.

Clinical Depression?

I think I might have clinical depression.  It's kind of nice to admit, but exhausting to look at.  Just admitting it makes me want to take a nap and cry a little bit.

Yet, am I REALLY surprised?  No, not really.

I went to the doctor last week to do an annual appointment.  I asked her to do routine blood work including my thyroid.  I sat in her office weeping because I felt like something was wrong with me... hoping they'd find something that could be fixed with a pill of some sort.  She listened to me, very patiently, but at the end told me she doubted my blood work would come back with any problems.  She told me, very compassionately, that she thinks my problem may be bad clinical depression.  Then, in the next breath, she told me there was no resources in this town that could help me.  She said she sees people come into her office in a darker place then myself, but all she can pray is that they don't hurt themselves because there are no resources in this town to send them to.

I left her office very bummed, but still hopeful she was wrong.  Then I get the call today that my blood work is normal.  You'd think that would be something to celebrate, but I cried instead.  Then it's true, without God's grace, I'm screwed.  At least I'm screwed as long as I live here because the resources are limited.

See, this isn't the first time a medical professional looked at me and said something very similar.  I remember, in high school, I admitted myself into the psych ward because I just had no desire to live.  I sat there telling the intake lady how I was almost raped, bullied, abused, panic attacks, massive weight loss due to anorexia, rejection... the list when on.  They tested me for everything under the sun!  The doctors were all bewildered and told me, flat out, they couldn't find a single thing wrong with me.  They couldn't understand why I was so depressed.  A few days later, I was having a massive panic attack.  The nurse, who changed my life, was rubbing my back to calm me down when she said, "Janine.  There is nothing wrong with you.  The devil is just trying to kill you."  I realize, to my friends in the medical field, that sounds insane, but I find it to be true.  NORMALLY, if I can keep my eyes on Jesus, stay in the word, and work on my perspectives I can stay on top of the darkness/funk/fog, but once I lose track then it bombards me again.

Yet, I'm weary.  Exhausted.  My kids deserve better.  They deserve a mom who doesn't find it a chore to play with them.  Mind you, no one ever played with me as a kid, so I really struggle knowing 'how' to do that.  That doesn't mean my kids aren't loved.  I kiss them, hug them, and tell them I love them all of the time.  Yet, just the simple nursery rhyme overwhelms me because I don't know the lyrics.  No joke.  My friend just taught me the complete nursery rhyme "bakers man".  Now I sing it with Ben all the time because I know the lyrics.  I may hate playing with them, but I'm good at teaching and encouraging.

I've begged Jason to move out of this town for years, but recently I've increased my nagging.  I want to be in a town that has programs like, "Celebrate Recovery."  I've never been at my healthiest then when I was apart of that ministry at Vineyard.  I need to find people who understand depression and help you process your perspectives.  I've reached out to every pastor, or their wife, about my struggles and they always look at me like I have four heads.  They will say they'll pray for me, but no one - NO ONE - in this town has ever given me any follow through.  Or!  They have compassion and some kind of understanding, but once I leave their building I no longer exist.  I 'get' that pastors aren't equipped to help someone with depression, but what about follow through?  It's just so discouraging.  Am I really that screwed up that no one can help me? 

Ugh.  Thoughts/feelings like that only breed darkness because hopelessness creeps in and it's very difficult to combat hopelessness.

I've seriously battled depression since I was a small child.  A CHILD.  I've experienced every kind of abuse one could experience.  Thankfully, some of the abuse was less severe then what you hear about on the news, but nonetheless it was extremely scarring.  From sexual abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, spiritual abuse, HORRENDOUS bullying when I was younger, rejection, abandonment... No wonder I struggle with self hatred and depression.

But, once again, I'll "put my big girl panties on" and battle to have a normal life.  I'll look into exercise again to release good endorphins and lose weight.  That alone, at the very least, will help combat the self hatred that I struggle with.  I'll plug into the books and biblical resources I have.  I'll hope that, as I seek His love, that the Love of Jesus will finally heal this weary soul.

I just wish God would heal me.  I'm 33.  Haven't I battled this 'demon' long enough?  I understand empathy.  I understand compassion.  All of my friends come to me with their problems because I can empathize, have experience that has given me some wisdom, and because I love them where they are at.  Thank you Lord... but, seriously... Can't this battle just be over with?

Disappointment

Recently the Lord has been showing me how deep the root of disappointment permeates my life.  I find it very interesting because I've always thought that the feelings of rejection and abandonment were the undercurrent within the relationships I've encountered.  However, now I realize that I feel those emotions after I feel disappointed with a situation or person. 

The more I ponder this epiphany the more I see it's long lasting tentacle.  I see how disappointment has changed the very way I think and process events and emotions.  Rejection and Abandonment defiinitely go hand-in-hand with disappointment.  Disappointment that my father didn't feel he could be in my life.  Disappointment that my mother didn't realize her choices were affecting me.  Disappointment that my years of being a child and teenager were often horrific, difficult, and very painful.  Disappointment that I had to live with friends as a teenager because it wasn't healthy to live with my mom. Disappointment that I spent holidays with friends and their families who loved me, but it was never 'my' family. Disappointment in having to flee Minnesota to break ties with my mom.  Disappointment I ended up in a cult.  Disappointment marriage wasn't what I thought it would be.  Disappointment in myself as I make repeated bad choices.  Disappointment that I had to do the mothering/parenting thing without family support.  Or the support of people who claimed they thought of me as a daughter.  Disappointment in leadership of churches who don't know what to do with me.  Disappointment in being perceived wrong.

The list goes on.

I can't tell you how powerful this discovery is.  I feel like I finally have a name to identify what actually triggers me.  What triggers my depression.  What triggers my feelings of rejection and abandonment.  The thing that has hurt me deeper then any hurt could go.

I was discussing this in detail with a beautiful friend when she said, "It sounds like the Lord is trying to show you that you can parent and live your life without people influencing your life like a mother or a father.  He wants you to know that you can do this, and do this well, with just God."

Her words have left me in a state of meditation.  Is she right?  Is that why God has allowed me to be (what feels) family-less?  With the loud echo of peoples footsteps as they've gone about their business, but  not remained in my life in the fashion THEY said they wanted to be?  Where I've had to figure life out by the seat of my pants with whatever mercy and grace the Lord gave me? 

As I drove into town this morning I found myself pondering that thought when it struck me... The Lord wants me to know Him as my mother.  As my father.  And as my friend.

I realize that sounds extremely corny.  It sounds like a bunch of 'christianese' or hyperspiritualizm, but it's true.  I think once I'm able to see Him as my Mother, my Father, and my Friend then I won't seek to find that in humanity.  I will no longer be left disappointed in something people cannot give me.  No matter how many times someone has wanted to 'adopt me' whether spiritually or naturally it always ends up in a bust because I was not formed in their womb.  I am not their child and my children are not their grandchildren. 

So that's my quest.  To finally banish this deep deep root of disappointment.  To find my source of love, joy, and peace in  the only source who will always love me, have my best interest at heart, and who wants to know me for the kind of person, mother, wife, or friend that I am.

All my life I've cried out to God to have family.  I think it's time I finally realize that He is my family.  He is the mother I've always wanted.  The father I used to cry to sleep wanting to have.  The friend who won't reject or abandon me.  I can find my support, love, and unconditional love in Him.  No, he can't watch my children or be with me on holidays, but he can whisper to my heart when I'm lonely, heal my inner wounds, and teach me how to be the mother, cook, and woman I desperately want to be.  He can convict me when I do wrong and encourage me when I do right.  He can be the parent(s) I've ached to have my entire life.

I really hope I can finally be cured of all this pain that seems to rear it's ugly head once I experience disappointment.  I don't want rejection and abandonment to influence my life anymore.  I want to feel connected to someone who will always be there.  I want to finally experience the kingdom of heaven... which I've recently discovered is simply living in righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit. 

"Wearing Disappointment"

This morning I chose to go to church.  I was mildly excited because all of my boys were healthy enough to be at church!  It was hard listening to the kids ask Jason if he was going with us.  We actually got into, yet, another disagreement about it.  It's so hard to honor his strong convictions about his dislike of the 'institution" of a church.  He's most definitely a believer, but he doesn't believe churches are what they are supposed to be.  For years I let that stop me from going to church, but now I'm trying to chose between 2 different churches.  They both have their pro's and cons.  I want to figure out which one to dive into!  I decided to go to the more charistmatic church because that's where I felt prompted.  I figured I could go and finally decide where I'm supposed to plant myself and my 3 boys.  Once I got there I realized I really didn't want to be there.  I know it's because of an offense so tried to just plug in and tell myself to 'get over it.'  The message was good, but it really didn't penetrate.  At the very end of service they were having a beautiful moment with the Holy Spirit.  The pastor asked everyone to ask the Holy Spirit what He wanted to say to them.  To sit there and listen.  I sat there feeling like an impenetrable wall... when all of a sudden I started to think about all of my hurts.  I had memories flash through my mind.  I was questioning the point in thinking about these situations when all of a sudden I heard myself pray, "Lord.  I'm so disappointed."  The moment I articulated the root of my wound I felt something break.  I wept.  I just kept telling him, "I'm so disappointed.  So disappointed" and I openly wept in my seat.  I realized that, in trying to be mature and 'move on', I had picked up my disappointment like a cloak.  I wore it to keep my hurts warm and then literally shut down.  I didn't know how else to be around people when I felt so wounded.  Without realizing it, I had shut down to try and protect myself.

2012 wasn't a great year for me.  I had beautiful highlights... I birthed my third son into this world.  His smile, love, and personality will forever mark my life.  I worked hard and lost all of my pregnancy weight.  I made, and cultivated, a few specific friendships that I believe I'll have in my life - in some form or other - for many many years to come.  The Lord showed me His Love and Faithfulness in financial ways that leave me humbled and so very thankful.

However, 2012 was also marked with much pain, fear, and keene disappointment.  I didn't listen to myself and ended up with a horrific birthing experience that left me in pain for months.  I was worried I'd never be able to hold my baby or function 'normally' ever again.  I experienced post partum depression that still makes me shake in my boots.  There were nights I could only cry out to God as I seriously contemplated abandoning my family or committing suicide.  I experienced disappointments with women that I thought would be able to support me, or even reach out to me, due to their 'title'.  I took people for their word when they said they'd call, but never did.  I had a family member resurrect herself in my life only to tear me down brutally.  I left a mom's program that I was apart of for 3 years because I was tired of being mistreated and felt there was nothing else to do but retreat.  I had someone I thought of as a mother say words to me that may haunt me for the rest of my life.  We haven't spoken since and I don't know if that relationship will ever be restored.  Having those words spoken to me triggered me bad.  I'm still haunted by the thoughts of, "If she would say this then maybe there something really wrong with me.  Maybe I am THE problem... A problem."  And finally, a week after that keene betrayal, I was told I wasn't allowed to return to a local mom's group because of half truths, lies, and full out slander.  I saw how isolated Joshua had become so I considered returning with hopes I could avoid the individuals who didn't like me.  However, I was mistreated, yet again, by leadership of a church.  When I went to the source there was no apology.  Even after I confronted the slander and proved their perceptions were wrong... No apology.  That experience didn't just hurt me, but my sons who won't be able to be apart of a program that helped all of us socialize. 

It was after the last two, very painful experiences, that I felt myself shut down.  I was so hurt that it took all I had to just get out of bed and try to function for the boys.  After a few days of crying I realized that I couldn't stay in that place so I thought I chose to forgive the situations, but that was a lie. I 'thought' I was being mature and handling it properly, but now I realize I had retreated within myself and wore my disappointments like a protective cloak.  I haven't read my bible or worked out for over a month.  I knew I'd feel better if I did those two things, but I couldn't seem to find the desire to do so.  I just put a smile on my face and plugged on trying to be a better mother, decent wife, and all around decent human being.  Little did I know I was rotting inside my cloak of disappointment.

I don't know what the year 2013 will bring.  I don't really know what to do with all my hurts and disappointments, but I realize now that I wasn't handling things as maturely as I thought I was.  I have to figure out how to acknowledge my disappointments and forgive.  Is it possible to forget painful things?  Or to remember them without feeling the sting of hatred, bitterness, and pain?  I don't know, but I have to finally figure it out.  I deserve better.  Jason deserves a whole woman and so do my kids.  I can't pretend I'm not wounded, but I also can't live in that pain either.  I need the Lord to show me how to really forgive and take the sting of all this disappointment away.

So here I am.  Taking my cloak off, acknowledging my disappointments, and figuring out how to make the rest of my life more whole.  I'm thankful the Holy Spirit revealed the truth to me.

It's hard to believe today is the last day of 2012.  I feel old thinking I've lived through 12 years of 2000.  I remember, as a child, thinking we'd have flying cars and much more high tech capablities once we hit the new millenia.  It's funny, really. 

I don't like new years resolutions, but I have decided that I'm going to work on four things this year.

1. I am going to mark off every day on the calendar.  As I do that, I'm also going to read the verse that marks each day on my specific calendar.  This will enable me to never miss important dates.  I always remember dates, but last year I often missed the fact that the day came and went.  I can't tell you the amount of times I gasped in horror when I realized I missed a birthday because I didn't realize the date had already come and gone.

2. I am going to start blogging again - the good and the bad.  It's extremely cathartic for me.  I don't care what people think of me.  If you want to judge me for my honesty then just stop reading.  Get out of my internet life.  I realize that sounds harsh, but I quit writing because I was tired of people thinking I was too 'exposed' or honest online.  I like feedback so I refuse to make it 'friends only' because no one will read it then.  No one wants to log in just to see if I wrote something.  I have no problem with someone giving me a different perspective, but I have no time for the individuals who like to read my blogs simply to 'judge' my words and choices.

3. I'm going to read my bible far more.  I'm not sure how that's going to happen.  I never seem to complete bible studies if I start them, but I'm going to figure something out.

4. I am going to figure out what church to call, "home."  This was a hard one for me because my husband doesn't like 'organized religion".  He's a believer!!  But he won't go to church.  Instead he attends a small group that we went to for a long time.  The group is full of amazing people, but it's not realistic for me with 3 young kids.  I have to find a church home and attend even if it's stressful doing it alone.

So there you go.  My four goals for 2013. I plan on writing a lot more so tune in! :)

My Birth/Post Partum Story

I wasn't going to write anything about my birth and post partum story because there were moments that were extremely traumatic (at least for me).  I, also, don't want to scare anyone who may be pregnant.  It never ceases to amaze me how much women seem to enjoy scaring others with their birth stories.


Yet, as time goes on, I find myself wanting to write everything down so that I don't forget.  His birth story may not be the happiest, but it is Benjamin's story coming into this world... and my story in living through it.


Birth Story:


My story starts on January 30th, 2012.  I woke up with no contractions and went to my weekly doctor appointment.  I was there about a half hour when I started to feel contractions.  I ignored them because I had experienced their 'teasing' embrace for nine weeks.  I confess I decided to schedule an induction on the following Friday morning with the thought that I could cancel it if I wanted. The doctor made me an appointment for the following Monday in case I decided against induction.  I scheduled the induction because I was stressed about Jason's time off and a few other factors, but I REALLY wanted to go into labor naturally.  I left the doctors office feeling anticipatation about my near future ... and as the day wore on the contractions kicked in and seemed to grow in intensity.    I couldn't walk while having them and they definitely took my breath away so I called Jason at work and told him I really thought it was time.  I didn't make that decision lightly.  I really really thought that it was time.


I should point out that I had made a promise to Jason, and declaration to myself, that if I went into the hospital I was coming home with a baby.  I truly didn't believe I'd go into the hospital unless it was TIME.  I knew that I had done inductions with my previous deliveries so I wasn't overly worried about doing an induction because I knew I'd end up with an epidural either way.


So, I called Jason, and made the preparations for the kids and Allizah to go to MIL's.  It took 2 hours to get that in order!  I met Jason at home, we dropped everything at MIL's, and then grabbed a quick bite to eat at Arby's.  I was so excited that it was finally time and that he'd be born in January!  Mandi, my friend and birth mentor/encourager met me there, wheeled me up, helped get me settled, and told me to call her when it was time.  Yay!  ....However, once I got there my contractions STOPPED and it became obvious there wasn't going to be a baby unless I chose induction.  Jason didn't want to leave without a baby, and I didn't either, but I was so torn because I really wanted to do it as naturally as I could.  I spoke to my doctor and he said that I was in the drivers seat.  I could go home or I could do an induction.  He wasn't worried either way.  (I was 39 weeks.)


So, after hours of agonizing over my decision, I decided to do an induction.  In hindsight I really wish I had just gone home, but I had no idea what was about to happen!  No one did.


The induction process started around 1am.... maybe 2am.  It's hard to remember.  I was nervous (as always).  The anestilogist guy came in to give me an epidural.  I wanted to see his face and talk to him, but before I knew it I was being put into position.  I freaked out because I was so scared to get the epidural (I always am), but he said he was confidant, had done thousands, and not to worry.


Well, in the end, there was reason to worry because his over confidence made him try to put an epidural in when I wasn't in the perfect position.  I remember feeling liquid coming down my back and saying, "that's not normal.  I don't remember that happening before."  It even took several tries, but my epidural was finally in and we could start the process!  Pitocin was put in my IV and I prepared myself to have a little nap.  The anesthesiologist left since it was in the middle of the night thinking all was hunky dorey.


A short bit later I noticed that I was feeling contractions on my left side.  I ignored them at first, but they continued to grow in intensity.  I told the nurse, who called the anesthesiologist, and she came back to me saying he had given me the highest dose possible and nothing more could be done.  I would have to labor through with NO PAIN MEDS until the baby was born.  I take that back, she did offer me stadol, but that didn't do a DAMN THING.  (Sorry to cuss, but it's the truth.)  I refused it at first, but when the pain got so intense I gave in because I was desperate for pain relief! 


It was at this time that she checked me to say that I was dilated to a 5.  I had gone from a 2 to a 5 within 2.5 hours.  I knew the pain I felt at a 5 was nothing like the pain I'd feel at 9cm.  I freaked out.  I literally sobbed and became hysterical knowing what I was going to go through and TERRIFIED of it.
I dilated from 5 centimeters to a 10 in 3-4 hours.  The pain is something I could only describe as horrific.  I tried my hardest to breathe through it, but by the time I got to a 9 I really lost my mind.  Jason and the nurse kept telling me to 'breathe through it', but yet none of them would breathe with me to help me remember HOW to BREATHE THROUGH IT.  lol  I'd end up hyperventilating in which the nurse would tell me my baby wasn't getting enough oxygen.  They tried to put the oxygen mask on me, but then I felt like I was suffocating.  I begged Jason to wipe my face with a cold rag (I was SO HOT), but he didn't do it gently and I'd get frustrated, but then beg him to do whatever he could to cool me off.


I became that woman you see in movies that threatens people, cusses, cries, threatens to never have sex again, hates all men, and begs for it to end.  I begged the nurses to call the anest. and have him come in to give me another shot, but all they'd tell me is that there was nothing he could do for me.  (I later found out that wasn't the truth.  If they had just called him he could have done something for me.)


The shift changes are at 7am so the new nurse, bless her heart, had to deal with my last hour of delivery.  She didnt' like me much and I can't blame her.  I literally remember looking at her and saying, "I can tell by the look on your face that you don't like me much, and i don't care."  At one point the ONLY relief I had was to sit straight up, but they couldn't read the babies heart beat so she and Jason were yelling at me to lay back down... but when I laid back down the pain was TEN times worse.  Jason was even pushing me backwards and I was yelling at him to stop touching me.  It was terrible.  Really Truly Terrible.  At one point, at the very end, I screamed so loud my throat hurt later that night.  It was so bad that around 8cm Jason looked at me and said, "Janine, I swear I'll never touch you again until I have a vasectomy."  We had already agreed on that fact, but I tell you, after this last delivery, I'll never ever go through that again.  Especially since I know that epidurals don't work for me.


At the very end she checked me and told me I was a 9, but still had some of my cervix.  It was at that point I really did lose it.  I was trying to breathe through the contractions, but at that point I just screamed instead.  (I'm pretty sure that's why my throat hurt so bad later that night.)  I just couldn't imagine any pain worse then what I felt at that moment and here she was telling me that it wasn't quite time!!!


A short bit later (maybe 10-20 minutes) I knew it was time.  I felt the urge to poop and I told her so.  I knew the doctor was close by and I told her to go get him now.  I wouldn't let her check me because when she did the pain was far worse.  She started walking to the door and I told her, "Don't walk; RUN!"  Before I knew it Dr. Driskill was in the room (he really is an amazingly gentle, kind, and wonderful doctor.  When he was in the room he really helped me to focus.)  I told him I had to poop and he just simply said, "If you feel the need to push then push."  He was so calm when he said it.  Oh man, I can't tell you how much relief you feel when you finally get to push.  I only pushed a few times and our little Benjamin came gushing out.  There really is no feeling like it!  I was scared about tearing but I barely did.  I tore horribly with my first two and I was scared I would with Benjamin as well.  The irony is that I'd much rather have torn that deal with what I'm dealing with now.  However, I do thank the Lord that was one issue I didn't have to deal with!!!


They showed me Benjamin and took him to the heat lamp.  I was told he was only 5lb and 11oz.  I felt fear when I was first told his weight because he was smaller then Jadon!  Jadon was our PREEMIE and couldn't breathe on his own.  My first thought was, "oh no, somethings wrong."  But that's not the case!  Benjamin is pure health, vitality, and sweetness!


However, as Dr. D fixed me up I heard him tell the nurse that I needed to get a blood patch.  I asked him if I had lost a lot of blood; if I was okay.  He told me no I hadn't and not to worry.  Okay...


A short bit later the anesthesiologist walks in and tells me he has to do a blood patch.  He didn't really explain why, but I didn't really ask either.  I'm told they just need to draw some of my own blood and put it in where I had an epidural. Okay... the nurse tries to get blood, but FISHES in there and hurts me.  I told her how bad it hurt so the anest. takes over, uses a hand vein, blows it, but gets the blood he needs.  Then they tell me to get into the epidural position.  I do, but no one bothered to tell me it would BURN when the blood was injected.  I was startled, but the nurse kept me in place.

He finishes, takes the eppy out, and I feel relief because I'm FINALLY DONE!!! YAY!!  Time to nurse, recoup, and have a baby!




Post Partum:
The next 24 hours were nice.  We spent time in the post partum, I had a wonderful wonderful nurse, my baby was healthy, I didn't tear bad so that looked promising, and I was excited to go home.  The administration apologized to me for the way things were handled.  The anest. guy came to me twice to apologize, said he could have done more if notified, etc.  I was able to see the mistakes made, but at that point I didn't care because as long as he didn't hurt me permanently then I just wanted to go forward and go home.  We came home on Wednesday afternoon with the boys. 


Then Thursday hits.  That morning I woke up with a headache, but didn't think much of it.  However, as the day wore on the headache only got worse and nothing seemed to take the edge off.  I called the doctor and she told me it might be a spinal headache if I found relief when laying down.  If I did, then I needed to go to the ER.  I cried on the phone with her.  I got off of the phone and decided to just watch it.  I did NOT want to go to the ER.


I prayed, prayed, and prayed, but I couldn't ignore the fact that the only way I got relief is if I laid down.  I went to sleep that night with hopes I'd wake up Friday morning feeling great.  I did ... that is until I stood up... and within a short amount of time I was in agony.  I told Jason we had to go to the ER so we packed up and headed in.  By the time I got there I could barely walk straight.  I had called the doctors office so they could inform the ER I was on the way.  Agony.  Just pure agony.


Mandi, God Bless her, met me at the ER and sat with me for hours as we waited.  Jason couldn't stay there because the ER didn't want a newborn around.  We completely respected that.  He'd come, let me nurse, and leave again. I told the nurses that I wanted a different anest. to do the blood patch (I assumed that's what I would do) and then I'd go home.  Finally, hours later, the doctor came in, interviewed me, and left.  She said she wanted me to get an IV to get fluid... i agreed, but the nurse who came to do it was terrible!  She put the needle in and kept fishing to stick it in my vein.  I literally told her to stop, take it out, and that I refused to have an iv or give blood.  I just wanted the patch and be sent home.  At this time I was alone because I told Mandi to go back to work and I'd call her when it was 'patch time'.  The ER doctor comes back and simply states that she spoke with Dr. Driskill and the head anest. of the hospital and they decided to admit me and do a caffeine drip instead of a patch.  Then she walked out.  I admit I freaked out AGAIN.  I just laid in that bed, all by myself, bawling.  What did that mean?  Could I have my baby with me?  What about the patch?  I was so scared.


Dr. Driskill came in a little bit later and explained that no one wanted to do the patch since I had already had one.  It was invasive and they didn't want to disturb an already irritated site.  The caffeine drip was 70 percent effective and they preferred to go that route first.  He told me they would admit me in the post partum section so Benjamin could be with me.  (While Dr. D was talking to me a male nurse came in and gave me a very painless IV.  I thanked him profusely!)  Dr. D's explanation made sense and that calmed me down.  It was sometime around 3pm when I was taken up.  My nurses were AMAZING.  I can't say enough for the post partum section in our hospital!  They moved mountains to get me dinner, made me laugh, were so kind, apologetic for my situation, and just made you feel better.


As the night wore on I realized that I wasn't going to be able to sleep.  I never drink caffeine and that drip was pure.  Around five am I started to feel a little insane.  I had barely slept in days and now it was turning into daylight.  I couldn't think straight and I felt a panic attack starting to hit.  I just didn't know what to do.  My head still hurt so I didn't think the drip was working, I couldnt' sleep, I couldn't think ... I couldn't even enjoy my baby anymore.  It was then I asked for a sedative.  You have to know that I DON'T take meds.  I really don't, but I knew if I didn't find some kind of relief I was going to lose it.  The nurse called Dr. D and he said I could take a xanax.  I was worried about my breastmilk, but I also knew if I didn't take care of ME I couldn't take care of Ben.  I agreed to take HALF a pill (.5 mg).  That pill knocked me out.  Literally.  When I woke up four hours later I could barely move my limbs and I had to focus on my breathing to ensure I really could.  I'm not sure how I made myself stay calm through that feeling (I guess that was the meds), but I did.


Ironically, when I woke up, to the nurses checking in on me I saw one of my dear friends, Kimberley Norman, standing there.  Of ALL days (the first day ever) she was working in post partum for her clinicals.  I remember thinking, "great, she's seeing me doped up" ... but then I also felt safe seeing a face I knew.  I truly believe that was just another 'little' thing the Lord did for me.  I finally was able to shake the effects of the xanax, felt a little human, and then I called Katrina Fuller to ask if the xanax would hurt my milk.  I was scared it would hurt Benjamin or affect him in a similar manner it affected me.  Thankfully, I able to pump a little bit and he wasn't hurt.


Around this time Dr. D came in and told me to start sitting up to see if the drip worked.  It didn't.  He said he'd be back later in the day to talk about how I was feeling and what my options were.  he really didn't seem keene on the idea of doing another patch.  Once he left, and I realized the drip really didn't work, I felt so confused and started the agonizing process of trying to figure out if I should get another patch or go home.  This decision really was agonizing and confusing because I wanted the immediate relief IF the patch worked, but I also knew there was no guarantees and I certainly didn't want to expose my spine to anyone else.  I cried a lot trying to figure out what to do.  I was just scared. 


Dr. D returned and we talked for quite a while.  He explained that, in his experience - with what happened to me - pain relief usually happens within 14 days as the spinal fluid resets it self.  He told me I was at day five and didn't want to put me back to day 1 with another patch that had no guarantees.  Of course, if my headache became unbearable I was told to return to the ER and they would do it, but he encouraged me to go home, take it easy, and wait.  What he said made sense and that's what I did.


So, now I wait and I pray.  Pray.  Pray.  Pray the balance comes sooner then later.




I want to say that I see the hand of God in many things that happened.  I also see the beauty of friendships I didn't quite realize I had until all this happened.  I see what an amazing, faithful, and loving husband I have.  I see God's grace in how EASY Benjamin is.  Nursing has been so easy.  I've had no discomfort at all with his latch!  With my last two there was cracking, bleeding, etc as we figured it out.  I see God's love through the meals and prayers that have been given.  I've seen God's love in the way Mandi and all the other nurses served me while I was in the hospital.  I see it in the way He's provided diapers, clothes, a swing, burp clothes, toys - everything I could need for our baby and our two big boys.  I also see God's love in the way Joshua LOVES his brother.  All he wants to do is hug and kiss him.


I'm doing my best to focus on those things and not the discouragement or fear I have when I can't function much ... or when I think about Jason returning to work. 


There's my story.  If you read it all please remember to pray for me that my spinal fluid balances out. :)

What a Beautiful Afternoon!

The temperature reached the 70's today.  It was Beautiful! 

We took care of the house this morning and when the boys woke up we headed to Hobbs with popcorn and bread.  We wanted to go to their favorite park to feed the ducks and let them play.  Jadon enjoyed himself for a little while feeding the ducks, but he quickly asked if he could play at the park.  (It was right behind us) ... but Joshy was in HEAVEN.  He wasn't scared of the big geese either!  He wanted to FEED them out of his hand. haha  Jason sat on the ground holding him away from the water and I handed him the food to throw.

Once that was done, we all played at the park.  It's amazing to me how fearless Joshua is.  He'll go down slides now without a problem, tries to climb as high as he can, and loves to be caught.   Jadon is also far more brave then he used to be.  He's so proud of himself when he gets to the bottom!  It was a really beautiful sweet moment to share all that with Jason.  J is such a great father.  I'm so blessed to have him as a partner and friend.  I can't wait to see him with our little Benjamin.

Afterwards we headed to the 'hair cut store.'  Jadon has been wanting a haircut for days now.  I wasn't sure how the boys would do because I couldn't get a hold of the lady who normally cuts their hair.  They did FABULOUS!  Both of them did!  Jadon actually charmed the hairstylist right to her toes.  Joshua was amazing too!  I was so proud of them both.  They definitely deserved their suckers!

Once we left the hairstylist we decided it was time to eat.  When we were driving to the hairstylist we drove past IHOP and Jadon said, "Dad, I really want a smiley face pancake."  He's only had ONE and that was months ago, but he remembered.  We were both quite shocked by that.  So Jason decided to surprise him and eat at IHOP.  Both boys were a little bit of a pill, but after a quick bathroom break with Jadon he shaped up.  He ate SO GOOD!  Joshua is normally our eater, but Jadon went to town on the pancakes and my eggs/toast.  Afterwards we went to Kmart and Walmart to grab a few things.  Jadon was such a GOOD listener the entire time.  I just kept telling him how proud I was of him!

At Kmart I was singing little diddies and the boys would parrot everything I said.  It was so cute.  Then I started singing, "The BIBLE, yes that's the book for me." and both boys sang that with all their little hearts.  Jadon kept asking for the "bi" song. 

Jason came up shortly after that and took over pushing the cart because I was out of breathe.  I'm definitely at the end of my pregnancy... a little after that I sat on the floor to look at boys socks and just sat there until Jason came back to look for me.  It seemed easier to just sit there for a while because I was so tired and didn't want to get up. lol

I was also EXTREMELY excited to find socks at walmart that have AGES on the bottom!  They were a little bit more pricey, but DEFINITELY worth it!  The ages will also help them from skidding as they run through the house. LOL

It was just a nice family afternoon.  I was reminded just how lucky I am to have Jason (not that I needed it) and I enjoyed watching the boys show their growing maturity.