Hi, I am the immunocompromised person you are saving.

Well, kids...it has been an interesting time to be alive. That is. for. dang. sure. When COVID-19 first made the news I wasn't too worried. I thought it was only a few cases and far away! In China! I was glad that we weren't still living in Shanghai, but I thought it was contained and not very worrisome. And then it started popping up in the United States. I grew worried. I went last week to Miami where I met with my surgeon. She looked over the labs that I get every other month and noticed that my Vitamin A, E, D & Iron were low. This was frustrating because I thought that all of my levels were normal but she found some labs that were not included in my online database. Because I have short-bowel syndrome my body has a hard time absorbing nutrients from a diet a person with all of their small intestine would have. I probably only get about 1/2 the nutrients you get. My food digests in my system in about 12 hours whereas the normal person takes 24-72 hours. Don't tell me how I know this, but it involves corn and i'll just leave it at that. 

So why do I tell you this? Due to my condition, my immune system is compromised. In the past 2 years I have been hospitalized 19 times and have had about 15 surgeries/procedures. I have had pneumonia 3 times and various infections due to my body having a low level of resistance to virus's and bacteria. At my appointment I told the receptionist that I had a lingering cough. No fever and no body aches just a cough. They led me to a small tent outside of the entrance where they monitored me for 20 minutes taking my blood pressure and temperature frequently. I was surprised but it was also reassuring that they were doing what they could to prevent the spread of the virus. I asked my Doctor how she felt about the virus and if I should be worried. She looked at me and nonchalantly said, "Well for you, this would kill you." She's a peach, let me tell you. She really gives you the warm and fuzzes. 

In the news you have read that the people that are most at-risk are people that are old and those who have underlying health conditions. This is me. I am that person. I am the one that would get this virus and I would not be able to fight it. I have been in that hospital, I have been on that ventilator. I have had a 106.7 fever and I have been so depleted I could not find a reason to live. 

BUT  through through countless prayers, fasts and therapy session I have found that reason. My family. They are what is the most important and I want to be here on earth to see Samantha finally learn how to tie her shoes, I want to see Preston using complete sentences. I want to be there for my kids for every break-up, wedding and school dance they go to. 

I am the reason that you are staying at home. I am the reason why you are homeschooling your children. I am the reason why you are now forced to work on a laptop while sitting on a bed. I am the reason that you have been forced to play Candy Land for the 986 time today. You are isolating yourself because you want to save me, and I adore you for it. 

I have been able to see many beautiful things during this isolation period. A neighbor posted on the Facebook page that she would run errands for those who are compromised. Beautiful. A sunset that I enjoyed because I had to go outside to get fresh air. Beautiful. The nurses and doctors who show up to work not knowing if they will come into contact with the virus but to save people on a daily basis. Beautiful. A man in Spain was leading a rooftop jazzersize class that people could join in by looking out their windows and following along. Beautiful. People are sharing their talents by providing kids online resources for free. Beautiful. Celebrities are taping themselves reading children's books and posting them online. Beautiful. In Paris people open their windows and applaud the medical professionals for keeping them safe. Beautiful. My neighborhood is having everyone draw sidewalk chalk masterpieces so that children can go on a scavenger hunt on their walk. Beautiful. This morning I sat and played Legos with my kids because we didn't have anywhere to be. Beautiful. 


If this isolation has taught me anything it has taught me to be still. To be present with my children. To prioritize and assess the needs of my family. I encourage us to spend this time to relax. The world is becoming increasingly distracted and busy. Be still. Have a diet coke. Take a nap. Watch too much Netflix. Play that board game you haven't opened since getting it at Christmas. Bake the cake. Read the book. Do these things because you care and you want to help. And wash your hands while you're at it! 

So please, I beg you, stay home.  Protect me. Protect Grandma Sally. Protect Shannon who is fighting cancer. Protect Danny who has type 2 diabetes. Protect Gina who has a heart defects. Do it for us. Old Navy can wait.  

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.

           

I get by with a little help from my friends.

Since my diagnosis and hospitalizations I have often had people ask me how I am doing. It is always such a loaded question, like, where do I begin? How much do they know? How much do they want to know? Should I be honest, or should I act like I am doing good?

            Most of the time I say something along the lines of, “I am hanging in there.” or, “today is a good day.” I just figure no one wants to hear, “Well, I threw up all night and I haven’t pooped in a week, but enough about me, how’s the family doing, Susanne?” Turns out, people don’t just ask this question to take up time. They genuinely want to comprehend how I am doing and what they can do for me. I learned this when recently a friend asked how I was doing and I replied with, “I am feeling so much better.” She then turned to me without skipping a beat and said, “Okay, thanks for accommodating me. How are you really doing?”

            I paused and just let it roll. I may have rolled it too eagerly because pretty soon I was a sobbing mess, but my friend didn’t falter or awkwardly change the subject. She listened. She sympathized. And the surprising part was she thanked me for being authentic because then she was better able to understand my needs. It was there that I was realized that being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak; it makes you stronger for being genuine.

            The other thing I have learned is that people want to help, people want to be needed. I have seen this countless times as I have watched my tribe of family, friends, acquaintances and strangers have offered their love and assistance. This has been a very humbling experience for me…to say the least. I have always wanted to do things myself. I have a really hard time asking for help. I would almost rather serve everyone around me before asking someone to lighten MY load. I always thought like asking for help made me inferior, but then I would get upset when some of my friends kindly refused my help when I offered. By the way, why is this a problem with women? It seems like men easily can text someone, “hey bro, wanna help me move my whole house this Saturday? K, cool.”

            After my incident happened and I was on the long road to recovery I literally could not do certain things. I have felt so much love for people who jumped right in to fulfill the things I could no longer do.

            I feel love as I watch people deliver dinner to Peyton and Samantha. I feel love as I see a whole ward of mothers look after my children when I am in the hospital. I felt love as my new friend, a cosmetologist, came to my home to wash, cut and style my hair the night I got home from the hospital. I felt love as my friend came to the hospital armed with girls night in activities and proceeded to curl my  hair and paint my nails. I have felt love as people have sent baby blankets, get well soon cards, inspiring books and beautiful flowers. I felt love as I have been given countless priesthood blessings from so many willing men. I feel love when my daughter shouts to me as I am laying down, “I hope you  feel better!” I have felt overflowing love as I have watched my mother, father, and in-laws dedicate months and months of traveling to Florida to help us. I feel love as a friend has been doing my laundry. I felt love when our friends came and spent their vacation watching my kids, cleaning my house and running errands for me. I felt love when a few days after my surgery my husband carried me into the hospital shower and washed my injured body, completely drenching his fully clothed body in the process.

            I often have thought about this whole situation as a nightmare and an experience that impaired my life within a few minutes. I have recently started to try and shift my thinking to all of the incredible blessings that I have seen and the love I have felt as this has transpired. Had this never have happened I never would have become closer to my husband, my parents, my sister, Peytons coworkers, my new friends and fellow church members.

            If you are struggling with a difficult situation, may I share with you what I am starting to slowly learn? There is good.  Find it. Hold onto it and try and grasp it when you feel like you can’t go on another minute. Feel love as people administer service for you. A nurse in the hospital shared something with me when I was being discharged and overwhelmed at the thought of recovery. She said, “Someone asked me if I could eat an elephant.” Of course, I replied, “No!” To which they told me, “You could…one small bite at a time.”

            Remember, the Lord has not given you more than you we handle. These trials and hardships will make you so much stronger in the future. I know this can be difficult to hear when you just want to curl up in a ball and sulk in self-loathing. But, I know that you (and all of us!) were not sent to earth to be miserable.

            So if you are going to walk away with anything from this post; let it be this. Be vulnerable. Ask for help, feel love through the help and look for the good. I know you can do it!

China >> California >> Florida

Since I have written last, a lot has happened to our little family. First and foremost- Im pregnant. Quite pregnant, actually. 32 weeks, 1 day, 20 minutes pregnant, to be exact. But, who's counting? We are expecting a little boy in September, and couldn't be more thrilled. Samantha (3 years) has been very curious and engaged in the pregnancy. She never misses an opportunity to help and hold my hand while we go down stairs to make sure I don't fall, and she reminds me on the daily how big I am getting. She even told some strangers at the pool the other day that she had a baby in her belly that was kicking quite a lot. Boy, will she be surprised in a few months.

Secondly, we moved to Florida. Peytons new project for Walt Disney World is Guardians of the Galaxy themed and the move to be closer to work was fairly obvious. We had been back from China for about a year when we moved and I had moments of self sympathy at having to pack up all the boxes I had just finished unpacking from the previous move. The good news is that moving in your third trimester hasn't been as horrible as I thought it would be. (Don't tell my husband). We purged unnecessary and unused items that were fresh in our vision and this whole nesting thing has amplified my need and desire to organize our new home.

Other positives include living close to the park, which means Peyton has only about a 20 minute commute as opposed to the hour he was doing in Glendale, and the obvious perks of being able to head over to Disney World if I had the undeniable urge for a stuffed pretzel. Not saying this has ever happened, but hypothetically...

It is interesting to see the things that Samantha has noticed about our new home, and the assessments she has made with Florida. Such as, "This place has lots of bugs, lakes and heat." I'm with ya, homegirl. I'm sweating bullets over here. Our new ward is super friendly and promises lots of potential friends and connections, for which I am continually grateful and happy about.

Apparently my phone is hot in Florida, too. 

I will be honest, after moving to Shanghai I thought this move was going to be a walk in the park. After having to rely on public transportation, a language barrier, and the obvious city life, how hard could moving across the country be? I was surprised with how difficult moving-- anywhere-- in general is. The logistics were never-ending. Packing, sorting, organizing and purging the never-ending piles of sentimental items (a.ka. crap), Setting up housing utilities, getting a new phone plan, making sure our shipment arrived, finding the closest Tj Maxx and Home Goods. These were vulnerable and sensitive times. But after a month of living here I am enjoying the scenery (lots of green open space) the friendly hospitality of people, all the lakes, and lets be honest, legit southern BBQ.

We'll be here for about 3.5 years, give or take, and between our daily pool visits and alligator sightings, I think we'll enjoy this place. Just don't ask me about all the toll roads, those suckers really add up!

Parenting, aka- The Perfect Puzzle

Recently I was talking to my friend who was struggling with her sons new habit. Screaming at the top of his lungs. What do I do, she asked me? So I suggested squirting him with a water bottle every time he did it. “You mean, like a dog?!?!” We both giggled, as if to concur, we both were completely perplexed. How many times does this happen? Our sweet and charming little children pick up mannerisms, attitudes and behaviors that leave us completely puzzled. On a daily basis I spend about 10-13 minutes wishing that children came with an owners manual. I really do not know how people parented before the Internet. In the past 3 days I have googled, “toddler sleep regression”, “child fearing monster in the toilet”, and my favorite, “How to explain a vagina to a 2 year old.” 

Because Samantha is my first child I am constantly being faced with the wretched realization that I have no idea what the hell I am doing. Every time she talks back, disobeys or challenges me, I have to assess the situation. “Quick, Cat! Whatchu gonna do? Don’t show fear, she smells it.” So I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and think about what Super Nanny would do. Too bad I don’t have a British accent. That woman could discipline a tadpole and it would listen. 

Nevertheless, I do read the parenting books. If you came to my house and glanced at my bookshelf you would think you were at a pediatric therapists office. The books that say consistency is key. The advice that says “let the natural consequence be the punishment.” Or then you get the opposing guidance, “When they rebel, they really just need your love. Grab them and hug them generously.” Is it really any wonder why we sit here on our couches totally confused with all the parenting wisdom we are being hurled? Do I need to ignore Samantha’s tantrum or chase her down the hall for cuddles? 

It is times like these where I am thankful that I have my mother. My mom is a teacher and spent time in child development classrooms learning about behavior, discipline and adolescence. I am often calling her saying, “I did A. B. and C. but its not working, what now?” or “Samantha keeps licking our arms. Is this normal?” After she laughs at all my questions she acknowledges my worries and then gives me some sort of encouragement that goes along the lines of, “You’ll be okay.” I secretly think she loves that I am now feeling all the despair and confusion that I gave her when I was younger. Touché, Grandma! 

Now, let me be clear. I am writing this because 1) I am beginning to realize (and appreciate) that we are ALL baffled on this parenthood puzzle. 2) It needs to be talked about more often. Why are we performing like we have all our ducks in a row? And 3) I need some humility and humor to get me through the day. I am on my 6th Oreo and it is barely 11am. 

Regardless of how hard children can be, I love being a Mom. I love that she jumps on the couch yelling, “Mom, lets cuddle!” Or when she mimics what I do in order to be just like me. I admire my daughters’ humor, her joy, and the way she can make a stranger smile. I love that she makes me want to be a better Mother, and I hope that I can be that, however, I know that she’ll forgive me if I don’t have it all figured out. She’ll love me regardless. This I know.