***I have been writing this post for over 7 months. It is EXTREMELY long- I'd say it's more like a mini-book than a blog post. But nonetheless, here it is. I'm sure there are MANY typos...and MANY repeated points made. But for those that have asked about my "story". Here it is...***
It has been quite a while since my last blog post. My blog slacking is not due to lack of action going on over here at the Rogers'. Much has happened- so if you feel like catching up on our lives, settle in for a bit. You might want to grab a sandwich or some popcorn and commit yourself to a good portion of time to readithis post, because have we got a story for YOU. And let's just be honest, if any of you know me, you know I can be verbose. (I'm also doing this post for journaling purposes- this is definitely a story for our children and future grandchildren)
As I mentioned in my last blog post (the Christmas letter), we were expecting our third baby, a little girl in April. Little miss Londyn Ann Rogers was born April 21, 2012. She weighed 7lbs, 7oz. and was 18 1/2 inches long. She was my only overdue baby. We expected her anywhere between the 15th and 18th, but she decided to wait for the weekend. I've had a few friends ask me for the story on the labor, and so I wanted to write about that. So- for those that don't like labor stories, you can go ahead and skip this part. But, don't worry, I will not get too graphic, I promise!
This being my third baby, I have learned something about my body and pregnancy. No matter how I eat or how much I exercise,
( high blood pressure) plagues me towards the end of my pregnancies. With Montana, it presented much earlier in my pregnancy- but lets face it, I packed on the pounds with that one, and so my theory is the lack of exercise and the OVER "eating for two" thing that I had going on, had a lot to do with my blood pressure issues. With Carson and Londyn, I worked very hard to be aware of my nutrition and I worked out quite a bit. With Londyn, I was working out pretty much up until the day I gave birth. But, to no avail, those diastolic and systolic demons came to haunt me, and like I had every pregnancy, I found myself at least once in the triage at Labor and Delivery on monitors with the threat of induction. Luckily, I never had any other symptoms to indicate that I was
, so I was always sent home with the orders to "relax". I LOVE my OBGYN. And I don't just mean like as a doctor. I mean as a doctor, a dear friend, a mentor and a hero. More on that later. But my sweet doctor agreed to see me everyday in order to check my blood pressure and to make sure there was no protien in my urine (another indication of pre-eclampsia). She did this to help keep me from induction, since I was desirous to have my body go into labor on its own. I did not have a good experience having been induced with my first baby (because of hypertension), and after having been able to go into labor with my second on my own, that was what we were hoping for with Londyn. My due date came and went and we waited. Marc and I joked every morning when we would wake up and look at each other, realizing we'd slept another complete night without a baby making her debut, that it felt like the movie Groundhog Day. Same story- every morning. Still pregnant. We were nearing the weekend and I had pretty much told myself that I was going to probably be at church that next Sunday, and make it to another Monday, so we had been making plans for the weekend. Friday evening we went out to dinner and ice cream with our good friends and even though I was consistently having contractions as I was eating my Mongolian BBQ ( I really didn't think labor was imminent, considering my choice of pre-labor meal), I didn't think much of it. I had been contracting for weeks and was not about to get my hopes up. The contractions continued pretty consistently all evening but were not much more than uncomfortable. Marc and I sat down that evening after putting the kids to bed, and watched some Netflix and I realized as my husband snored away on the couch (that's what happens to him whenever we watch TV), that my mind kept being drawn to my contractions. They seemed like they were getting closer and I realized that this was the longest I had ever had them last. I decided that maybe we should just go up and go to bed. I wasn't going to get too excited just yet, and decided that the tale tell sign of this being the real thing, would be if I didn't make it through another full nights sleep. We went upstairs and I tried to sleep, but could not. I turned the TV back on, and got to a point where I couldn't focus much on the TV even, because my contractions were coming at least every 7 minutes. At about 1:00am, I turned the TV back off and tried to sleep again. Within the next hour, it became pretty clear to me that I was in labor- the contractions were beginning to be every 5 minutes, and lasting almost a minute. I woke Marc up and told him he probably wanted to start thinking about the process of what he would need to do to leave the house. Within a few minutes we were both out of bed and getting showered and ready for the hospital. Marc called my OB and she confirmed that it was probably time to go to the hospital and told us she would meet us there. We called my parents and they came to my house to stay with the kids. As we drove in the car, I realized that the contractions were now every 3 minutes and starting to be pretty uncomfortable. The main parking lot at the hospital was closed for construction, and so we had to park at the neighboring lot. Marc tried to drop me off at the curb, but I refused, telling him I wanted to get as much done before hitting that hospital bed and that walking through the parking lot would move that along. After about six stops through the parking lot to breath through contractions, we made it into the hospital and up to labor and delivery.
I checked in at about 3:15 am and the nurses brought me to triage where they checked my vitals. Not surprisingly, my BP was elevated...again. My OB arrived and she looked at my blood pressure and was a little concerned that they might have to put me on Magnesium Sulfate- which I did not want- I had heard not so fun things about the side effects. She also checked the baby's position, and it seemed she had turned sideways, which panicked me, as Carson's delivery flashed through my mind. (Let's just say, that boy turned all sorts of funky in the birth canal and required a vacuum, episiotomy, all sorts of pain and resulted in a beat up little newborn head and over 100 stitches for me.) We prayed that my BP would stabilize and that our little girl would cooperate and turn during labor. She then checked my dilation and I was just about 6CM dilated and fully effaced. We were well on our way and so they moved me into a birthing room. Because of the babies position, she had me lying on my side, as far towards being on my stomach as I could get. My BP had started to stablize and so the threat of Magnesium Sulfate was lessened. After a little while, I was able to move into a rocking chair and hold Marc's hand. I breathed through the contractions and started to feel like I might be sick to my stomach. My OB always says, that during transition a woman who is giving birth naturally usually says, "I'm going to throw up!" and then she's ready to push. So when I said, "I feel like I'm going to throw up", she decided it was probably time to check me. I was reluctant to be checked because I felt like I hadn't been there long enough and I didn't want to be disappointed if we were not close. She let me get through a few more contractions and then told me it was time to check. I was shocked when she said I was fully dilated and that she was going to break my water and that I needed to get ready to push.
Marc hurriedly called both our mothers when they went to check me. As I was pushing, they both came in- I'm so glad both Grandma's were there to witness the birth. Having Marc as my birthing coach and support to hold my hand during labor was awesome. Such a calm and quiet room- but it was very important to us that both our mothers were there to see their grandbaby born. It took about five pushes and maybe 15 minutes, and Londyn Ann Rogers made her debut into this world on April 21st, 2012 at 6:19am. She weighed in at 7 lbs 7 oz. and was 18 1/2 inches long.
She latched on and nursed right away and we were soon up in Post Partum and itching to go home. Of course, we had to stay one night. We had some fun visitors that day-
Finally on Sunday morning, we were cleared to leave! Both of us were doing perfect!
On that next Wednesday, April 25th, I started to kind of slow down. I actually did not even get dressed that day. I had showered the night before and stayed in my pajamas. Marc took the kids to the gym and for the better part of the day, it was just Londyn and I. We snuggled as I watched Netflix. For some reason, I decided to start watching an Animal Planet program called, "I Shouldn't Be Alive". I had anxiety all day, and I couldn't place my finger on it. I actually called Marc on his way home from the gym and asked him if he thought something could be wrong with Londyn. My basis for that thought was solely on the fact that we had some weird test results during pregnancy that resulted in us getting an amniocentesis. Everything came back normal, but for some reason I had an uneasy feeling I couldn't shake.
Londyn and I relaxing on the couch on Wednesday, April 25th.
That evening, we had a particularly stressful dinner time. We had a five year old that (as usual) had to be reminded to take every single bite that went into her mouth... which of course turned into the typical, "Five more bites and then can I be done?" bargaining game. Carson was doing the typical two year old dinner routine of throwing food. This time, it resulted in Mommy getting pelted with carrots. Throughout this, our sweet little new baby was doing the normal new baby "cluster nurse because its evening" routine and she was literally attached to me for a good couple of hours on and off that night. As we sat at the dinner table, I became extremely flustered. I was feeling extremely overloaded on emotions, as I was still unable to shake my uneasy feeling that I had all day. At one point during dinner, I had yelled at both the older children and we sent Montana to time out on the stairs for talking back. As I went to have a chat with her and get her out of time out, I heard her telling herself she was "the worst girl in the world". It broke my heart and I felt an extreme amount of guilt and anxiety for how I was handling the situation. I think in the back of my mind, I worried that I was going to have a harder time adjusting to three kids than I thought. I was also feeling uneasy about the fact that the next week, Marc, my parents, my sister and her family and two of my closest girlfriends were all going to be out of town at the same time. I worried that, if I couldn't even keep it together with Marc there, what would happen next week?
We cleaned up dinner and my mom called. I remember expressing my frustration with how I was feeling and handling things at dinner-- and she could tell I was having a rough night. I had to end the conversation as our doorbell rang- we had visitors. Our dear friends from Galt came over with their three boys and we visited for a while. After they left, it was late and so Marc and I rushed the kids into the bedtime routine. Still on and off nursing a fussy baby, and with exhausted kids, we tried to do our book, scripture, prayer routine in Montana's room. A few minutes into it, Carson was still not cooperating and so Marc decided to just put him in his crib. I could hear him crying from his room, and I again felt that overwhelming guilt for the frustration and lack of peace going on in our home. I usually could go in and sing "I Am A Child of God" to Carson and rock him and he would calm down, and so I resolved that after prayers, I would go in and do that. Marc and I continued the routine with scriptures with Montana. Marc got a text from the neighbor that he was home, and Marc had needed him to sign some paperwork, and asked me to finish things up and said he'd be right back. Montana lay in bed, as I stood bouncing the baby, balancing the big family size Book of Mormon on the bed, and reading to a five year old that was interested in anything but listening to the passages. She flailed her body around and the big heavy book fell off the bed with a thud and onto my legs and feet. I stumbled to catch it while I still held the baby. I remember a wave of complete anxiety come over me at that moment, and I took a deep, hopefully cleansing, breath. I closed the book and told Montana that we would just finish the chapter tomorrow and that it was time for prayers. I volunteered to say it. I finished praying and went to turn off her nightstand lamp-and then it started....
8:30 pm- My heart started pounding...racing...uncontrollably and irregularly. It took my breath away and made me feel instantaneously panicked. I picked up my cell phone, still in Montana's room, and I dialed Marc. He answered and I told him in a shaky voice, "My heart is racing and I feel I might pass out. I don't know what to do!" He first asked where I was and if I was holding the baby. When I answered yes, he told me to put the baby down and sit down. At this point, I think he and I both felt that I was just extremely anxious and overwhelmed. I hung up with him, and I shrunk to the floor leaning my back up against Montana's closet. I laid Londyn on the ground next to me. For the life of me, I can't remember what Montana was saying or doing as she watched this unfold in her bedroom. Within a minute, Marc was back home and picked Londyn up off of the ground. He escorted me to our bedroom and told me he thought I should lay down and try to relax. I could hear Montana crying in the other room, and saying she didn't get a hug or a kiss. I stumbled back into her room, heart still racing, feeling light headed and starting to sweat. I kissed and hugged my sweet girl and told her mommy just was tired and had a tummy ache and needed to go to bed. Marc had taken Londyn back over to the neighbors (our good friends and members of our church) with him. Just as I got back to my bedroom I had to rush into the bathroom and proceeded to be extremely sick. Afterwards, I went to my bed and laid down. I felt extremely restless and had a lot of pain throughout my upper back and shoulders. I Googled on my cell phone, the symptoms for a panic attack. What I was experiencing seemed to fit the description and so I decided that was what must've been going on. I remember having the thought that it couldn't be a heart attack, because I was only 28, and I didn't have pain in my left arm, like I thought you were supposed to.
For some reason, while I lay on my bed, I decided to call my mom back. When she answered her phone, I immediately told her, "I can't talk- I'm just calling you back to tell you I can't talk tonight. I'm having a panic attack." My mother, being the extremely maternal and concerned woman that she is, began to ask me questions like, "What did I have for dinner?" and asked my symptoms. She asked me if I needed a
Priesthood blessing , and offered that my dad could drive over to assist Marc. I reminded her that my next door neighbor was a member of the church and could help Marc if that was necessary, but told her that I felt all I needed to do was get myself to calm down. She then told me to turn the lights down and turn on some church music. I hurried off of the phone with her, because I felt very flustered by having to talk and answer questions. I could barely think past all of the heart pounding, profuse sweating, aching and shaking. I got off of the phone with her and turned on my church play list. I tried to clear my head and think calming thoughts. Nothing was working. Marc returned a moment later, only without Londyn. I asked him worriedly where the baby was. He told me, "She's with Jess- she's just going to look after her for a minute until you feel better." While I completely trust my friend, this made me feel even more panicked. I felt I was an extremely unfit mother who could not handle this life of three children and that because I was so unfit, my neighbor now had to look after my four day old baby until I could pull it together. I remember being extremely frustrated with myself and my mind, feeling as though I was a silly, over dramatic new mother.
At that point I asked Marc for a blessing of comfort. I felt that if I could just relax my mind, that my body would stop these antics. I felt for sure that my mind was creating these physical symptoms and that if I could just be calm and comforted through the power of the priesthood, that I would be okay. After Marc finished the blessing, I decided to turn on the TV for a bit. I thought maybe having something to zone out on would help me to get my mind off of my anxieties. However, as I lay there, the symptoms got worse and worse. The sweating became more and more profuse. I had taken off my pajamas and lay on my bed with just my underwear and Marc had opened the windows to let in some cool air. Marc left to get Londyn and when they returned, she nursed some more. I laid there as she nursed, trying to focus on my TV show, and not on the aching pain in my back and shoulders and arms. Marc had gone downstairs for a minute, and I text him from my bedroom, "Why won't this stop?"
He came up to check on me and said he knew something was really wrong with my mental state, as I was laying on the bed, with the baby on the other side of me and my back turned to her. She was no where near the edge, but he knew that for me, as overprotective as a mother that I am, having my back turned to my newborn was not normal. I asked him to hold me when he came back into my room- I told him I thought that would help me to relax. He came over and laid next to me and put his arms around me. After just a minute or two, he told me that I was burning up and sweating too much to even be next to. At that point was when he started asking if he needed to call for an ambulance. I fought him, telling him that they wouldn't be able to do anything for me. I was having a panic attack and there was nothing they could do except maybe sedate me and I wasn't going to be that over dramatic mom going into the ER for that.
10:00pm- I decided that maybe if I got up to go to the bathroom or take a cold shower, that would help. I sat up and immediately started losing my vision. My eyes went in and out of blackness. I swung my legs off the bed and took two jelly like steps and collapsed to the ground. At that moment, I felt extremely disconnected from my body. I could hear Marc, who was bouncing a fussy Londyn, calling my name. I told myself to answer him. "He's going to think you're unconscious. Answer him", I told myself. But I couldn't. He came to me and rolled me over to my back, "Do I need to call an ambulence?", he asked. Again I refused it. At this point, my mental state was probably not at all stable, but I continued to believe that I was having a panic attack and that a hospital would not be able to help me. Marc called my mom, who was already anxious to hear how I was feeling since I had called her earlier. Marc told her about my symptoms and collapse, and without hesitation, she told him she'd be right over. My mom says she felt impressed to bring someone with her, and brought my 18 year old sister. Within what felt like moments, they were there. I was moaning and writhing on the floor- the pain from my back was so intense that I could not sit still. They live about 15 minutes away, but I felt like I had blinked and they were there. Soon, my mom was rubbing my back as I lay on my stomach on the floor and I remember thinking that yes, what I needed was a good back massage. My upper back was aching so incredibly. She and Marc again asked me if I needed to go to the hospital. I still refused. They asked me if they could call my OB's advice line thinking it was possibly something post-partum. I agreed that would be fine. Marc dialed it from my contacts in my cell phone. It was late and after hours and so the line went directly to the hospital. The On-Call doctor on the Labor and Delivery floor answered the call--- it was MY doctor. MY friend. A woman that I had spent the prior week having extremely deep conversations with about near death experiences, spiritual experiences, talking about books like
THIS , that I was currently reading. I had been using the week I was overdue to become more in tune with the fact that birthing a child is a very spiritual experience, where angels attend and the veil to the other side is very thin. My sweet doctor, who shares my beliefs and has had many experiences with near death and the veil to the other side being very thin, in her professional and personal life, had really helped me that week and I had really taken to heart our conversations. I felt extremely connected to her- and after Londyn's birth, where she stayed by my side throughout, I felt that increase. Now, here she was, picking up a line that any number of other doctors or nurses or techs could have and probably should have picked up. But it was HER. Marc told her a few quick words and she raised her voice in alert, enough so that I can remember even hearing her voice through the receiver, to "Get her here now!"
Without a second thought, Marc and my mom were changing me out of my sweaty under clothes and dressing me for the hospital. Marc carried me down the stairs fireman style and I remember being frustrated that I couldn't walk. He laid me on the couch, so that he could go grab his keys and shoes. I started to roll off the couch, when my sister caught me. I remember telling myself to, "Stop being so dramatic! USE YOUR BODY- you're falling off the couch. Do something about it!" But, my body disobeyed and I lay there helpless. Marc swooped me back up and put me into the front seat of our car. When he sat me in the car, is when my ears started ringing. I already had my eyes closed, because my blackening vision made me dizzy. But now, I felt like I couldn't hear anything. Whitney had stayed with my older children, Marc drove, and my mom rode with us to be with Londyn because we didn't know how long it would be and she would need to nurse. I told them my ears were ringing. I repeated it over and over, letting them know that I couldn't hear anything--- my ears were just ringing.
As Marc drove, I lay there against the car door, moaning. I must have been slipping consciousness or at least complete coherence, because I don't remember much of the drive. I remember opening my eyes here and there and noticing we were moving very fast, but I could only open them for a second before my vision would black out. I also remember feeling the smallest bit of relief at the thought of a sedative to calm my mind down and allow my heart to finally stop racing. At one point, I must have been particularly struggling, because I reached over and took Marc's hand and asked him, "Am I dying?" I remember both he and my mom answering, "No, no....", reassuringly. None of us had grasped the severity, that I actually was in the process of dying. My blood was not pumping properly and I was losing functionality of my body- my heart was giving out. I must have blacked out again, because before I knew it, we were pulled up in front of the ER.
Marc rushed around to open my door as my mom ran out and grabbed a wheel chair. As Marc opened my door, my arm flopped out and I thought, "Pick up your arm!" It did not obey and Marc caught my arm and the rest of my body as I poured out of the car, and carried me into the wheelchair. Marc took the car to park it as my Mom wheeled me in. I opened my eyes to peek at the ER- my vision was still not great, but I could see that the ER was empty. There was no line for triage. We walked right up to the counter and my mom handed the nurse my ID and Insurance card. I could tell my mom was upset with the woman because she very slowly wrote my name and took my information without any sense of urgency. They opened up the door to triage and wheeled me back in. They began to ask me questions- my mom answered most of them and listed some of my symptoms. The one question I do remember trying to answer was when they asked me to rate my pain level on a scale of 1-10. I was very confused on how to answer- I had the upper back pain, but centralized pain was not the problem. I couldn't put a number on what it felt like to have your body falling apart- and just as I tried to answer, I felt the urge to vomit.
I stood up out of the wheelchair, somehow gaining the strength suddenly. But the strength left me when I tried to lift my legs over the pedals. There wasn't time anyhow because before I could make it to the toilet that was in my sights on the other side of the room, or before the nurse could hand me a bag, I began to vomit...over and over. Everything inside my stomach--and then some-- was violently making its way to the floor. The same nurse that wrote my name slowly, stood on the other side trapped and watching me. I remember feeling very embarrassed that I was a 28 year old mother of three, and now someone would have to clean up the mess that I made.
At this point, Marc had made it in from the parking lot and I realized was standing behind me. He had handed the baby off to my mom, and was switching posts with her. I remember thinking about my sweet husband and that he has a very weak stomach when it comes to hearing, seeing or smelling vomit. I remember worrying that someone might have to get him a bag if we didn't leave the room soon. Just then, a different nurse helped me back into the chair and a technician was wheeling me into a different section of triage. This technician was a young guy, probably early twenties. I had to lift my shirt in order to get the EKG stickers on. I remember being coherent enough to feel self conscious. I even apologized to him for my "post baby body and nursing boobs". We all laugh about this now- even in the process of dying, I was self conscious. He ran the EKG, and per Marc's recount of the story, ripped off the first report and went running. Another nurse quickly came in and wheeled my chair towards the Emergency Room. The tech ran to her and Marc heard him tell her the reading he got was 276 beats per minute. Not good.
As we got to the gurney, I suddenly felt better. I even stood up out of the wheelchair on my own and sat down onto the bed. Apparently, in and out of coherence, I seemed to blink and then there were 8-9 hospital personnel around me.
"Stacy, I'm Dr. So and So..."
Okay. Hi. What the heck is going on- I thought.
"Get the I.V. started and get "X" amount of "this drug""
Is this the sedative for my panic attack??
"Stacy- stay with me..."
Where would I go? I'm right here...
"...paddles to shock her heart..."
WHAT?
It was all happening so fast, and I looked to my left and saw the pads that would be stuck to my chest to do the shock-
synchronized electrical cardioversion.
"No...why? Please don't shock me." I said. I looked up to Marc, who was standing at the foot of my bed behind the mass of other nurses and techs, panicked. I looked for relief in his eyes, but they mirrored the same panic I felt.
"We have to shock you, Stacy. Your heart is beating too fast. We need to shock it back into a normal rhythm."
"What if you shock me and it doesn't come back at all....please don't! Please- I feel better now...I just threw up..."
"Stacy, it's like a computer. You know when your computer freezes and you press Control-Alt-Delete? Well, that's kind of like this. We just want to set your heart back to a normal rhythm or else... it will stop."
My heart was going to STOP?
"Okay." Was all I could say.
"We are going to give you some medicine in your IV that will make it so that you don't have to feel this, okay? You don't want to feel this."
"Okay..." I panicked, "Okay...please, don't let me die!" I looked up at Marc, "Don't let me die! I have a family! I have three babies! Don't let me die, I have babies!" I chanted.
I blinked.
There was one nurse by my IV. Marc was on the other side of the bed, holding my hand with his head down.
"Are they going to shock me?", I asked him.
He looked up at me with red, swollen eyes, tears on his cheeks.
"What's going on?" I said.
He then explained to me that they had shocked me, and that the medicine that I was on had me out for a few minutes after that. It was all very strange to me, because I never remembered falling asleep or being out of it. Marc was more shaken up and emotional then I had ever seen him in our 8 years of being together. He had seen the whole thing. He explained how the doctor had yelled, "Clear", and he watched his wife's body fly up off the bed. An image en grained in his mind forever, I'm sure.
What I looked like in the ER, post shock. My mom calls this picture, "Death warmed over..."
We cried and talked together as we waited. My mom had been out in the waiting room with the baby. A sweet nurse was attending to them, giving updates and retrieving formula for the baby. I was currently being administered a drug that was keeping my heart at a normal pace and rhythm, and it was not conducive to breastfeeding. At this point, my OB came down to check on me. She looked at my EKG and was the first person I remember telling me that I shouldn't be alive- that no one lives through that kind of heart rate.
I also remember her saying, "This looks like Wolff-Parkinson-White to me." Shortly after that I was taken to get a CAT scan. I saw my mom quickly before they wheeled me away. She hugged me, visibly upset and we decided she should go home and rest with the baby. She had enough formula to last a day and we weren't sure what the process would be from that point on.
The CAT scan looked familiar to me- only because of the fact that I had spent the last 6 months or so on Netflix watching every season of Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice. (I joke now that all of that obsession with hospital shows jinxed me and landed me there!) The CAT scan was different- there was a medicine that made my whole body feel.... weird. I don't know how else to describe it. Like a warm sensation throughout my whole body. And then it left a metallic taste in my mouth. It only took a few minutes and we were back in the ER waiting for the results. Within the hour, the Admitting Physician visited us. She confirmed that I had exactly what my OB had guessed:
Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome. If you don't feel like reading up on that link- the basic elementary run down of it, is that, our hearts have an electrical highway of sorts that sends impulses up to make your heart beat. I had an extra electrical "side road" of sorts that sent the signal back and around again, causing irregular rhythms and rates. It is a condition that lays somewhat dormant, and often times is not diagnosed until it becomes very serious, or the person dies from the sudden onset of symptoms.
In my life, I was virtually asymptomatic. I can remember times where I felt "fluttering" or irregularities, and one specific time that I thought I was having a panic attack for five minutes or so, that went away. But, I never really felt I had cause to believe I needed to get an EKG or see a cardiologist. I have, however, realized the importance and necessity of EKG screenings and it is my opinion that EKG studies should be done on newborn babies as a standard procedure- and possibly throughout a person's life at an annual check up. This picture is of an EKG where the heart rate shows a delta wave.
The Delta Wave- to any trained doctor or cardiologist is especially indicative of Wolff- Parkinson- White (AKA- W.P.W.) Had I ever had an EKG done, it's very possible that I could've been diagnosed before I was "heading towards the white light", so to speak.
Along with the deliverance of the diagnosis, the admitting physician informed me that I was going to be admitted to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit.
The ICU??
And not just the regular ICU...the CARDIAC ICU. I remember Marc and I looking at each other and just asking questions like, "What is all this?" "Who's life is this right now?" "What in the world is going on?" It felt like a dream (or nightmare...). The feeling was extremely surreal and dizzying (although, that could've also been due to the meds for me....)
So, Marc and I sat in the ER, until the wee hours of the morning, Googling WPW on our iPhones. Thank HEAVENS for technology, because within moments, we learned that the worst for me was probably over. There were treatments for this. There was a procedure, in fact, that could COMPLETELY fix the problem. The admitting doctor also told us that the Cardiologist on-call had reviewed my case and said that I was very likely to be a candidate for
catheter ablation.
And again, we turned to Google- and Wikipedia educated us on the path we were about to go down. We began to feel better, but I have to be honest...I didn't like the part where it said risks could include but were not limited to, such things as stroke, heart attack and death. On the other hand, the success rates were very high and the risk factors pretty low.
As we waited in the ER, a male nurse came in to check my medicine drip (I was on a drip of a drug called
Amiodarone that was regulating my heart rate), and he said, "I have to say, that was probably the coolest thing I have ever seen." My husband and I must've looked confused, because he said, "Yeah, I've never seen anyone's heart rate hit 300."
Statements like that became a common theme during my hospital stay. I had medical personnel from doctors and nurses, to phlebotomists and ultrasound techs tell me the following...
"You shouldn't be alive."
"You're a walking miracle"
"I heard about you and I had to come meet you. You're not supposed to have lived through that."
"I can't believe you were conscious."
It was a very surreal feeling to have medical staff, people that see crazy things on the DAILY, be surprised by my situation. It was slowly setting in, that what we had been through, was definitely a miracle.
Not only was it a miracle that I lived, but we also realized as time went on, that since my heart was not beating correctly, the blood was not flowing correctly- if at all towards the end especially. It is a miracle I didn't sustain further damage to my heart for the beating it took. Also, that I didn't have brain, organ or tissue damage caused by lack of blood flow. I was also told, that had I not been young and in such good cardiac health, I would never have been able to endure those types of heart rates.
MORAL OF THE STORY- Cardio exercise being good for you--- SO not a myth! Thank heavens I continued to work out during my pregnancy!
Which leads me to another thought-- the timing of all of this has been such a blessing and miracle for us. The Lord knew what He was doing.
** Had I had an onset of symptoms as a child, it was an open heart surgery up until about 10-15 years ago. Not to mention, I was the second oldest of seven children, and the health benefits my parents had would've probably left them in severe debt that may have crippled them.**
**Had this happened days earlier, while I was still pregnant with Londyn, I most likely would not have made it. You cannot shock a pregnant woman- an emergency C-section is done first. When I got to the ER, I would not have had the time for that.**
**Had this happened the next week, I would've been alone with three children. Marc was set to be away on a business trip, all of my family were going out of town for my sister in laws graduation, and my two closest girlfriends were leaving on vacation. Had no one been there as I was having an attack, I most likely would have continued to lay on my bed, "breathing through" what was going on, and died. As my babies lay asleep in their beds, and my three day old baby laying next to me. (ugh...I shutter at the thought).**
**My husband has AMAZING benefits. We have a total out of pocket of $2000 per person. I had already met about $1500 of that already this year with the baby and all other pregnancy related items. This entire process- ER, ICU, the procedure... etc. would ultimately cost us less than $500, which was an immense blessing.**
**Going back to the fact that I had been having conversations with my OB about near death experiences. I was in a place that I had been mentally and spiritually prepared for what I was about to encounter.**
I'm getting ahead of myself. Around 4:00am, they took me up to the Cardiac- ICU. As we rounded the corner and I read the words, Cardiac Intensive Care, my heart began to race again. It was quickly back to the 200's and irregular. Luckily, it lasted only a minute. They hooked me up to my leads and wires that would become like appendages for the next while. They gave me a Xanex to sleep and I sent Marc home to shower and get a little bit of rest so that we would be rested and able to talk to the cardiologist about our options the next morning.
The Xanex gave me a good maybe two hours, before I had someone in poking me with a Heparin shot. (which would become a daily thing. It really hurts too- it's in the fleshy part of your belly on the side of your belly button- I had bruises that lasted weeks.) I was having more blood panels drawn and medicines checked. Luckily, my heart had stabilized and at about 6:00 on Thursday morning, they were able to take me off of the Amiodarone drip.
I lay in that C-ICU, alone and scared. I had faith. I knew Heavenly Father was in control, but I needed help. I needed prayers. I needed any prayer, from anyone, of any faith. I had so many people that I needed to tell and ask for prayers for not just me, but my family, and so, I turned to Facebook. I later got some flack for this, but I stand by the fact that Facebook is a viable form of communication that allowed me to get the word out, get it out fast, and request prayers. It was also a great way for me to let people know that I was okay. I didn't want to have my phone ringing and going off all day- nor my husbands or families. I didn't want people to have the story relayed to them by other people and have them wonder if I was laying in an ICU somewhere, unconscious or not myself. I wanted my friends, family, church family and community to know, that I was okay-- I had made it through-- and I needed prayers for whatever was still to come. Facebook was the perfect thing for that. Also, it was 6:00am in the morning, I had almost died, I had remnants of three drugs in my system, I was sleep deprived and SCARED out of my mind. No one knows what they would do in a situation until they are in it...that is what I chose at that quiet panicked moment in my lonely ICU room. And as all of the amazingly loving and supportive comments rolled in, I felt the prayers coming with them, and it helped me more than I can say.
I called my siblings that hadn't heard. Whitney was at my house with my kids and Logan had come in the middle of the night to bring me a my cell phone charger. I cried with Courtney over the phone and she offered to tend Montana and Carson. I called my brother David in Utah, and he was ready to jump on the next flight out. Luckily, we knew enough to know that I was going to be okay and we didn't have him do that yet. My younger sisters, Tiffany and Nicole, from what was relayed to me, were too distraught to talk. Being 15, I can imagine it's a very hard thing to reconcile in your mind.
Marc and my Mom returned to the hospital. My dad came as well. We all sat and discussed the options as we waited for the cardiologist.
I got a lot of loving calls and texts throughout that day, in addition to the Facebook messages, comments and emails. I had wonderfully inspiring visits from my Bishop and Stake Presidents (which are my church leaders). One of my best friends, Sam came that afternoon before leaving to go out of town (she had wanted to cancel her trip, which was for a nieces baptism...but again, we were grateful that the situation was no longer threatening and I did not want her to miss out on that). We cried together and I was grateful to see her and reassure her in person that we would making our trips to Bel Air together again soon. But of all the visits that day, the reunion with my sweet children when Courtney brought them to see me, was one of the most emotional moments of my life...
I just wanted to be back at the dinner table with them. Rocking a fussy baby, playing the "How many more bites" bargaining game, and dodging carrot bullets from Carson. I never wanted that beautiful chaos in my life as much as I did in those reuniting moments.
I was sad for my children as Montana cried with me and tried to make sense of what was wrong. Tears rolled down my cheek as Carson pointed to my IV's and asked, "Mommy, owie?" I wanted nothing more than to hold them all day. BUT- we all know, hospitals are boring, and so after an hour or so, they took off to play with Courtney's kids and I looked at my babies and promised them I'd be home soon.
I was so grateful for the opportunity to snuggle with my precious newborn baby. I still couldn't nurse her, because of the Amiodarone I had been on, but it was so comforting to still be able to be a mother and hold her next to my heart the way that no one else can, in a time when I felt helpless in the mothering department.
That day was SO long. I had sonograms of my heart done. More tests. I visited with two cardiologists, neither of which were the doctor assigned to my case. I was to see a specialist called an
electrophysiologist .
As we waited I received two very special visits- one from our church leader, our Bishop and another from our leader on a Stake level, the Stake President. I could feel so much love and warmth emulating from them as they had come into share with me their prayers and we shared all of our gratitude for a loving Heavenly Father who had wrought a miracle in all our lives. I'll never forget how surreal it was in those moments, to be visited in the hospital by these great leaders- knowing they do this sort of thing for people of their congregations often, but to now be the person laying in the hospital bed. I felt unworthy of the intense look in President Fisher's eyes as he told me, "You are a special daughter of God. You are a miracle. You have special purposes."
We continued to wait with baited breath for our electrophysiologist. He had a very busy day and so it wasn't until about 8:00 that evening that he finally was able to make it in. He told me my options- lifelong medication with accompanying side effects, or the catheter ablation. My family and I all agreed on the ablation and the doctor went to schedule it. Since it was Thursday night, there was no way to schedule it for Friday morning. The next available would be for Monday, which would mean that I would be in the hospital all weekend. As silly as it sounds, the thought made me feel so claustrophobic and depressed- I was connected to my monitors/bed by EKG leads monitoring my heart. In the cardiac ICU, those are not removed for any reason. They don't permit you to shower, because most Cardiac ICU patients are not even well enough to shower. The toilet comes out from a cabinet under the sink in the room, 3 feet from the bed which is just a short enough distance to reach with the monitors attached. Each time you use the bathroom, your nurse is supposed to come check it and record how much you went and dump it. After a few times of that, I convinced my nurses that I could pee in the "hat", read the measurement, dump and flush it myself and then relay to them the amount. I relished in even just THAT much independence for those few days.
So, we geared ourselves up for a weekend in the hospital. I had asked the nurses to find out for me when I could resume breastfeeding my newborn. That evening, shortly after the doctor left, the nurses returned to tell me that they feared the drug I had been on right after the trauma, had a half life of 150 some odd days, and advised me not to nurse anymore. The flood gates broke loose at this point and all my strength to endure was gone. It was late in the evening of the first real day of all of this medical drama- my body was exhausted, my brain was exhausted, my SPIRIT was exhausted and now I felt heartbreak for losing this special bond with my baby. To add injury to insult, I was only five days post-partum at this point, and my milk had just come in that day, and so I was extremely engorged. I spoke with my OB who was very upset at this news as well and was not content with the answer. She assured my that she would do all the research she could in the morning and get back with me, but advised me in the meantime to pump less often and start binding to wean the milk production.
That night my dad stayed the night. Typing that sentence brings me to immediate tears. My dad, the man who has always been a hero to me, who had worked a good portion of that day, and had to work the next morning, slept on a "chair bed" so that I didn't have to be alone that night. Marc was visibly still very tired, emotionally exhausted and needed to get some rest so that he could function, and my dad had volunteered. Every few hours as they came in to check my vitals, and draw blood, etc, I was comforted the sight of my Daddy laying there uncomfortable for his baby girl. I was reminded of the many nights my parents let me sleep in their room because I used to have nightmares and be afraid of the dark. A girl never gets to old to need her Daddy and that's something I will never forget.
The next day, Marc came back and he and my sister Whitney kept me company for most of the morning. If you've ever been around them, you'd think they grew up brother and sister. They have the incessant banter of siblings that grew up teasing the heck out of each other but the teasing is code for how much love is felt. It was fun to have Whitney around because it kept us upbeat and positive. Marc had brought me some things from home and so I decided that I was going to get up and change out of the hospital gown and into some of my own clothes. I called my sister Courtney, who was planning to come to visit, and she brought me some essentials to make me feel somewhat "showered"; dry shampoo, deodorant, feminine spray. I even put on some makeup and curled my hair to feel that much more like myself.
I continued to bind and pump less often. My mom of course came and brought the baby and I fed her a bottle. It was very difficult to not be negative about not being able to nurse her, but I felt my prayers for comfort being answered and I knew everything would work out.
My nurses came in and let me know that my catheter ablation had been scheduled for Monday at 1pm. It was a relief to have something on the books and an end in sight. Another dear friend of mine, Tarah, visited me that afternoon and I was so comforted by her sweet spirit. She brought me a book about 101 things to do with your children before they leave home-- because I would be HERE to do those things with them.
I was so uplifted all day long by endless messages, emails, Facebook comments, texts- from people who care. I can never begin to describe the love and support I felt. The prayers that were offered up on my behalf were so tangible and I will never forget that feeling.
My in laws came in to see me that evening and we had a sweet reunion as we all talked about how much Marc and I have left to do together in this life!
That evening, I received a call from my OB. It was late and I had expected that she hadn't been able to find anything out about breastfeeding that would help. But, again, prayers were answered, and she told me that she had gone to the head of the neonatology department and found that because I had been on the drug such a short amount of time, I was okay to nurse. And I could start nursing Londyn in the morning. The blessings from heaven were being poured out and I was so anxious for the next morning to be able to resume that special part of having a new baby.
Marc stayed that night with me in the ICU. It was a comfort to be able to reach out and hold my husbands hand. He had told me how restless the time in our new king bed had been all alone the night before. How he cried his eyes out folding laundry to bring to me in the hospital, grateful to have my clothes mixed in with his. He cried as a walked in our closet thinking how if things had turned out differently that night, he could've never cleaned my side out. I thank God everyday that He spared my sweet husband having to go through that. Holding his hand, even if it was across a hospital bed's armrest, was the best therapy I could get.
That next day, my mom came first thing in the morning to bring Londyn to nurse. I worried if she would latch on, considering it was now Saturday morning and I hadn't nursed her since Wednesday evening. It was a highly anticipated moment for me as I brought her to me and she latched as though there was no difference. This angel baby definitely had to be a strong spirit to come down to this earth, knowing things were about to get crazy. And she has nursed (and even gone to a bottle on occasion) like a champ ever since!
Saturday afternoon, I had a visit from an Aunt who brought a lot of comfort for my mom, since my Uncle had been in the same Cardiac ICU a few years before. I also received a visit from a dear friend of mine, Kathleen, who brought me a down feather pillow and a quilt that her mother had used while in the hospital. She said to me, "She put this on her lappy...and it would make her happy." Definitely the outpouring of love I was feeling made me feel incredibly happy.
The nurse came in that afternoon and delivered the wonderful news that I was going to be moved to Telemetry- which is basically the area where they can monitor you from the ICU with a portable EKG pack that you wear. Best news about this-- I WAS GOING TO GET TO TAKE A SHOWER!!!!
At this point, I thought I was going to be able to dread lock my hair. So, this was indeed, incredible news. My sister in law Marlo came to visit that afternoon and brought me my favorite Jamba Juice. She held sweet Londyn and she gave her Aunt her first real reactionary smile. Many people have said this is too young for babies to smile, that it's "just gas"- but five minutes with little Londyn would change your mind. Her sweet spirit was a ray of hope and happiness and her smiles were a reflection of the beauty of this miracle in our lives.
Marc had begun to be concerned about how much rest I was getting. I had pretty much always had someone with me at every moment of the day, and my blood pressures had been consistently elevated. I had other friends and family that I wanted so badly to visit with- that had a desire to come visit in the hospital, but as the time grew nearer to the surgery, we were concerned that my elevated blood pressure could be a potential deterrent, and so Marc began to discourage visits. I felt overwhelmed at the outpouring of love that we felt...we were so grateful for all of the willingness to serve and be with us in our time of need.
There were constant things happening and I could barely keep track of all the Thank You's I would need to write after all was said and done. I had so many people offer to take my children. A woman from my ward who had a baby a few weeks before me had offered some frozen breastmilk for Londyn and had also brought my children a care package with games, toys and coloring utensils for the hospital. Another woman in my ward is an ER nurse, and every night that she was working, she came a few minutes early to visit me. In those visits she brought me stories from those working that night and how people had been touched by my story. She also provided me with all of the copies of my records and EKG's which were amazing to see. There were people checking in on my extended family, bringing meals to them and friends checking in on my closest friends to see how they were holding up. A group of sisters from the ward went and cleaned my house that weekend, and of course, a meal schedule was already being put together for when I would be returning home. The service was something I had NEVER experienced in my life and I don't know how I'll ever thank everyone enough.
So, here I am, finally in Telemetry, but alas, still stinky and unshowered. :) It took me a few hours to finally get approval, but sure enough, approval came and in walked my nurse armed with plastic bags and tape. I couldn't take out the IV's- one in one hand, and another in my arm. The shower head that doubled as a handheld was broken and was facing down and towards the wall, and so I had to hold it up with one arm, and use the other to wash. This would have worked better IF I had full use of my hand, but the one with the IV in it was completely covered by a bag and so it was just a bagged up nub. I also had to have a babysitter stay nearby since I was off of the monitors. In most cases, this would have been considered a horrible shower- but it was THE BEST SHOWER OF MY LIFE! Highly anticipated and HIGHLY necessary.
That night, my younger sister Whitney came to spend the night with me while Marc took the kiddos home to bed. If I didn't need a companion before that night, I did now. Telemetry was nice because it was much more private than the ICU rooms with the big glass windows and cameras. But, I also felt very secluded and when I was alone, I felt alone. I can't say enough how amazing it was to have family that was so willing to always be there. Sometimes it was a LOT. Mom always forgot to turn her cell phone off, and so when it would go off in the quiet ICU and her ring tone was a booming, "Come On Eileen" chorus, we would all say, "Oh mom....". One night, my brother Logan and sister Whitney, on their way to do something young and hip and cool, as young adults do, stopped in first to bring me balloons and flowers. But these weren't just ordinary balloons... they brought me two huge Mylar balloons- one which read "WELCOME BACK!" Get it... from the dead? Love my family's sense of humor. And the other was actually a birthday balloon, but it had a picture of a large opera singer and it read, "It Ain't Over Til The Fat Lady Sings!" We had to handle that one gently, because when you bumped it, it would sing out in an operate voice, "Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday..." to the tune of the Hallelujah chorus. Love my one of a kind family. I guess our family motto, "It's Always A Party at the Petersen's" is less about location and more about spirit! :)
I also had a friend from my ward, who is an ER nurse come to visit me every night that she was on shift. It was SO nice to have someone come in and relay the comments from the ER staff that was working. I was glad to be able to relay my gratitude for saving my life and it was interesting to hear that there were rumors going around about the girl who shouldn't be alive! She also brought me a copy of my chart and EKG and I'm grateful that I had a familiar face to look forward to in the evenings.
So, that night in Telemetry, we had put in a request for a cot to be brought in for my family to sleep on. Apparently, they run low on cots because we got put on a list. But by the time Whitney came back that evening to stay, there was still no bed for her to sleep in. So, even though I think it's against the rules, we shared my hospital bed. Each time in the night, when they would come in to check vitals and blood and I would see my sister scrunched up next to me, likely getting a horrible nights sleep, my heart was full for the love that she was demonstraiting to me by being there. It was defintiely a bonding experience for me- one I'll never forget.
The next day was Sunday, and we had decided that we were going to have the kids come visit for a bit and then that my mom was going to leave Londyn with Marc and I and we were going to spend the majority of the day together- just us. We would've loved Montana and Carson to be with us too, but a hospital room is just not a fun place for kiddos. We napped. We ate. We watched TV. We cried. We talked. We laughed. I loved that day. I loved sleeping in his arms again and was so thankful that we could still do that. I loved that we had a chance to bond as parents with our new baby. Not to mention, my blood pressure really was the best it had been all that day. He knows how to calm me down. :)
That night, my dad came to the hospital and he and Marc administered a priesthood blessing. Only this time, it wasn't a blessing just for comfort. It was an annointed blessing for the healing of the sick and afflicted. Marc had given me the blessing during the incident and so he asked my Dad if he would like to administer the blessing this time. Because what was shared was very sacred, I won't relay it all, but it was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. I felt the power in the words that were spoken, I knew they were true, and when I was promised a full recovery and the presence of unseen hands to help me through it, I knew the Lord was aware of me and my needs. My mom took the baby home that night and Marc spent the night with me. He had to go home to shower and change and get ready for the big day the next day and so for the first time in a while, I had a couple of hours by myself.
During the course of events for those past few days, I would definitely say that I was in a constant state of prayer. Like I had a never ending conversation with God going on in my head at all times. But, because I had been so blessed to not be alone much, if at all, during all of it, I never had a chance to actually kneel in prayer with a concentrated effort to conversate with Him about all I had just been through, witnessed and experienced. So, as I was alone in my room, waiting for Marc to return, I knelt on my bed in the dark. I turned the TV on and left it on mute to have some semblance of light. As soon as I hit my knees and addressed my Father in Heaven, a flood of emotions over came me. I thanked Him for my life, for my blessings, for my family and friends, for all of you- for your prayers. And then, I pleaded. I pleaded for my life again. I pleaded and told God that I would do whatever it took to return to my family. I would endure any pain or suffering, to raise my children and return to my life with them. The procedure, although standard procedure for an electrophysiologist, had an X and a dotted line to sign, that stated I agreed to the risks of this. The risks being possible stroke, heart attack or death. I don't care how well you can be assured that the odds are in your favor, that those types of warnings are generally just for caution and that MOST people don't experience those things, when it's you about to go on to the operating table and have your heart literally touched with foreign objects, those risks are extremely scary to sign your name next to. Especially with a young family that I wanted to be with and raise. At that moment, even though my fears had been subsided by the priesthood blessing and all of the comforting tender mercies, all of the strength and courage that I had, had over the past few days bottomed out. I was a weeping, blubbering mess. And I needed to feel it all. And I needed to know that the one who knows all those pains and sufferings, the only one who could TRULY understand how I was feeling, was there to comfort me. I needed to be held and hugged and rocked- like a helpless child does when they have a nightmare, because that's what I felt like. So, I asked to be held. I asked for God to embrace me.
There are no words to truly describe what I felt, but it was like the walls closed in on me. With my eyes closed, I felt a thickness around me roll in almost like a mist of fog, but thicker, like a down comforter being wrapped around me. I swayed with that embrace like I did when I'd rock my babies. And I let my Father in Heaven hold me and comfort me in the same way. When I opened my eyes, I half expected to see concourses of angels around me- because they were there. I could feel the room was full and I knew that I was being watched over by the unseen hands that I had been promised in the blessing.
If you've ever questioned if there is a God, I can promise you with every fiber of my being that there is. And if you've ever questioned if death is the end, I can tell you that it is not. I can tell you that there were people, probably family and close friends that I have missed, that have passed on to better things, that were there for me in my time of need. Although, I had thought I was alone that night for the first time in the hospital, I realized I had never been alone, and I never will be.
Marc returned shortly after that and by then, we had a cot next to my bed. However, we opted to sleep in my hospital bed again. I've never been a rule breaker in my life, but this was a rule I was happy to break!
My memories of the morning of the next day are sort of hazy. I remember feeling very on the edge of emotion. It was hard for me to concentrate on the people that came in and out of the room and I wanted so much to make the best of every moment I was there. My Aunt Carla had come to visit and be of moral support for my mom and it was so nice to have everyone care. Messages, emails and texts continued to pour in as people sent me their prayers and well wishes for the big day. Part of the edge I felt was probably due to the fear I had that the time for the surgery would be postponed, or that something wasn't going to be right and I'd have to stay longer. My procedure was scheduled for 1pm. Probably around noon, my nurse finally came in and asked me to change out of my lounge clothes and into a hospital gown. With my family in the room, I avoided eye contact as I took the gown and walked bravely to the bathroom. As I went into the bathroom to close the door, I glanced into the mirror over the sink. What I saw on my face was a look I have never before seen in my own eyes. I can't remember a time in my life that I was ever so scared and the fear reflected back from the mirror in a way that I'll never forget. I shut the door to the bathroom behind me and had to brace myself on the handrail so that my knees wouldn't give out. I didn't want my family to see how afraid that I was, because as scared as I was to lose my life, they were even more afraid to lose me. I let out another few moments of gasping sobs, as quietly as possible, as I undressed and put on my gown. I regained my composure and then opened the door. I gave my hugs and kisses to my loved ones and sat into the wheelchair promising my kiddos I'd see them soon. I kept Londyn with me because I was being taken to the Catheter Lab where they prep you and wait, and so I could continue to nurse her until the time of the procedure. As I waved to my family, the nurse wheeled me away and onto the elevator. I decided now was the time to be brave.
My mom came with Londyn and I and we waited in the Cath Lab. I was not surpirsed to see the patients in there looked much like those from the Cardiac ICU- all probably in their 80's and 90's. The moved me onto a gurney in a sectioned off area. The mood almost felt like I was going to get a massage- soft soothing music with the sounds of the sea played in the background. I joked to my mom that I'd much rather be settling in for a nice relaxing spa day. Marc and my Dad soon joined us in the cath lab, and we all talked and I nursed the baby and all the nurses came in to see the newborn. Londyn was a hit with everyone and I smiled as my mom told our story. My mom has always been my biggest fan- of everything. The way my mom portrays this miracle gives me far too much credit and admiration than I deserve for only being the product of a miracle, but listening to my mom tell the story of what happened is probably one of the best parts of this whole situation. She was truly changed by this- I can't imagine what it must be like to watch your baby, no matter how old, go through pain that you can't take away. My mommy will always be my mommy, and this experience solidified that.
Right before the head nurse for the procedure came in to talk to me and have me sign everything, I checked my messages one last time. I noticed I had gotten a private Facebook message from a girl I had grown up with in my stake. I won't share the private details of this message, but her timing was an impeccable answer to prayers. She had been praying for my family and told me the idea of faith and prayer was a concept she had become somewhat distant from, but had since returned to after reading about my family. She had been struck with some heartache in the past that had shaken that faith. I knew that the Lord was going to answer her prayers for me and my family, because I knew how special this girl was to Him and how fragile it was for her to be putting her faith and trust in Him again. I later responded to her and let her know what a blessing and answer to prayer she was in my life, but again, I can't say enough what it meant to me to receive a message that gave me the feeling of surety that I would make it out of this- because there was so much more than just my life riding on it.
So, the nurse came in to explain the anesthesia to me. I had been under the impression up until this point, that I would be under a general anesthesia. However, the nurse informed me that I would only be sedated- that my doctor is conservative on medication and that it was helpful during the procedure if I was not too out of it for the adrenaline they would be giving me to test my heart rates with. The response under general anesthesia is not the same. I was also informed though that while I would be somewhat awake, I would not remember it afterward.
They wheeled me into the room fully awake and aware. It looked like the set up to watch an awesome sporting event- from every angle. Huge plasma screens everywhere. And lots of computers. I scooted myself onto the operating table and remember even trying to be witty. (Part of the preparation for the procedure was to shave the area in my groins where they would insert the catheters. I had caught wind of this early, and when I had seen that one of the assistants was a younger male docter not much older than me, I joked with them that I was happy to have taken that step out of the preparation process for them.) They laid me down and strapped my arms to the table at the wrists. This is done so that during the sedation, I don't try to turn over or move my arms above my head, especially because of the catheter that was going to go into my neck. They also placed an xray underneath my back and were going to bring one over the top of my chest to use to see into my chest during the procedure. (See picture). After I was strapped down and prepped, I was given shots of anesthetic at the three incision sites. After the catheters were inserted, my doctor directed the anesthesia to begin. Here's the thing- the drug they gave me works. It's called
Versed. As you can read on the hyperlink, it causes relaxation, sleepiness and can cause partial or full memory loss while on the drug. It's the same stuff the ER gave me before they shocked me, and I'd say I had a full memory loss of any of that. The period of time that I was out was probably 15 minutes or so. But, this time, the procedure was much longer. It was anticipated to be 3-4 hours. I don't remember EVER falling asleep . In fact, during the procedure, I felt like I was awake the entire time. I remember calling for the nurse and was very frustrated because I told her I had been awake the whole time and I could not fall asleep. I was very bothered because I felt like they were not being very proactive in making sure the sedative was working correctly. I was overcome by anxiety as they began using the adrenaline drugs to trigger my heart. This was a necessary step to find the area that was misfiring. The doctor told me later that my heart was so sensitive that just the instruments being inside my heart were causing rapid heart rates and that in his words, they only "tickled" my heart with the adrenaline and it shot back up into the 300's. I knew that it was high because I felt it. That night at home was happening all over again and I remember moaning through the pain, anxiety and terror of those heart rates and my doctor trying to reassure me, "Mrs. Rogers, it's okay. We are in control of your heart right now." It brought me some assurance, not much, but some, to know that at least this time when my heart was beating out of control, I was at the fingertips of a skilled cardiologist.
Sidenote- because I've been writing this story for months, it's hard for me to remember what I have already said. Have I mentioned that my doctor, was amazing? He attended medical school in his home country of India at the University of Madras. He did his residencies at Michael Reese Hospital and Emory University School of Medicine. He then became a fellow and did his Postdoctoral Fellowships at Masonic Medical Research Lab in Utica, NY, was a Clincal Research Fello in Cardioogy at Massachusetts General, Harvard Medical School, Harvard-Thorndike Electrophysiology Institute, and Beth Isreal Hospital. He has pioneered and patented electrophysiolgy procedures and techniques and performed thousands of procedures - including a catheter ablation like mine, on an NFL player. Failure to note the accolades of this man and the blessing it was to be in his care, would be a failure to mention the miracle that it was to be at that hospital in the care of the person that was best suited for the job.
My wrists were strapped down, I can't move my head because I am very aware there is a tube sticking out of it and instruments inserted through them that are inside of my heart. I felt helpless to the fact that my body felt immune to the sedation and I was forced to be awake throughout the entire procedure. Once he had mapped the area that was misfiring, he began to cauterize. I was told prior to, in the Cath Lab, that I might feel that. The heart itself does not have nerve endings and therefore cannot feel pain, but it may manifest itself in another part of my body like my chest wall, my back, my shoulder or even my leg. I knew when the doctor was starting the heat, because one of his tech's controlled it from the computer. He would say "Go," and the heat would be turned on. I had asked how long the cauterizing would take beforehand, because I am someone who can wrap my mind around pain and count/breath through it- like a contraction. The nurse had informed me it would only ever be about 30 seconds and a minute at most. The doctor would say, "Go", and immediately, the burning sensation manifested in my chest wall. I can't describe what it was like. Maybe like an intense lighbulb going off inside your chest and giving off a heat that feels like its burning you from the inside out. I counted through each one (that I can remember) and most lasted about 30 seconds, just as the nurse said and then the doctor would say, "Stop" and immediately the burning sensation would cease. After a few rounds of this, I remember the doctor saying, "Okay, I think we got it!" He then addressed me and said something to the effect of, "Mrs. Rogers, I think we got it." I remember weeping- and thanking the doctor profusely. Cheesily even, I'm sure. "Thank you so much. Thank you for saving my life. You're amazing. Oh, I'm so glad that's over..."
But then, no. False alarm. It wasn't fixed. They tested it again to make sure that it would not misfire, and it did. If I didn't have anxiety before, it overcame me now. I started pitying myself.
"Why do I have to be awake for this?? Why do I have to hear and feel what's going on? Why can't I just shut my brain off and not worry about every little thing they are saying- I can't do anything to help, so why should I be worrying about it? Haven't I been through enough?"
I began to direct my thoughts into prayers, "Heavenly Father, I can't do this. I'm so alone and I'm so scared. I can't do this by myself anymore. I was promised angels Heavenly Father, and I need one. Please, I need somebody to hold my hand."
No sooner than I said this, I heard a voice. My eyes were closed because although I could open my them, the sedation made that task turn out to be more work than it was worth, and so the natural state of my eyes in that moment were to remain closed. The voice was clear. At first it sounded like my mom and with the voice, an image came into my mind. It was fuzzy at first- but the silhoutte and the voice together made me think of my mom. It was a younger version, but as I listened and looked a little closer, the face became clear. I'd only ever seen pictures of her face in this state, a thirty something version of my Grandma McFadyen, my mom's mom. This is about what she looked like- maybe a little bit older.
My grandma was everything to our little family growing up. She stayed at our house for weeks when my mom would have a new baby. She would take me line dancing at her seniors events. We would spend the night at her house and she would teach us how to make fruit leather and dance to her "See Me Run" tapes. We would play grocery store in her kitchen cupboards and run up and down the sides of the ditch that ran behind her yard. My grandma lost my grandpa almost ten years prior to when she died, to stomach cancer and so I remember that she was always there for us. Grandma died when I was fifteen of ALS or Lou Gherig's disease. It was a devastating to blow to all of us, but it hasn't been until I've gotten married and had children that I've realized how young she was when she passed and how much I would've loved to have her in my husband and children's lives. I've lost a few other family members that I've known in this life, but Grandma is by far the closest person to me. So when she came to my aid that afternoon, as I lay helpless and scared on an operating table, the comfort I felt was instantaneous. Her beautiful face was emblazoned in my mind as her words flowed through my thoughts. Her mouth was not moving but she said, "I'm here. I'm here and I'm holding your hand." The significance of the need for someone to hold my hand was great. During my labors and deliveries, during all of the blood draws and heparin shots, if someone was in the room it helped me to brace myself for the pain when someone was holding my hand. My grandma was there with me and she was holding my hand. I didn't feel a physical skin to skin feeling of my hand being held, but I knew it was real. As soon as she did, I felt the childlike desire to melt into her arms. I wanted to lay my head on her chest and soak it in my tears. I spoke back to her. I'm not sure if my words were thoughts or actual verbalizations. I was told that while I was sedated that I spoke, but I'm not sure if these words were audible or not. I asked my grandma the same questions I had pleaded in my prayer, "Why do I have to do this? Why do I have to feel this?" Her reply was simple and word for word, "You said you would do whatever it takes, and this is what it takes." In that moment I knew, that I was meant to feel, remember and see everything I did that day. I was meant to fight through the pain and fear, to stay with my family and realize that staying here to do so was worth it. If this was what the Lord required of me, to grant me the blessing of raising my babies with my husband, then I would do it.
This realization brought with it immense comfort. I knew I was not alone, I knew that I would make it through and I knew that the Lord knew my pain, as He does all our pains and afflictions. It didn't however make it all go away. The consciousness that I continued to have was difficult. I heard the doctor again begin to execute the cauterization: "GO (1-2-3-4.... 31...) STOP"- over and over again. Another round began, "GO", and I began my count. I made it to 60 and expected to hear "STOP" and feel relief. It didn't come and tears welled in my eyes. 90 seconds. I think I began to moan. Finally, at almost exactly 120 seconds and the 2 minute mark, my docter called for it to "STOP". And that last cauterization was the last attempt. I was told later by my doctor that they tested the area out for a solid half an hour after that cauterization, with the adrenaline drugs and did not see the misfiring occur. He concluded the procedure, and the clean up began. I was so happy- probably even slap happy. I believe I even told the young male doctor as he wiped up the iodine and removed the catheters from around my groin, that he better not tell my husband where he was touching his wife. Seriously, it's probably a REALLY good thing that I don't drink or use drugs. :) I also told the nurses that I was awake the entire time. They didn't seem to make much of a point about addressing that looking at me patronizingly. But I KNEW I was awake.
After the procedure, I would have to lay flat on my back for 6 hours post-op. This was to reduce the risk of blood clots at the incision sites in my neck and groins. I remember being wheeled out of the operating room, and my sweet husband was waiting by the elevator that took me up to the recovery floor. I was so happy to see him. My parents and siblings joined in as well. They began to tell me of their experience. I looked out the window of my room and realized it was dark. What time was it? It was after 8pm. I started to think, "Okay, wait a second. I have about maybe two hours of memory in the operating room. Maybe I wasn't awake the whole time." "How long did the procedure take", was the next question I asked. My exhausted family relayed to me that it had been almost 6 hours. The procedure was said to take 3-4 hours. My family had been getting updates throughout the process and I felt for them- the fear that they felt when they realized how long it was taking. They felt the same disappointment that I felt in the operating room, when it was relayed to them that they had thought they found the spot, but it was not successful at first. It was nice to hear that some extended family members, My Uncle Gary and Aunt Debbie, had joined my family in the waiting room as my mom had done for them when my cousin in law gave my Aunt Debbie her kidney. The McFadyen's are very supportive in that way and I'm proud to be one of them.
After being debriefed on the how long the procedure took, and talking to some nurses, I realized the effect of the drug I had been given and how it feels like you don't skip a beat. I was in fact unconscious for 3/4 of the surgery, but each time I would regain conciousness, the memory ran into the next, thus making me feel like I was awake the entire time. No wonder the nurses looked at me like that when I told them I was awake the whole time. They obviously knew otherwise! :)
My family visited for a bit and I got to see Londyn, but it was obviously too late to see my other babies. I was told that if I were able to recover well and not have blod clots, I could be released the next day. I followed the orders 100%. I lay there, flat on my back and tried to sleep. I also received a call from my OB again, checking on me and letting me know that I could resume nursing the baby again after 12 hours post op. I will never be able to thank my OB enough for the great care and concern she took for me in this situation. She is an angel.
Marc stayed the night with me only this time he slept on the cot, as I could not be moved. I got to eat a little something finally after over 24 hours of fasting. That hospital custard tasted like creme brule and the day old turkey sandwich, could have been a thanksgiving feast. I made the mistake of drinking quite a bit of fluid afterwards as well, not realizing that I could not get up to use the bathroom. I really didn't want to have a catheter inserted and so I held it, hoping I would make it until midnight, and I did. The night was extrememly uncomfortable, not being able to move, but on top of that, it was scorchingly hot. I wondered if I had a fever and was getting an infection. Marc in his sleepy haze, agreed that it was hot and so I pressed the nurses button for some assistance. Somehow, the heater had been turned on and it was over 90 degrees in my room. NO WONDER! I had no fever but every reason to have sweat dripping down my face. Thankfully, they fixed the thermostat and I was able to sleep.
The next morning, the cardiologist came in to check on me. He was very pleased with my recovery as he checked my heart sounds, my incision sites and showed me the tests and mapping that he had done. He asked me to point out on my EKG where/when the problem had been fixed. I surprised us both by pointing out the area in the beats where the rhthym was restored to normal and he told me that I was an intelligent girl. I have to say that it made me feel really kind of cool to hear that from a cardiologist! He gave his permission for me to remove my bandages from the incision sites and be released that day. Marc helped me to remove the bandages- that were more like a sticky, compression tape. The groins were not fun, but not horrible. Nothing like the neck. I actually cried out numerous times. Tears streamed down my cheeks as my sweet husband helped me slowly peel away what felt like a layer of skin.
This was while I had the bandage over my neck.- it was see through.
And this was after removing the bandage
This is the last picture Marc and I took in the hospital. I was finally being released!
The discharge process consisted of a meeting with my doctor again, a nurse who came in to speak to me about
PTSD and discuss options for counseling for myself and my family if necessary. I have to honestly say that I was floored by this. My OB and friend had talked to me about the emotional toll this might take after the fact, but between my faith, my amazing support through family and friends and the peace of mind of great medical benefits, I felt like I was lucky to have had this experience... forget depression, I was alive and one of the luckiest people in the world to be able to witness and be a part of such a miracle. I honestly sort of tuned the nurse out... until she started to talk about exercise.
"...now, you may want to come to terms with the fact that you will not be able to exercise at the same intensity that you were once used to. I mean, why do you even have to try to run long distances anyway? Do you know the first man who ever ran 26.2 miles got to his destination and died? Brisk walking is a sufficient exercise regimen..."
I could barely listen to this woman. I knew she was wrong- my cardiologist had just been in the room telling me I was going to be able to return to all my normal activities, including running and the like, and here she was making me feel like I was just put into a geriatric category at 28 years old. Even though I knew it was conflicting information, just the words felt so limiting that I wanted to tell the woman that the only thing I'd need counseling for was this discharge experience!
However, the discharge nurse came in with the final paperwork and Marc and I were on our way home!
The events of that day and week after are somewhat blurred. I know I made sure that I could go to my ortho appointment the next day... because I have been so anxious to get my braces off, that I was not going to reschedule my appointment! I came home to a clean house courtesy of some of my amazing friends in my ward. I had more meals and flowers than a person could ask for. My family, friends and ward were so amazing and I know God put me in the right place for all of this.
I had a follow up appointment with my cardiologist a few weeks after the procedure. I was still experiencing some irregular heartbeats and so he wanted me to be on a
Holter monitor for a 24 hour time period. Basically, they taped the monitors to me and it recorded my heart activity over that day. I also kept a journal of activity and recorded when I would feel flutterings. I had the monitor placed on while montana was in school, and when I picked her up, she immediately saw the monitor and began to cry. She said, "No, no, no- Mommy, what is that? Are you dying again?" I of course burst into tears too, realizing how traumatizing all that had been on her. I was so happy to reassure that nothing was wrong and this was just to make sure everything went good in my surgery. That was an itchy, sweaty day...and ripping off the tape was not so fun.
But, after analyzing the results, my doctor found that the fatal problem was not recurring. Wonderful news!!! However, I would probably always have and deal with
SVT. It is generally not life threatening and only usually comes up for a few moments. Basically, my heart will beat out of rhythm, I'll feel it and stop to check my pulse, and it will go away. If it lasts for longer than minutes, out of anxiety, I will probably go to the hospital or call 9-1-1 or whatever, but I honestly have faith that will never have to happen. I have run miles and miles at high speeds since this whole ordeal, and have yet to have to return to any doctors office. My doctor termed me that day "CURED" and the procedure at 100% success. What a miracle to hear the word cured!
A month or so after the whole ordeal, I received a message from a friend of mine who is the CFO of Sutter. They hold a meeting where they invite the heads of the departments to hear a patient speak regarding their experience. Considering the fact that with in a matter of a week I had hit Traige- Labor and Delivery, Post Partum, ER, Cardiac ICU, Cather-lab/Surgery and Cardiac Recovery, they wanted to hear about the positives and negatives about my experience in all of the different departments. I was able to speak as well as Marc and my mother. It was an extremely touching and amazing experience for me to stand in front of amazing doctors and medical professionals, and see tears in their eyes for ME. For my family. To hear them tell me they were inspired by my story. The experience was completely surreal. I also met the director of the Catheter Lab. He told me he had been so excited to meet me and talk to me because my case had been so complicated. His statement took me by surprise, as I had thought that my ablation was somewhat textbook. He gave me his card and told me to call him. A few days later, we discussed the details of my condition and procedure over the phone. Apparently, besides the Wolff Parkinson White, I had also developed
Atrial Fibrillation . Atrial Fibrillation can cause stroke- especially in cases where the patient has high blood pressure. I had chronic hypertension/ borderline preeclamptic with all three pregnancies at the end. Which means at any point, I could've had a stroke- especially during delivery. I was again amazed as the miracles just kept flowing in. The director continued to explain the details of the procedure to me and how not only were they able to ablate the misfiring area due to W.P.W- but they were also able to use a freezing method to fix atrial fibrillation. Both procedures done by catheter are relatively modern. Had either of these conditions presented themself anytime prior to the last 10-15 years, there is a high probability that they would've required open heart surgery. Open heart surgery and all of the ICU, ER, etc., costs of this would've financially devastated my parents had this happened at any point while I was a child. It would've financially devastated Marc and I had it happened anytime before the last 5 years when our insurance wasn't nearly as amazing. The recovery would have been difficult and I would not have returned home to my babies the day following the procedure. Lastly, had I had the "attack" 5 days earlier- I would've been pregnant. You cannot cardiovert a pregnant woman without electrocuting the baby. I would not have made it through an emergency C-section with heart rates from 275-300. The miracles we experienced are endless and I am in awe at God's love and mercy. I was grateful to meet with Sutter- to thank them for what they all did to help save my life. I am also excited, because I have been asked to return to an even larger event to speak in January. It's such an honor to share my story.
At my six week post-delivery check up, my doctor and I marveled at the beautiful miracle we had all been a part of. I like to write poetry and I had written her a poem to tell her what a God-send she had been in our lives, for the past 3 years since seeing me through pregnancy and delivery with Carson, to Londyn, to now helping to save my life. I'm sure she wasn't surprised when I was talking to her about when I could resume all normal activities- exercise and of course- romantic exercise ;) She cleared me in full for both!
I had already begun to do my elliptical machine at home a bit, but I had longed to run. There is nothing like running and I will always be grateful to my friend Rachel for instilling that love in me after I had Montana and she would come to my house early in the morning to meet me and we would run. I can honestly say, I've never been able to run faster, harder or longer than I can now. My heart will flutter at times- but I welcome the reminder that it's giving me that I am alive and kicking! I plan to try to run another half marathon, the
Parkway Half Marathon that is a year almost exactly from the date of my trip to the ER. We joke that my heart is now bionic, but I think it's because it's not only physically stronger and better than ever- but because it has grown from the gratitiude and love that this experience has given me.
As I am wrapping up this very rough draft, probably very disjointed recounting of events over the past seven months of my life, I can't help but be filled with immense gratitude. It is amazing what faith and hope will help you to recover from. Because of my support system and faith in my Heavenly Fathers plan for me, I am here seven months later, almost forgetting on a daily basis to think about this miracle and what it meant to me in my life.
Of course- there are the daily reminders.
God meant for me to raise these three precious babies.
I needed to be here to see my sweet Montana Belle start kindergarten and make big girl decisions- like donating 10 inches of her hair to Locks of Love. No one will be more proud of them when they make good decisions.
And to see my darling boy become obsessed with things like Spiderman and Cars and be a big boy constantly scraping his knees. No one would kiss the owies and make them go away like this mommy.
I needed to be hear to see my icy- blue eyed baby grow into the chubbiest baby I've ever had. This precious girl has been an angel since day one- and continues to be that to this day. No one would have looked into those eyes and appreciated the sweet soul inside them like me.
I needed to be here to see my babies love each and watch out for each other and become the best of friends.
And most importantly, I needed to be here to keep being in love with this man and building the beautiful life and eternity that we've been building for 8 years and counting. No one would've loved him the way I do.
Thank you for taking the time to share in my special journey. It has truly been the most miraculous experience for our little family. I appreciate your love, support and respect for our story.
Thank you to my friend Erin for the beautiful photos taken shortly after being released from the hospital, that captured the raw emotion and beauty of being reunited with the life I was meant to live.
Londyn Ann (named after Grandma Michele Ann and Aunt Courtney Ann) was born on April 21, 2012. She is the sweetest baby I have ever encountered. Even almost 8 months into her life, her beautiful, serene countenance remains. She and I have such a bond and connection that helped me to fight to have the chance to raise her and have her know her mommy. Whenever she looks at me with those big, icy blue eyes- I know the soul inside of her tiny body knows how close we came to not being able to share this life together. Londyn looks a lot like Daddy and the Rogers side, it's true. The light hair and light eyes does not lie. However, her face shape and features are most like mine as a baby. I'm anxious to see in her what a blonde, blue eyed version of myself looks like over the years. I've never had a chubbier baby. This little thunder thighs is the most beautiful little butter ball I've ever seen, and I can't get enough of her. She has been enjoying eating baby food and puffs lately- and the occasional bite of our food. She's starting to rock on her hands and knees, but no crawling as of yet. I'm definitely NOT in a rush for that. The time has already gone way to fast, and I can't believe my baby will be a year in 4 short months. She is truly the most angelic addition to our family and we couldn't feel more blessed to have the opportunity to raise this gorgeous child. 
Carson DeVaughn (2) is the most lovable little boy on the planet. I adore my little boyfriend. He is definitely turning into a boy- into cars, superheros and guns. At the same time, he is the first to give me some love. This Christmas season he has been obsessed with the misteltoe, and loves to run under it and say, "Mommy, look!" so that I will come to him and give him a kiss. He melts my heart! He loves having playdates with his friends and cousins and is such a trooper going with Mommy to the gym. I can already see why people say teenage boys are expensive to feed- my two year old can put the food down! Some of his favorites are Pirate Booty, Mac N Cheese from Jack's Urban Eats and a new favorite this holiday season- hot chocolate! He has been obsessed with Christmas movies like Home Alone, Elf and The Grinch. I think this little boy has definitely inherited his Daddy's Christmas Spirit! I have been trying to delay the big boy phase, but as of this afternoon, he now can climb out of his crib. Also, he has been requesting to wear big boy underwear over his diapers and so I'm assuming potty training is in our near future. As much as I'm sad to watch my baby boy turn into a big boy, I can't wait to watch my handsome boy turn into the wonderful young man that I know he will be. 
Montana Belle (6) had a big year!! She started kindergarten in the fall and has loved every minute of it. She is doing great at learning to read and write, and her favorite subject is math. I will often find her in the office writing letters and coloring pictures for friends. She has loved being a big sister to a baby sister. She is such an amazing help to me. Sometimes I forget to let her be a little kid, because she is so self sufficient and responsible. She can make her bed, make her own breakfast. She loves to help fold the laundry, sweep the floors, load the dishwasher and windex glass surfaces. She also loves to help mommy cook and bake. She played in her second year of recreational soccer this year as a part of the Hot Shots. She had an amazing team and awesome coaches. Her favorite part of course was scoring goals and one game, she scored 9! It's hard to deny, this girl was born to play soccer. She has also discovered a love and extreme talent for golf- which has her daddy beaming with pride. She has her own set of junior Nike clubs, and even drove a ball clear out of our yard, over the fence and almost into a neighbors window. Daddy took her to the driving range the next day, and she drove the ball in the air about 40 feet consistently. That's better than me half the time. Also, she ran in her first Fun Run this year and really loved it- a girl after my own heart as well! She was also very excited to learn to ride her bike and ice skate this year. Although she is a natural athlete, she also has an artisitc side. We have dabbled in piano and mommy needs to get serious about teaching her. She loves to sing and dance and is going to be in a ballet number in the Nutcracker this month. Lastly, back in November, she decided she wanted to cut her hair. She had been talking about it for a while, but Marc and I were very attached to her long hair. She said that she thought she would look beautiful and it would be easier for her to do on her own- I found that her arguments were ones that I could not turn down, and so I let her make the decision. She also decided that she would like to donate it to Locks of Love and so she donated 10 inches. It's been an adjustment for me (I bawled my eyes out), but she is loving it and she looks adorable as ever. We couldn't be more proud of our big girl. It's scary to see how quickly she is growing up. I already miss my baby but am beaming with pride over the young lady she is forming into. 
