My Angel

Church was over, the kids were fed, and it was finally my time to go to the gym while our babies slept soundly in their beds for naptime. I love Sundays for this very moment.

Rather than listen to my iPod during my work out, I decided to try reading instead, so I picked up a copy of "Guidepost" that had obviously been flipped through by many people before me because the cover was torn off and I'm pretty sure several of the pages were missing. I decided to give it a try anyway. For those of you who have never heard of Guidepost Magazine, it is very similar to Readers Digest although it is focused on stories of faith and Christ. Today, maybe this is exactly what I need.

I spent about twenty minutes reading heartwarming stories focused around Christmas time and what the spirit of Christmas is really about. These stories made me feel good but it wasn't until I reached page 56 that my heart was truly engaged in the words that were printed on the page. This particular story was about a boy named Josh. Josh had Downs Syndrome and was in the seventh grade. During his schooling, he never went anywhere without his aide. She was there with him during gym class, art, lunch time, and even on the bus ride home. Josh was getting especially excited for a particular Christmas choir concert that was coming up. He worked with a sepearate tutor for many hours that helped prepare Josh to be able to sing on the risers with all of the other students - alone, without his aide. This would be the first major event Josh would be without someone right by his side to help him if he needed it. When it came time for the concert, Josh was very excited. He wore a blue sweater vest and a bright red tie. His parents sat nervously in the audience, praying to God that everything would go smoothly. Josh's aide sat in front of his parents and at one point she reached back and squeezed the mother's hand and tried to calm her fears by telling her Josh was going to do great. The choir started to sing and Josh's mom slowly began to relax as she saw that no one was even noticing the boy in the middle row that was a little off key. She breathed a sigh of relief. But then it was time for the choir students to light their individual candles. It started with one student's candle and then they were supposed to light the candle to the person on their left, and so on. Josh had experssed to his family earlier that he was most excited for this part! When it came time to light Josh's candle, the boy to Josh's right was having a really hard time getting Josh's candle to light. Several awkward seconds passed and the boy got frustrated and gave up on trying to light Josh's candle. Josh's big, warm smile quickly turned to a frown. Josh's mom was in the audience holding back tears and praying, "Why this too? Why does he have to stand out as someone different in this event too? Why can't he just enjoy this one moment?" But just then, the boy on Josh's left tried to light his candle again and when he realized that Josh's candle was not going to light, the boy switched candles with him and gave his to Josh instead. Josh's smile appeared again and his mom and dad were in the audience, weeping, and thanking that boy who had given up his candle for their son. Whoever that boy was, he knew how important it was for Josh to hold a lit candle and he made it happen for Josh.

So here I am, sweating and peddling faster and faster on this bike, and tears are just pouring from my eyes. This story could be Cale someday and I can only pray that he will have friends in his life that will make a self-sacrifice to help Cale in his time of need. I'm sure I looked like an idiot, sweat pouring from my face and mixing with my tears, but today, you see, is Cale's third birthday and so I'm a little more emotional than maybe on a regular day.

My little boy is three years old now. I go back to that day when I woke up, irritated because I knew I was on bedrest and would most likely just being laying in bed all day long until Alex got home from work. I had been up since about 2:00 in the morning experiencing contractions, but given the events that had taken place a week prior, the contractions were nothing new and so I figured laying in bed was the best thing to do. Five hours later and I was wrestling with whether or not to mention to Alex that the contractions were pretty regular and getting a little stronger, about eight minutes apart. I decided not to tell him and let him go to work as planned. After all, he had sat with me in two different hospitals that always told me the same thing: stay on your medication that should hopefully stop the contractions and DON'T MOVE. I would hate to go to the hospital again and waste four more hours of our life just to hear the same thing. Alex left for work and I tried to go back to sleep. Turns out that if you don't close your eyes and just stare at the clock the entire time, sleep isn't really an option. By 9:00 in the morning the contractions are starting to feel different and are now about three minutes apart. I start to panic a little but I still don't call Alex. I wait a little longer, maybe an hour, and decide that something is definitely not right and so I call my husband at work. I tell him what's going on and he tells me to call his mom to have her bring me to the hospital. Some of you may think he's not being very supportive but you have to understand this has happened twice now and we have never gotten any different news. If something indeed had changed, he would be at the hospital in an instant. My mother-in-law came to pick me up, I hobbled downstairs, got into her car and we headed for the hospital. She insisted I use a wheelchair but I refuse. She insists some more and so I give in. I don't really have the energy to put up a good fight. She wheels me down the hall and we wait in the Labor and Delivery Unit for what seems like an hour while they get a room ready for me. The contractions are annoying, not really painful, but we sat outside the nursery and so looking at all of the newborn babies helped keep my mind off of my body and all that was going on. My room was finally ready and they put me on monitors to keep track of my contractions and my baby's heart rate. At this point I am starting to get scared and so my mother-in-law leaves to go down to the gift shop and brings me back a stuffed bear and a few magazines. Keep in mind, I have no idea that having a baby today is even a possibility. I was probably the most naiive pregnant woman on the face of the planet. I try to flip through some of the magazines and then something happens that makes me shoot up in the bed and scream to the nurses that something is wrong. I didn't know until weeks afterwards what had happened right then, but I was later informed that my water had broken. At 31 weeks pregnant, there were all of a sudden a dozen people in my room rushing around and talking very fast with one another. I was scared, crying, and all I wanted was for Alex to be there to hold my hand. Luckily, my mother-in-law is very good with these kinds of situations and she had already put in a call to Alex and within a few minutes he walked through the door. I don't know if it was because I was scared or if it was due to what was happening with my body, but I became so ferociously cold that I clung to the bed rails and shook uncontrollably. I later learned Alex wasn't scared until he saw me shaking like that. A few more minutes passed and my doctor was finally there. She looked at the monitors and after briefly talking with the nurses, she looked at me and said, "We're going to have a baby today." At that moment I burst into tears. I may have been naiive but I knew that it was way too early for my baby boy to be born. I didn't even know if babies could survive being born at 31 weeks. Alex and I were both terribly frightened. Luckily, a neonatologist came in and tried to prepare me for what was about to happen. Cale's hear rate was dropping with each contraction and since he was so little, a C-section would be our only option. I had always desired a natural birth but by this time anything I had imagined was far gone out the window. She told me that he may or may not cry when he's first born but that there will be a team of specialists right there to make sure he's given any medical intervention he might need. I specifically remember her saying that babies born at 31 weeks are a "breeze". She told me not to worry, that everything was going to be fine, and at that very moment I let my grip go from the bed rail, stopped shaking, and looked at Alex and told him I wasn't scared anymore.

At 1:17 PM on November 29, 2006, Cale Alexander Burkhalter was born, weighing 3 lbs and 16 in long. My little peanut. He did indeed cry when they first pulled him from my belly and I will never forget the softness and helplessness in his voice. I saw him for a few seconds before the whisked him to the NICU and it wasn't until 36 hours later that I got to hold him for the very first time.

Today, on November 29, 2009, he's a healthy, happy, wonderfully created three year-old. Some people may look at him and see what's wrong, and no doubt there are days when I, too, focus on what is wrong with him, but today I am reminded that his life is a miracle. Ever since he entered this world he has had to fight for everything. He's experienced more challenges, I believe, in his three years of life than I ever have. And when he was diagnosed with cerebral palsy at six months of age, seeing how far he's come on his thrid birthday brings tears of joy and thankfulness to my eyes.

God is good and He made Cale perfect. In God's eyes, He sees no flaws - only perfection. And today, perfection is all I see, too.

I love you, Sweet Boy. You are my angel.

Life these days

I have spent the last nine, COUNT THEM - NINE, days sick. Boo. It started with a headache, progressed to a full body ache that lasted four or five days, off and on nausea, and then finally tapered off with what seems like a head cold. Today is the first day I haven't taken any Tylenol, Ibuprofen, or Sudafed. Perhaps I'm on the mend...hooray! Although having to take care of my kids during the day was complete misery, my darling husband took them out of the house as soon as he got home from work so that I could just go to bed. Thank goodness for husbands. My respect and sympathy for single moms continues to grow and even more so during these times. I was complaining to Alex during one of my "poor me" moments, laying on the couch, whining about how terrible I felt, and asking him why even though I had prayed to God for this illness to leave my body every day since I felt it coming on, what "good" God was trying to accomplish by not healing me. Alex responded, "it's made me appreciate you more."

Okay. I suppose nine days of sickness was worth it. :)

In other news, in addition to Cale walking, my kids have been absolutely delightful. Each day I find myself giggling at them, trying to catch a glimpse of their play without them noticing, and pausing to just thank the Lord for bringing them into my life. Riley is at a GREAT age; she entertains herself well and walks around the house all day long, jabbering up a storm, and playing games with herself that only she understands. She loves trying to put her own socks and shoes on, or anybody's shoes for that matter, and tries multiple times throughout the day to climb into the dishwasher. She is a bit of stinker when it comes to eating because she wants to be completely independent in this area and also would rather play than take the time to eat, but other than that I really have very little to complain about. She throws fits when I take toys away from her that she's stolen from her brother or friends but seems to get over them rather quickly. She loves wrestling with Cale and watching Thomas the Train with him. They play remarkably well together and for that I am extremely grateful. Cale was a big enough blessing to last my entire life and it just amazes me that He gave me Riley, too. Children are so magnificent!

Even though staying home and raising my kids takes up 99% of my time, I have recently found a couple of outlets that help remind me that I am more than JUST a mom. I have gotten into a rather good routine of waking up around 5:00 in the morning and going to the gym. It started out as a desire to get my body back after having Riley but has since become more therapeutic. I've noticed on the days I don't go to the gym I tend to get a little more crabby a little bit easier. I feel sluggish throughout the day and veer towards focusing on what's NOT going right rather than on what IS going right. Once at the gym, I put on my headphones and spend the next hour and a half listening to playlists consisting of MercyMe, John Waller, Third Day, Jeremy Camp, Casting Crowns, Barlow Girl, and other uplifting artists. It's a time when I can clear my head, pray, vent, or simply spend half an hour on the treadmill and walk away saying, "What in the heck did I just think about for the last thirty minutes?". It's amazingly therapeutic to have that time to just spend with myself. I'm not able to have that time during the day when the kids are demanding my constant energy and attention, and even when they are napping my mind is repeatedly going over what I should be getting done around the house. I think I've mentioned before that it's also amazing to be able to take a shower in peace and blow dry all of my hair, all the while leaving the gym with both eyes wearing mascara. (I can't tell you the amount of times I've noticed mid-day that I forgot to put mascara on the other eye) That is what I call a glorious morning!

I've also been volunteering with the high school youth group up at our church. It's nice to remove myself from my little bubble and be reminded of the things going on outside of it. The kids are hilarious and energetic and I have a whole new and different appreciation for the youth group workers that put up with me for the four years I was in high school. Wow. In addition to helping with that on Wednesday nights, Alex and I help lead a "Life Group" on Thursday nights. Life Groups are basically just small groups of adults that meet at homes throughout the week and discuss a story from the bible. Our life group has some of the greatest people and friends I've ever come across. It's so refreshing to spend time with these kinds of people. We laugh and have fun, all the while devoting time to be serious with one another and care about what's going on each other's lives. It's great. Not to mention that it's two hours kid-free! Hey, those times are important and very much needed!

So that's basically what I've been up to lately. I'm gearing up for Cale's 3rd birthday and getting him ready to start preschool in a few months but more on that later. I'd like to thank everybody that has celebrated and rejoiced with us when Cale started walking! The body of Christ is truly amazing!!!

It seems almost too good to be true...

...that Cale is walking.

It was only one or two months ago that I was laying in bed and trying to come to grips with the fact that it may be another few years before he started walking. Keep in mind, this was the "best case scenario" I had created in my head. Cale walking has always been an "if", never a "when". Our physical therapist mentioned to me about a year ago that she predicted Cale to independently walk at maybe two years of age, but prepared me that it may take him until he was three, four, or even five years old. Age two came and there were clearly no signs of him walking anytime soon. Age three, as I told myself as I way laying in bed that night a month or two ago, was coming quickly and even though Cale had progressed, I still thought independent walking was a big "IF". I never allowed myself to assume that he would walk, but instead went to the other extreme and started thinking of what kind of house we would need with a child in a wheelchair. Stairs would obviously be a big "no" and it would need wide hallways, big bathrooms, and an entry that was ramp accessible, not to mention countless of other things. I started to seriously consider options of new vehicles that would fit a wheelchair. I've always thought vans and wheelchairs were two peas in a pod and it took some serious pride negotiations on my part to come to grips that I may very soon be the proud owner of a van. Yes, I admit I had some stereotypes to families who drove a van but ever since I made owning a van myself a realistic possibility, I have kicked those stereotypes right out the door. Just to make that very clear. Two and a half years ago when Cale was first diagnosed, the thought of having a child who couldn't walk or ride a bike, run and play with his friends (assuming he even had any...kids can be so cruel), throw a baseball or swing a golf club, or even just participate in normal school activities, was enough to make me not want to live anymore. In heaven I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of having a child with a disability.

Fast forward two and a half years...

I have a child with a disability and he's absolutely amazing. He has far more character than I do and works harder than any child I've ever known. He believes in himself and has more self-confidence than any other three year-old probably should. He has no shame and and truly lives like no one else is watching. When God tells us to become like children, I get this picture of Cale. I can't imagine my life without him and even more importantly, I can't imagine the person I would be if God hadn't brought Cale into my life. Cale has been my life's greatest lesson, greatest reward, and greatest test. I have more patience, more compassion, more empathy, more love, more faith, and more hope that I never could have had if it weren't for Cale. My life, because of him, is ongoing proof that God is good, even during life's greatest challenges. I have come a long ways from the day when I thought dying would have been better than living.

Oh yeah, back to Cale walking. CALE'S WALKING!!! I have no idea what happened in the last few weeks but all of a sudden he's decided that walking is actually a better and more convenient way of getting from point A to point B. He's still wobbly and looks like an infant who's just finding his legs, but he's walking. He falls down, a lot, but he's walking. It's still hard for me to comprehend how huge this milestone actually is and so I'm not really going to go into how this has changed me, but I will tell you how proud Cale is of himself. You should see the smile and look of accomplishment he gets. He knows he's doing something amazing and even though he can't verbalize his emotions, I picture him saying something like, "Look, Mom...I'm finally doing it! Do you see me, do you see me, do you see me??? Clap for me because I'm amazing!" And he does love the attention, let me tell you. He makes sure to look in the eyes of every person in the room before he starts off, JUST to make sure they are looking and going to participate in the celebration after he reaches his destination. I'm not sure when, or if, I will ever stop clapping and rejoicing with him. Seeing the joy in his face is enough to bring me to tears. I love seeing him so happy.

Cale walking, like I've said before, doesn't cure him or make his disability any less, but it sure is amazing and is a huge testament to the work that God is doing in his life. He turns three in twenty-three days and even though he won't be running around with his friends at his birthday party, you can bet that he'll be toddling after them.

PRAISE GOD!

If you need me I'll be with my therapist

Yes, that's right. I'm seeing a therapist. Although I don't like to use the word "therapist" because it sounds too clinical. I'd rather say I'm in counseling. Yes, that sounds much better???

After months, and possibly even years, I have dealt with different levels of anxiety. For a long time I think I was successful at dealing with the anxiety on my own, but ever since Cale was born and more prominently over the last six months, it has gotten so bad that I've had to seek outside help.

What does this anxiety look like, you ask? Well, that's a good question. It's almost always related to my health and the fear that something is wrong. I think my greatest fear is having something happen to me and then not being able to be there for my kids as they grow up. Perhaps this is irrational but I've actually talked to several other mothers who fear the same thing. The problem with my fear, though, is that it leads to full-blown panic attacks. My heart races so fast to the point where it feels like it's going to explode through my chest, I get light-headed and feel like I'm going to pass out, I start sweating and can't stop fidgeting. During these said panic attacks, I literally believe with all my being that I am breathing my last breaths. I have gone through a handful of tests to make sure that I am healthy, God bless my poor husband, but before these were done I went to the ER once in fear that I was having a heart attack, and have also driven to the ER twice to just sit in the parking lot until the panic attack passed. This behavior is not normal and I recognized that, which is why I decided to start seeing a therapist, I mean counselor.

I'm definitely not "healed" but every day gets a little better. I'm able to rationalize in my head that, most likely, I am not dying. My panic attacks, which used to happen at least once and maybe even twice a day, are now only occurring weekly. I was prescribed a drug to help manage my attacks but as of now I am not taking it anymore. I finally see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Alex has been going with me to my therapy sessions to help give my "counselor" a bigger picture of what my anxiety really looks like. It turns out that having him there makes it a lot of fun. I literally look forward to my time with her and having Alex there has also given him tools on how he can help me when I'm going through my anxious periods. He no longer just rolls his eyes and says "deal with it" but he's very sympathetic, compassionate, and understanding. We spend a lot of the time laughing and making fun of each other which has given a new spin of flirtatious fun into our marriage. Being able to talk to him about my anxiety and having him realize that it's an actual issue for me and not just something I'm making up in my head has helped tremendously. It's amazing how healing being able to say something out loud can be.

I've often wondered why I get anxious and worry, especially since God's word tells us specifically not to be anxious and not to worry. Health wise, I understand and believe that I am not in control, but for some reason that is what is on top of my worry list. I want to be here for my kids and watch them grow, which is where a lot of my worry is spawned from. One woman told me that most people go about life thinking "that won't ever happen to me" and perhaps my worry has started because I've had something happen to me that most people say "that would never happen to me". Giving birth prematurely and then finding out my child has a disability isn't something that most people think will happen to them. But it happened to me and it awoke the realization that I have zero control and that God can and will do whatever He wants. I have a great fear and respect for the Lord and I pray that some day I will find complete peace in understanding that I have zero control.

Until then, though, I'll be with my therapist.