tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780151758199358772024-02-19T11:15:29.766-06:00Life after the Storm author of Storm of Hope: God, Preeclampsia, Depression, and me. ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-14223377378741558582018-12-31T09:36:00.000-06:002018-12-31T09:36:30.826-06:00recapping 2018 and making new lists for 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Oh, 2018, let's recap.</b></h2>
To say that this was a hard year is an understatement. Once I left my postpartum storm behind, I thought I was in the home stretch of the usual childhood scrapes and bruises. I spent a lot of time at the hospital for both kiddos. What a whirl it has been since the beginning of the year! From asthma attacks, staph infections, croupy coughs, flus A and B strains to a rare blood disorder that my daughter was diagnosed with. I feel even more exhausted just thinking about what a year its been!<br />
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So onto this "new"ish blog. Because I do miss blogging!<br />
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Life after these past series of storms begin like this: standing in the center of chaos and wondering, "where exactly do I go from here?" I use to think that I needed to go all in; tackle as many tasks to clear the mess faster/repair the damage faster. But with my fickle heart, I would find something in the thick of cleaning up, a memento or a destroyed shard of something that would give me pause or make me binge eat the emotional baggage of memories. Something that would distract me from the original goal and before I know it, the time - or the year - is up.<br />
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As I'm the resolution making/list making type of person, I resolve to start with one thing - be it a healthy habit, or daily writing, or a few minutes of meditation - something simple to do and turn it into a habit before moving on to the next goal/task.<br />
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I got this neat planner from <a href="https://blessedisshe.net/product-category/planners/" target="_blank">Blessed is She. </a>Unlike the very first planner I purchased from them about three years ago, this one is smaller and can easily fit in a purse/bag. This one has a section that breaks down intentions and goal setting, with room for notes, to-dos and intentions.<br />
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<b><u>January goals</u></b></h2>
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<i>faith focus</i></h3>
go to church. I've been neglecting our church going duties and as we settled around the warmth of Christmas eve service, I realized how much I do miss going and visiting. I'd like to go more than the "holy days of obligation" we're supposed to go as Catholics - like Ash Wednesday, Easter, Christmas.... there aren't very many days on the calendar but if you're a lax Catholic, you make sure you show up on those holy days.<br />
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<i>personal</i></h3>
One of the biggest risks of stroke and heart disease is obesity. As a Preeclampsia survivor, my risk is even greater. I have been saying lets be healthy. Let's lose weight for years without any actual result. My lovely neighborhood has this awesome ladies bootcamp that runs for days a week. I've gone in multiple times throughout the year.....but something always happens in week 3. I don't show up and won't show up again until months later. My first goal is to make it PAST week 3 and finish out a full month. I mean for only $10/month and I can see my neighbors and bring Ro, why am I not going more??<br />
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<i>family</i></h3>
it's still blank but I'd like to spend more time with our family doing date nights, game nights and whatever else.<br />
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<i>work</i></h3>
last year, I sent out to write and submit a piece to a magazine or literary press/journal each month. I got several rejections and several published pieces in various anthologies. This year, I am going to treat my work as a business. Writing is wonderful but I'd like to get paid - ha!<br />
While I love self publishing my memoir and poetry chapbook, this year, I am going to send out inquiries about my children's book idea. First, I need to research thoroughly, outline and write it.<br />
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<i>fun </i></h3>
As a stay at home mama, I don't get out very much, save for the monthly bookclub night. Continue to cultivate my little tribe of book nerd mamas and hope I find a new friend or two.<br />
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Each month there's a certain "theme." January is 'charity.'<br />
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So I'm going to have our family contribute to charity, not just monetary but volunteer together. As an immigrant that moved here from the Philippines at 9 years old, I fully remember what life was like in the "Motherland." Though we were among the blessed and never had to worry about food or shelter, poverty was everywhere. You can't escape it and certainly can't ignore it.<br />
I want my children to be charitable. To be grateful. Just by being born in the United States, they are far more blessed than my relatives back home and the millions that live all around the world. By having a well educated father who has a high paying engineer job that can afford a family of four, they are well off more than children outside our neighborhood. Sure we aren't rich - far from it, but jobs come and go and in our current volatile market..... we need to start giving instead of hoarding onto what we have.<br />
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<u>Even though I broke down my goals, I actually do have an overall 2019 resolution:</u></h4>
<ol>
<li style="text-align: center;">Run a 5k</li>
<li style="text-align: center;">Write, edit, query and pitch children's mystery books</li>
<li style="text-align: center;">Submit to two literary magazine/press a month</li>
<li style="text-align: center;">Win a literary award - bonus if you get money.</li>
<li style="text-align: center;">Read 30 books and review all 30.</li>
<li style="text-align: center;">Learn something new each month -- this ties in with a lot of what I broke down from above. </li>
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So 2019, is right around the corner. Have you made your list yet? </div>
ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-80126832497251080662018-12-17T13:29:00.001-06:002018-12-17T13:29:23.916-06:00Hope in the midst of darkness <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was originally going to start this blog at the beginning of the year. I had an outline, planned out dates, and jotted down inscriptions with little voice of motherhood wisdom and our faith sprinkled throughout....<br />
Instead, I can't sleep because our daughter is sick and found myself needing to speak out into the void instead of googling symptoms and trying not to break down and cry!<br />
<strong>This blog is about finding hope in the midst of darkness.</strong><br />
I thought our journey of hospital stays would end when our premature babies left the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). Instead, I confided in a friend that our local childrens' hospital has become a second home. It's not as daunting and scary anymore. It's become an overwhelming epiphany of "same old, same old."<br />
I am navigating the world as a parent to a child with an autoimmune disorder. My daughter has <em>autoimmune hemolytic anemia</em>. You can read about it <a href="https://www.stanfordchildrens.org/en/topic/default?id=hemolytic-anemia-in-children-90-P02321" rel="noopener" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
I'm used to having labels and badges handed to me - mother of premature babies, preeclampsia survivor, mental health advocate, author - so this identity isn't entirely new. What is a puzzle is how to help our daughter navigate her way through this disorder. What scares me more than anything else is how well she's handling it. How ready she is to find Heaven, and how she can't wait to hold Jesus's hand.<br />
We've had plenty of conversations about faith, my daughter and I. Oh to have faith like a child's! I've decided mine feels like breadcrumbs along my journey. I'll be so focused on a destination (college/marriage/career) and every so often, I'll happen upon a breadcrumb. It could be one full of lessons, a trail, or joyous crumb or one that'll make me fall on my knees and crawl along to the next one, and then the next one.<br />
Faith doesn't follow a linear path. It's not a singular event but rather this fluid motion propelling us from one instance to the next. A wave.<br />
So I'll be writing about what our faith in the thick of this looks like in this season of holding onto my baby girl and praying unceasingly to the Lord.<br />
Thanks for following along and will update as we go.ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-6752585689689324822018-10-01T10:39:00.002-05:002018-10-01T10:39:28.853-05:00creator and a prisoner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="_5mfr" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/faa/1.5/16/1f449.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">đ</span></span>âPostpartum Forest,â from my memoir <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hope-God-Preeclampsia-Depression-ebook/dp/B073MVG4R4/" target="_blank">Storm of Hope: God, <span class="_5afx" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; unicode-bidi: isolate;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl _5afz" style="font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;">#</span><span class="_58cm" style="font-family: inherit;">Preeclampsia</span></span><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">, </span></span><span class="_5afx" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; unicode-bidi: isolate;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl _5afz" style="font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;">#</span><span class="_58cm" style="font-family: inherit;">Depression</span></span><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;"> and me.</span></span></a>â <span class="_5mfr" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/f29/1.5/16/1f448.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">đ</span></span></div>
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Sometimes my anxiety manifests in thoughts of things that may happen. </div>
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âI canât go to a play date 10 mins away because I have to cross that freeway that always has wrecks. Iâve been lucky before but what if today is the day?â</div>
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Or âI have to sit in line for 1 hour waiting for my kid, because if I donât, sheâll think that Iâve abandoned her. What kind of mother abandons her kid?â</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These thoughts make my day impossible and I get overly anxious when a plan deviates. I live and breathe routine because if I donât, I feel off kilter and perhaps, the world will work that way too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was younger I thought I wanted to travel the world and be the type of spontaneous person who just ... lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didnât imagine Iâd be creating for myself habitual patterns, one where spontaneity is both foreign and a thing thatâll incite a panic.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When did I create this for myself?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When did I lose my faith in myself?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What about you, friends? Are you a spontaneous kind of person or a creature of habit?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Was it by choice or design?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My thoughts on this dreary Monday for you.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
</span>ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-40241707223212740082018-07-23T18:09:00.002-05:002018-07-23T18:09:30.246-05:00Motherhood Monday #1: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was a kid, my parents would always take us on summer road trips across the country. More so by my mom's work schedule then by design, we would end up celebrating my birthday out at some fancy vacation spot. By the time I hit college, I "implemented" a celebratory week. Since I share a birthday in July with my mom (7/8), my niece So (7/11) and Sasha (7/15), and my father in law (7/22), it became a month long party!<br />
This is trivial in the scheme of things - most especially after this weekend. Naturally and selfishly, I've always loved celebrating my day. As I started my parenting journey, my identity is tied to being Ellie and Ro's mama. My birthday, at least, I get to remember all the lovely goodies and memories of who I was before and who I am now, and who I get to celebrate with in the future.<br />
My day.<br />
My cake.<br />
Presents just for me.<br />
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Today is the Monday after my birthday (7/21) and I had hoped to reflect on my 35th year, all the ups and downs, and what I hope to accomplish on my 36th year. </div>
But life, in the form of a sickly child and a four day hospital stay happened. I spent my birthday in the hospital, with a little girl who demanded her doctors and nurses that she go home so mommy wouldn't have to spend her birthday in the hospital. I spent the day easing her guilt that her mommy wouldn't get to have cake and ice cream because of her. I spent the night hunched over my smart phone, consulting Dr. Google about all the things my doctor said. FYI, if you're already in an emotional mess, <b>DO NOT LOOK TO DR GOOGLE FOR ANSWERS. </b><br />
I got sang to in the morning by my daughter who wanted to be strong for just a little bit for her mama. I got cake and ate in the waiting room, surrounded by my parents, two of my nieces, and my little family.<br />
I couldn't throw a (pity) party for myself even though I wanted to.<br />
I couldn't will my daughter to be better so we can go home and have a proper celebration.<br />
But in this "mess" and right there in the hospital, I wanted to give God a shout out. Thank YOU, God, for giving me another year with my babies. I was surrounded by love, laughter and well wishes. Instead of presents, I was showered with prayers for Ellie's speedy recovery.<br />
In a word, blessed.<br />
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My only hope for this coming year is to have neither child visit the hospital. My only wish is for good health in my children, myself and my husband.<br />
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-86210130622602770152018-07-16T14:49:00.000-05:002018-07-16T14:49:26.511-05:00Motherhood Monday Series<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2JsadbsOAGbVBHchJ_sl-t8BBJ3RmJWeXV1yHtlSjlU9064Ua3Ivr9v4k5bszDU3NNOu-GfSUqgmd2wi6OIdtYRpcVn-oxSgOMyYV_lrOdnAeaKJrmbv8lLz2RZesARUDsljHsOqN8cMJ/s1600/motherhood+series.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2JsadbsOAGbVBHchJ_sl-t8BBJ3RmJWeXV1yHtlSjlU9064Ua3Ivr9v4k5bszDU3NNOu-GfSUqgmd2wi6OIdtYRpcVn-oxSgOMyYV_lrOdnAeaKJrmbv8lLz2RZesARUDsljHsOqN8cMJ/s320/motherhood+series.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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I miss blogging. I started blogging in 2008, to help me cope with stress as I prepared to get married and graduate with my undergraduate (within a week of the other). It also allowed my relatives in the Philippines to get a glimpse of life here in the States. Blogging helped me tremendously during my anxieties, my depression and within the ten years, all these questions of God, and where I stood in the midst of my fears and faith.</div>
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I've learned so much about myself while I blogged, and even though I've mostly deleted its contents, I've kept the ones within the past 6 years - the ones I've deemed "important," mostly because it's the current season I'm in: Motherhood. I'm in the early childhood years of it, and I know as time goes on, it'll change to preteens, teen years....reflecting and gauging the seasons that my children are in. </div>
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I love being a mom. Though there are parts that I wish never to repeat again, and parts that I often wonder why I chose this specific stay at home life.... I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, if you'd like to join me, I'm going to start a "motherhood monday series," starting next Monday. This gives me a chance to blog at least once a week and for now, the topics will focus on the ups and downs of "mothering while anxious." After all, I'm still fresh from my postpartum storm. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~ thanks for tuning in and I'll see you next week ~ </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
justlei</div>
ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-29090947967381892042018-06-01T12:58:00.001-05:002018-06-01T13:05:49.276-05:00Dallas Promise Walk 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">On May 19th, I gave this speech to fellow survivors, walkers, mamas, and papas, at the Preeclampsia Promise Walk in Dallas. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #26282a; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><u>My speech:</u></b></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Iâm Leila Tualla, a
believer, a wife, mama to two feisty kiddos.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Iâm an anxious writer
and a terrible speaker.</span><br /><span style="background-color: white;">I was in the fun phase of my second trimester
where maternity photo shoots would be scheduled, hospital tours were coming up,
and so were the endless supply of baby shower treats.</span><span style="background-color: white;">My first child would be born in a sea of pink
and polka dots. I was in bliss.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>And then I one day, I wasnât.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">In January 2012,
about 26 weeks in, I was diagnosed w Preeclampsia.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">At 31 weeks, I
entered motherhood w a baby that needed to be life lighted to a hospital that
had a NICU an hour and a half away. It would be her home for six weeks.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Those weeks blurred
into each other, and I only remember the highs and lows. There were plenty of
highs, including her first bath, our first kangaroo care, meeting the
grandparentsâŚ..</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I remember when she
was upgraded from an isolette to an open crib.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #26282a;">I remember her âtake
home outfit,â a purple newborn sleeper that still swallowed her.</span><span style="background-color: white;">The low points still sting. Her birthweight was
3 pounds 4 ounces. I wasnât able to breastfeed, even though I was a trained
breastfeeding educator then. </span>I kept it all in because who wants to see a tiny
baby covered in tubes, and wires? Who wants to hear about her apnea or her loss
of apetite?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">We were lucky. It
could have been much worse, I was told repeatedly.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #26282a;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">So, we learned to keep our failures, our tears,
and our pain to ourselves, and only dish out success stories, smiles and a
brave front.</span>See, how happy we are, social media world. We
got to hold our week old baby for the first time! Sheâs now 4 pounds. She no
longer needs to be on an NG tube.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;">When she came home, I began to hide in closets
and bathrooms to cry. Was all of this real or did my broken heart imagine this
homecoming?</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I started to journal so
as not to be swept up in the emotional current of memories and grief.</span><span style="background-color: white;">Because the truth is, I was still grieving.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I was grieving for
the birth that I wanted.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I was grieving for
the six weeks that I lost in the hallways of the hospital.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I was grieving for
her and her early start, and her potential risks in the future.</span><span style="background-color: white;">I also didnât know what to make of my state. I
didnât know if what I was going through had a name. So I continued on
pretending that I was calm in the middle of my storm.</span><span style="background-color: white;">Later, I was given a name; a label, mind you. A
doctor called it âpost-traumatic stress disorderâ which is common for mothers
who have traumatic birth experiences.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Getting a diagnosis is like getting a label to
carry.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">You stare at this
tiny piece of paper with the words of your diagnosis, for example on every
single mama present here today, our label would say, preeclampsia, or HELLP, or
eclampsia survivorsâŚ</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">We walk around a bit,
trying to find where this label fits into our life.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">But the thing about
this label â or all these labels - are that the more we carry it around to try
on, it takes shape. It suddenly has a weight to it and life on its own. Itâll
never fit anywhere in our lives because it wasnât supposed to be in our story.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Just as we believe
this denial, it grows. Our worries about expectations, our anxieties, our fears
of the unknown feeds this strange thing, and it starts to close in beneath,
around and above us, engulfing us in its darkness.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">We become our labels.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">We become another
statistic; another number on a wall.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I was known as the
âpreeclampsiaâ mom in my circle of friends. Iâm sure youâre also the expert in
yours. People would ask about symptoms, or signs, or resources whenever their
love ones are suddenly facing with a preeclampsia diagnosis.</span><span style="background-color: white;">I grew to accept that I would only have one
child.</span><span style="background-color: white;">And then God happened somewhere in my acceptance.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I became pregnant
again in 2015.</span><span style="background-color: white;">This pregnancy wasnât welcomed. I know this
sounds painful to say when so many women are trying to conceive and failing. When
so many here today are carrying a bigger grief than I could ever fanthom.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">But for my story, this
pregnancy gave me nightmares, and panic attacks.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I didnât feel joy.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #26282a;">I felt like a ticking
time bomb.</span><span style="background-color: white;">I felt like I needed to be far removed from this
baby as much as possible because it would break me to go through another round
of pree.</span>I cried every day.<br /><span style="background-color: white;">I prayed every night.</span>I hugged my daughter as tightly as I could
because this time, I knew about preeclampsia.<br /><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I knew the risks.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I knew my chances.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">In fact, I even wrote
letters for her, âjust in case.â</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I tried to rejoice in
the weeks without a sign of pree but my hospital bags were already packed at 28
weeks.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I had my son at 34
weeks, 3 more weeks than my daughter.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">He was</span><span style="color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"> <span style="background: white;">in the NICU for 11 days, 32 less
days than my daughter.<br /><o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="background-color: white;">Unlike my daughterâs birth, where it took me
months before the memories of her birth barraged me with images of death, I was
already entering a void within weeks of his homecoming.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My days and nights were mixed up, and I
assumed it was due to the newborn. But when I could barely hear him crying next
to me, or when I imagined myself running away from the life that I loved, I
knew something was wrong.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Postpartum depression was not a label that I
wanted to carry. It still hangs onto me, two years later. </span>Postpartum depression was not a label that I
could wear to âtry on.â<br /><span style="background-color: white;">You donât try on sorrow.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">You canât try on rage,
and a slew of emotions that make no sense to anyone but another mom suffering
from postpartum depression.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I denied it.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I ignored it despite
all the reasons not to.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #26282a;">I believed that my
world will right itself somehow and I would survive another round.</span><span style="background-color: white;">Not until someone pointed out that I needed help
did I even acknowledge what was happening to me.</span>I finally reached out.<br /><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I joined support
groups.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I volunteer my time
online as a</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I even wrote a book.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Iâm still not
comfortable talking about postpartum depression without feeling like a failure.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I failed my children
at the beginning of their life, and I will do what I can to make sure that I
wonât fail them later.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">So with all these
labels that come after my name, I hold on tight to the survivor part.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Ladies, mamas. We
survived.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">We survived the
roughest, toughest beginnings.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Look back and
remember how deep you were in your grief, and anguish, and anger.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Look back and
remember how tiny and fragile your baby was and look at them now.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Look at how far you
and I have gotten.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">So this is my promise to you, and I hope that this is your promise to yourself, and those around you.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">I promise Iâm done
surviving.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Wherever you are and
however long it takes you, promise me that youâll stop just trying to survive
from one day to the next.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Letâs live our
promise to spread awareness, to love and support those mamas who are suddenly
given this label.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Letâs give ourselves
grace during our grief, during our beginnings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Letâs start making
new memories, while honoring those we have lost.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Promise me, that together,
weâll start thriving.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;">Thank you.</span><span style="background: white; color: #26282a; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-39177950615939576252018-05-03T10:32:00.000-05:002018-05-03T10:32:33.562-05:00Preeclampsia Awareness Month 2018<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mother's Day 2016</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was told on Mother's Day two years ago, that the NICU was gearing up to discharge us. I spent a majority of that day doing Infant CPR and infant care and then doing a car seat challenge.<br /><br />There was no "celebration of mom" at our house, but a celebration of the IDEA that my family would be whole soon.<br /><br />On Feliz dia de las Madres (Mexican Mother's Day), I was holding onto my little man's hand on our way home.<br /><br />I didn't have breakfast in bed or have a slice of cake. I didn't have any time carved out for "me-time." </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">What I did have were little toes and fingers to kiss lovingly....for however long I wish.<br /><br />I didn't have wires I had to worry about or had to explain to my five year old why and what the alarms that sounded meant.<br /><br />What I did have was a big helper who knew where the diapers and wipes were kept; who kept kissing on baby brother and who wanted so badly for him to "get bigger so we can play barbies."<br /><br />What I understand and what I'm grateful for is the two of us surviving another bout of preeclampsia. What I know is that there are moms who were celebrating Mother's Day with an Angel. There are fathers' holding their babies tightly and celebrating Mother's Day by a small grave.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This year, I will hug and kissed my babies. I will prepare a week's worth of school lunches for one of them, and schedule play dates with the other. I won't have "a day off." Because, I still remember those days where I needed to hold my babies and couldn't. I still remember celebrating Mother's Day beside an open crib with machines around me. Wounds and time may have passed us by but a part of me will still be in the NICU. My memories, whispers of me and him, and us wrapped together in our own little world surrounded by antiseptics.....those images can't be erased. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">...</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">...<br /></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><u>Knowing just a few things about Preeclampsia</u><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> and </span><strong>becoming your own advocate</strong><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, your baby's advocate could save yours and your baby's life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Know the Signs. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Know the Symptoms. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Know your Blood Pressure Numbers.</span></div>
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<u>There are groups online that is primarily for support.</u><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Seek them. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Befriend them. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Ask them for help, for validation that your fears are real and they are worth expressing to your medical team. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Cry with them. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Mourn with them. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Be happy that they made their goal "gestation." </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Be super excited that they passed their trigger week without a diagnosis.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Cheer them on as their baby keeps growing and hitting milestones after milestones, from both inside and outside the walls of the NICU.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Research what you can about Preeclampsia and once you're "done" with the current research, tell your Congressman that more needs to be done. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">W</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">rite a letter. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sign the petition. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Go on town hall meetings.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Visit the Preeclampsia Foundation Site: </span></span></span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: large;"><a data-cke-saved-href="http://www.preeclampsia.org" href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/" style="text-decoration-line: none; transition: all 200ms ease-in;" target="_blank">www.preeclampsia.org </a></span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Maternal and Fetal Health is a BIG deal.</strong><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: large;">No matter what your birth story was like.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: large;">Preeclampsia is a BIG deal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Preach if you have to. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Be quiet and write/blog if you need to. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Be active in the matters of YOUR health and YOUR baby's health.</span></h4>
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-66394769002584882202018-04-04T13:00:00.002-05:002018-04-04T13:00:45.775-05:00Cultivating identity through motherhoodI've been doing a creatives workshop for the past few weeks. We're actually on week 7 now. This workshop is specifically for mothers and the experience has been interesting, to say the least. I'm learning about myself as a mother, my identity, how to carve time for both my writings and for my kids and my sanity.....I've been to a few creative groups and almost all the ones I've been to, there isn't a young writer mama in the mix. Or at least a mama with littles. These groups usually have older, retired creatives who towards the later seasons of their lives, picking up their dream/hobby/passion. They don't have to worry about feeding toddlers and doing homework with kindergarteners. The pressure of keeping house tidy and getting everyone bathed and tucked in, are gone. My season of writing has coincided with the early years of motherhood. While I wrote Love, Defined in 2003/04, it wasn't until 2015 that it was published.....when my daughter was 3.<br />
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As I'm slowly trying to piece together the purpose of this blog, and what I'd like to blog about. This month, I'm specifically going to focus on Identity and Motherhood. Every Monday, I'll share my thoughts on our lesson this week and how our Saturday "motherhood" chat went. I'll be calling this my "motherhood monday" series.<br />
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In May, however, my focus will go back to Preeclampsia and Maternal Mental health. Because that's become such a huge part of my identity...even if I didn't want those things. And May also happens to be both Preeclampsia Awareness month and Maternal Mental Health Awareness month.<br />
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So there's that. Please stay tuned while I sort this out!</div>
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<br />ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-44362926522840291362018-03-20T11:17:00.005-05:002018-06-13T19:58:51.284-05:00Just Leila<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Hey there! </h2>
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Thanks for stopping by!</h2>
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<b><u>WHY I WRITE:</u></b><br />
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Pregnancy is supposed to be this beautiful and wondrous thing. If you're like me, you have had the perfect "textbook" pregnancy up until the words, "you have Preeclampsia," were uttered. Suddenly, you're not so sure what's going on with your body, with your pregnancy, and to some extent, with your life. </div>
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I've been there. </div>
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I've researched more than I care to admit about Preeclampsia, "life after preeclampsia," subsequent pregnancies, etc. </div>
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I thought I was done with babies when I still have to pick up broken pieces of my heart and this idealization of what motherhood is supposed to look like when my girl was born. </div>
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I endured.</div>
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I AM enduring.</div>
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There's really nothing you can do except putting one foot in front of the other and hoping for the best.<br />
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<b>My journey with Preeclampsia began in 2012.</b><br />
Our story begins here:<br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2011/08/do-two-positives-make-baby.html" target="_blank">Do two positives make a baby?</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-first-prenatal-appointment.html" target="_blank">My First prenatal appointment</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2011/12/what-i-wish-for-you.html" target="_blank">What I wish for you</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2012/02/4-weeks-to-go.html" target="_blank">4 weeks to go</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2012/02/diagnosed-with-pre-eclampsia.html" target="_blank">Diagnosed with Preeclampsia</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2012/03/story-of-us.html" target="_blank">The story of us</a><br />
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I thought I was over it, until I realized what Preeclampsia left behind: anxiety for the future, PTSD, and heart disease risks in my future.<br />
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I experienced Preeclampsia again in 2016.<br />
My son's story here:<br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2015/11/meet-gummy-bear-20.html" target="_blank">Meet Gummy Bear 2.0</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2015/11/12-weeks-and-saying-hello-to-pree.html" target="_blank">12 weeks and saying hello to pree</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2015/12/14-weeks-5-days-and-1-phone-call-later.html" target="_blank">14 weeks, 5 days, and 1 phone call later</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2016/02/26-weeks.html" target="_blank">26 weeks</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2016/04/31-weeks-today.html" target="_blank">31 weeks today</a><br />
<a href="http://tuallaleila.blogspot.com/2016/04/and-here-we-go-again.html" target="_blank">Here we go again</a><br />
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This time, it brought with it<b> Postpartum Depression. </b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm an author. I fight with words. </span></div>
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I journaled my entire pregnancy and ppd and wrote a memoir called,<u><b> Storm of Hope: God, Preeclampsia, Depression and me.</b></u></div>
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I walked away from blogging for a while. </div>
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But some things you just can't walk away from. </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #992211; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif;">There is life after Preeclampsia and postpartum depression.....I'll just blog and write my way through until I get there.</span></span></i></h2>
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-17561185271429963742018-03-19T12:52:00.003-05:002018-03-19T12:52:42.160-05:00Blog: Underconstruction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbhhJsrbEsK2Wk2xBs9eNhbNyPDsUZj3jysxItpXpQeq22Wgx-9rlm02pZ6n44ZaTPBsje6PuUbfBv_Cb6nnuxjj2TfXPfoRg8MpAOgKOFqGLlGa2MuETenLl1714CXO1OES9u5su2g9F/s1600/%2540leilatualla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="820" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbhhJsrbEsK2Wk2xBs9eNhbNyPDsUZj3jysxItpXpQeq22Wgx-9rlm02pZ6n44ZaTPBsje6PuUbfBv_Cb6nnuxjj2TfXPfoRg8MpAOgKOFqGLlGa2MuETenLl1714CXO1OES9u5su2g9F/s400/%2540leilatualla.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2>
<u>Starting from Scratch (again)</u></h2>
I miss blogging. It's been almost 2 months since I left this site. 2 months and I've decided I don't like the look of my author website....and how as much as I wanted to integrate the two. I just can't. This space is under construction. In the future, I will post only on Mondays and all about Motherhood. My motherhood monday series will begin in TWO WEEKS(eek!!) starting on April 1st. I will also post my author news here once a month...which will also be on my website. Third time's the charm, right?!ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-59034253937082689572017-09-28T10:40:00.001-05:002018-06-13T18:37:22.727-05:00September is NICU Awareness Month The thing about trauma is that the further removed you are in time from it, the less painful it becomes. Yes, there may be some triggers that will bring you to your knees or force you to hide and breathe in the tears that threaten. But for the most part, years of separation from those events lessen the emotional weight you carry. *Though, I realize this may not be true for all traumas.<br />
<br />
...what happens when it's associated with your children?<br />
<br />
You can't shove the feelings. You can't hide from the tears.<b> You can only hold onto the moments of pain and in one breath, try as hard as you can to let it go.</b><br />
<br />
Every year, I remember the smells and sounds of the NICU.<br />
I remember their little incubators and only being allowed to touch and not hold my babies in my arms.<br />
Every year, I have tears for all that what-ifs.<br />
And every day of that year, I hug my children as tightly as I can.<br />
<br />
<b>The memories are us.</b><br />
<b>We are who we are today because of them. </b><br />
Our beginnings start at the pain.<br />
But in those seemingly irreparable shards of glass, <b>I am whole.</b><br />
<br />
I found myself and where I fit in this story.<br />
I found a trust and peace in the Lord.<br />
So on this NICU Awareness Month, I remember who I was before. I was a <b>lie</b>. I believed in my own strength. My own stubbornness told me that no one would understand the burden I am carrying. How could anyone know the journey I walked?<br />
<br />
It's amazing when you let the lie go and embrace the truth in its painful honesty.<br />
It's amazing when you allow someone else in on your journey.<br />
The burden feels a little lighter and you become a part of a tribe that you didn't know existed.<br />
<br />
As my children hit milestones, I distance myself from the NICU just a little. But I am never so far that I forget all that we have been through to be thankful of who and where we are today.<br />
<br />
Wherever you are in your journey, don't ever be afraid to let someone in on the burden you've carried and the road you took to get to where you are today. You'll find that most of us have walked in similar paths.......Hang in there, mama.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOd65jEDjDCNnl7PSrft501wSL5wf8d-wKM6Mjv5vrZV7WAdjPKMgM6MiSSzh9A52gCF1rpi5E7qvU-7k31b_RVepwybtRtR1k1mMJmmDtGxGAJ0TAuHkUT-hBJmLhjI8zxJC3TiDRHPov/s1600/IMG_0452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOd65jEDjDCNnl7PSrft501wSL5wf8d-wKM6Mjv5vrZV7WAdjPKMgM6MiSSzh9A52gCF1rpi5E7qvU-7k31b_RVepwybtRtR1k1mMJmmDtGxGAJ0TAuHkUT-hBJmLhjI8zxJC3TiDRHPov/s320/IMG_0452.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ellie - 6 weeks in the NICU</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJIePz8f7UZlxhuWEDRliuPcl0mRhn2VVGB0fL18zTo2hibKQmi6n7wnaz_-3ZXSPNknZ_i6KaNUZ3vqckF2sy2NSkTBuKgOCx20xBKp52O9t3MoksT_YstlHlgjJMaXiY2SzNKpBjsID/s1600/blogger-image-149360284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJIePz8f7UZlxhuWEDRliuPcl0mRhn2VVGB0fL18zTo2hibKQmi6n7wnaz_-3ZXSPNknZ_i6KaNUZ3vqckF2sy2NSkTBuKgOCx20xBKp52O9t3MoksT_YstlHlgjJMaXiY2SzNKpBjsID/s320/blogger-image-149360284.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ro - 11 days in the NICU</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzU3CIccLqWj-_AWzuIBu4izuztWAOAftmOT9Qu03htYOMEU0hdONwPo67317pTugF0V5I9wfWP1ng3za8_wa3t86dLAJHTKojcfspbz-hwB3sJTTT7kDJBbBzjxlKtpkYNk32c5zbsK2h/s1600/blogger-image-893878775.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzU3CIccLqWj-_AWzuIBu4izuztWAOAftmOT9Qu03htYOMEU0hdONwPo67317pTugF0V5I9wfWP1ng3za8_wa3t86dLAJHTKojcfspbz-hwB3sJTTT7kDJBbBzjxlKtpkYNk32c5zbsK2h/s320/blogger-image-893878775.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnx0pzh3i_nvP-MNMKgY2EkHmWuW5N-8hWkv1OwSE903ogC-K4Y7h2d4wjOJoXppCYfTvDdEDUpLYhSGk63J3ZjrhEIBNioXxPEhftydcqQ9cTMvN6Z0qreQ70tM_ELUMoTEIxow3V-Ti/s1600/blogger-image-1743477100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnx0pzh3i_nvP-MNMKgY2EkHmWuW5N-8hWkv1OwSE903ogC-K4Y7h2d4wjOJoXppCYfTvDdEDUpLYhSGk63J3ZjrhEIBNioXxPEhftydcqQ9cTMvN6Z0qreQ70tM_ELUMoTEIxow3V-Ti/s320/blogger-image-1743477100.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then and now(ish) *I need to update our now</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-35026757284790416842017-08-20T19:16:00.001-05:002018-06-13T18:37:22.541-05:00Remembering my "why"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiol3Hv_xG2TDnt8j8O8oSRg37118bvRTBeaSCHsFT1gGgsNPb4X2jkrXhGIg9-W8enQbuG21KBEWyLbNESm77TeVaOCzuGxEj58APCg7_am9y1uZCuYjZXM2bTipgFGTrD3Rw_w25ncNiK/s1600/IMG_3286.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiol3Hv_xG2TDnt8j8O8oSRg37118bvRTBeaSCHsFT1gGgsNPb4X2jkrXhGIg9-W8enQbuG21KBEWyLbNESm77TeVaOCzuGxEj58APCg7_am9y1uZCuYjZXM2bTipgFGTrD3Rw_w25ncNiK/s320/IMG_3286.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
If you follow me on my author page - <a href="http://www.leilatualla.com/">www.leilatualla.com</a> or on my social media, you would know that yesterday, I did my very first poetry reading along with different writers at an event in my hometown called, "Get Lit at the Main Pecan."<br />
<br />
I read through my piece a few days before and choose the two poems that I wanted to read. I was ready but nerves would surface the closer I got to Saturday.<br />
<br />
When it was my turn to speak, I COULD NOT get through the entire reading without breaking down. In hindsight, I should have read my words out loud. I sat down and calmed my beating heart and closed my mind off of the negative thoughts. I was convinced that there is no way I was going to do this again.<br />
<br />
And then in that room of almost thirty people, I had three different mamas walk up to me and share their stories. 3 women, 4 including myself, talked about our own preeclampsia journeys and the mental and emotional damage it did to us. This journey - my book - was a way for me to heal and to grasp my reality one day at a time. Some days, I think no one else knows what it's like. Some days, I wonder if I talk too much out into the web and all everyone hears is this repetitive droning of my voice.<br />
<br />
But last night, I am so thankful to be able to share a little of my walk and for three different women, in various stages of their lives, to remember their own journeys of guilt and healing.<br />
<br />
Last night, I remembered "my why." Once upon a time, I was just as lost and anxious about this diagnosis that no one in my family had or ever experienced. I reached out to support groups and they responded by giving me some semblance of peace, answers and virtual hugs and support. My why is to be able to give back. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I don't know where I would be in my journey today without these women who helped calm my nerves and who understood and saw me in the midst of my pain and confusion.<br />
<br />
<br />
*** EXCERPT FROM <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Storm-Hope-God-Preeclampsia-Depression-ebook/dp/B073MVG4R4/" target="_blank">STORM OF HOPE: God, Preeclampsia, Depression and Me</a><span style="text-align: center;">***</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi21mLuDguZeRH1mvf7FFnwOBH8dCXmqeEqa7hxTyN7A3W3PUu8ofNBjZn1dpRpMFR6xtmHL6HxnRPlS0atGNrAt71VcE6VU-3Mv3fYleg4GWboDbSKO3u8DZAwsCa35-rxh_Nqv7XCLYij/s200/Storm-Of-Hope-Kindle.jpg" width="125" /></div>
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My journey, My Truths and My Story<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">âPreeclampsia
can suck it.â I remember saying this online at a preeclampsia support group and
could almost hear the nods of other mothers in the form of likes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
supported each other through the first scary diagnosis, while weâre being
triaged or about to have a premature baby. There are tears shed, prayers
offered, and baby pictures shared of miracle babies. I donât know where I would
be without this group of strangers, brought together by this diagnosis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are moments where I go online and offer comfort and humor. I sometimes
alternate my hashtags to either âPreeclampsia sucks,â or âPreeclampsia can SUCK
it.â <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
then there are days where I am angry at myself for receiving this awful
diagnosis and there are days where I, somehow, believe I deserved it. Those
days, I avoid social media interactions because my pride tells me that pity is
not something I want to experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
truth cuts me in bursts throughout my daily routine and it took a long time to
realize that my usually upbeat person was beating myself up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
2012, I was diagnosed with preeclampsia, a condition that only affects mothers,
when I was 26 weeks pregnant. I researched the mess out of preeclampsia and
concluded that I needed to lay off salt, stay hydrated, and take it as easy as
possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
had my daughter, Ellie, at 31 weeks on March 3, 2012. She weighed 3 pounds 4
ounces and would spend 6 weeks at a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). The
days during the NICU stay were a blur, and I remember being on autopilot most
of the time. There was the rigorous schedule of pumping breast milk - 15 to 20
minutes, and every 3 hours. The constant questions from well-meaning friends
and relatives asking, âwhen is she coming home?â And the never-ending worry
about what life would be like with a premature baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">That
worry would dissipate over time but remnants of grief and guilt stayed behind.
I was haunted by the âwhat-ifsâ and what I could have done different. I found
myself crying a little more as these two assaulted me when I wasnât paying
attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
2015, I found out I was pregnant again, and already I was prepared for the
impending diagnosis. Per the doctorâs advice, I began a daily aspirin regimen.
I walked as often as I could and learned that salt didnât automatically mean
preeclampsia. Preeclampsia was once called âa disease of theories.â</span><sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <a href="file:///C:/Users/Leila/Downloads/Storm%20of%20Hope%20by%20Leila%20Tualla%20(3).docx#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title=""><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><sup><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 125%;">[i]</span></sup><!--[endif]--></a></span></sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Iâm not in the medical field, so Iâll leave
that to the doctors. I will say, that because of my experience with
preeclampsia, I felt confident in talking to my doctor and being an advocate
for myself and my baby. When youâre a first time mom, youâre not really sure
about what to expect and you rely on the doctors and the knowledge of the
people in your medical team. And when something like excessive swelling or
throbbing headaches occur, you think itâs just part of the pregnancy and may
feel like the doctor wonât take you seriously. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Listen
to your bodies. Iâd rather be called paranoid and wrong, than be proven right
and an emergency occurs. Preeclampsia and other hypertensive disorders of
pregnancy are a leading cause of maternal and infant illness and death. By
conservative estimates, these disorders are responsible for 76,000 maternal and
500,000 infant deaths each year. </span><sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">ii</span></sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With
my past in mind, I packed my bag around my 20<sup>th</sup> week gestation. But
this time I left a box behind. I left a box of goodbye letters for my daughter
to have just in case I didnât make it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
mind clung onto the guilt and grief and the âwhat ifs.â I deduced that I wasnât
supposed to survive the first time around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhere
in my anxious self, this small voice started to whisper that I got lucky the
first time. I was caught up in making sure I had everything âin order,â and the
idea of a goodbye letter didnât raise a red flag in my system. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
worked my 40 hours at work. I came home to my family. I hugged my little girl
goodnight. I would find myself awake at 2 or 3 in the morning from these
nightmares. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe
it was the stress at work. Maybe it was this diagnosis that was ticking louder
and louder as each week passed by. I kept throwing excuses around until I found
the one that seemed to fit me best. I was afraid of preeclampsia. This
diagnosis became almost demon-like in my thoughts and I was possessed with
fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
had my son, Ronan, at 34 weeks, 5 days on April 28, 2016. He was a whopping 5
pounds and 5 ounces! The day before that, I went to work with a throbbing
headache and knew that my drive to the hospital was inevitable, and I would
meet my little one soon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Just
like with my daughter, I poured my heart out to my support group. The women
whose names I wonât remember but whose words I treasured and needed to hear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
assumed that I would be fine by the time he came home. And I was for a while; I
hugged and cuddled next to my newborn and felt peace. But I felt off. Something
wasnât clicking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
remember thinking that something was wrong when I was at the hospital and he latched
on for the first time. With my daughterâs frailty, I was so afraid of breaking
her. But when she latched on, I was in awe at that beautiful breastfeeding
moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
my son latched, I felt nothing. At first, I thought it was just exhaustion. And
then I thought, the mood or the setting was never right. Even when we were
home, in the quiet nursing chair, I started to expect that feeling of bonding.
I taught breastfeeding as a Women, Infant, Child (WIC) Nutritionist and I told
moms about this feeling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not
feeling anything with him drove me further away from him. I started to think
that maybe I wasnât even here anymore and I had died at the operating room. I
canât feel him and he canât feel me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">These
thoughts would come at me in waves and sometimes, I felt the power of the
clash. I went to work when he was only eleven weeks old and I wanted to drive
as far away from my life as possible. For the next few weeks, I would make the
commute, pull over and sob over these numbing, yet crushing emotions. I would
take a breath and show up at work or at home like nothing happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
didnât think anyone would notice. On social media, I tried to put some honest
sides of me but admitting this helplessness meant it was real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
carried on pretending that none of it was real. I hashtag breastfeeding photos
on Instagram. I posted only smiling pictures of me holding my baby boy. I
didnât want to post that I barely heard him crying in the crib next to me, or
that I was starting to believe that I wasnât meant to exist anymore. After all,
I already wrote out my goodbyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
was my bossânow my ex-bossâwho told me that I needed to go home. She said I
needed to take care of myself and to find help. I remember sitting in her
office asking about schedules and travel time, when she asked me, âare you
happy?â<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
took a few minutes to respond, âThatâs a loaded question.â It was at that
moment that I acknowledged for the first time that I was not happy, and that I
needed help. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
left my position in September 2016. Shortly thereafter, I sought help and
researched the mess out of postpartum depression. I found a few more support
groups where no one says, âPostpartum depression can suck it.â <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Iâve
started to write out my truths and Iâve been touched and humbled by the support
that I have gotten. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
truth is that I have good days and bad days. I have moments that feel like Iâm
drowning in rage and sorrow, and Iâm not sure if I want to come up for air.
This tug and pull stays with me but I want to keep fighting for my son and my
daughter. They donât need my goodbyes. They need my hellos and my hugs and my kisses.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So
while preeclampsia can suck it, the truth is that postpartum depression was the
one that sucker punched me. And one day, Iâll be ready to knock out my
postpartum depression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-10462961559696510372017-08-17T10:32:00.001-05:002018-06-13T18:37:22.357-05:00Storm of Hope: God, Preeclampsia, Depression and me (a book)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj58MeGyEtKH0WtLucSFwyDtpBPeDQruA5xEh2yDHLZwQpONx18XqCjpJM4gCipRYjFH-Xumokr3r2laN1yxHtPOVSIG72ws3e3T8_qjZcsPw3rvXWPal18-BZUuOk3qYTIup3ILaGFjp4I/s1600/Storm_of_Hope_Cover_for_Kindle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1001" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj58MeGyEtKH0WtLucSFwyDtpBPeDQruA5xEh2yDHLZwQpONx18XqCjpJM4gCipRYjFH-Xumokr3r2laN1yxHtPOVSIG72ws3e3T8_qjZcsPw3rvXWPal18-BZUuOk3qYTIup3ILaGFjp4I/s320/Storm_of_Hope_Cover_for_Kindle.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3e3e3e; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 18px;">UPDATE 7/2017:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #3e3e3e; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #3e3e3e; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 18px;">I wrote a poetry collection/memoir about my experiences living with Preeclampsia during my second pregnancy in 2015. I was dealing with pregnancy anxiety that stemmed from my first pregnancy and having NICU memories with my daughter. I ended up with postpartum depression and wrote as much truths as I could. I hope that you'll come to find my words wherever you are in your season and find hope and faith in your beautiful mess. </span>ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-56943489672192999232017-07-02T14:34:00.001-05:002018-06-13T18:37:22.634-05:00Life after Preeclampsia: What happens now?So I've been thinking about where I want this blog to go. I have thought about deleting - but I can never make myself get to that point. I've thought about merging it with my author site since I write about Preeclampsia and what it did to me, how it changed me.<br />
<br />
I'm realizing that I am more than my diagnosis, I am more than what is in my medical file. I'm also a walking story and advocate. While I think that no one pays attention, I will get random messages about what it means to be a survivor and how to process the grief that came when baby is in the NICU and mama is home.<br />
<br />
I think there are more stories that need to be told, not just mine.....and I hope in the future, I get enough stories to fill this entire blog of mamas and their precious babies.<br />
<br />
The truths about motherhood aren't pretty, this we all know.<br />
Each mama has their own story that need to be told. It doesn't matter how ordinary it seems, I think recently we've all believed in wanting to live picture perfect lives because our peers are living theirs.<br />
<br />
I appreciate the funny. I love the mess. I am embracing my own chaotic life.<br />
<br />
We may need to pause every once in awhile and ask ourselves, whose life are we living for anyway? How we parent has nothing to do with how another one parents......we all don't get to fall in love the same way, to the same person, what makes us think we need to have the same style of parenting? Because, essentially, isn't that what parenting is? We are in love with this tiny creature and we get to decide how to nurture them, how to love on them, how they are to love and treat others? Nobody else will get to love them the way we do.....so why are we asking another parent that? Why are we arguing over different parent styles when our love looks different? I didn't grow up with constant kisses and hugs. That's just the way my parents are. I knew I was loved though. I could tell when they were present in every extracurricular activity my sisters and I went to. I could tell I was loved when they drove hours just to make sure we made it to our games/plays/college/interviews/tests on time?<br />
<br />
That's our legacy. Our children will know what love looks like when they have to describe it to others. How will they describe yours? By hearing you talk about others' and how "odd" you think other people's choices of love or life or parenting style is?<br />
<br />
Our children listens.<br />
Our children will know fears based on ours.<br />
Our children will know love and hate because of our words and actions. Do you want that to be your legacy?<br />
<br />
(that was a rant, I apologize)<br />
I've decided that I truly need to be healthier. This could be due to the fact that I'm 19 days from my 35th birthday. But I want my children to grow up with a positive body image. I don't think I nitpick what I say about my body or about myself in front of my daughter. But who really knows what she's listening to when I don't think about my words or my own actions? I want her to stay positive and having preteens in the house for the past few weeks made me see that.<br />
<br />
At some point in our adolescence, we stop believing in our own abilities and instead using other people's verbal attacks as reflecting pools for who we believe we are. When we badly want to be accepted, our more "popular" peers become a standard of measurement of which to aspire to be.<br />
<br />
I'm still digressing here but the main purpose of this post is that I want my family to be healthy.<br />
<br />
I also need to stick with a schedule, darn it! I want to hold myself accountable to be better and will post weekly updates about my habits.....which is difficult as I am a sugar addict. NOTE: I will not be advocating or selling any health related products. I'm going with "the tried and true" method of cutting junk foods and exercising.<br />
<br />
I will aim to post on here once a week, for now and increase later.<br />
"Wellness Wednesdays" to start this Wednesday! Have you thought about your health? What are you doing now? This tired and blessed mama is seeking advice and positive vibes!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Life after Preeclampsia isn't quiet. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>There are laughters from tiny babies who grew into strong and healthy children,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The smallest sniffles and coughs automatically mean 'break out the nebulizer.'</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>It's also the ticking sound right behind your heart.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Your risks of cardiovascular disease have increased from this diagnosis</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and it's time to tell time and your heart that you are not ready to go Home just yet. </i></div>
<br />ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-18629928643036651042017-06-13T10:35:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:37:22.448-05:00Dear Dad in the NICU,<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM3FiaVwvJL94xlLqeYeyYQC8M5dkEwr5dD7_uHEjDKs-OdKIGR1lb7Q1DPGjxyZ38f05YmKmZtr5WckwgfJ7o1bG0i-zqGYjneOpYpBZmaWw25LMRq067-UxnbbU68NyWTcnXsAnw-HfR/s640/blogger-image-1626968126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM3FiaVwvJL94xlLqeYeyYQC8M5dkEwr5dD7_uHEjDKs-OdKIGR1lb7Q1DPGjxyZ38f05YmKmZtr5WckwgfJ7o1bG0i-zqGYjneOpYpBZmaWw25LMRq067-UxnbbU68NyWTcnXsAnw-HfR/s640/blogger-image-1626968126.jpg" /></a></div>
Father's day is coming soon and I couldn't have asked for a better partner and friend to be this guy, right here. My husband held my hand through tough times, wiped away my tears and shushed my anxieties. Thank you for all that you have done (and continue to do) for your family.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Dearest Dad,</i></div>
<div>
<i>I know this isn't how you imagined being introduced to parenthood. The first few days were probably a blur of adrenaline for you. You needed to make sure your baby is okay and the mother of your child is okay. I know you have your own plethora of emotions to sort before you decide what your next moves will be.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>I'll be the first to tell you that no amount of planning will get your baby out of the NICU faster. Your next moves will be based on the cues of a baby who weighs less than three pounds.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I know you're already proud of this little soul that looks so fragile. I know you want to bow your head by the incubator housing your baby and pray for forgiveness for all your past sins and bargain to be the best person just so your baby - your firstborn, your only child - can survive this.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I know that you are lost and unsure what it is you are supposed to do and what it is you are supposed to offer your baby and your partner.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Offer both of them your <b><span style="font-size: large;">love</span></b>. Hold them every chance you get and let them know you are proud of their <b><span style="font-size: large;">strength</span></b>. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Wipe away your wife's tears and don't be afraid or ashamed if she sees you crying. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<b><u><i><span style="font-size: large;">Cry together</span>. </i></u></b></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Let the grief of all the things that could have and should have been cleanse you and remember that it could have been worse. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Be grateful of what you have</span>.</u></b> And its okay to be bitter about what should have been, too.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But whatever you do, do not tell her it is her fault. Call it a fluke, a genetic anomaly, a trial in your faith, something you have to season and weather together but none of this was ever her fault. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Just hold onto her.</span></u></b>
</i></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<i>Even if she becomes withdrawn and distant, just hold her. She's going through a lot. She may need to be alone for a while. She may need to scream and punch something or someone - and unfortunately for you, you may be the only person in the room when she hits those emotions. She is already feeling guilty about being a mother, add the stress of having a baby in the NICU, the pressure from the lactation consultants, her mom, and sisters, about her breastmilk and breastfeeding. She's got a million voices telling her what to do and she'll look to you to solve them, to help her stop the influx of visitors that suddenly know what to do in situations like these but you both know that no one has a clue. How could they?</i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">They're just visiting your grief and guilt for a while but you're <b>living</b> in it 24 hours a day. </span></i></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<i>So<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> more than anything, she needs your hugs, your support and your presence. You just being there is enough for her to fight the internal struggles; her battle of guilt and shame and all these emotions and hormones that she's not quite sure what to do, what to say and where to go.</span></i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>
Just hold her.</b>
</i><br />
<i>Be the light that helps her find her way back to herself. Back to the family that you created. Back to you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>If you are angry - be angry. If you are sad - be sad. But do it away from the hospital, please.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The NICU is an island. You don't need any more extra baggage to bring to it. It's tough in there. It's scary and overwhelming and you feel like the machines are suddenly too loud, suddenly seem to hyper-focuse on the sounds of all these babies' heartbeats. The walls seem to close in on you and you feel like you can't breath for a while. It's okay to walk out. It's okay to look down at your baby and feel numb.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But it gets better. One day, something will shift and you'll feel like a <b><span style="font-size: x-large;">superhero</span></b>.</i></div>
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2X4Sb3UsrYEVDru-qDsTtnEGF5qeDhgLDcexDeQm2ZM5o9uYV5VdsBds-J1V8-EI7Hbkpj14_U4eLjKxUDXVGY9FHfE2fNzvKlXJHxjMnQpv1Ryb0GeB9mG6p1ZUBLuqcx4OxRpujECuq/s640/blogger-image-1242512918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><i><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2X4Sb3UsrYEVDru-qDsTtnEGF5qeDhgLDcexDeQm2ZM5o9uYV5VdsBds-J1V8-EI7Hbkpj14_U4eLjKxUDXVGY9FHfE2fNzvKlXJHxjMnQpv1Ryb0GeB9mG6p1ZUBLuqcx4OxRpujECuq/s320/blogger-image-1242512918.jpg" width="320" /></i></a></div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>You'll be the one who tells her family and friends' no. The one who answers text messages, phone calls and questions. You'll wear your cape proudly while you let her rest in hers.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>You'll be the sunshine that she'll need when she comes out of her cave of despair. Suddenly, its okay to laugh. Laugh at the way your baby crinkles her face, reminding her of you. Be joyful in the miracle and the fighter that is hitting milestones left and right.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You'll be asked if you want to change a diaper. Its okay if your first diaper change becomes the proudest moment of your life. I mean, not everyone gets to change a premature baby's diaper and have to be mindful of the wires on your baby's body. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>The nurse will ask you if you want to see and participate in bath time. Just look at how your partner, your wife, cradles your baby. Look at her determination to get this simple bath right and perfect. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Take pictures of all these moments, including that first moment that you both know you will all be okay. That your family will make it..... whatever "it" is.</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>And then the day will come when you're bringing your baby home. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Dad, you've already overcome the hard part. You've passed whatever test you think you had to take to be this great dad. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">You did more than show up. You stood up for her and for your baby. You prayed over <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">your family. You cried. You laughed. </span></span></i></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>You love.</i></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>You are awesome. It just took a little detour of faith to get you to see that.</i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>Signed, </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>A very proud mom and wife of a NICU graduate. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-39896914990768500412017-05-25T10:49:00.001-05:002018-06-13T18:30:56.032-05:00Preeclampsia can SUCK it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjV-aBOToHoTickftB2Sy_t1KdTDMVbJGWBgVt8oATEEXD3-SE8KJDzkzW7XOqbkSWLlvgiNuGOqoCo38LOBjnSVYamGl5G9KdjS3YAYHeReMzfurPXnRmYmK-pSCyigQSCvqVwMnBtdq/s1600/18582004_1962401140713494_1512701070206425191_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="960" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjV-aBOToHoTickftB2Sy_t1KdTDMVbJGWBgVt8oATEEXD3-SE8KJDzkzW7XOqbkSWLlvgiNuGOqoCo38LOBjnSVYamGl5G9KdjS3YAYHeReMzfurPXnRmYmK-pSCyigQSCvqVwMnBtdq/s320/18582004_1962401140713494_1512701070206425191_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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â<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Preeclampsia can suck
it.â I remember saying this online at a Preeclampsia Support group and could
almost hear the nods of other mothers in the form of âlikes.â <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> We supported each other through the first scary
diagnosis, or while weâre being triaged and about to have a premature baby.
There are tears shed, prayers offered, and baby pictures shared of miracle
babies. I donât know where I would be without these group of strangers, brought
together by this diagnosis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">There
are moments where I go online and offer comfort and humor. I sometimes
alternate my hashtags to either âPreeclampsia sucks,â or âPreeclampsia can SUCK
it.â <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But
then there are days where I am angry at myself for receiving this awful
diagnosis and there are days where I, somehow, believe I deserved it. Those
days, I avoid social media interactions because my pride tells me that pity is
not something I want to experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> The truth cuts me in bursts throughout my daily routine
and it took a long time to realize that my usually upbeat self was beating
myself up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> In 2012, I was diagnosed with Preeclampsia, a condition
that only affects mothers, when I was 26 weeks pregnant. I researched the mess
out of preeclampsia and concluded that I needed to lay off salt, stay hydrated,
and âtake it as easy as possible.â<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I had my daughter, Ellie, at 31 weeks on March 3<sup>rd</sup>,
2012. She weighed 3 pounds 4 ounces and would spend 6 weeks at a Neonatal
Intensive Care Unit (NICU). The days during the NICU stay was a blur and I
remember being on autopilot most of the time. There was the rigorous schedule
of pumping breast milk, 15 to 20 minutes, and every 3 hours; the constant
questions from well-meaning friends and relatives asking, âwhen is she coming
home?â And the constant worry about what life would be like with a premature
baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1DWg-XM8ESUHC5tm7JFKnJogWCYLQD_ZWIYQKMr-ej4pzd0wbZoMlasa62of31js9u3KC5LZaAwJEenjyNz2iZLIvGxPU24p9qM9tL9XYrndmBbkQt_uEsBcKxJZxMfnY2JMUHrF5lp5/s1600/1457568_10100693141436188_165148751_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="630" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1DWg-XM8ESUHC5tm7JFKnJogWCYLQD_ZWIYQKMr-ej4pzd0wbZoMlasa62of31js9u3KC5LZaAwJEenjyNz2iZLIvGxPU24p9qM9tL9XYrndmBbkQt_uEsBcKxJZxMfnY2JMUHrF5lp5/s320/1457568_10100693141436188_165148751_n.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding Ellie, 2012 </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> That worry would dissipate over time but remnants of
grief and guilt stayed behind. I was haunted by the âwhat-ifsâ and what
different things I could have done. I found myself crying a little more as
these two assaulted me when I wasnât paying attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> In 2015, I found out I was pregnant, and already I was
prepared for the impending diagnosis. Per the doctorâs advice, I began a daily
aspirin regimen. I walked as often as I could and learned that salt didnât
automatically mean preeclampsia. Preeclampsia was once called âa disease of
theoriesâ (1). Iâm not in the medical field, so Iâll leave that to the doctors.
I will say, that because of my experience with preeclampsia, I felt confident
in talking to my doctor and being an advocate for myself and my baby. When
youâre a first time mom, youâre not really sure about what to expect and you
rely on the doctors and the knowledge of the people in your medical team. And
when something like excessive swelling, or throbbing headaches occur, you think
itâs just part of the pregnancy, and may feel like the doctor wonât take you
seriously. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5YmE9uHewK8O60pM-K94n-JOYvrOGtsIHnKbCRRauZTAGVf4ippoDOJgW65LtBHSB5rNWQhhFGZFHe3NoIiojQknN5x5gWbEwFLlSkizY6M9GKFKnG9d4EnGKR8D-fGydxn8081ZEg1Q/s1600/12469646_10101643440539168_7310836887144567456_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5YmE9uHewK8O60pM-K94n-JOYvrOGtsIHnKbCRRauZTAGVf4ippoDOJgW65LtBHSB5rNWQhhFGZFHe3NoIiojQknN5x5gWbEwFLlSkizY6M9GKFKnG9d4EnGKR8D-fGydxn8081ZEg1Q/s320/12469646_10101643440539168_7310836887144567456_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Listen to your bodies. Iâd rather be called paranoid and
wrong, then be proven right. Preeclampsia and other hypertensive disorders of
pregnancy are a leading cause of maternal and infant illness and death. By
conservative estimates, these disorders are responsible for 76,000 maternal and
500,000 infant deaths each year (2).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Back to my story. So, at around my 20<sup>th</sup> week,
I packed my bags. But this time, I left a box behind. I left a box of goodbye
letters for my daughter to have just in case I didnât make it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> My mind clung onto the guilt and grief and the âwhat ifsâ
and deduced that I wasnât supposed to âmake itâ the first time around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Somewhere in my anxious self, this small voice started to
whisper that I got lucky the first time. I was caught up in making sure I had
everything âin orderâ that the idea of a goodbye letter didnât raise a red flag
in my system. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I worked my 40 hours at work. I came home to my family. I
hugged my little girl goodnight. And I would find myself awake at 2 or 3 in the
morning from these nightmares. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Maybe it was the stress at work. Maybe it was this diagnosis
that was ticking louder and louder as each week passed by. I kept throwing
excuses around until I found the one that seemed to fit me best. I was afraid
of preeclampsia. This diagnosis became almost demon-like in my thoughts and I
was possessed with fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I had my son at 34 weeks, 5 days on April 28<sup>th</sup>,
2016. He was a whopping 5 pounds and 5 ounces! The day before that, I went to
work with a throbbing headache and knew that my drive to the hospital was
inevitable and I would meet my little one soon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCAeAYeZghJ5jGOkCDbSGUNSPQN13awAP2REvkoSI7JEhEfdYDjeCV-oakp7Z-1c-JW3u3do9_be0TBf24ncXal3paXLLWa33sfulpmeZ8P1WdrNKnCqFUSx4fleEOWKAx7RYwSrBNRpA/s1600/blogger-image-1242512918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCAeAYeZghJ5jGOkCDbSGUNSPQN13awAP2REvkoSI7JEhEfdYDjeCV-oakp7Z-1c-JW3u3do9_be0TBf24ncXal3paXLLWa33sfulpmeZ8P1WdrNKnCqFUSx4fleEOWKAx7RYwSrBNRpA/s320/blogger-image-1242512918.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Yeg4NKrzbCL6usXg1NxVl3xCn6WUgOlEhzpwRWL8QbHNAb3XL7i5pq_odCauVbIJs_LnV0lrbNTRr68_Wg2SijX69POYGnj_2t-08iVFN-tRq4fnzPp0G54o498VGRfySVj1Bx6ZnTo_/s1600/blogger-image-149360284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Yeg4NKrzbCL6usXg1NxVl3xCn6WUgOlEhzpwRWL8QbHNAb3XL7i5pq_odCauVbIJs_LnV0lrbNTRr68_Wg2SijX69POYGnj_2t-08iVFN-tRq4fnzPp0G54o498VGRfySVj1Bx6ZnTo_/s320/blogger-image-149360284.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Meeting our son in the NICU</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Just like with my daughter, I poured my heart out to my
support group. The women whose names I wonât remember but whose words I
treasured and needed to hear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I assumed that I would be âfineâ by the time he came
home. I was for a time. I hugged and cuddled next to my newborn and felt peace.
But I felt âoff.â Something wasnât clicking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I remember thinking that when I was at the hospital and latched
him on for the first time. With my daughter and her frailty, I was so afraid of
âbreaking herâ but when she latched on, I was in awe at that beautiful breastfeeding
moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> When my son latched, I felt nothing. At first, I thought,
it was just exhaustion and then I thought, the mood or the setting was never
right. Even when we were home, in the quiet nursing chair, I started to expect
that feeling of bonding. I taught breastfeeding as a Women, Infant, Child (WIC)
Nutritionist and I told moms about this feeling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Not feeling anything with him drove me further away from
him. I started to think that maybe I wasnât even here anymore and I had died at
the operating room. I canât feel him and he canât feel me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> These thoughts would come at me in waves and sometimes, I
felt the power of the clash. I went to work when he was only eleven weeks old
and I wanted to drive as far away from my life as possible. For the next few
weeks, I would make the commute, pull over and sob over these numbing, yet
crushing emotions, take a breath and show up at work or at home like nothing
happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I didnât think anyone would notice. On social media, I
try to put some honest sides of me but admitting this helplessness meant it was
real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I carried on pretending that none of it was real. I
hashtag breastfeeding photos on Instagram. I posted only smiling pictures of me
holding my baby boy. I didnât want to post that I barely heard him crying in
the crib next to me, or that I was starting to believe that I wasnât meant to
exist anymore. After all, I already wrote out my goodbyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> It was my boss â now my ex-boss â who told me that I
needed to go home. She said I needed to take care of myself and to find help. I
remember sitting at her office asking about schedules and travel time, when she
asked me, âare you happy?â<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Do you know it took a few minutes to say, âThatâs a
loaded question.â It was that moment that I acknowledge for the first time that
I was not happy, and that I needed help. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I left my position in September 2016. Shortly thereafter,
I sought help and researched the mess out of postpartum depression. I found a
few more support groups where no one says, âPostpartum depression can suck it.â
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Iâve started to write out my truths and Iâve been touched
and humbled by the support that I have gotten. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> The truth is that I have good days and bad days. I have
moments that feel like Iâm drowning in rage and sorrow, and Iâm not sure if I
want to come up for air. This tug and pull stays with me but I want to keep
fighting for my son and my daughter. They donât need my goodbyes. They need my
hellos and my hugs and kisses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> SO while Preeclampsia can SUCK it, the truth is that
postpartum depression was the one that sucker punched me. And one day, Iâll be
ready to knock out my postpartum depression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">*This will appear in the memoir I am working on. If you have any thoughts, or opinions about the piece, I welcome them!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As always, pray!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">References:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-88918880560642448862017-05-21T15:05:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:37:22.910-05:00Why we walk: Promise Walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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May is almost over - can you believe that? And there are stories on social media about incredible stories of Preeclampsia and their NICU journeys - whether the road was paved with success, joy, failures and griefs.<br />
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I am a Preeclampsia Survivor.</div>
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My kids will grow up hearing stories of their birth; look through pictures of tiny babies that we couldn't take home and wonder if life would have been different if <i>Our Story </i>was different than the one we were handed.</div>
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I am a firm believer that God doesn't make mistakes, and miracles, and love are in abundance if you gave to the Universe your all. </div>
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I knew I was strong but didn't realize how much strength a mother's heart can possess.</div>
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I know and believe in the power of prayer but didn't quite understand that prayers could be this tangible thing that you could blanket yourself in.</div>
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Those days are long behind me but I am always reminded of our journey during birthday and especially around this time.</div>
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I should have had Ellie on April 30th instead of March 3rd.<br />
I should have had Ro on June 1st - scheduled csection but instead he came on April 28th...around the time Ellie would have been born. Crazy, right??</div>
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I don't believe in coincidences and our design had been mapped out from the beginning. Their birthdays will always be the day our stories began. Their life will be filled with gratitude, and love, and lots of hugs and, equal amounts of prayers because I still struggle with the "could have beens," and the "what-ifs."<br />
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There are so many stories and journeys taking place right now. Some are filled with hopelessness and anger. Some are filled with wonder and awe. Some have ended. Some stories are being pieced together still. Regardless, it is with these stories that was woven to form the Preeclampsia Foundation.</div>
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All stories, however the ending, are built on a promise that we will remember. We will walk to raise awareness, to support, and to help with research. </div>
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I started doing my virtual walk and I'm only "up" 15 miles. For every mile I walk, I'll be donated $1. So I better get the move on the next few days!!</div>
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Until then, if you would like more information about Preeclampsia, please visit: <a href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/">www.preeclampsia.org</a></div>
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For information about a walk/donate/support, visit <a href="http://www.promisewalk.org/">www.promisewalk.org</a> <br />
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-74601862050254751512017-05-18T09:13:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:30:31.459-05:00Grief: Preeclampsia Awareness Month<strong>"Infant death is one of the most devastating consequences of preeclampsia. In the U.S., approximately 10,500 babies die from preeclampsia each year and an estimated half a million worldwide." - </strong><a href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/"><strong>www.preeclampsia.org</strong></a> <br />
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I don't know Grief. But I know it's real and palpable. I've seen Grief in the faces of family and friends. I've mourned with them but Grief is a visitor in my life and not a permanent fixture. I'll walk with Grief, show it around my house, where it'll stay for a bit and once the light comes back into my home, it knows to leave me and it will greet happiness and light at the door. <br />
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I know Grief wanders through the hallways of friends' houses. I know they sit in front of them at the breakfast table. I know Grief is the last thing they see when they close their eyes at night. <br />
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Because I don't know Grief, at least.....not yet. I don't want to blog about how to overcome it, how to deal with it or any of those things...... Grief has many different faces and to pretend that I know what to do when Grief and Death comes calling would be to belittle what my friends and family have had to go through. I don't understand Grief and Death. They are strangers in my home. <br />
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I understand the 'what ifs' and I understand mourning for someone or something. In my own home, I've mourned the POSSIBLITIES of life without Preeclampsia. I've mourned the idea of big families. I've gone through so many "what ifs" that I've had to stop a few times and shake myself back to the present. <br />
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But the way I understand mourning and Grief pales in comparison to the women in my life and the strangers in my online support group. <br />
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Grief, loss and death enters their home and hearts, envelops them in sadness and darkness and I wonder if they ever believe that there is more to life than the solitude. I wonder if they know that beyond the grave, there is something even more.......<br />
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I wonder if they believe in the lovely idea of Heaven or if they buried their faith in the ground. <br />
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I wonder but all that grieving leaves the rest of us to take in the scenery and breathe a sigh of relief that Grief was just a visitor and we get one more day, or a few more precious moments with our own loved ones. <br />
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I also wonder which is worse. To have grief the beginning of life or towards the end? In the beginning, you'll also be mourning for the possibilities of who the little one will grow to be. In the end, you'll be mourning for the possibilities of what they could accomplish... if only they had more time. Grief knows no time, save one. It only knows that time will stand still for those whose home they are in. <br />
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Grief has a relative and its name is Guilt. In the meantime, here is information on "who gets Preeclampsia."<br />
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*Preeclampsia and other hypertensive disorders of pregnancy occur in 5-8% of all pregnancies of women who have no known risk factors (see below). It is more apt to occur during the first pregnancy. The most significant risk factors for preeclampsia are:<br />
<ul>
<li>Previous history of preeclampsia</li>
<li>Multiple gestation (i.e., pregnant with more than one baby)</li>
<li>History of chronic high blood pressure, diabetes, kidney disease or organ transplant</li>
<li>First pregnancy</li>
<li>Obesity, particularly with Body Mass Index (BMI) of 30 or greater. </li>
<li>Over 40 or under 18 years of age</li>
<li>Family history of preeclampsia (i.e., a mother, sister, grandmother or aunt had the disorder)</li>
<li>Polycystic ovarian syndrome</li>
<li>Lupus or other autoimmune disorders, including rheumatoid arthritis, sarcoidosis and multiple sclerosis</li>
<li>In-vitro fertilization</li>
<li>Sickle cell disease </li>
</ul>
*Information gathered from <a href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/">www.preeclampsia.org</a> <br />
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<br />ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-17810187587927592602017-05-10T22:13:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:30:31.367-05:00A mama's Guilt: Preeclampsia Awareness MonthWhat is it about GUILT? Women in general are predisposed to being GUILTY of all things. We're made to feel guilty for the way we look, how we act, whom we serve and how we serve others. WHY??<br />
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When did we start feeling guilty? During our childhood when we wanted to grow up one way and our parents/peers/society told us we <em>shouldn't</em> even think about those things?<br />
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During our prepubescent years when we started feeling those darn feelings for the opposite sex?<br />
Or why our bodies isn't what society wants it to be?<br />
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During our late teens, early twenties when we wanted to get away from those things/people that shaped us and find that the world really isn't as close minded or the same as we were made to believe it was? And we feel guilty about all those years we've formed our assumptions about other people and how we've treated them?<br />
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Do we start feeling guilty during our years in wedded bliss when the subject of choosing a career and motherhood sets in? Then damned if you choose one or the other. Or BOTH??<br />
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Or during playgrounds/playgroups when our parenting skills are brought into question? I believe in organics/attachment/cloth/breast/bottle/insert-opinion-here too, but there are more important things in MY LIFE that I care more passionately about. And I refuse to feel guilty about those passions and why I chose what I chose. <br />
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The whole world has an opinion on parenting and mothers...... well, WOMEN, in general that truly..... if we are brought up believing that we SHOULD FEEL GUILTY about EVERYTHING.... then we are never going to be happy. We are always going to wonder all these what-ifs and all these choices that arose once upon a time. <br />
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I'm about to be 35 in a couple of months. I spent X amount of money, X amount of years in college and I'm proud of my accomplishments. I spent the due diligence of working back the X amount of student loans I owed, spent X amount of time figuring out what I wanted to be as a boss, as an employee, as a public health official, and I'm proud of my accomplishments in the X amount of time I spent behind a windowless room. <br />
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I don't need to feel guilty that I spent the majority of my yesterday tackling piles of laundry, and then then making a fort out of couch cushions.<br />
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You only get to see snippets of my day, or facets of who you think I am, and I am supposed to feel guilty about the assumptions society formed about me.<br />
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I was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school for a while. I was raised to feel guilty about EVERYTHING...... but we have an answer to guilt: <strong>Confess and Pray</strong>. <br />
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So here is my motherhood confession:<br />
I was obese, unhealthy, not very active and had a love affair with Dr. Pepper.<br />
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And then I got pregnant in 2011. I started walking after work and cut down on the Dr. P. I even added more fruits and vegetables in my diet. When I was diagnosed at 26 weeks, I stopped walking, as was recommended, and focused on taking everything that has salt away (NEWSFLASH: EVERYTHING HAS SALT). At the time I had her, I had barely gained the ten pounds recommended for those in the obese category.</div>
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I have read about Preeclampsia. I have read about Placenta Abruption. One of the risk factors for both is high blood pressure. One of the complications of obesity is high blood pressure. <br />
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So of course, I felt guilty. I felt guilty putting myself and my baby at risk. I felt guilty about the choices I made and what I've put my body to. <br />
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According to the CDC, National Institute of Health (NIH) and written on the Preeclampsia Foundation - the causes of preeclampsia is unknown. The Health powers that be do not know the etiology of Preeclampsia. They use to believe that by delivering the baby early, you can "cure" preeclampsia. But then, what about the women who get postpartum preeclampsia?<br />
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My GUILT of what happened transpired to my FEAR of having another experience. Another baby. So at the very beginning of her life, I was already guilty about a LOT of THINGS. <br />
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And the thing about guilt is... that if you let it... it CONSUMES you. I could feel guilty, everyday. I wish I was healthier. Why did I not quit working as soon as they started to suspect something? Why did I insist that I didn't need help? <br />
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What if? Why didn't I? If only I did <u>blank. </u>Maybe she wouldn't have been born early. Maybe my blood pressure wouldn't have sky rocketed. Maybe there would be no protein spilling anywhere. Maybe my placenta wouldn't start detaching........ so many maybes. <br />
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AND THEN what if they didn't see anything? What if I wasn't monitored the way I was? What if my Ellie died before I got to meet her? What if??<br />
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It WILL DRIVE YOU INSANE. All these variables and all these things you BELIEVE you have CONTROL of and things you could have CHANGED........ but then HOW WOULD YOU KNOW the other side of the story? How could you possibly know the outcome of all these possible what-ifs?<br />
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And then something wonderful happened......I confessed my GUILT and got down on my knees and prayed. I confessed that I was guilty of all these things: sloth, gluttony, stubbornness, pride and an infinite number of sins. There is no arguing with what happened. There is only gratitude that I am here. That <strong>SHE IS HERE </strong>and <strong>NOTHING else </strong>(all these variables) <strong>MATTERS</strong>. <br />
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I am not going to let GUILT get in the way of the wonders that is her childhood. I am not going to let GUILT enter my home and fill it with negativity. Instead, I want to be surrounded by her laugh, her awe and her kisses.<br />
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But GUILT resurfaces over and over. In 2015, I found out I was pregnant. I felt GUILTY about not wanting to be pregnant. I saw friends and family going through miscarriages and here I was, not wanting this little bitty life forming inside of me.<br />
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I didn't care what I put into my body. I ate whatever I wanted - mostly, I craved meat. I didn't lessen the caffeine, didn't walk.....and then felt GUILTY that I didn't care. I lost so much weight during my pregnancy that I wasn't even in my pre-pregnancy weight at the time I had him.<br />
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I need to do better for my family, health wise.....and part of that is to focus on growth and acceptance, and let go of the guilt<br />
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For more information about Preeclampsia, please visit <a href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/">www.preeclampsia.org</a><br />
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Come walk with us: <a href="http://promisewalk.org/teampage.asp?fundid=3995#.WRPWfNLytRY" target="_blank">Martinez Musketeers</a><br />
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-32306327296673718152017-05-07T23:17:00.001-05:002018-06-13T18:30:43.462-05:00Do you know your body?: Preeclampsia Awareness Month<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Women can have preeclampsia in the middle of their pregnancy, usually diagnosed around 20+ weeks and there are currently no treatments or cure for it.<br />
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What happens to some women, is called postpartum preeclampsia and they get the classic symptoms usually a few weeks AFTER the delivery of the baby.</div>
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But what I'm more concerned with, as if those two things aren't already going to kill you, is that NOW I have a big target on my head..... or my heart, rather.</div>
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Your body in pregnancy mode is basically one test of how much pressure and how much stress your body can go through. I FAILED. My body's response to being pregnant was great..... at first, but as the blood volume and pressure increased.... my body basically said, peace out to my kiddos.</div>
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While I experienced some of the "classic signs of preeclampsia" - <strong>high blood pressure, proteinuria, swelling(Edema), </strong>there are women who may never have any symptoms and feel absolutely until its too late. With pregnancy number 2, it attacked quickly. I had nausea, vomiting, a headache that wouldn't go away, and while the proteinuria wasn't as bad, my blood pressure got as high as 189/102....I also experienced blurriness in my vision. So so thankful that my husband was home in time to rush me back to the hospital!<br />
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I cannot stress the importance of knowing your blood pressure numbers. We all go for our yearly - some of us, better at keeping appointments than others - and we have a general knowledge of what our normal blood pressure numbers are. When you're going in for your prenatal appointments, they will also keep a track of your blood pressure and knowing what's normal for you and not chalking it up to "just another pregnancy thing" is so important. I bought a wrist cuff when they recommended it and showed my husband how to use a manual blood pressure cuff to compare both readings. Granted, the wrist cuffs aren't accurate BUT writing down your numbers and comparing and showing them your doctor gives you both an impression of how you're doing. With pregnancy #2, I was put on baby aspirin. Talk to your doctors!<br />
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Okay, at your prenatal visits, your doctor will usually have you pee in a cup. Most readings are normal and kept from you, unless you request for the results. If your trace protein reads 1+ or greater, that could be a sign of preeclampsia.... regardless if your blood pressure is 140/90. You can always buy reagent strips at your pharmacy and test them at home. Some doctors will also ask you to do a 24hour urine collection. <br />
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I know we're supposed to be "puffy" during our pregnancy. My feet were swollen and my flats were suddenly uncomfortable. But swelling in your hands, around your face and eyes could be concerning. Edema is the accumulation of excess fluid. <br />
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<strong><u>Other signs and symptom include:</u></strong><br />
<strong>Headache</strong> - Dull or severe, throbbing headaches, often described as migraine-like that just won't go away are cause for concern.<br />
<strong>Nausea or vomiting </strong>- Nausea or vomiting is particularly significant when the onset is sudden and after mid-pregnancy. âMorning sicknessâ should disappear after the first trimester and the sudden appearance of nausea and vomiting after mid pregnancy may be linked to preeclampsia.<br />
<strong>Sudden weight gain </strong>- Weight gain of more than 2 pounds in a week may be an indicator of preeclampsia. Damaged blood vessels allow more water to leak into and stay in your body's tissue and not to pass through the kidneys to be excreted.<br />
<strong>Vision changes </strong>- Vision changes are one of the most serious symptoms of preeclampsia. They may be associated with central nervous system irritation or be an indication of swelling of the brain (cerebral edema).<br />
Common vision changes include sensations of flashing lights, auras, light sensitivity, or blurry vision or spots.<br />
<strong>Pain in the abdominal and or shoulder area </strong>- <br />
This type of abdominal pain, often called epigastric pain or upper right quadrant (URQ) pain, is usually under the ribs on the right side. It can be confused with heartburn, gallbladder problems, flu, indigestion or pain from the baby kicking. Shoulder pain is often called âreferred painâ because it radiates from the liver under the right ribs. Lower back pain is different from muscle strain common to pregnancy, because it is usually more acute and specific. Shoulder pain can feel like someone is deeply pinching you along the bra strap or on your neck, or it can be painful to lie on your right side. All of these pain symptoms may be a sign of <a href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/health-information/hellp-syndrome" target="_self" title="HELLP Syndrome">HELLP Syndrome</a> or a related problem in the liver.<br />
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<strong>Lower back pain </strong>is a very common complaint of pregnancy. However, sometimes it may indicate a problem with the liver, especially if it accompanies other symptoms of preeclampsia.<br />
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<strong>Hyperreflexia</strong> is when your reflexes are so strong that when your knee is tapped by a rubber âhammerâ, your leg bounces back hard. This sign is generally measured by a health care provider and otherwise difficult for you to observe yourself.<br />
<strong>Shortness of breath</strong>, a racing pulse, mental confusion, a heightened sense of <strong>anxiety</strong>, and a sense of impending doom can be symptoms of preeclampsia. If these symptoms are new to you, they could indicate an elevated blood pressure, or more rarely, fluid collecting in your lungs (pulmonary edema).<br />
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Know your body! Know your numbers! Trust in your gut. Women KNOW when something "feels off" and "not right." Trust that and go with it. Sometimes, it could mean your doctor telling you 'hey, its just the normal preggo things you go through,' and that's okay. Keep pressing your doctor, asks for tests, get a second opinion, if it comes down to that. And if it turns out that it's all in your head and there was nothing wrong with you, that's fine too. At least you did everything you could for yourself and your baby. Remember that YOU are PAYING these DOCTORS (or at least your insurance is). <br />
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Talk to your doctor. Talk to the people in charge of your car; a doula, a midwife, anyone. Let them know your concerns and if they are worth every penny and are decent human beings..... they'll "humor you" and at least run a test or two. <br />
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For more information about preeclampsia, please visit: <a href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/">www.preeclampsia.org</a> </div>
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-92033361209725882232017-04-30T15:15:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:37:23.002-05:00Life after Preeclampsia<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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There are people who have commented how "strong" I was during both of my seasons of NICU stays. All I can say, "Glory be to God." <span style="background-color: yellow;">Because without Him, I don't know if I'd be here today. </span><br />
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I am a firm believer that faith goes through different seasons. There are days where you will wonder where God is and question why should you pray to a Divinity that may or may not exist.<br />
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There will be seasons where you will be knee deep in prayer, and scriptures, and wonder why no one else can feel His Presence when its so <span style="font-size: large;">strong, you can also touch Him.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>There will be seasons of trials, of silence, of joy, of tears; </b>like life, faith is very much like a wavelength. There are crests and troughs.</span></div>
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When I first realized that I was pregnant with my daughter, I was living on a high. This was God's gift. As women, this what we are made for; truly the greatest thing we could ever hope to be. I prepared and readied myself for the blessing that would come.<br />
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If you've followed my blog before I unpublished EVERYTHING, then you know my story. You witnessed what I posted on social media. You saw her grow. You prayed for us and cheered us during our homecoming!<br />
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What you didn't see was me bargaining with God. You didn't hear the questions that I screamed into my heart. You didn't see me slipping down into the depths of anxiety. You didn't see the rope thrown to me - didn't see me wonder if it was meant to pull me up or wrap around my neck. I prayed. I cursed Him. I shut Him out. I wanted Him to know that I didn't want the birth story that I was given.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But this is not just <b>MY story</b>. Its also very much <b>hers</b>......and my son's story.</span></div>
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Sometime during our visits, my heart became full and when I began to see her growing every day, I felt <u>convicted</u>. <span style="font-size: large;">This story of hers, what a beginning!!</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Every day I held her, I saw God</span>. Look at these tiny hands and tiny feet. What miracles babies are. How amazing is our God to show us what true love is? As soon as I saw this precious baby, my heart immediately changed. This is my baby. <i><b><span style="background-color: yellow;">This is what love looks like, feels like and oh my. Life is definitely not the same.</span></b></i><br />
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I can tell you that I take my walk with Christ on a daily basis. There are times that I stop to question Him; times when I'm feeling empty and alone on our walk. There are days that I run as far as I can to get away from this life I was given - when the anxiety is too much, the situation, the cries are too painful and hard to process. Some days are better than others and I have more good days than bad. <b><u>Its a daily walk, a daily conversation, a daily need for conviction and Grace.</u></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">God never promised our story would be easy but He never promised it would be filled with continuous hardships, either.</span></div>
Our story has already been written. <span style="background-color: yellow;">While we don't know how far we are in our journey, we should take comfort in our destination. In our own race. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Philippians 3:14 and press on "toward the goal to win the price for which God has called (me) heavenward in Christ Jesus."</span><br />
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And if this is the first time, you've stumbled upon my page - welcome. For the small handful that have followed me, this is my restart. This is the part where I am accepting what happened to all four of us, my side, my husband's and my children's sides of the story - I accept that it wasn't my fault.<br />
I accept that I could have done a million and one things right, but what was written was already done. I am ready to move on. I am ready to fight for the babies and mamas. I am ready to change my course and within these pages, I am ready to begin again.<br />
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This is me.<br />
This is us.<br />
And this is our story of Life after Preeclampsia.<br />
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You know how I know God is real? </div>
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Because I saw Him when I held onto a 3 pound baby.</div>
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You know how I know He loves us?</div>
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Because my babies are walking testimonies of His love and Grace.</div>
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You know how I know He answers prayers?</div>
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Because He answered mine.</div>
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-91694089715937412102016-05-21T18:14:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:46:59.373-05:00Even Supermom needs a village<div style="text-align: start;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">In the lovely wee hours of morning, I've started reading articles online about raising your second child, summer camps for preschoolers, how to increase milk supply and then, how to raise your children when your family - the main people in your supposed village - are hours away. I know it can be done. I know of friends who live in different cities, states or even countries away from family and seemingly are able to handle the burdens of child rearing by themselves. Of course, I see snapshots of their lives on social media, so who's to say that they're adjusted?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">You win, universe. I desperately need help.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">It's only been two weeks but the lack of sleep, the mood swings and anxiety has started to take its toll on me.......I know, right? It's taking me this long to ACKNOWLEDGE that I actually NEED HELP?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">I've caught myself sleeping and slacking "on the job." I once woke up, believing I was sitting in my rocker, pumping away, only to find that I'm actually on the toilet, breastpump in hand and my four year old waving her bottom around, declaring, "I'm done, mommy. Wipe me." For breakfast or lunch, I've nodded sleepily at the clever four year old who asked if she can have candy or chocolates to eat. What's worse is that I've openly joined her in her candy raid.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">Sigh.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">I get anxious staring at the small amount of breastmilk I spent 30 minutes pumping only to realize that my inner cow needs to be fed. How can I expect to have milk when I don't even remember the last time I ate or drank water?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">Its not that I'm not friendly or hate all sorts of social interaction. There are days where yes, I want to be left alone. But I do have moments where I recognize that I'm in need of some form of human interaction outside the family.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">I have met some lovely stay at home mommies in my neighborhood that have been more than helpful. They've babysat my four year old when I've asked them to. I've gotten presents for the baby and even had a home cooked meal and dessert dropped off. Thoughtful strangers that have sent messages online and given me virtual hugs and sage advice have also made the past two weeks bearable.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">It could be the mom guilt that we seem to believe that we are capable of doing this: MOTHERHOOD thing to ourselves. It could be the prideful little selves that has us believing that villages are a thing of the past. Moms could work outside the home, have a sparkly clean home, have time and energy to make meals from scratch and always has the time to play with their rugrats. We have to be SUPERMOM to be a "good" mom.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">Let me tell you about being Supermom. She's got a secret identity that allows her to be another person when not using her cape. She's got an army that knows who she is and can summon her whenever there is a crisis. She's also got a sidekick or two that can talk to her whenever she doubts her actions.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">Supermom has a village.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">Supermom has people with whom she can ask for council, for second opinions or heck, someone she can grab a margarita with.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">She's super because she gives herself time to be the "hero" in a crisis and time to wind down after.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); text-align: justify;">Well, I'm taking my cape off for a while and go in search of my tribe. I'm sure I'll find them at Starbucks wearing the same tired look, a Venti of their choosing and their Supermom capes tucked inside their purse/diaper bags.</span><br />
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-88318052718185065252016-05-03T18:11:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:46:59.278-05:00Connect the dots: Maternal Mental Health Day 2017<i>Did you know today is World Maternal Mental Health Day? Did you know 1 in 7 women suffer from a maternal mental health complication? Do you know at least 7 mamas? In my playgroup alone, there are 20 of us.That means at least 2 of us have had some experiences with mental health. I know of my own story. I remember when I visited a mama holding her third newborn, she shared her postpartum depression during her second baby. </i><br />
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<i>We're here, silently, patiently, willing, praying that this thick and heavy fog of emotions suddenly just lift up and dissipate. Some of us barely holding on to our realities. Some of us bravely asking for help. </i><br />
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<i>I wrote this post exactly 1 year ago today. I can hear myself crying. I can feel my wounds being cut open and this deluge of heaviness threatening to drown me. What I thought was just mere sadness turned out to be more consuming than I realized. I hid in closets. I stopped answering texts and pushed away my husband, my own daughter, my family and friends. I didn't want anything to do with my son. I wanted to keep driving along the interstate and not care to ever drive back. I pulled over on the sides of roads during my work commute just to bawl and pray for my sanity to return. I haven't driven by there in a long time. </i><br />
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<i>I am crying as I type this. Preeclampsia does SUCK. And for all the emotions I have against Preeclampsia and premature babies and NICU. I was not prepared for the lack of emotions I had during my postpartum depression. I wanted to cry. I needed a release. I hated the numbness. I hated the lack of empathy when my babies cried. I let him cry a lot longer than necessary. I didn't care about work. I just knew that I needed to be outside away from home.....and talk to these mamas at WIC. But they didn't need my apathy, my coldness. </i><br />
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<i>It took me a while to realize that perhaps I wasn't as fine as I kept claiming. I wasn't in control. And when I released this void out into the world, I got angry. </i><br />
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<i>I lashed out. </i><br />
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<i>I lashed out to my husband.My daughter. My son.</i><br />
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<i>And it's those memories that stay with me.</i><br />
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<i>So.....as today is World Maternal Mental Health Day, I implore you as friends and families to really look at the new mamas around you. Do they seem stressed out? Do they need help? Are they taking care of themselves? Mamas are a beast, y'all. We think and believe that we must do it all. Mama, if you know something is off just a little with you.....please take a moment and practice some self care. Do not feel guilty about asking for help. Do not feel shame about not having it all together - none of us have it together! Ask ask ask for help. Keep asking. Keep praying and asking. And don't stop until you find the help that you need. </i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">~ You are all in my thoughts and prayers today. Keep fighting, mama. ~ </span></i></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><b>POSTED MAY 3, 2016</b></span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I didn't think I would be here again and have to face this nightmare I prayed I'd have strength to push through.<br /><br />My tears have come and haven't stopped flowing. I try to be positive but each moment of grief and doubt and fear come over me like waves and instead of swimming with the current, I find myself being pulled under and being swept away.......<br /><br />basically, I've hit my bottom.<br /><br />It's not pretty. But I need an outlet and this is all I know.<br /><br />I know to keep <strong><u>praying</u></strong>.<br /><br />I know to keep talking and <strong><u>keep writing</u></strong> and to not shut the world out even though I spent the better half of yesterday under the covers.<br /><br />I know that I don't like to lie and try to live as honestly as I can and being positive every time is a lie. <u><strong>In between my "best of today Facebook posts," I'm just a mess of a mom who just wants her baby home.</strong></u><br /><br />I need to pen this simply because this is what Preeclampsia does. It robs you of the simple thigs that most women take for granted.<br /><br />Yes, I am so thankful that my <strong>baby is ALIVE</strong>. But, he's got a while to grow and time can only tell what becomes of preemmies.<br /><br />Yes, I am so thankful that <strong>I am ALIVE.</strong> But my fight is just beginning. My blood pressure hasn't leveled off to "normal" yet and I find myself - a woman who barely took her prenatals and baby aspirin - taking 3 pills every 6 hours.<br /><br />But this isn't about me. This is about Preeclampsia.<br /><br /><strong>May is Preeclampsia Awareness Month. </strong><br /><br />According to the Preeclampsia Foundation (www.preeclampsia.org), <em style="position: relative;">Preeclampsia is a disorder that occurs only during pregnancy and the postpartum period and affects both the mother and the unborn baby. Affecting at least 5-8% of all pregnancies, it is a rapidly progressive condition characterized by high blood pressure and the presence of protein in the urine. Swelling, sudden weight gain, headaches and changes in vision are important <a data-cke-saved-href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/health-information/sign-symptoms" href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/health-information/sign-symptoms" style="-webkit-transition: all 200ms ease-in; text-decoration: none; transition: all 200ms ease-in;" target="_blank">symptoms</a>; however, some women with rapidly advancing disease report few symptoms. </em><br /><br />My symptoms the second time around was a lot different than with my first. With my first, the protein in my urine kept increasing. I gained six pounds in a week and was swelling everywhere. I wish I knew what my blood pressure readings were but during my surgery, the doctor had told me that my placenta was detaching. I was in the hospital for three days before performing the cesearian.<br /><br />âBecause of what I knew about Preeclampsia, the second time around, I knew a blood pressure reading of 152/102 wasn't normal. I had a headache that stayed with me the whole day. I threw up bile and my vision was blurry. In a span of just a few hours, I was admitted, put on magnesium sulfate to decrease the blood pressure that topped 189/100. Before I could mentally prepare myself for the next few hours/days, I was told I was "cleared" for the 7:30 am surgery.<br /><br />Preeclampsia can attack that fast.<br /><br />Preeclampsia is still attacking me.<br /><br />I know and have faith that I will overcome this war. I've fought the same battle before and <strong>I've seen what God can do to a battered soul - especially the soul of a Mother.</strong><br /><br />I'm trying, as always to take it one day at a time and stop my controlling little self from making up future scenarios that may not happen.<br /><br />I'm trying but it's a little difficult. As a mom, you have to have enough strength for the little souls you're in charge with.<br /><br />...... this second time around, I'm not sure I have enough strength left to fight.</span><br />
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-57878119913142507362016-04-30T17:45:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:46:59.184-05:00We're not out of the woods yet<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #676767; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.32px; line-height: 24px;">It's hard to believe that I had a baby Thursday. My son, despite the early arrival, is doing amazing! He's had his first bath, we've already done kangaroo care and tried to latch him on to the breast twice. I'm just super excited and amazed at his progress.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #676767; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.32px; line-height: 24px;">And because I am a mommy, haven't taken into account any of my needs while I've been here. My blood pressure has decreased since yesterday. But this morning, it started to creep up. I was supposed to go home today. I was supposed to be home right now, wondering about how my son was doing and how Ellie was being taken care of at grandma's house.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #676767; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.32px; line-height: 24px;">I was not supposed to spend another couple of nights here, on the same uncomfortable hospital bed and getting blood pressure readings every few hours.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #676767; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.32px; line-height: 24px;">I was supposed to be out of the woods with preeclampsia, not swimming in it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #676767; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.32px; line-height: 24px;">I'm trying as hard as I can to calm my anxious self but its not easy - especially when I'm in a hospital room. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #676767; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.32px; line-height: 24px;">Tomorrow begins Preeclampsia Awareness Month. The entire month of May, I'll be blogging about the signs and symptoms, the faces of Preeclampsia, the NICU journey and other preeclampsia related things.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #676767; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.32px; line-height: 24px;">I can tell you already that it sucks. I can tell you how fast your world can change in an instant. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #676767; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.32px; line-height: 24px;">I KNOW I'll be okay. I've been down this journey before, but just because the lay of the land looks the same, doesn't mean it gets any easier. </span>ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378015175819935877.post-57449952259254965782016-04-27T17:49:00.000-05:002018-06-13T18:46:37.590-05:00And here we go again<h2 aria-label="false" class="element wsite-content-title editable-text cke_editable cke_editable_inline cke_contents_ltr cke_focus" id="459231138476447611" role="textbox" spellcheck="true" style="background-color: #f8f8f8; color: #555555; cursor: text; font-family: "Playfair Display", serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: 1.3em; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px 0px 0.8em;" tabindex="0">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I woke up this morning due to the storm outside. A tornado warning sounded and then touched down not too far from where we live. Another storm in an already storm savaged city. Our lights flickered on and off before finally shrouding us in complete darkness. I watched the lightning making shadows against the windows. I almost jumped at the boom of thunder sounding so close to us.</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Beside me, my lovely daughter and husband slept through the thunderstorm.<br /><br />I tried to go back to sleep but had a pounding headache. Now I'm not so sure what woke me. The headache or the storm.<br /><br />But I managed to get myself up and decided to check my blood pressure. It read 152/102!<br /><br />I got dressed for work and tried to ignore my headache and listened to Christian music to calm my nerves.<br /><br />By 7:30 am, I had a nagging feeling that I needed to tell someone and sent an email (!) to my OB about what was happening and ended the note with a promise that I'll call when the clinic opens.<br /><br />By 8:30, I had a nurse on the line and she said I needed to come in now. Also, never email when it relates to preeclampsia symptoms.<br /><br />I apologized and went in, did lab work, got blood pressure checked and did another round of Nonstress test. After my blood pressure came down to 128/70, I was told to go home and rest.<br /><br />I slept after calling my boss and family about what was happening only to wake up to the same headache and blood pressure reading of 152/100. This time, accompanied with nausea and vomiting.<br /><br />I calmly called the nurse and hoped that this time, I'll be admitted.<br /><br />Which is where I am now.<br /><br />My blood pressure is all over the place, the highest was 189/100 amd after a few hours (and drugs) later, its now steady at 120/73.<br /><br />I'm not scared as I was with Ellie. I know what to expect. I remember what days in the NICU will look like.<br /><br />I know how strong preemmies are. I've seen her strength, almost as much as mine. Or maybe mine was a reflection of hers. We both had to fight our own fight..<br /><br />I've seen the light at the end of the tunnel. I've embraced strangers and shared stories about our Preeclampsia journey.<br /><br />I'm ready.<br /><br />Four years ago, I was a mess and turned to God for everything.<br /><br />I'm still a mess. I still lay this fear and doubt over to Him.... but I'm at peace and I'm excited about meeting this little person who I know will be loved beyond measure. I'm excited for Ellie. Her forever friend will be here in the morning and our lives will never be the same!</span></h2>
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ltuallahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07748557831025129374noreply@blogger.com0