Beatrice's big weekend, details.

We had an eventful Saturday.

Beatrice has been having trouble gaining weight, spitting up SO DANG MUCH, and just generally being grumpy about eating. So, just like we did when Freddy was a wee two week old, we decided to fix her tongue and lip ties. It was a fairly traumatic experience when we did it with Freddy. He had to have it done twice, once with an ENT and then again with a dentist two weeks later. When he was two weeks, we had the first done. We thought Miss Beatrice would be better off getting it done ASAP just like with him. 

Our dear friend is also our dentist, and has the laser, the expertise and experience to do it, and we trust him implicitly. So, on a Saturday, he kindly offered to come in and take care of her quickly so we didn't have to wait for an available appointment. 

I was dreading it a bit just because it had been traumatic to do it twice with Freddy. Basically, I knew it was for the best long-term for feeding, speech, etc to do it and do it quickly, but I was just not wanting to do it. 

Nonetheless, I marched her and myself in there, and the deed was done. It was quick, she had numbing medication so it didn't hurt, she was just way grumpy about having her mouth messed with. 

Five minutes in and out, and we were on our way home. She fell asleep and snoozed. We stopped at the store so Derek could run in for... I can't remember. Anyway, she woke up and wanted to nurse since the meds had worn off. I pulled her out of her seat and noticed she was...pale. Oliver commented that she looked kind of gray. I had to agree. It was weird. But she was acting basically normal otherwise. So we nursed, put her back in her seat and headed home. 

She was still not looking great when we got home. I decided to call the ped nurses line to just ask if a weird color was a normal side effect of a simple procedure. The nurse was stumped, and so was the second nurse I called after that. 

Neither suggested we take her in. One did say that if she was still gray in the morning, take her in. 

At that point, Derek and I saw that she was getting worse, not better. I felt like an idiot. This had NOT happened with Fred. The color changing from gray to purple was scary, but the nurses had both seemed unconcerned. So we decided to go to urgent care. "Better safe than sorry" Derek assured me. I was worried, but didn't want them to just roll their eyes at a seven-time mom overreacting. 

By the time we got there, though she'd gone from purple to blue. BLUE, My two week old baby was BLUE. 

I'm so grateful there was no wait. They took one look at her and called an ambulance. 

I explained, while we waited the agonizing minutes for them to arrive, what had happened. The doctor called the pediatric ER and explained what had happened. The on call doc had it diagnosed before we had even arrived: 

Methemoglobinema. 

Huh? 

I had literally never heard of it at all. AT ALL. 

Basically, she had reacted to the numbing medication(s) that had been used. It was causing her body to not oxygenate properly. The hemoglobin can carry the oxygen but can't deliver it. Her levels were just rising and rising, which is why she got more and more blue over the two hours. 

The ambulance ride was fast. Normally it takes a half hour to get to the hospital. It took half that. Lights, sirens, the whole shebang. I was super impressed with the EMT who managed to get an IV in my baby's tiny veins whilst hurtling down the highway. Amazing. 

At the ER, the doctors and nurses went right to work. Oxygen flowing, blood drawn (her blood was dark orange, like the color of iodine), all the things. I stood by her, sang to her, kissed her little head, and just held whatever parts of her I could get. 

The doctors had never seen methemoglobinema. EVER. They were all on their phones GOOGLING it, but they just kept working. When labs came back, her levels of methemoglobin were sky high, so she was treated via IV with a medication called Methylene blue. It's literally bright blue. Derek, who had taken all the other kids home, had grabbed a neighbor to babysit and arrived right about then. 

We were told that the nature of the condition and the use of the medications meant she'd need to be admitted. Unfortunately, the hospital didn't have a PICU so we had to transfer. Once the meds were fully in, and her oxygen levels had risen, she and I got to ride in another ambulance down to Boston childrens. 

No one there had ever heard of methemoglobinema either, except for the toxicologist. 

Her O2 sats stayed brilliantly at 100 on oxygen, so we moved her to room air, and go to our room, and she just stayed steady. All,night.long. She was amazing, She screamed at everyone who touched her, but we all didn't care because she was doing so dang well. She nursed and slept, and nursed and slept, and her vitals never waivered. I nodded off a couple times, but mostly just stared at her. Because it's the PICU we had "one to one" care, so our nurse only had Beatrice as her patient. She tried to get me to sleep explaining that "I get paid to watch her!" but no. After the day we'd had... no. It wasn't going to happen. 

Sunday morning, she was visited by... 8? doctors, more nurses, everyone wanted to hear the story of the crazy acquired methemoglobinema from lidocaine. More labs showed that her levels of methemoglobin which had been at 30 (WAY TOO HIGH) Saturday afternoon were now 1.5. She was going to be fine! A million years later, Derek came to rescue us, and we were on our way home. 

Monday, life resumed as normal. And let me tell you, all day, as I did mundane, normal things, I was overwhelmed with gratitude to our Father for the priviledge of having a regular day, with all of my children. It could have been so different. If we'd waited... 

Derek asked our nurse the question I had been too afraid to ask: Would this have resolved on it's own if we hadn't brought her in? 

The nurse was very blunt. No. Her levels were too high. 

If they hadn't put the pieces together as quickly as they had. If it hadn't been a Saturday... if those particular doctors hadn't been working when/where they did. If the pharmacy hadn't stocked a totally random medication that no one ever used... 

Our lives get to go on without heartbreak, without grief because all the pieces that came together protected  our tiny daughter. 

I can not stop praising God for the gift of HER, of geting to keep her when so many things could have made that not the case. 

So, now, life is normal. She can't ever use any sort of topical or injected numbing in the -caine family, or even over the counter versions (think orajel) or herbal rememdies like teething tablets. And her peditrician might want to do enzyme testing later when she's bigger since this is directly related to an enzyme deficiency. Some tiny babies do have the deficiency but it resolves later, which is what we think happened. Beatrice just happened to be one of the ones who lacked the proper enzymes to break down the numbing meds and just happened to have those exact meds administered before it resolved itself. 

Luck of the draw? Maybe we should have waited? Or would it have happened no matter when we did it? Two weeks later? A month? We make the best choices we can with what we know. 

It comforts me a little knowing that no one had ever seen it, and that it IS rare. We couldn't have known. 

But still. 

I'm just plain grateful. 

This is when she started to look "off". Normally she's quite pink/red. It got much, much worse. 

Going for ride number 2 in the ambulance. It was 12 degrees, so the towel on her head was warmed to keep her body temp up. By this point, the cynotic blue was faded. She was already so much better. 

Off oxygen and doing great on room air! 

Dressed and ready to GO HOME! 

In the Waiting Place

You can't imagine how bizarre it is: to have five living children, and yet be hanging out in the "infertility wing" of the OBGYN office. 

It's completely surreal. 

And yet, since I've had three miscarriages in a row (yes, another one, in April, it sucked), that is the title that I suppose I've earned. 

Infertile? The girl who can get pregnant no problem but can't seem to stay that way. 

So, two weeks ago, that is exactly where I found myself. Telling the stories of my last year to a lovely stranger, who ordered all kinds of tests. 

As someone who's had four total miscarriages but five living children, I am to considered an out-lier. The questions abound, the explanations slim (so far everything has come back "normal"), and the real wonderment is, did I get unlucky four times or did I get lucky five times? 

I feel pretty helpless in all this. 

I'm constantly questioning my own feelings. Are we done, and I just missed the memo? Should I never have been able to have the ones I do have? Should I stop trying and just count my blessings? Are we going to be blessed with another baby? Ever? Am I pushing too hard? Am I wrong to want another when we're so blessed already? 

The nights are long when  I can't sleep and am left to contemplate my own freedom of choice verses biology, verses God's will, verses righteous desire, verses worry that something is really very wrong. 

It's tiresome. 

It's all day. 

Every day. 

I am coming to accept the very real possibility that Miriam is my last and final. I squeeze her tighter just for the thought. 

I am fighting the temptation to just say "forget it! I'm done." I don't want to make that decision based on fear. I don't want to make THAT decision at all. 

I did not want this. Good heavens, who would? But we don't get to choose our trials. We don't get to decide how we'll be tested, or when, or for how long. 

All of this is pretty out of my control. I'm doing what I can, eating healthy, exercising, trying to find answers. 

Ultimately though, it's just a waiting game. 

A painful one. 

To Re-enter Real Life

This past week we were blessed with the help of my sweet mother-in-law and my sister. I have never been so physically out of commission in my life, so the help was 100% necessary. It was humbling and difficult to accept the help that they so happily and freely gave.

Now they've headed home, and real life is demanding that I return to it. I feel the weight and pressure of schedule and routine pressing down on me. In a way, it's terrifying, suddenly being thrust back into life as it was before.

Before it all fell apart.

At the same time, it's good to start to act like life is normal. I'll go through the motions, I'll cook and clean, educate and soothe, fold laundry, wash dishes, chase goats and children, and act like everything is okay.

Because in so many ways, it IS okay. I'm here, slowly returning physically to where I was (feeling 50% is a victory!), we are so abundantly blessed that I can't even list the gifts we've been given. My children are healthy, vibrant, demanding, inquisitive, smart and stinky, and I love them with everything I have. Derek is here for me, and we're here for each other, and we're going to just keep on going.

In the ways that it isn't okay, how my body is still healing and makes me so mad to be limited, in the way that my heart aches, and my lungs won't draw deep breaths, in the tears that fall at the slightest provocation, in the way I miss George so much that I think my heart might actually be bleeding and my soul is longing for my baby, I'll just have to accept, embrace and allow, because resistance is useless. There is no way out of this.

I am trusting in my Father that through the Savior, when it seems to overcome me, that I'll be made stronger than myself. Every time I start to despair, I just pray, pray that God will be with me. At one point last week, I was in bed, thinking I might die, and just prayed that Jesus would come and sit with me for a while. And He did. He will. He does.

Christ knows how I feel because He felt it. He felt it, and begged God to let the cup pass from Him, but also accepted it so miraculously that I can ask Him for comfort. Through His perfect and complete knowledge of my pain, comfort comes in warmth and love and a numbing feeling of "You can do this because I'm here" so strong that I can not doubt.

No, this cup will not pass, it can not, but I am never alone.

And I'll just have to hold on to that.

Tom Turkey Twenty Thirteen

I can't quite get over this picture. It's AWFUL and it's the very best I could get. Miriam was exhausted. The kids were desperate to move past being thankful and start eating the brownies we had as a Family Home Evening treat, and everyone kept being crazy.

But, the reality is, life aint perfect. So be it. All five are in the picture. 4/5 are looking in the general direction of the camera, only one kid is naked... I mean, I can't do much more than that, right?

If you aren't familiar with Tom Turkey, then see below, because we LOVE Tom, and he's just very important to our family.

Each year, we build his tail writing "thankful feathers" each evening, with things for which we are thankful on each feather. It's a grand tradition, and I get excited about dear old Tom starting mid-October. Thanksgiving is one of my most favorite holidays, not really because of the historical aspects (which are of course important), but because in our home, cultivating gratitude for our blessings is not some annual one-time-event. We are trying so hard to teach our children to be thankful each day, throughout the year. Tom helps us with this.

Anyway, I love it, I love reflecting on the amazing things God has done for our family!

And because it's tradition here is how we've grown over the years:
2012




2011



2010



2009 (The year Tom Turkey came to be!)



We are so blessed. I can not complain. I DO complain, but I shouldn't. My heart was filled with joy tonight as we discussed with our boys the things that we have been given.

God is so good.

28 Acts of Kindness--A Revolution

Do you ever feel that you care so much your heart might tear? 

I do. 

And in the wake of the hideous shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary last Friday, I have felt ill with helplessness. 

Those babies, those heroic teachers... their families...

It hurts so much that it feels personal. 

Because it is. 

It's easy to see our safety as an illusion, created by ourselves, necessary to keep from becoming terrified shut-ins. It's easy to see that it could be any of us at any time. Life is short, and fleeting and humans are fragile. 

It's hard to know what to do. 

Then, Ann Curry presented a great idea: Acts of Kindness in the name of those children lost at Sandy Hook. 

Pass the legacy of love and care on to people in the name of goodness, of hope, of a better tomorrow, however you can, in small ways and tall. 

Someone expanded it to 26 acts and now the hashtags are all over Twitter. 

On Facebook my sister started a group and expanded it to 28, to encompass all the tragic loss that was had that day. 

28. 

Yes, for what better way to fight the evil than to replace it with good? 

Noone can undo what was done, but maybe when you smile at a stranger, hold a door for a mom with her hands full, pop a kind note on someone's windshield, throw a couple of dollars at your favorite cause, maybe a heart or two will be healed. Maybe that person will do the same. 

Maybe a revolution of good can be started, begun all because a young man was broken, broken beyond earthly repair and did the unspeakable. 

The little children and the teachers who lost their lives on December 14th can never be replaced. But maybe if we go outside our comfort zone just a a bit, give a bit more than we normally would, we can gently remind the people of earth that there is so much good. 

So much good. 

More good than evil. 

Let's be better. Let's be kind. Let's be there for one another. 

Let's do our acts of kindness remembering the 28 people who's lives are over, and all those that they left behind, broken-hearted. 

28 acts of kindness for 28 people. 

(Twitter hashtags are: #20Acts, #26Acts, #26ActsofKindess)

(Facebook group here.)

Join the revolution. 

You are Not Alone

I am hesitant to write this because it isn't my story.

But, I am haunted and sad and I feel like I MUST. So I will.

A roommate and friend from college lost her 15 month old baby this weekend in an accident. Just an every day bonk on the head. And then he was gone.

I can't grasp the pain, sorrow and all the other things she, her husband and family must be feeling.

And I can't even TRY. The reality that she is feeling it is so hard to think about and to bare that I cry just if it flits passed my consciousness.

But in all this, the Savior is with them. It's evident in the way she is handling it. I am amazed. I am in awe.  And I'm so thankful for a Father in Heaven who is ever mindful of His children.

I've never been one to blame God for bad things. No, I don't believe that's how it works. He sends us to earth, a place where choices can be made, where science and biology exist. Basically, where CRAP happens. Yes, sometimes I believe He intervenes and sometimes, (most times) He lets it all play out. He loves us as perfectly as God can. He is the perfect parent. He lets us struggle and learn and grow and complain to Him.

And so, we accept the sorrow with the joy.

My friend has demonstrated this so perfectly that I can't help but look on in utter amazement. She and her husband are grieving, deeply. But they are not alone. And they know it.

And this weekend has literally changed me. I can't be the same person I ever was before. Earth life is so fleeting, so quick. And I find that I am terribly aware of it now. I can't care about the stupid little frustrations like I did before Saturday. They are NOT important.

What is important is that we love, we live, we care for those we can with the best in us. And when we  fail (of course we fail) we can pray and try again. God is just that merciful, there is always always redemption. And He carries us when the earthly life we volunteered for becomes too much. Too painful. He reminds us, that we are not alone. Through comfort and peace we feel, through the service of other people, and sometimes through the literal support of angels.

I am so grateful for that knowledge, that in this beautiful, terrible, blessed life, no matter what trials come, we are not alone. The Savior who has borne our griefs and knows us better than we know ourselves stands at the ready to buoy us up. He has been there, He has done that. He knows.

He knows.

Say a prayer for my friend and her family today if you get a chance. Send up a prayer that they'll be carried and comforted in this time of unspeakable challenge and trial.

Thanks friend. Thank you.

The 12 Days of Christmas, with a Twist

From December 2011

(This picture has nothing to do with anything. Just more proof of Ezra's insane destructive power!)

I've been mulling over my Christmas spirit these past days.

You see, I don't feel Grinchy, or Scoogy.

I don't feel quite on the Buddy the Elf level either.

I'm sort of...happy but uncomfortable. The season has just begun, and I'm glad I have time to sort of ease into it all. My decor is ated, my cookies have been begun baking, "The Polar Express" station is cranked, and our Advent is off with a bang.

And I'm settled in a place of discomfort.

We as a DerekandMorgan are trying to avoid commercialism as much as possible this year. This translates to few gifts and at this point, none purchased from "Big Box Stores."

But does buying gifts from somewhere other than Walmart assure the spirit of Christmas is alive and well  in our home?

No. It does guarantee that the Ghost of Walmart Christmas Past is kept away this year, but that's all,. Besides, where else will I get stocking stuffers?

So, we adopted a Senior off the Angel Tree. Her name is Nancy and she's 82. Goodness I love her. I don't know her at all. And I never will. But I love her. On her Christmas list this year: a wall calendar, barrettes, shampoo, lotion and perfume.

Do you see why I love her?

That helped break me out of my Christmas-Spirit-Discomfort, but no. I'm not *there* yet. I'm not spreading Christmas cheer yet.

This year has been HARD. Wonderful, fulfilling, challenging, beautiful and hard.

And I've been selfish, sort of wrapped up in "My life is this" and "My life is that," and all I can conclude is that I gotta give more than receive.

God has blessed me and children and my husband immeasurably in the last year. Truly my cup overflows with the bounty we've received.

And it's not even remotely financial in it's goodness. Meaning, I want to give, but we got NOTHIN' to give.

Instead, we've got Nancy, our angel, and we've got some time between now and Christmas.

Thus the 12 Days of Service was born.

We (as a family) will be spending the days from December 13th to December 24th engaging in some act of service every single day.

No, these are not projects that take all day, and again, with finances being so very tight, we're looking at non-costly options.

Here are the things we'll be doing (one each day):

Ding Dong Ditch an elder neighbor with a basket of goodies
Leave a Christmas greeting card on a stranger's windshield
Grab your change jar and hit as many Salvation Army buckets as you can find around town
Have your kids each pick something from the toy box to donate on Freecycle or Craigslist.
Make cookies for your garbage man.
Clean up the trash on our street (there really isn't much, but we're gonna do it anyway)
Invite a friend (or friends) over to give their mom a few free hours
Everywhere we go today, hold the door for people
Pay for some of someone's stuff behind you in line.
Make cookies for the fire station near your house
Write letters to your great grandparents
Send a Christmas card to a solider
Donate some canned food to a food drive

So, we'll put all the ideas in a jar, and each day pull one out. We'll talk about how this is helping us to remember Jesus and that at Christmas, service is a good way to share Christ's love for people.

I'm not sure I can convey to you HOW excited I am about this idea. My children love to help people and serve, and so to give them a little guidance will help them really get into it. Oh it's going to be so fun.

So, there ya go, our 12 Days of Service.

Help yourself should you want to get in on the action. Please see the Random Acts of Kindness website for ideas.

What I want.

This is post is vague, and has no specifics. Just be aware, life is fluid, things are changing, and Derek and I are trying to make wise choices because of it. 


Choices, regardless of the why or the reason, are painful. I have heard people say, "Oh but be grateful you have the choices to make!!!" Okay, fine. I'm glad and all.

Except when I don't really like any of my choices. I feel a bit like my children, when I offer "Peanut butter and Jelly" or "Turkey sandwich" and Henry replies, "McDonalds". Sorry Dude, that is NOT an option.

So I'm all jumping around, begging for what I want. PLEASE, Heavenly Father, let us go to (proverbial) MikeyDees! PLEASE!

And He, in His ever kind, gentle, and all-knowing ways tells me, so nicely, "No sweet child. That is NOT an option. You can have peanut butter and jelly or turkey. Now choose." (He tends to leave off the "or I'll choose for you", that I am ever so famous for uttering.)

And I must think that our Father, who created me, and loves me more than I can fathom (even as a parent myself) must be far more patient than I, because when I stomp my foot, and complain and whine and say, "But I'm tired, but I don't want to, why can't you do it for me?" He doesn't even sigh, or get snippy. He just ever-so-kindly waits for me to get my act together and quit acting like a baby.

And isn't it lovely? To know that all the while, among all my complaining and begging for divine help, He's happy to provide it. We've just got to ask.

So, I'm asking. And asking. And complaining. And wishing. And asking.

And He's there. Always there.

Quickie for a Monday

“As you create a home, don’t get distracted with a lot of things that have no meaning for you or your family. Don’t dwell on your failures, but think about your successes. Have joy in your home. Have joy in your children. Have joy in your husband. Be grateful for the journey.” (Marjorie Pay Hinckley)


Wow, do I ever love this quote.

In summary: Have joy, Be grateful, don't be distracted.

I gotta run, folks. The internet is distracting me.