Normal to be Not Normal

It hasn't even been two weeks since my diagnosis of PE, but I've had almost no real information on how recovery really will be, so I assumed I'd be back to normal by now. I pushed myself this week thinking there was something wrong with me for feeling like I wasn't okay yet. I've been having several panic attacks a day now and am feeling anxious most of the time. My heart beats so hard and so fast most of the time that I'm surprised other people can't hear it. I am winded by walking up or down a flight of stairs. My back pain is off the charts most of the time but I figure that's because I'm a wuss. I pretend it's all okay and tell everyone I'm doing great because I don't want to be a complainer or an attention seeker. I want to be normal. I want to get back into life again and enjoy my kids and be out and about doing normal activities. Right now even grocery shopping sounds fun.

But the truth is, I'm not doing well. Not at all. I am freaked out over every little pain I feel. I am scared that it's another clot or that the clot I have isn't dissolving and it's going to move out of my lungs and into my heart or my brain or somewhere it shouldn't be. I realize this is silly - I'm on blood thinners now and it would take a lot for the clot to move elsewhere at this point - but it still crosses my mind.

I am exhausted. I'm not just talking like, "Oh, it was a long day, I'm ready for bed" exhausted, but full blown I just did 500 crunches, ran a marathon, and am pregnant with quadruplets and it's the first trimester kind of exhausted. EXHAUSTED. From doing what you ask? Nothing. I don't have the energy to do ANYTHING.  I could lay down at any given minute of the day and fall asleep and sleep through til the next day, get up for an hour, and do it again. Yet I continued to push myself this week. I even toyed with the idea of going to the gym (thankfully that didn't work out because there was no electricity at the gym on the day we were going to go).

Don't even get me started on survivor's guilt. You have no idea how I feel right now. Depression, anxiety...so many "it should've been me" thoughts. What's worse is that I also wonder how many people think, "It should've been you." Two women, same week, same diagnosis - one lives, one dies. I know that someone out there has to be thinking it.

My kids haven't had a nice meal in two weeks. Chris is so busy with work and it's not something he can easily take off time from right now. I'm exhausted (did I mention that?) so between the two of us, our kids might get half of a real meal twice a week. Right now the kids eat crackers and yogurt for lunch. It's terrible. I'm just not into doing anything. Those rare moments when I finally have any energy to do something are spent doing laundry or the dishes.

No matter how much I talk about this, I feel like I just can't justify feeling this way. My PE was pretty mild compared to most. So why am I feeling like this? I should be grateful I'm as healthy as I am. Instead of bitching and moaning that I feel like crap, I should be out and about and enjoying life now that I've been really given a second chance to live it.

So I did some googling. I know, Google is not my friend. But I wanted to read real accounts of recovery from PEs from people who have experienced this first hand. I found this absolutely amazing site and here is a great list that describes different issues with recovery and some ways to cope with them: http://lwelch.hubpages.com/hub/Pulmonary-Embolism-Recovery-Tips

And guess what - the list that the author made - made me realize that all these feelings ARE normal. It's OKAY for me to feel this way. I was trying so hard to get back to normal and I guess I need to accept that fact that right now, this IS normal. I don't know when I'll be able to have energy to do anything or be able to take a walk and not get short of breath or even be able to go a day without feeling like someone is taking a sledgehammer to my back and chest, but at least for now that's normal.

So if you see me and you ask how I'm doing, I'm going to tell you that I'm doing great and I feel great. It won't be the truth, but at least you'll know I'm lying now. And then maybe you can just say a prayer for me or give me a hug or maybe offer to help with the kids or bring the kids something to eat. Or not, it's okay. I get by. I guess this is my feeble attempt to ask for help.

Saying Goodbye

Death is such a hard concept to understand for anyone, let alone a preschooler, so the fact that my kids have had to say goodbye to not just one but two people they were very close to this year is too much for this momma to take.

Back in the spring, Chris's Grandpa passed away. Great Grandpa Joe was nearly 90 and we loved him dearly. The kids spent a few times each month being able to see him during our regular Sunday dinners with the family. He was always so funny - all the kids were boys and were mostly referred to as "little shavers" "tykes" and things like that. When he passed away the kids hadn't ever had to deal with death before. They were with us every step of the way during the grieving process, visitation, and funeral. They asked a lot of great questions and were now aware that life doesn't go on forever, at least not here on Earth. 

The kids spent the next few months talking about death and dying. The questions they would ask made them seem much older than their two and four year old selves. They weren't innocent anymore; they were now understanding things that a lot of adults have never even had to deal with yet. Natalie, especially, had grown an almost macabre obession with death. In Samuel's Childrens' Bible, she found the story about Jesus dying on the cross and asked us to read this to her every day, sometimes more than once. 

On this particular July afternoon, Natalie got very serious and asked me why Jesus was crying. I explained that he was sad because his friends betrayed him and he had to die on the cross to save us from our sins. She got really upset that her Baby Jesus died so I tried to explain that one day we would get to meet Him when we died. I guess this was the wrong thing to say because my precious two year old burst into tears and started sobbing, "But, I don't wanna die!" 

After awhile their obsessions passed and they were back to being happy preschoolers. Now three, Natalie was able to start going to preschool as well. She already knew the teachers from all of the mornings we'd pick Timmy up from school the year before. She was so excited to go and fell in love with the teachers and made a lot of new friends. She and Timmy are both doing great in school this year. 

Sadly, this afternoon we received the devastating news that their beloved teacher, Mrs. Blanksma, passed away this morning. I was in complete shock and had no idea how to react. At the time I not only had my two kids, but two of their friends were over as well who were also in their preschool classes and knew and loved Mrs. Blanksma. It wasn't my place to tell my friend's kids about their teacher passing, so we had to make a lot of fun this afternoon. We watched a movie, played the Wii, ate a yummy snack, and took a drive out to a covered bridge to play for awhile. 

This evening after I dropped their friends off, we sat down to tell Tim and Nat about their teacher. I explained that this morning Mrs. Blanksma went to Heaven. Timmy said, "You mean she died?" He was getting teary. Chris and I were both tearing up too - it's never easy to lose someone you love - especially someone who plays such an important role in your children's lives. I explained that her heart had gotten sick and stopped working but that she was now in Heaven with Great Grandpa and they were friends and weren't lonely. When I tried to explain to Natalie that Mrs. Blanksma wasn't going to be at preschool anymore, Timmy got upset and said, "But I want her to come back!" This is when I lost it. In fact, I'm almost crying again just typing this up. Natalie, of course being the little comic relief, said, "Can we have her hamster?"

The kids took it in, were quiet for a few minutes and then were on their way. I wish adults could be that resilient. I'm still reeling from the news. Mrs. Blanksma will be missed by everyone who was ever able to know her. She was an amazing woman, teacher, and friend. I will miss being able to send her a quick email just to find out how the kids were doing at school. She always had a lot of great advice for me, especially when struggling with what to do with certain behaviors the kids were displaying. She was always happy to chat about anything from Jimmy's Grill to the Grand Lady Riverboat to what the kids had for snack that day at school. She always made sure her students and their families were taken care of and I will miss seeing her every day and I know the kids will too. I am just so grateful that the other teachers at the school are just as wonderful and caring as Mrs. Blanksma was. I know that they will carry on the traditions and will always take the time to care about their students. 

Now, please, let my kids have a break from having to say goodbye to the people they love. They are three and four and need to be kids - not young adults learning life lessons.