The carousel church

It's been a battle.
Raising two children is a task in and of itself, and when you throw dilated cardiomyopathy, brain injuries, and two heart transplants in the mix, it gets downright chaotic.  There have been many times when I felt like I was pushing a three-ton rock up a steep hill and just when I thought I had things under control, the rock would go tumbling down the hill, dragging me with it.  Round and round we'd go, the boulder and I, finally landing in a disheveled heap at the bottom of an abyss.  Looking up, what did I see but yet another hill.  A steeper one.  So it goes.

But every now and then, a moment of clarity comes through.  A burst of understanding, of knowing that the effort is not unnoticed, and not unrewarded.  I had one of those moments this weekend.

We took the kids to the Mall of America to visit the MN Sea Life Aquarium.  The girls have always shown an immense love of all things that live in the sea.  No matter how many times we visit the aquarium, their enjoyment and awe is always as fresh as the very first time we went.  This visit was no exception.  Madi and Sydney oohed and aahed at the giant tank of rays, and gasped when they spotted the neon-green eel wrapping itself around a rock.  They "petted" starfish and sea urchins, and were over-the-moon excited at the tanks of jellyfish.  As I watched these creatures swim past (or overhead, in the case of the part of the aquarium that's in a tunnel), I tried to look through my daughters' eyes.  Such a simple thing as a turtle seemingly near enough to touch brought them such great happiness.  

Then it was off to Nickelodeon Universe, the Mall of America's indoor amusement park.  The lights, the sounds, the shrieks of delight from people on the various rides, was so exciting to my children.  Madi got to ride on the ferris wheel, and literally skipped her way into the line with her daddy.  My sister, Sydney and I waited on the ground below, and waved furiously every time we saw that little blond head go past.  After that, Madi and Sydney both got to take a ride on the carousel.  It was Sydney's very first time on a ride of any kind.  She had always been either too little or too sick to be able to enjoy a ride, something that was always heartbreaking to me.  I wondered if she would be a bit scared, but that worry quickly passed.  She sat up on that horse, laughing and waving like nobody's business.  Her smile was as wide as I have ever seen it, truly what you could describe as a "megawatt" grin.  It took my breath away, and brought tears to my eyes.  For that moment in time, Sydney was "just" a kid, having a great time with her parents, sister and auntie.  She didn't have to stop for therapy or medication, or have a doctor's permission.  Her only requirement was to "remain seated for the duration of the ride."  Just like everyone else.

Without an organ donor, she wouldn't have had that moment.  As the carousel kept spinning, full of bright lights and calliope music, I said a whispered thank you to the donor family for this moment, and for all the moments that Sydney gets to have.  (And Madi too!)  I prayed that somewhere out there, the thought that their loved one lives on in a bright, happy, beautiful sunshine girl brings them a bit of peace.  I prayed that they could feel my overwhelming gratitude and love for them.  And then I went to meet my family as they got off the carousel, my girls grinning like fools.

Praying at the carousel... who'd have thunk?  Just goes to show you, "church" is anywhere and everywhere.  Faith is in your heart, especially if you are blessed enough to have a transplanted one.

How CHDs affected me

Someone asked me not too long ago how I think being in the CHD world has affected me the most.  I am still quite baffled by the question.  It's part of the reason why I haven't blogged at all this week, CHD Awareness Week.  I have been somewhat lost in thought about this topic, as there are many ways my life has changed.  I don't feel like I can pick just one, but here are the ones that make the top of the list.
Appreciation
It's an oft-repeated mantra of people who have faced down demons.  "I learned to appreciate the little things."  But it's so, so true.  It doesn't matter that I don't live in a gigantic house with a fleet of shiny new luxury cars to ride around in.  Nor is it a big deal that we are a one-income household.  Of course, we'd all like to have a little extra money every month.  To be able to afford to go on vacation would be fabulous.  In the scheme of things, though, it's no big deal.  We make do.  We dine like kings without leaving our house, and marvel at all the little things we do every minute of every day.  Things that normally wouldn't warrant a second thought. You know how new parents will go watch their newborn sleep, totally in awe of their child?  I still do that and Madi is darn near seven years old.  It was my husband's birthday yesterday and I asked Madi if she wanted to sign his card.  She did, and scrawled a near-perfect "M" inside the card.  I couldn't have been more thrilled if she'd written the latest New York Times bestseller.  I have been brought to tears at the sight of my child finishing a plate of spaghetti.  Seriously.  And then I promptly laughed at myself, which brings me to the next item...
Humor
Sometimes, life deals you a crappy hand.  Sometimes, it happens more than once.  When you have some of the world's greatest doctors totally stunned at the fact that both of your children have now needed heart transplants, what is there left to do?  You laugh.  When your child hasn't pooped for two weeks due to all the narcotics that they've been on, you laugh at the poor nurse that has to give her an enema.  You laugh even harder at the lucky one who gets to bathe her after the apocolyptic "code brown" that ensues.  When your daughter learns to get out of restraints designed to keep her from messing with her IV or feeding tube, you just sit back and giggle.  With nurses around to take care of their every need, you get a glimpse into your child's personality that you may not have noticed before.  Instead of worrying about changing diapers or cleaning up vomit for the third time in a day, you get to do the playing, singing and laughing with your little one.  As time goes on and your kiddo looks better every day, it feels so wonderful to crack a smile.  To truly enjoy all the personality traits you never knew your child had.  And to share your smiles with someone you love, which is the next topic.
Community
More often than not, at least in my case, when the going got really tough with my children, people I thought I would be able to count on for anything turned tail and ran.  For whatever reason, they just couldn't handle this new way that I had to live my life.  I am ok with it now, most of the time, but as it happens it cuts like a knife.  So what's a modern mom to do?  Why, turn to Facebook of course!  There is an online community of heart parents that are out there just waiting to lend their support and knowledge to a newbie.  When I was at my lowest, they were the ones I turned to because they knew where I was at mentally and emotionally.  I didn't have to go into lengthy descriptions of what this term or that medication meant-they already knew.  They prayed, wrote sweet letters and cards, and sent care packages like no one's business.  They came for visits armed with chocolate and hugs.  They stood by my child and held her hand as the heart monitors and ventilators beeped, ignoring the whirr of the ECMO machine like it wasn't even there.  They cried with me when things got scary but never ever allowed me to lose hope.  They let me know that they were my family and always would be.  There is nothing so valuable as someone who totally understands where you're coming from.  I guess, besides the fact that I am most thankful for my two miracles, this is the part of the CHD world that's affected me the very most.  It's the club I never wanted to be a part of, this heart parent thing, but in them I have found home.
Aside from the absolutely incredible gift that my children were given by their organ donors, knowing where I belong, and that I will always be loved unconditionally, is the very best gift of all.

Why I'm angry at heart month

Be warned: I'm mad.
It's February, which means that it's heart awareness month.  February 7th-14th is CHD Awareness Week.  We get busy in my household in February, hoping that we can spread awareness, pay forward the kindnesses given to our family, and maybe educate some people on what it's like to have a congenital heart defect sneak up on you and slap you in the face.
I post pictures of my children when they were in the hospital.  Post-surgical pics full of tubes and wires.  Photos of my children with ventilator tubes in their throats.  Feeding tubes down their nose.  Catheters.  You know why I do that?  So that people stop and take notice, and perhaps take a moment to educate themselves on the number one birth defect.  Also so that my girls can see that they are strong, and they have beaten the odds, and overcome some serious stuff.
On Facebook (and in "real life"), I have lost friends because they said they couldn't handle the pictures.  Or my posting of CHD facts.  Or when I repost fundraisers for people who have lost their children, so that they can get help paying for their child's funeral and/or headstone.  They tell me it's "sick", "wrong", "annoying", "too sad", "disturbing."  Do you think I LIKE the fact that my children have gone through this?  That I ENJOY thinking about my daughters being on life support, going through strokes and CPR?  Or that I take some kind of sick pleasure begging people to throw a few dollars at a fundraiser for a little boy who died in the same room that both of my kids "lived" in post transplant?  Believe me, it's no freakin cake walk.  I hate that my daughters have had to face this.  That any kid does.  Or any parent, for that matter.  The truth of the matter, though, is that without constant posting, people brush it aside.  Even with the CHD postings that my heart family and I flood Facebook with, I strongly suspect that most people have forgotten about it in the amount of time it takes them to scroll their mouse past a posting.
Would you ignore my posts if my children had cancer?
If they lost their hair?
If I was trying to raise money for pediatric cancer research, or for a child who lost their battle to cancer?
No.  You wouldn't.
You'd donate to fundraisers.  You'd come to our blood drives.  You'd look at pictures that showed a child's battle with cancer and remark about how strong they were, what a warrior they were.  You'd do whatever it took to help a local family pay for their child's headstone, without a single question about why it was so expensive or why they can't pay for it themselves.  You'd help deliver blankets, books, and toys to kids in the cancer ward at the hospital.  You wouldn't tell me to stop being so vocal about my child's illness, and you certainly wouldn't criticize my parenting for never, ever wanting to stop until there was a cure.
Why?
Is my child not as important?
Do heart kids not deserve a chance, too?
Isn't it worthwhile to allocate funds toward research to combat the number one killer of our children?
I give to pediatric cancer research.  I participate in fundraisers for kids with cancer.  I never think twice about it.  Because it's a child that's in pain, a family that's floundering in their difficulties.  I take no issue with the attention that cancer patients receive.  I just want the same for my own children.
I want to be able to post things about congenital heart defects and organ donation without people rolling their eyes, saying "There she goes again."  I want people to want to know more about CHDs and how they can help eradicate this monster.  I want my friends and family to support me and mine by supporting the efforts I try to make toward CHD awareness.  For them to never forget that CHDs do not discriminate.  That they take more lives than all childhood cancers combined.  That they are severely underfunded research-wise, and the healthcare costs for them reach into the billions every year.  Yes, billions.  With a b.  I want people to stop what they are doing when they see a picture of a heart baby, full of tubes, and think about the tremendous courage of the child and their family.  To reach out to them.  To pray for them.  To truly care about this fight that so many of us are in.
This is our world.  We live it every day.  Heart parents, like any other parents of a child with a serious medical condition, just want to be heard.  Really heard, and not just for one week out of the year.

Don't be judgin' me

It's getting harder and harder to keep my mouth shut.  Not that I generally have a problem expressing my opinions but I suspect what I am about to say will cause some uproars with people.  It's cool.  I am ready for it.  At least I think I am.  So here goes:
I am pro-choice, and pro-birth control.  Yep.  True story.
However, I am NOT a "baby killer" or a "murderer", and I am rather tired of being labeled as such.
Now let me make this clear.  I do not think that abortions should be a form of birth control.  I do, however, believe that if a woman is raped and gets pregnant, she should have the option of an abortion.  That's my prerogative to believe it, and no amount of comments from others will change that.  Rape is a crime, and there's no reason that someone should be forced to carry a baby that is the result of that.
Birth control?  I take mine every day.  I am involved with a lot of support groups online that center around having special needs kids, kids with heart issues, and of course ones that are for transplant families.  I can't tell you how many times I have been asked "Are you having another child?"  I would have loved to have had another baby.  However, with my two children both needing heart transplants, there's obviously some pretty dominant nasty stuff in my husband's and my combined gene pool.  Time and time again, I hear "Well you shouldn't take birth control, you should let God decide.  Because God will take care of your children no matter what."  That statement makes me so mad I could scream.  I believe that having another child would be irresponsible.  I also believe that God is okay with birth control-why would He want anyone to purposefully bring a child into this world that could spend their life suffering?  And yes, God does provide.  He doesn't pay my bills though.  He doesn't make it so that my kids wouldn't have to go through what they did.  I learned many valuable lessons along the way, true.  I continue to learn due to what has happened.  That doesn't mean that it's easy.  It is not what anyone would want for their children, that's for sure.  And while we are on this topic, I may as well mention the phrase "God doesn't give you anything you can't handle."  AHHHHH!  I think this may be the saying that I hate above all else.  Really?  So my friend who lost her son.. she should "just handle" it, because God says so?  Nope, nope, nope.  PLEASE, people, think about what you are saying when this phrase comes to your mind.  It's so stupid, really.  If it were true, then some of the people in the world are "able" to "handle" loss, therefore they go through it?  No, I think the more appropriate expression may be "God helps us handle what we are given."
So back to the whole abortion/birth control topic: stop calling people baby killers.  It's disgusting.  I am not a baby killer, nor would I ever want to kill a baby.. or anyone.  I just believe that it's not the government's place to tell me what to do with my body.  That's a right I alone hold, and no one will be telling me any differently.
You're pro-life?  Cool.  I respect that completely. Don't believe in birth control?  Fine by me.  Not my body, not my business.  Just don't use your opinions as a platform to judge or belittle others.   Remember, there is only one judge.  And it's not you.  Or me.

Think before you post

Living in an internet-based society, we have the world at our fingertips.  We post every thought we have on our social media sites.  We take pictures of our dinners and put them up for people to see.  For the most part, it's all harmless.
Then, I run across something like this:

I LOVE someecards most of the time.  They are usually heavy on sarcasm, just like me.  This one, however, just made me mad.

You see, my children are on medical insurance provided by the state of Minnesota.  They also receive grant money from the county to help with expenses that typical families do not have.  Know where all the money comes from to fund these programs?  Yep, taxes.

Believe me, I would much rather be a working mom with two kids in school who have never been sick beyond your everyday run-of-the-mill childhood illnesses and injuries.  If you know me, you know that I have two daughters and both have had heart transplants.  I have spent countless weeks in hospital rooms with my children, basically living in various ICU rooms.  A situation not conducive to working a job out in the "real world."  It's not that I sit around and eat bon bons all day long.  Or collect state support and then go out and buy lobster tails and steak.  Yes, I have an iPhone.  It's one of the third generation ones (in case you weren't counting, Apple is now on their 5th generation.) and was given to me as an upgrade when my phone conked out.  Yes, my children have an iPad.  It was gifted to them to help with their special education needs.  And it has helped immensely.

My husband works.  As much as he can.  Going through two heart transplants in three years takes away more hours than you'd think, especially when you have another child at home that needs to get to school, be fed, etc.  The money that we make is of course much less than we'd like to, but we are thankful that our children are here and make whatever sacrifices are necessary to provide a great life for them.

I guess what I am trying to say here is this:  be careful what you share.  You could be hurting someone like my family, whose only choice was to put their children on state medical insurance.  Who have an income in their family and pay their fair share of taxes, but need an extra push.  Whose lives are nowhere near where they thought that they'd be.  Who'd rather that you didn't judge them based on their needs, but on what's in their heart.

I know that there are people out there that abuse the system.  I'm not naive.  But that doesn't mean that everyone who's getting a little help from the government in one way or another is scum.  Or ghetto.  It also doesn't mean that we aren't thankful for those taxes you pay to fund the programs that we need.  

Next time you see someone at the grocery store with a Coach purse and an iPhone whip out her WIC checks, don't judge.  You don't know if that purse is even real.  And if it is, if it's a gift.  You don't know who bought her that phone.  Or who pays for it.  You don't know where that woman has been, or where she is going.  

You also don't know when it might be you that needs a little help.

So before you push that "share" button, think about the people around you.  Do you know their full story?  I bet you don't.  I hope it leads you to be more thoughtful in regards to what you post.  

On transplant

Heart transplants are miraculous.
You know what else they are?  Suckfests. 
Yep, I said it.  Heart transplants suck.  Don't get me wrong, I am beyond grateful for the medical science that has kept my children alive, happy, and growing.  On days like today, though, I am just.. well.. kind of disgusted with the whole thing. 
There are so many people out there waiting on a heart.  But there just aren't enough to go around, and some will not make it to get that heart.  Some, like my kids, are exceedingly (you might even say miraculously) lucky to not have to wait months on end in a hospital bed for their new chance at life.  Far too many wait.  And wait.  And wait some more.  It's hard-emotionally, physically, financially.  As a parent you just want to fix whatever is wrong with your child.  You want to make everything better, and if you can't you want to take their place so that they don't have to deal with a single iota of pain or suffering.  In these instances, there's not much you can do but try your hardest to not go insane.  Perhaps that's the hardest part-the loss of control.  It's a helpless feeling to not have much say over your kid's day to day life.
And then, THE day comes.  You get the news that somewhere out there, a family is choosing to save your baby in the face of their own terrible grief.  And again, you give up control.  You kiss your child, and pray over them, and cry.  You watch them wheel their bed down the hall and onto the big elevator to the operating room.  You wonder if you will ever see your child again.  You pray that you will.  You cry some more. 
Then you wait.  You pace the waiting room, jumping up every time someone in blue scrubs comes your way, hoping that it's a surgical nurse with a great update.  You sit in the hard waiting room chairs, putting a couple together to lay down on, because they've told you that it's going to be awhile and that you should probably rest.  HA!  As if you could possibly shut your mind off while you know that a few floors below you, a team of brilliant minds is creating a new life for your child.
When it's over, you breathe a sigh of relief, but you know it's not the end.  It's a new beginning.  There will be heart monitors, blood draws, and much much more.  The therapies in and of themselves can be overwhelming. 
When life settles down a bit-maybe even after you've gotten out of the hospital-you realize just what a huge ordeal your child has gone through.  It's evident in the zipper scar running down their chest.  It stares you in the face as you lay out medication after medication.  Or while you take your child's blood pressure, diligently recording their daily vital signs and watching for any changes that could signal troubles.
My children run.  They play.  They laugh, sing, watch movies, beat up on each other, give kisses, and fill my life with light.  They are beautiful, wonderful miracles.  They are my life's greatest accomplishments, and I will never stop looking upon them with profound gratitude that God decided to make me their mommy.
But damnit, why can't it be easier!?  Why do I have to listen to my daughter scream her way through therapy because she is fearful?  Why do I have to watch my other daughter struggle to understand concepts that are so basic, she should've learned them two years ago?  When she collapses in tears because something is just too hard, my own heart breaks.  It sucks.
Before I became a mother, I dreamt of the life I thought I'd have with my children.  I was so far off the mark, it's not even worth mentioning.  Because of heart disease, my kids live a very very different life than the one I had hoped they'd have.  There are many more fears, anxieties, and frustrations.   And LOTS more tears than I would've liked.  Things that shouldn't be hard are so excruciatingly difficult for my kids that it makes me angry.  Why my kids?  Why?  It's enough to make me want to run to the nearest cliff and take a leap off the edge some days.
Then I have to pull myself back from the edge.  Put myself in check.  Even when we take three steps forward and two back, I need to remember to focus on that ONE step forward.  Tiny though it may be, it's progress.  Sometimes, the little things really are the big things.
They say that nothing that's good in life comes easily.  Judging by the hard work and struggle that both of my daughters have endured, I'd say that they are both made for greatness.
Maybe heart transplants aren't such giant suckfests after all.

Living in the bubble

I am pretty sure that the next time someone tells me to let my kids "live their life to the fullest" and "don't keep them in a bubble", I may just scream.
I don't understand why being cautious is now looked at as being over-paranoid.  It's not like my kids never see the light of day.  I don't swaddle them in bubble wrap before leaving the house, nor have I installed a Lysol decontamination room in my house.  Madi goes to school.  She plays outside at recess.  We go to movies.  We've gone to Sesame Street Live and Yo Gabba Gabba Live.  I know for a fact that when we're outside, much as I don't like it, Sydney sneaks tastes of dirt.  And we are fine, for the most part.
When it comes to flu season, of course, we are much more cautious.  We insist on flu shots, both for our family and for people visiting our house.  We are adamant that you take your shoes off when you come in the house.  That was always the rule, though, even before our kids were transplanted.  We require hand-washing when you come in the house, and when you've gone to the bathroom.  What's so weird about that?
It really offends me when people make comments that I didn't fight for my kids' lives and get them their transplants just so I could put them in a bubble and not let them live life.  It makes me very angry, in fact.  I know I shouldn't take it to heart, and I should just blow it off, but sometimes it's hard.  I don't think people realize when they make comments like that, they are basically saying "Hey, you suck as a mom."  It's totally true that we didn't go through what we did to live a life less than full.  The girls' limitations post-transplant are actually less than pre-transplant.  Before they had new hearts, the girls wouldn't have even been allowed to play sports or do gymnastics.  Now they can.  There are just different rules.  Most of them involving vaccination and food safety.  All of them involving common sense.
Let's be real, here: there are a lot of germs in the world.  I know that my kids are going to get sick.  It's inevitable, especially with Madi now in school.  I know that some exposure to dirt and germs is necessary to build a stronger immune system in anyone.
Contrary to popular belief, I don't sit in a corner, rocking and sucking my thumb, afraid of the world and all the stuff that's "out to get" my kids.  My kids probably get to do more things than I did as a kid.  Just because they aren't in weekly swimming, tennis, or needlepoint lessons doesn't mean that they are missing something in their lives.  Madi and Sydney are homebodies.  They'd prefer to be at home and watch movies, color pictures, or play with trucks than be out running around.  Maybe because they have both spent so much time cooped up in hospital rooms and doctor's offices, they simply enjoy the comforts of home.  That's totally fine by me.  I don't believe that the amount of places a child has been or the number of activities on their daily schedule determines whether they have a good childhood.  If any family knows how to live life to the fullest, it's ours.  We celebrate the mundane, everyday things that so many overlook without a second thought.  I got teary-eyed when Madi put her own pants on the other day, for cryin' out loud!!
So please, don't tell me that I don't ensure my kids live their lives to the fullest.  The docs at Mayo think we are doing a great job, and are very thankful (as am I) that the girls continue to grow, learn, and achieve all that their hearts desire.  And they manage to do it relatively healthily, at that.  So no, you probably won't run into my kids in the busy shopping mall in the middle of December.  Who likes shopping with their little ones anyway?!?  And chances are you won't see us at Chuck E Cheese anytime soon.  But don't tell me that my kids don't live their lives to the fullest.
Their every breath is evidence to the contrary.