Friday, May 14, 2010

That Little Old Dock

I have been a terrible blogger this week. Truth is I wanted to tell you, my extended family, what has been weighing on my heart but for some reason I had a very difficult time writing it.

Turns out that what doctors thought was post-partum cardiomyopathy (heart failure brought on by pregnancy) may not be what I have/had at all. The Mr and I had our suspicions since day one that my immune system was to blame and we told everyone so. However, there was neither a person that took us seriously or the research to guide them so my diagnosis stood.

It turns out that I may very well have an immune system disorder in which your antibodies will attack your heart/lungs if a foreign body (fetus) is presented. This would also explain why my heart failure returned because with PPCM heart failure NEVER returns unless you were to get pregnant again.

I was told to have another child would be fatal therefore doctors recommended a hysterectomy. Now, if this new diagnosis is correct, I could have had more children biologically.

A firm believer in everything that's meant to be will happen, I know if anything had been different, we wouldn't have our little Kyrgyz princess and I simply can not imagine a life without her in it.

With that being said though, the choice was taken away from me. If I wanted today to have another biological child, well, I can't.

It sucks.

The one place that could ease this pain is home. Home in Michigan, 2000 miles away, where in the backyard lies a humble little dock extending over a pond. I want nothing more than to dangle my feet over it's edge and watch the movement of the water distort images of trees and birds.

All of my problems growing up were pondered on that dock. Oh those problems seemed so big at the time; boys, mean girls, bad grades. I needed nothing more than a little time on that dock and I would have a certain inner peace about life. It is a magical little place.



My life reflects the life of that little dock. I've faced the harsh elements and they've left their scars and splinters. The elements may rock and weaken it's boards but because it was built with care and purpose, it will withstand the test of time.



This was the dock that built me.

3 comments:

  1. I'm speechless, except to say that I am praying for you with all my heart.

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  2. The memories of all that happened on that dock are ever so clear in my mind. Today it is so very hard to look out and see that dock with nothing on it but a duck or two and maybe a neighbor here and there. I long to see some of our family on it once again. Maybe your being called to come to that dock even if for a few short days. If you can't, close your eyes for a few hours and imagine yourself sitting there and let your mind go to where it needs to go and make peace so that you can move on.

    There is a purpose for each one of us in life and I believe that it was meant to happen this way for you. 10 years later I'm still wondering how in the world you got 2,000 miles away from home, I never dreamed that it was going to turn out like that. But again, I believe it was meant to happen that way, for a reason!

    May God bless you sweetheart and keep you in His care! Love Mom X0

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  3. Wow Kelli....I am speechless to...and a little bit embarrassed. I only read your first post today but then I went back and read your profile. That is where you talked about heart failure and that is what got me reading your post about "That Little Old Dock".

    I just wanted to say that I am so sorry you are going through all of this. I will keep you and your family in my prayers every night.

    Again, I am just so sorry but I am so glad that you have a place like "That Little Old Dock" to go back to either physically or in your mind, if you can't do the first option. I certainly don't envy anything you are going through, but I do wish I had a place like "That Little Old Dock". But I don't....

    You are an inspiration to many. Perhaps that is why God chose you to go through this, so that you may teach others.

    Take Care,
    Michele

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