Diabetes: 19 Years and Counting

March 3, 2019March 3, 2019 / Amanda / 7 Comments

I was 13. Barely into middle school, and struggling to figure out who I would become.

On top of the usual early teen troubles, one of my best friends moved to another state not far into the fall semester of seventh grade. I was devastated. Much of my time was spent struggling to figure out school sports, and puberty, and the navigation of cliques. I had friends from church, but they attended a different school, so I felt mostly alone. That first semester was mostly awful. Awkward. And, unbeknownst to me, pushing me into a new time of life. A new challenge and different struggles.

January of 2000 brought the fear of the ‘Y2K’. Anyone alive at the time remembers the widespread panic and anticipation for New Year’s Eve. We spent the evening at my Grandparent’s house in the country. My grandparents had stocked up on supplies and were prepared for the chaos. They had a wind turbine/generator well before they became a popular site around the state. Luckily, nothing catastrophic happened, as the clock turned up midnight, and we progressed into the new year without too much fanfare.

It seemed the danger had passed, but not long into the new year I was stricken with an illness. Mom and Dad traveled to Wichita to visit Dad’s endocrinologist. They were only gone about 24 hours, but it was 24 hours that I found myself in a downward spiral.

At that time, my Dad had been diabetic for less than ten years. He and Mom had dived into his diagnosis with gusto. Not long after his diagnosis they found themselves co-chairs of the local chapter of the American Diabetes Association’s support group. My Aunt had been a diabetic since childhood, and my Grandpa was also recently diagnosed, so the disease was not necessarily an unknown challenge for him.

All four of us girls used to travel to the hospital with them a couple of times a month and spend an hour or two coloring, reading and (mostly) keeping quiet while they worked with diabetics of all ages. They learned, they shared, and they also planned fundraising events. They worked on learning about food, and alternative care. What they hadn’t anticipated doing, was educating their oldest daughter on the symptoms and warning signs of a disease that was prone to striking children.

Frequent urination. Exhaustion. Weight loss. Drinking lots of water.

All of these things are signs of Type 1 Diabetes.

So, it wasn’t until the day my Dad left for his quarterly doctor’s visit that it struck me that I was exhibiting some signs of the disease. I spent the day of their return in a state of utter panic. I couldn’t let my grandparents know what I was afraid of, because I was too afraid of being right. Deep down I knew it was more than a cold. Deep down I knew that my life was about to change forever.

Mom and Dad arrived home late that evening. All of us girls were supposed to be in bed.

Terrified, I got up for some water, and to use the restroom. A sore throat had set in along with exhaustion in the prior days, and I greeted Mom and Dad at the door. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but I do remember collapsing into tears over my fears. They assured me I was probably overreacting, but that we’d check my blood sugar, just to make sure.

I was no stranger to a finger stick. In the years since Dad was diagnosed we participated in a study at the clinic my Dad frequented in Wichita. They were observing children of adults with the disease. The first step was to do a blood test, looking for antibodies… to what? I have no idea. But my sisters all passed the test. I got held up and made it to round two. Round two consisted of drinking a sugar solution and getting your sugar level tested. Looking back, it was quite similar to the test they do for gestational diabetes. Luckily, I passed round two and got booted from the study before it kicked into high gear, but I do recall lots of pricks and pokes, so that was nothing new.

Dad got out his meter and a clean lancet and we tested my sugar. Somewhere in the 300’s, my sugar was very high, but not enough to warrant a trip to the ER since I wasn’t exhibiting dangerous symptoms. I remember Dad pulling me into his lap as I cried. He and Mom somehow held it together while our world came crashing down around us. We stayed up fairly late talking about what the next day might bring.

Early the next morning Mom made an appointment at our pediatrician. My sisters went to school. Dad met us at the doctor for a blood test.

The a1c test confirmed our fears. I was in the early stages of diabetes. Most children diagnosed with the disease end up in ICU for a couple of days, but my early education saved me from the worst. We sat down with a nurse at the hospital who walked me through giving myself an injection. I remember practicing on an orange. I learned to mix insulin, test my sugar, test for ketones in my urine, as well as how to recognize and treat a low blood sugar.

It was a big day, but lucky/unlucky for me, I was also diagnosed with strep throat, so they put me on antibiotics and wouldn’t let me go back to school right away. Having perfect attendance, or close to it, was always a goal of mine, so I was particularly devastated to be kept from school. But, learning to control my new disease was very important.

After two days at home a classmate got worried and called to find out if I was okay. They’d heard rumors that I was very sick. This friend brought homework to me so I could catch up, and looked forward to my return to school. I don’t think she knows to this day that her support was the single best thing that happened to me in that time. Someone cared. Someone noticed.

My return to school was somewhat like that of a celebrity. An absence and then return with all kinds of equipment, and a strict regimen of nurses visits, along with snacks and shots, was something of a novelty for the kids in my class. I remember trying to explain things to friends and acquaintances, but I never really felt like they understood. The worst part was getting all of the stories about grandparents who had legs and feet amputated, or went blind. Let me tell you… that’s the single worst thing you can greet a newly diagnosed Type 1 diabetic with, the exact opposite of a success story, and likely the story of a Type 2 diabetic at that!

An evening at the homecoming dance didn’t even allow a reprieve from diabetes. As a teen I usually wore my pump and supplies at my waist. It wasn’t exactly cool to copy the style of a middle-aged Dad, but it wasn’t exactly avoidable unless I wanted to wear a purse 24/7.

So, what brings me to this story today? It’s been just over 19 years since my diagnosis. February 8th is a day I’ll always remember. It’s a day to celebrate, to mourn, and to ask God for another year of good health. I must admit, I am not usually one to notate special days on the calendar. I try hard to remember birthdays, but I rarely note the date of “terrible” events. I can’t tell you when my Grandma passed, but I know it was July. I also have started to forget what date my dog passed, even though it was such a short time ago. But, I prefer not to mark these dates.

I CHOOSE to remember my diagnosis.

It’s the date my life changed forever.

It’s the date that put me on the path to meeting my husband.

It’s the date that would cause me to consider adoption as a future option for building a family. People think it was a recent development, but it actually happened long before I married a fellow Type 1.

It’s a date that really marked a transformation in my life. It’s the first time I had to become fully and completely reliant upon God.

A few years before I was diagnosed, Philippians 4:13 became my battle cry. I could say that I’m not sure exactly why, but I’d be lying. I know He gave me the verse just before I’d need it most.

When the disease beats me down, He lifts me up.

When I realize that no amount of control-freak attitude and determination is going to keep my blood sugars under 200? He reminds me that we have grace to save us.

When I’m struggling to get my butt up off the couch and do a little exercise to counteract the hot chocolate I just downed? He reminds me that a little insulin will help, and that perfection isn’t attainable on this earth. So stressing out over it isn’t going to help matters in the slightest.

As I wrote this post I went looking for pictures specific to my disease. I found none, and yet every picture depicts the disease. It’s simply a part of me. I’ll leave you with this picture from a day I spent in the hospital for a clinical trial appointment. A day I felt particularly proud to be a diabetic. Helping doctors and drug companies conduct research has become another important part of who I am. Maybe some day we’ll have a cure, but for now we’ve got an amazing amount of drugs, equipment, and technology that have helped me live nearly twenty years with minimal signs of damage from this disease.

A Post About a Man

January 30, 2019 / Amanda / Leave a comment

Some of you will laugh at this. Some of you may roll your eyes.

In August I wrote a long (don’t ask me how long) post about my dog within a week of his death. That was five months ago. And though we lost Brett’s Grandpa only a few days later, I can’t seem to find the words.

Both experiences were painful. But writing about a dog is significantly easier than writing about a person. Especially when that person was particularly private and humble about his life. Especially his achievements.

So… here we are, five months later. I didn’t want to do any more writing until I could sum up our feelings about our loss of such a wonderful man. A man who put his family above all else. A man who led a company to success. A teenager who went off to war to fight for a country he loved, amidst great uncertainty. And after returning poured his heart and soul into a community he loved. He was a man who honored his parents and taught the same values to his own children. And most recently, he was a man who spent much of his last few years making sure his family was prepared for his eventual departure from this earth.

And yet… the departure was still unexpected. After being fooled, for a week or so, into thinking we’d have more time with him, our Father called him home. And I know without a doubt that my sweet little lab was waiting to go to the farm with him when he crossed through those pearly gates.

Not a day has gone by when we don’t laugh over the memories, or feel a little lost without his advice…

The Little Engine that Could

September 24, 2018 / Amanda / 1 Comment

It’s been a month and a half since I started writing this post. I let you all know it’d be a few days before I was back. That it would be a few days before we felt recovered from all that happened mid-August. I guess I lied.

I’ve never lost a dog before. Not one that slept by my bed (or in my bed). One who depended on me to feed and bathe him. To let him outside. To love him.

I hate that I haven’t had time or energy to write these past few weeks. This blog is supposed to be a journal of our lives and a reference for a birth mother some day. So, for that woman, here’s the story of our first child…

In October of 2009 my sister-in-law called to say she had found a dog in the countryside. Lost, starving, and scared. She picked him up and brought him home. Since she was coming home from school over the weekend, she loaded him up and brought him to Junction City.

He was short, scrawny and a little bit skittish. His ribs showed through his skin and his head seemed massive in proportion to his body. But with food, time and love all of that changed. Brett spent weeks bonding with him, and though our initial goal was to locate his people, it wasn’t long before we realized his people were long gone and that we loved him too much to let him go.

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You can see how skinny he was in the picture above where my father-in-law is feeding the dogs treats

Fast forward nine years. We’ve been on road trips, and camping trips, and to the farm too many times to count. Squirt’s favorite word initially was “farm”. There’s been popcorn aplenty. And in the last few months, really all of the last year, there’s been lots of medication, vet visits and pain… mostly in our hearts, but here at the end a little bit on his part as well.

About a month and a half ago he made it clear that it was time to let go, so we have. Reluctantly.

A few Squirt stories…

He got his name because initially he “squirted” on everything. He was a fully intact male and wanted everyone to know it. I came up with the name on a whim despite, my father-in-law, Tom’s reluctance to let us keep him. I remember him giving his wife and kids a direct order, “do NOT name this dog. We’re not keeping him!” He didn’t count on me not being able to follow directions. Ha!

Squirt, Brett and I used to enjoy Saturdays at the family farm. One day during the first year we had him, he and I were out exploring. I was taking pictures while Brett worked on a Jeep. Squirt “found” something and spent a good few minutes digging frantically in the dirt. I could tell he’d found something, but it wasn’t until I saw something come out of the hole, something that was mostly black with a distinct white stripe, that I turned to run. That’s right. A nice, healthy skunk came up out of that den and sprayed my baby right in the face. Squirt went nuts trying to get “it” off. And I, in my haste to run, had slipped in a rather large mud puddle and landed on all fours. Never have I been more thankful to actually use the neck strap on my high dollar camera. It was muddy, but not broken. And the pictures from that day are priceless.

As time went on Squirt grew to love snuggling with us on the couch, and at the foot of the bed, at least until we turned the light out to go to sleep and then he’d jump down and return to his bed. Apparently I wiggle too much for his taste and a queen size bed was clearly not big enough for the three of us. He’d only return to our bed in the middle of the night during a particularly noisy storm. Generally he wasn’t afraid of them, but sometimes he’d be just nervous enough to wiggle his way between Brett and I on the bed.

We have HUNDREDS of photos of this dog sleeping.

Every morning Squirt would come over to Brett’s side of the bed and snort at him. Brett would get up and they’d get around together and then Squirt would either hop onto the bed and lay down next to me or settle back in on his dog bed next to my side of the bed. Brett would come over to wake me up, and kiss me goodbye, only to be met with growls. Squirt never once woke me up in the morning. Not before he got sick. Not after. Not even if Brett was out of town and he really needed to pee. He truly understood my hatred for mornings and was okay with it.

Have you ever met a lab who was terrified of water? Bath time has always been a challenge, especially near the end. His illnesses resulted in skin infections and the last few weeks were filled with baths. Thankfully, as time went on he became more trusting of Brett and I, but no less terrified when we doused him with soap and water to get the stink, mud, and grease off.

Yes, Squirt was a grease monkey! Nothing made him happier than sniffing parts in the garage while Brett worked on a vehicle. The Jeep is just tall enough that Squirt could stand under it and get his back all nice and greasy.

Squirt and Brett had a common hatred for public displays of affection, unless of course it was with each other. Every man who’s ever been owned by a dog knows that when I say they were best friends, they were truly, and completely, best friends. Inseperable up to the end.

Fast forward to April of 2017. We had noticed that he had become fuller around the middle and I took him to the vet to have it checked out. A few scans later and a trip to KSU and several vets were able to confirm a tumor on Squirt’s spleen. He never once showed any discomfort or illness, so we made the difficult decision to operate. The vets were very clear. Surgery was risky. And if successful, he still might only have a few months. Typically a splenic mass is a sarcoma. And that type of cancer is quick growing.

We chose to have our local vet operate, but it was going to be a couple of weeks before she could get him into her schedule. And as “luck” would have it, by the time she went to operate the mass had doubled or tripled in size. We went straight to KSU. Brett knew that he wasn’t going to give up Squirt without a fight.

Surgery resulted in the removal of a 7 pound, basketball-sized tumor. It took several sets of hands and a blood transfusion to remove the tumor safely and bring Squirt out of surgery alive. He began to recover fairly quickly, as animals do. And the lab results came back with evidence that the tumor was not the type of cancer the vets thought it might be. It was cancer though. That much was clear. Since we didn’t know much about the rare type of cancer Squirt had, we decided to enter him into a clinical trial, for which he just-so-happened to qualify. We also decided to do a few rounds of chemo. Just in case.

We knew going into it that only one dog made it to the year mark in the trial. Most passed on in the first few months. We wanted to do it anyway. Cancer research comes in all forms, and I believe that anything they can learn from any trial helps us come closer to better treatments, and someday maybe even a cure.

Two rounds of chemo later we found that Squirt’s immune system appeared to be killing off red blood cells. We stopped the chemo and started dosing him with various steroids and immuno-suppressant drugs. The only thing that appeared to work was prednisone. Prednisone is a steroid that’s perfectly safe, for short-term use. At high doses and long-term use it works against the body. In the end it shuts down organs and causes skin rashes, among other things.

Squirt spent a year and four months fighting for his life. Most days I’m not even sure he knew he was fighting for it. There were ups and downs. Days when we’d get off work and find a mess on the carpet. And there were days when he’d meet us at the door wagging his tail, wanting supper.

In the end, we could have put him down instead of operating. We could have given up at any point in the last year and a half. And if we hadn’t been blessed with the means to operate we’d have had no choice.

Whether or not everyone agrees with our choice to operate, and spend a year caring for him, we know we made the right decision. Squirt taught us many, many things. And we believe that God had a plan for us this past year. He taught us that trusting there’s a plan is crucial. He taught us that there’s joy in life despite difficulties. And, He taught us that loving and letting go is part of life.

This past month has been a shock for me especially. I find myself running into the foot of bed, because for years I’ve weaved my way around a dog and a dog bed on my way to crawl into my bed. I find myself leaving food on my plate, only to realize there’s no one to eat it. Brett has called out Squirt’s name at bedtime, to let him out one last time before bedtime. And, on Labor Day weekend we found ourselves completely at a loss on Monday afternoon. No one to follow Brett around the shop, or to go for a walk, or even just lay around with while reading a book.

I know losing people is hard. But I had no idea that losing a pet could be just as hard, if not harder. Somehow, spending 90% of your time caring for someone makes it that much harder to lose them. And that’s despite the fact that you might have more free time, less mess to clean up, or just a more flexible schedule.

I hope I never have to lose Brett, at least not for a good long time. And I hope to never lose a child, but I don’t know God’s plan for my life. I can only pray for the wisdom, strength, and fortitude to go on when the inevitable happens and goodbye comes.

The Necessity of Balance

August 16, 2018August 16, 2018 / Amanda / 4 Comments

Balance. Life on this Earth demands it. Whether it’s balance between work and home life, balance of mood and emotion, or even balancing the checkbook!

There must be balance.

And the balance to life, is death. It’s a difficult thing no matter what way you look at it. We all must experience it, secondhand, and someday, firsthand.

And, oddly enough, that balance brings joy. Joy in the small moments, and the big.

This post started out as a memorial to our dear, departed dog. Then, the week took a turn for the worse. It’s been a week full of tears, both happy and sad.

Bear with me as I lay out the week for you.

Saturday just before noon

Brett left for town to pick up my in-laws dog at the kennel and deliver him to their house. While in town, his Dad calls to tell me his Grandpa has been in an accident. On his way home from a morning at the family farm, Grandpa Ed rolled his Ford Explorer twice. He landed upright, and emergency personnel were able to get him out safely and transport him to the hospital. Brett headed for the hospital to sit in the waiting room with some of the family as we awaited an update on his status.

Saturday just after noon

I notice that our dog, Squirt is not acting quite right. He’s started to limp and his leg seems to be swelling before my eyes. He’s been sick since April of 2017, so roughly a year and a half, and we know that he won’t live forever. I contacted the vet who’s able to get us some pain medication and antibiotic, so Brett runs to the vet clinic to get the meds.

As he’s leaving the hospital for the vet he learns that his Grandpa suffered a broken neck during the accident. They plan to fly him from our hometown to Topeka, KS where there’s a spine specialist. He undergoes surgery Saturday night on his arm, which also sustained serious injury.

Sunday morning

We wake up a little later than usual to a dog with a still swollen leg, and a more pronounced limp. We feel very strongly that he’s weakening, so we skip church to make breakfast and share our bacon and eggs with him before cleaning up the house a bit and doing some laundry.

Sunday afternoon

We visit Brett’s Grandpa in the hospital in Topeka. We sit for an hour and chat with him about the usual life updates. It’s a tradition to join his Grandparents for lunch at the local diner following church.

The conversation turns a little deeper than usual and we discuss his philosophy on prayer as well as his feelings regarding the structure of the church. Not necessarily our physical church, but the church that’s defined as a community of people. Brett and I are always blown away at the depth of knowledge his Grandpa has, and the conversation Sunday did not disappoint. We bid our goodbyes and departed so he could rest.

Sunday evening

Squirt is unchanged physically, but refuses popcorn. His daily desired 10pm snack is popcorn, so I think this was the turning point for us. We knew the week was probably not going to end well, but we still held out some hope.

Monday

Brett and I spend the day traveling for work. Our wonderful neighbors, Bill and Vannessa, come down to check on Squirt for us so we don’t have to worry. We return home after a long day on the road and Squirt will not eat, but otherwise is in good spirits.

My father-in-law, Tom, lets us know that Grandpa is still well. He had several visitors during the day and had a “good” day.

Tuesday morning

We wake up and Squirt’s attitude has totally changed. He’s barely able to go outside, won’t touch his food, refuses to take his pills wrapped in lunchmeat, and barely wags his tail. We make a very tough decision and then also make arrangements to go to work to get a few things done before the vet makes a much appreciated house call. We know we won’t be able to return to work, and cancel afternoon appointments accordingly.

Tuesday around noon

The vet arrives and we tell our beloved dog goodbye. The rest of the day passes in a very slow blur. We spend a few hours at my sister’s playing with her litter of kittens. New life has a way of making the pain of death hurt just a little less and I always seem to seek out children and babies during tough times.

Wednesday

Brett and I are traveling for work again. It’s a good day despite the fact that we’re aching with the loss of our furry friend. We come home at the end of the day to an empty, quiet house. Going to bed is hard, and sleep comes even harder.

Thursday morning

The phone rings at 7am. There’s a pit in my stomach knowing that a phone call this early in the day cannot be good. Tom is on the phone and Brett talks to him a few moments before hanging up in tears.

It turns out, Grandpa woke up in the middle of the night to use the restroom, but as the nurse helped him back to bed he suffered a massive heart attack.

We’re still reeling from the shock, and I don’t seem to have the words to recall the details of the day.

I know a few things…

Brett’s family is strong. Strong in faith, and hope, and in love.

Brett’s Grandpa was beloved by all. So many people in our community looked up to him, saw him as a mentor, or benefitted from his kindness at some point. I know the wonderful stories have only just begun.

And Brett’s Grandma has handled it all with a calm and gentle kindness. She’s a rock. And she’s just as much a pillar of the family as her husband was.

Thursday night

Around 5, my sister sends me a screenshot from Facebook. There was a missing dog down here on the creek, and she wanted us to keep an eye out for him. We just couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else being without their beloved pet this week. We had to drive up to a neighbor’s house to pick something up, and as we left the dog’s owner stopped by to find out if we’d seen the dog. We took his name and number and left.

Thirty minutes later we’re headed back home and I’m praying the dog will just come up out of a ditch and greet us. As we drive I’m watching the sides of the road and scanning the trees. I know it’s a long-shot, but I watch and try to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach knowing it’s not likely the dog will be returned to his owners.

In the last week our neighbors, two houses up the road, moved out. The house is for sale, but now sits empty. I turn to look at the house as we pass by, and my eye catches on a large, dark mass on the porch. I yell for Brett to stop, so we back up and turn into the drive. As we pull up to the house I holler “DIESEL!” out the window, and a large, chocolate lab comes bounding off the porch. Brett stops the truck and we both jump out and throw our arms around a wet, smelly dog who’s clearly been swimming in the creek. He’s so happy to see people!

Since cell phone reception down here is spotty, we load the lab up and head home.

Words cannot express the joy I felt getting to tell Ray and Michelle their beloved dog was found. The reunion was happy. There were hugs, and tears by all.

As I ready for bed…

Even with the pain of knowing we’ll never come home to our fur baby again, we rejoice that God gave us this little, joy-filled moment to balance out the overwhelming sadness of the week.

We’ll sleep easy tonight knowing that the neighbors have their dog back, and knowing that Squirt was waiting to greet Grandpa Ed at the “farm” in Heaven. We suspect that God needed Squirt to come home first, because he couldn’t possibly welcome Ed home without him.

Posts about Squirt and Grandpa Ed still to come. Goodnight friends.

Saying Goodbye

June 7, 2018 / Amanda / Leave a comment

This post is for my in-laws. For a while now, I’ve been wanting to share about the family members who we’ve lost and the impact they’ve had on our lives, and since we’ve just lost another it seems like a good time to talk about them all a bit. They have helped make us who we are today.

We’ve been very fortunate to know all of our grandparents well in this lifetime. I’ve even been fortunate to know and remember many of my great-grandparents. But the downside to knowing them, is that we also have to experience the loss of a grandparent from time to time.

These last couple of weeks we’ve been preparing to say goodbye to Brett’s Grandpa Earl. We said goodbye to his Grandma Jan a few years ago, a result of cancer, and Earl lost the battle with “the big C” this week as well. Dying of cancer is a long, difficult process that’s only slightly (ever so slightly) easier when it’s a person who’s lived a long full life…

My Grandma Nancy had the “good fortune” to have a massive stroke several years ago. I say “good” fortune, because she always said she knew where she’d end up, and she started saying in the last few years of her life that she was “ready to go anytime the good Lord was ready to take her”. But we still miss her every single day.

I’m not the type to talk to her on social media, visit her grave to talk to her, or commemorate the day of her death. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with any of those things, they’ve just never been “comfortable” for me. I am, however, sometimes struck by a moment or situation, reminded of one of them, and then completely lose my composure… usually in public.

About a month ago when weeding out pictures on my computer. I was going through some old pictures and I came across what must be the last picture taken of my Grandma and I before her passing. I never really considered that I might look like her. And now I’ll be forever grateful that I can look in the mirror and be reminded of her. Neither of us knew this picture was being taken.

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And I know Brett will be reminded of his Grandpa Earl and Grandma Jan when he looks in the mirror. There’s no questioning the resemblance to his Mom’s side of the family!

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Brett says there are a couple of things that will forever make him think of his Grandma. Trying to remember someone’s birthdate. He can’t even remember his own, but she knew the birthdate of every one of her five sons and three daughters and their spouses, as well as her 20 grandchildren and 19 great-grandchildren. Every time he pays his tax on his trailer, to the county, he’ll think of her. She worked for the appraisers office many, many years and always called Brett to make sure he paid his property tax.

Since I’m not as comfortable sharing the details of Earl or Jan’s life, as I would be the details of my own Grandmother’s, I’ll leave you with this… the things I know, and will miss/remember about Earl:

He was tough, you have to be when you’ve fought in a war.
He was tough, you have to be when you’ve spent years battling various cancers.
When you asked him where he came from (like his ancestry) he’d say Southern Missouri. That was home.
He loved tinkering with motors and working on carpentry projects. And his love of woodworking was something we could always talk about. I’d share pictures when we visited, and he looked forward to seeing what I was working on.
His face always lit up whenever Brett would bring up a vehicle project. In fact, just last week in the hospital we told him about a recent project and despite the pain he still smiled big and asked questions about the project.
He loved his family. And we will all miss him very much. Just as we miss Jan, and Nancy every day.

We’ll say goodbye to him for good this Saturday at his service. Keep Brett, his Mom and the extended family in your prayers if you would. Thanks!

A Little Help…

June 5, 2018 / Amanda / 4 Comments

I’ve never been the sort of person who fears asking for help. I achieved so much in school by being unafraid to ask questions after class, or even during class. This trait has served me well in the working world as well.

But taking all of that into consideration, I’m still a little bit uncomfortable asking for help when it comes to the adoption process. When it comes to personal matters, it’s somehow more difficult. I think it’s because we’re generally so self-sufficient. We do our own work on our house and in our yard. We hire stuff out when necessary. If we can’t find something in stores we build, or make it. And making a baby out of popsicle sticks, duct tape and glue isn’t quite going to work!

Our social worker has been wonderful. We completed the initial home study process in December of 2017 and she’s been in touch since then to check in on us. I spoke with her just the other day so I could gather a few more ideas for agencies, organizations and lawyers who can help facilitate a domestic adoption for us. I’ve been told that it helps to be on multiple lists and to get in touch with multiple people and organizations who have connections.

So, I’ve already reached out to a few and it seems we are still coming up short in terms of finding places who can/will work with us, which brings me to the point of this blog post. PLEASE share your stories with us! If you have friends or family who’ve adopted and they’re willing to share info about how it worked, we’d love to know more!

Do you know of an organization who helps birthmothers through the process? How about someone who has used a specific agency? Leave us a comment or send us an email, we’d love to hear from you.

Rainbows & Little Girls

May 14, 2018May 14, 2018 / Amanda / Leave a comment

Sometimes life is a little stormy.

And sometimes there is a little calm in all of the crazy. But, in the last two weeks we’ve had RAIN! And rainbows.

Back to back rainbows in fact. Just another little reminder from God… after the storm comes a whole lot of beautiful!

I spent the last week at a conference in Las Vegas for work. I learned so much! And Vegas is a fun place, but it’s not my favorite place on Earth. That honor goes to our little four acre plot where I spent my Friday night planting herbs and flowers with a couple of little helpers. My friends Tiffany and Craig needed a night out, so their girls came out to play!

We watched frogs.

And we played in the wheelbarrow.

Maker:S,Date:2017-11-30,Ver:6,Lens:Kan03,Act:Lar02,E-Y

And we planted flowers. (Tabor looks like she’s just posing for my picture, but in reality she’s trying to scoop dirt without getting any on her! She was fairly successful, but it was much faster to fill up the pot when someone big could tip the bag of soil upside-down into the pot.)

Maker:S,Date:2017-11-30,Ver:6,Lens:Kan03,Act:Lar02,E-Y

Some of us are better suited to manual labor (Brett) and some of us have a natural proclivity for management (Tabor). This kid cracks me up!

And the reward at the end of all of the crazy is when you get to kick back with a bag of goldfish crackers and a couple of Disney movies.

Patience

April 30, 2018May 1, 2018 / Amanda / 2 Comments

I’ve made the “mistake” of praying for patience a few times over the past couple of decades.

You see… I’m not a very patient person. And I don’t wait well. I worry, and over-analyze. And try to plan for the unknown. I imagine every possible scenario and make plans for all of those scenarios. I spend hours thinking about what could be, and what I might do ten years from now, or five years from now, or ten days from now.

I’m a “fixer” and a “planner”. An “organizer” and I also consider myself a person of strong faith.

But when you pray for patience, and peace… you know what happens?

God gives you something to be patient about.

He puts you into a situation where the only choice you have is to wait. To be still. To study and grow closer to the Lord through scripture.

About 12 years ago I met a wonderful man. A man who told me he looked forward to having a family some day, and being involved in the church. He knew that his schooling was going to take time and lots of hard work, and did not keep that a secret from me. In getting to know him I learned that it was going to take great amounts of patience, and resolve, to some day be the woman by his side. So I prayed. I prayed for patience. For the patience to wait (if this was the path that I was supposed to be on one day).

What seemed like decades later (but in reality was only 4 long years) that wonderful man proposed to me.

And you know what? I started to plan. (Do you see where this is going?)

There were two major flaws with all of my plans (and probably lots of little ones, but I’ll cover the major ones for now):

One, I chose to marry a man who sees no point in making plans. He’s a man of faith, but not one to be very vocal about it. He has faith that if he does his best to provide for, and protect his family, that things will work out for the best. So he sees no point in making specific long-term plans, or talking about the “what ifs”, or even dreaming about things that might happen years down the road. And some days it drives me crazy!

The second flaw with my plan goes back to that little mistake I mentioned earlier…

I prayed for patience.

And so, ever since that day, when I recall so clearly praying for patience… I’ve faced situation, after situation, where I’m required to put patience into practice. And I’ve found that I can be patient, but it takes work. It’s not an easy thing. Being strong, and having “faith” is a very trying thing.

So on days when I struggle, it’s important for me to remind myself that God gave me a buddy for this journey to “achieving” patience. He gave me a loving husband who is completely contented to wait. To enjoy the time of today and the blessings he has. He sets an example for me every day… if only I take the time to notice and be grateful.

Fear & Hope

April 25, 2018May 1, 2018 / Amanda / Leave a comment

Do you ever have a day where you wake up and everything just feels wrong?

Today was one of those days. My stomach was bothering me. My mood was sour. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I had to, eventually, but once I’d voided my bladder I climbed back into bed and curled into a ball.

To top things off, I grabbed my phone and started scrolling through email and my Facebook newsfeed. A post caught my eye and set the tone for the day. For the first eight hours of the day I thought that was a bad thing, but somehow things turned around toward the end.

The post that caught my eye was one from a Kansas mission that places infants with hopeful adoptive parents. They don’t take very many cases, and though I’ve tried to make contact, I’ve not had much luck getting on the list. The post featured a family that was matched with a baby born yesterday. A very joyous occasion, but one that filled my heart with fear and despair. The couple welcoming this newborn bundle of joy into their hearts already have a three-year-old biological son. And three months ago they also gave birth to a baby girl. So now they have three children. And I, who can’t even get on their list, still have none.

I spent all day worried that maybe somehow we’ve managed to “mess” something up on our forms. Maybe we’re not suitable parents. It’s a deep-seated fear that haunts me. Most days I’m better at ignoring it.

And though I spent a majority of the day with that fear in the back of my head, I also spent the day praying for peace, for patience and for hope. I repeated what our adoption lawyer told us during our first meeting. He said that the waiting for a child requires trust above all. You have to trust in the Lord, and trust the people that you’re working with, who’re helping you toward your goal.

So here I am, about to climb back into that bed, but with a totally different attitude. That fear that I fought all day long is what helped push me to get this article written, and to move forward with launching this blog. It’s been live a long time now, but I’ve not really made an attempt to put us out there into cyberspace. Be patient with me as I try harder to post updates. And as I try harder to share a little more of us with the world, so that someday maybe a young women will find us here “Down on the Creek” and decide to let us raise her son or daughter.

Sometimes fear can be motivating. Blessings to you!

2016 & 2017 The Highlights

February 4, 2018February 4, 2018 / Amanda / Leave a comment

Since I last blogged, I’ve had a number of part-time jobs in addition to my full-time job.

I had a booth at an antique store and sold a mixture of antiques and second-hand items.

I was an education coordinator at my church, working with Middle and High School students.

I sold clothing for a company named Cabi.

I enjoyed trying new things, but at the end of it all I realized I really just needed some down-time. Some time for relaxation and meditation. For taking care of me. So I kicked off 2018 with one single job. It’s the first time in my married life I am not trying to juggle too much, and the first time since Brett and I moved to the creek that I feel like I can do what I want to do in my own time. When I come home at the end of the day I can choose to pick up a book and do nothing, without a task hanging over my head.

Sure, there’s laundry and projects, and plenty to do, but I can also sit down in front of the TV and veg-out if I want to. So, here’s to 2018! The year that Brett and I spend more time together. We go camping. We finish some projects. We work on adoption. We go camping again. We spend time with our dear, sweet Squirt. And maybe even do some camping.

It it obvious that I want to go camping? The end of March can’t come soon enough!