This month. Wow. Where do I begin? April went something like this: cleaned house top to bottom, packed boxes, organized, made everything spic-and-span perfect for showing, painted walls, painted trim, painted ceilings, steamcleaned carpets, met with realtor daily as she walked through house pointing out flaws - everything from our cheap walmart sheets to well-worn books that needed to be hidden and replaced with her high-end fancy staging items. It was beyond stressful. I would work all day taking care of the kids and cleaning and doing laundry, and then work all night doing the heavy work that is next to impossible to do with children around, like painting and steam cleaning. I would forget to eat and hardly sleep, trying to fight against the ticking clock to make our house absolutely perfect for the big day where we would list it, show it, and sell it. I could barely breathe. I felt like I had split into five different people who had to be in five places at once, frantically working as hard as humanly possible. Or perhaps even beyond what was humanly possible. I was wishing for super-speed and the ability to never sleep. I was begging my husband to please take a day off work and help me. Friends started to notice my frantic state and started calling to offer to take the kids, and, with hardly enough time to even drive them over, I would show up with no makeup, my dirty, messy hair knotted up in a messy ponytail, covered in paint-splattered clothes, thanking them profusely for offering to help. I wanted to crumble and cry. I felt exhausted beyond repair.
Through this particular week, I kept feeling a phrase resonate through my whole being: "it is not requisite for a man to run faster than he has strength..." And I would nudge aside that feeling as if saying, "I can't listen to that right now... I have work to do!" But I kept feeling it. I can't describe it any other way except that I felt the words flood through my soul. But I kept going. I would stop around 3:30 or 4:00 a.m., pass out in bed for a couple of hours, and then start all over again with the daily breakfasts and getting kids ready and my oldest out the door to school and then work work work work work in the midst of still trying to be a good mom who keeps her kids clothed and fed and entertained through the day. That particular week was very chaotic. I was indeed going faster than my legs could carry me, faster than I had strength. My legs even gave out at one point as I was reaching for a bowl, and I came crashing down onto the counter, breaking the bowl in the process. By the Wednesday, I could hardly walk. I felt no pain, I just couldn't walk. But I kept pushing through the day. I had errands to run and cleaning to do and I just couldn't stop for a second. I knew something was wrong with my body, particularly my legs, but I just kept pushing forward, desperate to be done. Thinking that if I could just finish everything on the list, I could finally rest. That night, Jordan got home from work and saw me hobbling around the kitchen, gripping the counter for support, stumbling around like Ariel the Mermaid when she got her new legs. Something was wrong. He insisted I go to bed before 10 that night, and I conceded. I still had caulking to do and paint touchups and more packing. I was one day away from listing day. I could do it! But I couldn't. I barely pulled my legs up the stairs, feeling like I had no control over them, feeling like my feet must have weighed 200 lbs each. I was so fatigued. I tried a bath. I had to crawl from the bathtub to the bed. I just couldn't walk. I decided not to worry. It would all be over in the morning after a good night's sleep.
When I woke up that next morning, Thursday, my legs were not working properly at all. It was the strangest thing. I would go to walk, and it was if I were walking waste-deep against a current. My legs were pulling behind me, lifting slowly, and stepping slowly like a funky bird. It's like my brain was sending signals to my legs to move, and then they'd get those signals a few seconds late and try desperately to move in any way they could. I was terrified. I got downstairs with the kids and tried making breakfast. I couldn't get around without holding onto the counter or the wall. I decided to sit. I kept falling backwards in my seat, unable to sit up straight. I got up again, hoping standing would give me some more stability. I was swaying and stumbling and falling all over the place! I sat back down, swaying backwards, feeling like the wind would just blow me away if I were to go outside. Then my diaphragm started to seize up. I couldn't breathe! It would only last for a few seconds, but it was crazy scary having no control over it and wondering if it would go away or get worse. I texted Jordan, a little panicked at this point. Next thing I knew, a Neurologist was calling me, because Jordan had paged him. I told him my symptoms and he told me to get to the ER immediately. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I had no control over my body. I had kids to take care of. My house was being listed that day. My husband was at work. I tried to drive and my left leg kept jerking over the side like a sudden reflex. That worried me, so I decided to wait for Jordan to drive me. Jordan hurried home, we dropped the younger kids off at a friend's house, and we drove to the hospital.
I spent hours being evaluated in the ER by both the ER doc and the neurologist. They decided to admit me immediately and ordered dozens of tests. Jordan and Beckham both left and suddenly I was there alone, in my hospital gown, feeling very vulnerable, being wheeled in for an MRI and then a lonely hospital room. Again, I wanted to laugh and cry. For months I had been begging Jordan for a vacation, or at least one day off from working, and now here I was, in the hospital, with nothing to do and nobody to talk to except medical personnel. Not exactly what I had in mind. All night I had people coming in and out taking blood samples and checking my vitals. My blood pressure was dropping as my heart rate increased and I became more fatigued. I couldn't sleep. My monitor kept beeping like an alarm clock. I had no appetite. My body was failing me.
The next day came with no answers. Just more tests, more x-rays, more EKGs, more MRIs, and visits from at least six doctors. In the meanwhile, I was getting calls from unknown people wanting to see the house already and I was frantically texting Jordan with instructions on what needed to be done to make the house ready to show and how to set up the lock box and times to be out of the house for people to come by. I felt helpless, miles away in that hospital prison, with no physical way to even bust out of there even if I wanted to. I tried to get sleep, but kept getting a feeling like people were in my room watching me, and so I would sit up and look around and no body was there. It was spooky. I hate hospitals. Not to mention those awful gowns they make you wear!
Tests kept coming back normal. On paper, the doctors could not figure out what on earth was wrong with me. I just couldn't walk normal, that's all! I felt like a heavy weight was on my chest and was having difficulty breathing as well. None of it made sense. I finally asked if I could just be released from the hospital. The neurologist on duty that day agreed that I could be discharged after one more MRI. So, another day went by, and I waited and waited... and waited. Not a single person came into my room for hours. All was silent. I was told the MRI would happen that night. Night came and went. No sleep. Just a few more blood draws by a friendly male nurse from Africa who talked about his days raising rabbits and chickens and sheep and telling me the best way to kill and prepare them to eat. I found it oddly interesting.
My third day in the hospital, I finally received my final MRI and was then allowed to go home. Jordan showed up to get me sometime in the early afternoon, and I was so relieved to finally see my family! We had originally planned to leave for a long roadtrip to Texas that day. Jordan asked me if I still wanted to go. I couldn't think of a reason why not. I mean, at least that way I would get to sit and wouldn't have to walk around like a fool. We drove home and I packed all of the kids' things and my own, stumbling around, holding onto walls for support, and kneeling down on the ground as much as possible. I teased Jordan... even when I'm fresh out of the hospital, it is still my job to pack for everyone in the house. Some things will never change. Within two hours of being discharged from the hospital, we were on the road, driving to Texas!
It took us almost three days to get to Texas. I was still hobbling around but felt like I was slightly improving each day. The first days were really rough. I had a lot of blood draws while in the hospital and felt very faint on the drive. As soon as we'd arrive at our hotel, I would fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. One night, as we entered our hotel room, I had the sensation that my head had fallen asleep. It was tingling and everything around me was fuzzy and buzzing. It was a trippy sensation. I had not been given any medication, so I couldn't even blame it on that! It was all me and my messed up body. I also felt completely ridiculous any time we'd stop at a gas station for me to take Ava in to use the bathroom. I was walking funny still, and I didn't want people to think I was some drunk mom escorting her toddler into the loo. But each day got a tiny bit better with some improvement. We spent two days in Texas checking out potential houses to buy. I would start feeling like I was walking normal as we'd walk through a couple, but by the third house I would start to get fatigued and stumble and pull my legs up the stairs one by one. The realtor noticed and asked if I needed to take a break. That's the part I hated most, was other people seeing me in my weak and desperate state. At the same time, I found myself getting a little angry at Jordan that he wasn't doting on me and helping me out. Which really wasn't fair, because of course he was concerned; he just knows me well enough to know I'm fiercely independent and don't like help. But, in this particular instance, I just wanted a shoulder to lean on. I wanted him to look concerned and worry about me, because I was scared to death that whatever was going on wasn't going to get better. But he kept reassuring me with his unfaltering optimism, telling me that it would go away eventually.
Doctors! Anybody who has a doctor for a husband or, I hear, a father, will tell you that they are the least sympathetic people on the planet when their own family member is ill. I have a theory that it's because of two things. A) They've seen FAR worse. They've seen people on their death beds, literally, and know that you're just not in that bad of a state. They'll tell you to take an ibuprofen and a bath and get over it. B) They think far too logically. If there's nothing wrong on paper, that science can explain, then nothing is the matter. In my case, something was obviously wrong. I was beyond fatigued, couldn't walk normally, and was struggling to breathe, as my blood pressure dipped down and my heart rate shot up. But labs were coming back normal, therefore I was the picture of perfect health on paper. VERY FRUSTRATING! I almost wanted something to come back with red flags so we could pinpoint a problem and, therefore, have a solution!!!
But, hey, we got an offer on our house just a few days after putting it on the market! At our asking price, too! So, that was nice. We handled all of the documentation from Texas, and then made the drive back to D.C. just in time for Easter. I still hadn't gotten the kids anything for Easter (I mean, come on, it had been a LONG TWO WEEKS at this point), so I drove to the store as soon as they were in bed. And I felt confident that I would be able to handle it. Ten minutes into my trip, I found myself relying more and more on my cart for support. I felt fatigued. I started to fall and stumble. My legs started to wig out again and not walk properly. I tried to hurry along, grabbing a few items to make our Easter dinner, as well as some candy for the kids' baskets, and was grateful that not many people were there. At the checkout, the bag boy asked if I was okay. I held back tears and smiled and said I was fine. I got out of there and into my car, as quickly as my gimpy legs could carry me. I bawled and bawled in the parking lot. I drove home and cried all the way, angry that I was not at my full health. If I could not even buy a dozen items at a grocery store by myself, how was I supposed to be able to go grocery shopping with three kids?! Why wasn't I back to being healthy yet?! I was angry. Angry that there was no explanation. Angry that I didn't have any answers or solutions or ways to make it magically go away. Angry at the unknown. Would it ever go away? Would it get better or worse? WHAT was wrong with me?!
I wiped my tears, climbed out of the car, and loaded all the groceries inside. I was relieved that Jordan didn't see me in that state. I wanted to have a chance to get rid of any trace of tears. To put on my strong face.
Later, we hid the eggs filled with money (because I forgot to buy candy that would fit inside eggs), put together their Easter baskets (painting books, and a couple of treats, and bubbles). We had a fun weekend of watching the kids on Easter morning, having brunch, and going to church. We had our Easter feast. I was exhausted, but I didn't want to kids to see that, so it was almost twice as exhausting trying to hid the fact that I was exhausted!
I would have liked to think that the busiest time was over and that I could just focus on healing my body and getting rest, but we got word that the inspector and appraiser would both be by that week! I felt like I had barely had time to start to rest and I was being thrown right back into the fight. I finished painting the trim. I finished caulking areas that I had neglected before. I finished steamcleaning the stained areas. I cleaned. I cooked. I took care of my family. Go go go... work work work... and I felt good about pacing myself this time with the largest things behind us. The morning of the inspection was a tad crazy. I noticed a new leak dripping from my ceiling that had never been there before, a lightbulb burnt out, and I realized I didn't have eggs in the process of making muffins for the buyers who would be coming by that day to check out the house! I also just about broke our new garbage disposal. My heart was racing, beads of sweat were forming, and I was scrambling to keep the house clean while juggling three young kids in the midst of all the chaos. We left just after the inspector arrived and I actually had a really nice day, despite the stress of the house, meeting up with friends in downtown Bethesda to enjoy a children's museum and Georgetown Cupcakes. It was exactly what I needed. An escape. And my legs were acting mostly normal. And I didn't feel all that fatigued. It was a good day.
Which brings us to the present. So, after all was said and done, we found the cause of the leak and I am in the process of fixing it this week. I have been trying to clean out mildew and water from floorboards, clean gunk out of my shower runner, and dry out the actual leak, in preparation to glue everything back down, recaulk and seal everything, and place new shower seals on the door... and a shower curtain just to be on the safe side. Apparently the leak was caused by the leakage holes being covered up with caulk the night before when Jordan was helping me caulk the shower. We had no idea those holes were not supposed to be covered! We just thought we'd seal everything off to make a nice, tight, waterproof, seal. But, by doing so, we were actually creating a disaster waiting to happen. Because, as soon as I showered, water gets trapped in that shower runner, with no place to go, and starts leaking out the sides at the seems, and to the level below. Whoops! We have a lot to learn about houses and DIY home repair. So, yeah, my job this week is to undo the damage and reseal everything. If our buyers back out because of the inspector noting a leak, which I'm hoping is not the case, at least we have a backup contract in place with more buyers, not to mention plenty of people still stopping by or calling daily to ask if our house is still for sale. I think it will all work out.
And that is how the past three weeks have been. Exhausting. I could have just said that and made this a much more concise entry: The past three weeks have been exhausting.
Here's to a much less stressful, much more enjoyable, much healthier month of May... hopefully with some answers to this strange health dilemma.
