So I'm pregnant, surprisingly I have not bogged about it. I've had a journal I've kept for Norah (my baby girl) which has sort of taken the place of this, only I haven't really divulged much info for her future self to read.
Negative symptoms I've experienced: shock, fatigue, disbelief, sleeplessness, nausea, drop in blood pressure, crazy, soreness, sciatic pain, crazy, swelling, cravings, a little more crazy, crying, a few more cravings. Though none of it has been too bad, except for the crazy. This includes several (I lost count, though my husband could probably tell you) episodes of me crying and other various aspects of emotional breakdown. For example, he was popped on the back of the head once for grabbing a white towel when that clearly did not match the bathroom decor. And early on in the pregnancy I did attempt to break into the bathroom when he got in the shower before I could. Please pray for him because I fear these outbursts are not over. Though I really have tried, especially lately, to control myself.
Today I had my 31 week appointment. I made a small mention to the nurse today that I have noticed a fluttering in my heart which affects my breathing as well as making me anxious, that it happens at least once a day, for at least 15 minutes. I honestly haven't mentioned to anyone, maybe once in passing to Phillip. Something told me to mention it to the nurse, it was kind of even an after thought, a few seconds after she had asked if I had noticed any issues. I took a deep breath and spilled it. Then took my pee cup and when to the bathroom to make my deposit, and afterwards met up with Phil in the appointment room. Not really thinking anything else about it. I couldn't even get in the door before the nurse resurfaced and followed me into the room to ask more questions.
Ok, no big deal.
Soon the midwives came in, wielding a stethoscope. More questions and an auscultation later, Allison won herself a cardiology consultation. Yippee. She said she heard a third heart sound. That most likely this is due to the increased load on my heart. I told about my history with heart problems, an arrhythmia in high school managed by a beta blocker.
At this point I am awaiting a phone call from the OB office to tell me when my heart appointment is. I feel like I should have just kept it a secret. I don't want to be back on a beta blocker. I don't want this history with my heart to hurt my baby. I have worried myself sick today, only causing more episodes with my heart. Every twitch I feel I worry that it's her telling me she's not getting enough air or that she's uncomfortable or something. I know that she's fine for now-her heart rate was in the 140s today. But I can't help but wonder what labor will do. Will I have to have cardiac medications through my IV? What if I end up not able to push her out and have to go to the OR? .....So many questions.
or What if I just trust God to take care of me and my family?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Words
Proverbs 10:18-20
He who conceals his hatred has lying lips, and whoever spreads slander is a fool. When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise. The tongue of the righteous is choice silver, but the heart of the wicked is of little value.
The Bible has a lot to say about speech and words. No where in it does it say that "sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me". It instead speaks of tongues sharpened like swords and words being used like arrows. This is much more true. No physical harm I have ever had has affected me so much as spoken words. It seems that in my adult life I have had more dealings with hurtful words spoken towards me and my spouse even from friends than when I was a teenager. Who said people grow up?
This week I was verbally attacked by a patient. Someone who only thinks he knows me, thinks he knows "my type." He categorized me as someone who doesn't care about anything but my own good. According to him, we'll call him Mr. Willis, I don't care about the war in Iraq, the people whose lives were effected by the tornadoes in Alabama, or about sick people in general. I am both too soft (for getting my feelings hurt) and too calloused(because I don't listen) to Mr. Willis. I was stuck in his room for about 20 minutes while he berated me, villianized me and accused me.
I was stuck alright. I wanted to defend myself, return his hateful words with words of my own. I remember Steve (my pastor) speaking about not defending yourself and about not managing outcomes and opinions. I took it for a while - then I had to defend myself and my coworkers. This is where the real problem came in. Mr. Willis did not want me to have an opinion nor was I entitled to have a rebuttal. He wanted me to take responsibility for everything that had happened to him that day, forgetting the fact that it was after 5pm and this was the first time I had even been into his room that day. He accused me of "pointing a shotgun and shooting bullets" at him. After about 20 minutes I finally stuttered out a response that sounded something like this, "You don't know me, if I did not care about people I would not be a nurse. I could work in research somewhere and never touch a patient ever. I cannot confirm or deny anything that has happened in this room today anymore than you can confirm or deny anything that happened in the room next door to you. But I can tell you that you hurt my feelings when you said __________ and that is when I put my wall up." I then apologized if I had upset him only to get a sigh and a shake of the head.
Now, tell me why I can recall every second of that very long one sided encounter when it is so easy to forget nice words that are spoken to me? How can one person's words cut me so deeply that I question my career and my personality, my life? I have spent so much time in reflection wondering if I really am so self absorbed. This man doesn't know me. But then my brain starts trying to pull a lesson from the encounter. Maybe God wanted me to hear those words to spur me to action, to put things in perspective. Maybe I needed to be knocked down a peg. Maybe I just was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I know that in the eyes of my place of employment I probably should not have rebutted. In the eyes of my husband I should have walked out at the first sign of conflict, but I stayed because of a customer service mindset that has been drilled into me.
I'm not sure if I will ever know why I went through that this week. Perhaps only for the reminder to watch my own mouth.
Psalm 37:30
The mouth of the righteous man utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks what is just.
Psalm 39:1
I said, "I will watch my ways and keep my tongue from sin; I will put a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence."
Lord, help me to remember that words cut and wound so easily. Help me to guard my tongue from flippant observations of people. Help me to remember that you know every word before it leaves my mouth and that I am placed here to build up and not tear down. Remind me to encourage and speak kindness.
He who conceals his hatred has lying lips, and whoever spreads slander is a fool. When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise. The tongue of the righteous is choice silver, but the heart of the wicked is of little value.
The Bible has a lot to say about speech and words. No where in it does it say that "sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me". It instead speaks of tongues sharpened like swords and words being used like arrows. This is much more true. No physical harm I have ever had has affected me so much as spoken words. It seems that in my adult life I have had more dealings with hurtful words spoken towards me and my spouse even from friends than when I was a teenager. Who said people grow up?
This week I was verbally attacked by a patient. Someone who only thinks he knows me, thinks he knows "my type." He categorized me as someone who doesn't care about anything but my own good. According to him, we'll call him Mr. Willis, I don't care about the war in Iraq, the people whose lives were effected by the tornadoes in Alabama, or about sick people in general. I am both too soft (for getting my feelings hurt) and too calloused(because I don't listen) to Mr. Willis. I was stuck in his room for about 20 minutes while he berated me, villianized me and accused me.
I was stuck alright. I wanted to defend myself, return his hateful words with words of my own. I remember Steve (my pastor) speaking about not defending yourself and about not managing outcomes and opinions. I took it for a while - then I had to defend myself and my coworkers. This is where the real problem came in. Mr. Willis did not want me to have an opinion nor was I entitled to have a rebuttal. He wanted me to take responsibility for everything that had happened to him that day, forgetting the fact that it was after 5pm and this was the first time I had even been into his room that day. He accused me of "pointing a shotgun and shooting bullets" at him. After about 20 minutes I finally stuttered out a response that sounded something like this, "You don't know me, if I did not care about people I would not be a nurse. I could work in research somewhere and never touch a patient ever. I cannot confirm or deny anything that has happened in this room today anymore than you can confirm or deny anything that happened in the room next door to you. But I can tell you that you hurt my feelings when you said __________ and that is when I put my wall up." I then apologized if I had upset him only to get a sigh and a shake of the head.
Now, tell me why I can recall every second of that very long one sided encounter when it is so easy to forget nice words that are spoken to me? How can one person's words cut me so deeply that I question my career and my personality, my life? I have spent so much time in reflection wondering if I really am so self absorbed. This man doesn't know me. But then my brain starts trying to pull a lesson from the encounter. Maybe God wanted me to hear those words to spur me to action, to put things in perspective. Maybe I needed to be knocked down a peg. Maybe I just was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I know that in the eyes of my place of employment I probably should not have rebutted. In the eyes of my husband I should have walked out at the first sign of conflict, but I stayed because of a customer service mindset that has been drilled into me.
I'm not sure if I will ever know why I went through that this week. Perhaps only for the reminder to watch my own mouth.
Psalm 37:30
The mouth of the righteous man utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks what is just.
Psalm 39:1
I said, "I will watch my ways and keep my tongue from sin; I will put a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence."
Lord, help me to remember that words cut and wound so easily. Help me to guard my tongue from flippant observations of people. Help me to remember that you know every word before it leaves my mouth and that I am placed here to build up and not tear down. Remind me to encourage and speak kindness.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Not defined...
I am not defined by my eating disorder. Who knew? I thought it was some huge secret, some life changing defining moment-maybe it's not. Perhaps it was only an outlet to handle another life changing, defining moment. I gave a talk to the youth once about Anorexia the thing I hated the most at that point was fitting into some statistic about how many teens have "______" and "_____". I hated that I was one, am one still. Now I'm just one of how ever many twenty somethings that is still dealing with it. But it's not a huge deal. I've learned how to handle it. I try not to know about how much I currently weigh. I try not to stop myself from occasionally indulging in an extra sweet, that is easier somehow when I am alone.
It still is an issue, just yesterday I work I got judged for eating a fried chicken sandwich with a side of gummy bears. I noticed a smug smile and a shake of a head across the table. I knew what was going on and I actually had the guts to say "What is it?". Only to get a short " I don't know how you can stay so small and eat like that". My head was screaming BITE ME, I took a lot to let myself buy the stupid gummy bears and the only reason I did was because I has a coupon for a free $5 meal in the caf and I wanted to get my money's worth. I broke 100 pounds at 18. I am still only around 108, fully dressed. When I weigh myself, I always hope it is below 105. I am beyond the point in my life where I went to bed hungry, crying because my acid was eating away my esophagus. I am beyond having to take a beta blocker to control my heart's arrhythmia. I am beyond having fur on my face (though some of that has hung around). Yet I still get very anxious about weight about brownies about my jeans not fitting the same.
I have to make myself eat enough, eat enough protein and vitamins. Having a husband to cook for is probably saving me from weighing 90-something. Without him I would most likely eat like a vegetarian with the occasional chicken breast. It sometimes feels gross to cook animals and eat them. I think that I would be happier if I missed a meal. I rationalize eating less for dinner if I ate a bad lunch.
But here is the big news. I told my story, my testimony this week and I left out my anorexia. What does that mean exactly? I'm not over it. It is still my dirty little secret. It shocks people when I mention it. But I overlooked it? How? Maybe the rest of my life made a bigger impression on me. Perhaps I am still belittling it.
I don't know what it means exactly.
It still is an issue, just yesterday I work I got judged for eating a fried chicken sandwich with a side of gummy bears. I noticed a smug smile and a shake of a head across the table. I knew what was going on and I actually had the guts to say "What is it?". Only to get a short " I don't know how you can stay so small and eat like that". My head was screaming BITE ME, I took a lot to let myself buy the stupid gummy bears and the only reason I did was because I has a coupon for a free $5 meal in the caf and I wanted to get my money's worth. I broke 100 pounds at 18. I am still only around 108, fully dressed. When I weigh myself, I always hope it is below 105. I am beyond the point in my life where I went to bed hungry, crying because my acid was eating away my esophagus. I am beyond having to take a beta blocker to control my heart's arrhythmia. I am beyond having fur on my face (though some of that has hung around). Yet I still get very anxious about weight about brownies about my jeans not fitting the same.
I have to make myself eat enough, eat enough protein and vitamins. Having a husband to cook for is probably saving me from weighing 90-something. Without him I would most likely eat like a vegetarian with the occasional chicken breast. It sometimes feels gross to cook animals and eat them. I think that I would be happier if I missed a meal. I rationalize eating less for dinner if I ate a bad lunch.
But here is the big news. I told my story, my testimony this week and I left out my anorexia. What does that mean exactly? I'm not over it. It is still my dirty little secret. It shocks people when I mention it. But I overlooked it? How? Maybe the rest of my life made a bigger impression on me. Perhaps I am still belittling it.
I don't know what it means exactly.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Feeling domestic...
Here are a few of my projects lately.
Before....
After....
For Valentines......
Detergent making..
.
And some painting....
Before....
After....
For Valentines......
Detergent making..
.
And some painting....
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