Wednesday, April 2, 2014


Dear God,

When I gave up on the Catholic Church after being told "divorce is an unforgivable sin" one Sunday, then "you need to give us more money if you want to remain an active member of our Parish" the next, that did NOT mean I gave up on You. After being diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of cancer a week after washing my hands of the Church, I attempted to explain that to You, hoping You'd understand and allow me to live. Since I'm still breathing, I assumed You and I were buds again. But, over the last three weeks, it seems I may have done something to stir the pot again. Have I angered You in some way? Is there something I'm missing? I'm respectfully asking You to please lay off for a little while, and allow my family to relax and enjoy life without having to constantly dodge bullets. Please consider my plea. I'm not liking the way things have been going and it doesn't give me a warm, fuzzy feeling about my scan next week.

Thank you for your time.




You must be wondering what could have prompted me to beg The Big Guy to cut me some slack, huh? If you're an avid reader of my blog, you'll remember the last two entries told the unbelievable tale of Jimmi landing in the hospital for 8 days while the dog was in the hospital for 5 days while my kids were feverish and puking and my trip to Minnesota to see Lyndsay, and finally feel my baby kick for the first time, had to be scrapped. I thought things were starting to pick up again once the dog came home, the boys went back to school and Jimmi was discharged, but it has definitely not been a slice of Heaven around here. With the dog needing five pills a day and Jimmi doped up on Percocet, limping around on a swollen tree trunk and requiring IV antibiotic infusions every six hours, day and night, I've become a round-the-clock caregiver. 

Until yesterday, I hadn't opened my mail in over two weeks and the bills are all due right now. The boys still have activities all over the state and I've felt like splitting myself in half just to get everything done. My next CT scan is looming in the very near future and, with the way things have been going, I won't lie and say I'm confident that all is well. But there is an upside! After arranging airport wheelchairs, bulkhead seating to ensure extra room for Jimmi's knee, and approval to carry a cooler of prescribed drugs onto the airplane, we decided to keep our plans to fly to Minnesota on Friday to visit Lyndsay, have pregnancy photos taken, go to a prenatal appointment and finally get to feel our baby kick! 

Or, so I thought…

 Yes, that's right…


Remember that game? I used to play it with my brother when we were kids. He'd torture me in some type of obnoxious sibling way and, when I'd finally had enough, I'd scream, "Mercy!" That was his indication to leave me alone. Of course, he never did. I hated that game and the last few weeks have had a surprisingly similar feeling of angst and battering.

Now what?

This new dilemma has me wondering what we're supposed to do now? Should we wait it out and hope the storm passes? Should we pay the fees and change the flight to the only one available on Saturday at 8:00 AM, which, as of now, only has three seats left? Should we keep the flight we have AND book the one on Saturday so, if Friday's flight is canceled, we won't have to worry about it? The airline agent's advice was to wait until tomorrow morning, look at the weather again, then book Saturday's flight since we can cancel without penalty within 24 hours of booking. I'd feel much more comfortable with that plan if there were more available seats on that flight. 

Baby A, our little Princess Aria, is due to enter the world in 46 days. This weekend will be our only chance to get to Minnesota before her birth and my only opportunity to share the excitement of in utero fetal movement with Jimmi. I don't care how it happens, but I need to get there. It's not too much to ask, at this point, right?

I just want to get there.

Lyndsay, 33 weeks pregnant with our baby girl

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