A few weeks ago, I sprained my ankle playing church league softball. It was awful; the swelling and bruising were an eye opener. I took this unfortunate event as a reason to slow down. Every day is a constant struggle, aside from overwhelming grief. Life is busy, plain, and simple. If I'm ever catching up with an old friend, the common phrase stumbles out of my mouth, sometimes before or sometimes after them, whoever gets to it first. Life is busy. Not a single day passes without the urge to complete necessary chores around the house, recalling when the next oil change is due, do the kids have all their school supplies, are they signed up for activities, are they sighed for the right activities, and can I keep the times right. You're shaking your head in agreement as you read this. Life is busy. There's no way around it; there's no denying it.
Life gets the best of us, and the daily chores feel unending. I was forced into depending on others to help me do life when I was laid up. Relying on others' help with things isn't something I've had to do since Archer passed. The rude awakening dependence was a feeling of anger. I had a hard time accepting it, let alone being satisfied with the help I got. That makes me sound cruel, and that wasn't my intention. It's the feeling of being trapped that brings on dissatisfaction. I sucked it up, and my family and friends came through just as expected. People are so generous with their actions. My point is that this unfortunate event that left me in a big boot on some of the hottest days of the year softened my heart. I hadn't realized how shelled up my heart had been. To protect myself from fear or pain, I closed myself off a bit.
When you receive a sign to slow down, gracefully accept it and do as he asks. God was trying to tell me to let them back in, Katie. Find peace in those who surround you. Don't avoid the love of others. Allow yourself to feel and know that I will always lead the way. That's what I've heard and felt lately. Archer is likely cheering in heaven because I listened instead of ignored. Ignorance is bliss, right? As if I could just ignore my feelings and tuck them away. I was expecting complete control over my emotions. That sounds like a concoction for disaster. I have to remind myself I'm not always in control, and that's ok. I don't need to be. I have a much higher power in charge, and I'd rather have him in control than me anyways.
Despite my close mindset, I managed to complete two more graduate classes for my nurse practitioner degree. One class, in particular, was awful. I had never imagined spending that much time for one course reading and completing multiple assignments. My family is so patient with me. I'm just now realizing why I failed to make dinner many evenings this summer. I never had the time or motivation.
Once again, this month, all of us parents banded together for annual mayo appointments. I feel so blessed that we have such an amazing relationship with co-parenting. We are better off friends than enemies, and we all realized that importance early on. Avery continues to do fantastic with her condition. Her POTTs shunt saved her life. Otto continues to show no signs of pulmonary hypertension. We are phighting the battle and committed to moving past this diagnosis and soaring into new scientific findings as our family consistently learns more about this disease. We asked for the POTTS shunt when Archer was diagnosed, but again, nobody listened.
Brandt and I have not received the investigation from the hospital that we have been pushing for. I've questioned his treatment since he coded on January 7th, 2022. I've known the happenings that occurred for a long time and am certain things should have been done differently. We are consistently in close contact with our cardiologist, patient representative, and board members. I feel confident that the investigation will conclude with a formal meeting. However, this wait is excruciating. If a parent loses their child, they have the right to know what happened, not to mention the right to an explanation. The feeling after losing a child is unexplainable; the words are not there, that's because no spoken words can convey the true heartache of a grieving parent. It is just that, unexplainable. At what point do Brandt and I stop waiting for this investigation summary to be shared? We have to ask ourselves, as parents, how do I make them hear me? How do I best portray myself in a professional manner while controlling the emotional turmoil swallowing me up inside? There's no correct answer for that other than to remember I'm not in control of this. I'm patiently waiting, Lord. I am waiting to know the summary, waiting to accept the next step in this process. I'm listening, I'm sharing, and I'm opening up.
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