Me, Myself and Mommy

About this time in 2004, Steve and I first started dating hanging out. The beginning of our relationship friendship was not about being a couple, so I didn’t keep up with exact dates of our milestones. We were both still recovering from breakups, and were not ready to give up our independence. However, we had both found something in each other that we desperately needed at that time in our lives, someone we found freedom and safety in, someone who shared the same burning desire to magnify this time on Earth.

By the way, we both denied any real feelings of love for each other until Springish 2006. It was safer that way.

Steve and I met through work. It was 100% against office policy to date coworkers, so the beginning of our “relationship” had to be kept secret. A lot of the time we spent together was at my apartment, Steve’s design studio, or anywhere else we wouldn’t get caught. While I was cooking dinner, or Steve was designing chairs and vacuum cleaners, we would read to each other from The Complete Life’s Little Instruction Book by H. Jackson Brown Jr.

We spent a lot of time with this book. We would read a few lines, and then talk about them for hours. It spawned many thoughtful and inspiring conversations that made our later nights even later.

The video below has excerpts from the book. I get voicemails from my mom that say exactly what #511 says – nothing more, just that.

If you don’t already own a copy of The Complete Life’s Little Instruction Book, I strongly encourage you to get one, and to give a copy to someone who is approaching a major milestone like graduation, marriage or a career change.

And, since we are taking a trip down memory lane, here is the first picture that was ever taken of Steve and I together…

To get a full idea of what is going on you should start with these…
The Miscarriage – Part 1: The Loss
The Miscarriage – Part 2: Waiting to Move On

After waiting for what felt an eternity, Wednesday came. Tuesdays used to be my least favorite day of the week, but I can tell you that Wednesdays are slowly creeping up there.

Prior to my doctor’s appointment, I had to go to the hospital lab for more blood work. I wish I could tell you that I am getting used to needles, but I can’t. I’d still rather have a vampire suck the blood out of me, or mosquitoes, or leeches, any will do.

The doctor’s appointment went mostly OK. I say mostly because the very invasive ultrasound hurt a phenomenal amount compared to the one I had a week ago. I made noises that puppies make when you step on their tales – yes it was that bad. Yelping aside, the ultrasound showed that my right ovary was shrinking. My HCG levels had also dropped by half over the last week. The shot of chemo was working.

The doctor was very pleased with the progress we had made over the past week. The medicine was working. However, until the HCG level is untraceable and the ovary returns to the normal size, there is always a risk of the mass rupturing. Therefore, I was to stay (mostly) off my feet, lift nothing more than five pounds, no driving, and be watched 24/7.

Steve and I were relieved. Our chances for preserving 100% of our fertility were improving. We went out to lunch to take a deep breath.

The day moved on as expected. I was drained, but that had become my normal. I take a shower, then nap. I go the doctor, then nap. I eat a meal, then nap.

As evening set in, things began to change.

I began to notice pain in my pelvic floor area. It mostly hurt when I would transition from standing, to sitting, to lying down, or vice versa. I just assumed the ultrasound may have irritated the area. I took one of my super pain pills. As the evening progressed, it got worse, and it spread all the way to my bellybutton. It began to hurt when I peed. The only way I know how to describe the pain is to relate it back to how it felt to pee after giving birth times a hundred. I’m not talking about a it burns when you pee kind of pain either.  It was that feeling of never wanting to pee again because it hurt too much to use the muscles that control your bladder. I took another super pain pill. It got worse. It began to hurt when I wasn’t moving. It brought me to tears when I felt gas bubbles passing through my intestines. I knew that I needed to use the bathroom, and thought maybe it would help relieve the pain if I did go. How-ever, it killed me to pee, so there was no way, I mean NO WAY, I was going to do THAT.

I surrendered. Steve called the doctor. Thank God, my doctor was the one on call for the night.

The doctor and I talked for awhile. Based on the location of my pain, and the way I was describing it, he felt it was important for me to get checked ASAP. That meant going to Stonewall Jackson Hospital (the dreaded local hospital) because Augusta Health was 45 minutes away.

I tried to tell Steve that I was feeling much better, and that we should just go to Agusta. Better yet, I should just take another super pain pill (probably getting close to an overdose) and see how things are in the morning. He said no.

On the way to the hospital I kept asking Steve, “What if this is all because I have to poop? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this would be? Do you have any idea how expensive this poop would be?” I really felt that we would get there and wait forever to find out that all I need is a laxative.

At about 10:00PM, I waddled into the ER hunched over, holding my crotch. I got a lot of sideways stairs, but I didn’t care. It felt so much better to hold things up when I had to stand and walk. Steve told the lady behind the desk what is going on. She looked at me and goes, “should we get you a wheel chair?” YES.

Steve took care of the paper work while the triage nurse checked me out. I informed her that if I seem drunk, it’s because I’ve taken too many super pain pills. I told her that I needed my blood checked, and an ultrasound as soon as possible. That is when this Wednesday night went from bad to worse…

Nurse: “We can’t do an ultrasound until in the morning.”
Steve and I: “What!?”
Nurse: “We don’t have anyone on staff to do one after hours.”
Me: “Steve, call my doctor. We need to leave and go to Augusta now.”
Nurse: “Well just wait. We may be able to call someone in. You can’t leave. You don’t know if you have internal bleeding.”
Me: “Steve, I need a Coke.”
Nurse: “You can’t have anything to eat or drink until we know what is going on.”
Me: I knew I should have made Steve stop at McDonald’s before we came.

We should have gotten up and left then. I was able to hold my crotch and waddle in, so why couldn’t I waddle back out?

We were taken back to a room, and I was given a gown to change into.

I wanted to try to use the bathroom. I was not about to spend the night in that place if all I had to do was poop. I made Steve come with me in case I needed to be picked up off the floor. (You know you are delirious with pain when you ask your significant other to come with you while you try to poop.) I sat down on the toilet, and tried to let my muscles relax into the natural pooping position. Huge mistake. The pain was indescribable. You know, I didn’t even feel the pain anymore. I got hot, and instantly started sweating. The room was spinning. I couldn’t talk straight. I never understood when people used the phrase, “I almost passed out from the pain,” but boy do I get it now.

I made it to the bed, and I even found an almost comfortable position to lie in. My new nurse brought me warm blankets and some amazing pain killers. I even talked her into bringing me some ice chips. Our secret. Man those ice chips were delicious.

Random observation – I was never hooked up to any monitors while in the ER. I thought that since I was possibly bleeding internally that it would be important to monitor my heart rate and such. Guess not.

The doctor came in and asked some questions. Poked around, “Does this hurt?” YES GENIUS. He said he’d have to call in one of the local OBGYNs to get a second opinion. I told him his second opinion could be my doctor. He was on call tonight, and knew what I had been going through the past few weeks.

He came back about half an hour later. He had talked to my doctor. He told ER Doctor to check my iron level. (We later find out that my doctor was furious that they hadn’t already check my iron level to see if I was loosing blood.) Depending on my iron level, I would be transported to Augusta where my doctor could take care of me.

Around 1:00AM the doctor comes  back with the results of the blood test. (I really want to know why people were taking their sweet time, when I had been told a hundred times that if the ectopic pregnancy ruptures it could be life threatening.) The test showed signs of blood loss, but the iron level was high enough that I could go to Augusta. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

We asked if Steve could drive me. The doctor said no, it had to be by ambulance in case things got worse on the way, but here’s the kicker. Stonewall Jackson Hospital does not transport patients to other medical facilities after 10:00PM.  All of Augusta’s ambulances were already transporting patients, so I had to wait an hour for an ambulance to come pick me from another hospital. IT ONLY TAKES 45 MINUTES TO GET TO AUGUSTA FROM SJH.

I just want to point out again that I am still not hooked up to any monitors, and I am loosing blood. I could have passed out, gone into shock, died and no one would have known.

At about 2:00AM the transport team arrived. They loaded me up. I kissed Steve goodbye, and he headed to Augusta.

Before we pulled away from the hospital, the medics hooked me up to a monitor (finally) and checked my vitals. The medic looked at my heart rate, then looked at me, and then at the heart rate, and then at me. My heart rate was at about 140. I am a trained EMT and know that 140 is NOT a safe place to hang out at. However, the medic assured me that she was comfortable with it, and that the stress of the evening was the culprit.

I have been on the back of an ambulance several times before, but never as the patient. I am not a good passenger in a car, much less in a vehicle where I am traveling in reverse, flat on my back. Yes, the stress was spiking my heart rate. I could feel every bump in the road. The wind was blowing, and it was raining. My mind began to wander to dark places… Is the driver alert? It’s really late at night. I would really feel much better if the medics were talking. How much is the ambulance ride going to cost me? How much is this whole shebang going to cost me? Keep breathing. Think of the waves. Calm your heart rate down.

When we got close to the hospital, the medics turned off the lights in the back of the ambulance so no one could see inside. It was to protect my privacy. For a split second, I felt like a celebrity who had partied to hard or was having a mental breakdown.

We pulled up to Augusta. It was 3:00AM, five hours after I had waddled into SJH holding my crotch.

To be continued in…
The Miscarriage – Part 4: To The OR
The Miscarriage – Part 5: The Post Op
The Miscarriage – Part 6: It Stings a Little

You can read about how this journey began here, The Miscarriage – Part 1: The Loss .

Prior to having the miscarriage, I had made an appointment with a midwife to begin my prenatal care. Steve and I had a lot of question about what had happened and what to expect in the coming weeks and months, so we kept the appointment. All I can say is, thank God we did.

The midwife was kind, informative and showed a lot of concern for us. She answered all of our questions and then some. She asked if we would like to have an ultra sound. We declined because we knew what had happened and didn’t feel that it was necessary. (NOTE: ALWAYS GET THE ULTRASOUND.) As we were about to leave, she said that I would need to have more blood drawn just to make sure that everything was progressing as it should after a miscarriage. My day turned really bad, really quickly. Have I told you yet how much I hate needles?

Two hours before the Labor Day weekend was about to start, I get a phone call from the midwife. “Your blood tests came back. We MIGHT have good news for you. Your HCG level has doubled in the past week.”

There was a moment of silence before I spatter off a lot of short sentences. “How is that “good” news? I had a miscarriage. I know what I saw. Is this a joke? Did the lab screw up? What am I supposed to do now? I’ve moved on. WHAT? ”

Turns out it could be one of about four things. 1: I had twins and lost one. 2: It’s an ectopic pregnancy (a pregnancy outside of the uterus). 3: It’s a molar pregnancy (you are carrying and empty sack, but your body thinks there is a baby). 4: The HCG spiked and are now dropping.

In order to find out which one it is, I needed to have an ultra sound, and more blood drawn (yay). The best news is that this news came as the doctor’s office was about to close for a long weekend. AND, they couldn’t see me until Wednesday because they were overbooked on Tuesday due to the short work week. OH, AND, if I felt any pain at all, I needed to go to the nearest ER because if it’s ectopic and it ruptures, it’s life threatening.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Not only do I learn that I might be pregnant, or that my insides might explode, I have to wait five days to find out which it is. I think it is appropriate to panic at this time.

To spite mother nature, after the miscarriage, I did the following. I stopped taking all vitamins. I took some really good sleeping and pain pills. I horked down some feta cheese, rare beef, blue cheese and a deli sandwich. I also seriously considered drinking a bottle of wine. I refrained, but man it would have been delicious. I am now seriously regretting all of those slightly immature actions.

So for the next several days, I waited. Do you have any idea what that was like? I read into every-little-thing. Am I moody because I’m pregnant, or freaked the crap out? Does my stomach hurt because my insides are about to detonate or because I need to use the bathroom? Do I need to take a nap  because someone is growing inside me or because I was up all night wondering if someone was growing inside me?

I waited for five days to have these questions answered. For those days I did not sleep well, eat well, laugh well, live well. It felt as though someone had pushed the pause button on my life. The rest of the world was moving at a normal clip, but I was stuck waiting. I seriously could not move any part of my life forward without knowing.

Just when I thought life couldn’t move any slower, we arrived at the doctor’s office and they were running 30 minutes behind. I have waited five days, FIVE days, and now you’re telling me I have to wait longer?

We finally make it to the ultrasound with the doctor. He informs me that it will be trans vaginal (yay). He checks the uterus. No baby. We are OK with that because we dealt with our loss last week. He checks the left ovary. Normal. He checks the right ovary. He starts to take a lot of pictures. He measures. He takes more pictures. He measures some more.

It turns out my right ovary is enlarged. This could be because of the recent pregnancy or an ectopic pregnancy. The only way to find out, is to have more blood taken, and I can’t eat in case I need to have emergency surgery.

Great. More waiting. Waiting and starving. At least I know I’m not with child.

We get the blood drawn and return to waiting. Steve and I are both edgy and nervous. Steve’s job is not happy that he will be late to work while we wait to find out of I need surgery.

Two hours later we get the results. The HCG is continuing to rise. That along with the ultrasound confirms the worst. It’s an ectopic pregnancy. The “good” news is that I’m still in the safe range to get a shot of methotrexate (better known as chemo) that will help my body absorb the pregnancy and attempt to preserve the tube. There is always a chance that even with the shot it will rupture.

The doctor leaves so we can talk. I melt into tears. I want to puke. Steve holds me. We talk. We call someone we know who has been through this before. We pray. We decide on the shot.

The doctor says that it is safe for me to get the shot alone (I won’t feel any effects of the drugs for a few days), but after that I must return home and be watched 24/7. If my tube ruptures, it is life or death. I must be rushed to the ER for emergency surgery.

Steve leaves to go to work. Trust me, he had no other choice. I go to the cancer center for a shot in the butt. Alone.

As they are preparing my shot, they inform me they are taking more of my blood. This time it’s multiple tubes of blood. I try to tell them that they have already taken all of my blood, and I have nothing left. They don’t buy it. I then tell them that I’ve not eaten all day (It’s 3:00PM), and that I may pass out. They give me a soda.

I’m crying. I’m freaking out. I’m about to get a shot. A shot of chemo. A shot of chemo in my butt.

As the nurse is shooting this neon green drug into my right cheek, she tells me that it is going to feel like a bolling ball has been shoved in my butt.

Within seconds of getting the shot, the room starts to spin. I start to get very hot. I want to puke. I need to sit down. I start to shake. The nurse informs me that if I pass out, I have to go to the ER. I inform her that I will stay awake if she gets me more soda, and a cold towel. When she leaves, I rip all of the sheets off the hospital bed so I can lay on the cold plastic mattress. I would have ripped off all my clothes, but that may have warranted a trip to the mental ward. I thought you all said that I wouldn’t feel the effects of the drug right away?

My body calms down, and I make it home. I drove on my left butt cheek. I cried all the way home. I called Steve, and told him all about it. I told him I thought I was going to die when they gave me the shot. I may have told him that I hated him for having to leave me, and for not being able to stay home with me while I wait for my insides to not explode.

After I got home, I slept. I slept the rest of the day, and into the next. Waiting is exhausting.

I thought that I would be able to move on with my life after this appointment, but no. I waited five days to be told that I would now have to wait and see if the shot worked. I’d have to do nearly nothing for a week while I waited. No driving, no being home alone, no lifting, no long periods on my feet. I’d have to wait another week to see if I would need surgery, and in the mean time, pray my tube didn’t rupture. I was again waiting on Wednesday to come.

My mom stayed with me until Friday night when Steve returned home from his business trip. She cooked. She took my temperature.  She did dishes. She took my temperature. She cleaned. She took my temperature. She was bored. She took my temperature. She joined our game of waiting. She took my temperature. PS, she’s a nurse.

I spent the week watching awful TV and sleeping. Yes, and waiting.

By Friday my right side was getting tender. I bled a little more than I did before. I was exhausted. I was getting to a very low point. Tearful. Uncomfortable. Helpless. Steve called some of the men in our church to give me a blessing. Of all the things I had been waiting on, I don’t know why I waited so long to ask for help from God. I felt so much better after the blessing.

Sunday I went to church, and to get my blood checked. It was beginning to go down. Finally, a ray of good news.

Monday I experienced the worst lower back pain I have ever known. I imagine it was similar to back labor. When I thought my back muscles were tearing in two, I made Steve call the doctor. The doctor on call felt that it was safe for me to stay home based on my description of the pain and the HCG levels beginning to drop. She asked me what pain killers I had in the house, and told me to take one of each. Not really. She told me which ones were safe to take and at what times to take them.

With the back pain in check, it was back to waiting on Wednesday. Would this Wednesday release me from the prison of my home? Would I finally be able to start seeing my future again? Would I need surgery? Another shot of chemo? Would I be told to keep waiting?

In the coming days I will write about what happens on Wednesday (September 16) in the posts…
The Miscarriage – Part 3: From the ER
The Miscarriage – Part 4: To The OR
The Miscarriage – Part 5: The Post Op
The Miscarriage – Part 6: It Stings a Little

Before you read this…

1. If you are pregnant or just had a baby do not feel guilty or afraid to share your joy with us. We are so happy and excited for you.

2. If you are still struggling with the loss of a pregnancy, proceed with caution. This post may cause your feelings of pain and sorrow to resurface.

3. I am going to share things with you that you are never supposed to say out loud. I ask that you please withhold judgement. Everyone handles the loss of a pregnancy differently. Trust me, this is not at all how I imagined I would respond to a miscarriage.

If you can agree to these things, I invite you to read more about the journey we have been on the past few weeks…

Ever since I stopped taking birth control, my cycle has been unpredictable. However, on August 17, when it got to be more than 30 days since my last period, I was highly suspicious. On top of that, my boobs were hurting and I was having evil outbursts if I went too long in between meals. Why are the signs of pregnancy and PMS the same?

When all signs pointed towards pregnant, I snuck into CVS to buy a home test.

I peed.

It said pregnant.

From the moment it said pregnant, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t have the instant, overwhelming feeling of pregnancy that I felt when I found out I was pregnant with Moanna. Where was the gross, on the verge of throwing up, pregnant feeling? Why aren’t I glowing with excitement?… Back up… I was excited, but not “I’m having a baby” excited. I was afraid. I knew something was not OK. I knew not to get attached. I just knew…

The next few days, I worked a lot. I worked more than someone who is pregnant should work. Most of the time I forgot I was pregnant. When I did remember that I was pregnant, it was when I was with Steve. We would talk about our growing family, and how excited we were for Moanna to have a little brother or sister. Still no pregnant lady queasies, but the narcolepsy was undeniable.

A week after the stick said pregnant, we were all playing on the couch before Moanna’s bedtime when I felt something. Period cramps. Not pregnant cramps. Period cramps. I could feel the difference. I went to the bathroom and found that I was spotting the slightest bit. Out of everything that was running through my mind, the one thing that was clear was, “I don’t want to tell Steve. I don’t want to hurt him.”

I told Steve, and he held me. He held me until I was ready to let go. What about his pain? His sadness? His questions? He didn’t seem to care. He just held me. He held me until I let go.

Steve helped me to bed, and then found his way to the computer to do research. He learned that unless you are bleeding heavily or are in intense pain, it’s best to stay home until the doctor’s office is open. His research also said many women bleed when they are pregnant and everything is OK, but I knew this was not OK. I knew when the stick said pregnant.

The next morning we went to our family doctor (the OBGYN is 45 minutes away). The doctor checked me out, and said that the only way to know for sure is to get a Quantitative HCG test today, and again in five days to compare. If it is a normal pregnancy, the numbers should go up. If something is wrong, the numbers will go down or not rise enough. The other option is to have an ultrasound. It is expensive, but may give you answers more quickly. To save money, we passed on the ultra sound. (NOTE: ALWAYS GET THE ULTRASOUND.) Until then, the only thing you can do is wait and see if something changes.

The next morning, something changed. I went to the bathroom and noticed a little more blood. I happened to glance down just before flushing, and there it was. I did not expect it to be so obvious. There it was.  I was face-to-face with what used to be my future.

I didn’t know what to do, so I called Steve into the bathroom. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get past the shock without him. Maybe it was important for him to see it? Maybe he could verbalize the things that I thought I should be feeling in this moment? Part of me felt really morbid for wanting to show Steve, but I had no idea what you are supposed to do when this happens.

I showed Steve, and he held me. This time he was shaking. He held me and he shook. Eventually we found our way to the bathroom floor. We sat there for a long time. Silent. Empty. Blank.

If I didn’t have to pee, we may have sat there all day. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. It was time to move on. It was time to move past the silence. Steve left me alone. I stood up and peered into the toilet. I don’t know why, but I studied it for a few minutes. I wanted to really look at, to really see it. I took a deep breath and flushed. That was it. It was gone.

Is it totally messed up that I thought of flushing a goldfish down the toilet? Should I have said a prayer first? Would it have been more appropriate to bury it in the back yard? Is it bizarre that I scrubbed the toilet? Should I have taken it to the doctor? Crazy, huh? Those are the thoughts that I had in that moment. And,  yes, I cleaned the toilet inside and out before I peed. It felt wrong not to.

Steve had to go to work and face his day as though nothing had happened. I stayed home and waited. I waited for the intense pain and severe bleeding. It never came. I waited for the overwhelming feeling of loss and sorrow. It never came. What is wrong with me? Why aren’t I devastated? Is it because I knew all along that it wasn’t safe to get attached? Am I heartless?

A few days later, I found it in myself to come clean to Steve. I asked him all of the questions that I had been asking myself. I said all of them out loud. I noticed I was afraid of my own voice. I was afraid of what I might say. I told him everything. I even told him about the goldfish. He said it was OK. He had thought about it too.

We talked for awhile. We agreed that we both felt very differently from what we had imagined we would feel when faced with losing a pregnancy. Steve thought he would be angry beyond comprehension. I was expecting to feel pain that I have felt when someone I loved died. We are sad, but are at peace. The most upsetting part has been knowing that we must wait even longer before our family can grow. Through this we have learned that we are even more excited about giving Moanna a littler brother or sister than we originally thought. We believe that all things in life happen for a reason, and that God has plans for us and our family. We trust that our life is going to take us to exactly where we are supposed to go. Among many other things, this has reminded us that we have an amazing family and amazing friends. For that alone, we are grateful for the blessings of this experience.

Unfortunately, this miscarriage has been very drawn out, and has brought many physical complications. Please look for the following posts in the coming days…
The Miscarriage – Part 2: Waiting to Move On
The Miscarriage – Part 3: From the ER
The Miscarriage – Part 4: To The OR
The Miscarriage – Part 5: The Post Op
The Miscarriage – Part 6: It Stings a Little

As you may recall, at the end of July, I was very hesitant to begin my August. To some degree those cold feet were justified, but for the most part August was OK. Now that this month is half over, it is hard to reflect back on August. It’s all a bit hazy, clouded by September. I will do my best to look back at August without allowing recent events to alter my memories too much.

August began, and I was still enjoying my first “real” vacation since beginning my current job over a year and a half ago. Sure, I’d had a few days off hear and there, but they were spent scurrying to get ready for a holiday or our wedding, or they were spent sick. This is the first time I had two weeks off uninterrupted – almost. I spent that time embracing the opportunity to rest, reflect and clean my home. I began crying days before I had to return to work. That is how much I enjoyed cooking, couponing, shopping and cleaning for my family. I was not ready to leave my stay-at-home fantasy and return to my corporate self.

Moanna spent the first few weeks of August in Maryland with Steve’s parents. She came home with longer hair, manners, no binki and doing a great job on the potty. I swear, we are going to send her up there when she is three or four and she is going to come home with a cellphone and training-bra. She changes so much in just a few weeks time.

With Mo gone, Steve and I were able to spend guiltless time together. We went on a couple of great dates, and conquered a few big projects at home. It was nice to do grownup things wihtout feeling guilty for not spending that free time with the munchkin.

On August 21, Steve and I went in opposite directions for the weekend. Steve headed to Maryland to pick up Mo, and to spend some time with his parents. He sent me a text message late that night that said, “Moanna has not stopped talking since I walked in the door.” I wonder where she got that from? STEVE. I headed South to Chapel Hill to attend Johanna’s wedding (I call her Jodi – it is lovingly short for Johanna Dits). My senior year of high school she took me on her family vacation to Hawaii. It is by far one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, and where Moanna’s   name comes from. Moanna means ocean in Hawaiian.  She is one of my best friends, and it was so great to spend the day celebrating with her and her family.

On a sad note. Mid August, Steve and I found out that I was pregnant. We were excited to know that our family was growing. However, just over a week later I had a miscarriage (the bad day I have referred to a few times in recent posts). Amazingly enough, we were not devastated in the way we both imagined we would be when put in this situation. We are sad, but accept it as part of God’s plan. I am still dealing with physical complications from the miscarriage, but I promise to share the whole story when things start to calm down.

Thankfully, a few days after the miscarriage, we were able to spend the last weekend of August with family. On Saturday, we went to the Lexington Community Festival where we met up with my Mom and youngest brother, Evan. It was nice to get out of the house for a few hours and be around people and sunshine. The next day, my very Greek Dad and his wife Janet came to visit. We had not seen them since December, just before Dad’s liver transplant. It was the first time Pappous and Yiayia (Grandpa and Grandma in Greek)  really had the chance to spend time with Moanna. Pappous was very excited that he and Mo were able to play with dump trucks and race cars instead of dolls and makeup.

Despite our loss, we truly feel blessed that August allowed us to spend quality time with family and friends. We were given the opportunity to realize what is really important to us, and what this life is all about. It may seem like a set back, but ultimately August has pushed us forward and closer together.