#94 -The Red Blouse

Addison's disease, in my particular case, was very difficult to diagnose. At the time I began to deteriorate on a steady, rapidly downhill basis in 2001, I had been a strong 33 year old woman who even bench-pressed over 180 pounds at the YMCA several times per week. Talk about strong...my body was the epitome of strong.

Fortunately, I had simply been born into a family with strong muscles. My father, all throughout his youth and for most of my life, had that bulky weight-lifting build. Some people are born that way. Others must work at it with gusto to enjoy a little budding muscle, but that wasn't how my family genetics worked. I could lift a finger-nail file and my muscle would get a superior work-out.

So, it wasn't conceivable to all of the doctors that I was seeing during my deterioration that something could REALLY be wrong. Yes, they could see that my vitals were off. Too many times, I was brushed off. My excessively low blood pressure was blamed as a chronic condition. My low sodium levels were attributed to a sodium wasting condition that the doctors would tell me to remedy by adding more salt to every plate of food I would eat. The rapid heart-rate could not be explained, so it was ignored. That patchy skin on my hands and face with the orangy tan I sported, without being outdoors consistently, was not a consideration because, again, I was a young woman and surely this was "normal" for being young. I appeared too young, too strong and too "healthy" for anything serious to be lurking with my health. If only the doctors would have truly listened to me...they would have had an edge, but those who don't listen cannot provide wisdom.

Every time I was admitted to the hospital, they'd hook me up to IV fluids, give me potassium (I had potassium wasting instead of accumulation as an outdoors Texas gal) and I'd feel better, my vitals would drastically improve, therefore, I didn't need medical attention any longer...nothing was wrong. Every doctor assumed that I was just dehydrated. But, within six hours of being discharged, I'd be at home in a rapid decline and barely able to walk across a room once again. It was disheartening.

Yes, I went to every specialist imaginable. Even a "Dr. House" type of diagnostician who indeed ran every test you could think of running and they would always see that there were weird puzzle pieces but no doctor was able to put them all together. It took me coding at a local hospital to actually get the doctor's mental mechanics to work a bit faster for a proper diagnosis.

But, by that time, I'd had extreme muscle wasting. My organs were in danger of failing, so close to failing that I went into cardio-pulmonary failure during the code blue. My body had been living in such an extremely weakened state for so long that a "recovery" would be a far off and away achievement.

Even after the miracle drugs Florinef and Hydrocortisone were given to me and I was finally able to walk by myself again, I still had severe ups and downs for another year. I would be in and out of the hospital with great difficulty at being stabilized. And since I had been so very sick as to be coding, I was not convinced that I would truly recover. I'd seen the ugly truths of being seriously ill. I'd laid in bed gasping for air after waking with collapsed lungs. I'd lay in bed unable to respond to those around me because my blood pressure was so low that it could barely be registered. I'd feel my heart nearly thump a hole out of my chest.

If your body is battling a catastrophic illness and your muscles will not work, your organs do not function normally and you cannot make your heart beat normally or your blood pressure can hardly be normalized, then you realize that little in this life is under your control. If you do not have your health or if you have not been able to equalize your medical condition, then everything else is out of reach.

Everything in my life became altered because of my illness. My job, my body, my way of thinking, my home, my daily life...all of it changed. I was still very sick. For months I had been too ill to do much of anything, so one of my responses to being ill found me deciding to quit buying clothes. Since I'd come so close to death on numerous occasions and was still riding a scary medically unstable roller coaster, I did not feel confident enough to buy anything because it might end up sitting in my closet unworn...an expense my family had to pay for as I lie unable to get my money's worth out of the article of clothing. It didn't make sense for me to buy new clothes. I'm a very practical person and buying clothes when I could barely get out of bed didn't make sense. So, I quit buying myself anything.

This was a huge personal part of my own trauma with being seriously ill. I no longer found myself valuable enough to spend money on because I might be gone the next week and I didn't want that money to be "wasted" on me and my unstable existence. I guess I was too leery to hold out excessive hope. After all, I'd gone so far down in my health to point of coding...I'd become too ill to even give much thought to such insignificant matters as clothing. I had other details on my mind, such as breathing, keeping my blood pressure regulated, making sure my vitals didn't dip dangerously low before I was given a chance to react...so, I quit buying clothes.

For one year straight after I became very ill. I literally didn't buy myself one thing. Actually, the week I began my downhill plunge into Addison's darkness, I had received my last delivery of catalog ordered clothes from Victoria's Secret...clothes, not lingerie. There was a pair of capri jeans, a couple of nice tanks and a few other things that I would never wear. Once I began my steroid treatment, I gained 10 pounds pretty fast and that meant that my size changed drastically enough so that I'd never be able to fit into that last set of ordered clothes I'd paid to have delivered before my diagnosis. Immediately, I could see that my body was now unpredictable; I found it easier to just quit buying any clothes whatsoever.

For one solid year I didn't make a purchase and as that one year mark came to an end, I began to feel stronger. My condition was under a semblance of control and I really needed a new blouse to wear for my still very rare outings. Just one blouse. Hesitantly, I began to allow myself to take a look at a few blouses in the department store. It wasn't easy. I often felt as if I would somehow jinx myself with buying something to wear. For so long, I had not allowed myself to buy anything that I began to have obsessive-compulsive thoughts that my decision to not buy clothes was linked to my survival...and if you've gone through something serious with your health, you do begin to question your every decision and its power to affect your life as you know it.

But, one day, I came across this 100% red silk blouse with gold embroidery and I fell in love. Going into the dressing room, I tried on the blouse and it was perfect. I took the plunge and bought it. There was no way I could have left that blouse in the store. This blouse wasn't inexpensive, but it symbolized my triumphant return. I splurged because I'd gone for so long without spending a penny on myself. This blouse signified my strengthening belief that I just might make it long-term. Maybe I would be around long enough for any new clothes to again become old and worn. Truly, that was a returned dream come true.

I wore the blouse to a couple of functions, then the blouse suddenly disappeared one day. Actually, I'd been devastated to discover that I'd developed another serious medical condition, a cardiac issue that would require two very risky surgeries. Again, I became very ill after these surgeries with a collapsed lung; I had to have my first ribs removed from my body; I experienced severe internal bleeding into my chest wall and too many other battles to name. It seemed as if I was being attacked from the left and right, from front to back, with my health, my personal life, my home life...everything was under siege. Again, I was hanging by a thread while feeling very alone in the world.

The beautiful red blouse was a fading happy memory. Still, I would sometimes find myself over the coming months and years in a search for the blouse and it was nowhere to be found. I didn't know how this blouse with such meaning could suddenly disappear, but I didn't have the energy to keep focusing on its disappearance, its search and the devastation of not being able to find it. Why did I care? After all, this was only a silly blouse! But, what did the blouse's disappearance mean? Was I again losing my chance to be healthy?

That blouse had been my outward celebration of feeling stable enough in my health to look forward to the future again, then its disappearance became the bane of my existence as it paralleled my desperation while my health suddenly took another spiraling downturn. Darn that blouse!

Through the years, I forced myself to repeatedly attempt to give up the remembrances of that silk blouse. Still, I'd find myself wondering where the heck it could have gone.

Since then, we sold the house we were living in during that blouse purchase and we've bought another much larger house. In fact, our house now is three times larger than the one we lived in when I had purchased that red blouse with the gold embroidery. Still, I've never forgotten it.

Then, last week, my husband and I were going through some old boxes in the garage. We found one box that had some old sewing supplies of mine. I had loved sewing when I fell ill...I'd sewn my entire life. My great-grandmother, Lola, was a professional seamstress and owned a shop in Madisonville, Texas. Sewing is in my blood.

My youngest daughter, Stefie, sat next to me last week in the living room as I was going through this box full of old sewing supplies and I pulled out one newly discovered treasure after another...a bundle of fabric never used, a package of elastic, more fabric scraps that really needed to be ditched, a package of sequins left over from the time I sewed the girls their Halloween outfits and at the bottom of the box was a plastic sack with red material in it, I held the sack, pulled out the material and there before me was The Red Blouse!

I couldn't believe it. I sat there with tears filling my eyes. After all this time, after nine years, this blouse had again found its way into my life. My heart was pounding and I was inspecting the blouse carefully to make sure there wasn't any damage. It was perfect, but wrinkled. Then, I vaguely remembered putting it in with my sewing supplies with the intent to study the embroidery on it, but I had fallen sick again with cardiac issues, so the entire effort was chunked from my mind.

Stefie really didn't understand the significance of this blouse, so I tried to explain, but I don't know if a person could ever explain such a highly personal story. My words would never be adequate to express all that this blouse had meant to me during such a volatile time in my life...a time when I finally felt there was hope for a real future.

Washing the blouse, I let it dry, then hung it in my closet prominently so I could see it every time I walked in. It was as beautiful as I remembered. But, it looked awfully small. Unfortunately, the past nine years has found me to be physically softer with a bit more weight on me from the time I'd bought this little red jewel. After all, I'm not in my powerful 30's any more, I'm now approaching my mid-40's, but I'm still feeling rather fabulous to be honest.

Still, I let a few days pass by as I would enter the closet and give the blouse a dreamy stare. One day, I couldn't resist, I tried it on. Yes, it "fit" but it was definitely too tight. Whoa-Mama-Tight, definitely not suitable for wearing in public unless I lost ten-fifteen pounds. And believe me, to get the chance to wear that blouse again, to savor its deep meaning as that silk hugs my skin...it'd be worth it.

But, another lesson I've learned through these passing years as my blouse hibernated has been to let things go. I no longer cycle backwards in a fruitless effort to regain whatever it is that I feel I might have lost. Instead, I've learned the hard way to keep moving forward, even if that means leaving parts of me behind. Sometimes, we cannot move forward if we keep circling backwards in wasted efforts to be the person we once were...once upon a time. Forget trying to find that historic part of you and start embracing who you are right now!

I could cry all day long for the old Lana I once enjoyed with such vigor, but she is outta here. However, I've got the new Lana to savor and I happen to like her very much, thank you. Instead of pining away for all that coulda-shoulda-woulda been, I'm appreciating what I have at this moment. Actually, I have a lot to be thankful for and it's a beautiful life that I am able to enjoy, even with challenges.

However, The Red Blouse will always hold a special place in my heart and soul. Moving forward will never change what the past has meant to me with that blouse. But, once the blouse had been "lost," I learned to move forward without my physical symbol of healing. In spite of difficulties and new challenges, I moved onward...trying to learn repeated lessons about the dangers and hindrances that come with trying to cling to old things, old ideals, and old hopes. I realize hard truths...my body is getting older and clinging to the past does not make us younger, it does not help us to regain our youth, it does not erase the disease or medical hurdle...moving forward is the mentally healthy path to being the best you can be right now WITH WHAT YOU HAVE TO WORK WITH. There is beauty in that ability and that knowledge. Take stock of it. Keep trying.

So, The Red Blouse might not fit me right now. It might not reflect the person I am right now, and that's okay. I have fond, beautiful memories of that blouse and maybe its sudden resurfacing has reinforced the fact that I can keep moving forward, in spite of the strong temptation to look back with useless longing or trying to force myself to be something I once enjoyed. No, I can accept the truth that the blouse might be rediscovered, but it now has no proper place in my life. In that respect, The Red Blouse is still perfect for me because it's again getting the chance to symbolize my growing strength and my ability to accept life for what it has to offer at the moment. And, I like this moment.

#89 - WARNING-GRAPHIC PHOTOS (Not for the faint of heart) Erasing Life Not Wise

WARNING: THIS POST GRAPHICALLY DOCUMENTS A FEW OF MY SURGICAL BATTLES - BUT I AM STEPPING OUT ON A LIMB BECAUSE I WANT OTHER ADDISON/ADRENAL INSUFFICIENCY PATIENTS TO KNOW THAT YOU DO HAVE A CHANCE TO SURVIVE MAJOR SURGERY WITH THIS CONDITION, IF IT IS HANDLED AGGRESSIVELY AND YOU HAVE EDUCATED ADVOCATES ON GUARD, READY TO SPEAK UP, LOUDLY, IF NECESSARY, ON YOUR BEHALF.

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I've learned over the past decade that my health problems are not something that I can just erase. I've tried, believe me. First, I would delete or destroy any pictures of me that looked terrible if they highlighted me looking unwell. My family thoughtfully and delicately took lots of pictures of me during the various serious surgeries I've had and I'd just DELETE any pictures that I found personally disturbing. Soon, I realized that I was deleting everything because I hated the reminder of what I went through.

Over the years, this has left me with very few photos of the challenges I've endured; I now wish that I had not been so eager to hit the button to erase those captured moments. I now wish I had not torn up photos and discarded negatives of moments that were too painful to see again. However, I now realize that I should have honored this part of my life instead of trying to pretend it didn't happen. After learning that patients who have gone through serious illness, injuries and surgeries can suffer post-traumatic stress episodes, I FINALLY better understood the "why" behind my attempts to rid myself of evidence of my battles.

And, there is no escaping the scars on my body. My body has taken a beating. It's been close to hell and back, but I'm still here. During one hospital stay, I had a doctor come to my hospital room with my huge chart in hand and he was flipping through it as he walked in. I was sitting up, in my short set outfit, reading a book. As usual, even in the hospital, I did my hair and put on a bit of makeup. He glanced up at me, back down at the chart and said, "Excuse Me," and he walked back out. A moment later, he came back and basically told me that he couldn't believe that I could possibly be the patient who had gone through all those serious surgeries because I looked completely opposite of what he expected.

He confided that he had to walk back out of my hospital room to confirm that the chart matched the patient, me. He was in disbelief and he said that I shattered any mental images he'd readied himself to see as he entered my room. For the first time in his career, I made him question his pre-conceived, chart-induced notions. Since he was making late night rounds and had been on duty for over twelve hours, he was exhausted. I told him to take a load off and he settled in on the sofa while saying, "I've got my pager on; they'll catch me if needed," and he even laid his head back and caught a catnap. He'd been brutally honest with me and I appreciated it, so we had instant respect for one another and he got to relax while I continued to read my book.

I'm paraphrasing, but his parting words had a continued impact on my life. Before he left my room, he said, "Don't ever let anyone say you are weak because most people would not be able to endure or even survive all of the surgeries you have, especially with your adrenal condition. Obviously, you are extremely strong and mentally warrior-minded...your appearance does NOT mirror what your chart says you've been through."

A few months after my spine reconstruction, getting to finally wear the SOFT brace! Ya!
I'm with my dad as he gets ready to leave for the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo.

So, I realized that I should not have tried to work so hard to erase the images of my journey. I could not Find Lana if I kept running away from her.
Even if I did not look my best and even if these photos make me cringe, I should've respected my own journey and not shied away from facing the truth in photographic form. If someone doesn't like seeing my journey, they have been warned and can go visit someplace that has flower, beaches and creme puffs. For me, that's not always been my direction.


My Stefie is staying with me until they roll me away for the spine surgery.

 I realized, over time, that my photos definitely are NOT pretty, but they prove that an Addison's patient can survive major surgery --- or in my case --- multiple surgeries that are life-threatening to an otherwise "healthy" patient that doesn't have adrenal issues.


My husband, Deputy Dave, kissing me before I am taken away
in the hopes that my collapsed neck can be stabilized. The spinal
cord has an area where only a pin-hole size
of spinal fluid can pass through.


I've had two cardio-thoracic surgeries. The first in 2005, the second in 2006. Each one left me gasping for air for almost nine months from a collapsed lung and other horrible side effects. But, I didn't have a choice...the surgery decompressed main arteries to my upper body. This condition had put me in grave danger of the compressed arteries creating blocked blood flow which would create blood clots and that means a possible pulmonary embolism among other lovely dangers.

These surgeries were horrendous. Each surgery meant that my first rib had to be cut out, the muscles in my neck had to be cut out and I have clips running along the arteries because there was uncontrollable bleeding that required clipping. Still, after the first surgery I had major internal bleeding. Not fun.

Weeks after my surgery, I saw the pictures that my family had taken of me lying in bed at the hospital with the huge bloody bandage going across my neck/thoracic area along with the bulbs for draining excess blood from inside my body. Not a glamour shot.

I've been looking for these photos. We'll see if I can find them and post at a later date.

Then, I had cervical spine reconstruction...fusion, plating, bolts with screws, rebuilding with cadaver bone. So awesome! Really, it is. I was very close to being either dead or completely paralyzed. My legs were already dragging and the feeling in my extremities was no longer without constant numbness and tingling. After the surgery and long recovery, I got back more use in my legs and hands than they ever thought possible.



My cervical spine reconstruction --- very challenging time in my life, but
I made the commitment to do my best to recover and do as many
"normal" things as I could.

 Again, this neck collapse is mostly due to the steroid treatment I must take to control my Addison's disease, but the steroids have taken a huge toll on my bones, especially my spine.

Dr. Ghosh removing his perfectly placed stables

It's difficult to see all of the bolts in this x-ray, but I believe there are
twelve of them. Or, maybe double --- maybe twelve on front
and twelve in back...I can't remember. This surgery required a halo to be
attached to my skull - the neuro-spine surgeon rebuilt my spine from the
back of my neck thru a five-inch incision, then they flipped
by body to do the same through an incision in the front of my throat.
Talk about horrendous swelling...for weeks I would choke on my own
saliva after this double-sided surgery.  

 

I really am a tough gal. The hospital mistakenly sent me home while
there was still a staple in my skull, near my temple, that had helped
hold the halo in place during my surgery. I am brave...
got the stapler remover from my office to try to remove it
myself and it wouldn't budge. So, here is Dr. Ghosh
removing the staple. With this Photo you can also better see
 the incision across the front of my neck.

 

Here is the back of my neck, before staples are
removed. My neck was very swollen.


A few years after my cardio-thoracic surgery on the right side, I had my minor pectoral muscle removed because the jagged edges of what was left of my rib removal had literally shredded this muscle, so it had to be removed completely. Great, more scars and more muscle removal.



Here I am --- three years ago ---- I made it to age 40!

 Then, I had other things hit me. Such as my gall-bladder dying - no gall-stones, it just died. Three months later I had a horrific surgery to remove a large mass on my right side that required the dissection of my 10th rib. The surgeon really didn't do a great job. You can see from his staples, compared to the staple job on my cervical spine (back) that the abdominal staples were not neat. For six weeks, the wound still bled heavily and I knew something was really wrong. It took a couple of months before they could remove the staples and things did not feel right. Every staple had infected my skin. However, I have been through so many surgeries that I told myself to be patient.

Little did I know, patience would not be enough. Three months later, I was back in surgery because the internal incision had not closed. I don't think this surgeon did a superb job; I believe he was too concerned with setting record time with his surgeries instead of taking his time to do a worthwhile job.

My abdomen is very swollen because it's been pummeled.
This is after the removal of my 10th rib, a large mass and the
staple job is horrible. Did it hurt? Yes.

Within a six month period, I would have
THREE surgeries in this area.
The next surgery of re-opening this same incision
found me with stitches instead of staples - MUCH BETTER -
and a drain tube that definitely alleviated internal bleeding pressure.
But, the tissue transplant had internal sutures all around it
and I could feel those tug with every movement along
with the external stitches. There's no telling how many
stitches it required to accomplish that tissue transplant.

So, back into the hospital I went after a team had reviewed my file, ordered multiple tests and consulted each other. It was determined that I would need one of the largest tissue transplants they'd ever done, but the main problem was the the area of abdominal tissue separation went up so high on the rib cage that they couldn't figure out how to attach the tissue transplant to my body without having to attach it to my ribs. This would have created terrible pain every time I breathed.

On my end, I could not conceive that my painful, bruised abdominal incision would need to be re-cut. I had not even healed from the last surgery and they needed to butcher me again so that I could indeed heal. It was mentally disturbing.

The high-tech surgeons at St. Luke's Episcopal Hospital in Houston, Texas decided that this open surgical wound could not be patched with plastic mesh that is normally used for run-of-the-mill hernias. This was a surgically created, massive hernia...also possibly caused by my body's inability to heal as fast due to steroid treatment for my Addison's disease. Let's see...die or take the steroids daily...I kind of like breathing, so there's not a choice.

During this time of multiple surgeries, our house was destroyed by
Hurricane Ike. The interior was ruined and had to be gutted.



Here are the lovebirds. Again, this me being strong enough to take
a trip within four months of getting the tissue transplant.
I am 41 years old.

To close my abdominal gaping wound, the surgeons decided to use swine tissue that the hospital developed in their own labs. This option is not even available to so many people...those people end up with plastic mesh. Swine tissue is less likely to be rejected and my own tissue was supposed to weave itself through the transplanted tissue to create my own abdominal wall again.

To be honest, I was initially disgusted. For real? Swine tissue? Then, I learned that the military is making great strides in their attempts to repair horribly damaged tissue in our injured soldiers and swine tissue is the stuff that has helped many soldiers recover from injuries that would otherwise have killed them. So, I gained a fresh perspective...made a few jokes about being thankful that I didn't have a pug nose, but I might have a slight bacon flavor. Since I love Emeril, this is A-Okay with me.

In all seriousness, I was told that this tissue transplant saved my life. My abdominal wall was missing and with the 10th rib removed --- which ribs normally offer protection for your organs, my organs were shifting and without a strong abdominal wall in place, one wrong bump or push could have caused organ trauma and a fast death. So, I was thankful to be among the ranks of our soldiers and thankful to the swine for their contribution to my life as I know cardiac patients are thankful for pig heart parts, valves, etc. Our hero, the pig.

I'm glad that I didn't get a chance to erase everything and that I have several photos still around that document those surgeries with such a personal touch.

But, the REAL question is...Does this mean that I am a cannibal if I eat a BLT?

Four months after my 3rd abdominal surgery I'm snorkeling
in Cozumel, Mexico --- in deep waters --- no fear - enjoying the
chance to forget my constant pain.



#86 - Learning to Edit Your Life

I am 43 years old, but ten years ago I learned to edit my life. I chopped out the nonsense and the frivolous and removed as much heartache stimulants as possible.

After falling severely ill for months and then coding while hospitalized at 33 years of age, I had plenty of time to lay in bed, week after week, and this forced me to do some serious thinking. It's amazing what you will think about when you have nothing else to do.

Of course, my body was so ill and my organs, including my heart, were starting to fail, so I had vastly different thoughts than I once had with a healthy body. I learned to be grateful to simply stumble my own way to the bathroom so that I could enjoy a very private moment IN PRIVACY!

Things in my life began to shift. I had been a high-earner in the family because I owned and operated a business that provided litigation support to top law firms in Houston. I worked for the Big, Big Dogs. And, this meant a big, big invoice. I worked hard and earned large. For nearly ten years I went strong in this business. But, as my body began to fail me...my mind switched gears and the fast-paced life was suddenly not as thrilling. After all, what is the point of making a high-dollar living when you can't even live healthy enough to enjoy the fruits of your labor?

I would lie in bed and face the fact that I was living a life that had been imbalanced. I felt as if God were taking me by the shoulders, shaking me hard and telling me to head another direction.

Truthfully, the business had taken a toll on me. I would sometimes work on one case for two years and the details would be so incredibly gruesome that I'd end up on the floor in my office in a puddle of tears. I think the time-frame required for each case made it more challenging...it wasn't a blip on my life radar, these cases became ingrained into my mind and heart. After ten years of witnessing horrible tragedy, loss and heartache, mostly due to very freak accidents, I think a toll was placed upon me. Now, there are people like my husband, Deputy Dave, who sees horrendous things day in and day out in his job at the Sheriff's department. He's been on the job for over 22 years and he's seen things that would turn your mind and your stomach inside out. But, I learned that my stamina for such gore is not as stoic.

I sent letters of regret to all of my clients before my as my health took the serious decline that would force me to shut off most communications with the outside world. These letters went out during the time-frame when I knew that my body was not cooperating and that something was seriously wrong. I'd realized that my slow shift to work on files in bed had become a full-time ordeal. I had been slowly adapting to my weakness until it became harshly distinct. Soon, I was too weak to feed myself. I could feel my body dying; it took what seemed like forever to get my Addison's diagnosis. For about a solid year, I was in a constant state of significant and consistent decline before a beautiful doctor ran the magical test that would allow me to continue living for an extended period of time.

Those resignation letters were a necessary part of my healing. Accepting my situation had not been easy. But, I could not run a business if I couldn't even feed myself. Looking back, perhaps I should have sold the business or given it to a friend. But, the training would have taken long months that I didn't have to offer. Any energy that I had available was precious and would be certainly directed toward my husband and children. Since there was very little energy, this usually meant a brief daily conversation with each. Lying there, unable to do my normal "mommy" things caused me to mourn my position in life as a mother.

My oldest daughter - back from Germany.
My sister took these shots for her high-school photography class.

More than anything, I missed the little moments when I could fulfill my role as a mom and a wife.

Me holding Stefie.

Some mornings, I would give myself this brutal "pep" talk and would head to the kitchen as I was fighting sudden moments of blacking out. I wanted to make my daughters their school lunches! My vision would come and go. My hearing would disappear. Spots would appear before my eyes and I'd gasp for air. But, I would sometimes get those lunches made and in the brown bag with my little cartoon drawing on the side for them to enjoy. Making those lunches made me feel as if I'd won an Olympic Medal. I cannot even express the emotion I would feel at knowing I did something so simple for my daughters...a valued mommy moment.

My oldest daughter and I at a football game together...we're
hot, sweaty and stinky. A good old Texas football fan moment!

I didn't miss the business; I didn't miss working with high-powered personalities; I didn't miss the gifts sent to my door for a job well down and I didn't miss the income. I only missed being able to walk along the beach holding my husband's hand and being an active mommy. That's it.

Me and my hubby --- not too long after my cervical spine
reconstruction, so I am no able to move my head much.

So, I quickly cut out anything that would interfere in my home-relationships. This meant that the large circle of friends that I had enjoyed was severely cut back to about two friends who really tried to understand my situation. The others were quid pro quo friends who expected something for something and I had nothing left to give. These were the days when you discovered who really loved you for YOU, not for what you did or could do for them. I finally learned to accept my husband's love for me being me and not for the hoops I'd constantly jump through as a wife.

The three most important people in my life.

In my time of severe illness, the house-keeping went down the drain. I'd once been a perfectionist. A newspaper could not even lay on the coffee table for a full morning before I'd chunk it in the trash. I often sat on my rear on the floor to hand-clean my tile and wood flooring...scrubbing the grout with a toothbrush. My hands would have chemical burns from the deep cleaning I did every week. Ask me how my house is cleaned these days? These days, if I try to hand-scrub the floors, I probably won't be able to get back up! Today, I keep things manageable, but definitely not to my former standards. If we have a planned gathering at our house, we usually must have a sprint or a hurricane cleaning session to whip it into shape.

My daughters both told me that they thought my illness was the solution to my over-controlling need to have the perfect home. But, I'm not so sure they were right. Of all things that have changed, I do miss having a perfectly kept home that is constantly ready for any guest who might stop by. I can't fib...those days were nice. Nowadays, I cannot keep up. In our large home that we now live in, I basically cordon off rooms and no one lives in them, so they stay clean! That's the trick everyone...don't let people LIVE in the room you wish to keep clean.

Another area of life editing was our money habits. Since I had been earning such a good living, we had ample cash at our fingertips whenever we wanted to do anything or buy anything. Becoming so sick and seeing the savings and liquid funds drain away like dirty dishwater caused us to put a halt on the spending. Then, we applied the emergency brakes and didn't spend any extra money. But, I was happy. Broke and happy. Well, we weren't entirely broke, but it felt like it after what we had long enjoyed. Being on a tight budget was fine with me. Besides, I was too sick to do anything anyway, so this part was probably more painful for my husband and children. If you are only able to lay in bed, your needs are reduced to below the basic necessities.

Before I became ill, I had a TV in my office and would sometimes indulge in watching a soap opera as I filed or completed a mound of data-entry. I had loved watching "All My Children" because it had been a family tradition. I could even play the theme song on the piano. After I battled for my life, I could not stomach another soap opera. This was amazing because I'd grown up with a great-grandmother who would threaten my little existence if I interrupted her soap opera break. But, the illness made me dislike soap operas because the TV personality lying in the hospital bed dying for the tenth time was a drama on TV, but for me, it had become reality. I didn't need to watch such drama; I was living it. I decided then and there, during this time in my life, that I did NOT need to add any more drama to my life because MY LIFE HAD BECOME A SOAP OPERA.

I also learned these things:  to listen more closely to my mother, to savor the sound of my children laughing, to enjoy moments of not gasping for breath as my heart beat out of control, to be in the comforting arms of my husband, and to appreciate a beautiful friend who would come over simply to dust my house.

I also learned that no matter what happens, everything will be okay. This was a powerful message I received the night I coded and it set me free. Really free.

Life editing meant that I had to let go of many old ideas, actions and beliefs so that I could face a new direction in life. My "recovery" did not amount to what I had expected...it actually meant that I would learn to live with a hugely changed body that would never regain its previous strength and that continued to face massive battles for survival. My idea of "recovery" also was edited; I'd previously thought it meant that you recovered to find your old self back again. But, I was very saddened to have a critical-care doctor plainly tell me that the old me was gone forever and to not have false hope that I'd recover back to my old self because it wasn't possible. It was explained that some people can make a "full" recovery, but my body had suffered such trauma for a long period of time that the toll would be permanent. I will admit, I was devastated by his comments. I was angry at him and even thought that he was wrong because he didn't KNOW me. He also said it would take at least one year for my body to even stabilize. I could not believe my ears. But, he was right. Doctors are not always right, but he knew what he was talking about and I was in for some hard lessons. Sometimes a recovery is not what you expect, but you can learn to be stronger in some areas even though you are weaker in others. So, I am not fully recovered in one aspect and probably will never be fully "recovered" in a medical standpoint, yet I am stronger than ever in other aspects.

Living life to its fullest, without fear.

Mostly, I learned that any one of us can be on top of our mountain and suddenly find the earth crumbling beneath us. As we tumble and tumble downward, our body battered and broken, we might have flashes of what we have lived through and what we still yearn to do, but we are helpless and without the promise of a second chance. The harsh truth is...LIFE HAS NO PROMISES. We feel entitled for a tomorrow and for a healthy future, but there is no guarantee that you'll get it. For some reason, I have been given many second chances. And, I'm glad to say that even though it's taken me years, my days of facing the future without solid plans and without long-term goals are gone because I have recovered enough to feel safe again...enough to think about a year or two down the road. However, I know very well that all my "plans" could be yanked out from under me. It's happened a time or two before due to circumstances beyond my control and it would happen again. We can't always control life.

If your earth has crumbled beneath you, then I understand your journey to re-discover your path in life. Maybe you're just trying to survive and that is good enough. I've been there. My advice is to take it minute by minute. Add up the good moments and focus on those instead of what you have lost.

For a long, long time I would fall asleep with very poor vitals, knowing that I had a good chance of not making it through the night. I'd close my eyes with sadness, not knowing if my body would be able to sustain itself through the dip in my vitals that were already precarious. But, you must sleep, so I'd give in and close my eyes, saying a prayer and hoping to see my family again in the morning. Then, as the morning light streamed into the room and my eyes would blink open, I'd often be amazed and stunned to find myself breathing and living, alive for another day. Day by day...that's all we're given. If you've struggled to survive for a prolonged period of time, then you learn the importance of each new day.

So, I am thankful for today. God willing I'll be given many more days and I'll continue to learn lessons from my painful experiences.

That brings me to my final life edit...do not waste the important lessons in your life. Don't let the passing of time banish them for your memory or weaken the bold impact that life changing events can prompt in our lives. Don't spend time looking backwards, try to move forward with your new set of circumstances as soon as possible. Acceptance is a critical word for those who need to do some life editing. You can't start life editing unless you accept your situation and do not waste new opportunities while hung up on old mindsets. Build a new life! Is it easy? Heck no! But, you can take your new life, even if it's still in crumbles and you can move forward.

Actually, there's a verse in the Bible that tremendously helped me with this last struggle and it says something like this, "If you wait for perfect conditions, you'll never get anything done."

Don't wait. My "perfect" life is a distant memory, but I will take today and make the most out of it, even if that means I spend the day tucked in bed reading a good book and doing some blogging. My idea of "perfect" is still morphing. Life editing is not easy. Learn when to employ strike-outs, purges or re-arranged your thinking. And you'll be fine. I'm fine. I'm a happy gal on the move. Keep moving farther away from your most painful times and you too will be a new person with a new direction...the adventure awaits.

#83 - Medicine Lets Me Live

Taking medicine with chronic illness is a part of life. Before I was diagnosed with Addison's, I was medication free. Perhaps I would take a Tylenol, infrequently. Medicine just wasn't needed.

In fact, I gave birth to both of our daughters drug-free. I don't know how I did it; my stubbornness was indeed incomparable to many. I was determined to have natural deliveries, and I did not want to be overshadowed by a haze of drugs. Well, I got exactly what I asked for along with the good and the bad that came with that decision. Ouch!

The first picture of my daughters together at home.

But, today, I am a walking medication encyclopedia from all of the different medications I've had to take for my medical conditions over the years. Some medicines are here to stay for the remainder of my life and others are temporary on an as-needed basis, but still just as critical. Even with my health condition, I still find myself rather resentful that I need little pills to function. I can't help but miss the days when I didn't have to think about taking life-saving daily medications...I just woke up and bounced on with my days.

Me - still a kid, but also married and starting my life with David.

Then, on the other hand, I am deeply grateful that our medical field has come so far as to develop medicine for Addison's. I shudder to realize that such a relatively short time ago, there was not adequate treatment for this disease and death was imminent. I was undiagnosed for so long and near death when the "Addison's" answer finally appeared, but it took my body calling a Code Blue for the answer to occur. Therefore, I have unending compassion for those who have felt themselves disintegrate into a cloud of Addisonian / Complete Adrenal Failure mush before dying.

My girls - about the age when I began getting sick.
They gave me tremendous determination to pull through the worst.

The weakness that I endured from being so sick and living in a prolonged state of unknown Addisonian Crisis had been profound, and I don't think a person can imagine this kind of melting away...it was exactly like being trapped in a body that is slowly becoming fully paralyzed to the point where you can barely hold your eyelids open.

In fact, my body had gone so deep into crisis that my cardio-functions were shutting down. Basically, I'd exhale a long breath out and my body was too worn out to automatically take the steps to draw in another lung-full of air and my heart could not keep up the pace needed to sustain life. Eventually, these basic bodily functions started puttering. God only knows how I made it through those times.

After I had the official Code Blue called while hospitalized, I was amazed because that EXACT sensation was familiar to me. Obviously, I had been coding off and on while at home, somehow pulling out of it, for weeks. The realization was terrifying. THIS is a code? I've ALREADY GONE THROUGH THIS several times. Often, it'd occur in my sleep; I'd awake without any air in my lungs, and I would go through horrifying moments of opening my mouth and doing all I could to pull in air. It almost would feel as if I were under water, unable to breath, very similar. Not pleasant.

My girls so bonded and this is the time in our lives when
I am trying to recover from being sick for so long.

I must say, the only part of my code in the hospital that was additionally terrifying was the soaring heart-rate as my blood pressure sunk so low that it could no longer be registered. My heart beat so hard and furiously in the attempt to get things going that it literally rocked my ragdoll body with involuntary movements. No, that was not too comforting. I felt like an alien invasion was taking place in my body as I lay helpless...How could this be happening?

My husband, best-friend and my personal hero.

Thank God my condition was diagnosed and the medication that was immediately started, upon disease confirmation, was no less than miraculous for me. My body that had grown so weak that it could not sustain life was suddenly surging with vibrancy again.

My girls - we made it through terrible times and came out stronger.

So, I still don't like taking medications. I really don't know anyone who "likes" it, but we know it's completely necessary and after you learn that your life depends on it, you take it seriously. But, I better not experience any more body break downs because my medication routine is already complex enough. And, I wish to have bought stock in pharmaceutical companies...maybe then I could one day recover my own personal investments that have been made into this field. I'd gladly take dividends along with my daily dose!

#70 - Acceptance for Starting Over

For New Year's Day in 2001, I wrote a little prayer for what I felt that I needed to do during the New Year. This journal entry was several months before my mysterious Addison's diagnosis, but I was already very sick. I guess it was prophetic in a way because I wasn't making any New Year resolutions, yet I prayed for areas where I would need acceptance so I could have the chance to start over. And, I knew I wanted to know the truth about what was wrong so I could confront it.

For the first time, I was avoiding the drafting of futile lists. Before falling ill, I regularly maintained my short-term, mid-range and long-term goals. However, by the time New Year's Day had rolled around, I was struggling. My entire goal in life was to just get through each day.

At this time, my body was not cooperating in a normal fashion. I was doing everything I could think of to sift through all aspects of my life in an attempt to get to the bottom of my increasing malaise. Nothing worked, my weakness steadily increased. Each week, I noted in my journals that something wasn't right. I constantly felt under the weather. What had changed? Previously, daily life had come at such ease and I normally had abundant energy, but my physical strength was fast deteriorating.

In 2001, I was in my early 30's, and I even questioned if this was how it felt to be over 30? Surely not! I couldn't imagine things declining that fast, especially because I was in robust physical condition. Regularly, I biked, walked, camped out, hiked in rugged terrain, played racquetball, lifted weights...living very active was a cinch. I worked full-time, took continual studies at the University of Houston in Clear Lake and was heavily involved with my children's school and extracurricular activities. My husband and I had even recently took Swing dance lessons and danced at a live Jazz club in downtown Houston. Life had been full and very busy.

The downward spiral I encountered was rather quick, yet my physical frailty progressed over many months. At first, it crept up on me in a way that made me think I was perhaps experiencing a case of being run-down from doing too much. I made alterations by beginning to say "no" more often to outside demands.

After that didn't work, I'd suspect another culprit as the reason for my lack of energy and would make another useless change as my condition worsened. Then, I went to the doctor repeatedly and was told that I had a major salt deficiency and this was probably causing my chronic low blood pressure. The doctor told me, "Put salt on everything, whether you feel like eating it or not, douse your food with salt because your body can't get enough." Actually, I was craving a few salty foods and V8 juice, but I didn't particularly enjoy the salt-shaker-buddy-system.

Looking back to this New Year's Day journal prayer, I remember the emotional aspects that coincided with the physical changes I was enduring. No one seemed to understand, just yet, how unwell I had been feeling. I didn't understand it myself. But, I knew that something had to give and was thinking that maybe it was my attitude toward accepting my "aging" body. Even though I was doing everything humanly possible to find answers...and probably saw more than fifty physicians between the clinic visits, E.R. visits and hospital stays...without a diagnosis until I nearly died, I still felt as if I could do SOMETHING different to change my situation. Part of my New Year was to learn that some things were out of our hands, acceptance indeed.

I kept trying to regain my strength while praying for the urgency over my ill-health to be calmed. Now, I thank God for His powerful gift in us that wills us to do our best to survive. Our auto-pilot puts us into motion with an innate desire to find answers and to get better. Sometimes, it isn't possible. Regardless, a good fight is worth putting up the dukes and ducking, then dodging when necessary. Acceptance was about to be a huge part of my life, but not until the fight had been waged with fierce determination.

My diagnosis literally came as I hung by a thread. For me, it was a long-awaited miracle. I do not see myself as a "survivor" because I simply received the mercy of God, for some reason, and was given a start toward getting my life back...partly through acceptance. Over the next ten years, there would be major obstacles and some lessons had to be relearned, but each time, I came away with a deepened perspective about life. With truth comes the need for acceptance, then the new responsibilities can be tackled. And, here I am.

My journal entry on New Year's Day as I lay sick in bed...
months before my diagnosis with Addison's disease.

Prayer reads: Lord, I pray this New Year will be a year of peace,
understanding, forgiveness, looking forward, accepting battles
you can't win & start over - a year of more responsibilities,
a year of learning & of truth.

#60 - Sticks and Bricks SOLD

Any illness can create changes in a family, whether minimally or completely invasive, it can make itself known. Addison's or any other illness may have changed your own family, it hugely changed mine. Back in 2001, I was so ill and had been deteriorating for so long, without a diagnosis, that my condition affected many things in my family. I had been running a successful litigation support business for nearly a decade when Addison's hit my body. One thing is for sure, if you cannot lift your head off of a pillow to eat dinner, then you surely cannot run a company.

I had savings and residual income that helped for about six months after I was no longer able to work, but my bad health brought expensive medical costs with it. The doctor visits, medications, tests, hospital stays...all of it added up significantly. For months, I was going to different doctors and having tests run almost daily.

I had gone to untold doctor visits and had been admitted to the emergency room countless times and each time we found more money leaving the bank account that I was no long able to replenish, and I still did not have a diagnosis. My husband was forced to take all his vacation, comp time and sick time just to help me through the extended horrible time when my body was dying - from a rare disease that was repeatedly missed by too many doctors and too many teams of doctors.

Thankfully, my mother entered the picture in a big way. Talk about a life being changed by illness...after my husband's time off ran dry, my mother set aside everything in her life to take over taking me to doctor after doctor. She helped with my daughters and unselfishly gave her time, her energy and her voice to speak for me when I was simply too weak to even talk. She became my champion, in spite of her own challenges. For, you see, my mother had been "crippled" at five years of age by Polio. Her right leg was fully braced, it had also been surgically altered by rods and pins, her foot was completely fused and unmovable. The brace attached to her specially designed shoe and ran up her leg to her upper thigh. This leg would not support her without the brace. Her left arm was small and paralyzed, the hand had fingers that would not work. She could hook her car key ring onto her thumb, but the hand was incapable of griping, moving or bearing weight. The arm was not even in socket. It hung out of socket permanently and quit growing at a young age with muscle atrophy further reducing its size. My mother spent a year of her childhood in an Iron Lung. If you don't know what it is, be glad. But, my mother defied all the odds and survived contracting the Polio virus at a young age, but it left her body ravaged and forever changed. Still, my mother pulled her strength together so that she could help her daughter --- my mother flat out told me that she could see that my body was dying and we were going to go through "hell and high water" to prevent the end from coming so soon. My mom was beautiful.

Without an answer to my body's inability to do normal things any longer, things were spinning out of our control. The long months of illness took a  massive toll on our family. My daughters were young and needed their mother who could barely get out of bed. I needed to be the kind of mother who didn't hit the sheets until my mothering moments had been fulfilled for the day, in perfectionist style. Yes, I had been an over-achieving perfectionist and this would be something else I would find changed after becoming ill. It's as if God took me in his grip and forced me to just stop. Addison's brought everything to a complete halt.

I had been the kind of mother who did everything, I mean everything. I packed their lunches, drove them to school, picked them up from school, and I took them to their dance lessons, gymnastics, basketball practice, drill team practice...you name it, I was driving. Plus, I ran a hopping business and managed to keep the house virtually perfect with a once per week maid service to ease my disinfecting compulsion. Life was always chaotic, yet "normal" and with a scheduled flow. We all thoroughly looked forward to our Sunday in church as a family and we served as Sponsor Parents for the nearby "orphanage" of children who were Wards of the State of Texas. I cannot even count how many children shared our home with us. Just as a divorced parent's schedule might be, with Wednesdays, every other weekend, holidays and summers, we shared our home with a child in need. The kids at the Harbor would ache to come to our house and I wanted to be able to take them ALL home, but we did our best. We did our part to make a tiny dent in the life of children who should never have to face such challenges. Life was meaningful, fulfilling and awesome. Then, my body got sick and all of this went down the drain.



My incredible husband and his two beautiful gals in Kemah, Texas on the Boardwalk around the time I had been diagnosed with Addison's and began treatment. I believe this was our first "real" outing since I had been very ill. My meds gave me a miracle.

 My husband was great, but there was no way he could've done all I did for one practical reason..my business had always allowed me to have flexible hours. Don't get me wrong, I worked at least 50 hours per week and that was FOCUSED, rapid-fire-level work. My business practices and dedication defined the word "productive." However, my schedule included the almighty power of flexibility. I could do part of my business on the cell phone while waving at my daughter as she attempted a back-flip. I could wake up at 4:00am and have major, immediate tasks completed for my law firms before they opened their doors for the day. But, my husband, as a Deputy Sheriff, had little flexibility in his regimented, structured schedule.

When I became ill, the stress upon our family was tremendous, my husband became exhausted and emotionally drained from trying to take care of his young wife who was clearly very ill. Too often, he would go to work worried, drained and no end was in sight. The only end we could see approaching rapidly was my death.

My husband's exhaustion was very concerning because our daughters needed him more than ever and we had another area of concern. Most of us could go to work tired, not feeling well and we'd manage to make it through the day, but he carried a deadly weapon and worked with the most heinous criminals known to man while being in charge of the safety of innocent people around him. We knew that it was imperative that he wake up and be rested enough to be alert, ready to act and without impaired judgment from the exhaustion and stress of our situation. This was a tall order. Therefore, I did my best to do everything possible to not interfere with his sleep. I've not always been successful, but this has definitely been a priority.

About six months after I became ill, the emergency savings had disappeared, the medicine bills were mounting and without the two-income family status, we were simply unable to continue living as we had been living. Fortunately, we never really used credit cards, so we did not have that kind of debt, but we needed to make extremely difficult adjustments. We needed to sell our house before it was an involuntary move. My parents asked us to move in with them so my mother could also be more involved with my daughters while I was so sick. I initially mourned this decision because of how it would impact my children. I was already losing everything I'd worked so hard to gain, but I did it all for my children and now they were going to be suffering because of my illness.

The guilt I endured was torturous. I felt worthless. I was the direct source of my family's sacrifice and loss. I couldn't even do the most basic of things...How could I stop this destructive boulder from barreling us over? I was trapped in my body and in agony as I watched my life, my husband's life and my children's life disintegrate.

They loved me, but it didn't make me feel any better as I watched my daughters pack up their belongings. I knew they were terrified by my illness and to top it off, all stability and childhood comfort was being yanked from under them. I felt burdened as my children said goodbye to their neighborhood friends; I even let them have a party. I tried to make it a celebration. We would not leave our house holding onto the devastation. We would leave it there, the best we knew how.

But, my brave girls left their schools, the rooms they had decorated as they had wanted, the bike paths they cherished, the little store tucked in the middle of our tight neighborhood that had management who would run a tab for the girls when they wanted to go with friends to buy candy or a soda...our safe, predictable, lovely home was now going to belong to a elderly couple who had re-discovered each other in retirement age, so they divorced their long-time spouses of approximately 40 years each so that they could act like children and marry each other. My house that had been so full of children was now going to be lived in by a couple who had been disowned by their respective children and grand-children. Everything felt "off.".

The very nice treehouse/clubhouse with
tire swing and slide that the new owners wrote
in contract to have dismantled and removed.

My youngest daughter had a room with custom book-shelving that made an arch around her bed...all of her precious belongings and favorite books lined those shelves. After we put our house on the market, we immediately had this elderly couple come for a showing and they began raving about how this was definitely their house. Of course, I was not always able to leave for the showings because of being so ill. It was a fact that any potential buyer would be forced to work around...the sick young woman would most likely be in the house. This couple was determined to buy our house. They flat out told us that they would do everything necessary to shut out all other interested parties because they must have our house. It was a huge blessing, but things had progressed so quickly.

I had imagined having time to adapt to the decision to sell. I thought it would take about three months. Nope. We had a contract nine days after the sign had gone in the yard. Then, during the buyer's second showing, they stood at my youngest daughter's bedroom threshold and began discussing how the first thing on their list was to bust down all the shelving. They discussed how no room would reflect a child because those days of their lives were over, so each room would be a reflection of themselves and only themselves. My daughter's shelving would be torn out, my heart sunk. Yes, it was a business transaction, but this was also personal. Their plans for our house was a harsh reminder of what was changing in our lives as a family.

My daughter in her favorite reading spot in the room she had to leave behind.

I will write more about this later. It is very difficult to go back and remember these times, but I want others to know that hard times may come, but your worth is in more than sticks and bricks.

My daughters will also be writing their own versions of these times. I am hoping that the heartfelt sharing of how illness can affect a family will help others to know that they are not alone in their struggles. I didn't talk about all of this when we were going through it because I didn't want people to know the reason for the move. I didn't want to admit to the neighbors five houses down that I had been so very ill, the entire ordeal was painful and embarrassing. I didn't have the energy for questions. I didn't want to be seen as "weak." This stubbornness would be another mental and emotional block that would have to be torn down, part of it still lingers today. I am definitely stubborn, but maybe that has helped me more than I know. My husband is incredible because he actually LOVES the stubborn side of me, as much as it irritates him. It also makes his heart go pitter-patter, maybe too much and for that, "I am sorry sweetheart!!"

The love of my life.

More difficulties were ahead. More changes. More sacrificing. More tension. More adaptation. But, then we all experienced a "more" we had not expected...we all became more bonded; we each gained more emotional strength than we could have imagined; my children became more compassionate and wise beyond their years; my love for my husband grew deeper and more passionate than I knew it could be; and we struggled, but our family gained much more than we lost.

We'd been kids together, faced loss and still found love. Deeper love.

I will not deny that the process was extremely painful and scary as we faced so many unknowns. Today, my family loves each other more than ever. The four of us endured heavy losses and terrifying times because  catastrophic illness hit our family out of the blue, a young family who had been capable of anything and everything. We endured and we triumphed we rebuilt our lives. We suffered together and we celebrated together. Through it all, we've learned that nothing else is as important as family.

The girls during our last Christmas in this house.

Sisters and Fellow Aggies. This is the senior year of
my oldest at A&M last year and the freshman year of
my youngest at A&M. A great ending and beginning.

My well adjusted, intelligent and beautiful girls...in spite of the
trauma in their childhood and their lives turning upside down, they
are beautiful on the inside and out. Full of sweetness and a tad bit of vinegar!

My silly girls.

David and I being our normal, silly selves.