Sloane.

I love this little girl.

For more, click here.

Sunflowers. And. Wine.

Tom brought home two things to me last night:

1. Sunflowers.

2. A bottle of wine.

One of the two was gone within 30 minutes.

It's been that kind of week.

Playing. Doctor.

Sometimes you wake up in the morning and you realize that everything everyone else around you is saying is just completely wrong.

Because at the end of the day, you are the one who knows you best. You are the one who knows your mind. You are the one who knows your body.

So, yesterday morning, after being truly fed up with my breathing, I called the ENT in Grand Rapids who first diagnosed me with Wegener's. I told him about my breathing troubles, and he fit me in right away...even though, uh, the wait list to see this guy is 4.2 miles long.

I heart him.

Anyways, he simply told me that he disagrees with my doctor in Cleveland. He thinks we should attempt to open my airway some more because (1) he can, and (2) it will improve my quality of life.

Amen!

We also talked about reconstructing my trach scar site so that it isn't quite so horrendous, but we're going to hold off on that for now. Your body apparently doesn't heal as well while you're on Prednisone, so I think I'd rather wait for that time in my life when I have the best chance of this thing healing into something that almost no one ever notices. That will probably be sometime in the year 2012.

So yeah, surgery it is! On my throat, anyways.

I can't wait.

October 26th, sometime in the afternoon.

It's a Tuesday.

And it's 17 days away.

Have I mentioned I'm excited?

I will be able to breathe again for the first time in what seems like a year. 

Oh wait.

It has been a year.

My. Hubba. Hubba. Hubby.

So I'm feeling incredibly sorry for myself today.

Like, gorge myself on a bowl (or two) of carbs kind of sorry.

Since my lung tests came back looking good, and my airway tests came back looking good, my doctor has decided a "no go for launch" on any potential surgery to open up my airway a bit more.

Which means this heavy breathing that I am consistently prone to? This Darth Vader-like sound that people hear when I come down the hallway?

Yeah, it's here to stay.

And I'm feeling pretty fucking sorry for myself.

My breathing is getting worse and worse, and I can't for the life of me understand why. And no one with a medical degree seems interested in finding out the reason, either.

The last ENT I saw basically told me I should consider myself lucky because most Wegener's patients have even more limited space to breathe through.

But when I'm standing at the front of a classroom, gasping for air as I attempt to talk about test-taking strategies and different learning styles, it gets a little hard to truly consider myself lucky.

 

But I will say one thing.

In the midst of this Wegener's-induced hell I have found myself in lately, God has still managed to bless me with two incredibly wonderful people.

One? Thaddeus.

Duh.

But the second one? The one I should be giving more credit to, but rarely do?

My husband.

I could not have been given a better advocate in my time of need. You could not find a stronger rock. You could not find a more solid support system.

Tom will spend an entire day with Thaddeus while I am in school, or at work, or just generally putzing around, and then still encourage me to take a nap when I get home. 

He refuses to let me do the heavy lifting, but he'll back off when he sees that fire in my eyes that says, "I will do this because I won't let this disease overcome me."

He understands when my motivation for life in general dips into the negative numbers and he picks up the slack.

He drops whatever he's doing in the midst of Thaddeus yelling, "Mommy! Play basketball with me!" to play basketball with Thaddeus because he knows it's just too much for me.

He complains about all the bills, but he never complains about the medical bills.

He still tells me I'm beautiful a hundred times a day, even though my super-duper-now-Halle-Barry-like haircut and the extra weight in my mid-section makes me think otherwise.

He will cross the street to get into a fight if he even thinks, for just a second, that someone may have disrespected me.

He loves me.

He holds my hand.

He rubs my legs when my medication makes them scream in pain.

He's a wonderful man.

A wonderful, wonderful man.

And I love him.

And I thank God for him every single day.

Good. News.

The phone call came from Cleveland and my lungs appear to be in good, healthy and working order.

Thank you to everyone who read my request for prayers after my doctor initially told me she had some concerns.

Now I can breathe easy.

Well, sort of.

Let. Them. Roll.

The thoughts, that is...

Anyone who has had the chance to speak with me in person over the past two or three years knows that it's sometimes difficult to tell the difference between my breathing and the sound of my voice. They are both equally loud and obnoxious, I am sure. And then there are those who have absolutely no idea why I am breathing heavy, and feel the need to bring it up.

In front of everyone.

Like yesterday. When I was teaching. 

One of my students couldn't let it go. In the middle of my lecture, she interrupts to say, "OMG, is that YOU breathing heavy!? I was like, 'Wow, who is that making all that noise!? Is there someone snoring in here!?'"

I laughed it off and continued with my lecture, but I wanted to do so much more than that.

Much, much more.

I think it was the first time I legitimately felt self-conscious about my condition. I think my feelings were even a little bit hurt.

Sigh.

Thank you, Wegener's.

* * *

Tom and I had a date night last night.

I can honestly say, it was one of the more "stimulating" date nights we've had in a long time, but only because the conversation turned to things that I don't think we have talked about in a looong time. Like, since we were dating.

We didn't talk about Thaddeus. Or potty training. Or preschool. Or anything related to having a child.

Nope.

We talked about future plans.

We talked about God.

We talked about God a lot.

We talked about a good friend of mine who's coming to visit here in a few weeks.

We talked about another good friend of mine who needs to bite the bullet and do something she totally doesn't want to do. But it will be totally worth it for her when she finally does.

And we drank beer.

Oh my, did we drink beer.

Oh, and then we went to see a movie about a horse. Which, admittedly, was better than I expected. 

I love you, "Meester Yater!"

* * *

In the midst of scanning all the different vendors on Etsy to figure out which bows I want to buy, which tutus look the cutest, and who has the best props for photos, I decided - wait a minute, I'm creative.

And I went to Hobby Lobby.

And Michaels.

And I bought a ton of stuff. 

I am going to learn to knit (legitimately, not just with a loom), and I intend to make diaper covers, hats and baby hammocks. I also intend to make hair bows, headbands and cocoons. And then I intend to supplement my photography business with these nifty little crafts.

Plus, it gives me something to do.

Because you and I both know, I often find myself bored with nothing to do.

It's not like I have a husband, son, job, hobby/job or academic career to tend to.

Sigh.

And. The. Winner. Is.

First, I want to say that I am seriously shocked at the responses to the giveaway...not because there were more than I thought there would be, but because I am completely blown away by how many people read my blahg that I never even knew did so! Or, even better, whom I have never even met! 

So cool.

And flattering.

Thank you to all for participating! 

Anyways, the winner is...

 ...Ms. Erica Combs. :)

So Erica, let me know if you'd like the necklace or the gift card, and I'll put your winnings in the mail...

Thanks to all for submitting such sweet comments!

I think I might need to make this a regular thing. :)