I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie

 burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being

 strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe

that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that

tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.

To Whom It May Concern:

I wanted to share a recent ER experience I had.  I am intentionally leaving out as many identifying details as possible, as my purpose of this letter is not to get anyone in trouble or to receive any form of service recovery.  It is simply to make you aware of how one experience can change a person's perception for forever.

I recently presented to the emergency room with a threatened miscarriage.  My heart was broken, so of course, I was crying.  I went through triage where my vital signs were taken.  I was immediately taken back to a bed, where a gentleman who was a part of the support staff asked me, "What brings you to the ER tonight?"  Through tears, I had to tell this man what I was there for as we walked through the crowded hallway.  I knew his intentions were good, but it just re-opened an already very raw wound.

Once I was put in my bed, a nurse came in to draw blood.  A physician was speaking with me at the time (someone I know personally, this was not the assigned physician to my case) so she gave us privacy and said she would be "right back".  "Right back" turned into several hours.

When the nurse returned, it was someone else, as I assume it was shift change.  She came through the curtain and happily exclaimed, "congratulations!"  Again, good intentions, but not appropriate for a woman in the midst of a miscarriage.  My response was a hesitant, "thank you, I hope," which lead to her asking if this was my first baby.  I said no, it was my third, and that I had an 8 year old and 3 year old at home.  She was visibly surprised by the ages of my other children at home.  When the transportation worker came to get me for my ultrasound, she said, "you should be pleased to know that the medical staff are talking about how you are too young to be here."  It's becoming repetitious, but again, I do not believe it was meant to be insulting, but hearing that and also seeing the surprised look on the nurses face, I knew what was actually being talked about was likely more related to me appearing young, not having my husband at my bedside because he was home with our other two children, and being on my third pregnancy.  Had anyone looked at my chart, they would have seen I am a married woman and of a "socially acceptable" age to be on my third pregnancy.  This was the ONLY discussion that night as far as my previous OB history is concerned.  No one ever asked again about how many times I have been pregnant, if I have miscarried before, or if I had any risk factors for miscarrying.  Simply that I was "too young" to be here.

Next came the pelvic exam.  I don't think there is such a thing as a pleasant pelvic exam, but I do know there is such a thing as compassion and warmth when giving one.  The physician, who explained to me that she was very busy that evening, did not walk me through any of it.  In fact, she gave zero warning when inserting the speculum, which naturally caused me to tense up.  The only verbal acknowledgement she gave me was, "you need to relax."  The manual exam was equally as painful, as there was no warning as far as what she was about to do.

Once all of the testing was done, the physician came into my room with a smile on her face, which  gave me a glimmer of hope that things might be okay.  Instead she stated, "your pregnancy hormone levels are declining and you are miscarrying.  I'm sorry."  That was it.  No instructions as far as what to expect, nothing.  The nurse did come give me a print-out on miscarrying, but that was all.

I feel compelled to write this letter, because what most of the staff did not know is that I am a nurse.  Not only am I a nurse, I work in a gynecology clinic, so a lot of this is not foreign to me.  No, I did not share this information that evening, because I was not there as a nurse.  I was there as a patient.  A patient going through an extremely traumatic event.

The only thing I want this letter to accomplish is to stress the importance of viewing patients as individuals.  You can be the best doctor in the country as far as your knowledge goes, but if you lack compassion, nothing else matters.  I suffered a huge, huge loss that night.  It is something I will never forget and I will always remember that I have two children on Earth, and one in Heaven.  I do not expect a hospital staff to feel the same emotions I do because that would be completely unrealistic.  I just want them to realize that the way they are towards a patient going through something difficult is also never forgotten.  If I could erase that ER experience from my memory, I would.  Unfortunately, because it is intertwined with my loss of a baby, it will be with me forever as well.

I do not feel anyones actions that night were intentionally cold or disrespectful.  I can assure you with my whole heart that I don't feel that way.  Being in the medical field, I know that there are budgets to work with as well as staff shortages, so people are doing what they can with what they have, and it's hard and exhausting.  I do believe, though, that my experience could have been a completely different experience had people practiced some common sense.  Read my chart and see what I am there for before you congratulate me on a pregnancy that is ending right before my eyes.  If you don't want to make the effort to read my chart, then read the tears on my face before you ask  me why I am there.  Understand that while no woman wants a pelvic exam, I am receiving one because I need to know for sure if my baby is gone or if my baby is still there.  I'm going to be tense.  That is an understatement of how I am going to be.  Use gently words and walk me through it.  I can guarantee it will make your job easier, if anything.  And please.  When you come in to tell me I am losing my third baby, at the very least, don't say it with a smile.  Sure, you may be otherwise having a wonderful night at work, but for me, it is going down as one of the worst days of my life.  Please respect that.

I have no idea what will happen with this letter.  I pray it doesn't get tossed aside.  Again, my intentions are NOT to get someone in trouble.  I want nothing in return except to know that maybe people might be more cognizant of their actions and how they affect others, because while my case might be forgotten about already from the hospitals standpoint, it will live with me for forever.

Name withheld

As of yesterday, and for the rest of my life, my medical history will always say G3P2.   That's obstetrics lingo for "I've been pregnant three times, but have two living children."  Three times I've seen those two beautiful pink lines on a home pregnancy test, but just two blond hair, blue eyed babies to hold.  And please don't get me wrong.  When I say "just", I am not discounting the blessing having Ethan and Allison is in my life.  I thank God every day for those two.  I will just forever know that there was a glimmer of a chance that there would be three.

I'll start at the beginning-ish.  Jay and I weren't trying.  I always rolled my eyes when people would say they had an "oops!" while on birth control, but now I get it.  It can happen.  It does happen.  It happened to me.  Granted, when it happened, just a short 7 days ago, it took me over by surprise and complete shock.  It took me a day before it finally sunk in that I was pregnant.  As we tried to figure out due dates and bedroom arrangements, the reality REALLY took hold and we allowed ourselves to be excited at this new, unexpected reality our lives were about to endure.

Just as I was finishing up the touches on how I wanted to announce our blessing to the world, I saw what every pregnant woman fears.  Blood.

After a trip to the ER, which was the absolute worse experience of my life and I will do everything in my power to erase it from my memory for forever, it was confirmed via blood work that my pregnancy hormones were declining instead of rising.  A miscarriage was in process.

The first 24 hours were horrible.  Crying like I have never cried before.  Deep, anguishing cries.  Pain, both physically and emotionally.  It's not like a miscarriage is something that happens and it's done.  Each twinge of a cramp, each movement I made was another stab in the heart:  my body was rejecting this tiny bundle of cells that would soon turn into a sweet baby.  I've taken more Motrin and Aleve than recommended, but it is all I can do to attempt to get through this with the smallest amount of pain I could manage.  It's just a mask, though, as regardless of what I feel, I know what is happening and, to put it quite frankly, it sucks.

Last year at the street fair, I bought a silver necklace with two tiny charms.  One has an E, for my Ethan.  One has an A, for my Allison.  I no longer have the business card of the woman who designed it, but I so wish I did as it is one of my very favorite pieces of jewelry.  Regardless, this afternoon, I purchased a tiny, delicate silver heart to add to my necklace.

 It won't mean anything to others, as most already think my "AE" necklace is from American Eagle.  But to me it will represent that third beautiful pregnancy test that never really went much further.  That had the potential to be, but just couldn't, for reasons only God will ever know.

G3P2, but my heart will forever wish it was P3.

Wanna know what I realized yesterday?  When Leslie doesn't have a moment to "think", she can hold a conversation as if nothing was ever wrong with her brain.  It's the times that there are silences in the conversation that she starts to throw out questions about things to keep things straight in her mind.  If the conversation is busy, she is able to contribute in a meaningful way and again, you'd never know anything was different.

Part of her brain injury means that she becomes fixated on things.  A thought will cross her mind, and she almost becomes obsessed with it.  That is one reason why I am careful about things I tell her.  For instance, if it's something that isn't going to happen for a few weeks, there is no sense in telling her, as it will tumble around in her head and she will be consumed with it.  This observation of mine pretty much just proves what we already know.  Her short term memory is obsolete, while her long term memory is still intact.

Yesterday we celebrated my mom's 50-something-th birthday!  It was a very nice time.  We ordered pizza, Jay and I (okay, Jay only) brought a homemade salad, and Leslie and George brought a Bumpy Cake from Saunders.  Yum!  Part of Leslie's gift to my mom was a DVD George had put together with some very old movies (1980-1981) that were found in my parents attic.  They all featured Leslie as the star, and it was amazing seeing videos of her!  I've seen many pictures of her as an infant, but to see her on video was incredible.  She was a gorgeous baby and it's so fun to see how her mannerisms as an infant are pretty consistent with her mannerisms as an adult:  sweet and gentle.

In other news:  some friends of ours got a trampoline.  The immature part of me just HAD to jump on it and I was quickly reminded of what birthing two babies does to your body.  I know you might be thinking TMI TMI TMI! ...but I also know there are women out there that are saying, "Girrrrrrrrrl, I know whatcha mean!"  Kegels, anyone?

Jay said to me yesterday, "You haven't updated your blog in a while.  How come?"

This was such a surprise to me, as I didn't even know he read my blog!  Anyhow, it made me realize I should post an update.

Last week, we went on vacation.  More of a "stay"-cation, really, as we just went up to Jay's parents house near Ludington, and did some day trips here and there.  The first night we got there, we got this awful phone call letting us know that Jay's best friend was in a motorcycle accident and was in critical condition.  He was the passenger on the motorcycle.  The driver died en route to the hospital.

Hearing this news brought back similar emotions from when I got the awful call about Leslie.  I remember with her, my mind would only allow me to think, "I must get to her."  Because I remember feeling this way so clearly, I made sure Jay knew that if he needed to leave to be by his friend's side, it was okay and he could go.  I understood.  He didn't go, but he remained in constant contact with close friends and family for frequent updates.

When we got home, we went to see him.  Amazingly he was already moved to a step-down unit, but he was in rough shape.  His jaw underwent major reconstruction and was wired shut.  Because of this, they had to put a trach in his neck to maintain his airway.  He also had major pelvic reconstruction, and had external and internal pins keeping his pelvis in position.  He didn't have any other major injuries, but he had major "road rash" from head to toe, with some incisions closed with staples. 

This was when the thoughts of Leslie REALLY came flooding back.  With Les, she was so unstable, and had wires everywhere.  If I was with her, I was touching her.  I would rub her arms, scratch her back, wipe her face with a cold washcloth, or just hold her hand.  When I saw Bryan, I just wanted to touch him to let him know it was okay.  Of course, I didn't really feel it was appropriate, so I resisted, but the urge was so strong.

When someone is in critical condition, the feeling of helplessness is so overpowering.  You want to do SOMETHING.  With Leslie, it was braiding her hair, and attempting to maintain range of motion in her extremities.  With Bryan, it was making sure his syringe was full, as he was allowed to have small squirts of water in his mouth.  You just feel so, so helpless and desperate.

I can say with such joy that he is recovering amazingly well.  The trach is now plugged off so he is able to talk (as best as one can talk with their jaw wired shut), and despite the pins, physical therapy has been getting him up and out of bed.  It's unbelievable.

I have genuine happiness that he not only survived, but that the injuries he sustained are healing incredibly fast and he could quite possibly be back to his normal self sooner than anyone anticipated.  I'd be lying, though, if I didn't admit that a part of me thinks, "How come Leslie's injuries couldn't have taken the same route?"  Here we are, nearly 2 years later, and she still suffers the effects of the brain injury.  She wasn't riding a motorcycle, she was putting her Master's degree to work and teaching students Spanish.  Why can't she catch a break, too?

Aside from that, all is well in the K household.  The kids are happily enjoying summer.  Jay has been traveling a lot for work, which makes for a little extra chaos at home, as I am still working full-time.  Work is good.  Leslie is good.  My parents are good.  I really can't complain!

This was Ethan when he was 5, showing us how he felt about shopping:

This is Ethan, at the age of 7, expressing to us his feelings about going to the SAME stores:

How's that saying go?  "Some things will never change?"  Ha!
It was so refreshing to be with my mom and sister again, enjoying each others company.  Our days were filled with sunshine, swimming, and super energetic, chatty children.  Our nights were quieter, mostly in hopes of getting said super energetic, chatty children to sleep, but also to discuss how our dynamics have changed, and how we are coping.

My mom and I had picked up within each other that each of us were still grieving, just in a different way.  That is okay, of course, but the bad part about it was it was slowly pulling us apart.  THAT cannot happen.  No way, no how.  My mom has been my rock my entire life.  I know I have helped her through some rough times as well.  And just as I anticipated, a short conversation in front of the glow of some strange car TV show (up-northians, what on EARTH do you guys watch? ) and things were quickly resolved.

I bet at least one person reads the word "GRIEF" and thinks "WOAH!  OVERBOARD MUCH?"  because Leslie. didn't.  die.  She lived, she beat all the odds, hallelujah amen, the end!

Yeah....no.   Now don't get me wrong.  We are thankful.  We are SO thankful.  Our hearts are practically bursting with thankful-ness (did I get my point across there?)

But that doesn't mean we (and her!) did not experience great, great loss.  My mom's way of dealing with the changes is she pours her heart and soul into making sure my sister is okay.  All her needs are met.  Belly fed, laundry done, bills paid.  She's tired, though.  She has always done so much.  So, so much, for everyone, and does so little for herself.  That's why I adore and admire her so much as a mother.  Not gonna lie.  She raised some pretty amazing women.  We are gentle, yet firm.  We are loving and loyal.  We are hard working, and have morals.  We respect those that deserve respect, and turn away from those that are set out to bring us down.  Bottom line:  My mom is GOOD.

So as any amazing mother would do, when one of your children (even adult ones!) falls into crisis;  when one of your children (even adult ones!) escapes death miraculously... you naturally will fall back into that mother/child role, just as she has done.

Wanna know my way of dealing with it?  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  Okay, I stay away!  SUPER SISTER!  I stay away.  I think about her constantly.  I rehash those first dreadful days often.  I thank God for my sisters husband, who has stuck by her entirely and is doing such an amazing job with this new life.  But if I stay away, I can remember her the way I choose to.  I remember what she was, because seeing how she is is too painful.  I don't seek reality.  I don't WANT reality.  I'll just stay in this fantasy world inside my head and pretend nothing ever happened.  I'll admit, though.  It sure is a lonely way to live.  To say I don't love my sister because this is my coping mechanism sounds so cold.  Truth is, I love her so much more POST-incident.  I saw her fight.  I saw her scared.  I heard her raspy, hoarse voice say "sister" as one of the first words she said, and let me tell you, my heart grew 3 sizes bigger.  Yes, Les.  Sister.  Sister then, Sister now, and Sister for always.  If you ask me who my hero is, I will say, without a single bit of hesitation:  Leslie. 

Neither of these mechanisms are healthy, and I am so thankful we recognize this.  We will figure it out. 

And heck!  (Re-) Starting our annual girls trip was the PERFECT way to start!

Thank you, mom and Les.  I love you guys SO much and there is NO ONE ELSE I would want to share those memories with than you.

And before I wrap this up, remember those pictures of Ethan?  Well thank GOD for this little petunia, who will forever be my diva-licious shop-a-holic:

I still remember the day quite vividly.  My mom and I were sitting in their living room in these God awful sea-foam green chairs they had.  Jay and I were still only dating.  I was in my first semester of college and Jay was away at college.  It was tough being apart and our relationship was a bit rocky.  On a whim, my mom and I decided to head off to Chicago for a long weekend.

That was what started a long tradition.  Every summer, my mom, sister, and I would whisk away to the Windy City and spend until our bank accounts were bone dry, eat at all our favorite restaurants, and giggle as we would try to hold our breath in the back of the stinky taxi cabs.  We had a blast. We were the perfect balance:  I was the crazy shop-a-holic that could not possibly find enough hours in the day to shop to my hearts content; my sister HATED shopping, but preferred doing more educational nonsense, like browse book stores, travel stores, or the Apple store; and mom was in the middle, just going along for the ride and enjoying every second.

We continued this tradition for YEARS.  When I finally got married and was quite pregnant with Ethan, we STILL made our way to Chicago, and I bought myself my first maternity swim suit (hot pink, mind you!)  Once I had an infant at home, we slowed things down a notch.  We still did our annual girls trip, but we kept it more simple such as Frankenmuth or Saugatuck, and more often than not, we had a crazy toddler in tow.

Our last girls trip (plus Ethan!) was to my parents camper.  My mom, Ethan, and I drove in one car, and my sister drove up with her husband a day or so later.  We still had a great time.  We made smores, took turns with Ethan in the pool, and just all around enjoyed each others company.

Last year was the first year we DIDN'T go.  Last year we were too busy adjusting to our new lives post-incident.  It might seem selfish and petty, but when Leslie was SO critical, the thought of never doing our girl trips again was a thought I couldn't even fathom.  It physically hurt my heart to even think of it.

Tomorrow, we restart our tradition.  No, we aren't heading back to the Windy City (although I would love to go again someday!)  We are keeping it simple and going camping.  I'll be bringing my two kids along as well, because you simply can't go camping WITHOUT them!

This weekend we will be reminded of the changes we never asked for, but this weekend will also reaffirm to each of us that nothing, not even sudden cardiac arrest and anoxic brain injuries can stop us from having an amazing time.