Saved.

Preston recently turned 2 years old. It seems like I just gave birth to him yesterday. But on the flip side, weeks of suffering has felt like years. 

See, in a lot of ways Prestons birthday is a different kind of birthday for me as well.

That was the day that I was given another chance at life. I was bringing this baby into the world, and at the same time I was saved. Preston is perfect. He is a mellow kid. He’s flexible, he is outgoing, He is happy and he is the reason I am here today talking to you.

When doctors went in to deliver him they found that my small intestine had strangulated and they had to remove the part that was dead. That part was 90% of it. For one year I couldn’t eat anything. Not even a bite. For 20 months I had a semi-permanent IV sticking out of my chest. For 20 months I had a feeding tube that hung out of my stomach.

There have been tender mercies. There has been happiness. There has been many people who have given me life. For 2 years I have been able to find joy through my family.

For 24 months my husband has encouraged me. In the early days of my recovery he hooked up my medicine, helped me bathe and took care of our newborn son. He never left me alone to suffer. He rubbed my back as I threw up repeatedly for 5 months. He came to visit me in the hospital each day often bringing flowers, balloons, pictures the kids had drawn, an iPad with Netflix, my pillow, a hug and a kiss. He saved me.

                                

My 5 year old daughter has run around retrieving numerous things for me, she has ran upstairs to get diapers, toys and medicine for me so I wouldn’t have to climb them. In the early months I tormented myself with worry on how my health would affect her life. I worried that she would grow up resenting time when I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt guilty for the days when I was grumpy because I was in so much pain, had nausea or was too tired to try. The other day I was laying down and she brought me a blanket and wrapped it around me. She has taught me so much about compassion. She saved me.

My 2-year-old son has brought us all hope and joy in a very dark time. We clapped and smiled when he sat up, stood, walked and talked. His progression has brought us so much delight. When I would sit in the hospital bed sick and tired, he fell asleep in my arms giving me strength and courage. He has been patient with me from the very beginning. If they wouldn’t have gone in to deliver him, they never would have seen my dying intestine. He saved me.

My parents have spent so much time in Florida taking care of my family. For months at a time they would stay and cook, clean and tend to my children. My mom would come to the hospital and brush my hair, bring me magazines and she always brought the encouragement. Many times when I was hospitalized my mom would come and take care of us. My dad would weed our yard, take my daughter fishing and to school. My in-laws provided us with support and prayers. They were here to help and feed Preston when he came home from the hospital. My sister came to visit armed with positivity. She curled my hair, fed my baby, and gave me daily pep talks. My best friend Melanie came to visit when I was discharged from the hospital. She helped me bathe, painted my daughters nails, made me chicken broth and pulled a few all nighters with newborn Preston. They saved me.

The surgeon who took on my case from the very beginning. He carefully untangled my intestine, a process that took 4 hours alone. He was careful and diligent. He was conservative and gentle with the alteration. He was thorough when explaining the surgery to my husband. He was optimistic with the process but made sure to explain everything so there were no unnecessary surprises. In my hospitalizations (18 in total) he was there by my side offering sympathy, strength and knowledge. He visited me daily, made changes to my medications, asked me how I was doing, and sat next to me while I cried many tears. He was everything you would hope a surgeon would be. When I would thank him for saving my life, he thanked me for enriching his own. He saved me again and again.

My short bowel specialist/surgeon who performed my revision surgery a year ago in Miami. She gave me hope. She is highly knowledgeable about my condition and she knew right away what needed to happen. She was the one who decided to flip my small intestine backwards to increase absorption. This procedure still blows my mind. She knew it was possible. She gave me my life back. She saved me. 

My friends. The many people that took action when I needed a tribe to succor me. The individuals who prayed for me all over the United States and across the world. After I gave birth to Preston and laid intubated in the ICU, people of faith were fasting in my behalf. They pleaded with the Lord to heal my battered body. Strangers I had never met sent me quilts, blankets, flowers and encouragement. My new friends in Florida took care of my children, brought my family meals and came to the hospital armed with nail polish, board games and gossip. Oh, how I love my friends. They saved me.

All these individuals played a big part in my recovery. But I can't stop there. The person that truly saved me was the Lord. He never left my side. He gave me comfort as I lay alone in the hospital. He was there when I had a colossal panic attack in the ICU. He was there working next to my doctors during all my procedures and surgeries. He guided me to these people who have helped me heal. Christ saved me. 

We celebrated Prestons birthday with cake and ice cream with friends. While we sang Happy birthday to him he looked up at me with a huge smile on his face. I couldn’t help but well up with tears. Two years ago we weren’t sure I’d be here for this celebration. I could’ve missed this whole experience. I am so happy I was present and have been able to see him grow. We did it, son. We’ve been saved.

Why I am Saying Goodbye to my Family

After laboring for a good 5 hours with extreme upper cramping, an epidural that was doing nothing, and throwing up green stuff I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. Maybe it was all the doctors and specialists that quickly entered and exited my delivery room like they were running a marathon. Maybe it was the look on Peytons face when I threw blood up all over him. Maybe it was the anesthesiologists that were quietly whispering in the corner. Or it could have just been pure mother instinct already kicking in that this was going to be a very extraordinary delivery.        

           

My OBGYN told me hurriedly that they were doing a C-section. It was not a question. It was not a suggestion. It was, “this is happening.” I remember them putting the shield up under my neck so that I couldn’t see the birth. At that moment I turned to every nurse or doctor that was hovering over my belly and said, “Listen, if this is between me or my baby, choose my baby. Let me die, save him.” Looking back its surprising that this came to my mind, because I truly was so naïve and confused at how severe this whole thing was until I woke up 4 days later. It wouldn’t have changed anything, of course they were there to save both our lives, but I like to think that I had some say in the matter. Everything was so out of my hands at this point.

            After they pulled him out, they took him right away to monitor and help him breathe. Then they put him in an incubator.  They said that they needed to take him right up to the NICU and that Peyton should follow because I would need an emergency surgery. They wheeled him up to me, I put my hand in and said, “I love you. Be strong. You’re going to be okay.” Of course I didn’t know that either of us would be okay but when you are a mother, newly or seasoned, comforting your child is second nature.

            4 surgeries, time on a ventilator, an endoscopy, a trip to the ICU, and a million fevers later I woke up and the first thing I said to Peyton was, “Did I almost die?” Peyton, always being the optimist replied, “Well…you’re doing good now.” Every day I asked him, “But could I have died?” I could not wrap my head around the thought of leaving this earth so unexpectedly. I was preparing to become a mother for the second time, not making my way to heaven. In a way, coming close to death has made me step back and reassess my life. Lets be completely honest here though, it has also scared the hell out of me. The thought that I hadn’t even said I loved you to Samantha had me crying every day. Every single time she called or visited me in the hospital I didn’t want it to end, and I made sure she was next to me at all times.

            The other thing that I realized was that I hadn’t told my family how much I appreciated them. Had I thanked them for helping me move to Florida? Had I thanked them for being my constant support and love during all my challenging times as a teenager? And for goodness sakes had I mentioned to my husband that I had very strong feelings about what Preston should wear home from the hospital? I just wasn’t ready. There were so many things left unsaid.

            Are you ever ready to leave this world? People sadly die unexpectedly every day and their families grieve so woefully. Of course death will always be sad, and I am not invalidating anyone’s challenging time of repairing a broken heart from death, but if I were to spare my children and close family even just a little sadness by leaving them something, anything, I needed to.

            My big 16-hour surgery is in two weeks, ya’ll! I am so excited for it because it is the next step in my recovery. They will be removing the obstruction that has prevented me from eating for a year, reconnect and remove any lingering necrotic bowel, and then flip my intestine so that the beginning will be the end, and the end will be the beginning. This is so that I am better able to absorb nutrients in the future. This is a complex and rare case and one that many medical professionals have never even heard of. Luckily my surgeon is kind of a big deal, and she is very confident and capable of doing this, which puts me at ease, even just a little.

 My last appointment I was asking her numerous questions about the procedure, recovery expectations and possible side effects. I then looked at her seriously with tears pooling up and asked her the question she probably dreads. “Could I die?” Apparently she wasn’t too fazed because she exclaimed, “Oh, yeah!” To which I let them tears roll down like a rainstorm. 

            I went back home and opened my laptop. I am hopeful for this surgery and optimistic for the outcome, but I want to be prepared for the worst-case scenario. I started to draft goodbye letters to my children. One may ask, “How could you even write something like that?” But, to be honest, the words came naturally. Whether I had help from the Lord prompting me what I needed to tell them, or I just really had thought of things already, I won’t know. But I like to think that these letters will help them if I pass away.

            2-3 pages don’t really seem adequate to say all the things I need to say in a lifetime, but the most important things are included. I talked to Samantha about how thankful I was that she was who made me a mother. She has taught me so much more about patience, love and kindheartedness that no one could have prepared me for. I apologize to Preston for not being able to love him on this earthly life longer. I tell him that he can get to know me through my family, my pictures, blog posts and sincere prayer. I give both my children guidance for the future, advice on what to strive for in relationships, putting education first, and leaning on their Dad for comfort only a parent can give. Peyton’s was the hardest letter to write, as I feel like I had to provide the most consolation to him. I included memories and inside jokes that we have laughed at over the years, gratitude for loving my imperfections, and encouragement to have future loving relationships.

            I wrote these not to make them sad that I was gone but to give them something to remember me by, and to turn to if they ever needed answers or advice they couldn’t quite find the answers to. I wrote these so that they could have only a small bit of comfort if the worst-case scenario happened. I wrote these because I am a mother who will do anything in her power to continue to love her family more abundantly, genuinely and passionately.

            I hope they never have to read these letters. I am optimistic that all of the things written to them I will be able to tell them myself in spoken words in the future. I believe that they will always have me with them, but I can’t help wanting to have some control and influence in a situation that is so unknown and uncontrollable.

            So hold them babies tight, everyone. Tell them you are proud of them regularly and that if they ever make mistakes it's never too late to start over. Don’t forget your husbands, they need love, too. Often stated, often acted upon and often showed. The future is given to us, but it is never guaranteed. I hope when it’s my turn to leave this world (either in 2 weeks or in 50 years) my family will know how I felt about them entirely.

           

Gain a Son, lose a gut.

I’ve probably written this blog post in my mind at least 5 times by now. It is by far the toughest thing I have had to write. You know those disheartening stories that you hear about other people? You never expect these rare and devastating events to happen in your life. Let me start from the beginning.

We had been living in Florida one month, and I was 35 weeks pregnant when I woke up one morning feeling very poorly. I threw up a couple of times and started to have some cramping. I laid down and felt a bit better. For weeks I had been having Braxton hicks contractions, but they felt similar to the ones I had when pregnant with Samantha. I thought that these cramps were more of the same. As the day progressed the cramps turned worse and they were settling in my upper abdomen, which I thought was unusual. Peyton came home early from work, we dropped off Samantha at our new friends’ house, and we headed to the labor and delivery area of the hospital. They immediately hooked me up to a fetal monitor to track the baby’s heart rate and check on the contractions.

 They were a bit bewildered from the beginning because of where my pain was located. I was having contractions but they weren’t regular. They decided to relieve me from my unbearable pain by giving me my epidural. Then things got really bad, really fast.

After getting my epidural I had relief for 10 minutes before the pain returned. They decided to give me more of the epidural to rise the numbing up my abdomen, but it didn’t work. I started throwing up. Peyton was a great support and held my bucket, but as he wiped my mouth he saw blood.

He hurriedly walked into the hall and called for the nurse who came in and verified that it was blood. After that about 10 doctors and specialists came into the room and they all agreed that it was time to get the baby out as quick as possible via C-section and this would provide them the ability to see what was happening in my abdomen.

I remember them immediately wheeling me into the Operating Room and it felt like all the doctors and surgeons from the whole hospital had joined us. I kept asking everyone through tears who they were and what they were thinking was wrong. Everyone cheered me on and gave me assurance. I remember them pulling Preston out and my doctor exclaiming, “Here’s your baby, Catherine! Here he is!” They took Preston and put him on the exam table next to me. He wasn’t making a sound for what seemed like an eternity, but Peyton told me later it was only a few minutes.  After they got him stabilized they told Peyton to follow the baby to the NICU. They told him that they would need to do a surgery on me and that I would be put under. Before they wheeled Preston out I got to put my hand into the incubator and pat his stomach and hold his hand for a few seconds reminding him to be strong and that I would always love him. This was one event that I can remember with perfect recollection. After that my world went black.

This is all very hard to recollect for you, as my emotions following the next few days were all over the place. There are about 4 days where I do not remember anything. Peyton kept a journal to help me piece it together.

When they put me under after the C-section and investigated further they discovered that almost my entire small intestines was tangled up and had lost blood supply. Because of this, my intestine was dying. The first surgery I had immediately after delivery was to untangle the intestines to see if it would regain blood supply and return to normal. It took them over 4 hours to untangle my intestines, working hard to be delicate with them in order to not make further damage. After they did this surgery they knew they had to go in the very next day to see if untangling the intestines was successful. After the first surgery was Peytons best and worst night of his life thus far. His son had just joined the world and his wife was going to possibly leave it. The surgeon discussed with Peyton the severity of my situation. At this time he told my Mom to come right away and called the Bishop of our church to have them administer a blessing to me in the ICU (Intensive care unit).

The next day when they re-opened me they learned that previous surgery was not successful. They started to remove and resect the pieces that were no longer salvageable. This was difficult because some of my intestine was necrotic in places and healthy in other parts. The only way to do this successfully was to get rid of a good portion of it and then reconnect it.

(Here is my small intestine.) 

For a few days I was intubated and sedated. Preston was still in the NICU and Peyton would spend all day going back and forth visiting his fragile son and wife. I cannot imagine what Peyton was going through emotionally as all of this was happening. Both our families do not live by us, but our new Florida family jumped into action, arranged care for Samantha and had people deliver dinner to the hospital for my mom and Peyton. I will always be appreciative and grateful for our new friends who became our family to help us in our time of need.

They performed various x-rays and endoscopies in my time in the ICU. One day I started to have bad fevers and they decided to do a 3^rd surgery to go in and see if I had an infection from the removal. They were relieved to discover that the intestines were okay and they further flushed out my abdomen to make sure it was clean and healthy.

After the 3^rd surgery, I started to awaken from days of anesthesia and coming out of the fog of pain medication. What that brought was paranoia, anger and confusion. Peyton’s favorite “ICU moment” was when I exclaimed, “We’ve been duped! This is a magic show that we are in!” I “remember” seeing certain things that were not happening and hearing things that were senseless and outrageous. I also was very confused at what had happened to me.

My days in the ICU were the darkest days I have ever experienced. I was coming in and out of heavy pain medication, which made me sleepy and jumbled. I remember I would cry when Peyton would have to go home for the night because the nights are the times when I would hear imaginary people talking. I was left to my own contemplations. At one point Peyton said I asked them to sedate me so that I would not have to experience another emotional and hysterical night.

Every day Peyton would explain the situation and what had happened to me. He would describe my new anatomy and what the future could mean for me. He would try and use easy words for me to understand due to my foggy brain. Then I would fall asleep to take a nap and I would forget everything that he had told me. He learned to wait a few days to tell me details and to only tell me the pieces that I would need to know at the time.

After 6 days in the hospital I finally felt well enough to go meet my son, Preston. I will never forget this moment. I was apprehensive and nervous to go see him. I had a lot of equipment that I was still hooked up to and my physical comfort level was tolerable but not great. The moment that I was wheeled into his room in the NICU my whole heart burst and I forgot all of my pains for the hour that he was in my arms. He was perfect, and so much tinier than the pictures of him that Peyton had shown me! (5 lbs. 12 ounces). Every day I was able to go up to the NICU and visit him for around an hour. These were my most precious memories in the hospital.

The days passed and I ended up progressing. I was able to drink chicken broth and sugar free crystal light. After 2 weeks of being in the hospital I was able to eat applesauce and yogurt, which was a huge improvement. I had a feeding tube (into my stomach) that gave me my additional nutrients, also. Some days in the hospital were better than others, but after a week in the ICU, I was transferred to the Progressive Care Unit where I spent a month before being able to go home. I lived for the hours where I would be able to see Preston and Samantha.  

The day that Preston was able to go home from the hospital was a day filled of mixed emotions. I was so excited that he was healthy and able to go home and be with our family, but I had a hard time not being able to be there for his first days in our home.

Two weeks later, I was given the clearance to go home. Peyton’s parents flew in to help with Preston, which was super helpful. It was so nice to come home and be with my children full time again. I had missed being with them. I never knew how much I loved being a Mom, until I wasn’t able to do it.

My diagnosis is short bowel syndrome, which is defined as the removal of more than 50% of small intestine. The main function of your small intestine is to absorb the nutrients from the food that you eat. I am still trying to understand what this means for me long-term and my ability to get the nutrients that my body needs.

I have chosen to write about this in my blog for a few reasons.  After I came home from the hospital I wanted to learn more about my diagnosis and to connect and learn from people who had similar stories. This condition is pretty rare and every time I turned to the Internet to find comfort or knowledge I came up ended handed. I want to be the support and resource for someone who is dealing with this frustrating and difficult condition that I didn’t have. If I can tell my story and give consolation to one person who is struggling, it will all be worth it. I have posted a few things on Facebook and there has been such an outpouring of love from family and friends. In the early days of my hospitalization acquaintances, friends, families and even strangers were praying for me. I had never felt so physically defeated but stronger because of the faith of so many people. I truly will never be able to provide my gratitude sufficiently. I am incredibly grateful for so many people who have cheered me on during this difficult journey.

So what now? How is my health since this happened 4 months ago… I plan to do a few other posts updating you on my status. I will tell you this. I am struggling but I am strong. My family has been a great support to me in my depression and meltdowns. I feel fortunate to have such a loving, sympathetic and devoted husband who has been there every step of the way. Every day has gotten a bit better, and I can feel the effects of so many blessings. I can do hard things, and I know that I have many people who will be there rooting for me.

The Life of a Student Mother

For the past 4.5 years I have been a college student, 3 of those years I have also been a Mother.  It all started when Brigham Young University-Idaho held a fireside about their Pathways program. Going back to school was never at the top of my to-do list. After high school I went to a trade school and got licensed in California and Utah as an Esthetician. (You know, performing facials and waxing, chemical peels, etc). I am passionate about skin care and was excited to be an esthetician because it meant I could also take clients from my home and be a stay-at-home Mom at the same time.  (Which I proudly do currently in my not-so free time).  However, never having that college diploma and accomplishment was something I yearned for as time went on. 

I decided to enroll in the year long Pathway program and then graduated and was accepted to BYU-Idaho as one of their online students. Since then I have taken about 2-5 classes at a time. Online schooling is not the same as independent study. There are weekly due dates, tests, and group projects. For the most part, each one of my classes have required anywhere from around 5 hours-10 hours of work a week. In the beginning it was easy because I was working part-time and was just married. We then moved to Shanghai, which was perfect because I could still "attend" the school while half-way across the world. A year ago I received my associates degree in General Studies, and I am more than halfway to my Bachelors degree in Marriage and Family Studies. (46 credits away from graduation, to be exact. But who's counting?!) 

There have been times (more than I care to admit) that I sit down and think, is this worth it? The time I took math final in the hospital the day after my daughter was born, the time I had to do a report on earthquakes while on vacation in Japan. (Woe is me, I know.) the countless exams and group projects that I have had to do with other online students. The fact that it is going to take me twice as long to get my degree because I am also attempting raising a family. The absolute hardest part is the whole work/life balance. Of course, this is something all working parents go through. The difference is that I am stuck on my laptop as my daughter asks for milk, a cuddle, a diaper change, a snack, etc. Assignments that should take a half hour end up taking 2 hours because in the meantime, laundry needs to be done,  dinner needs to be cooked, and my daughter needs tending to. 

My friend asked me the other day, "so, why are you doing it? Why are you putting in so much effort? Are you going to work full time when you graduate?" The answer, is no. Well not initially. I hope to be able to be a stay-at home mom when my children are young, but I would also love to use my degree and work in its field when they are old enough for school. I know adding more to our family will only make it harder for me to complete assignments as time goes on. (We are pregnant with our second). Why not achieve this now? 

Don't get me wrong. Being a student is not all stressful and imperfect. I get grades and feedback from my professors. I love getting good grades for all of my efforts. Since Samantha isn't old enough to give me unsolicited praise for all my hard work as a Mom (is that ever going to happen?) It is nice to get an A at something and feel proud of my GPA. The things I have learned, as cheesy as it sounds have really helped me in my life. For instance, I just took a money management class that explained in detail the stock market, budgets, bank accounts, and taxes. Since my degree focuses on Marriage and Family studies, the classes I have taken have always helped me apply my knowledge right into my home. Then there was the time I took a "Family stress and Coping" course during our move back to the United States from China. I have never followed instruction from a textbook so much in my life. This stuff is so applicable! One of the biggest things I have appreciated is the fact that when Samantha goes to school and needs help with her own homework, I won't have to send her to her educated Father. 

I look forward to the day where I can walk across that stage and receive my diploma with my children watching me with (hopefully) admiration. I know they may be too young to appreciate my efforts at this moment. Samantha is a little jealous of all the time I spend with my computer, but one day I know she will look up at me and say, "wow, Mom. You got a degree while raising us? You are a freaking rockstar." And it will show her that SHE is also capable of doing hard things. 

Last week I passed a statistics test that was so hard I literally thought I was going to lose my mind. As I clicked submit and prayed harder than I probably ever have, I saw a surprisingly high score and fell to my knees. When I looked up from relief there was my husband with confetti cannons and balloons that said, "You rock." (He's a gem, I tell ya!) After hours of studying, trying to understand this foreign stats language, and taking practice tests, I had my reward. I will pass the class that will be guaranteed the hardest of my entire degree. I like to think that it is all smooth sailing from here until I graduate but I still have my internship and practicum to complete, so I don't want to get too confident. 

If you are a parent who is also yearning to learn and progress I encourage you to find opportunities that are available. Community colleges offer night courses, online courses are available and there is even certificates that may be better and more obtainable option to some. I know I haven't graduated yet, but in hopefully 7 semesters I will, and I can happily say that it will be a proud moment. I am already proud of the person I have developed into since almost 5 years of schooling. I hope to continue to learn, so I can teach my child they are worthy of an education one day, also. 

If you are  interested in hearing more about the Pathways program to get started on YOUR degree click below!

https://pathway.lds.org/