Listen to your body.

This is probably me oversharing, but I'm a millennial, so let's just play into the stereotype for this post. 

It's no secret that I'm dramatic. I'm the youngest of four and being dramatic is just who I am. My anxiety also manifests itself in being a hypochondriac.

My mom's response to my hypochondria was always "You're the expert on your body. If you need to see a doctor, see a doctor." 

Even as an adult, people always say to listen to your body. Well, I thought I had, but apparently other people didn't want to listen. 

In June of 2017, after sharing concerns with my gynecologist, she begrudgingly ordered an ultrasound where they found a mass on my left ovary. Cysts are not new to me--I had my first one rupture at 14. However, cysts are typically fluid filled, not solid. My mom came to the follow up appointment with me, and I left in tears. The doctor essentially told me that the formation of this solid mass was my fault due to lifestyle choices. When my mom and I brought up PCOS or endometriosis, things that are in our family history, we were again dismissed and I was made to believe that I had somehow caused my body to form this mass. We were advised to take the "watch and wait" approach due to my age. I was told they "could" operate, but there was a strong chance I'd lose my left ovary, something that is scary to hear at 24 years old.

In December 2017, I saw a different doctor who ordered a CT scan. The scan revealed that the mass hadn't grown, but they did note a small cyst on the right side. Again, I was told to watch and wait. When I mentioned the pain I was in each month, I was told to continue taking advil because "most women are in pain each month." 

After getting on my own health insurance in January of this year, I researched local gynecologists and found one with excellent reviews. I saw the PA at the office in July and finally felt like someone saw and heard me. She asked if I'd been in pain and if I'd like something stronger than advil for the pain. I declined because honestly, at this point I was used to it. An ultrasound revealed that the cyst on the right had grown to 7cm, and I was asked to come back in 6 weeks. In August, the cyst had grown to 9.5cm and the doctor recommended surgery for removal, and I was prescribed a low-level pain pill. 

I, of course, initially declined the surgery. It wasn't until the doctor came in and said she would recommend her own daughter get the surgery that I took her seriously. After consulting my mom, I scheduled the surgery for Thanksgiving break since I didn't want to miss work. 

God, and my body, had other plans. After a 6 hour ER visit in September in which my doctor believed my ovary twisted on itself and untwisted again, the surgery was moved up to yesterday, October 29th.

At my pre-op two weeks ago, I was informed that my surgeon wanted to remove both the large cyst and the solid mass. When I brought up my concerns about losing one ovary, she told me she completely disagreed with the other doctors I had seen and she was confident she could preserve both ovaries. 

Yesterday was the big day, and upon going in to remove both the cyst and the mass, the surgeon found both ovaries covered in endometriosis, and the solid mass on my left side was an endometrioma- a mass filled with endometrium. The pain I'd been experiencing for years wasn't "normal." The pain was legitimate and there was a cause behind it. I have a family history of endometriosis and nothing I did (or didn't do) caused it. 

My doctor said she is so glad we went in when we did. Although not life-threatening, endometriosis can cause some serious problems and can cause infertility if left untreated, and if it had continued to grow, we would be looking at some other complications. 

I am so grateful to this doctor and her insistence on surgery and her professional opinion. Although I'm sore and in pain from being pumped full of carbon dioxide, it is such a relief to hear that I wasn't overreacting to this pain for so long. I'm so excited to get through this week of recovery and go on to hopefully be pain free(ish) moving forward. 

I'm blessed by a mom who works in the medical field and can translate "doctor speak" into something I can understand. I'm blessed by a fiance who has been an excellent nurse these last two days. Let's just say it's a good thing he wants to marry me because he can't un-see anything from these last two days ; ).  I'm thankful for an incredible support network of family and friends who are also co-workers and are taking good care of this anxious teacher's kiddos. 

Standing Up.

If I'm honest, things lately have just felt...complicated, and a lot of that is wrapped up in going back to school. 

Last year I lost my teaching fire. It was a combination of a lot of things, but every day I just went home never feeling like enough. I didn't feel enough in my classroom, in my relationships with students, and in the reviews/feedback I was given. There were a few weeks back in March where I truly thought I wouldn't return to the classroom. 

And that terrified me. 

I know everyone says that you shouldn't let teaching be part of your identity, but I'd like you to find an educator who can honestly say that they keep their identity separate from their career. 

So feeling like I wouldn't return to my classroom--the one place where I felt like I truly belonged--was heartbreaking. I had no idea what I was going to do. 

Through prayer and grace, I decided to step down from a leadership position, and that helped lighten the load. 

My focus for year 5 was that I wanted to get my fire back. It is my last year as Ms. Rivard before I gain a new last name (and so much more) next summer. I feel at home in my classroom, but second guess a lot of other aspects of my teaching career. I realized that last year I spent so much time worrying about the administrative side of teaching that I didn't have the bandwidth to focus on my relationships with students--my very reason for teaching. I vowed that this year would be different. 

Imagine my disappointment when I'd been summoned for grand jury duty back in June. My reporting day was today. If selected, I would have to miss two days of work a month for six months. I thought, "Really, God? I’m trying to get my fire back and now you're saying I could miss 12-13 days of work? How am I going to create these relationships with my students if I'm not there?" 

It may seem silly, but I lost sleep over this. My anxiety has already been bad with going back to work and adjusting to the new school year, to add that stress on top...my brain just couldn't settle down at night. I was so worried when I showed up for jury duty this morning. As they began to describe our responsibilities, they said we'd hear several murder cases, rape cases, and child abuse/child sexual abuse cases. I was freaking out in my seat. I can watch the occasional crime show, but the child abuse/child sexual abuse had my heart racing. 

I know what triggers my PTSD, and I was triggered. I knew I would never be able to make level headed responses in situations where children and other victims were involved. I just kept sitting there thinking "I trust you, God. I trust you." 

The judge began to ask for hardship excuses such as being a sole provider for a family member who is dependent, health concerns, etc. I texted Brian during the break, and he told me I needed to speak out about my PTSD. 

Now, my close family and friends know the true inner-workings of my PTSD, and I can sit behind a computer screen and talk about it because I'm not looking at anyone, but to tell other strangers...? (Did I mention you had to stand in front of a selection panel of 13 people and a room full of 100+ others?) No. Thank. You. I told Brian that my PTSD wasn't a hardship and God would help the panel make the right decision. 

As I sat in my seat, my heart was pounding and I was shaking uncontrollably. The next thing I knew, I was standing up to go up front. 

There are about two distinct times in my life that I can say the Holy Spirit moved through me and pushed me forward, and today marks the third. 

I stood in front of the panel and 100+ other people and said that I had PTSD from a childhood trauma, and I was concerned about the nature of the crimes and the impact they would have on my mental health and my ability to make sound judgments. The judge said she worked in the mental health division and applauded my self-awareness. Just like with everyone else who explained a hardship, she said that she would take my concern under advisement. 

I was shaking and in tears. That is hands down probably one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. 

I was excused by the grace of God. 

Now, is there a chance I still would've been excused had I not stood up? Yes, but I think God used this entire experience to teach me a lesson. Sometimes I don't need to fight so hard or wait for some "sign" about something. In this scenario, He used my PTSD for something good that helped calm me. He is so, so good to me. 

Because my dad was an attorney and later a judge, I was missing him something fierce through this whole process. I wanted to know exactly what would be expected of me. It's hard enough planning the wedding without him, so this was another layer. 

I came home to flowers from Brian. He told me how proud he was of me for doing something I was so afraid of, and he was proud I stuck up for myself. These beauties can be seen here: 

Do you see the one flower that isn't like the rest? My dad used to give my mom, my sisters, and me yellow roses. My sisters each had one in their wedding bouquets, and I will have one in mine. I asked Brian if he requested the yellow rose. He said no and he hadn't noticed it until getting the flowers into the car. When he saw it, he smiled, just like I did. 

Not only was God beside me and walking with me today, my dad was too. 

Grief.

Grief is a funny emotion. It's funny in its complexity and its fluidity.

Grief is complex and fluid because it never goes away. When you're grieving and someone tells you that "it gets easier," the "it" they're referring to is life moving on. Day by day it gets a little easier to continue on in life without that person. However, grief itself never gets easier. It ebbs and flows, but it is always there.

Grief can hit you in the happiest of times because joy is a vulnerable emotion. If you've ever lost a loved one, you know that you can experience one of your happiest moments (like your boyfriend proposing) and feel exuberant joy, and within seconds there is a part of you that is sad and lonely.

The vulnerability of joy is why I'm writing this post about grief. Brian proposed just over two weeks ago. As we celebrated with each other and with our friends and family, I couldn't help but think that parts of me were missing- my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa. But grief turned it's ugly head and I pushed those emotions to the side to continue on with the celebrations.

It wasn't until Saturday when we looked at a venue and the manager kept mentioning the things my dad would do that I realized a part of me wasn't OK. "When your dad sees you in your dress..." "When your dad walks you down the aisle..." "When you do the father/daughter dance..."

Over the last 20 years I've grown accustomed to people assuming my dad is alive and well, and I can typically brush those comments to the side. I know this person only had the best of intentions as they made those comments, but it immediately turned me off to having my wedding there. I didn't realize it until later that evening when talking about why I wasn't so sure about that venue that I put two and two together.

The truth is, I accepted long ago that my dad wouldn't be able to do those things, but I thought my grandpa would. He was alive for my sisters' weddings, and I always assumed he'd be around for mine. I assumed he'd be the one to walk me down the aisle alongside my mom; I assumed he'd do the father daughter dance with me. And because grief is fluid, it swallowed up grieving the both of them and resulted in anger, frustration, and disappointment.

As I sit and try to think of ways to honor those I've lost on my wedding day, it just barely begins to fill the void. Even honoring them is a reminder of their absence.

Almost every married couple tells me and Brian to relax and enjoy this season because it's such a sweet season. As much as I want to do those things (and I will do those things), it's also a hard season because it's a constant reminder of three people I don't have with me.

I find myself not wanting to think about other venues because I don't want to deal with the assumptions. But I will deal with them. I will smile and nod my head as if my dad will be there to see me in my dress, walk me down the aisle, and dance with me because it's just easier that way.

I know the answer most people want to give is that my dad, grandma, and grandpa will be there with me in spirit, and believe me I know that, but it doesn't make it any easier.

I don't know what this season of engagement hold for me and Brian. I am excited for us. I am excited to start my life with someone who loves me so well. But at the same time, it's all just very bittersweet. If you're in a grieving season, just know that you're not alone.

Smile, God loves you!