2 Months Home

I write this post after taking a long deep breath.  Little Guy is finally asleep.

We have been in the fray this week, for sure.  I don't know what is going on in the mind of Little Guy, but it has been rough.  Biting, spitting, scratching, pulling hair, kicking, hitting.....  the whole gammit.  And if one attack doesn't effect whoever he is angry with, he looks for another one.  I can't possibly fathom the pain or fear he is experiencing.  It is scary just to watch.

I was not expecting this.

A friend of mine read about a million books before her children came home from Haiti.  I think I read 2, one of which was a book on Haiti's history.  I'm the kind of person that worries about things needlessly, so I didn't read much because I didn't want to invite troubles to worry about.  I thought it would be better to wait and see how things went and then do research specific to the problems we were facing.

And I'm at the point where I need to be doing that research, but now, when Little Guy goes to bed, my heart and mind are so worn that I don't want to touch another adoption related topic.  I want to sleep, instead.

I am doing very poorly at juggling life.  I miss our biological kids dearly.  Because of an hour long temper today, my littlest ones had to get their own lunch, which isn't a really big deal.  Independence is a good thing.  But, I knew what I was missing with them.  When Husband isn't home at night, they turn their own lights off and I check on them after Little Guy is finally asleep.  DFC (work) is suffering greatly.  I miss "normal".

I thought that once we started going places with Little Guy, after cocooning, I wouldn't feel so lonely.  How is it possible that I feel lonelier, still?  Somehow, even though I didn't imagine it would, it is getting tougher.

People see how cute he is.  (He is cute!)  And they know we waited forever.  And they ask us how happy we are.  I wonder if the zombie like expression I send back makes them wonder.

Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking almost 3 years ago when we decided to embark upon the process of adoption.  Life is so very different than it was then.  And I wonder if life would be that much worse for him if he was still at the orphanage, where he was with what was familiar, at least, without us.

And I think of those who say that we wanted this and he needs this.  Well, we wanted to obey God and we felt like adoption is where God was calling us.  We worked so hard to obey Him, through the unknown, waiting and corruption.  And we were referred to our Little Guy, so we kept taking one step at a time.  And now we are working hard to obey again, through the unknown, waiting and effects of corruption and institutionalized care.

I don't think it is possible for me to be more full of fear than he may be.  More out of my comfort zone.  More stretched.  Trying to put myself in his shoes feels overwhelming to me, to try to meet his needs, when I haven't the faintest idea how it would be to experience the kind of pain and suffering he has seen the first 3 years of his life, the last 2 months of his life.  He has to feel like he is in some kind of twilight zone.  I'd fight that, too.

I really hope that this gets better for him, for us.  If it wasn't for this blog post, (we're stage 2, if you couldn't guess) that explains where we are, almost to a T, I think I would feel hopeless all together.  And if it wasn't for concrete proof, like this....

Last picture we received from the orphanage

Little Guy on Friday - 2 months home

I'd feel very hopeless that this was good for any of us.  It gives me some hope.

Why am I writing this and bumming you all out?  :)

For the same reason I wrote the last post.  I know I am not alone in these feelings.  I know there are other adoptive or foster parents out there who are weary from the toll the daily rollercoaster of this process takes.  It is so frightening to tell people, in real life, what things are really like.  It feels impossible to explain.  And none of the people I interact with in our small part of the world have adopted, which means it is crazy hard to explain.  And it is scary to even try because you wonder what they are thinking about your commitment level or the kind of person you are, or worse, wonder about Little Guy.

But, out there somewhere, I think there are others who feel this way, who long for hope and to know they aren't alone.

Please keep praying for all of us - or other adoptive/foster families.  We need them.

Melanoma Is Not Just Skin Cancer

I'm writing this just so you know.  For the next person you come across with melanoma.

I used to be you.  When I heard that someone had skin cancer, my first and only thought was, "Psh.  No big deal.  Cut it off.  It's gone.  You're done."

About 95% of the people who find out I have now had melanoma and who know that I had a procedure to remove it,  have said to me, "Well, I'm glad that's over."

What they don't realize is that it is not over.  At all.

It happens so quickly.  You see something that strikes you as odd.  That's it, maybe.  (I actually thought mine was the beginning of a pimple.  It did NOT look like the normal melanoma pictures you see.)  You wait.  You finally go get it checked.  The spot is biopsied.

But then, a week later you learn it is malignant melanoma and you start to talk about it and people say, "Oh, it's skin cancer.  My ..... had skin cancer, but now they're fine."

But did they have melanoma?  The kind of cancer that grows and spreads through your body like wildfire if given the chance and is fatal when not caught in time?  Not basal cell, not squamous cell.  Melanoma.  It is different.  It is crazy deadly.  Quick fact:

• The vast majority of skin cancers are basal cell carcinomas and squamous cell carcinomas. While malignant, these are unlikely to spread to other parts of the body. They may be locally disfiguring if not treated early.  A small but significant number of skin cancers are malignant melanomas. Malignant melanoma is a highly aggressive cancer that tends to spread to other parts of the body. These cancers may be fatal if not treated early. *

For me, this skin cancer resulted in 2 biopsies, a wide excision procedure with a 3 inch scar to prove it, 2 full body dermatological exams and a scheduled visit to the oncologist for consultation.  And that was just in the first 30 days. 

When I went to the surgeon yesterday I learned that my 5-10 year survival rate is 90-95% for "this melanoma site".  I asked her why she had to chop more of my arm off given that the last margins were clear.  She informed me they do this procedure in case any of the cells from the invasive, Stage 1 melanoma broke off and traveled to any of the lymphatics.  There is a 5-10% chance that they have done that and will metastasize to somewhere else in my body.  And you're right, those aren't really high odds. 

In my head, though, that was only for this one area.  My chance of developing a second melanoma (or second primary site, as they call it) is high.  I have all the indicators - about a million freckles, several of them bigger than 1/4" in diameter - and 8 of which they are watching after my last exam (3 on my face), absolutely more than 5 sun burns and probably 40 trips to the tanning bed before I was 18.  (Tanning alone increases your risk by 75%!)  Oh yeah, and that first melanoma site increases my odds some more.

So, for the next 5 years, I will be seen every 3 months by a dermatologist who will look over every inch of my body to see if there are new spots, to see if any of the regular ones have changed.

From now on, I will need to keep an eye out to see if any new spots are developing or changing.

I will be sporting a 3 inch long scar on my left arm from a 4mm spot.

And I will wait.

I feel like a ticking time bomb.  I have no idea if something more is somewhere that I have missed.  (The doctor missed the first one.)  I have no idea if I do miss something, how fast it will grow or when it will be found and if it will be taken care of in time.  You see, with melanoma, you are never officially in regression.  You are considered "no evidence of disease."  Not exactly final.

Hearing your 10 year old say, "Mom, since you got cancer......." does not feel good.  And peering into your own arm, looking at your own real live muscle (right there!), is a huge reality check.  This is not just skin cancer.  Treatment hurts.  It is scary.

All of this is not to communicate that I am without hope.  I have hope no matter the direction this journey takes me.  And my odds of this melanoma recurring are low.  And I am grateful.  It could have been so much worse.

This is to say that melanoma is real cancer.  Please, if you know someone who has melanoma, no matter the stage, call them when they have procedures, text them, send them a note, ask when their next appointment is, maybe even write it down to remember to check on them.  I'm not saying to remember everything.  Just remember something.  Very few people will treat it as significant.  After my surgery yesterday I had 1 person check on me.  And I felt very alone.

Treat melanoma like it is real.  Simply because it is.  The support you'll provide will be immeasurable.

The Gift of Melanoma

2 weeks ago I was diagnosed with melanoma.  I had noticed a spot on my arm, the size of a pencil eraser that was raised with an uneven border and a bit of a reddish coloring to it.  For 2 months I did nothing.  I eventually scheduled an appointment with my dermatologist and he did his exam, not seeing anything remarkable.  Thankfully, he checked the spot I was concerned about and biopsied it.  A week later, he called to tell me I had melanoma, and that was all the information he gave me, other than to say he was sending it on for a second opinion and would call me in another week to tell me more.

The only experience I really had of melanoma, per say, was a dear friend who was diagnosed with melanoma and died 3 weeks later.  Melanoma is such a fast moving, sneaky cancer, that if left untreated can be fatal quickly.

I shook and cried as I called Husband to tell him.  He cried with me.  It was like life stopped moving for us.  And it kept on moving for everyone else.  I was school shopping with Little Miss at the time and I had to continue shopping, wondering if it was the last time I'd be able to do that with her.  That was a terrible feeling.

The times I struggled the most, as the days ticked by, were when I thought about missing my children.  All 4 of our children are under the age of 11.  So much of life is still in front of them.  So many formative years.  I didn't want to miss them for my sake.  I didn't want them to miss me, for their sakes.  I don't think I'm an awesome mom or anything, but I believe it is ingrained in every child to want a mom to love them because a mom loves like no one else can.

Somehow, at the same time, I felt so ready.  I imagined a life void of depression, anxiety and mysophonia.  Void of worrying about the next shoe to drop.  Void of the pain that comes with our fallen world.  Thinking of that - the relief from those things - gave me so much comfort.  Knowing that I was going to get to the end of the race, holding the hand of Christ, and knowing my children were safe and cared for, provided such a feeling of peace and joy that I was surprised by it.

Later that week, the doctor called to say that it was melanoma in situ, meaning that it was contained and superficial.  I felt like I had worried for nothing, but I was still worried, for some reason.  He told me I would need to see the surgeon for an excision so it didn't become invasive.  On Monday I went to the surgeon who said that the dermatologist had been wrong.  It was indeed invasive and would need to be biopsied again to see what stage it actually was at.

4 more days we waited, until today, when she called to say that the margins were clear.  The melanoma was gone.  And that I would just need to have a wider excision, just to be on the safe side.  That is yet to be scheduled.

I cried when I got off the phone with her.   A wave of emotions have been hitting me over the course of the day.  Strangely enough, the biggest emotion I primarily felt was disappointment.  Disappointment that the thoughts that had brought me peace were not going to become reality. 

Everyone laughs at me and points at my pessimism when I say that I have always expected to die young.  Since I was a little girl, I have had that in my head.  Unfortunately, baking myself in the sun was something I didn't really think would have an impact on that thought when I was a teenager.  I went to tanning beds at least 40 times and got burnt on a regular basis, even to the point of sun poisoning once.

So when I learned I had melanoma, I didn't blame it on God, despite the fact that that is my usual, knee-jerk response.  My overall thought was, "Okay, God.  Let's do this."  I knew He would walk beside me and I knew He didn't cause it.

Over the course of the last several years I have learned that I can't really cling to anything here because everything that I can see and touch is temporary.  Everything is broken and in it's own pain and sometimes I am just on my own with God.  The prospect of dying highlighted that reality even more these last couple of weeks.  No one else can feel the feelings I feel, think the things I think or really understand what I'm experiencing because they just aren't me.  And because of that, I have to rely on Him.

I don't understand what will happen next, what He desires of me, except to wake up each morning and ask Him.  I am so grateful to know, in a new and different way, that comfort and peace do come from Him and the comfort of eternity gives joy. 

I don't want to have cancer.  This was caught at stage 1.  It could come back.  It could arrive somewhere else.  My risk was high anyway - now it is higher.  So, we may face this again, but now I know that the hope of eternity will be with it.

Mysophonia

I feel a huge sense of shame and guilt in writing this post because I feel like I KNOW what you are going to think.

I deal with a sound sensitivity issue called mysophonia.  For those of you who don't know what it is, probably basically everyone, it is basically a hatred of sound.  It is a genetic thing and is a hatred of particular sounds, mostly repetitive and uncontrollable - clicking pens, people chewing with their mouths open, etc.  All those little things that people find annoying create a sense of panic in me at times.  It manifests itself in a way so that it becomes the center of attention of life and can drive the person it effects into solitude and isolation in order to avoid certain sounds.

The first home we lived in was across from a gun club.  Husband told me I'd get used to the noise.  Hahaha.  I sought counseling to be able to live in that house, after a time.  Most counselors have no idea what mysophonia is.  Most of them told me to wear earplugs, which is the WAY WRONG answer.  I finally talked to an audiologist in Ithaca, NY and she understood what I was going through, tested my hearing, etc.  Turns out I have hearing better than a kid.  I could hear EVERYTHING she tested on me.  Her equipment couldn't go any further down to see how well I can really hear.  While that is awesome, it doesn't help with this issue.  :)

When we came to look at the house we currently live in, I knew there was a highway .25 miles away.  I could hear it and it didn't bother me.  When I was growing up, I'd stay with my great grandmother from time to time and hearing the cars go past her house was a great comfort to me.  I said it wouldn't bother me.  Ummm.  I was wrong.  I made it through the first year without it bothering me and then one day, the highway was crazy loud and the switch flipped and I could no longer tolerate hearing it.  It is the strangest thing.  I KNOW it can't hurt me.  I KNOW it is only a sound.  But those sounds trigger a fight or flight response in me.  That is really what it feels like.  You know when someone comes around the corner and scares the heck out of you?  It's like feeling that way all the time.

At first, I did all kinds of things to avoid the sound, including setting up fans all over the place, but after seeing the audiologist, I had to turn off all the fans and try to deal.  It has gotten MUCH better.  If I'm having a rough day, for any reason, it is usually harder to deal with again, but I can be in the house and it's okay.  Going outside is a completely different animal, though.

Because of the way this makes me feel, and the reaction I have to that feeling, I have not gone outside to sit on the porch, play with the kids, or garden for 3 years.  There have been times, intermittently when I have, and it was tough.

Our house is 3200 square feet with a 1600 square foot basement.  And we have stuff everywhere!!  Since starting the business I have not been able to keep up with it.  It is completely overwhelming to me, even with Justin and the kids helping.  It's just SO BIG.

The summer after we bought this house I asked many times what in the world we had been thinking.  At one point, we had a little house in town that was 1800 square feet and it was wonderful!  I kept up with it - easily - and we spent so much time together as a family because we didn't have to maintain anything!!  It takes me 5 hours to mow our lawn now, and that's just one aspect of having this particular house.

Now, don't get me wrong, there are so many things I LOVE about this house!  We have room for everyone and their mother to come and hang out with us, if they want to.  We have granite countertops, which are A.MAZ.ING.  We have Jack and Jill bathrooms for the kids.  A gynormous master suite.  And who wouldn't want a geothermal system?!

But, I want to have a life and memories, not a house.

Here comes the part that I feel quilty about.

Last summer when I was in Haiti, I was miserable.  It was loud ALL.THE.TIME.  Little Guy cried the entire time, it felt like.  It was 135 degrees.  Miserable.  And I still didn't want to come home.  I knew that when I came home, I'd just be back to dealing with the sound again (I know it sounds crazy.).  I didn't think I could handle feeling trapped again.

So, Husband and I started keeping our eyes open for another house.  We decided if something came up, that we loved, we would see if we could buy it.  But, it needed to be the right house.  The market is really low and has been while we've been looking again.  We did look at several houses, but none of them felt right, so we've stayed put.

About a month ago, a house came on the market - 3 bedrooms, very split up, postage stamp kitchen, cathedral ceilings, fireplace, 30 acres with a beautiful ravine and creek.  It was built in the 70s, so it's dated, but very doable for the business and our family.  There were just so many things about this house that we thought we would all love.  On Saturday we made an offer.  I was handling the highway better simply because I felt like I was going to have a way out.  It's strange because if I went to your house and you had the highway, I doubt I would care.  Because I can leave.  I have "control".  Here, I can't leave, which gives way to the fight or flight and feeling trapped emotions.

Our offer was very fair, but it was quick.  We asked to close in 45 days so we could move before our little guy came home.  I don't want to move after he comes home because he is going to need the strongest sense of safety and stability we can give him.  Moving does not lend itself to stability and calmness.  :)

They rejected our offer completely.  Well, they said they'd drop the price $2000.  And they'd close July 15 instead of June 9.  Oh, and they don't want the sale to be contingent on the house appraising.

It doesn't get more rejecting that that other than a flat "no".

So, yesterday put me back into a tizzy.  I had begun to hope that maybe God didn't want me to feel trapped and it was okay to move, okay to look forward to something different.  I have felt guilty even feeling that way because I don't deserve anything!  My word, what I have compared to most people, is amazing!  I'm not looking for more or better stuff - just peace.  But, I still feel guilty asking.

After all this adoption stuff, finally giving it over to Him and trusting Him in it, you'd think I could handle this.  Nope.  It sounds so stupid to write it out, but it is honest.

Here is why I'm telling you ALL this.  I would love your prayers as it comes to this housing situation.  I need them.  I may be more worried about this than I am about the adoption at this point.  Yep.  I definitely am.

I kept reminding myself all day yesterday that feelings are feelings!  They are temporary and they change on a dime, sometimes.  It was okay to be disappointed and ask God questions (I hope).  As I was going to the grocery store, I thought of the verse that talks about His mercies being new every morning.  And, I began to look forward to this morning, knowing that He will still be there, no matter what I am struggling with, what I am asking about, what I don't get at all.  Man, I am so thankful He is that kind of God.

On God's Faithfulness

What I really want to say is that God is faithful in the trial.

God promises to love us, with an overwhelming love, always.  Constant.

He promises to be faithful to forgive us when we mess up and ask Him to forgive us.

He promises to be faithful to provide eternal life when we believe in His Son.

He is faithful.  And His faithfulness is great.

That means always.

Over the past 2 1/2 years of our adoption process we have seen family after family encounter huge difficulties and obstacles.  Endless waiting, it seems.  Lying.  Corruption.  Even evil.

When relief comes, people say, "God is good!  God is faithful!"

I'm here to tell you that while that is true, God is faithful ALWAYS.  When you're waiting.  When you run into another obstacle.  When you don't know where to go.  When you have messed up for the millionth time.  He is faithful to be with you.  He is faithful to grant peace, love, forgiveness and mercy.  He is faithful to LOVE you.

That's what we really need.  We don't really need to move on to the next step.  We don't really need anything material.  Everything we can see, touch or feel is temporal.

Maybe that's part of how we can know He is constant.

22 Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. 23 They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23

Save 1 With Every Run 2013 Conclusion and What I've Learned From Running

The goal was 100 runs and 100 prayers.  One prayer for every run - for freedom from trafficking and a life of slavery and forced prostitution for a child.

What I thought was going to be a solitary goal turned into a community goal.  The response I received when I announced my goal, and those who wanted to join in, was so beautiful to me.  People wanted to use their time running to pray for those who can't run because they don't have the freedom to.

What I hoped would be 100 prayers turned into 1229 prayers.  1229!!  That is amazing!!

I believe with all my heart that God has honored or will honor those prayers.  That He will set one free for every run and every prayer prayed.

I have been privileged to see our Save 1 runners post the experiences they have had this past year while participating in this campaign.  Some have felt God's presence in new and wonderful ways.  Others have rejoiced in reading news articles of freedom and healing from trafficking.  It has been amazing.

2013 was the first full year I ran.  I have learned so much through the experience of running.  It has come to symbolize the most joyous and frustrating times and processes in my life. 

Feeling the daunting, "there is no way I'm going to get through this" feeling of climbing a hill when I just would rather lay down on the road and take a nap.  The excitement of wondering what is over the next hill in new and unfamiliar, yet beautiful territory.  The misery of feeling like I'm behind and that everyone else is running faster or further than me.  The contentment of not caring anymore, but just enjoying being outside and the goals God has set for me; not worrying about other goals that others may or may not set for me.  And the feeling of absolute victory for accomplishing a new goal - running just a bit further or faster than before - or simply being content with the run no matter what my "stats" were.

I have found my play list to be more than ironic at times.  Like the times I've been climbing a hill and the lyrics of a song came up that say, "Just ask the hill to move and it will move."  I'm here to tell you I have faith smaller than a mustard seed because that hill did not move.  It remains where it is no matter how many times I hear that song while climbing up it and no matter how many times I declare it to move.  Other ironic lyrics when trying to run include, "I just want to slow down" (thank you Third Day) or "stop running" (Kerry Roberts). 

This past year has been such a gift to me.  The time spent in praise of God, as I listen to music has been new for me.  I am so grateful for that.  I believe that through this experience, He has given me an opportunity to learn more about life and how it works and what He is able to do through me in it, if I keep pressing on.

I think this is what it means when He says that He will give beyond our sacrifice.  Running isn't a lot of a sacrifice, really, but there were LOTS of days (almost every one), that I didn't want to go out for one reason or another.  But, I went because I wanted to pray for one more girl.  I believe He heard those prayers and not only answered them, but spent that time running alongside me, teaching me and filling me in unexpected ways.  That is the blessing I didn't anticipate.

So, I'm thankful.  Thank you to all of you who joined me in this campaign this year.  I don't have a set goal in 2014 except to keep running.  I hope Save 1 With Every Run continues and I hope you'll join me.  Here's where you can find more info if you're interested.

Here's to freedom in 2014 - and so many thanks for all those wonderful 1229 prayers that were prayed in 2013.   




**Very special thanks to the talented Christie Lee for her beautiful work designing our logo.  Thank you, Christie!!