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Confessions of a Mad Fat Pastor’s Wife… Part 2

P.S. I’m putting the post script, before the script, so just consider this p.s. to stand for pre script. πŸ˜‰ I was completely floored by the amount of people that emailed, called, private messaged, commented, etc on the first installment of this series. I honestly had no idea that vulnerability was so connective. πŸ™‚ I’m glad, and I will keep writing, if you will keep reading. πŸ™‚ Much love to all of you!!

Confessions – Part 2

It is quiet here in the office. Both children are still asleep, and the hubs is gone to a meeting. I am sipping on a warm, slightly bitter cup of Bulletproof Green Tea. It is allegedly supposed to give me energy all day.

We shall see.

I can’t remember the last time I had energy all day.

I have always vaguely alluded to a certain trauma that happened right after my daughter was born, but I have never written out the full story. It’s always good to know the full story, right?

A little over 10 years ago, I had just given birth to a gorgeous little 7 pound, 10 ounce love, named Miss H. You may have heard me talk about her before..*wink*. The delivery was fantastic, albeit natural, without drugs, and very painful.

But she was here, and God had given me a boy and a girl, and I was blissful.

We went home the mandatory 2 days later, anxious to let Big Brother meet this little pink squish, and get settled into the new-ness. I had missed T3 so much that when I got out of the car, he ran to me, and I picked up him, sore, tender muscles and all. It was only obvious that the annoying back pain I woke up to the next morning was due to my eagerness to hug my little man.

Or so we thought. And, that is certainly what the doctor that had delivered my baby, and treated me throughout, kept telling me.

Even after a week of ever increasing back pain..the kind that makes you roll on the floor to try and get comfortable.. the response from her was take some tylenol and rest. You just had a baby.

So I believed her.

My hubs was a youth pastor at the time, and the big worry during my pregnancy was that he would be away at youth camp when Miss H decided to show up. Thankfully, she was 3 weeks early, so he was able to go. By this time, I couldn’t walk very well because the back pain was so bad, and I had been running a fever for a few days. And yes, my doctor knew all about my symptoms. Tylenol and rest, said she.

I’m not too fond of that doctor, I have to say. Not too fond at all.

We decided to go to Urgent Care to get checked out before he had to leave for camp, figuring I had an infection of some sort and needed antibiotics.

Hindsight is always 20/20, isn’t it? The fact that I couldn’t even make it from the car to a bench at the front of Urgent Care without nearly blacking out, should have been a sign to me, and the doctors that treated me, of the severity of my condition. But it wasn’t.

We were there for 6 hours, and left with a prescript for Amoxicillin, only after my husband demanded they do something other than send me home. I should have been told to go to the hospital. My blood pressure was 60/50, which explained why I felt like I was going to pass out. They tried to give me an IV, but my blood kept clotting in the needle. After 6 hours, they didn’t know what was wrong with me, and told me I just had a baby, and to take some tylenol and rest.

I hate that advice. I’m really mad about that advice.

Thus the husband’s demands for something more. He is the kind of man whom people listen to. His “won’t take no for an answer” attitude that day saved my life. I was still in massive danger, health wise. I just didn’t know it.

Because I had a 2 year old and newborn, Todd had arranged for me to stay with my parents during his week at camp, so I wouldn’t be alone. Good thinking. We lived 3 hours away, and I vividly remember my older sister meeting us halfway, and making the transfer. I didn’t want him to go to camp. I didn’t want to stay with my mom. I wanted to be at home.

I didn’t feel well.. shocker.. and I stood there and cried while my husband packed our babies in her car. I guess I knew something was wrong, but I really didn’t know what, or how severe, or what the next few months would be taking me through.

I freaked my mother out because, until the antibiotics kicked in, I was still rolling on the floor trying to massage away the back pain. It was a good thing she was there to hold my newborn. I must have been a sight.. chubby postnatal woman, rolling around, sobbing. Pitiful.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, yes?

5 Comments

  1. Not funny at all girl, but I love that you add the humor of you rolling around on the floor and crying. For different reasons we all have those days! Keep writing, its an amazing outlet. It helped me immensely through my darkest days.
    Its not funny at all but home with 2 sick loves, praying the other 3 don’t get sick and I don’t get sick and D doesn’t get sick, that part made me giggle πŸ™‚

    xoxo

    • You are such a sweet encourager. I know writing helped you through a very hard time.. thanks for your support friend!! And it’s ok to laugh.. I put it in there for that very reason. πŸ˜‰

  2. Wait, you can’t leave us hanging, there! What happened? What was wrong with you? How long was it until you found out?
    I hope it’s not too long until part 3 … I’m not good with cliff-hangers!

  3. Kim.. it won’t be long. Part 3 already being partially drafted. Glad it is interesting to you! πŸ™‚

  4. Vulnerability is very endearing in my book. It somehow makes people more real – kind of like all the rest of us nut cases. Unfortunately, not everyone has the courage to just lay everything right out for all the world to read.

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