Aren’t these Easter treats just lovely? Auntie Julie sent them to the girls in a care package stuffed to the brim with all sorts of goodies floating in Easter grass. I couldn’t resist snapping a photo of these pretties before they get gobbled up. (Related: the white one with the carrot has already disappeared. Ahem.)
This surprise chocolate mail just about brought me to tears. Partly because life has been hard lately, but more so because the sender is currently on bed rest with preeclampsia at 33 weeks pregnant. I pray for Julie constantly, and if you have space on your prayer list, please add her to it. That sweet baby needs to incubate for a few more weeks. And mama needs to stay healthy and safe. A simple prayer. But a loud one.
Lent has always been kind of depressing to me. Bleak and dark. But this year, with my heart aching for close friends and family facing struggles, the fact that it’s Lent is oddly comforting. Maybe it’s the promise of light at the end of the tunnel. Forty days will soon be over and we can celebrate, right?
I vowed to give up sugary drinks during Lent, but fell off the sacrifice-wagon last week. I’ve always been a believer in doing good as a more powerful expression of faith than giving up something as trivial as sugar, but this year I decided to make an exception in the name of my health. It seems selfish as I type it, but it made sense six weeks ago. Not that God thinks any more of me because I won’t drink sweet tea for 40 days, but that He’ll be happy I’m taking care of this body He gave me.
Turns out my body threw me for a huge loop last week. (Here comes the too-much-information part. Consider yourself warned.)
Spontaneous, unusual, clot-like bleeding started smack in the middle of my very reliable, every-25-days-without-fail cycle. For the first 24 hours, I actually thought I might be pregnant (despite the highly effective copper IUD in my uterus. I know.) and I became ridiculously, painfully excited at the prospect. I wanted another baby so badly I could practically feel a newborn in my arms again. Despite the fact that we’ve given away almost every piece of baby gear and article of clothing. Despite my strong belief that our litle family is complete. And despite the truth that I love our life — the pattern of it, our little rituals, the hours of uninterrupted sleep. But, oh. Another baby seemed so delicious.
Then the spotting turned to full-on bleeding and I knew.
There may be something in there, but it’s not a baby.
After a few days of monitoring myself and worrying and experiencing unusual (but not overwhelming) pain, I went to the doctor. After a quick exam, she said she couldn’t see or feel anything wrong, but mostly that she couldn’t tell what was happening. That it might be a “blip” and my cycle could return to normal. But if it doesn’t, the next steps are ultrasound and biopsy.
I’m making an appointment with another doctor. I’m not good at this sort of thing — taking my health into my own hands, demanding better care. But the “blip” diagonsis just doesn’t feel right.
So here I am. Rattled, doubtful, waiting to see what happens next.
And drinking lots and lots of sweet tea.
I’m pretty sure God understands.