A Year of Recovery

When I look back at the last two years, I tend to think of them as one big disaster. I clump that time in our lives together, often forgetting the progress made, the burdens lightened, the blessings received. Yes, the last two years were difficult, but I can now look at them with more clarity...

After Isaac was born in Nov 2015, our lives were filled with joy and chaos. The stress of those first few months was incredible. We weren't just bogged down by the usual newborn stuff, like having a completely new human being in our family who mostly communicated in cries, or the drastic lack of sleep. We also had my partial seizures to deal with, the postpartum depression and PTSD that came after, Aislin's emerging ADHD, and Tim's undiagnosed ADHD. And we gave up our dog.

Once the seizures were under control, I knew it was time to work on the other stuff - the wanting to sleep all day and never be awake stuff, the never wanting to be near my baby stuff, the wanting to run away and pretend I didn't have a family stuff. The sadness. The crazy. The hurt. So I saw my family doctor first who put me on one medication, and when that didn't work, I saw a psychiatrist who put me on one medication after another, and sometimes a combination of meds, while I also saw a therapist. After a year and a half of mood stabilizers and antidepressants, none of which had worked, I knew one thing was certain: I was a mess, and the world couldn't help me anymore.

At the start of 2017, I began going to LDS support group meetings. The reason I didn't go sooner is because the LDS Church only has one kind of support group - the Addiction Recovery Program. Since I was neither an alcoholic nor drug addict, I didn't think this kind of support group applied to me; but at the start of the year, I had reached a point in my life where I knew I needed the Lord's help. So I went to my first women's-only general addiction meeting and read Step 1 of the workbook. The step was titled Honesty, and the key principle stated: Admit that you, of yourself, are powerless to overcome your addictions and that your life has become unmanageable. I may not have known anything about addiction at that time, but I knew that my life had become unmanageable. So I listened carefully during that first meeting, knowing it wasn't mandatory for me to be there - I could leave at any time and never come back. Then someone said something that began my understanding of addiction and my understanding of the program. She said that substances, pornography, and food aren't the only addictions out there....because people can be addicted to anger and resentment, too. Those words became the grain of mustard seed that set me on this path of attending weekly meetings, working the steps, giving my pain and weaknesses to the Lord, and putting my trust in Him day after day.

I've been attending meetings for 1 year and 4 months. In that time, I've learned that the word "addiction" refers to anything other than the Lord that you turn to in times of stress. Even if it's considered healthy, like exercise, or harmless and funny, like chocolate, there's really nothing healthy about diving into a food, activity, or behavior to relieve your stress. The ultimate goal is to instead turn to the Lord, to hand over your fears, doubts, and insecurities to Him, and trust in His ability to help you in all things.

So far, I've got that much down.

What I was not expecting to learn through this program was that there would be a second goal: to know His will for me and carry it out. What this means is that it's not enough anymore to just make intelligent choices, to counsel with family and friends and hope to gather their sage advice. What this means is that you're expected to counsel with the Lord first because, after all, He already knows your situation and He knows you, and His path is the only one that matters. What this also means is that, upon learning His will, you're then expected to trust Him enough, or at least pray for the courage, to then carry it out. Almost everything Tim and I have done over the past 8 months has been anchored to this one goal. Moving into a different home, in a different community and a different ward...Tim starting a business with two of his friends...Tim leaving GM after working there for 3 years. None of these decisions were made by us alone. In fact, the only reason we followed through with them is because, after praying over and over again, we received the same answers over and over again. We've been terrified, stressed out, and sad...mainly because we want control over our future, at least a glimpse of WHY we're doing what we're doing. We never understand initially how these decisions are good for us, and don't figure things out until the answers unfold over time. But we continue to work on this goal because we've learned this much by now: He knows what He's doing...and if we follow Him in faith and do our part, He will do His.

I finished the program months ago, and no, I wasn't rewarded with an Easy Button or a blindfold for blissful ignorance. My greatest struggles come from wanting to be in control of my present and my future, and from wanting my will to be done rather than His. My knee-jerk reaction to stress is still to run or fight, but progress is being made. Believe it or not, it's taken a lot of practice learning to get on my knees and pray the same day that I had shouted at my family or hopped in the car and disappeared for hours. I still have so much to learn and so much to practice, and there are days when I don't want to try anymore. But then I think back on all He's done for me, and I count just the most recent blessings, and know that my efforts are the least I can give back to Him. 

Prolotherapy

I've seen chiropractors, physical therapists, massage therapists, and medical doctors... I've had x-rays and MRIs, blood tests and neurological tests done... I've tried creams, essential oils, tape, and electrical muscle stimulation...but all to no avail. At most, I experienced a 30% improvement over the course of three months (with each professional or group of professionals) before plateauing. One chiropractor thought my back problems stemmed purely from a curvature in my spine. He wrote up an 11-month treatment plan after which he stood in front of my fourth set of x-rays and said, "It could be hereditary," meaning, "Since I couldn't fix you, you must have a genetic problem." One medical doctor diagnosed my back pain as Sacroiliac Joint Dysfunction and wanted me to get steroid shots. "Just pump and dump after treatments," she had suggested since I was still breastfeeding Isaac. Once he was weaned, her plan was to prescribe me a handful of pain meds because "nothing really fixes SI Joint Dysfunction." 

I've had chronic low back pain for over eight years - since I was pregnant with Aislin. Everyone had warned me that my lower back would hurt during pregnancy, so I wasn't surprised when it did. I had gotten so used to the pain throughout those nine months that when I started feeling contractions in my lower back, I thought I was having the usual aches and pains. I didn't realize I was going into labor. After she was born, my back continued to ache for months. Lifting her off the floor was painful, second only to leaning over the tub to give her baths. As she got older, lifting her into her car seat became my #1 least favorite movement. But this will pass, I thought. My back will recover as the rest of my body does. 

I realize now that, when I was younger, pain was just easier to ignore. I was in my 20's when I had my first three kids and I thought my body could push past anything. I also never took the time to slow down and think, Something is very wrong here, I need to get it fixed. (Or maybe I did but figured we couldn't afford it?) My back hurt when I sat on the floor to do crafts or fold laundry...but I ignored it because I was watching TV with my husband and we were having fun together. And because my back was supposed to heal, some day. 

The pain became harder to tolerate after my third child was born. I was still plugging along, going to the gym and keeping a healthy weight, but it was becoming harder to stand straight after sitting for only ten minutes. I had to hobble for a few seconds, bent over like an old lady, before I could straighten up. After a while, even this became my norm...until an old man told me that he could sit in front of a computer for hours before his back started to ache. 

The pain finally became unbearable after Isaac was born almost a year ago. I remember having to get an MRI of my spinal column about a week after he was born, and crying towards the end of it because I couldn't stand the pain anymore. The MRI itself was, of course, painless...but laying on my back for half an hour was awful, even with pillows under my legs. After all this, I still might have pushed forward like before...but the pain had started to make me angry. I was easily irritated and found myself yelling at my kids way too often. 

So I talked to that old man again, the one who bragged about his awesomely robust back, and complained to him about my crummy one. He, being a retired naturopathic physician - and a wonderful and trusted friend of the family - recommended "Prolo." He told me to read up on it, look for a doctor who specializes in it, and to "make sure those medical doctors don't touch [my] back!" I did exactly as he said, but when I read that prolotherapy usually wasn't covered by insurance, I completely turned my back on his advice. 

"You know darned well we'd have to sell our house and live in our car if I did prolotherapy," I told him. 

"Maybe you need a bigger car?" he said. "But pain management is a dead end." 

I decided to take my chances on a new team of chiropractors, a physical therapist, and a massage therapist instead (because they were covered by insurance). Low and behold, I plateaued after about two months and with very little improvement...spent a bit of money on the out-of-pocket expenses and babysitters who had to come over every day for a week, then three days a week for a month, and then twice a week before I finally stopped going. 

I started to feel hopeless about my options. So, I prayed. Honestly, I don't know why I always pray last, but after I did, my perspective cleared. I realized that perhaps our family friend felt inspired to recommend prolotherapy, and, like an idiot, I ignored him. I realized I had spent as much money on a futile treatment plan as I was afraid to spend on a plan not covered by insurance. I realized that the importance of the material things in our lives pale in comparison to our health, even if that material thing is our house. So Tim and I talked again and reconsidered prolotherapy. I did weeks of research and consulted with three different doctors. And then I dove in.

I'm two months into my prolo treatments and I've experienced an incredible improvement. For someone who's had chronic pain for years, it wasn't just incredible - it was more of a miracle. When I started, the doctor had asked me to rate my pain. I gave it an 8. Today, my pain is a 3, max. My first two treatments were a week apart, then two weeks, then three. I've had a total of five so far, my next one scheduled for six weeks from now. Yes, it hurts. The needles aren't so bad, but once the solution (a mixture of sugar water/dextrose, B12, and procaine) start to affect your ligaments, you start to feel your back - and sometimes your glutes and legs - cramp up, like a Charlie Horse. Compared to chronic pain, though, this is nothing. It lasts about 20 seconds! 

Prolotherapy is a nonsurgical treatment which stimulates healing. Short for "proliferation therapy," Prolotherapy is also known as nonsurgical ligament and tendon reconstruction, or regenerative injection therapy. Prolotherapy works by stimulating the body's own natural healing mechanisms to repair injured musculoskeletal tissue. www.prolotherapy.com

Also, yes, it's expensive. My MD was right - the problem was in my Sacroiliac joints, as well as my right Iliolumbar ligament. They were sprained :( So to inject those areas, I pay $150 per treatment. Now let's do the math: for the five treatments so far, I've paid $750. I have two more to go, so I will have spent $1,050 in the span of five months. That's close to what I would have paid in out-of-pocket expenses had I continued with the chiropractic/physical therapy/massage therapy team, and that's nothing compared to the cost of surgery (had I needed it). 

I'm not saying the other forms of treatment aren't valuable, but for me, they weren't effective because my ligaments were compromised. The chiropractor kept making the same adjustments, the physical therapist kept popping my pelvis back in place...all because my ligaments weren't strong enough to keep them all from going out. So, for me, prolo has not only made my body strong enough to sit longer than ten minutes, to stand up straight, and to walk properly...it has taken away a pain that was more debilitating than I had ever given it credit for. Now I can sit at the table and help my kids with their homework. I can read to them while laying on the floor on my tummy. I can play. I can clean. I can sleep. 

Don't get me wrong, I haven't been injected with some mutant strain that makes me ultra powerful. I've learned to rest when I need to rest because, no matter what form of treatment I commit to, overdoing it is still overdoing it. I've learned to let go of what used to be a busy schedule. If something's on the calendar but I'm running on fumes, then we erase it. If we're out of grocery staples, we break out the canned foods and Ramen. If our house is a mess, then it's a mess. 

I know that there's no "one size fits all" when it comes to what each person's health requires. What has worked for others may not have worked for me, and what I've found to work for me may not work for others! I simply want to bear my testimony of this one thing that has worked for me. This small miracle. I'm grateful for prolotherapy and what it has given back to me and to my family. I'm grateful to my husband for truly loving me and seeing me through this process. I'm grateful to the old man for looking out for me. And I'm grateful to our Heavenly Father for always answering my prayers by giving me a clarity that I can never seem to pull off without Him. 

Aislin's Baptism

Aislin turned 8-years-old on Wed, Aug 3rd, and was baptized that Saturday the 6th. We knew that waiting a few more weeks would've made the planning part a little easier, but with school starting on the 10th, we felt it was so much more important for her to start school with that sense of strength from having just been baptized and with the comfort of the Holy Ghost by her side.

So we set off to find a dress...

Crismon Baby Boutique in Mesa, AZ

Then we got her hair cut and took some birthday pictures...

She decided who gave which talks and who said the prayers...

And then we took pictures in front of the Mesa Temple the day before her baptism :)

We've always talked to Aislin about baptism, and she's been waiting years to complete this first ordinance...but we never realized what a shock it would be to us. More specifically - me! I realized that I am now old enough to have an 8-year-old, a baptized child, a girl in Activity Days. And, for the first time in 8 1/2 years, I felt completely inadequate as an adult convert. I felt overwhelmed, emotional, and completely clueless as I asked a handful of other moms where they bought their daughters' baptism dresses, what templates they used for the baptism program, what items I needed to bring from home on the day of, and so on! I was given a lot of help with the program and great advice, and yet still managed to miss a handful of things. (Thankfully, the spare underwear and hairbrush were not among those things!) 

We learned that Aislin was not the only one who needed to be prepped, either. It being only his second baptism in 8 1/2 years, Tim was a little rusty ;) Hopefully he'll remember to mention our child's name when it's Desmond's turn!

We also learned that securing another Priesthood holder to stand as a second witness is pretty important! We knew that a couple of our friends who held the Priesthood wouldn't be able to attend, but we didn't anticipate so many women and children to attend without their dads/fathers or sons! Thank goodness for ward members who are willing to step away from their Saturday chores, jump in their car in whatever clothes they're wearing, and stand as a witness to a baptism :)

In spite of the day's mishaps, and the stress and emotional rollercoaster that had built up throughout the week, Aislin's baptism was still lovely. We felt the Spirit with us, we felt the support of people we love, and our oldest was baptized and confirmed. Life is good ;)

Hanging out while Bishop filled the font :)

From the talk on baptism

Love, Angel

We love you, Aislin!

November Blessings

Isaac Lee Sweet a.k.a. Cuatro, Caboose, Icky was born on November 21st at 3:32 a.m. He weighed a whopping 8 lbs 5 oz, 4 oz heavier than Aislin, who previously held the title of Biggest Baby Born to Tim and Anna Sweet.

All was well leading up to his birth. I walked into Triage like a pro, handling my contractions while 7 cm dilated. After being moved into my delivery room and settling in, I got an epidural...which became the source of half my problems thereafter!! I had one with the other three kids, and although they weren't pleasant to receive, they went well. This one was not only the most uncomfortable to get, but caused a number of problems even after I left the hospital. It created pain on the right side of my lower back...and then out of nowhere a zinger went down my right leg. That was attempt #1. During the second attempt, I told Tim to be quiet and made the nurse ramble in my ear to distract me...and the attempt was, seemingly, successful. So we moved on. I rested, the nurse checked my vitals, and then the doctor came in and had me move from side to side because Isaac's head wasn't facing in the right direction. As I was doing this, his pulse dropped rapidly from 140 to 75. And that was it. The doctor called quits on the body rotations and said that Isaac's umbilical cord was probably wrapped around his neck. Every time I had a contraction, the cord tightened and he lost oxygen.
As she was talking, the room filled with NICU nurses and a tray of tools just in case I couldn't push him out fast enough. The words "emergency c-section" were mentioned briefly, but everyone was too busy to expound. Before I knew it, they were ready and I was being instructed to give big "warrior pushes" so that every push counted. I pushed so hard I almost puked, and wondered why it was taking so long to get him out when, with Des and Linc, this part of labor was so much quicker? Finally he was out, but he didn't go straight to my chest like Des had, and I didn't get to keep him in my room afterwards like with the other three kids. The doctor snipped his umbilical cord and handed him to the NICU nurses who took care of him and cleaned him while I laid in my bed feeling...a little butt-hurt. It's okay if I don't get to see him right away, I told myself, or that Tim gets to stand over that little hospital bassinet and watch while the NICU team works. I needed to catch my breath anyway.
The doctor stayed put, too, and worked on getting my placenta out. I was hardly paying attention until she quickly pushed her stool away from me and threw her hands in the air, eyes wide behind her glasses. That's when I heard a big SPLAT and knew my placenta had flown out and hit the floor at her feet! Like a lunatic, I sat up in my bed and laughed. In fact, everyone in the room had a good laugh...but within minutes I started feeling dizzy and could barely form a word. I couldn't remember the doctor's name anymore, or my labor nurse's name. I tried to get the doctor's attention but I couldn't speak loud enough, so I had to wait until the nurse walked near my bedside. I called her Nurse and told her I didn't feel well. She tried to tell me it was normal but the doctor made it clear that I was losing blood quickly and needed to be moved to the operating room.
Again, it was like I had blinked and the number of people in my room doubled. New nurses appeared, another doctor who came bearing morphine and other happy things, and the anesthesiologist that I was hoping I'd never have to see again. They all did whatever they did while my doctor explained that there were a total of three procedures they could do to stop the bleeding: a D&C, which would basically vacuum out the blood from my uterus; placing a bakri balloon in my uterus and then plugging things up with a giant tampon (should the D&C not work); and a hysterectomy (should the first two procedures fail). And, of course, a blood transfusion.
At that point I was shaking uncontrollably and thinking to myself, I will never (again) live anywhere cold. Ever. The anesthesiologist brought me heated blankets and, although the reprieve only lasted a short while, I was grateful for his thoughtfulness. While everyone worked and talked and moved around the room, I tried to pray. I tried and tried, but I couldn't hear myself. I couldn't focus. And not being able to form a prayer made me feel even more afraid.
I turned to Tim who was standing behind the layer of medical staff between us and smiled. I didn't want him to worry. And I was tough, wasn't I? But I had never been in an operating room before, and they said he couldn't come with me. And I still hadn't seen our son. I looked at Tim, and cried. One of the nurses squeezed my shoulders and said, Don't worry, we're going to take really good care of you! I told her I knew they would, I was just really stressed out. Then Tim asked if there were any LDS males working at the hospital that day? He wanted to give me a blessing before I headed to the OR. I heard a few names here and there but there just wasn't enough time to figure it out. So they wheeled my bed out the door and left Tim in the delivery room. I wasn't hysterical, I wasn't in a panic...but it was the first time in my life where I couldn't stop crying.
While we moved through the hallway, the anesthesiologist came through yet again. He had the presence of mind to page two of his technicians who he knew to be LDS and asked them to meet us in the OR. When we got there, the staff slid me onto a metal table. I shook even worse than before and was so nervous I couldn't even begin to pray. But then a man wearing a surgical mask bent his head down to mine and said, I was told you wanted a blessing? He introduced himself and the person behind him, and explained that, although they could only do a blessing of comfort because they didn't have any oil with them, they would add as much to it as they could. So I closed my eyes...and for the first time since I gave birth, I could hear something other than the bustle of the medical staff. I heard every word he spoke and finally felt calm and safe. A couple minutes after they left, I fell asleep.
I woke up in time to hear my doctor say that the second procedure was enough, that the hysterectomy wouldn't be necessary. The staff wheeled me back to my room where I heard the anesthesiologist tell Tim that things went better than expected, given the amount of blood lost. My vitals stayed stable and my body accepted the new blood and plasma well. He said that if he hadn't known what had happened after delivery, he wouldn't have guessed it judging by the ease of the operation and the outcome. While they talked, I thought of that blessing of comfort I had received from two complete strangers and wanted to shout my testimony from the rooftops!
The hardest part was over. The only things left to deal with were when I could see my baby and when we could go home. A few days and a blood patch later (for the epidural headache I got the following night), Isaac and I were finally moved to a recovery room. His bassinet was finally placed beside my bed and the kids were able to visit me and meet their youngest sibling.
Throughout this whole experience, our friends took care of our older three children--taking them to church, driving them to school and picking them up after, watching them in the afternoons and feeding them dinner...all so Tim could stay with me during the day. They even fed our dog and let her out of the house to play so she wouldn't mope in an empty house all day. When we returned home, our ward brought us meals and offered whatever support they could give.

Fast-forward to less than a week later...when I was sitting on the couch with Lincoln--big kids at school, Isaac asleep in his crib--and couldn't feel the couch with my right elbow. At first I thought my arm was falling asleep, so I adjusted the way I sat, thinking maybe I had leaned on that arm a little too heavily. But then my right leg started to feel numb, and then my right shoulder, and finally the right side of my face. In a panic, I sat straight up and called Tim. Thankfully he was only down the street to do a few hours of consultation work and was already packing up. Before I could tell him about my face, he asked if it was also feeling numb? He told me later that my speech had changed, that I had slurred my words. He thought I was having a stroke. As soon as he got home, he helped me into his car--no shoes, no purse--and asked our neighbor to stay with our boys until he could find someone to come get them. By then, the numbness had started to wear off...but it wasn't gone completely until we were already in a room in the ER. Over the next few days, I would go from the ER to the ICU, have multiple CT scans and MRIs, neurological tests, and at least two seizures--not strokes--a day.
Turned out the epidural removed too much spinal fluid, and as that fluid was leaving my spinal column, my brain kind of followed. In other words, my brain moved downward and detached from the derma (a thin covering for the brain), causing the nerves underneath the derma to become irritated and bleed. A small amount of blood then pooled up on the left side of my brain, which, the doctors determined, was why I experienced seizures on the right side of my body.
Holy sh*t, right?
On the one hand, I was prescribed anti-seizure meds for the next five months, needed my aunt to come stay with us for a couple weeks when Tim had to go back to work, and struggled with anxiety and memory loss...but on the other hand, I learned more than I can say about gratitude and humility. I learned that my will won't always be stronger than my body, and that over these past 7 1/2 years as a mom, I should've learned how to rest. I also learned that my friends, family, and ward family are angels.

I've had four months to think about these events. I still don't take the best care of myself. Sometimes I forget to rest, drink water, eat a proper meal. And when I do rest, I beat myself up for not working out! I've wondered if Tim and I had pushed things too far by having a fourth child. My back was already busted and we knew another pregnancy meant a fourth round of gestational diabetes. After four months of putting thoughts together, this is what I've come up with: I wanted Isaac, so I fought for him.
I recently remembered something from last summer, a moment during my pregnancy when the words "dilated kidneys" and "enlarged ventricles" were introduced. (Isaac turned out to be fine, by the way.) I remember praying to Heavenly Father for the health and safety of this child, and then realizing I was praying about the wrong thing. Instead of asking for help, I needed to express to Him that I was serious about this baby, that I wanted this child.

I carried a child for nine months, underwent a frightening delivery and some really weird stuff afterwards, and thought I would lose my mind more times than I can count. IT SUCKED. But I would never give less for such a precious blessing.

The Road Less Traveled

In a nutshell, Aislin is still a Pomeroy Panther at Pomeroy Elementary School.

I didn't want to delete the previous post about homeschooling her because that decision was part of our lives. We had completed the registration process, submitted her vaccination records, report cards, etc...and all we had to do was wait for Dec. 29th, which was the date that AZ Connections Academy asked us to log into her account and confirm our decision. But a lot happened in just one month.

I had Isaac. The delivery, the weirdness a week after the delivery, and the recovery were not what I had experienced with the other kids. It was a difficult month and recovery was slow, and for different reasons. I had started to worry that I wouldn't be well enough to handle things when Tim went back to work, let alone homeschool our daughter after winter break.

I also had a meeting with Aislin's principal as well as her 2nd grade teacher just before winter break. The principal strongly disagreed with homeschooling her because he didn't think that a change of environment would fix the problem (of her behavior). And Tim agreed. In his childhood, he never felt like he had to take responsibility for his actions because he knew he wouldn't be in one place for very long. He and his mom moved often, and he, too, was homeschooled at one point. So whenever there were problems, he didn't try too hard to fix them because he knew he'd have a clean start sooner than later. 

Honestly, I felt stupid for even considering homeschool after having this meeting because my initial belief was that Aislin should never run away from her problems, that she had to learn to fix them...as difficult as that process might be. I knew that...and yet I let the control freak in me try to control her entire environment and even her social interactions. 

So, in the end, we all agreed that Aislin would continue at Pomeroy in January. 

I hope this sweet girl, my oldest of four and the one who paves the way for her brothers, will always fight her battles, even if it's against herself. I hope she always stands up for herself and others without throwing her self-control out the window. I hope that, when she stands at the fork between right and wrong, that she chooses the path that she knows to be right...no matter how thorny or lonely it may be at times.