It's been a very long time since I've written on this blog. I'm sure the few followers I had have bailed on me, and that's okay. I understand. What's the point in following a blog if the blogger never posts anything? So many things have happened this year and my life has been absolutely chaotic. This will probably be a long post, so if you are still following my blog, please bear with me. I will probably continue the story in multiple posts, so please stay tuned. It'll be interesting.
I have 3 children. They are 5-, 6-, and 7-years old. I got them as Foster Children in August 2012. I adopted them in July 2014. Since they came into my home, I've been pretty busy. I didn't really have much time for myself. I really didn't have time for things like writing on my blog. I was doing well if I was able to eat a meal without being interrupted 5 times by requests from my children. My youngest child, Jordan, started Kindergarten in August. I was excited by the prospect of having some time to myself to do things I enjoy (like writing on my blog), but that hasn't really panned out like I'd hoped. As a matter of fact, I'm probably going to have to save this as a draft in about 20 minutes to take my father to physical therapy (I'll explain that in another post - stay tuned).
This year did not start in the way I had hoped. I think my troubles really began on December 23, 2016. Allow me to explain....
I have Type II Diabetes. I have a little bit of neuropathy in my feet. I tend to build up calluses on my left foot, especially. I don't worry about it much until I start feeling uncomfortable when I walk. I knew that one of the calluses on my left food would need to be handled soon, but I was so busy getting ready for Christmas that I neglected to take the time to handle the situation. That error would be to my detriment.
On the evening of December 23rd, I went to remove my socks at bedtime and I realized that my sock had a damp spot on it. I examined my foot and noticed that a blister had formed underneath a callus on my left foot, and that blister had busted open. I put a band aid on it and went to bed.
On Christmas Eve, I was getting ready to make cookies with my kids for Santa. I went to take off my sneakers and put on some house slippers. I noticed that the wound on my foot was still leaking. I couldn't tell what was happening underneath the callus, so I decided to shave it off. As I did that, I realized that the wound underneath the callus was more extensive than I thought. I decided to go to the ER and have it looked at. I know what happens to diabetics who don't take care of their feet. They end up losing toes, feet, and sometimes legs. I didn't want to risk that happening.
After going to the ER, the doctor told me to put dry gauze on it, stay off my feet (easier said than done when you have 3 young children), and follow-up with my regular doctor. A week later, the wound was healing well, except for one dime-sized spot where the callus was. So, basically I had a small open wound on the bottom of my foot. I followed up with my regular doctor and she sent me to a podiatrist at a wound care center. My podiatrist cleaned up the wound, and gave me care instructions of applying betodine solution, changing my bandage daily, not getting the wound wet, and staying off my feet as much as possible. I had to come back for weekly follow ups for the next 4-6 weeks.
My poor husband was an absolute Saint during this time. He was working, handling dinner and baths for the kids, helping with laundry, doing dishes, caring for the pets, taking out the trash, and doing anything else that needed to be handled while I sat on the sofa with my foot propped up.
My husband and I had booked a romantic vacation on a cruise to the Caribbean scheduled to depart on February 12th. We were super excited. My parents had graciously agreed to stay at our home and take care of the children and pets while we went on vacation. I was carefully following the doctor's instructions so my wound would be healed before our vacation.
I am a Christian. My husband is a Christian. We attend church every Sunday. We attend the first service, and serve in the Children's Elementary Ministry as Small Group Leaders during the second service. My parents went attended the second service every Sunday. My Mom was Baptized as a teenager, but my Dad had never committed his life to Jesus. Our church, Southeast Christian Church, has a Baptism weekend every January. At this time, they invite anyone who has been thinking about getting Baptized, but were too afraid to do it, to come to the altar to be Baptized on the spot. It's a beautiful experience. After service that day, my father came to me and said he wanted to be Baptized, but he wanted me to do it. I had been praying for this moment for about 10 years. I was so thankful he had finally made this decision.
I setup a Facebook event to invite all of our friends and family to witness my Dad's Baptism on February 4, 2017. My whole family was excited and many had confirmed they were coming to service to witness the Baptism.
And then Life Happens....
You never know when the Worst Day of Your Life is going to happen. It just happens. It's like a sledgehammer in the face, a punch in the gut, and someone stabbing you in the heart at the same time.
February 1, 2017 is the absolute WORST DAY OF MY LIFE. The worst thing that has happened to me in my 42 years of living happened on that day.
My day started off pretty average. I had a follow-up appointment with my podiatrist at the wound care center. The wound on my foot was completely healed and I was certain he was going to clear me to resume life as normal. I was sitting in the waiting room with my 5-year old waiting for them to call me back to the exam room to see the doctor. My phone rang. It was my Dad. This isn't an usual occurrence. He typically calls at least once a day.
I answer the phone and he very casually asks what I'm doing. I inform him that I'm sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office. He says, "Never mind. You're busy. Somethings wrong with Mom, but I'll just call Wendy (my sister)." Then he hangs up. Seriously? He didn't want to inconvenience because I was at the doctor's office, but casually says something's wrong with my Mom?
Well, you can't just say, "Something's wrong with Mom." and hang up. That's totally not cool. I wait about one minute and then I call him back. I ask, "What's wrong with Mom?"
He says, "Something's seriously wrong with Mom." He still hasn't given me anything to go on here, but I'm definitely worried.
I say, "Well, what's wrong with her? Is she sick? What are her symptoms?"
His voice starts to break, and he says, "She's on the floor in the bedroom. And I don't think she's breathing!"
I yell, "Well, did you call 911?"
He replies, "Yes." At that moment I hear the EMTs come in and start asking him questions. I hang up the phone. I'm trying not to panic. I grab my son and walk to the check-in window and tell them I have to leave due to a family emergency and I will call and reschedule. My son is asking why we have to leave. I tell him Grandma is sick and we should pray for her to be okay.
I'm heading towards the exit when I realize that I'm already at the hospital she will most likely be transported to. I'm almost at the exit near the information desk. I call my Dad as I'm walking and ask him what hospital they are taking her to.
He replies, "She's gone!"
This is that moment. The moment you are never prepared for. The moment that you don't know how you will handle until it happens. The WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.
