Life With/Life Without: Friends

The title of this one alone makes it sound like a bit of a social pariah. For the longest time, however, I was more or less kept from having any friends. X just made it nearly impossible to have any. The one I did have, he eventually sabotaged by getting into it with her man. After that, I never really tried to have any.

I started making friends again when the kids and I were in the shelter. It was nice. To have someone to talk to in the flesh, and not just through Facebook and the like. When we got the house, however, I once again retreated. The units around ours were mostly empty, and the ones that were occupied seemed to be single people, without kids. I had one friend in the complex, an old veteran named Andy, and he has been my walking buddy for treks up to Aldi and the occasional stroll down to QuikTrip.

My Facebook friend Ashley drove up from De Soto with her son when I had a class to take, and no sitter to watch the kids. I fed the mob pizza and paid her with A World of Ice and Fire. After class, we had a beer and mugged for some selfies, as the boys played with their Toothless figures. That was a blast.

I made it through the winter, and still more or less kept to myself and the kids, save our treks to Aldi with Andy, and my Facebook buddy Cynthia (and sometimes her little girl) that would drive down to help me with errands. We also went down to San Antonio with Ashley and her son to meet up with some other friends from a Facebook group to surprise a fellow mama who was going through a really dark time. We dropped Ryli off in Georgetown, however, as Dacey took the whole weekend off so she could spend time with her little sister. Cynthia got a job (yeah) so once again, it was just me and the kiddos, with an occasional stroll to the store with Andy.

Then spring came, and as the kids started to go outside more and more, I got to know some of the parents and grandparents of the kids friends. I started getting to know Nicole, one of my neighbors from the next building, who just finished up her first year teaching. And then, there's Jayden's G-Ma. 

Of the bunch, Nicole and I are definitely the closest. When the weather was awful, we agreed that since she was in an upstairs unit, she would hole up over here if the weather got too bad. She runs us to the store, and while school was still in session, she'd pick us up sometimes from Children's so we wouldn't have to take DART home. We have mastered the art of getting paid once a month, alternating who buys when we grub out on yum that we didn't cook. I found an ad on Craigslist for free kittens, and she took one to keep her Rosie company, while the kids each claimed one a piece.

I like having friends. It's nice to have someone that isn't related who "has your back" when you need a little help. I like the possibility of going to the Nacogdoches Film Festival next February with Ashley and Elizabeth. I have a blast on my little "cleaning parties" with Nicole ( we have both decided cleaning another person's house is a lot better than cleaning our own). It's just nice to have real, local friends, and those few that you get to see from time to time.

Life With/ Life Without: Platelet Disorder Support Association

"Ignorance is bliss". How many times in my nearly forty years have I heard that phrase? And, in the case of PDSA, that definitely holds true. No one I knew in all that time had a platelet disorder, so naturally, I had no need to see if such a thing existed.

After that first blood draw ordered by the pediatrician, once we had gotten back home and my mother the nurse told me what the ITP was in the diagnosis code, I hit google, and I hit it hard. The next morning, when I got the results and was asked if I need a referral to a hematologist, I thanked my tired self for leaving all the pages I had found, and vowed to return to them once I'd made the trek to Children's. 

When we got back home, after all was said and done, the diagnosis confirmed and the kids worn out and put to bed, I sat back in this very chair and started pouring over the still pulled pages. I joined a Facebook ITP support group, which is run by PDSA. I read a lot that night, and sent for some free materials to be sent to give me all the information I could get my mitts on. I even ordered a storybook to explain it to the kids.

When I got all that I had requested from them just a few days later, I skimmed through a lot, and was generally in awe of what I'd been sent. I'm now chomping at the bit for my check to hit next week so I can get a membership and start Landry in the Poke-R Club (more on that later). There is a discussion group with an entire section for the parents of children with ITP. Between the discussion group and the Facebook page, and the hospital, I feel like I always have somewhere to go with questions and vents; problems and triumphs.

I read up on steroids to treat ITP. Before the next appointment, I'll go over the literature about IVIg, which is the treatment we will try next if his numbers plummet again. It's where I got the wild hair to change the background of the blog purple.

They have an annual conference that I would love to go to, but alas, my funds are limited at present, and honestly, I'm hoping Landry's clear of ITP by the 2016 conference. Only time will tell with that, though. They have run/walks across the country, both actual and virtual. They have a store as well as a treasure trove of information that you can order. 

I want to support them, because PDSA has made all of this a little easier to take. So, the first thing that I intend on doing when I get paid is get a membership, and then officially get Landry into the Poke-R Club. It's a kit that includes chips for pokes (blood draws and IVs), as well as a Buzzy Mini Pain Relief System and distraction cards, along with some other stuff. For every ten pokes and the chips collected, he'll get a prize. 

PDSA and their ITP support page on Facebook have helped me out so much. Landry looks at the trips back and forth to Children's as fun and games because he has fun getting there and back. He's not quite four, what's not to like about train rides? He knows that something isn't quite right, but as I said earlier, ignorance is bliss, so I do the worrying for two. With PDSA, I know what I need to know to help him through all of this mess, and hopefully to the other side.

Yes, I preferred life without PDSA in it, who in my shoes wouldn't? But ITP is in our life for the time being, and since it is, I am eternally grateful that it is here.

So, here's the deal...

I have been nothing short of a piss-poor blogger. Quite frankly, it's been a crazy month and a half, between getting appointments finally rescheduled and all the trips to Children's for lab work. There has also been dealing with the side-effects of Prednisone in a three year old when Texas refuses to dry out. He's also been eating like a proverbial horse Good times, I tell you, so long as mommy has plenty of caffeine, Add to all that the week or so that the drain for my kitchen had an intermittent clog for about a week, DART train line closures and re-routes, and it was more fun than anyone should be allowed for any one single mom.

So, in the final two days of May, here I am, once again doing a reboot of sorts. Not just with the blog, either. Basically, with EVERYTHING. I'll cover the blog first, because that's what this is, after all. 

I'm making one change to how I do Mama's Mission of the Month for starters. On the last day of every month, I'll post the following month's goals. Tomorrow, June's goals will be revealed. Starting in June, on the last day of the month, I'll do the recap and reveal for July. That will be the way I'll do it, just so it doesn't eat up two days worth of posts.

"Life With/Life Without" will be getting a reboot. I'm basically starting over. I'm not going to just pull a copy and paste job on what's already been written, because, quite frankly, I'm unhappy with the previously posted product. I drafted them on the computer for the sake of time, and I'm an old fashioned girl that way. All my posts are going to be drafted with pen and paper and then typed out. The way I used to do school assignments. It is my groove, and I want it back, damn it. 

I will post updates on Landry's journey with ITP. Just to bring you all up to speed, the second time we went to Children's and he had a level of 28, they scheduled a follow-up in June. By early the next week, I was calling to ask for a draw. Mommy's instinct was spot on, as his count was at 7. I was given a ton of instructions and a prescription for Prednisone in the event that certain criteria were meet. We ended up in the ER for a few hours that night, as Ryli was running one way, Landry the other, and it resulted in a head on collision. The lower the count, the greater likelihood of a brain bleed, and it's far better to be safe than sorry. By Friday, I spotted purpura (a rash of purple spots on the skin caused by internal bleeding from small blood vessels.) in his mouth and called it in. Steroids started that day. With a dose left, his labs showed his levels were 118. We scheduled an appointment for the following week. Ten days removed from that beautiful, triple digit count, he was at 4. One more round of steroids while they finished up getting insurance authorization for IVIg. Two days after coming off Prednisone, his count was a whopping 217. Next appointment is nearly two weeks out, and its the original follow up appointment. They have slid it up to 9:30 in the event IVIg is necessary, to remove the need for two trips. I'm nervous. He's clueless.

The whole ITP thing has been a bit of a trip. I already know what to look for, and so far, since the diagnosis, my "Mommy Sense" goes berserk around 30. Ryli has been great. Landry is pretty good, other than the lab draws. At this point, I'm not sure if he totally hates them, or if he's putting on a bit of a show. He wears his band for as long as he can, which is cute. Right now, for a brief little bit, he can almost be normal. Still need to watch his head, though, because the drop from 217 to the range in which I can tell his numbers are dropping is huge, and right now, he's not all that far into the "normal" range of platelet level.

This summer, Ryli and Landry each get to go to a day camp. I could have put them both into the same camp, but I thought that it'd be a treat if I sent them separately. That way, they get two week's worth  little breaks from each other, and in turn get some one on one time with me. 

The homeschool curriculum that I bought over a year ago is no longer collecting dust. Copies have been made, and we will be starting Monday. It should be fun. I've already discussed not sending Landry to daycare of any kind in the fall until his ITP clears, so we will continue through after Ryli starts kindergarten in the fall. I'll post little schoolhouse recaps on Fridays.

I've decided to ride it out a bit longer here. Moving would be a logistical nightmare, and right now, where we are may not be the best neighborhood, but it is very convenient to pretty much everything. Ryli's future school is just across the street. There are several major bus lines that go down our street, and they both have stops that cover three of the four train lines. There's an after school enrichment program that Ryli has been dying to start. It's close to every store I really need, and I've also made friends with the kids' friends' parents, plus there's Nicole, our resident teacher.

Expect to see more food on here as well. I have been a tad berserk in finding recipes, and June will be a month of trying a lot of new things. I am hoping that they will all be successful, but odds are there will probably be a minimum of one epic fail. 

To sum all of this up, I am back, and I don't intend to fall off like I did before. You have been warned!

Life With/Life Without: Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura (ITP)

Now that is a mouthful. Suffice it to say that from here on, I will take the easy route and just call it ITP. Before this past Tuesday, I'd never even heard of it. Here it is Thursday, and I've already heard far too much of it. I would like to be greedy with it, and keep it all for myself, but unfortunately, the diagnosis is not my own, but Landry's. 

I really think this started last week, or maybe even the week before. He's by far the fairer of he and Ryli, and with the weather getting progressively nicer, the kids were outside playing after the older neighborhood kids got home from school til they went in at night. Riding bikes, trikes, and scooters, roughhousing, playing on the playground; I chalked all the bruises up to him being a nearly four year old daredevil. His shenanigans also produced a few split lips and a toe that he seemed to be trying to stub to a bloody pulp. Accidents happen, right?

Then, Monday night rolled around. The kids played so hard outside chasing bubbles from Ms. Nicole's bubble machine that they curled up watching "Inspector Gadget" on Netflix before an episode had finished. I took advantage and decided to take a nice, leisurely, hot bath, all by myself. That proved short lived, as Landry was soon standing in the doorway stripping down. Honestly, I think that boy could hear a running bath from a mile away. 

As he took off his shirt, I first laid eyes on the spread of petechiae across his chest, just under his ribcage. I got out and dressed, and he jumped in without a care in the world. I asked him if something had happened, and he didn't really seemed concerned. I got him out of the tub and snapped a few pictures, which I sent to GrandmaMom, asking for her opinion. I was at that time feeling pretty lucky to have a nurse for a mom. 

She texted back that I needed to get it checked out. We went to bed, and I called the kids' pediatrician first thing Tuesday morning. We got a 2:00 appointment, and by 11:00, we were off on a series of buses. 

The regular pediatrician was out on vacation, but the fill in was nice. She gave Landry a thorough check and said that we'd need to go have labs drawn. She brought us the paperwork, and we set off on the walk to Lab Corp. As we walked, I read the work order for the labs, pausing to text my mom "What is ITP? The pedi wrote it in the diagnosis code?".She answered back the long form of the name, mentioned something about a virus and complete recovery, and from that point, I was thinking that it wasn't that big of a deal.

Two vials of blood and an angry four year old later, resigned to the fact that there would be no answer to "What is going on?" until Wednesday morning, we started the long trek home. My mom had mentioned something about a virus, so I decided to be smart and not go to parenting class so as not to spread it.

Being curious, I referred to Dr. Google. That was a mistake and a blessing, I suppose. I learned that it is rather rare in children, as in only 4-8 cases per 100,000 in the U.S., and it was usual acute, lasting anywhere from 6-12 months typically, with anything stretching beyond that point being labeled as chronic. They don't know for certain what brings it about, but the body's immune system starts wiping out the platelets. Platelets help form clots, so without enough platelets comes bruises, petechiae, and purpura (loosely translated, you look like you've taken a beating). Problems getting injuries to stop bleeding becomes an issue. Normal platelet range is 150,000 to 450,000. The only thing that was most definitely worse in what I read that has a similar set of symptoms is leukemia. So, I went to bed Tuesday night hoping that if it was either, it was ITP.

I called the pediatrician's office first thing Wednesday morning. It was ITP; his platelet count was 18,000. She said she would refer him to a hematologist that could get us in right away. I told her that he had already been to one at Children's between finding out I had passed on my Factor V Leiden to Ryli and Landry and their ENT procedures. 

I called Children's, and at first I was told that the next available appointment was in mid-June. That's when I told the scheduler what his diagnosis was and what his platelet levels were. She put me on hold, then after a few minutes asked if I could be there by 2:00. I said no problem and got us all ready for another trip, this time by taxi.

Another vial of blood, and ITP was confirmed. On the bright side, his count had gone up to 25,000. Since there had been nothing aside from the bruises and their cousins, and he was on a bit of an upswing, it was decided that instead of treating, we would take it slow and see what happens. I have a letter for if he gets worse while we are out of town, and another for if he starts school or daycare while he's still dealing with this. It's still scary as hell, but life just is sometimes.

All goes well, and we go back to Children's on Monday for another CBC (complete blood count). Hopefully, he just gets better and doesn't need any steroids or IV treatments. It's just a lousy waiting game, with me wishing that it was me that had this to contend with and not one of my children. 

Before this week, I had never heard of ITP. Now, I get to try and explain to a not quite four year old that he can't do some things because I don't want him to get hurt. A stubborn three year old does not see reason very well at all. I've truthfully had more success explaining to Ryli why I need her to not do things that her brother shouldn't do. Maybe some "monkey see, monkey do" will pay off?

I'm fairly confident that this will not be the last that I write about ITP. 

Life With/ Life Without: Cell Phones

Yes, I admit, I am a bit of a dinosaur. I can actually remember a time when cell phones weren't around, and we relied on people or our answering machines (complete with cassette tapes) to get us our messages or for the caller to try back when we were home. Being able to leave the house and not really mind that no one could reach you. And, in the event that something should go wrong, there were pay phones EVERYWHERE. They actually worked, too.

In the summer leading up to junior year, one of my friends actually carried a small cooler in addition to her purse. At least, it looked like a cooler. It was a huge cell phone and it's battery. She was required to take it with her by her parents, but she was under express orders to use it ONLY in an emergency, because the minutes cost more than a gallon of gas. 

Flash forward a few years, past the heyday of the pager, and cell phones were smaller, and lacked the bag. They were still pretty big, however. Coverage was still not the best, and calls were expensive even then. Most people that gave you their cell phone number usually gave instructions to only call them after a certain hour when the minutes were slightly less pricey. Not a whole lot of people carried them then, and they were still pretty much a status thing, or an emergency use type thing. People still had landlines.

By the end of the 1990's, there were pay as you go phones. They had shrunk slightly, and there usage had become quite a bit more prevalent. Triple A even had ones that you could rent or borrow (can't remember which) for lengthy road trips. I had a few of those. The minutes were still steep, but they were definitely coming down.

The 2000's brought on the advent of text messaging, and free mobile to mobile calling. By the end of the decade, there were unlimited plans and the onset of the smart phone. And it seemed that every year, the phones got smaller, more people had one, and the deals thrown out by the carriers seemed to get better. They did manage to gouge you good on overages, whether it was text, calls, or data.

Now, cell phones seem to be in the hands of all. There are debates as to how old is old enough to let your child(ren) carry one. Movies shown in the theaters remind you to not be a jerk and shut your ringer off before the show starts. I have a smart phone with all the data I could possibly need, unlimited talk and text, and it costs about the same as my last land line that wasn't bundled with my cable and internet. Not too shabby, considering that I can do a lot more with it than a land line.

The downside to the birth and evolution of the cell phone is that it sort of becomes a crutch, especially the smart phones. They hold our contacts, calendars, and damn near everything else.People go into panic mode if they can't reach you on your cell for a certain period of time. To "get away" from everything, you have to leave all of your information with your phone, because if you take it with you, you will cave to its siren song.

It is rare to find anyone who carries a cell phone with more than a number or two memorized. They loose their phone, they loose their mind, or so it would seem. I admit to being in the same predicament, hence my keeping of an actual, handwritten phone and address book. The same can be said about my calendar of choice; it backs up online, and I always carry a day planner of the pen and paper variety. Call me old fashioned if you will. I just know what it's like to experience a catastrophe with the phone, and prefer that moniker to the frustration of being empty headed, with my "brains" being stowed away in my smart but fallible phone.

It really isn't all bad. My smart phone has enabled me to keep wayward children occupied on errands. It has saved me from dying of complete and utter boredom for those appointments that run insanely long. Even with my not so smart phone, I have been saved many a lengthy hike when the vehicle that I was in decided it couldn't bear to continue on the journey. It has alerted me to a sick little one when they were at daycare. It has shown me just how much my friends care when I get my ass chewed for not answering for a period of time, whether it be that my phone was hidden by a well meaning kid, I'd crashed out for the night with the kids, or I was too busy brawling with a migraine.

All in all, like everything, there are pitfalls and perks. I think I'll keep mine, and wait for the inevitable query "Mommmmmm... but so-and-so at school has one, why can't I?" to begin.

Life With/Life Without: Bipolar

I would like to begin this week's edition with a sincere apology that this is a day late. Holidays have always thrown me for a loop, and with the little four legged house guest, things have been a bit hectic.

Bipolar... when they first started knocking that around as a possible diagnosis, I was scared. I didn't really know what was worse, that, or the diagnosis of Borderline Personality which was also being batted about. I don't know how many different therapists and psychiatrists I saw in total while I was avoiding my label. I was a doctor hopper in that regard. The only thing anyone nailed down was a long ignored case of ADD, which looking back explained a LOT.

When I moved to Texas, I eventually got sick and tired of all it. The being able to stay awake for days at a time, the obsessive thoughts, feelings of grandeur and simultaneous inadequacy and on the other hand, the paralyzing depression, borderline agoraphobia, and everything else that accompanied my lows. The worst was the mixes. Feeling hyper and cocky while being depressed at the same time is hell on earth.

In Killeen, I finally got my official diagnosis. I actually answered every question on the questionnaires and tests honestly. I hid nothing. The diagnosis came down, and I started going to a support group and taking my medication. I found out I was pregnant with Ryli before my third appointment, and went off everything. I returned to Kerrville and X was not a fan of medication.

The next few years, I somehow remained blind to the fact that I was still going through the hell of a gigantic mixed episode. I occasionally went back on medication, but X was always there to complain about how different the prescriptions made me. He would take them away or not let me go back for my refill.

The break up happened, and I soon realized that I was so depressed that I had no backbone. When I started to "come out of it" and the backbone would start to return, X would pitch a fit. If I am without my backbone, I am far easier to manipulate and flat out lie to. 

I am still medicated, and things keep getting better. I was off for a time when I had to cancel an appointment and then wait to be rescheduled. Things started to go sideways. I finally got rescheduled, and things started getting right on track again. The fact that I got back on my meds and stuck with them through everything is what I credit with a lot of the new start that Ryli, Landry, and I have been on since I finally made the break for good from X. 

Life With/Life Without Factor 5 Leiden

This title for this topic is a misnomer of sorts. It could easily be titled  "Blissful Ignorance/Life With FVL" as it is something I was born with, yet had no clue until I was 28 and in the hospital after a pulmonary embolism, less than a decade after having had a stroke. Out of convenience, I will just refer to it by it's little nickname of FVL.

When I was in the ER, the doctor that was called in knew right away that something wasn't right. A stroke and a pulmonary embolism before 30 didn't happen to "normal" people. So, by the time I was rolled up to the ICU, there was a lab tech waiting on me. I may have been on all the morphine I could take, but I still counted the vials as the tech filled them. 

"Are you going to leave any for me? You just took 14 VIALS" I said to him. He laughingly called to the nurses station that I needed more morphine, because I could still count. I tried to laugh, but I couldn't. I didn't want to breathe anymore, the pain was so bad. I by no means wanted to die, but I just didn't want to feel, and it hurt like hell to breathe or hold my breath. It was worse than child birth. Unmediated child birth at that.

One of the doctors told me eventually that the results of the blood tests would take about two weeks. I made it out of the hospital with an inhaler and a prescription for Coumadin, along with instructions to return to the hospital the following day to get a shot in my abdomen of Heparin. 

Two weeks passed, and I thought that all the tests came back normal and I was just a freak of nature or something. I went with my grandma to help her get groceries at Hy-Vee. We made it to check out, and a call came in from my doctor's office. I quickly went outside before my phone broke up.

Holly, my favorite nurse, was calling with my  test results. At first, I was confused, as I wasn't getting my INR (clotting levels) checked for another hour. Then she clarified and said that she was calling about the tests from the hospital. She told me that it was called  Factor V Leiden, and could I please come to my appointment early because my doctor was currently researching FVL. That was a scary thing to hear.

I ran Grandma and her groceries are home and went to the appointment. All I really learned about FVL was that I only had one set of the gene, it was a clotting disorder, and I was being referred to an oncologist. That was not a pleasant thought.

I went to the oncology appointment. One of the first things the doctor told me was that hematology and oncology are in a way the same thing. That helped... a lot. He then explained that my blood was more prone to clots that just don't break up like "normal" clots. The way he put it was that if there were enough outside factors (smoking, hormonal birth control, long periods of sitting or laying down, pregnancy, long flights, and/or injury), I was heterozygous, meaning I inherited FVL from only one parent, and that increased my risk of a clot by eight times than someone who did not inherit the condition.

My knee jerk reaction was the desire to know what that meant. He said that I could not be on hormonal birth control (which was convenient as I had just switched from the pill to the shot), and that I was going to be on blood thinners for the rest of my life.I was also told that any additional pregnancies weren't the best ideas. He went so far to say that the FVL more than likely contributed to my two previous losses. And that I'd have to cut out the green leafy vegetables and anything else that had high vitamin K content. 

I stayed on Coumadin until the perfect storm occurred. I got sick of blowing veins at my weekly check ups, which I had to have because my levels were hard to control with my love of the vitamin K green leafy vegetables. I became borderline anemic once a month, which was pretty gross and expensive. And I lost my insurance. I went off and just crossed my fingers that nothing would go wrong.

Then, in June 2009, I had my positive pregnancy that would eventually carry the name Ryli. It had been five years since the diagnosis, and thankfully, albeit painfully, FVL did not mean that I couldn't have a healthy pregnancy. It just meant that I had to start injecting blood thinners as soon as possible and continue to the six week post-partum check up. It wasn't so bad, and the result was Little Miss Sass, 2010.

I stayed on thinners after being bridged back to Coumadin until X got tired of watching Ryli while I went in for blood draws. I didn't last too long off the thinners before I found out that I was pregnant again. More shots, and another little cutie in the form of Landry.

I had difficulty staying on Coumadin after I was bridged with Landry, because I couldn't take the kids with me, and X refused to watch them. I went back on briefly when we moved to Dallas, then stopped again, because of X.

I'm gearing up to once again go back on. I'm probably going to go ahead and get a uterine ablation or a hysterectomy to deal with once a month nastiness, and vitamin K is no longer discouraged, so long as you are consistent. 

My five kids have all come into this world with a 50-50 chance of being at least heterozygous (one copy) for FVL, same as me. Ryli and Landry both had to have surgery last year, so they were both tested prior to surgery, and they both carry a copy. Dace was tested after her senior year, and so does she. Connor and Tucker to date have not been tested, so I'm hoping that they didn't get it, which is statistically possible. The girls worry me slightly more than the boys, just because of the implications of hormones on FVL. May the ones who have it follow in the footsteps of whoever I got it from and never have issue.

For almost 29 years, I had no idea I had this. For 19 years, it wasn't even discovered yet. They say that knowing is half the battle. I have five incredible reasons to stick around for as long as is humanly possible.

Living Life With/ Living Life Without Week One: The Stroke

So, let's just begin this segment by saying that back in the day, I was the consummate wild child, much to damn near every one's dismay. I was given my first wake-up call as January turned into February 1995. A nice case of spinal meningitis landed my ever-partying self in the hospital. It was a far cry from fun. Between the headache, neck ache, and overall feeling of malaise, I had to suffer through a spinal tap. I would like to do my public duty by telling anyone who reads this, unmedicated childbirth is a much more comfortable experience. Just throwing that out there. 

I tried to get my act together once I was discharged from the hospital after a few days. I started working my ass off to finish up the high school diploma that I'd been putting off. I started thinking about going to college, majoring in biology or the like, in hopes of getting intro medical school, or maybe going into the Marine Corps.

That all went headlong out the window the night of February 22, 1995. I was at my parents' house, taking a bath, gleefully reading Rolling Stone. At the ripe old age of 19, I had a stroke. Thankfully, my mom has been a registered nurse longer than I've graced this planet. I lost consciousness as they loaded the gurney onto the back of the ambulance.

Before the stroke, I was very active. If I got upset about something, it wasn't unheard of for me to go to the YMCA to swim laps, or take a jog. I loved driving my little manual transmission Chevy Sprint all over the place. I danced with my girlfriends, partied like a mad woman, and was very much go, go, go. I wrote all the time, whether it be poetry or stories or endless pages of doodles. I could even draw passably well. That all changed that night.

I wasn't supposed to be able to talk again. Looking back, that is absolutely hysterical, as I was telling off the speech therapist within a few weeks. I had to re-learn to walk, and a good indicator of how tired I am or how much pain my right knee is in is by my limp. If all is well, it is very slight, only to become more pronounced with fatigue and/or pain. The right side of my face is still a little bit numb, but that's never an issue unless I'm eating something messy. The kicker of it all is my right hand. My shoulder is good, despite being out of socket the majority of the time (I have double jointed shoulders). As you make your way down my arm, however, it becomes more and more useless with every passing joint. 

I used to be right handed. I had to teach myself to do everything with my left hand. I actually write even better now than I did as a righty, and without the tell-tale ink smudges on the side of my hand. I type faster with my left than I used to with two hands. I can tie my shoes and a myriad of other things that I used to do. I can even pull Ryli's hair up into a ponytail or pig tails. I fix things around the house when they are broken, and I even hang things on the wall using hammer and nails.

I thought that my life was over for the longest time after I had the stroke. I had this huge list built up in my head of things that I would never do or have without my right side working. That led me to a lapse in judgment that led me to getting two of the biggest "I'll Never..." on my list scratched off as done before I made it to the 18 month mark post stroke; marriage and motherhood. I actually am thankful for that, though, because it wouldn't have made me into who I am today. 

Flash forward twenty years, and my life may not be perfect, and I may have taken some pretty brutal knocks along the way, but it is all made me into who I am today. I have five beautiful children and I still have a lot of life left in me. They sat that doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. It may not happen overnight, but in the end, it is the truth. I may have pretty much lost my once dominant right side, but I can do so much now that I used to take for granted. There are some things that I wish I could go back and change, but there are reasons to be equally glad that they happened the way that they did.

Mippy Manor's Week in Review: Chaos Edition

Another week is on the books, and once again, there were more days that I posted than days that I didn't. Even more posts when you take in consideration the two that just flat went out later than initially planned. I've bounced back from the hour that was stolen a week ago, and the kids have, too, maybe.

I got some mail this week from the Dallas Zoo this week.I am now toying with the notion of a family membership. They way it breaks down price wise, it'd be a steal of a deal, and let's face it, we would get a lot of use out of it. All the gorgeous weekends last summer that we just sat at home, and this year, I have weekdays to fill up since they no longer attend daycare. And there's the Giants of the Jurassic thing they've got going on this year. Landry has dinosaurs on the brain. So, I will probably come up with a way to get that membership, and start buying month long bus passes.

We gave Sling TV a trial run on Monday. It is cool.The kids did get tired of it pretty quickly, though. They were both sitting in my computer chair, jockeying for space, so it was no fault of the programming. The Amazon Fire TV stick came on Thursday. I already knew it had to be hooked up in the living room (the only TV we have "new" enough to have HDMI hook-ups). So, I chose to move the rabbit ears and converter box to my room and my rinky-dink television, and the Blu-Ray player will stay in the kids' room. My must watch shows come on after dinner, so that way I will be upstairs so hopefully the kids will start staying in their room.

Fly Lady is still misfiring. As soon as my ink cartridge comes in next week, I'm going to print out my Control Journal and give it yet another go. I'll start tomorrow, regardless. I have somehow managed to go to bed with the downstairs actually pretty much presentable every night this week. Wednesday night was the worst I'd left it, but we were all in bed by 7:30-8:00, after all. I had it all cleaned up except for sweeping, mopping and vacuuming when Miss Diva came downstairs demanding blueberry oatmeal. I just want to get to a point where I don't feel as if I'm cleaning every waking hour of every day.

Starting Wednesday, I'm going to do a series "Life With/Life Without". Every week, I will post about something I live with or without. The stroke, my clotting disorder, being car-less just to name a few topics. It will serve to let the you, the reader learn some of the reasons that I do things like I do. There is a method to all my madness, and it's getting better/easier all the time.

Last night, I decided to try making a batch of barbecue sauce up to get Ryli and Landry to help me finish up the remnants of Tuesdays Dr. Pepper Spicy Shredded Pork. I went to the kitchen under the assumption that I had the kids properly occupied, but Landry was right on my tail. So I took out all the ingredients and measured them and dumped them into the bowl, and Landry whisked them all together. I decided to heat up the sauce to kill time while we waited for the shredded pork to heat up and the french fries to bake. Landry stood on his chair and continued to neatly whisk the sauce. I melted a slice of cheddar onto the English muffins that were serving as buns, broke out the rest of the baby spinach for little salads, and loaded the makeshift buns with shredded pork and barbecue sauce. They both loved it, and now, I have another recipe the next time that pork butt goes on sale like that again.

Today, I think we'll lay low for the most part. Eventually, we'll take a walk up to the store so I can make Irish Soda Bread on St. Patrick's Day. I misjudged what we had on hand when I made the grocery list Monday. I've got some laundry to put away and a few other things that I need to get done upstairs. No playground yet, it will take a few days of Texas sun to dry that mess up.