It's 2:00 in the Morning, & I Can't Sleep

Actually, I think I'm afraid to sleep. I had a really scary experience the day before Mother's Day. I was talking to Phil on the webcam, and suddenly I was choking. I wasn't choking on anything. I wasn't eating or drinking anything. Yet, suddenly, I felt like there was something lodged in my throat and blocking my airway. I tried to clear it by taking a drink, and the water just stopped in my throat right where I felt like there was something lodged. Try as I might, I could not swallow that water past the blockage. I ended up spitting it back out into the sink. Of course, then I started to kind of panic, because I didn't know what to do, and I felt like I was teetering on the edge of consciousness. I mean, what would happen to the kids if I was seriously incapacitated? And how would I get myself to the hospital if it came to that? It's not like I could pack up the kids and drive myself into town when I feel like I will lose consciousness at any moment, right? So I'm sure that my panicked state of mind didn't help much.

I finally found that, if I tipped my head way back and stretched out my neck, I could get just a little bit of air. The breathing was tight and raspy - kind of like the sound you get when you slowly let air out of a balloon - but at least I was finally breathing, and that helped my state of mind considerably. The loud breathing was a good thing in another way too. Emily heard me from downstairs, where she was playing with Ben, Becky and Katie, and she came up to check on me. (They were playing so loudly that I'm sure it was only with the help of the Spirit that she was able to hear me at all.) She asked me what was wrong, but of course, I couldn't answer her. I steered her over to the computer, where I had been on the webcam with Phil until my choking episode began, and I pointed out the instant message that I had sent to Phil for her to read. He was able to fill her in on the details, and between the two of them, they were able to come up with a plan of action. Emily called one of our friends to come over and give me a Priesthood blessing while I lay down on the couch and tried not to panic.

About half an hour after Brother Harris came over to give me a blessing, the lump in my throat went away and I was able to breathe easier. I was even, finally, able to sip a little bit of water slowly. Still, my throat hurt for about the next 24 hours - it felt like it had been scratched inside, as if there truly had been something lodged in my throat.... as if I was really choking on something that was actually there.

As you can imagine, this really shook me up quite a bit. I was pretty terrified for a few days, afraid that it would happen again when no one was around to help me or something. I even tried to get an appointment at the base clinic to see if they could find a cause for it. Of course, they didn't have any openings, and they told me that if I wanted to get an appointment, I had to call earlier in the morning because they fill up right away. (The appointment line opens at 7:00am. I started trying to call at 6:55 and finally got through at 7:15.) The gal I talked to was oh so helpful. She told me that, if it happened again, I could call and get authorization to go to Urgent Care in Yuba City to be seen right away. How I would be able to make the phone call when I couldn't breathe, let alone talk, I'm not sure.... Anyway, I finally decided that it was probably some weird fluke caused by a misfire of my silly brain, in which case the doctors at the clinic here would be completely clueless anyway, so it wasn't worth the effort of trying to get an impossibly elusive appointment. Besides, any new problem that I mention to the doctors is just one more strike against me in my quest to get medical clearance to go to Korea, and is it really worth that price? I don't think so!

So anyway, after several days without a relapse, I quit worrying about it. This wasn't the first time, and I figured that it wouldn't be the last time that I had some weird symptom pop up just long enough to confuse everyone and freak out the doctors and then go away entirely, never to be seen again, let alone explained and cured! I decided that I had made the right choice in ignoring the little episode.

Then, a day or 2 later, I woke up at 3 in the morning with the same choking feeling. Of course, this time around, no one was awake to hear me struggling to breathe, and I was pretty terrified by the whole thing. Not knowing what else to do, I just lay down and said a silent prayer and waited for the feeling to pass. It eventually did, although I have no idea how long it took. I didn't want to sit there staring at the clock, because I knew each minute that passed would bring a greater panic.

Since that day, I have had a few nights when I've woken from a deep sleep with a feeling of breathlessness, like I was trying to catch my breath after holding it for far too long, but I haven't felt the same choking sensation again. Still, it makes me a little bit nervous, you know? I've noticed this week that I've been staying up later and later each night again, finding one excuse after the other to not go to bed quite yet. The words of Dr. Boggan, my neurosurgeon, keep ringing through my head. He told me months ago (back in January, actually - right after Phil left) not to worry too much about my breathing issues: "As long as you're awake, you will breathe." I know that is mostly true, because generally (with the exception of the times when I felt like I was choking), when I realize that I'm not breathing, all I have to do is focus my entire concentration on nothing but breathing in and out, and sooner or later, I start up breathing normally again. Still, what if I'm not awake when it happens? Or what if I start "choking" again? I've noticed lately that I always now sit with my neck stretched out in that position where I was able to breathe through the choking. I don't know if I'm doing it because I feel like I can breathe easier that way or if I'm just afraid that if I don't, I will start choking again, but that's what I've been doing...

I really wish that I had someone I could talk to about this without sounding like I was whining or being pessimistic or something. I don't want to freak anyone out or make people worry about me or anything. And I don't want to have to go through another battery of medical tests for which I have to find babysitters and rearrange my schedule and where they aren't going to find anything anyway. Still, I feel like I'm going to explode if I keep this fear and worry bottled up inside for one more minute. I want to talk about it with someone - to feel like I'm not completely alone here after all, you know?

Of course, I know that I'm not really completely alone. We're never truly alone, because the Savior is always there, ready to steady us and lift us up, and even to carry us when we're not strong enough to do it on our own. I know that He is there for me, and I can testify that I wouldn't be here without His watchful care. I mean, how else would Emily have known to come check on me? And it wasn't through the wonders of medical science that I was finally able to breathe again! Still, I want to feel like I'm telling someone - not bottling the concerns up inside or keeping it a secret. That's why I'm writing it all here. I'm relatively certain that no one reads this blog, so I'm not really risking anything. I'm not going to be making anyone worry or fret by spilling my guts about my terrified state of mind. Still, since this is being posted on the internet, it is by no means a private discourse, and it is possible that someone is reading it and empathizing (or at least sympathizing) with my terror.

I don't want to write in my journal about this, because that makes it incredibly personal and private - and more real, somehow, you know? Here, I can fool myself into the thought that I have "talked" to someone about it and found a very compassionate and empathetic listening ear. So if anyone is, by chance, reading this... Thank you so much for being such a good listener. It really helps to feel like I can let it out once in a while. It's tiring, being the rock - the foundation and the strength for my family. Of course, I can't let the kids know how scared I am, because then they too would be scared - scared of losing their mother. I don't think that's going to happen, but even if it did, what good would it do to let the kids fret and stew about it beforehand, you know? Sometimes, I feel like I just have to give in to the cracks in my foundation and fall apart completely. Then, I can mix some fresh mortar and build myself up again, as strong as ever. It helps to have someone to "talk" to while I deconstruct periodically. That's not something you get when you're writing in a private journal that only you have access to, you know? Somehow, even though I know that I don't have a great big audience here, it helps to know that you, dear reader, are listening to me (even if it does turn out that you are only a figment of my imagination after all)!

So now it is 3:00 in the morning, and I still don't know if I can sleep. But I am tired, and I only have a couple of hours before I have to wake up, so I will go to bed and try. I know that I could take a sleeping pill and it would probably work, but then that raises the whole issue of what would happen if I stopped breathing and didn't wake myself up.... Still, 2 or 3 hours of sleep is better than none, right? And I do feel better after pouring my heart out like this....

So I guess my "I'm so grateful" for today is friends. I am so grateful to have friends who love and care for me, who are willing to sit quietly and let me ramble on and on about my fears, listening and trying to understand what I'm going through. I guess it really doesn't matter if you, dear reader, are real or just a figment of my imagination, because I know that there is One who is very real and who will always listen and love me, who loves me so much that He gave His life for me and suffered unimaginable pains and sorrows so that He could experience every pain, every sorrow, every illness that I or anyone else on this earth ever has or will suffer. He truly understands. He has felt it. He knows exactly what I'm going through right now. Thank you for being His hands and ears here on earth, for letting me lean on you for a while and draw strength from your love and compassion. Like the cliche says, "That's what friends are for!"

Who am I, really?

My friend, Sunny, had this really fun little thing on her blog recently - a link to find out what your name really means, based on the theory that who you really are is determined by what your name is. Of course, I had to try it out for myself. What do you think? Is this really me? I'm still trying to decide....

What Veronica Means

You are very hyper. You never slow down, even when it's killing you. You're the type of person who can be a workaholic during the day... and still have the energy to party all night. Your energy is definitely a magnet for those around you. People are addicted to your vibe. You are friendly, charming, and warm. You get along with almost everyone. You work hard not to rock the boat. Your easy going attitude brings people together. At times, you can be a little flaky and irresponsible. But for the important things, you pull it together. You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You're always up to something. You have a ton of energy, and most people can't handle you. You're very intense. You definitely are a handful, and you're likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun. You are well rounded, with a complete perspective on life. You are solid and dependable. You are loyal, and people can count on you. At times, you can be a bit too serious. You tend to put too much pressure on yourself. You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people. You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts. You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpreting signals. You tend to be pretty tightly wound. It's easy to get you excited... which can be a good or bad thing. You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don't stick with any one thing for very long. You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start. You are very open. You communicate well, and you connect with other people easily. You are a naturally creative person. Ideas just flow from your mind. A true chameleon, you are many things at different points in your life. You are very adaptable. You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection. You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive. You have the classic "Type A" personality.

What's" Your Name's Hidden Meaning?

Being Beautiful

After my surgery in 2006, the steroids I had to take made me swell up and gain a considerable amount of weight - overnight (literally)! This was particularly discouraging, as I had just months earlier lost all of the weight that I had gained while pregnant with Katie (which was quite a bit, since I had just finished the course of steroid treatment following my radiation when I got pregnant). I was finally back to a normal weight and size, and suddenly, I was bigger and heavier than I have ever been! (And this time, I didn't even have anything wonderful - like a new baby - to show for it!!) The weight appeared so quickly that stretch marks popped out all over my body. Every time I moved, I could see new stretch marks appear, and it really hurt! Anyway, I spent months listening to everyone around me comment on how much I didn't look like myself. ("You look like you're wearing one of those movie fat suits!") I know that it was all said to reassure me. Somehow, everyone seemed to think that their comments on how drastically I had changed would make me feel better - maybe make me less discouraged knowing that they didn't think that I really looked like that. I don't know... But I can tell you that it really didn't help to hear all of the time!

Well, my first order of business after learning to walk again (for those who don't know, I woke up from my surgery with no feeling on the right side of my body from the waist down and no feeling in my left arm, so I couldn't walk or do anything without help for a while, until I learned to adapt) was to try to lose the weight. Of course, the fact that I was still taking the steroids really didn't help matters at all. By the time I finally convinced my doctors to allow me to wean myself off of the steroids, I had such a build-up in my system that it took about a year before I stopped feeling the side effects. I hadn't been expecting that at all. In the past, I had taken low doses of steroids for short periods of time to help control the symptoms of my brain tumor. But always before, it had been such a small amount that it didn't do too much damage. Sure, I gained weight and I couldn't sleep at all while on the steroids, but it wasn't to the extent that it was with the high doses I had to take following the surgery. And it had always flushed out of my system fairly quickly after I stopped taking it before.

Anyway, I have to admit that it has been pretty discouraging to try to lose all of that excess weight. You would think that, since it appeared so quickly, it would disappear fairly quickly as well. Not so. (Steroids are such a bad idea - I don't understand why anyone would take them on purpose!! I would truly rather die than have to go through that torture again - it really isn't any way to live!) I've been exercising and dieting and trying to get back to looking like me again for so long that it almost seems like forever! And it really is disheartening sometimes to think about how far I still have to go.

Lately, I've had people comment on how much weight I've lost. Sometimes, that's just as hard to hear as when they were telling me that I looked like I was wearing a fat suit. It reminds me of how huge I was not so long ago. I've come to realize that a simple "You look great!" is so much better than "You look like you've lost so much weight!" Sometimes, we just don't need to be reminded of how big we used to be. The scale still shows me at 30 or 40 pounds heavier than I was when this all started. When you consider that I gained over 100 pounds in less than a month's time, that's not too bad. But when you consider that I've never weighed this much in my life except while pregnant, it is discouraging. I am almost back to the size jeans I was wearing Christmas Eve 2005 (the pair that didn't fit me when I woke up in the morning). I'm wearing only one size larger right now, and they are getting loose - just not quite enough to go down a size yet. (Don't you hate it when you're between jeans sizes? The jeans you're wearing look baggy and make you look kinda schlumpy, but the next size down is so tight that they look painted on - how is that possible?) Anyway, I am trying not to look at the scale anymore, because when I see that huge number staring up at me, it is so depressing!

Some mornings (and afternoons, and evenings, for that matter), I still look in the mirror, and I'm pretty disgusted by what I see. I'm still a lot plumper than I want to be, I have a long way to go before I'm back to looking like "me" again. However, I was pleased to notice yesterday that when I walked past the mirror in my bedroom (in a sick and cruel cosmic joke, the Air Force moved us from one house to another just after all of the surgery and steroids - and the house we are in now has a large closet across one full wall with a mirrored door!)... Anyway, yesterday, I caught a glimpse of myself in that huge mirror, and I had to stop and stare for a moment. I was surprised to see someone truly beautiful staring back at me. Okay, so maybe I still have 40 pounds to lose. I know that I'll never be rid of the ugly stretch marks that now cover 75% of my body. Still, I'm beginning to look like "me" again - I'm beginning to see that strong, beautiful and confident woman peeking out through my eyes, and I know that, in time, maybe even soon, I will be okay.

Volunteering my Life Away

I've been told on many occasions that I volunteer for too much. I do too much for too many people, and it's no wonder that I don't have time to do everything that I want to do. I should take better care of myself. I should learn how to say no. I should organize my time better. I should do less.... It seems like the majority of my time is spent in "volunteer" work for one thing or another.

The dictionary defines "volunteering" as:
"1. To perform or offer to perform a service of one's own free will.
2. To do charitable or helpful work without pay."
Well, I definitely do my share of charitable or helpful work without pay. But, how often do I really have the luxury or performing that service of my own free will? I feel like I'm "voluntold" much more than I "volunteer" to do things!

Don't get me wrong. I like to help out when I can. I feel like I should give back whenever possible. Besides, usually, I'm "volunteering" for something in which my kids are involved. I know that it is important to help out and to be involved in my kids' activities. That's what being a parent is about. It's just that sometimes I feel like I'm being taken advantage of. Then, I feel guilty for not being more cheerful in my service and I end up killing myself, bending over backward to fulfill commitments that I didn't even necessarily agree to.

Last night, for instance, I was up until 2:30 in the morning working on stamping gift bags for the preschool. I've done these gift bags every year since my son was in preschool 6 years ago. One of those years, I didn't even have a child in the preschool! When it started out, the preschool would purchase the gift bags through me from Stampin' Up! I would sell the bags to them at my cost, so I didn't make any money from it, but it did help me to make my quarterly sales quota, so I didn't mind putting in the extra work. Besides, it was only for two classes back then - I think it was about 30 or 35 bags. The next year, they asked me to do the bags again for them. I didn't have any kids in preschool that year, but it was on the same arrangement, so I figured what the heck? So I agreed to stamp the bags again, even though the number needed had gone up to about 45 or 50 . Each year, the number of bags that I put together has grown. That was no big deal, because it meant a bigger order for me... Until last year, when they decided that they could get the bags just a bit cheaper from another source. Still, I was expected to stamp the bags. I did, of course, because my daughter was in the preschool and I felt like I should help. This year, however, I was a bit irritated when the bags were brought to me (a friend works as an aide at the preschool, and the preschool director asked her to bring the bags to my house for me) - and no one even asked if I could stamp them this year! I'm sure I would have said yes, but even so, it would have been nice to have some say in the matter!

This isn't the first time that a task has been dumped in my lap without anyone bothering to consult me about it. I can' t even begin to count the number of times when I have been told at the last moment that I have been tasked to do something and people are counting on me to get it done.... Usually, I rise to the task and I do manage to accomplish whatever it is that needs to be done, but sometimes, it takes all that I have to do it - and often, I wind up pushing aside many of the things that I need or want to do for myself in order to take care of the things that other people have volunteered me to do. So why is it that I feel so compelled to take care of everything, even when I didn't have any advance notice or when I wasn't even consulted on the matter? I don't know, really. I just seem to have the type of personality where I feel like I should be taking care of everyone around me - like a big ol' mother hen.

I seem to push myself harder and work longer and more on those surprise volunteer efforts. Why do I do such things? No one would really blame me if I said no, would they? If I said that I just can't do it on such short notice... Take last night, for instance. When Aimee showed up and said that she had brought me the bags to stamp, she asked where I wanted her to put them. My first reaction was to tell her to dump them into the nearest trash can - and I blurted it out. Of course, she was pretty shocked, but when I backed up and explained my frustration, she understood completely. She even offered to come help me with the bags if I wanted. So then, I felt incredibly guilty for being so whiny about the "request" for help. I know that they have just gotten so used to having me stamp the bags every year that they probably didn't even think about asking me if I could do it again....

Anyway, I just sometimes get to feeling overwhelmed and underappreciated. Sometimes, I feel like I just can't carry the weight any more, and I just want to sit down and stop working. Then, I feel guilty for indulging in a pity party and I push myself harder than I really have strength to try to be all and do all for everyone. I guess I just need to find a balance....

So I guess that is why I'm grateful today. There is a volunteer appreciation dessert at the school this afternoon, and I was invited to come. Really, I don't do the things that I do in order to get praise, but it's nice to be recognized every now and again. I wasn't sure if I would be able to go to this today, because I couldn't find a babysitter for the kids. I called every friend I have (except for those who live too far away or those who work during the day), and I couldn't find anyone who could babysit for me. Finally, I called another friend from church. I knew that she would be invited to this volunteer appreciation event, so I thought I'd call to ask her what she was going to do with her kids. (I figured that if she was going to take hers along, maybe it would be okay to take mine as well.) It turns out that she had forgotten about it, and she wasn't planning to go - so she offered to watch my children for me!!! I'm so excited!

I know that it's just a little thing, but today, I just really need to have someone say thank you, you know?

My Knees Hurt!

I've been reflecting a lot in the past few days about how lucky I am for my health and strength. It wasn't long ago when I couldn't even stand up or walk without someone to help me, let alone drive or climb stairs or any of the other little things that we take for granted each day!

A dear friend of ours who was injured in Iraq fell down and hurt himself last Monday because he was trying to do more than he is capable of doing right now. This, understandably, was somewhat frustrating for many of those who know him. If he could just accept his own limitations, things like this wouldn't happen. I get that, I really do. I understand how difficult and frustrating it is to see someone you love hurting simply because they are too stubborn to admit that they need help.

At the same time, I really empathize with this friend. What the others don't and really can't understand is how absolutely frustrating it is to suddenly be unable to do so many of the things that were second nature to you before. It eats away at you and makes you feel like you aren't quite a person anymore, somehow. It hurts, too, when people you know and love start looking at the injury and noticing the disability more than they see and notice you. It makes you want to push harder than you know you should, just to get some semblance of normalcy back in your life. You want to prove to everyone else that you really are still the same person you always were, and so you try to act like you always did. Sometimes, that brings painful (or just plain embarrassing) consequences!

I remember when I was at Relief Society Camp with some of the ladies from our ward here. We were out on the "lake" (more like a large pond, really) on a raft, just enjoying the day. Well, one of my friends suggested trading the raft for one of the paddle boats. I agreed to go with her, so the other ladies on the raft paddled us over close to the shore so that we could wade out and over to the paddle boats. I got off of the raft and started to walk to the shore. The water came up almost to my knees, so I was walking very carefully so that I wouldn't get my rolled-up jeans wet. (I hadn't thought about going out on the lake, so I hadn't brought any extra clothing with me. It was just an overnight campout, and I planned to wear the same clothes home in the morning and shower before getting dressed for real.) Anyway, I took about 2 steps before disaster struck. I thought that my right foot (the one that I can't feel anymore) was on the ground, and I lifted up my left foot to take a step forward. My right foot had not yet hit the bottom of the pond, however. So when I lifted up my other foot, I didn't have a leg to stand on, so to speak! I went down, completely under the water!! Of course, I found my footing and I was up again quickly - the whole episode took probably less than 30 seconds from the time I left the raft - and I played it off as just a silly little thing. But I have to admit that it was quite frustrating and embarrassing and even pretty scary.

I wasn't scared that I would drown or anything like that. I'm a very good swimmer with good, strong swimming arms, and like I said before, the "lake" was not deep at all. When I was standing, it only came up to my knees, after all! No, the scary part had nothing to do with the water. The thing that scared me was the thought that I may never be able to do all of the things that I used to do without giving it a second thought - all of those simple, little tasks that we do every day... and some of them aren't so simple anymore.

I am so grateful this week as I ponder on these things that I am regaining so much of my strength and ability. I still don't have full feeling in my right leg or left hand, and to tell the truth, if I were to get full feeling back now, it would probably throw me off just as much as losing the feeling disoriented me in the first place. I've gotten so used to compensating that I don't know what I would do if I could feel what I'm doing, you know?

Still, I sometimes forget that I have limitations. Sometimes, I still injure or embarrass myself because I forget to think about what I can't do easily anymore. This afternoon, for instance.

The kids and I went to the Post Office on base to send a small package to Phil. When we were finished, we were walking back out to the car, on our way to the Commissary to buy groceries. I looked over at one of the kids beside me to say something, and I forgot to think about the fact that the sidewalk slopes slightly down from the door of the Post Office to the parking lot. It's not a steep incline, really barely noticeable at all, but it isn't completely smooth, flat and level either. Suddenly, somehow, I lost my balance. I'm guessing that the high-heeled boots I was wearing just made the incline a tiny bit more pronounced to my senses, and it was too much for me. Without warning, without even really taking a step, I suddenly pitched forward and went down. I twisted my ankle and landed hard on my knees. I tore my new jeans (guess I'll be going shopping again sooner than I thought) and severely injured my pride. Of course, all of the kids came running to see what had happened. That wasn't too bad, because I could simply explain to them that mommy lost her balance again, but it was okay now. Unfortunately, we weren't the only people in the parking lot. A gal who had been just getting into her car witnessed the whole thing and came over to see if I was going to be okay. I really felt silly, especially since I really didn't have an explanation for what happened!

We made it through the Commissary and home again without further incident, although I almost went down again when Katie took hold of my hand in the Commissary parking lot and pulled on it gently to try to get my attention! I think that the worst part of the whole thing was that, in the fall, I managed to break the heels on both of my boots, so now my favorite boots are history!

But, you know, it could have been so much worse. I could have hit my head rather than my knees when I fell. Or I could have broken a bone. (It wouldn't have been the first time that a dizzy fall has given me a broken bone.) I could have been incapacitated in some way and left my kids with no one to take care of them... Pride is easily mended, and I will soon forget (at least, mostly) this incident. In the meanwhile, I will try to remember to be grateful that incidents such as this one are growing to be less and less frequent as I grow stronger. And if nothing else, this whole situation gives me a little inkling of understanding for a dear friend who is struggling to find a way to be the man he has always been, even as he comes to accept the fact that he may never be able to do all that he has always done.

My Little Guardian Angel

Lately, I have been having a lot of trouble sleeping. As most of you know, that isn't an unusual state for me. I never sleep very well, and it seems like the earlier I go to bed, the more tired I am in the morning. The sleep study I had done in mid-February only showed that I don't have Obstructive Sleep Apnea. (I wasn't surprised by that, as Phil tells me that I almost never snore, and snoring is one of the main symptoms of Obstructive Sleep Apnea.) Anyway, I was disappointed by the results of the sleep study, as I was hoping that they would find something that could be easily remedied and I would be able to sleep. What a sharp disappointment to find that once again, the doctor's couldn't figure out what is causing my symptoms! Several people had suggested to me that my sleeping problems must be the result of my husband's absence - it must be depression, since I miss him so much....

Well, I grabbed hold of that thought with much hope (never mind the fact that I haven't slept well in at least 2 years - long before Phil got his orders to Korea) and told myself that I would sleep really well while we were in Korea visiting him. I'm sure you can imagine the disappointment I felt when I realized that I was not sleeping any longer or better there than I do here. The only difference was that I managed to get myself to bed much earlier each night while we were there than I ever do here. Still, I woke up several times during the night, just as I do here, and I was just as tired each morning.

I've been telling myself that the reason I followed an earlier bedtime schedule in Korea was because I forgot to bring any of my projects with me and I didn't have any reason to stay up. So when I realized this week that I've been staying up until the wee hours of the morning again, I determined to cut down on my projects and get myself to bed at an earlier hour. I know that, even though I'm still tired in the morning no matter when I go to bed, it probably is better over all to go to bed at 10:00 rather than 2:00 or 3:00. Even though I don't notice a difference in the level of my fatigue, there probably is a difference....

So yesterday, I made a point to get everything I needed to do finished by 9:00pm. I was so proud of myself! I was going to get to bed early and start taking care of myself better....

Instead, I found myself creating little busywork tasks to accomplish before bed, and before you know it, it was nearly 2:30am, and I was still up and about. That's when I suddenly realized that there truly was a difference when I was in Korea with my sleeping. It's not that I went to bed because I didn't have anything to do (I could easily have stayed up to catch up on our family blog), but because I wasn't afraid of not waking up. Last January, when I was talking to Dr. Boggan (my neurosurgeon) about the breathing trouble I've been having and how it sometimes catches me off guard and I realize that I am not breathing, how I have to sometimes consciously think about breathing or else I just stop... Anyway, Dr. Boggan reassured me by saying, "Don't worry too much about it. As long as you are awake, you will breathe." It hadn't really occurred to me before that comment, but if I have episodes when my breathing stops while I'm awake, it's likely that it occurs sometimes while I'm asleep. So what if one of these times, I don't catch myself and remind myself to breathe?

Anyway, last night, as I realized that I was avoiding going to bed, it suddenly occurred to me that the big difference between here and Korea was that I knew that if something happened to me while I was sleeping there, Phil would probably notice, and he could wake me up and get me to breathe again. Here, I don't have anyone next to me while I'm sleeping, and there's no guarantee that I would catch myself. I realized that, even though that fear is not the cause of my sleeping troubles (the fear came as a result of the sleeping troubles), it is amplifying them because now, I am afraid to even go to bed at all! It's less terrifying to simply take small naps here and there throughout the day, never getting into sleep deep enough to sleep through a breathing episode.

I can't just not sleep, though. Especially with Phil gone, I have to take care of myself so that there will be someone to take care of the house and the kids. So I went to bed. Still, I could not drift off to sleep. I kept thinking of other little things that I could do first. I felt like crying! Instead, I prayed for help and guidance with this problem. I prayed for peace and especially for the ability to sleep this night.

As soon as I said "amen" there was a knock at my bedroom door. I groaned. It just figured that, as soon as I prayed for help sleeping, one of the kids would need me and prevent that sleep anyway! I started to get up to go check on whoever it was. (I try not to let the kids come sleep in my bed at night, because I sleep so restlessly that having a small child in the bed often keeps me awake even more than usual.) Then, a thought entered my mind: Why not just have the child come in to talk to me? Then, I could send her (or him) back to bed, and I wouldn't have to get up. So I did. It turns out that it was Becky. She said that she had a bad dream, but when I asked her about it, she couldn't remember anything. She just needed a hug and to cuddle.

That's when it finally occurred to me: I had just finished pouring out my heart to my Heavenly Father, pleading with Him for a way to sleep, even though I was terrified of sleeping alone. I asked for comfort and a way to feel that I wasn't alone. That was precisely when my sweet little angel Becky had come to my room with a vague fear that could only be comforted by a hug from Mom. Wasn't this, in fact, an answer to my prayer? I broke my rule and made room for her next to me on the bed. She settled in and fell asleep immediately. I did too, and the 4 hours that I got last night were more refreshing than any sleep I've had in quite a while. I think I slept straight through the entire 4 hours!

It was amazing, yet it wasn't a first. Becky seems to be particularly in tune with the Spirit where my health is concerned. Maybe that's because she was only a month old when my brain tumor was discovered, and she has pretty much grown up in the doctor's office with me. Or maybe we just have a very special bond. Who knows for sure? But it always seems to be Becky who comes running to check on me just as I'm experiencing some difficult trial related to my health.

For instance, the last time Phil was in Korea, I decided to mow the lawn one day. The kids were pretty small back then (Ben was 6, Emily 4, Becky 2 and Katie not quite 1), and I was reluctant to leave them inside unattended while I was mowing, but I didn't want them playing around the lawn mower either. My neighbor, Kate, who lived just a couple of doors down, came to my rescue and offered to let my kids come play in her yard with her kids until I was finished and came to get them. Kate tells me that about 15 or 20 minutes after she brought the kids to her house, Becky announced that she needed to go home to check on Mommy. Kate told her no, she needed to stay out of Mommy's way, and Mommy would come get her when she was done. Becky was insistent, but Kate was unbendable on this one. Then, one of Kate's children needed something, and Becky snuck off while Kate's attention was diverted to come back down the street to our house.

Meanwhile, I had passed out just as I finished mowing the lawn. I remember that I had bent down to empty the bag on the mower and then I was on the ground. I was in and out of consciousness, and I remember staring at the grass under my face and thinking "I need to get up, this isn't good" but I couldn't fully pull myself out of it. Suddenly, I felt a little hand, gently shaking my shoulder, and I heard a little voice say, "Mommy, wake up." I looked up and saw Becky's concerned face, and that was enough to bring me back. I got up and looked around, but I didn't see anyone. I assumed that I must have imagined it, but I was so grateful for the prodding, even an imaginary one, that finally brought me out of it. I put the lawn mower away and went to get the kids.

When I told my story to Kate, she assured me that I hadn't imagined Becky's presence. About 5 minutes earlier, Becky had, in fact, come back to our yard while Kate had been distracted. She was only gone for a couple of minutes before she had come running back, so Kate hadn't had time to come looking for her. She must have come to wake me up and then run back before I woke fully and got up. Still, there is no doubt in my mind that I wouldn't have been able to wake myself up without her help. And no one else would have come to check on me for quite a while, since the agreement was that I would come get the kids when I was finished.

There have been other little times that Becky has come to check on me just when I need someone. She always seems to know before anyone else. I am so grateful! And I guess I don't need to fear. If she is that in tune with the Spirit, if she could know to come and wake me up when she was down the street, she could feel the prompting to come wake me up when she is in a bedroom across the hall. Just because Phil isn't here doesn't mean I am alone at night. My Heavenly Father is watching over me, and my sweet little guardian angel is intently listening to the whisperings of the Spirit. I truly am blessed.