Question Your Own Decisions, Not Someone Else's

It seems like people feel it's ok to question someone's decision. I'm not sure why, but it sure seems like it's happening a lot lately--to me, to friends, to family. Almost as if it's increasing in prevalence.

I mean, if someone decides to quit their job, sell their house, go on a vacation, buy a new car, that's up to them. Why question them in such a way as to seem condescending? Saying something like "Why did you buy THAT car?" makes it sound like: "You're an idiot to have bought that specific car. Dummy." If what you ask, instead, is something like "Oh, that's interesting, I'm not familiar with that car, can you tell me more about it?" says: "I'm interested in knowing more about your decision, not judging you for your decision."

It seems to me that asking these sorts of questions, questions that may potentially help you in making a similar decision (such as you're in the market for a new car as well) are nice, friendly, fellowship-building, even potentially helpful. If my just having bought a specific car makes you think about your own car needs, I'm happy to share with you about why I bought what I did (a 2012 Mazda5, for the record). But, if you're going to grill me about it and then leave having decided I made the wrong choice, well, I'd rather not chat with you about it. I don't need any judgement from you, thank you very much. And besides, who bought the car: you or me?

And if I start out telling you that I just got a new car by prefacing it with the fact that I've been crying for a week because I'm going to miss my old one, and the reasons why I'm going to miss it, but that I'm excited because the new car has x, y, z, well... shouldn't your response be something like "Yes, I see that it has x, and it seems perfect for you! I'm happy you're happy." I emailed our family about our new car, and the best response was my SIL's. Simple and sweet: "Happy for you. :-)" That's all I wanted to hear. I want people in my life to be happy that I am happy. (And, if the occasion should ever present itself, to mourn when I mourn.) I'm making decisions within my family for my family, not yours. If it's not what you would do, then, well, good. Don't do it. Doesn't matter to me what you do within/for your family.

And if my husband and I decide to take a particular vacation and you say: "Why are you going on THAT vacation?" ... well, again, it screams judgement. How about something like "Tell me why you decided on that particular vacation."? I'll then be under the assumption that you're interested in knowing more about me, my decision, my family than about deciding for yourself whether you think it's the right choice for me. I welcome opportunities to get to know one another better, but let's be respectful while we're at it! Because, whose vacation is it: yours or mine?

Lastly, if you're close enough to be on the 'need to know' list, then you probably already know why they chose to do/have done/are whatever it is you're questioning them about. Why feel the need to ask them detailed questions? Is it any of your business? Some things can be seriously sensitive subjects, so let's respect each other and not ask a million questions about it. Be happy that they're happy. You questioning why they're going on a vacation, or how many kids they do or don't have seems incredibly rude to me. Why do you care where I go on vacation!? What if someone's infertile, and their hearts have been breaking for years over this issue? You off-handly asking "So, when ya gonna have kids?" might just be a dagger to their heart! I have a friend who'd I'd like to ask this particular question, but I bite my tongue literally every time I see her, because how do I know she's not been trying for forever? Last thing I need to do is make it worse. And besides, it's her family, not mine. I'm happy if they're happy.

As most people know, Austin was our awesome accident. Awesome, yet an accident. We couldn't love him more or love our new life more, but when we first found out, "Congrats!!!" was NOT the word we wanted to hear. I had one person ask how long we'd been trying. I responded we weren't. "Oh, not trying, but not NOT trying, right?" I then decided to prove a point by going into detail about how we were in fact still preventing, but that our chosen method of prevention failed. I'm not sure my point was made, but I felt like shouting at this person! If you don't know me well enough to know the particulars going on in my life, then why do you feel like you have the right to ask me about the details? And then to show judgment about that? Seriously. Do we need to go back to "If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all." combined with "Think before you speak." combined with "It's none of your beeswax."?

I'm not saying I have it all figured out or do this 'right.' I mean, I have thought about the correct way to respond to someone when they announce they're pregnant (given my own experience I've decided Congrats! isn't the way for me), and I still lack a solution that seems 'good enough.' A good friend responded "REALLY!?" when we told her, and this spoke volumes, and is probably the response I remember the most because it conveyed that she was sensitive to our situation (knowing we probably weren't all that happy about it. we weren't), and that she was shocked and excited and in the moment with us. It might have seemed rude to outsiders, but it was perfect for me. Exactly what I needed to hear. One person responded "Ok, so what are you experiencing right this minute?" Also perfect. I think the answer to the question I've been asking myself is that there is no one-size-fits-all answer. If you don't know the person well enough to know how they want you to respond to their news (vacation, new car, baby, etc), then what makes you think it's ok to ask a million questions about it? Why not just simply smile and tell them that you're happy if they're happy?

The old me. The new me.

An (Almost) Unbelievable Story about Customer Service

The following story might seem like 'a yarn,' 'a stretch,' embellished, or just plain not true. Yet, sadly, it is a 100% true story, with my opinions checked as much as possible. Seriously!

First of all, look at the nearest calendar. Find February 26th. That's the day it all began...

Seth and I went for our yearly eye exam at our local (in network) optometrist's office (right at Forest and Webb Chapel) to have our eyes checked. I needed a renewal on my contact prescription, and though Seth has 20/20 vision, still needs his eyes checked, even if only for their health. So, we went, Austin in tow, one got examined while the other waited in the sea shell-full waiting room. (You would not believe the number of sea shells in this office! pictures, actual shells, etc..!) Anyways...

I got my new prescription (which was different from last year), and went next door to Pearle Vision (they share a wall) to obtain my samples. (They always give you a sample for each eye that you get to test out before you actually purchase new contacts. It's to make sure they're correct.) I went home with one for each eye. I got a call about 5 days later, however, saying that the samples they sent me home with were incorrect (they never stated in which way they were incorrect) and that I needed to come up there to pick up my new samples. I did. I didn't notice anything different between the first set of samples and the second set. I must note that I hadn't kept the original packaging for the first set of samples, so I have no idea what the difference was. Knowing what I know now, I doubt there was any difference. But I'll get to that in a bit.

About a week went by with me using this second set of samples when I realized that I didn't think my left eye's prescription was correct. It seemed too fuzzy to be a brand new prescription. Then we went on vacation.

It was March 26th (exactly a month since my first appointment) before I could go back to have the Dr. re-check my eyes and tweak the prescription. As I had previously done, immediately following the exam, I went next door to pick up my sample. It was explained to me that they never carry samples of my type of lens (I have astigmatism) in the store. This was contrary to my experience over the last two years and I stated so. I was abruptly cut off and told that I must certainly be mistaken. This is when things started to seem "funny."

I was called about 5 days later and told that my new sample was in, so I drove up there to get it. Now, I know this location is about .8 miles from my home, but to get a then 5-month old loaded up, out of the car, into the store, back into the car, back into the house for what seemed the millionth time, for a sample contact, was starting to push my patience. I, having started to get the feeling of being jacked around, kept the container for this new sample. After about a week, I concluded that it was perfect, and called PV to have them order me a box for each eye, using the new prescription for the left eye. About a week goes by.

I get a call that my contacts are in and I can pick them up. I go up there (again, hauling Austin around as previously described). As soon as I get in the door and tell the 'receptionist' my name, she pulls out the tray labeled with my name (you know those flat, plastic trays eye Dr. places always have?) and starts groaning. Oh! OOh! ugh. ah! Once she pulls out the tray, she moans and groans for a good 30 seconds, never once explaining to me what's going on. She goes in the back and talks to someone. Further gasping and groaning occur. She comes out and says "Your contacts aren't here." I reply that I'm confused because there are two boxes in the tray, the tray with my name on it, she's holding the tray, what does she mean? It literally takes me asking Yes/No questions for 5 minutes before I finally understand that yes, contacts were ordered for me, but the wrong ones were ordered. No apology. I'm told that she'll personally re-order my contacts and call me when they're in. !

A week or so later, she calls. I go back up. Now toting a 6-month old as previously described. I pay for the contacts and come home. Immediately I check the boxes with the sample container from my second, left-eye sample and realize that they ordered me an incorrect prescription for my left eye. They ordered the original prescription. ugh.

I call the Dr. office, and that receptionist walks next door to tell the PV people that there's been a mistake, they've given me the wrong contacts. After talking to pretty much everyone in the store, they agree to order me another box, and... you guessed it, they'll call me when they're in. While on the phone with them, I explain the story from the beginning, that I couldn't understand how one business could get a single customer's order so completely wrong and never once apologize about it or offer a consolation of any kind. I proceed to ask if they could get an extra contact for each eye for me given all my hassle. They agree.

So, a week later when I go to pick up my correct contacts, they hand me a box plus a single contact container. I hand over all the previous incorrect contacts, and come home. I didn't even once look at what they were handing me! You might be thinking what I am now.. why didn't you check the contacts while in the store!? I guess I can only blame it on having Austin in tow, and my simmering anger which when the two are combined causes me to not think completely logically. Because guess what happened....

I get home and notice that the contact box looks different than normal. Then I notice that it says "3 lenses" on the packaging. I rip it open to find indeed, there are only 3 contacts inside. So, instead of getting 7 for the price of 6 (because of all the hassle), I got 4 for the price of 6. I literally screamed! I couldn't fathom that they had once again inconvenienced me to this degree. Seriously!? I call, shaking, trying to maintain my composure and a somewhat-even voice and explain to the manager what happened. (I must also add here that I've been speaking to the 'manager' each and every time I called since the very beginning.) I explain that the box only has 3 rather than the typical 6, that I couldn't believe I have been further hassled by this place and I'm still not done dealing with them! She agrees to order three more contacts, and mail them to me. "Would that be helpful?" "YES!" I shouted back.

Well, last Tuesday I got my envelope from Pearle Vision containing 3 contacts. 3 INCORRECT contacts. They're the original, aka wrong, prescription. I'm trembling with anger as I call and immediately ask for the manager. The chick answering the phone says "Ma'am, we mailed you your contacts." "yes, and they are the wrong ones." click. "Hi Ms. Spofford, Yes, I just got your contacts in and mailed them to you the other day." "I know. I just got the package. They're the wrong ones." silence. I then go on to say that they are the first prescription, the wrong prescription, and that I couldn't believe that they have been messing with me since February and not once had anyone apologized to me. Her response!?!? "Well, ma'am, I can do that, but you see... blah blah blah." She never once apologized!!!!! She did, however say she'd re-order my contacts and mail them out to me. Well, it's 8 days later and I still don't have them.

Though, once I do get them, I feel like I still need to make a trip up there because what am I going to do with three contacts that are wrong? Hold onto them? No. Throw them away? Seems like a waste. So, once I get my correct contacts in the mail, I plan on making a visit up there, sans Austin, and speak to this lady face to face. I pray I hold my temper in check!

Side note: After receiving the 3 incorrect contacts in the mail, Seth suggested I call corporate to complain, asking for a regional or area manager. (He's very familiar with that process as he deals with high-level managers at Michaels all the time. I thought it was a brilliant suggestion!) Well, I did that, and guess what? There isn't one! This store, along with 2 others, is privately owned which means no regional manager, and the guy promised to forward my complaint to the owner and that I'd hear back from the owner within 2 days, and a week later I still have heard nothing. Seriously. ugh. Actually, double ugh.

Guess where I will NOT be going to have my eyes checked next year???? (And for my neighbors reading this, please also spare yourself and your family by going elsewhere. Please.)

The Sinus Infection was One Complication Too Many!

For those who are reading this, I must first issue a warning. The following note is about the birth of our first son, Austin Thomas Spofford. As a person who believes in telling "the whole truth, and nothing but," some might find the content of this a bit disturbing or TMI (or the like). If you think you might fall into that category, stop now. If you are interested in why the birthing process took 22.5 hours, read on, but consider yourself warned! :-)

In order to fully tell the story, I must 'back up' a little. Two weeks prior to his birth to be exact. I had a sinus infection. I had been suffering from the pregnancy-induced stuffy nose for a month or so, but I didn't start my nasal rinses (if you don't currently do those, you MUST start, I'm a HUGE fan!) as quickly as I apparently should have, because I ended up with a sinus infection that I just could not get rid of. As it was already difficult to breath at 9 months pregnant, this added factor caused all sorts of complications: I had been missing out of all sorts of fun family activities (TX State Fair, etc), and bailing on responsibilities of all kinds. So, come Monday, the 18th, I finally called my Dr. and requested an appointment and medication. (I had an appointment scheduled for Wednesday, the 20th, but could NOT wait any longer.) So, I got z-pack (is that how that's spelled?), prescription nasal steroid something-or-other, and was told to start taking Mucinex D. Then, my water broke.

Well, it was actually 5am Tuesday morning, but you see my point. I had just gotten back in bed from the umpteenth trip to the bathroom when I felt this sharp-ish pain/poke that caused my eyes to pop open in the cartoon-ish way (think: Wylie Coyote). I then thought "Am I peeing myself?" I went back to the bathroom, and as liquid continued to pour out, I shouted to Seth that it was time to get up, that I was pretty sure my water had broken.

All would have been perfectly fine if I had taken my SIL's advice to "get my bag packed already." See... I was still a little bit in denial that I would soon be a mom, and so my bag sat half-packed for weeks. And given that I had tested Group B Strep positive (GBS+), my water breaking meant we needed to immediately head to the hospital. But, I wouldn't leave before I'd had a shower (minus washing my hair), and we still had to pack our bags, take care of Georgia Mae, tidy up a few things, contact Seth's work, etc. We ended up leaving the house about 6:15, and after stopping at the McDonald's drive-through for food, OJ, and coffee (one of the best decisions we made that morning!), we made it to the hospital shortly before 7am.

They were in the middle of shift change, and since my contractions were light to nonexistent, they had us wait in the waiting room while they readied a room for us. After taking us back to the room (one with a great view!), they did this litmus-strip-type test to check that the liquid was indeed amniotic fluid. The first couple of tries came back negative (I had showered). They checked all sorts of other vitals, waiting for more fluid to test. At approximately 8am, they got a positive reading, the admission process was started, and we called family (and posted on FB).

I had been feeling pains every 5 minutes for about a minute in length since we had been in the car. They were so light and manageable, that they readily agreed to letting me roam the halls (once they'd checked all vitals) to speed the process along and deal with the pain. I would have liked to be at home for all of this time, managing things in my own way. I mean, that is why we took Bradley classes, after all. But, again, given the GBS+ness, I had to be connected to penicillin every four hours for a half hour. They gave me my first dose at 8:30 or so, and thus I could be disconnected from the tubes (I had a hep-lock rather than a full-on IV) and walk around the room, use the bathroom, walk the halls, go to the waiting room, etc. This was great. I thought: I could do this for a long time! When we arrived, I was something like 1 cm.

By noon, I was something like 2cm. The most painful thing thus far had been when the short-digited Dr. (not my regular Dr. who's a female and approximately 6 feet tall) 'checked me.' I about thought I was going to flying through the roof! At this point, I was reconnected to the tubes--IV fluid and penicillin. The Dr. was beginning to get concerned about the slow progress of my cervix. (Once your water breaks, they generally believe that the baby needs to get out within 24 hours, and here we were 7 hours in, and only at 2cm (of 10).) He suggested that since I would be connected to the machine (which was the epitome of everything I didn't want in regards to my perfect birth), that we add some Pitocin. After conferring with a knowledgeable friend and our Bradley teacher, we asked if it could be delayed, but eventually agreed on the condition that it be stopped as soon as the penicillin was done, and I could be released from my connections. So, Pitocin was started.

During the time where drugs were flowing into me, I had the bands around my belly, monitoring his heart rate and the contractions. The contractions got much stronger really quickly, and with each increased contraction, they got more and more worried about his heart rate. It was already at the low end of 'normal' and so when it dropped, it dropped down to scary levels. So, I was forced to lay flat, on either of my sides which was the the worst position for managing the pain. During that, they also decided to put me on an oxygen mask as my stuffy passages weren't allowing (so they thought) for enough air for me and for him. So, here I am, strapped up with bands, IV with three liquids, laying on my side, breathing through an oxygen mask. Yuck. I was able to convince them to let me walk around a little bit after this, but they wanted to monitor him every hour given his recent 'poor performance.'

It was during one of these next monitoring sessions (I don't remember how many later), that they decided he needed more fluid as so much had already come out and he wasn't 'floating' any more. So, a tube was inserted which was pumping me full of fake fluid (which of course came pouring right back out, via gravity!).

By the next time I was re-connected to get my next dose of penicillin (about 4pm), I was only 3-4 cm, so they again recommended Pitocin to get things moving more quickly. It was then that the contractions got really bad (bc of the Pitocin). This caused his heart rate to make really drastic drops again, so at one point the nurse came rushing into the room (they had lost his heart rate via external monitors), and after a brief attempt to get it back via the bands, inserted a heart monitor into Austin's scalp. It was done so quickly, and there was already a tube there, that I didn't even notice pain or anything. These new situations (the tubes 'down there') meant no more using the bathroom by myself, and I was either to get a catheter or use a bed pan. As someone who was still trying to use as few interventions as possible, I ended up using the bed pan several times. (Not a fun experience.)

Now that I had tubes coming out of me 'down there,' the IV was the least of my concerns. I mean, there was no getting out of bed at this point anyways, so they decided to leave the Pitocin connected, doing it's thing. It had also been almost 12 hours, and my cervix was still no where near where it needed to be. Thankfully, now that they could reliably monitor Austin, I didn't have to have the uncomfortable (as an understatement!) bands around my belly. I still had to have the oxygen mask on, and they really liked me on my sides (which I hated!) because Austin's heart rate seemed 'happiest' with me like that. The Dr. came in and told us that he wanted us to consider getting an epidural. "Either you get an epidural now, and hopefully cause your body to relax, and your cervix to do it's thing, and if we need a C-Section you can be awake. Or, the next time his heart rate drops like that, I'll take you for a C-Section anyways, and you'll be asleep." (His heart rate was getting scarily low. I don't remember numbers, but the nurse showed Seth everything, and we knew the Dr. wasn't just saying that.)

So, picture this: Austin's heart rate monitor tube, a tube pumping me full of fake fluid, an oxygen mask, laying on my sides, lots of IV tubes coming out of my arm. Whew! Then the contractions got. really. bad. I was doing everything I could from my confined position to deal with the pain, and Seth was right there the whole time, doing everything he could do. The Pitocin caused me to dry-heave too, so once the contractions started coming really close to one another and really intensely the entire length of the contraction, I was laying on my side, hovering over the infamous pink bucket, hanging onto my oxygen mask with the other hand.

The other thing that I experienced (that I had not heard about) was the shaking! I was shivering like I was in the middle of a WI winter with just a t-shirt on. I didn't feel cold; I actually felt hot and asked the AC to be turned up several times. I just could not stop my convulsing. Add to that the dry-heaves every few minutes, laying on my side, tubes, tubes, and more tubes, oxygen mask, and the level of severity my contractions had gotten to, I was rapidly wearing out. I cried to Seth that though I was fully disappointed in myself, I was honestly thinking "either they take him via C-Section right now, or they call for the epidural man. I cannot sustain us both any longer." I'm crying as I write this because I did not want pain medication. Some want it, get it, and are happy with their choice, but as someone who set out to have a natural birth, it just seemed like thing after thing was getting in the way of that dream/goal. I was also getting really emotional at the time because I felt like I was failing him. His heart rate had been so scary so many times (even after the unreliable bands had been replaced with the reliable scalp monitor), that I kept beating myself up about it. I thought: "I have nothing left here. I need him out, for his sake and mine." We both cried, and then Seth went and got the nurse to call for the epidural.

Within minutes the man with his magical cart came wheeling into the room. (It literally seemed like 2 minutes, if that.) The man asked me to sit up, face sideways, sit cross legged, and bent over my knees. Well, anyone who's been pregnant (or had a bowling ball inserted into their shirt) knows that bending over yourself like that is almost impossible. There. is. a. stomach. in. the. way! I was still convulsing and so as the guy tells me to hold still I shout "I can't! I can't help the shaking!" And then a contraction passes (all with dry-heaving and convulsing included), he tells me to expect a couple pinches (why do they always describe shots as 'pinches'?), and within 30 seconds it was over, and he was taping the tubes to my back. He explained the push button, gave me some initial dose, said that he regularly saw epidurals relax the woman's body enough that the cervix just decides to get with the program, and rolled himself and his cart back out of the room. It was crazy!

Now that the pain was being managed, I wasn't working so hard, and immediately I felt cold. I got blankets, was allowed to lay on my back, stopped dry-heaving, stopped convulsing, had a catheter inserted (as I had no other option at this point). It was about 8pm and they did another round of penicillin and 'upped' the Pitocin. I was "about 5" cm. Enter magical time! We turned the Rangers on, Seth went and ate dinner in the waiting room with his family, I called a couple people. It was wonderful. (Seth later says that we had previously fully underestimated how much the epidural would impact him!)

By midnight (only a few hours later) I was at a 10, and it was time to start pushing. What was funny (in the ironic way, not the humorous way) was that as we had been getting ready Tuesday morning to go to the hospital, I nonchalantly said to Seth "If he's going to come early, wouldn't it be cool if he came on 10-20-2010?" And now, 20 hours after my water broke, we were at that point! So, the Pitocin was turned off, and I started pushing.

Now, I should also say here that though I was managing the pain with the epidural, I was using it as lightly as possible. They said "don't allow pain, but allow pressure." Well, I allowed a little bit of pain. The pain was nothing once I wasn't shaking, could lay like I wanted, and wasn't dry-heaving every other minute! So, when it came time to push, I could pick up my legs, feel what I was supposed to be doing 'down there,' etc. We ended up pushing for several hours (he was born at 2:28am). That sounds terrible to some people. "You pushed for 2.5 hours!?!?" But, it wasn't really like that. I mean, his heart rate was still uncomfortably low and would drop with each contraction, so they only allowed me to push with every third or fourth contraction. And, once the Pitocin was stopped, they went back to every 5 minutes or so, so I didn't really do that much work during the 2.5 hours. Sometimes she'd only let me push once rather than three times with each contraction.

Once I got to the point where she summoned the Dr, the room flooded with people. I mean, like 15 people came into the room. At that point, Austin must have gotten really shy because I didn't have another contraction for like 20 minutes! Then we were back to pushing, and once his head was out, the Dr. had to remove the umbilical cord from around his neck (explaining the heart rate issues), and then out he came!

I was asked if I wanted a mirror which I passionately refused, but Seth's glad he got to see the 'whole enchilada.' He cut the cord, they whisked Austin away to the warmer, rubbed him clean, did foot prints, vitals, etc. I turn to Seth and say (I kid you not) "Did that just come out of me?" I mean, it wasn't that I didn't feel him exiting my body, but it's a totally crazy experience that nothing can prepare you for. I knew there was a baby in my belly all those months, but nothing can fully explain to your brain what that means until he/she is out, making movements and noises all apart from you. It's crazy wonderful.

So... That's the story of Austin's birth. In the end, Seth and I are both really glad with how things turned out. It's not at all what we hoped for, practiced for, or wanted, but it was the way the birth was supposed to go. We honestly believe that. I'm thankful that the staff wasn't overly pushy with interventions, that they let us decide what and when and why (except the scalp monitor and antibiotic). I'm also really glad that though I got an epidural, I could feel the birth of my son. (I mean, who in their right mind is ready to ask for major surgery before even trying pain medicine!?) I think, though, that if I hadn't had to have the oxygen mask, if I had been able to take good, deep breaths whenever I needed/wanted, that I might not have had to have so many interventions. That is why "The Sinus Infection was one complication too many!"

Christmas letter 2010

Dear Friends and Family-

Well, God has continued to keep us on our toes for yet another year! Those of you who’ve read our past three Christmas letters know that we haven’t had a ‘slow’ period in our married life yet! Our 2007 letter was all about blessings and how grateful we were for all He’d provided—graduations, promotions, 1st home, marriage, travel, etc. And then our 2008 letter was about wondering where He was taking us as all the blessings seemed to be disappearing—unemployment, selling our house, and relocating to Texas.

Last year’s letter (2009) was proof that we had come through the darkness and back into the light—we’d bought a new house (our 2nd), both had jobs, Sena had finally gotten some health concerns resolved, we were able to take some amazing vacations (thanks KSA for the free flights to Ireland!), and we bought a dog (Georgia Mae). Life seemed as though we were finally ‘hitting our stride’ and we hoped that we’d be bored for the first time in our marriage--we wanted time to be spontaneous, to sit on our new front porch together, to enjoy family and old as well as new-found friends, to enjoy our neighborhood pool, etc. God, however, had other plans! In early 2010, we discovered Sena was pregnant! So what we hoped would be an easy, relaxed, bored year—sprinkled with lots of traveling—became the year of Preparing for Little Spofford.

While the pregnancy went well (as in, no complications or issues), Sena was SUPER sick throughout most of the beginning which made life with a new puppy while still working downtown at El Centro College incredibly difficult. At the end of spring semester, she was informed that there would no longer be a teaching position available for her (they were restructuring), and while angry at first, she’s been grateful to God for closing that door since about mid-summer. Once Austin was born, she switched careers from Stay at Home Wife to Stay at Home Mom (aka C.O.O.), and is loving it so far! Talk about change—three different positions in a single year!

Seth is still working at Michaels and thoroughly enjoys using his skill sets to help the company improve its operations in a variety of ways. It suits him well to be able to creatively problem solve different situations the stores might be facing all while getting to use an Excel spreadsheet to prove his point. ;-)

And while we didn’t get to take some of the big trips we’d hope to take (think: rented cabin on a beach somewhere by the ocean, New Zealand, long weekend to Seattle, trip with friends to Charleston, etc.), we did manage to spend time together doing a 9-day road trip in which we got to see some of OK, KS, CO, NM, and west TX. It was a great time, and since the theme of the vacation was relaxation as well as the fact that we were off-season, we got to spoil ourselves on some really nice hotels! We even went for a hot air balloon ride in CO!! Then, over Labor Day weekend, we drove down to Fredericksburg, TX (a quaint little town in southern Texas which is full of fun shops) for a one-night getaway. Thanks again to Seth’s job, we got to have a fairly cheap trip as he had hotel points to use, and so our hotel stay (and breakfast) was free!

We continue to love our church, our Sunday school class, our neighborhood, our house, our dog… our married life together. Both of us continue to be active in our surroundings—Sena’s involved in the neighborhood’s organization, we’re the Welcome Team co-chairs in our Sunday school class, Seth’s active in our neighborhood’s Crime Watch organization—as Block Captain and doing patrols, Sena participates in a monthly Book Club, and we both enjoyed our neighborhood’s pool again. Besides spending our time in all of these ways, we were busy prepping for Austin’s arrival which involved lots of time and gallons of paint!

The past year might not have been the bored, slow-paced life we had imagined, but it’s been wonderful just the same. God continues to show us that our life together is going to be one fun-filled adventure after another, we know He’s guiding our path every step of the way, and we wouldn’t change a thing! (But, is it selfish to hope for one year to go by without some major life change? ;-)

Merry Christmas and God Bless!!!

Medical Resolutions

The name of this post might be a little misleading. ... I simply mean that Seth and I have both had some medical issues resolved recently, but typing that as a heading didn't seem witty enough. :-)

Ok.. Seth first. For as long as I can remember, he had this semi-strange looking mole on his neck. I never thought much about it until the last couple years or so when Glamour kept doing stories on moles, cancer, and what to look for. Well, this particular mole was 2-tone, and wasn't round. According the the Glamour articles, these are two signs to watch for, so I mentioned to Seth that he should probably get it looked at. We discussed it fairly infrequently over the last year+, and then last spring his uncle said something about it.

We were at a family birthday celebration, and Seth was sitting on the floor (playing jungle gym with the kiddos, as usual) when his uncle (who was sitting on the couch behind him), made a specific mention of this particular mole by pointing to it and saying "You oughta get that mole checked out." (I'm not certain, but I believe this uncle has had his share of mole removal for cancer scare purposes, and well, frankly, he's the kind of guy who doesn't say something unless he's serious, so regardless of his experience, I launched into Further Pressure Mode.)

So, this summer, Seth finally had a physical for the first time in about 5 years. He's not generally ill, and hasn't had any specific complaints during that time, so he wasn't willing to sacrifice the time and effort to go. Well, upon getting pressure from not only me, but his uncle too, he made an appointment. The Dr (a family doc) recommended he see a dermatologist about the mole, and referred him. (And, as expected, the rest of his physical was perfectly normal. :-)

He went to the dermatologist for an Allover Mole Check appointment. She immediately removed the mole from his neck as well as one from his back and sent them both to 'the lab.' I was both saddened and thrilled with this news. I was saddened because I had encouraged him to make this appointment and he left shy of some skin and several hundred dollars (so, I felt like Great, what have I done to my husband!?).  The back one came back fine, but the neck one came back "Pre-C-word." This made me even more glad he'd had the appointment, but I was now facing some fear because they wanted to take more of his neck's skin as a result.

He went back this past Monday for the second appointment, and they performed his neck surgery. We had been jokingly calling it his "Neck Hacking" appointment, but all humor left the situation when he came home with a swollen incision about 2.5 inches long and a bit bruised and woozy. So, if you see him in the near future and wonder about the huge bandage on his neck, don't ask to see what's underneath. He goes Monday to have the stitches removed. I believe that all things Seth-mole-related are finished now and that taking the extra skin was just a precaution and that the Dr. considers this case closed. Thank God!

Now onto me. ... I asked for prayer regarding my medical situation last week, but was intentionally vague about it. A lot of faraway family and friends read my posts and though I was worried enough to ask for prayer, didn't want to broadcast news until I felt like I had news to broadcast. Hopefully that makes sense. And I haven't posted an update since then, because I felt certain family members needed to hear it directly from me, and not passed from one family member to another from what they'd read on Facebook.

Anyways... So, for as long as I can remember, I've experienced what felt like a double-beat to my heart. It's like: beat, beat, beatbeat, beat, beat, beat. It wasn't very often, and never caused any problems other than my needing to catch my breath directly afterwards. I mean, this happened so infrequently (like once a year or something) that I'd never mentioned it to any Dr. Ever. I think I might have only ever told 2 people about this, period, because it just seemed so insignificant. Seemed (past tense) being the key word here...

Over the last few months, it had been increasing in frequency to the point where it was happening several times a week, and leaving me more out of breath than 'usual.' Part of the increasing difficulty to catch my breath is obviously because my lungs are being squished from the inside, and I assumed that the increase of the double-beat was also related to pregnancy. One night while laying on my left side (which they recommend for pregnant women), it happened and it took me so long to recover that Seth told me I had to mention it to my OB.

I mentioned it to her at my next appointment by saying that I was fearful I hadn't been completely honest with her about my medical history, and that there's something I need to talk with her about. I tell her basically what you've just read and her immediate response is that she's going to refer me to a cardiologist. So, my non-routine appointment last week was with this cardiologist. (Before I go on, I must mention how perfeclty wonderful this Dr. and his staff were to me. If anyone in DFW needs a referral to a heart guy, this guy was AMAZING!)

So, I get there, and they do an EKG (which was a much-less complicated test than I imagined it would be). The Dr. comes in and says "You're too young to be here, what seems to be the problem?" I explain the increased double-beating, and he starts going over a laundry list with me of things it could be. Genetic this, genetic that, this other thing, and oh, unlikely but there's this to look for too, etc. He pulls out the results of my EKG (several squiggly lines on a piece of paper), and points to all these different parts of it which assure him that I don't have this or that or this other thing. "This is very good news!" I'm thinking. He then says that there's one more thing he'd like to check for and wants to know if I have time for an ultrasound. "Just like your other Dr. does, but I'll be aiming a bit higher up" he says. (Told you he was great!) But then I'm thinking "Oh, not so great news."

So, I'm swooped off to the sonogram station, and the tech does all sorts of angles, getting all sorts of measurements and readings and whatnot. I'm sore from laying on the funny bed thing (it had a part where the bed gives way so she can get to the left side of your body while laying on your left side. if that makes any sense..), but otherwise feeling perfectly fine. I'm then escorted back to my room, and he quickly comes in to go over the results. It's again more of this is fine, and this is perfect, and this is exactly how it should be, etc. So, I'm wondering... where does that leave me? What's causing the double-beat thingie that I experience?

He flips over my results and starts to draw what he calls 'the crudest drawing of a heart ever' (but it was actually oblong like an actual heart, not like the love kind of heart, so that seems like a great drawing to me!). He explains that there's this part of the heart responsible for directing the heart (like a conductor of an orchestra, he says) telling the heart when to beat, and keeps everything on schedule. This is called something-node. And he explains that sometimes another part of the heart can put out a half-beat in between the regularly-scheduled beats and this is what I'm experiencing. It's called PVCs--premature ventricular contractions. Because this little half-beat is off schedule and not full-strength, I experience the shortness of breath.

He assures me that there is 1) nothing to worry about and 2) it will likely subside to pre-pregnancy frequency post delivery (it's just that my body has more strain on it in general that's causing it to happen more often) and that 3) if I'm ever annoyed enough by it to want to do something, he can prescribe 'an old beta blocker' that will clear it up. I'm glad to know that my heart is perfectly normal, and I assure him it's not annoying enough to want to take medicine for; I'm simply glad to hear there's not something really wrong with me. He promises that it's not going to lead to increased risk of heart attack or stroke or any other such thing, so I feel MUCH better about the whole thing. I do look forward to it going back to pre-pregnancy frequency, though!