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!!!


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:


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.


Where we come every day…


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.



Today is a waiting day.

We sit. We wait. We get an update. David hits a goal. We wait some more.

It’s been a long day. The surgery scheduled for noon was moved to 9am and we rushed to get here to see him. We waited with him until they took him to pre-op. Then we waited as a large family unit sprawled across a section of the waiting room. We got updates along the way– always positive– and waited some more. The group dwindled, but still we waited.

David is currently in recovery in the ICU. His breathing tube was just removed, but he isn’t awake yet. I think we’re all just wanting to see him awake before we go home tonight. Brian and I sit in the waiting room while Karen and Sarah sit with David. The hospital is quiet– it’s late and things move slower now.

I’ve watched Brian and Sarah as their father goes through all of this. They’ve been through so much in the past 18 months– and hospital visits have not been positive experiences for them. They struggle to remain positive and to remember that this is a different situation, when parts of it feel so familiar.

These are the people who are supposed to be taking care of us and watching over us– when did we get old enough that the roles began to reverse? These are our big, strong giants. These are our heros. And now our heros are vulnerable and need us to be the strong ones.

So, we wait. We wait for David to come out of the haze of the plethora of drugs within him and to let us see his strength. And the children within us wait to see a glimpse of that big, strong hero. Please keep praying.

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 🙂


My skilled driver 🙂


His goofy sidekick 🙂


Lola– SO ready to be there!!!

The plan for today

I had a plan for today.

I had an amazing plan. I was going to unpack the suitcases and boxes in the dresser and closet. Our bedroom floor would finally be clear of my personal debris and I would no longer be looking for work clothes in boxes in the morning, but rather, in the closet like a normal human being.

Brian had a plan for today.

Brian was going to get his garage back. He was going to break down all of the gift boxes and packages and prepare it for the recycle pickup. He was also going to get the Salvation Army to finally return his call and set up a pickup. He would no longer be parking in the guest parking, but rather, in his own garage.

Our day began like any other Saturday.

We whispered to each other as we woke up. We told each other about our crazy dreams and snuggled. And then the conversation moved to God. I confessed to Brian that God had been working on my heart to surrender everything to Him and that I was scared to do so. Brian and I talked about what it is like to love and submit to a sovereign God. Then we got up.

Brian checked his phone.

He had missed a call from his mother… a call about his dad… a call that said that the doctors were investigating his heart and may need to take action. Brian returned the call to find out that his dad would need heart surgery.

Our plans went out the window in an instant. Who cares about clothing in dressers or boxes in recycle bins? This is family. This is what matters.

We snapped into action, thinking we would be leaving for Tulsa immediately. Clothes were flung into the washer, plans were tweaked, new plans for the day were negotiated. As I worked relentlessly to wash everything Brian owns, we found out that the surgery would not happen until Monday. Plans changed again. They changed several times today.

Today was a strange day, though simultaneously glorious. Brian and I joke about being “Team Lundin” but today, I saw us in action. We are a team– and a pretty good one at that.

Brian’s dad is doing alright at the moment. We will leave tomorrow after the early service at church and head to Tulsa. I will return Monday night on a plane and Brian will drive back later. This is the current plan, though we know that plans change.

This is one of our first challenges as man and wife. I say “our” even though I can’t even fathom what Brian is going through at the moment. He has an amazing perspective on the entire thing– this is the BEST way that this issue in his father’s body could be discovered, and now he is going in with the BEST surgeon in the city with great odds on his side. Brian is able to see that this is actually a blessing in a tragedy’s disguise.

So, tomorrow our little team heads up to Tulsa (yes– Lola, too!) to be there for the surgery on Monday. But plans change. Ours do, but God’s plans do not– and we hold tight to that promise.


Here is the update on the Lindsey’s first hospital visit post:

We got the results of my bone marrow biopsy last night and though there are abnormalities  (we all know I’m a little “different” 😉 ), I do not have the any of the scary possible outcomes. I most likely have a manageable blood condition, though I will know more when we go in on Monday to speak with my hematologist. He’ll also talk to us about how we’ll proceed from here.

This is a relief and a blessing, and I am so grateful for all of the prayers and support. God has been so present through the entire thing and He told me that even if there was a scary outcome, everything would still be alright. And, as you all know, I can’t say enough about my husband…

A firm foundation

Yesterday Lindsey wrote about her visit to the hospital and the biopsy, and if you have not read that yet, you should. It’s a great read. Tonight when I sat down to post I was very tempted to not write about this as well, because she did such a good job with it. But, I do have thoughts on one point I’d like to submit to the interwebs.

What is the first word you thought of when you read those 3 words (bone marrow biopsy) in her post? Did it start with an ‘L’? Or more likely a ‘C’? Yeah, us too.

A bone marrow biopsy is no small thing. Sure, they happen every day and many, many people go through them with little to no ill effects other than some localized intense pain. It’s really a miracle of modern diagnostic medicine that we can learn so much from a procedure that is so advanced, yet is now simple for the doctors. But for reasons that have nothing to do with the procedure itself, it is still no small thing.

So when Lindsey’s doctor said those 3 scary words to us at an appointment a few weeks ago I was worried immediately. He explained that this test was simply to rule out several possible diagnoses and a “negative” would confirm his current thoughts. That took some of the fear out of it, but still he did acknowledge that there are some scary, but remote, possibilities out there.

But yesterday there was no fear, and there is no fear now while we wait. Why? It is quite simple. Over the last year the Lord has made something more and more clear to Lindsey and me. He is with us, He provides for us, He is our comfort, and most of all, His will is good. My favorite verses in the Bible are Romans 8:28-30. They bring me comfort and joy at all times and they are verses that Lindsey and I are building our marriage on.

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

Romans 8:28

This truth is what we looked to yesterday. This is our firm foundation.

Lindsey’s first hospital visit

We survived our first medical adventure today.

I’ve been seeing a hematologist since January for a plummeting platelet count. I’ve gone through countless blood tests and labs as he has searched for the cause. He’s pretty sure I have a certain blood disorder and in order to confirm this, he scheduled a bone marrow biopsy.

“Biopsy” is a scary word and we’ve worked hard to keep it from being scary in our house. This whole thing is to confirm a very non-scary diagnosis. Yes, it could result in a new finding, but that would be EXTREMELY rare. Results on the scary stuff are almost immediate and other tests that involve cultures being grown will take 7-10 days to get back.

Today was the biopsy (don’t shudder– remember, NOT scary). We woke up early this morning and drove down to St. David’s South Austin. Brian refrained from making coffee and ate in solitude trying to avoid causing temptation or jealousy on my part. On the drive down, B put on Austin Stone’s new worship album and we sang along as we drove through the darkness. He stayed by my side through it all– registration, application of the rather attractive gown and rubber soled socks (see below), IV, medical history, and procedure explanations.

Finally, my platelet level was deemed okay for the procedure and it was time to go. Having not been a patient in a hospital since birth, being wheeled in a hospital bed was a strange experience. Brian and Jimmie, my CT Tech, talked about The Beatles as Nurse Natalie guided the bed to the procedure room. After entering the room and explaining the machines and layout to us, Brian kissed me goodbye and went back to the Short Stay waiting area.

The set-up took a long time. I was eager for the sedative, but had to wait. I was hooked up to several machines with tubes and lines and sensors everywhere. The staff was wonderful and so very friendly. They kept checking on me and chatting me up to keep me calm. Finally, the doctor arrived. Nine minutes later, it was over. Really. I remember thinking “oh, the sedative must be working” and then feeling some sharp stings and a great deal of pressure on my lower back, but I wasn’t even cognizant enough to vocalize on the pain. Then, they wheeled me back to my Brian.

Brian was all smiles. He was standing beside the breakfast he had ordered for me– fruit and yogurt, and bacon– he loves me! I had to hang out for another hour to be observed post-sedation and to make sure I was fine. Brian and I chatted and joked. And then true to its name, four hours after I was admitted into Short Stay, I was discharged.

Brian nursed me all afternoon. After my nap, I started running around the house, since the Vicodin was telling me that I felt fine. I’m not a great patient– in the sense that I want to do more than I should before I am able. B had to get a little stern with me to keep me on the couch. We played Scrabble (I won), and he made me a beautiful dinner. I’m spoiled and I know it 🙂

I’m feeling okay– taking Vicodin and moving slowly. The extraction site hurts and will bleed if I move around too much.  I should be fine by tomorrow, with minimal pain.

Brian and I spent some time in prayer tonight at the kitchen table after dinner. We thanked God for walking with us through today, for providing amazing people to take care of me, and we placed the results in His hands– asking Him to prepare us for whatever they may be. After we prayed, I looked up at Brian and excitedly stated, “I love you.”

Today should not have been fun, but it was. I know that sounds crazy, but besides the pain– it was a great day. I have this strong, confident man beside me through the scary stuff, a sweet, caring man to be there through the painful stuff, and a devout leader to walk beside me for life. I am blessed beyond measure.

Playing on the iPad while waiting for blood test results