Getting Better Acquainted with Hospital Staff

As I limped into the ER on Thursday night and then gratefully slumped into a wheelchair - brought over to me by a concerned nurse - I never thought that I wouldn't have been leaving that night.
I mean, I know I was sick.  I know I needed major help.  I know that I would not have gotten better at home had I just "waited it out."
I just didn't know how seriously sick I was till - after an hour or so of being there - a nurse came over and said to the doctor, "So, what's going on with her?"  (she's pointing at me)
The doc says, "She's not going anywhere except for upstairs to a room."

I am ahead of myself here.

I am sorry.

But, you must forgive me.

I've been -and this is putting it very mildly - under the weather.

Wednesday morning I woke up with a jolt.  My eyes got real big.  And I could tell that I didn't have much time between realizing it was going to happen and it actually happening.
I grabbed the slightly dusty "puke bucket"  from under the bed and prepared for some very painful vomiting. I tore my glasses from my face, pulled my hair from out from around my face, and started to throw up very violently.

I didn't go to bed feeling badly at all.  In fact, the next morning, my cousin had plans on coming over to my house to cut Olivia's hair (before I dropped her off to go to school)

But, there I was.  Crying, puking, crying, and puking some more.

Normally, I try to vomit as quietly and as calmly as possible.  When I was preggers with Olivia, I did my fair share of throwing up, but it quickly got to be annoying for all of those around me.  My cat would get scared and run away.  Well, excuse me Spot, but I am trying to grow a human here!My husband would quietly sit there, my hair in his hands and let me do my thing, only to ask me later (as nicely as possible - and he truly was very sweet about the whole thing) to try and not get so upset during those times in my life when the things inside of me desperately wanted to be on the outside of me.  His thought was that if I was a bit calmer that it wouldn't hurt so much.  And he was right.  The less of a spectacle I had made while throwing up, the easier the whole process was.

So, years ago I had mastered the art of stealth vomiting.
This time, though, there was zero stealth in my puking...
I had nothing to vomit, so all that was coming out was bile - or whatever lies in your stomach while your stomach awaits for it's next meal.

So, Wednesday was not a good day.

Thursday, I had started to feel much worse.  By Thursday, the vomiting had ceased, but I had developed a cough that was increasingly getting worse.

That's when I decided to pay a visit to my family doctor.

He had diagnosed me as having bronchitis.  By my appointment with him, I had started to run a fever and my energy level had started to plummet.  So, he threw some antibiotics and some cough medicine at me (ok, well, he didn't really throw anything at me, instead he gave me prescriptions)
By 5 pm, having skipped dinner and taken my first actual dose of antibiotics and cough medicine, I was off to bed.
I remember falling asleep too.  I can remember thinking that as far as bronchitis went, this time it wasn't too horrible.  I was in a very comfortable sleeping position.  I wasn't coughing that annoying cough that comes with having bronchitis.  My medicine must be working.  I thought to myself that I was going to kick this one very easily and very quickly....

But I was wrong...

So....

WRONG...

So, I woke up at around 11 pm Thursday night.  I suddenly felt as though I was drowning.  Drowning is the only word I could come up with.  My chest felt as though there was a building sitting on top of it.  I couldn't catch my breath.  I was trying to catch my breath, like desperately trying to catch it, but with each breath I tried to take came a new level of panic that it is really indescribable.

I didn't yet feel feverish, but I knew that something was seriously wrong.  I couldn't breathe.  I just couldn't do it.  When I did breathe, my chest felt so heavy.  I said before that it felt like a building was on top of me.  (and for a fleeting moment, I thought this how some of the people must have felt back in the olden days of the Salem witch trials when people were put under the severe weight of rocks until they admitted to being witches or knowing of witchcraft)

So, with thoughts of buildings and the Salem witch trials I ended up in the ER department of our local hospital.

I - as urgently as possible - explained to them the chest pain I was having and the breath that kept evading me.

I was quickly handed a paper to sign, and a bracelet was put on my wrist and I was whisked away to the triage unit of the ER.
I was hooked up to an EKG machine and asked a barrage of questions and told within a relatively short amount of time that I was being admitted to the hospital.

Diagnosis?

Pneumonia.

Turns out that I had a fever of 103.5 Fahrenheit.  I had learned that while I was on the table hooked up to the EKG machine.
I can kind of remember some of the questions being asked of me.  But, I was so sick.  I mean, I never felt as sick as I did... I can't ever remember feeling this sick.
Lots of nurses and doctors and hospital personnel would ask me questions.  Simple questions that I - under normal situations  - could answer with ease and a smile on my face.  Thursday night, however, I couldn't form a thought, let alone an answer to a simple question.
I had zero strength as well.  Holding the pen in the entrance to the ER proved to be a slightly impossible task for me.

So, there I was.  No strength.  No clear thoughts.  Just the lack of breath, the high fever, the really high blood sugar and the fear that - despite being in a hospital - that I was surely going to die.

About 2 am or so, I was wheeled to my staying quarters.  A hospital room with enough space for two beds, although I was the only occupant at the time.  There was a large flat screen TV on the wall, a bathroom barely big enough for me plus a medical cart with IV's hanging from it and two closets in the back of the room.
I was given loads of steroids, loads more of antibiotics, and lots of different pills.

During my stay, I was poked - it seemed - hundred of times.  I was told by several nurses that I had "bad veins".  My veins were quickly dubbed as "rollers".  I had no idea that my veins were that much trouble.  As a type 1 diabetic, I had my fair share of blood work done, lots of lab work under my particular belt. Any of the phlebotomists I ever met never ever had trouble with my veins before.  But, here I sit, with dozens of holes in my hands and arms - each with it's own black and blue mark to prove that my veins are indeed rollers.

I had stayed hospitalized with pneumonia a total of three nights.  All of the docs I met thought for sure I was going to be there at least a week.  I was told that I was in the early stages of septicemia when I entered the ER, according to their lab work.  And as a type 1 diabetic that it certainly could have been alot worse.  But, I went in early enough, and it was caught in enough time.  And I responded very well to the antibiotics that was administered to me via the IV drip....

I am one lucky girl...

Or so one doctor had said.

So, there you have it...

I had my first (and hopefully my last) battle - although it felt more like a war - with pneumonia.

I still feel very weak.  I still feel as though I was hit by a truck.  But, slowly I am starting to feel like my old self.  Although I'd like to feel like a newer version of my old self, this will be just as good.  I will settle for this...

John and Olivia were both worried for me.  Quite frankly, I was worried for myself as well.

But, I am feeling better and on the road to recovery.
I will probably be taking a very short blogging break to give myself some time to heal even quicker.  So, I will say I am sorry now for my absence....

Oh, and one more thing before I hit "Publish" and scoot off to bed where I belong...
The hospital let me check and control my own blood sugar, thanks to me wearing the insulin pump.  Something I was very grateful for.  After my fevers had subsided and I was again thinking clearly, they said that pump wearers usually took very good care of their diabetes.  And they weren't wrong.  My numbers - after the steroids had stopped being given - were quite good during my hospital stay.

So, I guess that is it for now.
Thanks for reading, and take care!!!!

Lockets and Cards

Wow... What a day!  Not bad, but not great either.  I'd say, it was a good day, and if nothing else, it was an average day.
 

It started when I woke up to  Olivia standing right by the bed on my side, staring at me...
She smiled, and said "Happy Mother's Day.  Can I finally give you your present now?"  :)

I rolled out of bed and got the sweetest card and locket pendant - she even put a picture of herself inside of it.  Then, she whipped out the other one she had, one she was wearing herself, and had a picture of me inside of hers...
My heart just melted...  How could it not have?
There she is, the preemie baby that I gave birth to just 13 years ago, smiling about the fact that she got me something to honor me as her mom.  I fear (however) as we continue down this path of teenager-dom, that the moments I had the pleasure of  enjoying today will end up being fewer and fewer.  I sure hope not, but that thought is always in the back of my head.


Let's see... After some coffee and some rereading of my sweet Mother's Day card, I got an early phone call about somebody wanting my surplus insulin (Craigslist ad).
So I quickly (or as quickly as someone whose feet and legs hurt 24/7) got dressed and said goodbye to my daughter.  I ran down to the gas station to meet my early morning caller and sold him my insulin.

 After that, I came home and had the rest of my morning to myself.  I had a light breakfast and then I got a text from another buyer of surplus diabetic supplies.  I had some reservoir sets and some infusion sets for my insulin pump and decided that instead of them going to waste, I would sell to whomever may want them.
We had to drive to Pottsville (about a 50 mile trip, ugh)) to meet this guy though, because he lacked transportation.  But, he was offering to pay us handsomely and I seldom turn down an opportunity to make a little money.
The whole day, though, poor John had (and still has) a head cold and did nothing but cough and sneeze all day long...  He was so super sweet though, the entire day.  He held my hand in the car and told me how proud of me he is for being the mom I am to our daughter... (I can't help but think I may end up with a head cold in the near future, but it's gonna be worth it.. ;)   )

As sick as John was feeling, he did treat me to a nice little dinner in Hamburg on our way home from Pottsville.  That was a nice change of pace.  The last few nights, neither of us could muster up the strength to make any sort of dinner.  John's been feeling ill, and I have been in too much pain to do it.  The fanciest we have been getting is spaghetti from a can... sigh... Oh wait, no, that's not true.  The one night, we did have Caesar salad.   Ok, so there you have it.  We have been feeling too bad to make anything nicer than a bagged salad and some spaghetti from a can.  I'd say a nice little Mother's Day dinner was in order, don't you?

Well, that was how my Mother's Day was.  I told you.  Not bad, but not great either.  It was a good day.
And good days are getting harder and harder to come by.
So, in that respect, I would have to say today was a terrific day.  :)

I hope all of my fellow mom's out there had a nice Mother's Day as well.

Thanks for reading.
Till next time...

Being a Mom

Mother's Day is coming up this weekend.

I often reflect on my own life - as a mom, and as a wife, and as a daughter - when Mother's Day approaches.

I first like to think of my own wonderful mom.  That lovely woman had five children and still made the time to make sure I had clean sheets on my bed.  Heck, all of us had clean sheets on our beds.  I will never make another bed again (at least I haven't since) without thinking about my own  head touching the pillow case that was fresh and spotless on my childhood bed (complete with Sylvia June painted in orange on the headboard).
My mom also made sure we had dinner every single night.  I mean, every single night, there she was, in the kitchen making some sort of meal that would feed at least seven  hungry people.  That's an amazing feat.

So, when I tire from making only one meal, to feed just three people, what right do I have to complain?  I say none.  Who am I to make faces when Olivia asks that evening question "What's for dinner?"...

So, thanks to my mom for continuing to be a wonderfully (over) adequate, and terrific mom!

Anyway, I also ponder how many children I really should have - residing with John and me - if circumstances would have been different.

Not that I really regret doing the things I did in a certain way.  I often just wonder how my life would be if I would have made choice A instead of choice B.

Like, I bet alot of you don't know that I had suffered a miscarriage on my 23rd birthday.  And it was literally on my birthday.  The nurse who attended to me even said that after seeing it was my birthday, had to excuse herself for a few moments to cry because she felt so badly for me.
What a way to celebrate.
When just a few days before my 23rd birthday, I was calling the entire family to say we were expecting our second child. And when we got to the hospital to have a doctor explain why I was bleeding so badly, we never expected to be leaving (the hospital)  with a dead baby inside of my womb.  Well, to say we weren't "expecting" the news is untrue.  Of course, the awful thought of a miscarriage weighed heavily on me, but I couldn't bring myself to audibly admit the fear of losing that baby.
I did nothing wrong during that very short pregnancy that would point to why I would have a miscarriage.  And when I reentered the hospital with unspeakable pain a few days later, I had to say goodbye to the tiny baby that had already formed a head and hands in my uterus.  
That was a really tough night.  After I had seen the baby practically fall out of me in the hospital's restroom, I had fainted on the floor.  The nurses gave me smelling salts and woke me up just in time for me to see them take the fetus and put it into a container, marked "hazardous waste".  My baby was never intended to be labeled as waste of any kind. What a terrible evening that was.  An evening John nor I will ever get over or ever forget.
 Less than a year after that tragic loss, I had to part with the thought of ever having children again, for they had detected (and later found) cancer in my uterus and had to do a partial hysterectomy, leaving me with only one ovary and zero chances of ever being pregnant again.  In fact, I was so young, that the doctor performing the surgery had to get special permission to do such a permanent solution to my ever lasting female problems - which included unstoppable bleeding, pain, and later on anemia.  Needless to say, we were heart broken.  But, at that time, we had already had one child - Olivia - and that's the only reason the doctor was able to get permission to give me a hysterectomy.


We also put a baby up for adoption.  That was when I was 18, going on 19.  John and I spoke at length during that pregnancy about what we were "supposed" to do and what we should do and also to what we had to do.  We got advice from my parents, who at that time, were very supportive and very open to any decision we had to make.  It's a good thing they were there, and were surprisingly unbiased in their opinion. 

We (John and I) finally made the very difficult decision of signing our parental rights away in order to give that baby a better shot at life than what two very young people could give him/her.  Had we gone on to marry because of a baby, and ultimately gave that child a job to do before ever being born, I fear that we would be talking about a much different marriage than what we currently have.  (and honestly, we did give him/her a great life)

I still think it highly wrong and maybe even amoral to marry because "she" happens to be carrying a child inside of her.  After all, who's to say that 15 minutes of passion (or for some, lack thereof) is the sole reason for an everlasting happily ever after.  Being pregnant should never be the (only) purpose for a wedding.  That is my opinion, take it or leave it.

Then, I think about the child we do have.  And the unthinkable love that we have for her.  There are literally not enough words in the dictionary to describe how we feel about our daughter.  She is the keeper of both our hearts.  She embodies her middle name in a way I never thought possible.  She is completely the reason for most of our joy.  Now, I'm not saying that if we never had her, we wouldn't be happy.  But, just having her in our lives, just knowing that she is there in the mornings to smile and say "Good Morning Mommy" is a good reason to have an outstanding and happy life.

I know I am a good mom to her.  There is nobody in this world that could make me question that  - well, of course except for myself.  I have asked myself the "Am I a good enough mom"  question more times than I would care to admit.  But, knowing that I would die for her, no inquisition needed, says to me that I am a great mom.  I have both given things up and added things to my life in order to make myself a mom that she needs me to be.  I don't regret anything that I have ever done in her honor.

So, with all of that said, I have mixed emotion in regards to Mother's Day.  Regardless of how I feel though, it doesn't change the fact that I have an awesome mom.  And that I have an unarguably terrific husband who gives me the strength I need to be an awesome mom to my own child.

I really admire and am astounded by my mom, for she too has been through much hardship to be the amazing woman she is today.  And she has always shown such grace through it all!  I cannot believe how incredibly lucky I am to have her as a mom.  I wouldn't be who I am today without her influence and guidance.

Happy Mother's Day to all of the moms reading this.  May you be blessed and may God keep you all!
As always, thanks for reading, and take care!


















                                   

Olivia and me

My mom and me

Olivia and me

John and my mom

Nocturnal Horrors #2

Unrealistic as they are, I still get bothered greatly by my horrible and vivid nightmares.

I have blogged about my night terrors before, and all of that is still the case.

I am still waking up in cold, clammy sweats crying or yelling about some strange creature that I have encountered while in a deep sleep.  Or perhaps, it's a dream about losing John in the middle of nowhere with no chance of finding him or getting out of the middle of nowhere.
Sometimes, I don't even need to be in my REM stage of sleep.  My night terrors can arrive on those days when I take a mini 30 minute nap during the day; I guess in that case, it would be a day terror.

And I hate every single one.  And it doesn't matter what time of day or night I have them.

Tonight, I just awoke from one that I do remember and it wasn't pretty.  John says that I was yelling pretty loudly right before waking up, and this time I do remember why I was indeed yelling.  I was running away from a big winged "thing" and trying to carry my (for some reason) infant Olivia in my arms at the same time.

It was horrible!!!

I have already sought out help from a sleep specialist.  And I had two different sleep studies done.  Now, I have a feeling that I will have to return to a place I thought it was safe to say "goodbye" to.  The psychiatrist.  It seems that my nightmares and night terrors are getting worse instead of better.  No pill is going to fix this either.  I think I will have to start talking my stuff out.  While John is a very patient listener for that sort of thing, I know that he is just not the right person to be discussing my slumber issues with.  I need a professional.

I really don't care why I am having them.  I know I should care.  But, I don't.  I just want them to stop.  And I don't want to hear that because of "some child hood instance that made me feeling alone and vulnerable" is the reason for these either.  The fact is, I had a pretty good child hood, if not sheltered a bit.  But, even during my happy childhood, I had these night terrors and nightmares that my whole family can attest to.
I do remember several of the ones from childhood.  Strange as that  sounds, those seem more real to me than the ones I am having now.  One in particular, my dad was involved in.

I was only 4 or 5 at the time, and went to bed one night, normal as any other night.  This night, however, (and this all took place after I had been sleeping for some time)  at the end of my bed, where my feet were, I felt something cold and slimy.  I woke up screaming!  Literally, screaming.  My voice got so hoarse from all the screaming, but that's how long I actually screamed  until my door opened and my dad walked in to "save the day" ...
I saw him come in, and at that moment, my legs were up to my chest because I didn't want to "feel" the slimy thing at the end of my bed.  Dad gave me a weird look, pulled up the covers and there it was... something so odd looking, there are no words to describe what it was.  The only word I can think of to use is "alien".  It was a wet, jelly like, slimy and alien looking thing that he removed from my bed, and quickly threw into the garbage can.  My garbage can from my own bed room.
But for some reason, that had calmed me down.  And I remember my dad bending down to kiss me on my forehead and tuck me back into bed where I drifted off into a peaceful hibernation till the morning.
When I awoke the next morning, I instantly remembered my terrifying night time ordeal and hopped out of bed and walked across my bedroom to the trash can.  Not really wanting to look, but knowing I wouldn't be satisfied if I didn't look, I decided to look inside.
What I saw was more confusing than what had happened the night before.
What I saw was NOTHING.
There was nothing in my trash can.  It was completely empty.  There wasn't even paper from a messed up drawing in there.  It was as if the trash can was brand new and never used.  Completely clean, and completely empty.
Confused, and also a bit worried that the "alien" may have gotten out, I ran out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where my dad was sitting at the counter drinking coffee.
I asked him what had happened to the "slimy thing from my bed."
He claimed to not have a memory of it whatsoever.  That I dreamt the whole thing.  That it was all in my head.  That nothing at all happened last night.

That memory is so ingrained into my head, I still to this day sometimes bring it up to my dad in conversation.  He still to this day just smiles and tells me that I always had weird dreams and he insists nothing of the sort ever happened.  Ever.
I told John about that awful night (earlier on in our marriage), and he sort of gave me the same look my dad gave me.  Like I had lost my mind - but in a cute, "Oh Sylvia, you're so crazy" type of way.  Not in the psychotic, "I need specialized therapy" type of way.

So, you see, I've always been plagued by nighttime scares and it's these types of thing that has me awake every single night... Well, ok... Not every single night.  But, more than I think is normal.
So, I suppose I will make an appointment to see a therapist and see if I can't pin point where all of these crazy, scary, and awful dreams are coming from.  It certainly couldn't hurt.

Well, I guess that's it for now. It's after 2 in the morning and I need to go back to sleep.  Or at least back to bed to see if I can, indeed, fall asleep.  Hopefully this time, I won't wake up by a nightmare...

Thanks for reading, as always.  And of course, sweet dreams - my dear and loyal readers...

Happy-ish Easter

We had such an amazing weekend!  The weather was just bright and sunny and I am finally seeing the buds starting to pop on the tress outside.  Dandelions and tulips have just started to introduce us again to the wondrous colors of spring and summer!  And my car is again being covered in that green stuff called pollen, already reminding me how poor I utterly am so I cannot go visit the car wash till payday...

But, yes, spring has definitely sprung around here!

More importantly, we just celebrated Easter.  And as I strive to look beyond colored eggs, baskets full of bright wrapping and chocolate bunnies, I can't help but think about what Jesus did for me - and it certainly wasn't that He ran to the nearest convenience store to pick out marshmallow peeps in my favorite color.

He gave His life for me. 

 He suffered horrid scars and torment, so people like me - ungrateful and spoiled brats, such as myself - can be saved.  I find it difficult to imagine and even more difficult to really ponder what He went through for little ole' me.

But, after He selflessly gave up His life for me, another miracle occurred when three days later, He rose again from death.  What a miraculous sight that must've been!  I can only try to imagine what the guards were thinking when the angel appeared to them and told them that Jesus had risen...

So, as I think about the amazing and wonderful thing that has been done for me, I find it very difficult to complain about my own situation.  After all, I certainly don't deserve the grace that I have been shown.  And I know that I can never really know the true impact of what Jesus did for me.  But, I also know that God only gives to those what He knows they can handle.  And that with every test I am given, I am to learn from it and try to pass on my message to others.

I have failed many of my tests.  I know that now.  And I know I will continue to fail others.  But, knowing that I have failed and not doing something about it would an even bigger atrocity.
With that thought in mind, I will try to be a better example of what someone who truly walks in the light of the Lord should be.  I will try not to let my petty pains and insecurities weigh me down.

Sure, the pain I am dealt with is very hard to live with.  But, so would living with this pain if I didn't have God to turn to.  And I know I have others in my life I could turn to as well...

So, I am very sorry if I have led anybody to believe that I am not a saved individual. I would hate to die and for people to be at my memorial wondering about where I "ended up".  I want people to be sure that I am going to be in Heaven!  I want those left here on Earth to know that they will definitely see me again one fine day.  I don't want people to say, "She was a Christian???"

When I do start to stumble - which I most undoubtedly will do - please try and not be too harsh or judgmental.  Try to be understanding, uplifting, and kind.  After all, none of us are perfect.
I, in return, will not only be grateful for your willingness to support me and my imperfections, but I will also strive to be the same way with you.


Happy Easter...

Thanks for reading...

Till next time...

(just an FYI - we had an amazingly delicious dinner over my folks house this afternoon.  My sister and her clan was there as well.  Great food and some really refreshing laughter permeated from the Oley area today...)

A Sad Country Song

Wow... What  a long break it's been between posts.  How many times do I have to apologize before I slowly start running out of readers.  I don't have many, albeit true, but I would like to at least keep the ones I currently have.  And it won't happen if I am not more consistent in my posting.
So, again, I am terribly sorry that I've been "away" for a little while.

I'd like to always make excuses for why I've been away, today, I only have one or two valid excuses and reasons for being so absent.  The rest of my justifications are just that I've been feeling lazy.

So, I guess I will officially start out with excuse number 1.

Since our refrigerator stopped working a few months ago, it seems everything else electronic wanted out of our lives as well.  Soon after Mr. Fridge stopped running  (Is your refrigerator still running?  It is?? Well, then you better go catch it!!!!), our dryer caught fire and had to be thrown out with it's life partner, who goes by Mr. Washer.  You see, Mr. Dryer and Mr. Washer were a complete unit, and once one goes, the other usually goes along for the ride.  So, I had to say goodbye to three major appliances in a very short amount of time.  And now, we have three brand new appliances in the house, that are probably worth more combined than our actual home is...

So, when all of our appliances handed in their walking papers, I started scouring the internet looking for deals and sales so we didn't have to pay an arm and a leg to afford them... The fridge was the only thing I was able to get a really good deal on.  After that, I was so sick of trying to save money, I opted for saving my sanity instead.  We went blindly into Lowe's to buy a washer and a dryer.  And this time, we got side by side appliances.  That way, when one goes, we don't have to say goodbye to two instrumental devices at once...

A few weeks ago, we started noticing a little green mark on the left side of our TV screen that occasionally rears it's ugly head.  Not too bad and awful now, but we already resigned ourselves of this electronic friend as well.  So, when we make up our minds on what type of TV we will actually get, I will again be looking for deals and steals on the internet.  Gotta love Craigslist.

Excuse number 2

My health isn't the greatest.  You all know about my type 1 diabetes.  And most of you also know that I have small fiber neuropathy as a direct result of my type 1 diabetes.  So, many days are spent in pain.  And while blogging and posting used to bring me comfort, I am finding that it's doing the opposite of just that.  I am no longer calmed or relaxed while writing.  And I know it's because my pain level is so out of control.  I was already told that at my next pain management appointment that I need to have my pain meds changed.  And while that is all fine and dandy, my next appointment isn't till June.
sigh...
My (pain management) doctor said that I am becoming "used" to my pain meds.  And that is a scary slope that I wish I wasn't on.  I knew that the day would come (that I would become numb to my medicine), but I guess I was just hoping for a much later date.  I am so stressed out over the lack of relief I am getting and I only get 1 or 2 days a week now that my pain level is at a 5 or under.  This just started a few weeks ago.  I even had a family doctor's appointment and during that particular visit, I had almost zero complaints due to my pain.  But, that changed two days or so later...

I also have been having a heck of a time sleeping.  I have so many night terrors and I also have an incredible amount of pain in the evening hours that I am lucky to have 3 good  solid hours of sleep.  Not being able to take alot of sleepless nights, I began the God awful task of scheduling sleep studies.
At my first one, I was hooked up to a million different wires that did a million different things and had (not surprising) an awful night of sleep.  I got my results and it turns out that I have high-mild (meaning, close to moderate) sleep apnea.  My dream (or REM) sleep is so active, the nurse was quite surprised at everything that was said during the night.  I knew I was an active dreamer though (and the sleep study people know it now too), because my husband still (14 years later) sleeps with one eye open.  He is constantly telling me of the crazy antics I do during the night time hours.  I swear like a sailor, I have full on conversations - so much so that if I'm in bed before John, he actually gets up to be sure there's nobody else in the bedroom that I am talking to.  I yell and scream during the night, I get violent and throw punches and kicks.
 Both John and Olivia said that sometimes they see me with arms raised up (and they equate what it looks like by comparing what I do to the motion of how the Nazi's greeted Hitler) and I also have walked in my sleep.  I think the last time I walked in my sleep, though, was when Olivia was first born.  So, yeah, I really don't get alot of sleep.  And the sleep study recognized it right away.
I was scheduled for a second stay, and in that stay I was given a CPAP machine (I chose the kind that just goes into my nostrils) and I am currently awaiting those results.

I was also told at my last ophthalmologist's appointment that I have glaucoma.  Well, actually what they said was that "Your retinopathy has all but cleared, but it looks like you have glaucoma."   My face was instantaneously a smile turned frown when I heard that particular news.  I already have a vision field test scheduled and we will see how bad it is at that appointment.

So, you see, we've been dealing with quite a lot around here.  It seems after our dog died, that our lives turned into a sad and depressing country song.

I do have a bit of good news though.

GASP!  (did she say good news?)

I sure did.

The first weekend in May, John is taking Olivia and me camping.  I for one, cannot wait!!!  A change of scenery will do all of us a world of good!  I am really looking forward to climbing into my comfortable hammock again.  I seem to get the best sleep in those.  Even with the nightmares and apnea.


Easter is in day or so.  We have plans to visit with my parents for Easter dinner.  I am to bring the green bean casserole.
John and I spent way too much time and giggled a little too much while we were creating and wrapping up Olivia's Easter basket.  That man really knows how to make me laugh.  Even in the most mundane things, like wrapping a gift, he has me holding my sides because they hurt form laughing.  You have to love a guy who will strive to make his wife see past her pain and to bring a smile to her face... And he does that for me almost every day.

I've said it on here before, and I stand by it today.  For John to grow up the way he did... with all the moving and changing schools (he quoted me an actual number, and I think he said like 5 or 6 different moves and schools)  and some of the dysfunction of his family and even going through a horrible loss and death, and to turn out... like... like.... the exact opposite of  what you would expect.  He didn't (and doesn't) let all the crap he went through bring him down.  He is just so kind.  So caring.  So compassionate.  So loving.  So protective... He amazes me every day.  He surprises me every day.  I will continue to support him every day.  And I know that he loves me every day.

Every.
Single.
Day...


So, anyway, I guess that's it for now.
Thanks for reading, and till next time...

Square of Fire

Yesterday was quite a difficult day here.  We woke up and it was a "normal" day - as most days typically start when the least expected actually happens.  But, yes, yesterday was indeed a "normal" Saturday.  Like most days, I did wake up with a headache and when I went back to bed, I was abnormally sleepy because I had taken one of my rather strong migraine pills.  By the time I got back up, it was a little after 11 in the morning, and John and Olivia had left to go help a family member move.
I decided that since it was raining and kind of a dreary day, I would do one or two loads of laundry.  Washed the first load and put in the dryer, then proceeded to make lunch for myself.
As I was just finishing up my delicious lunch, I had started to "smell" something weird.
I immediately looked at the candle that was lit on the coffee table, thinking that maybe a tissue had caught it's flame, but had realized that wasn't where the smell was coming from.  I looked out at the kitchen stove to see if I had left one of the burners on.  As I stood up to look at the stove, the smell instantly got stronger and I could actually see smoke rising to the ceiling in the kitchen.
That's when my heart started to pound.  My throat went insanely dry and my eyes were darting around everywhere looking for the source of the smoke and the smell.


Then it hit me.


The dryer had stopped running.  I couldn't hear it anymore.
I started back the hallway and almost passed out from the smoke!  It was so thick back the hallway!  I walked further back to where the laundry area was, and found the source of the troubles.  There was smoke literally pouring out of the top of the dryer.  Just billowing out of it!  I was mortified!

We always joked about burning the place down for a nice big fat insurance check, but never in a million years would I want to lose everything we owned!  I mean, we may live in a house that is a genuine P.O.S. and it may be falling apart around us, but it's also where all of our home videos are.  It's also where 13 years of memories were made.  It's also the place that we come home to every night and wake up to every morning.  So, sure the grass can always be greener, but I really didn't want to find out how green it was yesterday.

So, I picked up my cell, dialed 911 and as calmly as possible, explained to the nice lady on the other end what was going on.  She asked all the normal questions.
"Did I see any flames?"  No.
"Is there anyone else in the house?"  No, well, yes.  I have a Siamese cat that has suddenly went AWOL.
"Can you safely leave the home?"  Yes.

As I stepped outside, I ended up dropping my phone and it shattered the case around the actual phone.  The phone itself wasn't damaged, so I picked it back up and realized the 911 wasn't there anymore.  I just started hearing the sirens so I called John.  For some reason, as soon as John picked up and I heard his voice, I started to cry.  I mean, I started bawling!   I had a very difficult time telling my husband that all of our worldly possessions might be a large, heaping, smoking pile of ash in a few minutes.
Against the 911's dispatcher's advise, I decided to take one last look in the house for Apollo after I had hung up from John and he assured me that he was on his way home.
I still couldn't find my cat!  I was so worried for him!  I mean, we had just lost Molson a few weeks ago and I couldn't bear the thought of saying good bye to the last remaining Olley household pet, especially to a fire!

SIGH...

Anyhow, the firetrucks had finally arrived.  I was standing outside, shivering from the rain, being held up by my walking cane, and I flagged them down.  About 4 or 5 trucks and 30 firemen had showed up.  I spoke with the first one, explained to him where the fire was, where the laundry area was and that I had a cat inside.

He and his partner entered the house and I stood there and watched my neighbors all pile out of the homes to stare at the shut in from down the road.  Yes, me...

I couldn't help but wipe a few tears from my eyes, as I listened to the firemen bang on things, and walk in and out of my house, sometimes one at a time, sometimes 3.  They would come out and ask me a few things, like how could they open up the back door, to which I sarcastically replied (and I don't know why I found it odd that a fireman couldn't figure out how to unlock a simple door) "Uh, you just unlock it and push out."
One other fireman came out and asked me where the power box was, and I had to explain to another man that he had to go into the master bedroom and look to the left of the closet and he'll find the case.
A few minutes later, Olivia was standing right in front of me!  I started crying and grabbed her and hugged her so tightly that she told me she couldn't breathe.  I saw John and did the exact same thing to him.
We got to a point in this whole ordeal that we just had to stand there and watch what was happening.
John and I just stayed there, his arms wrapped around me, and I had a hold of Olivia.

About 20 or so minutes later, the chief of Ladder 49 walked over and told us we could safely go back in the house.  We were to turn the "investigation" over to our insurance company.  And that the fire had actually started inside the dryer.  The way he talked about it led us to believe that there must have been a short in one of the fuses and that it wasn't from lint or anything like that.

I won't know the full story to we get a hold of our insurance company tomorrow.  Until then, we have to do our laundry elsewhere and try to fix what was damaged.  Most of it was minimal damage, but the emotional scars will take some time to heal.

I hope that God has nothing else in store for us to deal with.  Between all of us getting so sick, Molson dying, the fire that almost took out our home, I am not sure if I can deal with much more drama.  I have so many health issues and just know that all of this catastrophe that seems to love us is making me feel so much worse...
Tomorrow, first thing, I am going to call State Farm and find out what the next step is regarding a new washer and dryer.
sigh...
Thanks for reading and take care!

ps - Apollo was hiding under our bed in the master bedroom.  He was freaked out, but otherwise unscathed...

(I don't have an actual photo of the dryer as it was burning up, but I googled searched for a dryer fire image and found one that will show you what the firemen had encountered but were able to put out in time)














This is NOT our dryer, ours is actually an over/under washer dryer set...