I'll Work Hard 'Til The End Of My Shift

I was convinced. I actually had no idea just how convinced I was. The thoughts and feelings festering before my colonoscopy were like the roots growing in a too-small potted plant. They had no outlet, nowhere to go and if they weren't repotted, they were going to shatter everything around them. 

Since my mom's passing in 2012, I have been conceited to the idea that I was going to die young of cancer. I have convinced myself that cancer skips a generation based on my family's history and that I won't live long enough to be a grandmother to my future grand babies. I joke about it, because that's my modus operandi, but I've believed it, I guess if I'm being honest, I still do. 

While at the doctor recently, she mentioned that since I am 45, it is time to get a colonoscopy. I called to schedule and the receptionist said that I needed to speak to the doctor because I had one in 2016 and it hasn't been 10 years. When the doc and I met virtually, we reviewed my IBS history and family history and decided to schedule. Doomsday thoughts commence. 

To be clear, I wasn't experiencing any outside of the norm symptoms, have been perfectly healthy (physically at least, lol), and have felt great. However, my chaos-creating mind was working out all my loose-ends before sickness set in. Nick and I STILL don't have a will, even with hell I went through involving the lack of Dan's will. We are idiots and need to get on that. How do I actually plan a (legal) Viking style funeral for myself? Kidding, not kidding. I need to start recording my voice, because my own mother's is fading. A tear trails down my cheek as I write that. I can hear her, but it's a whisper in the realm right between sleep and consciousness. What experiences are we going to have as a family to make sure they remember how happy they make me and how proud I am, the immeasurable amount that I love them?

Amongst these thoughts interconnecting and expanding, every day life goes on. Within the week leading up to the colonoscopy, I was privileged to attend Lauren and Michael's wedding. Perfection doesn't even begin to describe the day and the vibe of this event. Not only was I with my long lost work-wife, Jill, we got to witness the beauty of a bright beginning. I couldn't help but cry as Lauren danced with her dad, and Michael danced with his mom. In those very moments as tears brimmed above the lump in my throat, I prayed for the long lives of L & M's parents. This is the time in their lives in which they get to see the ripe and wonderful fruits of their love-infused labors. I want to dance with both of my children at their weddings. Although getting old terrifies me, it is a gift that I pray each night is bestowed upon me. 

This past Wednesday I woke up, hungry, grumpy, and with a headache. I wanted food and even more than that, coffee! I did laundry to keep my mind off of the fact that in a few hours, I would be telling my family and friends that something was wrong. I am slow waking up any time I have been through anesthesia, so I asked Nick to be there in the recovery room when I woke. I told him I needed him to hear to what they say, because I will be loopy. Really I needed him to pick me up off of the floor as the news was relayed. Off we went, Off I go. 

"Enjoy your nap". Blackness. "Hey, Tiffin", "You did great". "We didn't find anything, not a polyp, not a thing". "We'll see you in 5 years." 

I cried. With each tear the embarrassing release of air they pump you with during the procedure. But what a small price to pay for health. Hilly, I actually pictured you working in the recovery room of a gastro-center. It made me giggle thinking about the facial expressions you'd have at the flatulence. With all the people in recovery rooms, it sounds like a fart-symphony! 

So, there it is. I'm good...I mean, at least in my colon. My brain and mental health are a different issue all together, and are daily struggles. I don't share that as much because I like to keep a positive aura. But, I am beyond grateful to those that I do trust to share my darkest thoughts and how they always lift me up. Nancy said the other day, "Don't talk about my Tiffin that way." and it hit. Thank you.  

Is is mayyyyyyyybe time to go back to therapy? Possibly. I gotta get my "faith over fear" back. That is easier said than done as December threatens to tread on dangerous ground. 

In the meantime, here I am. A book that is a bit of a mystery, thriller, drama, comedy, self-help, self-deprecating cliff-hanger, but wide open. 

Special thanks to my sister who still has the ability to call me when sissy-senses are tingling. Standing next to you at Bud's mom's celebration of life and being told that we are spitting images of our mother, in looks, mannerisms, and personality is the greatest compliment ever received. Special thanks to my people. You absolutely know who are. My Family. The Friend. Bramble. The Teacher OGs. This life would not be a life without you. 

And as always, thank you for walking, jogging, running, scooting, barreling, skipping, or crawling down this winding road with me. 

"If we were vampires and death was a joke; We'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke

And laugh at all the lovers and their plans, I wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand

Maybe time running out is a gift, I'll work hard 'til the end of my shift

And give you every second I can find, And hope it isn't me who's left behind." ~Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

A bit of an epilogue: 

I write for catharsis, and choose to share these thoughts in hopes that maybe my words speak to someone in a way they aren't comfortable sharing openly. I NEVER want to dimmish the ones who read this and their experiences with death, cancer, etc. Please know that I am not comparing my self-made chaos to the loss of a child to cancer, or to someone who is currently battling cancer/other illnesses known or not. This is my personal journal with my lived trauma, mental struggles, in addition to the endless ways life has favored me.  

Turtling

 We all have coping mechanisms. My first line of defense is always humor with a sprinkle of self deprecation. When I can't laugh away the stress, or finding a release of emotions seems too daunting, I turtle. It feels like I have two heads with two faces to show the world. I know how to power through, smile through pain, and get the job done. What doesn't show is the overwhelmed, overstimulated face hiding in a shell. That face has eyes closed, ears plugged, lips sealed. I'd rather set myself on fire than burden anyone else or ask for help. I am laughing as I write this recalling a text from Sputty saying, "T, you ok? Trying not invade your shell." The Friend lumbers along beside me waiting to check in when I pop my real head out for air. My sister on the other hand has never been patient and just barges her way right into my shell with me. At this point, she has her own living quarters in there. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

When shoes start dropping, it is hard for me to compartmentalize one problem from another and built up stress brings out anxiety. When my anxiety rears it's forked tongue, everything bubbles on the top like a boiling witch's cauldron. My body remembers past anxiety and then I am not only stressed about what is happening in my life currently, but I start feeling depression symptoms of past hurts. Timelines don't exist when it comes to grief. 

The worst part of my turtling happens when the shell finally cracks and I see the world around me. It feels like when you first wake up from a beach nap. Everything is a little too bright, you're a bit sweaty, you are alone on the towel and strangers are staring at you, most likely happy that the snoring has stopped! Then, you see your friends and family on the shore line and they sparkle. They are smiling and laughing, and all of a sudden they are waving you down to join them. As you slowly get up to stretch and shake some sand out of your hair, you wonder how long you've been out. You begin the uncomfortable, hot, long walk to the water, all the while knowing that when you make it there, it's all going to be ok. 

This is me at the water. 

My shell is put away for another time. I am here to apologize to my friends whom I haven't been a friend to in a while because of my turtling. I love you, I miss you, I'll be better. 

The next time this happens, Dolly has threatened to chew me out the shell. Lawson has coined the phrase, "Dolly is out to Murdle a Turtle again." *No turtles have actually been killed in the making of these videos. 😉🐢🐢

Why did the memory go to therapy......it had too many issues to recall!

Somehow, I've come to a point in my life where the previous road has a bend so angled that that "other" life of mine is just out of view, out of touch. Memories are melting together, shared experiences are cloudy, voices are muffled tones in the wind. There are definitely core memories that have been branded onto my heart, but as I travel further from the past, the haze is falling like a curtain. This is a core memory and not only do I not want to forget it, I want to share how it's also bled into the pavement of the always winding road. 

Dan always had ideas. "Let's go hike, let's take a road trip, I want to brew beer, I think I'll buy a new car today, and my favorite (insert eye-roll) let's go buy a pair of mountain bikes..." He knew that I had a bad bike accident as a kid and had never gotten on the bike again. He also knew that I'd do just about anything to spend time with him, so he played into that. We bought matching bikes, his in dark green and mine a shiny blue. We bought Camelbacks, and too many other completely unnecessary accessories to name. I had my helmet, these dumb ass biking sunglasses, my camelback (which matched by bike...what a dweeb!!), the seat cushion for my then skinny behind, and we were hitting the dusty trail!! I was so happy! I was back on a bike and riding down the trails towards Lake Elkhorn in Savage. I was glancing to my left, my right, the breeze was to my back, and I was as proud as a peacock. Ahead was a bridge and Dan was stopped, off his bike, and his face was not pleasant. I was worried that a chain came off his bike or that something had gone wrong, so I got off my bike too and said, "What's going on?" He looked at me with raised brow and said, "What's going on is that I have no idea how you are actually keeping that bike upright with the snail speed in which you are riding!!" I was enjoying myself so much that I hadn't noticed that he had been so far ahead. We got back on the bikes and rode to another bridge where I had to turn right. I don't know how it happened, but I got wobbly and turned right...right into a group of runners who had to scram out of my way before I fell over. There were a lot of "What the hells?!" and "Learn how to ride a bike, lady!" ringing in my embarrassed ears. Dan was so mad at me. I am laughing all over again as I write this just thinking about how utterly disgusted he was at my performance. We laughed about it after, but my riding days were over and about 2 years later, his riding days were over too, all of his days were over. 

So, the combined $3000 worth of bike shit went unused and untouched. Fast forward to Nick and children and fearing the day my kids would want to ride bikes! They weren't all that interested until the neighborhood bestie crew were zipping around and leaving my kids in the dust. They learned very quickly, and I learned again, that I would do just about anything to spend quality time together as a family. I hopped back on a bike for the first time in 20 some years this past October. Nick, Lawson, Levi, and I rode 6 miles and I only had a bit of "trouble" once. I looked over at Nick at one point during our first ride on that green 20 year old, barely used bike, and for a brief second Nick's face was the one I saw at Dick's trying the gears and checking the chains, not Dan. It was such a shock to have a memory that has been with me so long, overlap with the love I have now. I never thought things would blur, begin to evaporate, even shape-shift into something else, but it does, and that's ok. I can smile about the bikes, I love that Nick and I now ride them, I love the life Nick and I have created and I am so excited for future family rides on those damn bikes! Who would have thought!?! 

As the days, months, and years continue to pass, old memories fade to black as new ones glow golden in the light. Rocky roads get paved as new trails are blazed. So, kick up the stand, hang on to those handles and enjoy the ride if you're going 5 or 50. Life has a way of compassing you in the direction of your next happy memory...if you let it. 

 

Farewell Reflections

 I had my MapQuest printout sitting on my lap and two sweaty palms gripping the wheel. I drove 170 having no clue just how familiar I would become with the area. I saw the sign, "Piney Orchard" and continued to follow my directions past Waugh Chapel, past the shopping center and the roundabout, and made a left on Strawberry Lake Way. It was about 2 months into the 2002 school year and I had been an intern. That was all about to change, and so was my life. 

My supervisor at Salisbury had been in to observe me teaching lessons at Shipley's Choice Elementary since the start of the school year. On my last observation with him, he told me that my second mentor teacher at Piney was pregnant with twins and needed to get off her feet for the health of the babies and would not be able to oversee that placement. He paused for a bit after he told me this and then gave me one of my first and most memorable professional compliments. He said, "Tiffin, you were born to do this. I have gotten the principal at Piney Orchard to agree to meet you and possibly have you take over Mrs. Lombel's third grade class. You wouldn't be an intern, but a long-term sub and the teacher that shares a door with you, Barry, will check in on you every now and then to make sure things are going well." 

Fast forward to the next Monday, past the sweaty palms on the steering wheel, past the booger check in the rearview, and commence the walk up the front doors of the prettiest elementary school in the prettiest neighborhood I had ever seen.  I caught a glimpse of myself in the door windows thinking how ridiculous I looked in the blazer my mom had me wear with shoulder pads, that was too long in all the wrong places. How did I let her talk me into that? I looked like a toddler playing dress-up, and frankly, felt a little like that too. What do I know about interviewing and having my own class?! What am I doing here? I haven't even graduated yet, I haven't even had a full internship! Ready or not, I opened those doors and walked into the office, all eyes on me. Carole looked up from her desk, adjusted her glasses with the longest finger nails I had seen to date, and growled, "Can I help you." Feeling like I should have taken another Imodium, I "ummmed" my way through an introduction and she waved me into the principal's office. There sat, my supervisor Lou, the principal Dr. Bokee, and a super-stylish heals-wearing, raspy-voiced assistant principal Janine Robinson. I was so out of my league here. They all asked me a few questions and were extremely welcoming and kind. I was escorted to Debbie Lombel's room and introduced to the rest of the team: Barry, Marcie, Lynn, and Debbie. Holy cow, I knew Lynn!! Her and my mom were friends from church and she hugged me and smiled and told me everything was going to be great. I believed it! Barry made me laugh at least a dozen times while I was there, Marcie had a beautiful white-toothed warm smile, and Debbie showed me the ropes of her room. Dr. Bokee asked me if I would be interested and I gave him my best smile and said, "absolutely." 

I struggled that first year. My class missed their old teacher, there were some behaviors that I had never seen before, and parents that were less than thrilled that this 22 year old with zero experience was now their kid's full time teacher. I made it through with prayers from Lynn, smoke breaks with Barry, a million laughs in the lounge with my team, a couple parent-encounter-saves by Janine, and a whole lot of happy hours. After having to get my own substitute, so I could graduate, I finished out the year and was already becoming a stronger teacher. I was arranging supplies and cleaning out Debbie's room when Dr. Bokee came in, hands in his pants pockets, looking down a bit and making me seriously nervous. He said, "Tiffin, Debbie isn't going to come back next year. She is going to stay home with her kids and I was wondering if you would like to fill the position as 3rd grade teacher?" I jumped up and down, I hugged him (boy, he was NOT a hugger!!) and said yes, yes, YES! He gave me a list of things I needed to get in order for HR and a timeline to do it. The next school year, the outside of that room said, "Miss Lilly" and I couldn't have been more proud. 

The following 2+ decades I built a home at Piney. I have moved my classroom 10 times, taught 3 different grades,  have had 5 principals, a dozen interns of my own, and have cultivated incredibly deep connections. Having friends who truly know you, your dreams, fears, and secrets, is a profound gift. Those unbreakable bonds have been sources of immense support, understanding, and joy throughout my life's journey. And as you all know, my life's journey hasn't been the average trip. 

There are memories that live in my heart and in the concrete walls of Piney. I see Dan standing in my classroom door, his eyes full of hope and pleading. We had broken up, but just like with any favorite rom-com, I knew I was getting back together with him the moment I looked up and saw him there. I remember crying when Barry told me he accepted another position and we wouldn't be the side-by-side dynamic duo anymore. Then cracking up when I found the matchbox in my desk with the note that said, "Not cry, I give you cookie." Our inside jokes still make me chuckle. I remember listening to Jill telling me about navigating toddlers, marriage, and life and thinking how awful that sounded. LOL I remember Allyson walking into my classroom one day, sitting down, and never leaving my heart. We didn't get enough time together during the day so we would talk on our drive to work every morning. I remember Michelle plucking the lemons off my topiaries at mine and Dan's wedding and squeezing them into her drink. I remember Michelle, Jill, Karen, and Sharon walking through the door of Aspenwood on January 1st 2010, eyes wet, mouths frowned, words unspoken. They just sat with me. They were there. The community and work family sent prayer shawls, and food, and letters from students and family pouring condolences into my shattered heart. I remember Nancy starting as a 5th grade teacher and thinking she looked just like Tara from Sons of Anarchy. She came to the 3rd grade team and I caught her on the phone one day making cat noises like a weirdo in the planning room while on the phone. I knew I was going to love her. A few years later, these were the people I flashed my hand to in the main hallway of the school the morning Nick proposed, on my mom's birthday 2012. My People. 

My Piney family grieved with me again when I lost my mom that very next month. Everyone also celebrated my joys, the highest being Lawson entering the world in 2014. A few years later, Michelle is the one who held my hand in her car, driving back from Newks to Piney on Kindergarten conference day, when I got the call that one of my twins had a syndrome called Trisomy 18. She checked in on me between every one of the conferences I had to trudge through that day. Again, my Piney family held me up. They cried tears of joy with me when Levi came raging into world in 2016. There are countless memories that will live forever in my heart and they all happened during my time at POES. Piney Orchard Elementary School and the relationships I have built in that building, have actually built me. 

The first few classes of my career are now young moms and dads with families and careers and winding roads of their own. I hope that each and every one of my students past and present know that I was always learning from them too. The teacher-student relationship is often portrayed as one-sided, with the teacher imparting knowledge to the student. But in reality, it's a dynamic exchange where both sides contribute to the other's growth. I do and will continue to value the influence my students had and will have on shaping me.

As I say goodbye to these cherished miles of my winding road, one paved with decades of shared experiences, laughter, and growth, I am filled with gratitude. This place has been more than just a workplace; it has been a sanctuary of learning, a crucible of friendships, and a canvas where dreams were nurtured and realized.

As I begin to make tracks on a new journey, embracing the promise of budding opportunities, I carry with me the imprints of every moment spent here, the lessons learned, and the bonds forged. Each interaction, each challenge overcome, has shaped me into the person I am today.

Though I may be leaving the physical confines of this place, the memories have formed a mandala around my heart. I am so very grateful dear Piney colleagues, mentors, and friends, thank you. 

Beginning this upcoming school year, I will be begin a new teaching path at Two River Elementary. I am filled with excitement as I know that the foundation laid here will serve as a beacon, illuminating any curves and turns ahead. Goodbye, Piney. 

Phobiously Phorty Phour

I have a sincere fear of getting old. (I know it's shocking right, I've never been a fearful or anxious person at all 😂🤣😂) SARCASM. Sarcasm, poor jokes, laughing, self deprecation, they are all ways I have coped with sadness, anger, hurt, resentment, really the whole gamut. I have always joked (while internally battling these horrible fears) about getting old, but now that I actually am, "middle aged...or more" it's not funny. I can't actually explain my fear, accept that it has always been there. It has however, taken me 44 years to look up if it's actually a "thing" or just one of my many known weirdnesses. What other weirdness, you may ask? Well, I suffer from musical ear syndrome, icepick migraines, IBS, and when I travel, my eyes water so much they almost swell shut, to name a few. But I digress. 

Turns out, I am not alone in my gerascophobia, that's right, it has a name. Gerascophobia is the "abnormal and persistent fear of growing old." Some reader may be thinking, "what a vain fear", but even though I am no stranger to anti-aging skincare, Botox, hair coloring, or makeup, my fear stems simply from trauma, from loss. 

The other early morning, Levi woke with a stomach bug. When he was cleaned up and feeling better, he came and slept next to me in bed. I watched him breathing and dreaming and thought of all the fears I have each day for my kids. I thought about what I wouldn't do to make sure both Lawson and Levi were healthy and happy. And then I thought about what is out of my control: heart attacks, cancer, being old. 

Am I actually scared that I am going to get old and frail, or am I scared that I'm not? Am I scared that if I do live to a ripe age that I will then have to suffer more loss? More pieces of my heart to be buried away forever in the cold hard earth? Am I scared that with more years under my belt come the higher chances of my kids going through the heartache I still have daily when I think about how much I miss my mom and how much I need her. How unbelievably depressing. 

The thing is, I don't like being depressed. So I will continue to have these suffering thoughts, but silver line them with humor. I will continue to like the look of my face upside down more than right side up. I will joke about having osteoporosis, but take extra vitamins with calcium. And honestly, I am probably going to shy away from any kind plastic surgery because chances are, with my luck, I would spend a fortune on a younger face and get hit by a bus the next day. Seriously though, it tracks. 

Although I haven't posted in a while and this one is a bit of rambler instead of being an "entertaining read" or a "tear-jerker" kind of libretto, this post is more a commitment to myself. The second half of my 40's is going to be spent not fearing what each year will bring to my bones, skin, hair (Lord knows my boobs are lost cause) but what I'll cherish, what I'll forgive (myself included), what I will share, what memory I will have etched in my brain along with the smile lines by my mouth. Smile lines are so much more "in" than frowny ones anyway.

The affect Trauma(s) has on your life is beyond comparison. The amount of "phobias" I actually have whilst looking into my geriatric fear was actually disturbing, yet all rooted the same. 

So go watch your stories, gerascophobia, leave me and my sore knees alone. And while we're at it, my severe Thanatophobia: (the fear of the ones I love dying...I had to look that one up too) can kick rocks without shoes as well. 

I think the only fear I'll tolerate is FOMO, so bring on the fun!! 

Not My Anniversary

 Fifteen years ago (tomorrow) we got married. Fifteen years is the blink of an eye. Fifteen years is a lifetime. A million different events and "winding roads" can materialize in front of you. Would this really be our fifteen year anniversary? Would we be happily divorced and I refer to him as my Was-band? Would we be tumultuously divorced with hurt feelings, lacking closure? Kids? No Kids? A million different things. We will NEVER know. 

Here's what I do know. When someone leaves us in the physical form, pieces of them continue to remain in the fabric of our being. I carry Dan with me in so many aspects of my life, especially laughter. He loved to joke, he loved even more than that to tease me, and because of that, I have learned to be pretty good at being the brunt of jokes. 

I also know that marriage is hard. Nick and I now have 10 years under our belt and never once would I say it's been a cake-walk. We have however, fought hard and created a beautiful family. 

I know that since 12/31/09, I have never once planned anything in advance without the slightest (or biggest) feeling of anxiety knowing that plans are never really up to us. I have tried to never leave the house or let Nick or the kids leave without saying, I love you. Lawson has picked up on this and doesn't even leave a room without saying, "I love you." It is precious and I hope she never stops. 

I have also never once given up completely because my faith, my family, my friends, and the spirit of the ones that have left me, push me to keep my head up. (Side note-Tupac did that for me too when I was teenager.)

 Carrying Dan with me doesn't mean I live in the past, or love Nick less, or anything that some people conjure because they've never been in my shoes. It means that with his memory and my moms, and the memories of all the other people that I have loved, I create a framework of fibers that begin to mend the hole grief leaves behind. 

The hole is never repaired, but it can be patchworked with new love and new hope. 

06/07/08 is not my anniversary. It is a day of remembrance and gratitude for those traits and fibers given to me by a great man. 

Many of you reading this have been on this journey with me since the beginning (and for some reason continue to see it through!! LOL)  Thank you. Now... go jump in a pool with your clothes on, take a shot of Patron, squeeze a lemon in your drink, dance like no one is watching, dance like everyone is watching, and keep loving the ones you have as hard as you can. 

It ALL Matters

     I never stop writing as it is my paired therapy to running, but I've neglected to post the thoughts due to shame. As I've read over my own words, images of my friends' trials and tribulations flood my vision, and I feel too blessed to post any sort of self-sadness, emotionally-charged sentiments. I have friends who have had their children ripped away from them by the evils of cancer as well as mental illness. Friends that have children with severe disabilities and/or disadvantages that will add obstacles to their lives that no parent can ever be prepared for. Friends that want babies more than anything in the world, and have been denied. Friends that have grown babies that are now lost to addiction or other evils presented by our broken world. 

    I feel as though if I post a "hardship" or concern, the public opinion would be of me as an attention-seeker. Someone who needs those care-hugs, hearts and thumbs to feel important. That's far from it. My "it" is that I feel compelled to be an open book. I am compelled to share openly about hurt, sorrow, illness, joy, and health...anything that may in some way help someone else that identifies with similar struggles.

    I started this blog to have another outlet to bleed my thoughts after losing my husband. It was the start of a silent-strong-type friend that walked with me while losing my mother. Words on a page carried me during the loss of Levi's twin sister. Pleading with the keys on a Surface Pro at 2:00 in the morning kept me from following through on some of the darkest thoughts I've ever had. On the celebratory side, I've gotten married, had children, moved twice, gained best friends, been on epic trips, just to name a few throughout this winding road I've shared with you. All of life's adventures matter. All of us matter, no more than the other. Together if done right, we have the opportunity to change someone's mind, to turn an attitude around, to right an injustice, to lift each other up. 

    I believe very strongly in one word. POSITIVITY. The remainder of this post is not to illicit attention in any shape or form. My family's struggles are far from what others have gone or are currently going through. My purpose is to share how positivity, when spread into the world, really matters. How you treat others matters. It ALL matters. 

Recently Lawson has been diagnosed with Obstructive Sleep Apnea. This is not rare in children and is normally treated by the removal of tonsils and adenoids. What makes it a little more rare for Lawson, is that she has already had that procedure. After receiving her sleep study results, we were referred back to her ENT to have the "sleep study for dummies" version explained to us since everything we read was a foreign language, as well as scary as shit. Lawson and I saw a doctor at that practice that was not her former surgeon, and she treated me like I was the biggest idiot she'd ever had to come in contact with. Her first words to us were, "I see here that Lawson has sleep apnea. We treat pediatric sleep apnea with the removal of tonsils and adenoids, and we have already done that, so I am not quite sure why you are here?" 

Can you all just take a minute and picture my what the actual fuck face right now? 

When I very nicely asked her to explain a little bit about the apnea and what our next steps might be (since yes, she had the surgery, but also yes, she still have apnea AND I had already Dr. Googled other reasons this could be happening). She said, "So you want me to look in her nose?" YES YOU MEAN UGLY-SPIRITED, SORRY EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN, DO SOMETHING! THIS IS MY CHILD!! (That was my inner voice.) I replied, "Yes, please". When all was said and done, she said, "I don't see anything significant" whatever the hell that means, and got up to send us on our way. My head was spinning my woogy spots were creeping up the side of my face. I took some belly breaths (thanks Second Step) and asked if she wouldn't mind taking a minute to explain the results of the study for me. She crinkled up her face like I just asked her to give me one of her kidneys, and said, "I am not sure what you don't understand. You either take her to a dentist/orthodontist or back to a sleep study to be fitted for a CPAP machine. Whatever you choose, do it fast because she is not breathing 10+ times an hour, a night." 

    I held it together until I got home and had a minute away from Lawson so I could angry cry. After the cry, Nick and I made a plan. I was also able to talk to my sister who always puts things in perspective. We made multiple appointments with multiple specialists to get answers for our girl. J was able to help me see that because of the lack of care this ENT gave us, we were more determined than ever to advocate for Lawson's health. 

    Her next appointment was to the Orthodontist. The doctor here took XRays and scans of little miss's face and mouth. She explained that Lawson has a very narrow air passage and her small arches and jaw could possibly be narrowing this air passage even more at night. She then pointed to the sinus cavity in the XRay and said, "I want to also show you this mass/lesion here." If you know me, you know that I immediately had to go to the bathroom unsure of which end it was going to come out of first. Upon my mind's reentry to reality after mentally (and literally) losing my shit, she explained that she believes it to be a mucus retention cyst. She was sending the scans to an oral/facial surgeon to take look. She was calm, and thorough, and gentle when explaining it all to Lawson. She stayed with us until she was sure we understood (and possibly certain that I wasn't going to pass out as the color was returning to my face). I thanked her for all of her time, her care, her perspective. I left feeling scared, but also knowing there was a plan. 

    About an hour later the oral surgeon called me and said that he would like for Lawson to come in for a CT scan. My insides were shaking like I was 6 Mountain Dews and an expresso deep. I told him that I am a giant spaz and that I would lose sleep until her scan if he didn't give me his opinion on what he thought it was. His voice was so kind as he told me he believes that it is, like the ortho suspected, a mucus retention cyst. Phew. Not a certainty, but better. April 5th she will have her scan and we will know for sure. I thanked him so much for calling personally and taking the time to talk with me. I thanked him for never making me feel like he had somewhere else to be or that he was on a time crunch. His response warmed (and calmed) my heart. He replied, "Dr. St. Bernard (the ortho) called me personally this morning. She told me how kind and appreciative you and Lawson were. She asked that I take great care of you." 

And....there it is. POSITIVITY matters. What you put in the world can and will come back to you. 

    Lawson's next steps are the CT scan and then a John's Hopkins Pediatric Sleep Center and Pulmonary Medicine appointment. Moving forward for any of my family's health care needs, we will just Ariana Grande that shit if it isn't the vibe we seek, "Thank U, Next". 

    This is me sending positivity and prayers to all of my aforementioned friends trudging through their own obstacles that life has put in the way. Send some our way if you're up for it, and may your positivity come round in special ways back to you. May He also hear you and comfort you. In the meantime, I see you, and I am on your side...this side of the negative.