If Only I Could Roller Skate

Ironically since my last post, the one about seeking order, health, and predictability during my third trimester of pregnancy, Nora has had multiple hospital admissions and ER visits related to seizure activity and respiratory illness. Although these hospitalizations have not been exceptionally lengthy, recovering as a family has been an extensive process. In short, as our family transitions to being home together, the kids’ routine is understandably upside down, backward, and inside out.

Everett, a traditionally superb sleeper, requires extra snuggles before bed and often climbs into our bed in the middle of the night — restless and unable to fall back asleep on his own. Nora sleeps during the day and is often awake through the night. She might wake frequently with coughing fits or oxygen desaturations, or she may have seizures and/or be adjusting to medication changes. All of which takes quite a lot of energy, patience, and something like grit from an eight- year-old girl (and her family.)

As we transition home from hospital stays, with our own lives out of equilibrium, Tyler and I are usually “off.” We find it challenging to regain balance: baskets of laundry go unfolded, houseplants go unwatered, and now that I’m 35 weeks pregnant, I’ve decided to stop bending down unnecessarily, which means, anything below the counter-top remains where it is.

Of course, all of this might be more manageable if I could roller skate. Or run. Or have a glass of wine. Little sigh.

I can’t roller skate in my third trimester, and I made the decision to pause running as soon as it felt like a basketball was protruding from my abdomen and the act of running involved balancing bouncing cantaloupes across my chest (I wish I was exaggerating). Additionally, simple comforts have been banned: venti lattes, wine, gin, and of course sushi. And so, instead of enjoying my hobbies and the finer things in life, coping the last few months is me going to therapy, reading, listening to podcasts, and napping before prenatal barre workouts.

I guess if I’ve learned anything in the last few months it is this: it is essential to save and create space for myself to pursue new ways of balancing and living life in stressful circumstance. And, given the roller coaster that is Nora’s health the last few months, it’s very evident that my family as a whole also needs space. for questions, normalcy and most especially for big emotions.  

Last week I took Everett to a pediatrician appointment. When I told him we were visiting the doctor, he asked, wide-eyed, “How many days are we staying?” which is when it struck me, our family’s 2022 “normal” is a moving target. And in chaos, change and living with unknowns remain our constant. And this constant means my family is often attempting to make sense of our circumstance. I’ve seen them do this through sharing their perspective, sharing heart feelings, through the prayers they pray, and even in how they cling to optimism and hope. As I write this, Nora is coughing through a nap. Her sleep cough hasn’t left since her illness and hospitalization on 4/11 (when she was transported from Disneyland by ambulance to Children’s hospital – but that’s another story).

As I’ve expressed, when I envisioned this time— the final weeks of my third trimester— I didn’t envision feeling so out of sorts or stretching for a balanced version of health for Nora. I didn’t imagine relentless coughing, seizure medication shifts, or feeling like we’re playing a constant game of “catch up.” And I wish my son didn’t assume a trip to the pediatrician office meant the possibility of an inpatient stay. But here we are. This is us, our life, and in a few weeks as we welcome a new baby to the family, life will change all over again.

As our family approaches baby’s due date, I’ve decided to do two things. 1) Continue to create space and margin around myself and my family 2) reach out to my community and ask for positive thoughts and prayers for Nora’s health, and for our family as we enter a new version of unpredictability.

Thank you for opening your email, clicking the insta link, or just for checking in — I hope you are well; we’re grateful for your support and prayers. I’m looking forward to the next chapter. I’ll keep you posted on this wild ride.

Talk soon,

Jesse