11 years ago today at 5:08 p.m., Isabella Rose came into the world 5 weeks ahead of schedule. With the words, “You’ve got a girl!”, my heart and baby soul were healed after five years of extensive infertility treatment with a bout of cervical cancer and ulcerative colitis thrown in for good measure. I never thought someone so tiny could make such a huge impact in my life, but it was the first of countless times that Isabella would prove that good things come in small packages indeed.

Isabella, in her own words, is awesome. This is her signature line on her messages, and while it may sound conceited, it is far from it. She truly, genuinely, and unabashedly loves herself, and she follows her heart and does so with a quiet confidence and grace that belie her eleven years. She tends to be shy upon first meeting her, but if you are ever so lucky to get to know her, you will discover that she has an infectious giggle, a wonderful sense of humor, and a kind heart. She remains blissfully unaware of much of the evil and hardships of life, and she is full of an innocence and joy that too often children are forced to surrender at an early age.

Isabella should not be underestimated, though, as she lives up to both of her namesakes’ reputations for being strong women, my beloved grandmothers, Isabella Frances and Idella Rose. I find it to be no coincidence that I found out I was pregnant on my grandmother Idella’s
birthday. She died when I was nine years old, and I know she had a hand in bringing Isabella to me. Thank you, Gramma!

So, as Isabella celebrates her “golden birthday”, I look back on these past eleven years with overwhelming gratitude and shed only happy tears for the little girl I have loved since before she
was even conceived. I am in awe of Isabella, and she truly is one of my heroes. Never forget who you are, Little Star …

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZmAvxY7F1g&feature=youtube_gdata_player

This song has popped up on my iPod every day for the past 10 days, which is no small feat considering the vast number of songs stored on my iPod, and it is one that I only became acquainted with this summer during one of my infamous drives along River Road.  It immediately resonated with me and still does. 

In addition to being a great song, it is a fitting theme for the relationships in my life, as all have left a mark.  I used to mark time in my life based on the calendar year and my birthday, but now, my life is divided into “before May 14” and “after May 14”, the day that I sought help for my depression and anxiety and life as I once knew it ceased to exist.  Since that day, I have been astounded by who left their mark by staying by my side and by who left their mark by walking, and sometimes running, away from me, never looking back, except perhaps to judge or gossip.  At times, it has felt like a revolving door of people coming and going, and my heart and mind have struggled to keep up with who is in and who is out.  These invisible marks are ever present, and their impressions and effects are as diverse as the people who left them behind.  Some marks I wish I could erase, as they can be overwhelmingly painful, while other marks I want to preserve in permanent ink, as they are beautiful and unique works of art. To accept the positive marks, I have to be willing to accept and heal from the hurtful ones, for this delicate balance of the two extremes are part of what make me perfectly flawed.  For all those who have left a mark on my life, thank you, for you have helped me to find my happy.

“That oh, my heart is bursting again …”

http://youtu.be/8UUVqlhE7y0

Part of my new “normal” is that at least once a day, I take a drive down River Road. It is just my satellite radio and me, and I lose myself in my thoughts and my music. I adopted this routine, albeit without satellite radio, back in high school when I was overwhelmed with teenage angst, and while the issues that weigh heavily on my heart and mind have changed, this routine has remained the same. There is something both comforting and healing about the water, even if it happens to be the muddy and polluted Ohio River.

During tonight’s drive, Ray Lamontagne’s song, “Shelter”, came on, and my thoughts turned away from my troubles to my family and friends who have sheltered me during this period of depression and anxiety. These past two months have been among the most painful and lonely of my life, and I have been surprised by who has offered me shelter and who has needed to shelter themselves from me. I am the one who usually provides shelter to others, so, being on the receiving end has been a difficult, but needed, adjustment. The guilt and shame I have felt about my depression and anxiety and how it has affected others have started to give way to accepting myself for who I am and accepting others for how they need to deal with me during this period.

I forever am indebted to those people in my life who have shown me through their words and actions that they do love and accept me, flaws and all. That truly is the greatest gift to be given when you find it hard to give it to yourself. The journey continues, but it is made all the better having incredible traveling companions to walk beside me. Thank you …

http://m.youtube.com/index?desktop_uri=%2F&gl=US#/watch?v=aHmNEQYc3js

It has been awhile since I have blogged, but I have a good excuse actually. Some of you know what I am referring to, while some of you do not know or care. What is to follow is not a recounting of all of the sorrid details, but rather my attempt to shed a bit of light on my own journey and possibly encourage some others who are on their respective, similar journeys. 

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I smile …  a lot!  I have a great sense of humor and a big laugh to go along with my broad smile, and I am nothing if not entertaining.  These are qualities about myself that I both love and loathe, as they have served me well in some situations and betrayed me in others.  I usually am a master at hiding my problems behind my smile and laughter, but when the facade crumbles, it does so in a big way for all the world to see. 

For the second time in my life, I am being treated for depression, with a dose of anxiety thrown in this time just to make it even more interesting.  It is not something I am proud of, but I am not ashamed of it, either.  My decision to share this is that I believe in truth in advertising, so to speak. I am who I am, good, bad, and everything else in between.  This latest episode has been awhile in the making and is the result of some past and present issues that weigh heavily on my heart and mind.  There has been speculating and analyzing by others as to the causes, but I am the only one who knows the whole truth and am addressing the issues honestly and openly in treatment.  I fully understand that it has not been easy on those closest to me to watch me go through this, and for that, I carry much regret.  It is hard to step out of my role as a “helper” into the role of being the one who is helped, but it is a step that I needed to take.

Despite how painful this has been, I honestly can say that seeking help again has been the best decision of my life, and I would encourage others to do so, if they find themselves in a similar situation.  It is easier and more acceptable to seek help for physical ailments than it is to for mental health issues, but it is every bit as important and necessary to do so.  While I don’t like sifting through all of the hurt and being so vulnerable, I have hope that I can resolve the issues that have troubled me and learn better ways to cope with them, both now and in the future.  Some days are definitely easier than others, but none of them are as difficult as the day I admitted that I needed to resume treatment. That will go down as one of the worst days of my life.  It does get better, though; it really does, even if it doesn’t seem like it ever will.

Thank you so very much for all of the support, love, and concern that so many of you have graciously offered to me, as it has given me strength, comfort, and hope.  Please, continue to be patient with me along the way, and know that I am doing everything I can to finally find my happy. 

I leave you with a song that captures what it feels like to descend into the darkness once again.  It is strangely familiar and surreal …

http://youtu.be/a3LYYatmpVg

Disclaimer:  I am not Irish, which is why my parents could not understand why I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day so enthusiastically while I attended the University of Dayton.

Until I went to college, I never really gave St. Patrick’s Day a second thought, other than when we made shamrocks, pots of gold, and leprechauns in grade school; however, all of that changed when I went to the University of Dayton.  At UD, St. Patrick’s Day was celebrated with wild abandon by all those Irish and otherwise, and it was legendary.  We didn’t have Spring Break, so, this was our attempt to cram a week of fun into one decadent day.  On the eve of another St. Patrick’s Day, memories of this holiday come flooding back to me:

-Waking up early to get to Flanagan’s by 5:00 a.m. for the first od many rounds of cheap, green beer.

-Discovering my junior year that I had nothing green to don for the holiday, so, I accessorized with a bottle of Tangueray.

-Having spent a little too much time with the aforementioned accessory, I chased our mailman barefoot through the Ghetto clutching several homemade cookies to give to him and wish him a Happy St. Paddy’s Day.  To this day, I am grateful that he didn’t mace me.

-During my senior year, the UD Men’s Basketball Team made it to the NCAA Sweet 16, which, if you know anything about UD basketball, was a huge feat.  This coincided with St. Patrick’s weekend.  Basketball + St. Paddy’s Day + Rain + Mud + Burning Couches=A hot Irish mess in the Ghetto!!!

-Wrestling in the NCR field with Mel after a long morning at Flanagan’s my senior year.  Don’t ask; there is no answer.

-Finding and kissing the Blarney Stone, which I still have.

-Toasting the day with some of my favorite Irish boys:)

-Splurging on Guiness, instead of the usual Milwaukee’s Best or Keystone Light.

-Spending the afternoon on various front porches in the Ghetto.

-Spending the evening on a rooftop senior year to end another long day of celebrating.

-The on-going war of words between my Irish friends and my Italian friends over which country had the right to claim St. Patrick as their own.

-Listening to one too many drunken, off-key versions of “Danny Boy”.

-Calling my parents to wish them a Happy St. Patrick’s Day and hearing the relief in their voices that I was not making my one phone call from jail.

-Being startled to see people headed to class. I always thought of it as a university holiday, but my professors did not.

-Calling some random number in Ireland looking for Adam Clayton or Bono.  The Irish really are a very pleasant people, and the lass I spoke to was most kind indeed.

-Wishing for a brief moment that I was Irish.

Once I graduated, the magic of St. Patrick’s Day, again, faded, but these memories and so many more never will. 

I am not a big fan of Lady Gaga, but I heard this song for the first time today and fell in love with it.  It reminds me of my diverse group of friends and how much richer my life is because of each and every one of them. 

It is said that you can tell a lot about a person by the people they call their friends, and if that is true, I am honored.   We may differ in race, creed, color, sexual orientation, ethnicity, etc., but we have a mutual love and respect for one another that can be hard to find. To be loved, valued, and accepted for who you are true gifts indeed, and I am grateful to be the recipient of such gifts from those I love.  So, my extraordinary friends, this is my Valentine to you:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4a8QtvOkBQ

As another Valentine’s Day fast approaches, I am reminded of two things. One, I am not a fan of Valentine’s Day. Two, my favorite Valentine’s Day ever has nothing to do with the usual trappings of this particular holiday. Don’t get me wrong; I believe in love, but I just never have liked Valentine’s Day, that is, until my sophomore year at the University of Dayton.

That year, I lived with my three roommates, and on Valentine’s Day, I was the only one who did not have a boyfriend. It can be rather lonely to not be part of a couple on a day that celebrates the many splendors of love, but I tried to maintain an aloof coolness about the whole thing and waited patiently for Feb. 15 to bring an end to the madness.

I went about my day, and when I returned from class, there was a box of Little Debbie’s “Be My Valentine” snack cakes waiting for me on my bed. I have never met a sweet that I didn’t love, so, this was the perfect gift, but I did not know who sent them to me. When I turned around, there were my roommates, who yelled in unison, “Will you be our Valentine?”. It was such a sweet gesture, and it was one of those moments that still brings a smile to my face. They took the time to make me feel special and to remind me that I am loved for who I am, not for whom I am with at the time. My roommates are among a small group of people who know everything about me and still love me any way.

Senior year, we discovered this song in Dr. George Zimmerman’s American Music class, and we
made it our own. There even is a video floating around out there with my roommate and me singing and dancing to it at her graduation party, but it needs to remain in the vault:). So, this goes out to my special Valentines, who truly are wonderful:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eR-Yt8qFZko&feature=youtube_gdata_player

This morning, I awoke to an unexpected snow day, so, I thought it appropriate that my run began with the song, “Presto”. While I know that there are a number of negative consequences, such as another day of school to be made up, cancelled appointments, hazardous driving, childcare issues, etc., associated with another snow day, since there is nothing that I can do to change the weather or Louisville’s response to it, I am just going with it. There truly is something magical about running in the snow. It is so serene and gorgeous, and it is so cool that the only tracks in the snow are my own.

I also found it quite appropriate that the song to end my run was “Comfortably Numb”. I was feeling numb from both cold and fatigue, but I was content.

If I could wave my magic wand:

http://m.youtube.com/index?desktop_uri=%2F&gl=US#/watch?xl=xl_blazer&v=VBQ0rO_4ddE

I have become comfortably numb …

http://m.youtube.com/index?desktop_uri=%2F&gl=US#/watch?xl=xl_blazer&v=0wtiNzci1Wc

On the eve of the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, I have been thinking about a conversation I had with Isabella when she was in kindergarten. She told me that her class had been learning about Dr. King at school, and she was asking me various questions about his life and death. Isabella wanted to know why Dr. King was shot, and I remember standing there looking at her innocent face, trying to think of an age appropriate response. The best I could muster was something to the effect that he was killed because not everyone believed that African Americans deserved equal rights and wanted Dr. King to stop trying to change things for the better. Isabella looked somewhat confused and then replied, “Mommy, that is so silly to not like somebody just because they have dark skin. Everybody is special.”. Such an innocent response to such a complex subject, but it is true.

Everyone has prejudices that they have learned, and throughout history, there always is a group that endures discrimination or persecution based on race, ethnicity, sex, sexual orientation, religion, politics, etc. While I am not naive enough to believe that there will be a world without prejudice, I am hopeful that maybe today, we each can look at our own prejudices and stereotypes and challenge ourselves to change them and to see that each person really is special.

I used to sing this to the girls when they were babies, and I hope that all of your dreams may be realized :

http://m.youtube.com/index?desktop_uri=%2F&gl=US#/watch?xl=xl_blazer&v=7SwkrAMl2Sw

Eight years ago today, I went to my obstetrician’s office for my 32 week check up and discovered that I was in the early stages of labor. Had my first daughter, who was 20 months old at that time, not been born 5 weeks prematurely, I may have been more surprised, but I knew that I probably would not carry this baby to full term, either. So, I was put on medication to stop the contractions and sent home to rest. Charlotte Frances decided that medication and rest were no match for her, though, and she was born late the next evening.

From conception to birth, Charlotte has defied the odds. It took 5 years of extensive, not to mention expensive, infertility treatment for us to have our first child thanks to our 5th in vitro fertilization (IVF) cycle. This journey led us to one of the leading reproductive endocrinologists, who told us that we had less than a 0.5 percent chance of conceiving a child without medical treatment. So, to say I was surprised when the home pregnancy test I took came back positive would be the understatement of the year. Odds and percentages apparently meant nothing to Charlotte.

Charlotte continued to defy the odds once she arrived. Although she spent almost a month in the NICU, none of the predicted problems associated with premature births ever materialized. She once told me that she decided to “be born so early, because I could smell all that good food, and I wanted to eat it.”. Given her love of food, I tend to believe her.

More poignantly, Charlotte told me a few years ago that she and Isabella are twins. I explained that while they are almost the same size and look enough alike that they often are mistaken for twins, that they were not twins. She very calmly told me that she was “in your tummy with Isabella, but I told God that I really wanted Isabella to be my big sister. So, I waited in heaven with the angels until Isabella was bigger, and then, I told God that I was ready to be put back in your tummy and be born.”. What makes this story so incredible is that unbeknownst to Charlotte and Isabella at that time was that my pregnancy with Isabella actually began with two sacs being detected, but the second sac did not grow and was reabsorbed by my body.  This may sound completely crazy and unrealistic, but knowing Charlotte, I don’t doubt it.

So, tomorrow, my baby turns 8 years old, and I remain in awe of this extraordinary child.  She is bright, beautiful, wickedly funny, compassionate, and friendly, and I cannot put into words how much I love her.  She changed my world, and I know that she is out to change the rest of the world, as well.  May she always continue to defy gravity!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3g4ekwTd6Ig