This is a recent picture of my wonderful husband Dylan and myself, taken a few days ago.
These days, however, I don't look quite so chipper, after contracting Mono. This illness has me flat out. Completely depleated of energy. I can remember praying one afternoon, after Robbie and Dylan both were taking prednisone(Robbie for inflammation in his lungs, Dylan for ulcerative colitis), and my daughter on antibiotics for an ear infection. I prayed that if any more illness is to fall on my family, please God, let it fall on me. Which reminds me to say be careful what you pray for, you may just get it. hahaha
For anyone reading the story of Robbie, I regret to say, it may take me a few days to complete. 

Our lovely daughter, Rachael is 4 years old now! A beautiful, brilliant and charming girl!! She has just started Jr. Kindergarden. We love you, Rach!

This is a recent picture our beloved Robbie.
You would never know just by looking at this picture that he was ever ill!
We love you Robbie!!!

Part Three

I find it a little difficult to tip toe around this one. Every birth story has it's good and it's not so good points. I promise to use as much discretion as possible around this next topic.

Robbie was so little, however the doctor could not understand why, because when he measured my stomach before delivery, I measured up. We would soon come to know why. When I had an abruption in the first trimester, blood had begun to coagulate and attach itself firmly to the side of the uterus. A thrombus of conciderable size was growing at the same rate as would a baby growing in the womb. Therefore, when the doctor measured each week, when he assumed he was measuring only the baby, he was measuring both the baby and the large thrombus. Had I have delivered in the beginning of the 20th century, I would have bled to death. Sometimes, when I see the pain that Robbie goes through, I wish I had.

I will only go on to say it took 2 shots directly in my thighs of oxytocin, and an interveinous drip of pitocin, uterine massage and the physical removal of the placenta to resolve this situation. The doctor was amazed at the size of the placenta. Completely intact, was almost exactly half the size of a normal one.

Robbie was "lucky to have survived."

Survive, he did. I have never seen such an intense drive to live.

Robbie has a lengthy medical record thus far in his short life. When we brought him home, it was to a house where two cats had also been living. There was carpet in the livingroom, the stairway, the hallway and in all the bedrooms in the house. This I never thought this would eventually be a major problem for our dear son's life. Robbie had several trips to the doctor about many things. Hunches, really. Something's wrong- but I don't know what.

"I think he might have exceedingly narrow nose passages?"

"Why is he such a loud breather?"

"Why do you think he has difficulty looking to the left?"

"Does the shape of his head look funny to you?"

These are among the many questions I had.

"The majority of babies wheeze to some extent" was the typical answer I would get.

Then IT happened.

A moment in time that changed everything. It was the day before Robbie was to be christened at my dad's church. Robbie wouldn't stop coughing and wheezing, literally gasping for breath. I went to the doctor, all of my family, friends, anyone who would help me understand what was going on with our baby.

"Does he seem ill to you?"

"Does that sound normal?"

"What's going on with my son?"

Not to come down on my family or friends, (although the doctor should have picked up on something) most just said "he's fine, don't worry it's probably just a cold."

Anyone who is reading this and is a mother, you just know when something is wrong.

Never deny your 'mother's instinct'.

I felt alone, somewhat betrayed, slipped through the cracks of the medical society.

Does anyone care about Robbie?!

So I did it.

All alone, I said "enough is enough!!" and I took him to the hospital at 5am after hearing him cough all night.

Again, God was the driving force behind the decision to take him to the hospital. I felt that I had to sneak off in the night, as to not draw attention to the fact that I was just a 'worried mother'.

God was in that hospital room with us that terrible morning.

The medical staff at the hospital didn't really know what to make of Robbie, or where to start testing. They started with blood and worked their way around. Xray of his chest revealed that he had something like pneumonia, bronchiolitis. Inflammation of the bronchiolles or alvioli. It was at that time they thought to check the level of oxygen in his blood.

It was 84%. 'Not that bad' I thought, or at least until everyone in the room stopped and looked up at each other. Intuition again, told me something wasn't right. I burst into tears, mostly scared, but mad, really angry it had come to this.

Why didn't anyone listen to me?

Robbie and I were taken to the nearest pediatric hospital by ambulance. "Code 4." Lights and sirens. Robbie had to have oxygen on him at all times. If the O2 mask was taken away from his face, all his levels (stats.) would drop.

I still didn't really know what was going on, so I asked the paramedic to show me the medical files, but neither she nor I could really understand what was written.

Robbie was admitted for 4 days, given prednisone, and was released only when he could go a whole night without needing to be given O2.

Almost 2 weeks later, we went through an identical situation. Emergency room in the middle of the night, taken to the same hospital, stayed for 3 days.

It was at this point, however, that the doctor suggested that Robbie could have Asthma.

He also noted the strange way that our son held his head, and how flat it was on the one side. "I'll arrange to have you see a physiotherapist for that, he'll need to have that fixed, or he'll hate you for the rest of his life." he said in a joking manner.

I was given videos, pamphlets, books, and anything that had to do with asthma.

Upon discharge, the doctor asked me if anyone in the family smoked. I instantly felt like I needed to plead my case. Never EVER in the house, in the cars, or anywhere around him!!! Yes, however, I smoke. He began to tell me that it is in my hair and on my clothes, and that I may as well be smoking while holding the baby. Guilt, remorse, anger, and fear that this was all my fault hit me harder than anything I had ever felt. Was this all my fault?

I am proud to say that from that moment to this, I have not picked up another cigarette.

We were instructed to 'clean house'. Get rid of as many 'triggers' as humanly possible.

First however, where can we stay while we learn how to administer this new medication and learn how to treat this confusing disease? Where can we stay while we change the things that need changing in our home?

To be Continued
Love, Barbara

For insight into this question you can visit Dawsonwood blog spot. We are briefly mentioned in a few blogs there. Inlaws and Outlaws, I believe is the name of one of them.

Part Two

When we arrived at the hospital, I dropped Dylan off at the emergency department, then went to park the car. By the time Rachael and I got to the front door of the hospital, Dylan had already been taken into the cardiac ward of the emergency department. We at that point were unable to go in and see him.

What I now know was going on in that room was that Dylan had been hooked up to EEGs,

ECGs, blood thinners and what seemed like a maze of wires and drips. According to the machines, Dylan was having a heart attack. In reality,( and I am forever grateful), Dylan had developed Pericarditis. Pericarditis is an inflammation and hardening of the fluid around the heart. Apparently excrutiatingly painful. He was admitted the hospital in the C.C.U. which just happened to be right around the corner from my Grandmother who was admitted the same night. Once things had settled(for lack of a better term) because Dylan was confined to the bed, my Grandmother(once a"League of Mercy visitor with the Salvation Army) and visitors were able to visit both Grandma Mary and Dylan at the same time. My dear Grandma Mary, weakened, frail and at the best of times forgetful, managed to come down the hall (with supervision) to have a visit with Dylan. This was something she used to do when she was younger. Being a true Salvationist, she would make visits to people in the hospital for various reasons, whether they were from the Army or not. We did not know this at the time, but this would be her last "official" visit as an active member of the League of Mercy. Having Alzheimer's, she's probably long forgotten.

Emotions were tight, but what kept me going was my faith. I had to keep my faith. Faith that God would answer prayer, keep us safe, comfort and protect all of us.

Dylan was in the Cardiac Care Unit for 4 days. Released again, under my care. By this time I felt like a total failure. As if it were all my fault. If only I had been a better caretaker. Fear set in, I felt paralyzed by it, engulfed by it, completely absorbed by fear. I think I went that night to a meeting of AA, or spoke to my sponsor, and was taught again to 'have faith' God doesn't ever give us more than we can handle. Fear=Lack of Faith

F.A.I.T.H. meant 'Father Always In Thy Hands', and more words of wisdom. The fellowship and support was overwhelming. At the same time, however(and I don't mean to be ungrateful), I wished that God would stop having such confidence in me to 'handle' all of this. The 'pity me' almost drove me mad.

Dylan slowly got better, and something amazing happened. Dylan's employers do not have health insurance of any kind, and knowing that we had just purchaced our new home, with me not working, brought us his cheque every week, right to our door. Without thier generosity, and thoughtfulness we surely would not have managed. As we slowly unpacked we began to have time to prepare for the baby only two short months ahead.

Moving right along, Robbie was delivered naturally on January 17, 2005. At a mere 5 lbs 0 oz.

IUGR is what they labeled him with, severely malnourished, dehydrated and born with hypospadias, which is being corrected by reconstructive surgery January 10th of 2006.

After the took him away to be hooked up to glucose, and incubated, and monitored, the focus shifted to me. "The bleeding isn't stopping" I heard one nurse say. The doctor came over and just by the looks of their faces, I knew something was terribly wrong.

They would all gather in the hall to talk. This can't be good, I thought.

to be continued

Love Barbara

When It Comes To Illness And Disease, I think I Might Just Know What I'm Talking About

To anyone who has been reading and following the series "Playing God" by Connie, I am delighted and honored to be remembered in prayer by so many. I am Robbie' s Mother. There is so much more to our story, and if you're interested, stick around.

Just before I discovered I was pregnant with our second child, Robbie, I had decided to sober-up, so to speak. My husband had been ill for a few years with an autoimmune disease, and we decided it was time to move on with our lives. We began looking for a new house in a nicer, more 'family like' neighbourhood. We finally found it! The perfect home! Only by luck, prayer, an act of God, and a good real estate agent we aquired this fine home (within minutes of the deal closing).

By this time I had 7 months of sobriety under my belt, sciatica, an abruption early in my pregnancy, a toddler to look after, and boxes everywhere. Without warning my husband became extremely ill. Dehydrated, anemic, with yet another flare up of his intestenal disease. An already slender man, he lost 25 pounds in less than 2 weeks. Weakened by blood loss, and severe dehydration, I took him to our family doctor several times in that week. Each time we were told to 'relax, and take it easy. Don't worry, everything will be alright soon.'

After exhaustion and frustration, when my husband was at what I thought was at his worst, I dragged him to the hospital. They gasped at the sight of him and brought him in immediately- asking me why I didn't get him there sooner. Four hours and 4 letres of interveinous saline later, they sent him home-under my care. I was to feed him 10 mls. of applesauce every 10 minutes and 1 ounce of Gatorade every minute.

I did my best, family came to relieve me once in a while and to help with our daughter, Rachael.

My husband, Dylan got worse. I feared for his life.

In a fit of fear, I phoned my Mom to tell her the latest. "Take him to the hospital!" she said. Thankfully I listened. At the hospital, they did further testing, and they had discovered a blood clot in his lungs-a direct result of dehydration. Dylan had to give blood directly from an artery in his wrist, and was given 'clotbusters' and something for his anxiety. Surgery was briefly talked about. The next morning I accompanied him to the nearest hospital via ambulance to have nuclear testing on his lungs to locate the blood clot and its' size.

A miracle happened that day- the blood clot, was gone.

No surgery, but not quite out of the woods yet.

Again, he was sent home with heavy doses of prednisone and other medications, a strict diet, complete bed rest, around the clock care and a feeling of helplessness.

Shortly after that, once we had established a routine in our

no-yet-unpacked-new-house,

things started to settle down, slowly Dylan stabilized.

I began to wonder what affects all of this stress might be having on the baby. I tried to tell my doctor that I felt like something was wrong- and again, my feelings were quickly dismissed. I should've persisted, I guess.

A week or so passed, and after coming home late one night from being with my grandmother who has alzeimers disease and was just admitted to hospital for internal bleeding, I began to think more about my own recovery. I rested, trying to come to grips with all that was happing around me and within me.

Shortly after falling asleep my husband gently woke me up.

"Barb...my chest really hurts." I feel ashamed to say this, but I sharply said

" does it feel like an elephant is standing on your chest?!"

Not really knowing the seriousness of the situation, I was shocked when he replied

"yes"

"Do you feel short of breath, or have pain in your arm or jaw?"

And again he said

"yes"

He refused to call an ambulance. He thought it would be faster by car.

So I bundled up our daughter, as he sat curled at the bottom of the stairs waiting for us to get things together, and off we went again- to the hospital

To be continued

Love Barbara

"A wrongdoer is often a man that has left something undone, not always he that has done something."

This is a quote I happend to come by today, by Marcus Aurelius.

When I read this quote today I automatically felt as though I was a 'wrongdoer'. How many things have I left undone today? Yesterday? The past year... or four? huh. That much.

Guilt crept into my thoughts. I sat and pondered this idea of things left undone, or procrastinated - due to fear, humility, weakness, shame or sheer laziness. How important is it that all things that I want to do... get done? Since I haven't gotten everything I need done, and rarely ever do, in one day am I a "regular wrongdoer"? The very thought of this makes my heart and mind hurt. As my mind raced through all the things in my life I didn't do, I wanted done already, I had yet to do, and so on, my mind thankfully came to a screeching halt. The whirlwind of my selfcentered, egotistic mind came to rest. Suddenly, it came to me. All of these 'things left undone' were material! Plus, they were all about me. So I stopped. While trying to stop over-analizing this quote, I thought to myself, 'what un-materialistic things have I left undone thus far-today?'

When I woke up this morning did I ask God for help to get through this day? Did I ask that it be divorced from self-seeking motives or self-pity? Was I thankful for yesterday? Did I tell those that I love so much just how much I love them? Did I thank God for having these people in my life? Have I been greatful for anything today?

Much to my dismay, I hadn't. Today, I woke up and the coffee maker was broken, I have been busy keeping the house tidy, administering antibiotics to one child while getting her to daycare, and the other child has suddenly spiked a fever, unsubsided by tylenol, while I get ready to go to my Yoga/Pilates class at the gym. So, as any alcoholic hates, there had to be a change of plans. Arrange babysitting, hit the gym, pick up a friend, go for coffee, complain that life just doesn't seem to be going MY way lately, get dinner on the table, get the children bathed, into bed to have some ME time.

Is it too late?

No, there's still time left today.

God, thank you for showing me what your will is for me today. Please help me to let go of my selfish desires, and to understand what your will is for me today, and everyday.

As all of this unravelled in my mind I was reminded of a prayer,

The Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an

instrument of your peace;

Where there is hatred,

let me sow love;

Where there is injury,

pardon;

Where there is doubt,

faith;

Where there is dispair,

hope;

Where there is darkness,

light;

And where there is sadness,

joy.

O devine Master,

Grant that I may not so

much seek to be consoled

as to console;

To be understood as to

understand;

To be loved, as to love;

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are

pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Recovery is about learning new truths

As a recovering alcoholic, discovery of new things is an everyday occurance. Not every new discovery is one to rejoice. For instance, today I discovered that I am not perfect. I also discovered that no matter how hard I try, I can't be, and others around me cannot be perfect too.

Today, while speaking to a friend of mine I discovered that I can sometimes set unreasonable demands upon myself, and others for that matter. Not something I really enjoyed hearing or accepting as being true, but I certainly can't deny it either.

With my son being ill with severe asthma, I expect that I can dust everyday, sweep and mop the floors everyday, create a fabulous dinner and tidy up afterwards, spend quality time with my children and husband as well as find time to attend my AA meetings, go to the gym, finish my placement at college and help others I love.

"Unreasonable expectations" my friend told me, can lead to resentments both of myself and towards others. Thus, embarking on a downward spiral into unhealthy thoughts and actions.

However disappointing and surprising this revolation was to me, it made me understand that today I can create a new truth for my life- I am human- vulnerable, imperfect, but loving and loved as a child of God who will never give me more than I can handle. So today, I pray that I may be truly humble and yet have self respect. I pray that I may see the good in myself as well as the bad.

Inner Peace

This morning I woke up with a sense of peace and serenity.

How very odd that on a cloudy morning, after not being able to sleep well, I should awake to feel somewhat refreshed, ready to handle this next twenty four hours.

The reason I speak of this is, because I normally don't. I really don't like mornings.

Life in the past while has been traumatic and dreadful most of the time.

In the past 3 months, my new son, Robbie has been diagnosed with Asthma, Congenital muscular torticollis, was born with I.U.G.R., and another little glitch that will be fixed through reconstructive surgery on January the 10th of next year. Many midnight trips to the hospital, ambulance rides to pediatric hospials, clinics and physiotherapy have made my life a little shaky this past while. My husband suffers from an auto immune disease which greatly affects his well being and enjoyment of life. Just this past month or so he has lost and regained 25 pounds. Risky business if you ask me, but the doctors want to avoid surgery like the black plague. So does my husband. And I can't blame them, really. Who does ever really WANT to have surgery?

Tomorrow I take a trip with my son to the Asthma clinic. His last bad episode with asthma was just last week when he was placed on prednisone to reduce the inflammation in his lungs.
I pray that everything will be fine.

This morning however, apon awaking and after praying that this day be free from self seeking motives, resentment, and of fear, this calm warm feeling came over me. Today is a new day, and all I need to do is to ask for help that I may do God's Will.

I know there is a plan for us all, and as soon as I start listening and stop fighting my life will go according to plan. Remembering that it is not my plan, but his.

This brings about my Inner Peace

Barbara

Barbara 

Every human being has a story. We all have difficult battles to fight. Some are fighting difficult battles every minute of every day. My battle is Alcoholism.

Quite often, I feel as though it's only me who has to struggle with the insurmountable obstacles which seem to surface everyday. Only I have problems, responsiblilities, burdens, faults and pain to endure. However, 18 months ago I opened my eyes. I saw that other members in my family, friends, other human beings had lives too. Some had endured more pain than I could ever imagine, lost loved ones to murder, to accidents, suicides, miscarriages. Some lost their entire livelyhoods, homes, wealth, self worth, self respect even hope for the future.

Eighteen months ago I decided that I didn't want to live the way I was living. I didn't want to live, and I didn't want to die. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Life frightened me, I was ashamed of who I had become. An Alcoholic. I felt so sorry for myself. Poor me, anything but an alcoholic! How could this be? I grew up in the Salvation Army, I was Christened, even a Jr. Soldier! I have never been beaten, or poor. I don't have a criminal record, I still have my cute little family, a mortgage, nice things, I never needed more than I already had. How could this have happened to ME? What would my family think? My friends? My husband?

Believe me, they already knew.

I went to a meeting of AA, and after hearing a few stories, I knew this is where I belonged.

I was told to keep coming back, it gets better. Don't pick up that first drink and come to lots of meetings. Only live in today. Acceptance-of people, places and things. This really worked!

As I thought more of 0thers, and what they have been through, I realized that my life really wasn't so bad, I stopped feeling so sorry for myself. I quit drinking, and almost immediately felt better!( physically anyway) I started to notice things that I would have never noticed before. Life took on a whole new meaning. Suddenly, my new epervescent self started to emerge! Love was deeper, spirituality- replenished,the sun- brighter, hope- restored, sanity started to step in, a clear path for my life started to reveal itself to me. I began to realize that God had never left me, I left him. It was only God who kept me safe during my troubled teens. Today I am so greatful that I have a loving and forgiving God working in and through my life today. Only through God's grace can I stay sober, clean and able to carry the message of his strength, power, and abundant love.

It has been a long struggle to get to where I am today, but it has all been worth it. Today I have compassion, hope and gratitude.