Looking back at one particular journal from 2001, the year I was diagnosed with Addison's, I remember scary, unexplainable things happening with my body. The journal excepts (shown below) were written just a few months before I was diagnosed. When I decided to write these letters to my daughters, I was starting to see that something was not right. Something in the back of my mind and deep in my heart needed to make sure my daughters got a direct message from me...just in case. But, I had no idea just how terribly sick I would soon become. My intuition on this day to write these letters was correct; just a few months later, I was dying. No one knew what was wrong; they couldn't make me better. Down, down, down I went deeper into a mysterious sickness. Going from being strong and vibrant to physically useless; I had changed drastically and rapidly for the worse. As I wrote these letters, a few health blips had shown on my radar, but nothing solid had proven anything drastic was headed my direction. But, in the weeks and months to follow, I would clearly see ominous signs with my health.
I dedicated one page for my youngest daughter, Stefanie...to make some kind of impossible effort that would let her know how much she meant to me. Then, the next page over, I wrote a letter to my oldest daughter, Heather, wanting her to know how much she had changed my world, for the better. I remember closing my eyes before writing each letter, and I thought about my girls and each of their unique qualities. From there, I followed my heart.
About seven months later, I was in and out of hospitals and extremely sick. I had gotten to the point, gradually, to where I couldn't walk, stand, or even sit. I remember one hospital stay, yet again on the cardio-floor with all the sticky snaps attached to my body with wires everywhere, oxygen lines, blood pressure cuffs on each leg because readings weren't possible on my arms, an osat reading finger clip taped on firmly, and a couple of IV lines about to blow, again. Months after writing these letters, I was dying. The best medical professionals in the world in Houston's prestigious Medical Center remained clueless. So, I write in my blog and remember the day I had written these letters to my daughters...I can't believe the journey that was in store for me. My situation would escalate to this horrendous level within months; I'm thankful that there were no crystal balls.
Fortunately, I had a miracle doctor come along who finally diagnosed me, at the last possible moment. I was given a chance to LIVE another day. I'd still be able to be the one thing I loved most...a mommy. Being able to walk again without assistance was pretty darn nice too. My journals got tossed here and there. Time passed and my young daughters did not have to be given these letters as a substitute for their mother's real voice. Instead, I remained their mommy...through the good and the bad; I would be the woman to raise them into being strong women themselves.
Even so, as I am going through my journals, it's easy to say that I feel the same protective ways about my "babies" now as I did back then. As of today's date, July of 2010, they are 19 years old and 22 years old, I selfishly want to be around for as many life's moments as I can. God has blessed me tremendously. I am grateful.
Thank you Lord for conversations, hugs, kisses and ongoing moments of sharing life's experiences.
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