Out of whack and minor victories

I don’t feel well, and if I’m honest, I haven’t in a couple of weeks.

I don’t handle not feeling well very well either. Here’s my method: I decide that rather than feel bad, I will ignore it and continue on with life until it goes away. I mean, when you think about it– I have my vision, hearing, voice, appendages, phalanges, and relative health– so why whine about some minor pains or fatigue when some people have actual health issues and/or maladies. I shrug it off and trudge forward.

That is, until I can’t.

And I hate it when I can’t.

I don’t know if I’m ill or if my blood is out of whack again. I keep trying to do things and I just don’t have the energy to do them. Sometimes my brain is affected by this fatigue as well. And then there’s the low body temperature I keep having. Ugh.

PS– Don’t plug your symptoms into WebMD… ever! That site will convince you that you’re dying. A better remedy is to seek actual medical care, which I’m doing tomorrow.

I’m frustrated and discouraged, but I need to remember that seeing the hematologist is a good thing– he made me feel better before 🙂

On a more positive note, I’ve had some minor victories in the past couple of days in spite of  not feeling well. Victory #1: I finally got every single wedding gift OUT of the dining room! No longer are there gifts in piles lining the walls. It only took me 11 months… Victory #2: I got the downstairs looking respectable for the first time in a few months– and we can potentially invite people into our home once again without being mortified! Woohoo! I know these two things don’t resonate the same way for any of you, but in this newlywed’s life– they’re pretty, stinkin’ awesome!

Here’s a peek at my favorite new thing in my dining room– so cute!!!

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Cedar isn’t good for my marriage

Seething at cedar, angry at allergies, and pissed at pollen. Ugh!

Yes, yes– I’ve already told you all that we’re suffering from cedar fever. But it’s just that today I really began the suffering part. I had been tolerating the stuff for a week, controlling the situation with my tried and true regiment. But today, the game changed.

I’m a sniffling, sneezing, coughing, red-nosed, nasal-sounding, runny nosed, cranky mess. And I work with children. They handled me well, though my patience wore thin during the morning pledges.

Actually, the patience thing has been true at home for several days– for both of us. We’ve been quick to criticize, low on the grace, and apt towards anger all week. That’s not like us. I didn’t realize it until today.

When I get tired and worn out, I refer to my change in attitude as my “sugar coating wearing off”. My husband never does have a sugar coating. He’s blunt when he’s polite. But there’s his polite-blunt, his matter-of-fact-blunt, and his blunt-blunt. It’s been a blunt-blunt week.

We’ve had tiffs over some of the dumbest stuff, and we aren’t giving each other an inch. And I’m fairly certain the foggy heads, loads of meds, and lack of solid sleep deserve the blame. But cedar season has only just begun. We can’t keep this up– it’s no fun. I want my sweet marriage back!

So, pollen– here’s the deal: my husband and I are on the same team. You will NOT divide us. We are united against you– and we will annihilate you! You may have made some headway by causing a shortage of 24 hour Sudafed within a reasonable radius of my home… but I’m a Texas girl. And everyone knows you don’t mess with Texas!

(Starting to think all the meds are having an affect on my writing ability… hmm. Off to down some Nyquil, stuff some Kleenex plugs in my nose, and try to sleep… )

My sick family

Apparently, I’m the only healthy one left in my little family. Feels like survival of the fittest. The smallest was the first to fall… and then the proudest. Mwahahaha!

But seriously, Lola is doing much better. No more projectile anything (thank GOD!) but she’s still not quite herself– she still needs meds, weird food, and a towel underneath her when she sleeps. Her limp just breaks my heart, but she will heal.

My husband, on the other hand, acts like he’s on death’s doorstep. Actually, that’s not true– he alternates. He’s on death’s doorstep, and then he’s giddy like a schoolgirl. I think it’s when he’s high on the multitude of meds he insists on taking. He has this hydrogen bomb analogy when I talk to him about the amount of meds he’s putting into his body. He keeps whispering something about “scorched earth”. It’s weird over here right now.

Needless to say, Mommy has a glass of wine right now while caring for her beleaguered crew, especially after the day with the munchkins she just had. Great. Now she’s talking about herself in the third person. Maybe she should lay off the wine…

Everyone will be fine. Lola will heal and stop needing to lay on towels and Brian will realize that a cold is not the same as the Grim Reaper, and normalcy shall return.

Since I’ve mocked him relentlessly in these few paragraphs, I should say that Brian really is ill. He’s just not the best patient– and he knows that. But it turns out, he’s a very good caretaker. So, when he heals and I catch whatever he has, I know I’ll be in good (and less sarcastic) hands 😉

Say a prayer for the Lundin household tonight– I’d appreciate it.

The answer-to-prayer day

Last Thursday was a big day: job interview, hematologist appointment, job interview.

I wanted to post about it. I really did. But decisions needed to be made and certain people made aware of those decisions before it would have been appropriate to tell the entire interweb.

Here’s the short version: I got both jobs and great news from the hematologist. It was an answer-to-prayer day of the utmost. I’m still healthy, and the plan my doctor put me on before seems to be the right track. His diagnosis is most likely correct. I have to be monitored still, but not as frequently. And he told us we need to talk to him before we plan to get pregnant (sorry that wasn’t the big news, Mom ;-)). It was a super-quick visit and Brian and I were in and out in record time.

And now for the job news… I’ve been applying for teaching jobs closer to home all summer. And though public school would have been fine, what I really felt called to do was to move to a private Christian school. Up until last week, I’d had one interview that didn’t really go so well. And then Tuesday, I got a call. Then Wednesday, I got another. That’s how the two-interview-in-one-day thing happened.

I’ll give you the details on the coolest interview ever tomorrow– it’s a story in and unto itself. But, I will say here that I took a job with a small private classical Christian school here in Cedar Park. God is magnificent and has provided for me in ways big, small, known, unknown, and everything in between. I’m elated.

And I had to hit the ground running. Summer ended a week early and I’m way behind everyone else. There’s so much to do– and it’s all overwhelming and exciting and overwhelmingly exciting.

Home Run

I’ve had one memory in my head for the last 4 days. I’m around 10 years old, I’m in the dugout at a softball diamond at Haikey Creek Park in Tulsa, and my Dad is at bat. On the first pitch he takes a big cut and the ball leaps out of the park. My Dad hit a lot of home runs playing church league softball, and I saw most of them.

* * *

As I write this late Tuesday night, it’s been roughly 36 hours since my dad was taken away by the hospital staff into the OR for his bypass. Its been a crazy ride.

He is doing well. He looks good and it talking to us, but everyone is still watching him closely. Lots of things can happen right after a surgery, and he has plenty of folks dedicated to making sure none of them do. He is being well taken care of, but that doesn’t eliminate the nerves.

The doctors saw him several times today. There were lots of discussions and questions. Everything is moving in the right direction. We just have to keep praying they continue to do so. We’re praying and waiting. Always waiting.

* * *

Watching my Dad snooze his way through the first few hours of his recovery I could not get the image of him smacking that softball out of the park from my mind. It was so clear, so important.

The red dirt of the infield. Sunflower seeds. Gatorade. Running out to pick up his bat. Giving him a high-five on his way to the dugout. The sickly sweet smell of one of the guys illicit chew. Being asked to go back behind the fence to fetch the ball. Running hard back back because all I wanted was to talk to my Dad about what he just did. Pride in being his son.

Now the task my Dad has ahead of him is tougher than any Baptist softball league game. I know he will work hard and rise to the task at hand because he always has. Over the coming days and weeks I know he will make the pride I felt on that day feel insignificant.

The day after

It’s the day after. Everyone got some much needed sleep last night… everyone but David. David was reawakened every hour last night for some form of treatment or movement or procedure.

He is not himself today. The anestesia has obviously not worn off. He falls asleep between every bite, every interaction, and every dreaded blow on the respiratory torture device.

Everyone just wants to see David awake and to experience some semblance of a normal interaction with him. He is so loved.

Here are some images from the day today:

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Here at St. John’s, Jesus appears a lot. He’s stuck on the cross in every room. I really want to tell someone that He got off.

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Where we come every day…

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Brian coaching David through the respiratory torture device. He was a great cheerleader 🙂

I’m flying back today. My first flight leaves here at 6pm and I found out my second flight is way delayed, so it will be a late night. Brian will stay until later in the week. I wish I could stay, but I’ve already missed so much school this year with my own medical stuff and then the wedding.

I’m learning a lot about being a wife through all of this and I’m sure there will be a future post once I work out all of these thoughts and we remove ourselves a bit from the situation at hand. I’ve seen a few different sides of my husband as well– emotions and reactions that there simply hasn’t been opportunity to display or witness until now. This is all part of the journey.

Please continue to pray for our family and for David’s recovery. We really appreciate your prayers and support.

 

This is not okay

We’re on the road, heading to Tulsa. We’ve been on the road for what feels like forever. I think there’s still some time until we get there. I don’t know if we’ll go to the hospital tonight or not.

It’s dark out, and extra dark as there are no street lights on these stretches of highway. Brian and I are pretty quiet, listening to one of our favorite podcasts, The Tobolowsky Files.

It’s been a tough day. It’s understandable. Brian is under a lot of stress and I35 on a Sunday is a small sampling of what awaits one in hell. I drove the first half of the trek and now sit shotgun. We’re so ready to be there in a way, and yet not in so many others.

In spite of the rest of the day, we did have one priceless moment I can’t help but share with you. We stopped at Braum’s for ice cream– the best thing about road trips to Oklahoma. Brian, as driver, ambitiously selected a hot fudge sundae. I raised an eyebrow, but he assured me that he had the requisite skills for this task.

We drove along enjoying our frozen treats. I deviated from my norm and selected butter pecan– spectacular! I slowly savored each creamy bite, when suddenly, Brian began to scream, “No! No! No! Gross!”

He tugged at his beard and shrieked again. The caramel had dripped from the spoon and created a mortar adhering his beard tightly against his chin. He yelled out, “This is not okay! This is not okay!”

In the moment, I laughed until I choked on my own ice cream. Eventually, I composed myself, wet a napkin with water, the crisis was resolved, and we never even swerved out of our lane. (My husband has mad skills 😉 )

I wish everything else that we’re going through could be resolved as easily. A little water and a napkin, and poof– it’s all better. Brian is right– it’s not okay. None of this is okay. This is his father and it is really scary.

We ask that you pray for the surgery tomorrow, for David and for the doctors, and for our family. Thank you, and we’ll keep you posted. And if you’re reading this tonight, any prayers you can send to make this car ride any faster or less painful would be greatly appreciated 🙂

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My skilled driver 🙂

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His goofy sidekick 🙂

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Lola– SO ready to be there!!!