Let's Talk About Mental Health

Let's take a walk into the Land of Hypothetical Scenarios, and imagine for a moment that the one person you love most, your soulmate, your other half, has just been diagnosed with heart disease. This might have come after a season or two of wondering why s/he fatigues more easily than in the past, has heart palpitations at times, or even just after a routine checkup. What are you feeling? Sad, maybe? Overwhelmed, probably. Maybe you are confused as to how this happened when the two of you have always been active and followed the socially accepted prescription for healthy living. You would most likely ask the Doctor what steps you need to take to make sure your loved one has the best treatment available, and make lifestyle changes to assure s/he is going to be around for as long as possible. Would you be embarrassed, or ashamed about these changes, or about possible medications your loved one will now be taking to keep the disease controlled? Odds are you would not. If your loved one had a heart attack as a result of the heart disease, you would let your friends and family know; they would come to the hospital and your home to visit, bringing flowers and meals and welcome distraction. Heart disease is nothing to be ashamed of, and this hypothetical situation is really not that unlikely to happen. 

Now let's change the phrase "heart disease" for "mental illness." Do your thoughts and feelings change? Most of us would like to think not, but the truth is, many people react to this second diagnosis very differently. Why? There are no more outward symptoms to anxiety and depression than there are to heart disease. There can be fatigue, heart palpitations, just as with heart disease. And yet, there is such a stigma surrounding mental illness in our society today. There are very few, if any, accommodations made for lifestyle changes as a result of extreme anxiety, agorophobia, or schizophrenia. When someone is released from an inpatient stay following a suicide attempt or voluntary admission, they are frequently too embarrassed to say anything, so there are no visits with flowers, cards, or even phone calls asking how they're doing today. 

The situation is getting better, yet there is still an incredibly long way to go. Information is more readily available, and people are becoming more willing to share their experiences. Richard and I are two of those people. I am happy to talk with my friends about my experience with post-partum depression, clinical depression, and general anxiety disorder. In spite of my willingness to talk about it, however, I still go through phases of being ashamed of taking medication every day to be able to fully function. Richard compares it to a diabetic needing insulin, which we would never shame them for, and then I do better for a time. But it's a cycle that will likely continue for a very long time. 

I have been very blessed/lucky/fortunate to be surrounded by loving and supportive family, in-laws, and friends that have helped me to accept and work through my diagnoses. Not everyone is that fortunate. There are some people I know whose parents believe that if you suffer from depression, you don't have enough faith. Or people who see prescription medication as a poison, and think you should be able to go for a mountain hike and be all better. Faith, whether individual or through organized religion, can be a great help for many who suffer from mental illness. Exercise, whether indoor or out, can boost the effectiveness of medical treatments and therapies. But these things, by themselves, are highly unlikely to help someone who is severely mentally ill.

I recently read a post in a Facebook group from a person whose spouse had recently been hospitalized following a suicide attempt or threat. One of the commenters referred to the spouse as a "punk" and a "turd," for not getting OP's son to the bus stop on time because s/he couldn't get out of bed. The commenter stated that medication is not always the answer, and blocks your senses, including spiritually. S/he then heavily touted faith, prayer, and wholesome nutrition as treatments. The truly ironic part, to me, is that the commenter later said that they struggle daily, as does their spouse. Logically, that says to me that your treatment plan is not working. My gut reaction after reading this comment, was anger and frustration that someone would say those things at all, but especially to a group member who is in the OP's situation. 

I shared my feelings with Richard, and this was his response:

"you know what deadens you to the spirit? thinking that you are a worthless piece of crap and that everyone around you would be better off if you were gone or had never existed in the first place. That somehow a God, that is supposed to be perfect, made a mistake with you. That the atonement, no matter how far reaching, doesn't matter to you because even if it did apply to you, which it probably doesn't, you will refuse because you can never be worthy or deserving or comfortable with being in the presence of that God."

This, people, is why my husband and I take prescription antidepressants/anti-anxiety medications. Because the alternative, no matter how much sunshine, prayer, and organic quinoa and kale* ... the alternative is far uglier. 

In going back and rereading the OP and the following comments, I realize I judged the commenter somewhat harshly. But I am still frustrated that his/her overall tone was very condescending and anti-medication. Our society needs to stop looking at mental illness as a plague, and start looking at it as a treatable illness. If people suffering from depression and anxiety didn't feel so ashamed, I suspect more of them would seek treatment. If treatments were more readily available, we would possibly see a decline in many social ills. (I don't pretend or claim to be a sociologist or expert, so I'm not going to assume to know exactly what the solution is or what the numbers are/would be.)

Please, help me in reaching out and ending the stigma surrounding mental illness. I only really know about depression and anxiety, but I am very willing to talk about mine and my family's experiences. 

For my LDS friends, Pres. Uchtdorf's talk "A Summer with Great-Aunt Rose" and Elder Holland's talk "Like a Broken Vessel" are wonderful and inspiring to read or listen to. These are two that I go back to frequently. 

If you or anyone you know are struggling, please reach out to those around you. You are loved, you are needed, and you never know who is looking out for you each day. If you reach the point you don't think you can carry on, please call 911 and get help. There is no shame. The University of Utah offers a Crisis Outreach Program, you can find the details here. You can also call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. 

*For the record, I like both quinoa and kale. I apologize if my tongue-in-cheek comment offended my crunchier friends. You know I love you! 

1000 Miles, Week 2 (Oct. 23 - Oct. 29)

Just a quick Monday morning note, since I forgot to get on last night and post. Last week's goals were to drink 84 oz of water each day, do a 15 minute Betty Rocker video, and walk 6000 steps every day. So how did I do? The broken part of my brain wants to say I failed, because I didn't reach those goals. But the well part of my brain, which thankfully is becoming stronger than the broken part, says I may not have reached the goal numbers every day, but I win because I started my journey. Water consumption is very hard for me, so I'm carrying that goal over to this week. I did 4 workout videos last week, and will do day 5 today. I checked my fitbit profile, and apparently when I started reaching 6000 steps consistently (last month, probably) I upped my daily goal to 8000 steps. That takes a conscious effort for me, but I'm determined to do it this week at least 3 days.

Summary:
Last week, I give myself a C grade.

This week's goals:
84 oz water daily
15 minute workout video daily
8000 steps 3 days
2 servings each, fruit and veggies daily

Beginning weight: 195.6 lb
Today's weight: 194.4 lb
Total weight loss to date: 1.2 lb

A Journey of 1000 Miles

Hello Blogosphere. It's been almost exactly a year since my last post. Lots has happened since then; our family has settled into our new house, school, and ward. We're all making friends and finding our niche. I know I posted last year about fitness goals, and I failed spectacularly at them. This post will likely not be eloquent, as I'm feeling pretty emotional tonight.

June 2015, I ran a half marathon with my friend Amanda. We had trained together for 6 months, became very close friends (we call ourselves "sole" sisters) and Regan even calls Amanda her other mom! But we were both battling injuries after our race, and taking a month or two off to heal can do a number on your fitness level and motivation. So can moving - twice in one year. We had talked about doing more races this year, 2016, but never got into a consistent training routine. To be perfectly honest, I have been exceptionally lazy. It doesn't help that my depression and anxiety have kicked into high gear with the move, and with that comes fatigue. Bone-weary, draining, constant exhaustion. I'm working through some medication changes, and hopefully that will help me get past the worst of it this winter. Along with that, I'm starting a fitness routine again. I know that I feel better when I'm exercising regularly and eating well. But there's a large gap between knowing and doing.

Which brings me to my post tonight. I am setting aside time on each Sunday night, after my kids are all in bed, when I can write uninterrupted and update from the past week. This weekend I set some goals with Amanda, and we've decided to share our journey with you. As the title of this post says, we are embarking on a journey of 1,000 miles. One Thousand Miles. That's a lot. And the hardest mile is the first one. For me, anyway. But before even logging any miles, I needed a real look at myself. I took pictures and measurements, and I'm going to be very real and share the latter with you. You don't need pictures of me in my underwear though, trust me on that. :)

The plan this week is to increase water consumption, with the goal being 84 oz each day. I drink 12 oz Dr. Pepper a day to help keep migraines at bay, but I hope that I will be able to drop that with increased fitness. For now, the goal is 12 oz a day; I have had times where I will drink 48 oz a day, so this is already a big improvement over where I was a couple months ago. I signed up for a free 30 day workout course through Betty Rocker (you can find her here.) I will do the workout for Day 1 tomorrow, as well as reach my Fitbit goal of 6,000 steps per day.

So that is me, right now I am feeling pretty low and vulnerable, but also strangely optimistic. I'll update my measurements at the end of the 30 day Betty Rocker course, with the exception of weight, which I'll update weekly along with an analysis of the last week's goals, and declaration of the coming week's goals. I'll probably invite Amanda to write posts occasionally so you don't get tired of hearing me all the time (all 3 of you who read this!).

1,000 Mile Journey

Week 1: Oct. 16-Oct. 22

Height: 5'5"

Weight: 195.6 lb

Biceps:   L 13"     R 12.5"

Forearms:   L 11"     R 11.25"

Thighs:   L 27"     R 27"

Calves:   L 16.5"     R 17"

Waist: 41.5"

Hips: 44.5"

Bust: 43"

Accountability and Goals

I'm ba-ack!

After a long absence from the world of blogging, I'm returning with a favor to ask of any of my friends who follow this. Please hold me accountable.

I have set some fitness goals for the rest of 2015 and for 2016. I verbalized the goals to Richard, and my running buddy Amanda has them in writing. Because Facebook Messenger counts, right?

So here are my goals.
Long term, or by the 2016 holiday season:
- run 3-4 half marathons
- establish a consistent exercise routine
- follow the 12-week training outline emailed to me as part of training for the Yellowstone Half Marathon, beginning the last week of February

Short term, as steps toward achieving the long term:
- sign up for a membership at the local family fitness center
- follow a basic couch to 5k program, starting this week
- add 2 days of strength training to my weekly workout plan
- drink half my body weight in ounces of water each day
- log my food and activity on MyFitnessPal each day

It's humbling to me to put this out there for all to see, especially since I trained with Amanda this spring and successfully ran the Drop 13 Half Marathon in June. An injury from that training, combined with building a new house and moving my family twice, completely derailed my fitness attempts.

I really need to be held accountable in order to reach these goals, so I'm asking you, my friends, to encourage me and ask me about my goals. I will try to post successes each week, as part of my personal accountability.

Thank you all, in advance, for your love and support. My family and friends are my world, and I wouldn't be who I am today without each of you.

Chicken Enchilada Pie

Quick post tonight, to share one of my go-to, last-minute dinners*.

Ingredients, in no particular order:
Chicken, cubed and cooked with taco or similar seasoning. I prefer Pampered Chef's Chipotle rub.
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 cup milk, sour cream, or plain yogurt
Tortillas
1 can diced green chilies
Grated cheese

Combine cream of chicken soup with milk - or sour cream, or yogurt. Whatever you have on hand. Remember this is an easy go-to quickie, not an elaborate trip to the store. Add diced green chilies. Spread a little into the bottom of a glass pie pan. Stir chicken into remaining sauce.

Layer a tortilla with the sauce and chicken, ending with a tortilla. 

Sprinkle grated cheese over the top. 

Microwave for 5 minutes. I assume you microwave on high, or whatever your microwave default setting is. I'm not that technical.

And voilà, you have Chicken Enchilada Pie. My kids all like it, it's fast, it's easy, and I always have the ingredients on hand. That makes it a definite win in my book!

The quantities listed in the ingredients will make two enchilada pies. My family will eat about one and a half, sometimes all of it. If you won't eat two pies in one meal, you can freeze the second pie for later; or better yet, take it to a neighbor who needs a break from cooking for an evening.


*This recipe came to me through my mother in law, Patt, who got it from her good friend and our neighbor, Laurie Cline. Laurie teaches food sciences at a local junior high school.

Perfect Peach Pie

This is my second year as a home-owner, and therefore a yard-owner. Included in our purchase from my parents-in-law is a dwarf Lemon Alberta peach tree. It's so amazing to watch the tree blossom in spring, and brings a whole new meaning to the word "suspense," every time there is a chance of a spring frost or - gasp! - spring snow! I watched, agonized, and prayed over my little peach tree, and was blessed with an abundance of little green marbles after the blossoms all fell off. 

Last year I did some research about thinning peaches, to ensure a more even harvest from one year to the next, and also to allow each individual fruit to grow bigger. What I learned is to thin the peaches to one every 4-6 inches, when they are about the size of marbles. It seems like a lot of fruit being pulled before having a chance to grow, and it is. You're thinning easily at least half of what is on the tree. But the end result is worth it, with bigger fruit and not having to worry if this year is a year of plenty or a year of scarcity. After the thinning, it's just a waiting game. 

Knowing when the peaches are ripe isn't really too difficult; just watch for the birds to start flocking to the tree! Seriously though, I've been watching my little peach tree all summer as the fruit gets bigger, and slowly turned from green to rosy-yellow and gold. Every few days I'd check the fruit for tenderness, but they were still pretty hard and some even had green on them. Then, on Saturday, I picked one. The first peach! It was soft, and after I peeled the fuzzy skin off and sliced it, Richard and I tasted, and decided it was PERFECT. So I promptly grabbed a box and went out to pick more peaches. But then I realized, a lot of the peaches were still pretty firm; now, peaches will ripen off the tree, but I want to leave them there as long as possible. I bottle most of mine, so we can have fruit all winter and spring, so I don't want the fruit too soft, but I don't want it too green either. So I called my sister-in-law Rebecca, and she said that if the fruit comes off easily, without tugging, it's ripe. So that is my guideline for picking the peaches. 

The question then becomes, aside from bottling for winter, what do you do with all these fresh, beautiful peaches? You could make jam, syrup, but my favorite is a good, cold, cream cheese peach pie. Here is a recipe my family and I love.

Cream Cheese Peach Dessert

Ingredients:

about 2 dozen medium peaches, peeled and sliced*

2 1/2 sleeves graham crackers

1/3 cup sugar

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, melted

4 Tbsp cornstarch

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 cup water

4 Tbsp lemon juice

12-16 oz. cream cheese

1/2 cup powdered sugar

Crush graham crackers (I like to use the blender or food processor for this) and combine with 1/3 cup sugar and melted butter. Press into a greased 13x9 pan and place in the freezer to set. 

Combine cornstarch with 1 1/2 cups sugar, and add water, lemon juice, and 1 cup pureed peach slices. Bring to a boil, stirring frequently; boil until thickened and clear (see photo below). Remove from heat, cool.

Beat together cream cheese and powdered sugar, using more cream cheese if you like a thicker layer on the crust. Spread on the graham cracker crust, and top with remaining peach slices. Pour cooled puree over the top, and chill until ready to serve. 

So, there you have it. A delicious, no-bake, creamy, peachy dessert everyone will love.

*Blanch peaches for 60-90 seconds in boiling water, then transfer to cold water. This will make pitting and peeling much easier and faster. 

Bacon Bruschetta: A New Twist on an Old Favorite

I like bruschetta. I've never made bruschetta. Until today.

I was looking for a way to use the roasted garlic sourdough bread I picked up at Costco, and knew the kids wouldn't eat it regardless of what I put on it. So they got regular cheese toast and tomato soup, and Richard and I had a little slice of toasted heaven.

As I said, it started with the bread. I asked a friend for her bruschetta recipe from a get-together last summer, and in the meantime I did a basic Google search for a recipe. I found this: http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/bruschetta_with_tomato_and_basil/

It looked good, but I didn't have the exact ingredients. No plum tomatoes, but I did have grape tomatoes. So here's what I did.

1 dry pint grape tomatoes, roughly chopped in the food processor
6 leaves fresh basil, chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar
3-4 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled
Salt and pepper to taste

Mix all ingredients in a bowl, and spoon onto toasted slices of roasted garlic sourdough bread. If you aren't using bread with garlic in it, crush 2-3 cloves into the tomato mixture.

That's it. My own variation on a recipe, and some creative measurements, and the result is delicious!

You're welcome.

Teriyaki Chicken, Sassy Grandmas, and How I Met Gollum

It all began on a winter's day in Logan, Utah, on the southeast portion of the campus of Utah State University. I had a new roommate, Emily, who had just moved in the week before; she's a couple years younger than I, and I felt myself much more mature and superior. Why? Because she was frivolous and I was serious. Not to worry, I have since learned the value of frivolity.

The front door of our apartment opened onto a long hall, with three bedrooms off to the right, and the split bathroom opening onto the left; the kitchen and living room were at the end of the hall. So as I walked in, I had a direct view into the kitchen. Here's a rough diagram: the bedroom I shared with Emily is the purple, the other two bedrooms are yellow; bathrooms are green, and the kitchen/living area is blue.

On this particular day, I came in from class and Emily was in the kitchen cooking. She introduced me to her friend Michelle; they had gone to high school together and Michelle's presence in Logan was a big motivator for Emily's recent arrival. They asked me to come help them with their chicken, they were trying to imitate a teriyaki chicken recipe from a restaurant they were familiar with. Emily knew the sauce included brown sugar, soy sauce, and water, but was unsure about proportions so they were winging it. We kept tasting it until it tasted about right, by which time we had about a half gallon of sauce. At least. 

(The "correct" recipe proportions are at the bottom of the post.)

The second time I met Michelle - I think, I may have my timing mixed up - was again on a day when I walked into the apartment after class and the two other girls were in the kitchen. Emily had located Michelle's Nalgene water bottle, which Michelle was extraordinarily attached to, and had apparently been missing, and tossed it to her. Michelle's response was an enthusiastically shouted: "My precious!" This occurred just as I walked in the door, and as the Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers had just come out the month before, my instant geek response was, "When did Gollum move in?" Luckily for me, Michelle is a fellow geek and laughed, and the nickname stuck.

 

I look back on that semester as one of the best 4 months of my college career. As I got to know Emily better, I came to realize that while her body is two years younger than mine, her spirit is far older and wiser. There were many, many times I went to her for comfort and advice, and I still look up to her as a wonderful example of friendship and spirituality. 

Michelle didn't originally live in the apartment with us, but the roommates she did have were not the greatest. She was very uncomfortable in her apartment, so we invited her to stay with us. She slept on the floor of mine and Emily's bedroom, did her laundry in our building, studied and ate with us. The campus housing rules stated that guests couldn't stay for more than 3 nights without written permission, so every 4th night Michelle returned to her apartment. This went on for the last two months or so of the semester. There were many late-night giggle fests and confidences exchanged; I still don't know how we managed to stay up until 2:00 am on a Tuesday night and then get up for an 8:00 class on Wednesday. But we did. Regularly.

We spent a lot of time together the following summer, as we were dating three brothers from our student ward, but after that summer I didn't see the other two girls quite as much. They lived together that fall, but I moved to an off-campus housing complex. That winter Emily married the brother she had been dating, Tim; I moved home supposedly to go on a mission (that's a story for another post); Michelle finished her Bachelor's from Utah State (if I remember right, she'll correct me if I'm wrong) and then moved back to Salt Lake to attend the University of Utah. 

Moen Hall, room 302, was a long time ago; or so it seems some days when I look at my kids and how much they've grown in the years since. But when I talk to Emily or Michelle on the phone, or we get together (far too rarely!), it's like no time has passed. It always feels that way, no matter how long it's been since we've talked or seen each other. That, to me, is the mark of true and lasting friendship. True friends don't require regular check-ins or keep track of who visited who last; they just love each other and are there when needed. I am forever grateful for the blessing of a new roommate, and an "illegal" roommate, who changed me for the better.

I look forward to many more years of friendship and laughter with these two wonderful women, and hope that our kids will be friends as well. Emily related a story once about one of her grandmas, specifying that it was her "sassy grandma," not her sweet grandma. I don't remember the story, but we laughed and promised that when we are old we will be roommates again, or at least neighbors, and be the sassiest bunch of grandmas anyone's ever known. Until then, we content ourselves with Facebook memes, text messages, and occasional get-togethers.

Teriyaki Chicken

This is one of those meals that I don't have a specific recipe for. The original ratio of brown sugar to soy sauce is 1 cup:1 tablespoon. I personally prefer more soy sauce, so I use 2 tablespoons; give or take, I don't actually measure. Add just enough water to dissolve the sugar, and pour over cooked chicken pieces. You can cube and brown chicken, or use shredded chicken that's been cooked ahead of time. I buy boneless, skinless chicken breasts in bulk and cook them overnight in the crock pot on low; they are easy to shred and freeze in recipe-sized portions the next morning. 

Pour the sauce over the cooked chicken, and serve with steamed rice; vegetable stir-fry makes a great side dish.

For those who prefer ingredients and measurements:

2 chicken breasts

1 cup brown sugar

1-2 tablespoons soy sauce

2 cups water

rice, cooked

Cube chicken and saute in non-stick skillet. In separate bowl, combine brown sugar, soy sauce, and water. Pour sauce over the cooked chicken and heat through; simmer until the sauce reaches the desired consistency. Serve over hot rice.

March: In like a lion, and how I lost my gallbladder

There's a common saying many of us learn as children about the month of March: "In like a lion, out like a lamb." Or, "In like a lamb, out like a lion." The point is that March typically starts with one weather extreme and ends with the opposite. Welcome to springtime in Utah! Well, for me personally, March certainly started like a lion.

It all started with cooking dinner. I had volunteered to take dinner to a friend Saturday evening, March 1st; I also invited my parents over for dinner. I made bbq pork ribs in the crock pot, some homemade cornbread, applesauce, and brownies for dessert. My mom contributed coleslaw. Since Richard had been out of town for the last few days, this was the biggest meal I had cooked (or eaten) for a few days. I will be the first to admit I have very little self control around good food, so I ate a tad more than I should have that evening. By 11:00 I was certainly feeling overly full, and decided it was time to go to bed and sleep off the discomfort.

After an hour or so of tossing and turning, I started feeling nauseous, and spent the next few hours in and out of the bathroom attempting to converse with the porcelain throne. Contact was finally made around 4 am Sunday morning, after which the stomach pain abated some and I was finally able to grab a couple hours of sleep before the kids woke up. We stayed home from church that day as I was definitely not up to going, Richard and Joel both said they had headaches, and Eliza felt like she was coming down with a cold. I chalked my illness up to overeating and didn't think anything more of it, other than to shy away from the leftover brownies.

The week progressed as usual, with school and work and play, until the wee hours of Thursday morning, March 6. I woke up around 3, 3:30 with identical stomach pain to what I had had the previous Saturday night. The pain was very intense in my upper stomach, with a huge knot just under my right ribs. Having known people with gallbladder issues, thanks to Facebook and an international mommy group I belong to, I figured this is probably what the problem was. I did some checking with Dr. Google, just to double check my symptoms, and I was able to check off more than half of the symptom list.

By this time the pain was fairly intense . . . OK, it was worse than being in labor, to be honest. Contractions will at least come and go, and vary in intensity. Gallbladder attacks are constant, stabbing, sharp pain that does. not. quit. So I woke Richard up around 5 and asked him to take me to the emergency room, since I didn't feel up to waiting another 3 hours for the family doctor's office to open. He called my parents, and my dad came over to be there when the kids woke up. I told him not to worry about getting Joel and Eliza off to school, showed him where breakfast food was and which TV channels were OK to watch; we packed Regan up to go with us, since she wouldn't take a bottle and I didn't want my dad to have to worry about a crying baby along with the other kids.

Thankfully, IMC is about 5-7 minutes away from home, and the Emergency Room was empty when we walked in. I explained my symptoms, got my wristband, and was taken to a triage room and gowned up. When the nurse came in to start an IV and draw blood, I asked her if they see many patients with gallbladder pain, and she said they see loads. Then I asked if they (the hospital personnel) prefer patients to come to the ER or see their regular doctor for these episodes; the nurse responded that it is usually better to come to the ER since they have diagnostic tools and equipment right there on site, as well as access to better pain management medicine. This helped set my mind at ease about paying a ginormous copay for the ER rather than toughing it out until the regular doctor's office opened.

Richard used my phone to text one of the other carpool moms to drive kids to school, since it was our week to drive, and explained that I was in the ER with what looked like gallbladder pain. The ER doctor came in and after one brief conversation about my symptoms and listening to the description of both episodes, he came right out and said that's gallbladder alright. He poked and prodded my stomach a bit, which was all well and good until he got to the upper right quadrant where the pain was centered. OUCH! This only further confirmed his diagnosis, and he ordered an ultrasound to get an inside look. A tech came in with a portable ultrasound machine and jellied up my stomach; she did her thing, and was gone again in about 15 minutes with a promise that she would forward the information to the doctor as soon as she could.

Up until this point the pain had been fairly tolerable, I had even been conversing and joking with the nurse as she came in, but I think the doctor's prodding and the pressure from the ultrasound wand combined to set off a flareup that was more intense than anything I'd felt to this point. I had already had one dose of morphine and zofran, but the pain came back so suddenly and so intensely that I yelled at Richard to get me a puke bag, and he held my hair back out of my face and rubbed my back while I threw up. Which did nothing to help the pain. He called the nurse's station to request more medication, and the day shift nurse came in; he took one look at me and immediately went for more morphine and zofran. This repeated one more time, and after the third dose of medication I was finally able to settle back and rest somewhat comfortably.

The doctor came back in and said that the ultrasound showed gall stones, and explained that this is what caused the pain. The gallbladder is a storage pocket for bile, which is produced in the liver, and is then squeezed from the gallbladder to the stomach (or small intestine, I don't remember exactly which) to aid in digesting fatty, greasy, or otherwise hard to digest food. When the gallbladder contracts to release bile, it squeezes on the stones and causes horrible pain and nausea. The doctor explained that while it is possible to remove just the stones, it is not a viable long-term solution as more stones will form and then further surgery is required. So the best solution is to remove the gallbladder itself. I was told it's a fairly common surgery, and he knew a surgeon who operated out of St. Mark's Hospital who had an opening for a consultation that afternoon.

We went to a consultation and had repeated to us the function of the gallbladder and the symptoms and causes of gall stones and gallbladder disease. The surgeon explained the surgery to us, that it is done laporoscopically, which means smaller incisions, shorter recovery time, and is less invasive than traditional surgery. He explained the risks and possible complications and asked what we would like to do. After that morning's episode I was ready to go straight into an OR if necessary, since I absolutely did not want any further attacks. So we scheduled the surgery for Monday, March 10 and got the information for pre-registration, etc.

I notified friends and family (and Facebook friends, of course!) of the coming operation, but was surprised about how quickly the news spread throughout the ward. So many people at church on Sunday commented their surprise at my attendance, asked how I was feeling, and how they could help. I already had one good friend who had offered to bring dinner Monday after surgery, and I had lined up child care for that day as well. Several of the Young Women volunteered to come after school during the week, and the Compassionate Service Leader from the Relief Society called and lined up two more days' worth of dinners. I truly have felt so blessed and loved by the people around me!

Richard took me to St. Mark's Hospital early Monday morning; we arrived at 6 am for registration. Signed papers, paid a deposit, got the fancy wristband ID and went up the elevator to pre-op. I gowned up in what has to be the largest hospital gown I have ever worn, and got situated on the bed. The nurse came in and walked through the procedure for getting to the operating room, told Richard where he would wait, and drew some blood. By 7:30 I was in pre-op triage, meeting my OR nurse and anesthesiologist. I asked the anesthesiologist about breastfeeding after the surgery, and she said if I was comfortable with it I could feed Regan after one pump-and-dump, but didn't need to go longer than 12 hours. This was reassuring, as Regan absolutely refuses a bottle and I didn't want her to be too miserable all day. She started my IV, I kissed Richard, and he went one direction to the waiting room while I was wheeled another direction to the operating room.

Once in the operating room I transferred from the rolling bed to the operating table, which was much harder and narrower. My arms were extended to the sides and strapped down for ease of monitoring my vitals and maintaining anesthesia levels. That's the last thing I remember, until I woke up in the recovery room. I could hear nurses talking, but couldn't keep my eyes open for almost half an hour; I only know the length of time because there was a clock on the wall opposite my bed. I kept asking for water, the nurses said I kept saying "parched." My tongue was fuzzy and about three sizes too big, and I just felt so . . . parched. When I was able to stay awake and speak more coherently, I was moved back to the pre-op area where Richard was waiting for me. My IV was removed, I got dressed, got my discharge instructions and was wheeled out to the curb where Richard brought the car. I was home by about 11:30 or noon Monday.

So here I am, one day past surgery, with four small incisions: one in my belly button (they do that to minimize scarring, I guess) where they inserted a camera to see what they were doing; three just under my right breast where they did the dirty work. No stitches, just steri-strips under bandaids. The bandaids can come off tomorrow, the tape will come off on its own over the next week. I live in the recliner for now, with brief trips to the bathroom and kitchen. Richard brings Regan to me when it's time for her to eat, but I mostly just sleep off and on, watch TV, and try to read a little bit.

That's the story of how I lost my gallbladder, when March roared in like a lion. I sincerely hope and fervently pray the rest of the month will be uneventful and lamb-like. I am, however, somewhat grateful for the last 11 days and the lessons I have learned about self-restraint and over-indulging, as well as being humble enough to accept help when it is offered. I have also learned just how loved and blessed our family is by our friends and neighbors and ward members. I love being surrounded by so many wonderful people - not to mention good cooks! - and hope to be able to offer them service as well, to keep the wheel turning.

Grandma Groo's Corn Chowder

Today's post is a recipe from my dad's mom; it's one he grew up eating, and I love old-fashioned recipes, they are usually simple and yummy. Corn Chowder is really versatile; the main meat is hot dogs; or Polish sausages; or smoked sausages; or ham. I used a kielbasa sausage last time I made it, and it was super delicious! You can also easily play around with the amounts of meat and potatoes until you find the ratio that works for you. I like a lot of potatoes, personally. Just be sure you adjust the amount of liquids accordingly. I also don't add any salt or pepper, I think there's enough salt in the meat already; and since Richard doesn't like pepper too much, I just let each person add it to their bowl as they want or not. 
And now, the recipe as I got it from my mom, who got it from either my dad's sister or their mom; I'm not sure exactly which. 

Grandma Groo's Corn Chowder

3 slices bacon

4 hot dogs

1 medium onion, diced

4 medium potatoes, peeled and diced

1-15 oz. can whole kernel corn

2 tsp. salt

1/4 tsp. pepper

1/2 tsp basil

2 cups water

1 can evaporated milk

Brown bacon and cut into small pieces. .Add sliced hot dogs, brown lightly. Add onions, potatoes, corn (including liquid), seasonings, and water. Bring to a boil; cover and cook until potatoes are tender -- about 10-15 minutes. Add milk and heat through, but don't allow the soup to boil again.

CROCK POT DIRECTIONS

Add onions, potatoes, corn (including liquid), seasonings, and water to crock pot and cook on low until potatoes are done. Add browned, crumbled bacon and browned, sliced hot dogs with the evaporated milk during the last 30 minutes of cooking. 

I hope you enjoy this soup as much as I do, and have fun playing around with the different meats to find your family's favorite combination!

Happy New Year 2014!

I'm not sure who (if anyone) will read this blog, it's really just to give myself someplace to record events, anecdotes, and experiences. I will, however, start by introducing myself and my family. I am a 31-year old stay at home mom (SAHM) of 4 beautiful, funny kids whom I adore. Eliza and Joel are twins who just turned 7; they are in a 1st grade Spanish dual immersion program. CR is 3 1/2, he attends preschool twice a week at the local elementary school. Regan is not quite 3 months, and has a gift for making people happy. My husband is my best friend, and our friendship goes back 19 years to when we were both in the 7th grade. I will share our full dating/courtship story in another post; for now it's enough to say that we were married in August 2004 and it just keeps getting better. I tell people that when someone who watched you go through puberty wants to marry you anyway, you jump at the opportunity! And I'm ever so glad I did, I think we make a good team, and in spite of the difficulties that any married couple faces, we are strong together. 

Joel, Eliza, and CR with the gingerbread 

house we made for Christmas this year.

Regan, in one of her new Virginia Tech

Hokie shirts that she got for Christmas

from her Aunt Oreo.

We have two cats, Murphy and Tempe (Temperance). Murphy loves to be petted "on the go," and Tempe will let you know when she is ready for affection. Usually by nudging aside whatever you are currently working on, or laying on it, and purring until you pet her for as long as you can. The kids keep asking for a dog too, but that will have to wait a couple years until I no longer have a little baby to care for.

A very Murphy Christmas!

This blog is part of a goal I've set for myself, to better record in words and pictures my life. My kids frequently say hilarious things, as well as deep and insightful things, and I don't want to forget them. There may be introspective posts where I'm thinking "out loud" and working through my own questions or problems. There will be posts about food, hence the title of the blog. I have a goal in mind to start my family on a path to eating healthier foods, so I will post mealtime successes and failures, with pictures and recipes as frequently as I can. 

I am somewhat of a Facebook junkie, I admit I do spend quite a bit of time on there; you can find me under Kimberly Snelgrove. Horribly creative screen name, I know. As a SAHM, FB gives me a link to the outside world and a chance to interact with other adults on a regular basis. It certainly doesn't compare to an actual phone call, or better yet a visit, but it does give me a lifeline to hold on to. I am also a book junkie, and you will find me constantly in the middle of about 3 or 4 different books at a time. Currently those books are A Game of Thrones, Blood Song, Royal Apprentice (notice a fantasy theme here?) and Little House in the Big Woods, which I'm reading aloud to Eliza. I love to sew, but not on a machine; I'm still trying to learn that skill. Lately my focus has been on crocheting some carseat blankets for friends having babies this winter, and one of my goals for January is to finish crocheting a Tetris-themed afghan for Richard. Once the crocheting is done, I have some plastic canvas/needlepoint projects to finish for decorations next Autumn. I have a felt applique stocking to make for Regan for next Christmas, and at least half a dozen cross-stitch projects in some stage of progress. 

A carseat blanket for a friend; see the

slots for the seatbelt?

I am not an expert homemaker or housekeeper, but I am making an effort to improve. One of the Facebook groups I belong to is called "A Clean Slate" and is a support group for followers of the Flylady's cleaning philosophy (which you can find at http://flylady.net/). The focus is on baby steps, doing a little bit at a time, which works for me since I usually only have a few minutes here and there. I enjoy cooking, and especially baking, most especially for other people. Ironically, though, when Richard is working late and it's just me and the kiddos at home in the evening, it's hard to cook a full meal for some reason. Go figure.

I am an amateur gardener, 2013 was really my first attempt at a backyard garden. I had high hopes, since we had purchased our home from my parents-in-law and inherited a fantastic garden site along with it. The Snelgroves have always had a fabulous garden as long as I've known them, and since I diligently purchased the same varieties of plants as they have used, I expected great things. Alas, between being pregnant all summer and not understanding the watering system (or having any clue to what I was doing, really), the garden was a bit of a flop. We got a fair amount of beans and tomatoes, though, and the grapes and peaches did very well. I'm trying to convince Richard that it would be a good thing to buy a couple baby bunnies from a neighbor, so we have our own fertilizer machines for next season. He's not going for it so far. 

So that's me and my family, and my (second) first blog post. My original attempt at blogging was a miserable failure, so please ignore any other blogs found under my user name. I am trying to figure out how to delete the other blog entirely, but so far no luck. My husband is the computer guru in our household, not me. Feel free to accompany me on the blogging adventure, or to look me up on Facebook.