My Experience With Preeclampsia Thus Far...

I remember one of my first pregnancy appointments. I told the doctor I would be requesting an epidural and I would not consider induction unless I was way over my due date. I had done the research and knew exactly how I wanted my birth experience to go.

She just smiled at me.

I was planning for a million different things. I was planning for a snowstorm. I was planning for icy, slick roads. I was planning on needing an AWD vehicle to get me quickly, swiftly, and safely to the hospital because I just knew once my water broke, a massive snowstorm would hit.

I planned on experiencing my water breaking at any random point in February. I planned on feeling contractions until it was time to go to the hospital.

I planned. And planned. And planned.

Here's the thing about plans: you can make them, but God can--and usually will--change them.

As a control freak, many tears were shed when my doctor told me I had preeclampsia. My blood pressure was elevated and there was protein in my urine.

I drove home in disbelief.

I had done everything they told me to. Take my prenatal vitamins, drink 2 liters of water a day, refrain from putting anything bad in my body (not that I did before I was pregnant), limit coffee addiction to 1/2 a cup a day, give up lunch meat and exercise every day.

I did it all.

So why was I sick?

The doctor didn't have any answers. Could be genetics. Could be an underlying vascular issue. Could be my body freaking out because pregnancy is weird.

I went home and was told I was on bed rest. At 32 weeks. And regardless of how improved my body became--or didn't--I would be induced at 37 weeks. Possibly sooner.

But...

His lungs won't be fully developed.

What if he's jaundice?

What if he has problems feeding?

My doctor assured me she would take care of it all, but my body was in no position to carry this child beyond 37 weeks.

What about future pregnancies?

There were a lot of what if's that day. And a lot of scary moments where I had to sit a while with Jesus and ask him to give me peace in the middle of a storm I hadn't prepared for.

Psalm 23 instantly came to mind as I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

He maketh me lie down in green pastures:

he leadeth me beside still waters.

He restoreth my soul: 

he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

It was at this point where I just had to let go and remind myself that God knows what he's doing. He has a plan and I take comfort in that his plans never fail me.

So, I took to bed rest unwillingly at first. And slept. And slept. And slept. 

My appointments became more frequent--every Monday and Thursday for blood pressure checks and fetal monitoring.

Then at 34 weeks, my body gave out and I ended up in the hospital with outrageous blood pressure and high levels of uric acid in my blood. Nothing was worse than the blood pressure checks every 15 minutes. I didn't sleep well. I had to do a 24-hour urine sample collection. On top of that, I had two steroid shots to help develop baby's lungs.

I was miserable.

But baby was doing good.

It's funny how much we sacrifice for our children even before they exit the womb. Because I knew that regardless of how uncomfortable that hospital bed was, I was going to lay on my left side as long as I needed to in order to help lower my blood pressure and help with the flow of blood and oxygen to my son. My hip ached and so did my back, but I just laid there, willing myself to ignore the pain.

I went home 37 hours later after promising my doctor I would lay in bed all day long and not move unless it was to go to the bathroom. She looked at me like she didn't believe me. But she still released me after upping my blood pressure medication dose. 

"I want to see you first thing Thursday morning. And pack your bag. You're probably going to have this baby this week."

More tears. 

Three days later, I sat in her office with my father--who flew 1,500 miles to help take care of me--and my husband. The car was packed and I had made peace with having a c-section (not my original birth plan) and my poor little guy spending some time in the NICU (something else that wasn't in my original birth plan).

My blood pressure came back normal. My urine sample was good, but not excellent (sorry for the gross details). More blood was taken (my 9th time in 7 months), but my doctor happily sent me home. "See you Monday."

Monday's appointment went well. My blood work has returned to normal and I have reversed my symptoms. But I still have preeclampsia and it can still flare up at any time. Right now, with bed rest and medication, I'm managing. But my body is still not what it was. I'm more tired than usual and I have a hard time managing simple tasks, like making a sandwich or walking to the mailbox. It's probably due to the medication. And my overly-tired body.

Tomorrow morning, I go back to the doctor for a blood pressure check and non-stress test. As of right now, Alexander Dean is scheduled to enter the world on Tuesday, February 2nd, at 37 weeks. That could change at any moment. But I've made peace with that.

Here's what I've learned: you can't out-plan God. You just have to trust that the safest place to be is in the center of his will. 

Because there really is no safer place to be. 

--Jessi

Life Lately!

It's been an unusually long time since I've blogged.

16 weeks (or 4 months) to be exact.

Life has a funny way of flashing by really quickly.

I feel like I just blinked and it's already mid-November.

I mean, Thanksgiving is literally 10 days away.

Not to worry, I already have all the food bought :)

Between pregnancy, adopting a fourth dog (I know, we're CRAZY), raising 10 baby chicks, building a laundry room, cleaning up the yard and organizing a nursery, I've been a little busy.

So, let's get to it.

PREGNANCY

26 weeks - 14 to go!

It's been an adventure. 

Other than 4 weeks of being nauseous, the flu and a trip to the emergency room, I can't complain.

I can complain about the heartburn.

I carry Tums with me EVERYWHERE.

Some days, I need them.

Some days, I don't.

I guess it just depends on the day.

Coffee gives me terrible heartburn.

So I drink it with a glass of cold water and that seems to help.

Salad has been known to give me heartburn.

Spicy foods, surprisingly, mostly do not.

I can't figure it out. 

So I am currently married to my Tums bottle. 

Ultrasound - 18 weeks

Alexander is very active.

Especially first thing in the morning and late at night.

He likes to kick after lunch time, too.

Speaking of food...I should mention my current love affair with food.

I've never been so in love with food before.

But I guess pregnancy does that to a girl.

Well, this girl anyway.

I have made some really delicious meals.

Baked taquitos.

Homemade mozzarella, artichoke, salami, tomato and spinach pizza.

Spinach and goat cheese stuffed chicken.

Cinnamon pancakes -- from scratch, not the box! (I added cinnamon to recipe)

Chicken pot pie and biscuits.

Chicken alfredo with bacon, broccoli and fresh mozzarella.

Tonight's meal? French dip and swiss with au jus and potato wedges.

Yes, I'm having a love affair with food. 

I told you.

I look forward to cooking in my kitchen EVERY DAY.

ADOPTING ZOE HART

  

I could have killed Kelly when he told me we were going to foster a 1 year-old husky.

If you have never owned/fostered/rescued a husky, then you don't know the torture my husband was inflicting upon me.

Huskies stay puppies until they are between 2-3. 

That basically translates to unnaturally high energy levels.

And peeing and pooping in the house.

And being--generally--rather difficult.

Oh my, I could have strangled Kelly.

Especially the night I was disgustingly sick with a nasty cold--and 7 weeks pregnant--and I discovered Zoe had a tick the size of a quarter on her.

She really didn't let us get too close to her the first week.

So, I found myself with a pair of tweezers and a very unhappy dog at 10:30 at night, trying to remove that stupid tick.

It was a success.

But then she pooped on my couch.

I can handle poop on the floor.

But MY COUCH?!

Kill. Me. Now.

I probably screamed, "TAKE HER BACK!" every week for the first three months.

For some reason, Kelly wouldn't listen to me.

He just kept telling me she would get better.

She didn't.

She made peeing on my floor a daily ritual until I finally threw my hands up in the air and said to God, "What am I supposed to do?"

Then, the funniest thing happened.

He answered.

Put her in the crate when you're not home.

She likes it in there.

She won't pee where she sleeps.

So, miraculously, it did work.

No accidents for two weeks.

PRAISE JESUS.

Zoe likes to cuddle.

All. The. Time.

It drives me insane. 

My other three are not cuddlers.

They're "pet me and give me a belly rub, then leave me alone" dogs.

Not Zoe.

If she doesn't have a paw, leg, or her head somewhere on my body at all hours of the day, she's probably outside watching the chickens. 

That's her life.

The dogs have adjusted well to her.

Zailey plays with her at all hours.

Niko snuggles up to her when he's cold.

And Abner--bless his old soul--tolerates her when she jumps on the bed and steps on his head.

We named Zoe Hart--not after Rachel Bilson's character in Hart of Dixie--but because I started calling her different names and the only thing she would respond to was "Zoe". 

Her middle name is the name of the rescue we adopted her from: HAART.

They have given us our sweet little babies and we thought it was fitting.

So, now, she only responds to "Zoe Hart."

Not Zoe.

Zoe Hart.

You have to say the whole name.

The Hansen Chicks/Hens

We decided to get some baby chicks after I noticed my wild Bantam, Betty White, who lived in the field behind our house for 3 days before realizing life in the coop wasn't so bad.

She was all alone and moping around all the time.

So, I told Kelly, "She needs baby chicks or she will DIE of a broken heart."

Even though I've never been able to stand Betty White and her free spirit, I didn't want her to die of a broken heart.

So, we went to Atwoods and they had chicks for sale.

1 week old

We decided to get 10 of them.

There was a baby chick who kept laying its head flat on its back.

I told Kelly I needed the baby chick.

I knew there was some type of deformity and I couldn't imagine what would happen to the baby chick if the wrong person got a hold of it.

So, we brought home Special Needs.

I didn't expect her/him (we're not sure yet) to survive.

But sure enough, my RIR is still kicking and no longer lays its head on its back.

We shortened the name to "Special" and we have 11 very happy Hansen Hens.

There may be a rooster. 

I can't say for sure yet.

10 weeks - Special is middle bird

Well, that's it for now.

I will update with the nursery and laundry room when they are finished.

Who knows when that will be.

But for now, I'm keeping busy with my four puppies and 11 hens.

And lots of resting :)

Jessi

The First 10 Weeks of Pregnancy

It came as a shock.

"Wait," I said out loud to myself. "Just wait a minute."

I started to do the math. I'm 4 days late. I'm never late. 

It's the truth. Since 13, I've been tracking Aunt Flow with a calendar every month. I've spent half my life calculating. And I knew instantly that what we'd been praying for two months had finally come true.

It was on our 4th wedding anniversary that I took a pregnancy test and discovered that I was, indeed, pregnant. Oh, what a sweet day it was. Even though I spent most of it crying happy tears.

Joy accompanied the next few weeks as we told our families and bought onesies. I couldn't keep it together on the phone with my grandmother and broke down in silent tears. That's how excited I was to tell her.

We were on Cloud 9 and it was a good feeling.

But the truth about the first 10 weeks of our pregnancy is that we discovered our greatest joy could coincide with someone else's deepest heartache. And that was hard to swallow. Especially when it was made clear I could possibly contribute to the pain because of my unborn child.

I struggled with guilt. Not because I had done anything wrong; but because I couldn't understand why God had allowed the worst kind of tragedy to someone who didn't deserve the hurt. It seemed unfair I was so happy. And through many tears, I wrestled with my emotions and questions.

My only answer came in the form of a Bible verse, Job 1:21: "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

It felt like a terrible answer at the time. I remember thinking,"There were so many other verses that could have comforted my troubled heart right now." But after a few days, it reminded me that God holds everything in His hands. There are no laughs of joy or tears of terror that escape His notice. He knows all, sees all, and decides all.

Sometimes, the answers don't come. And we have to be OK with that, even though it seems impossible at times. We have to trust that God knows what He's doing. He sees the big picture; we only see what's in front of us. But that's how faith works. Faith is trusting when everything seems bleak, knowing that the one who holds the future cares for us so deeply that He would never allow something bad to happen without birthing something good.

A few people told me that my joy shouldn't be hindered by someone else's pain. It wasn't. It just showed me that I am capable of deep compassion and understanding, even when painted in a negative light.

I believe that in the midst of this messy life, we are given an opportunity to extend good or bad when life throws us an unfair circumstance. A circumstance that we really wanted no part in.

Maybe I was lied about. Maybe I was painted unfairly. I don't know because I don't have all the facts about what happened. The thing is: I don't need them. I choose to believe that at our darkest moments, we can choose to blame someone out of anger. It doesn't always make sense; but it's not always about the person being blamed. Sometimes, it's about our hearts.

My heart chooses to believe that through miscommunication and heartache, I was caught in the middle of a storm I didn't realize I was in. A storm I should never have been a part of, but was dragged into unwillingly. I wish I could change everything and make things right. But I'm not the Creator of the Universe. I don't get to choose who experiences joy and pain.

So, my prayers have remained constant. Prayers for this tragedy, prayers for my heart, for my child, prayers for all involved. Because only God can heal broken hearts. Only God can make sense of tragedy.

This is what 10 weeks of pregnancy has taught me: life is beyond precious. And forgiveness is always good for the soul.


To document my pregnancy, I'll answer these questions every couple of weeks and include pictures...when my bump appears :)

How far along: 10 1/2 weeks

Baby size: kumquat

Total weight gained: 0 so far!

Sleep: Mostly good, but some nights I toss and turn because I can't find a comfortable position to sleep in. That's pretty normal for me!

Best moment of the week: Well, I'll choose from the past 10...seeing Baby Hansen on the 8-week ultrasound. Our doctor said baby already has LONG legs. Not surprising since Kelly is 6'7"

Miss anything: Cold salami...turkey...roast beef...pretty much cold sandwiches.

Movement: Nothing noticeable yet!

Food cravings: Mostly fruit. And protein.

Anything making you queasy: Ground beef. YUCK!!

Have you started to show yet: Slightly, but nothing anyone other than me would notice.

Gender: Not sure yet, but the general consensus says GIRL. I don't have a preference. I'd be happy with either. But my gut instinct says girl.

Labor signs: NONE

Happy or moody: A good mix. Mostly happy, but I have a few emotional-crying days and some cranky days.

Exercise routine: Mostly swimming at the Rec Center for an hour every day. Walk when it's not blazing hot out.

Looking forward to: My second trimester! I'm hoping my energy returns :)

What We've Been Up To Lately

Life in the Hansen Household always seems to be moving at warped speed. There's always something to do, someone to meet, somewhere to be...

I don't really mind it. I've learned the value in being busy. Just like I've learned the value in downtime. Everything is only temporary. This, too, shall pass.

Kelly and I have devoted a large amount of time to our front yard over the last year. I love flowers. I love gardening. I love pulling weeds. I love watering. When I am an old woman, I imagine spending most of my time outdoors, tending to my roses.

 My grandparents made their first trek to Oklahoma to visit. We had a great time with them. As always, my time with my grandparents is always too short.

Niko sure loved his great-grandma :)

It's always hard when we get phone calls about dogs. Usually, they only have a few hours of life left in a kill shelter and someone is desperate to place the dog because they don't want to see its life end because its owners were irresponsible. 

We always seem to find a way to help. In fact, it's very rare that we don't help. When we received a call that a husky--under 12 months old--only had a few hours left, it just broke my heart. Puppies--good puppies--should NEVER have to have their lives ended because their humans can't get it together.

So, I just want to take a moment to reiterate what I've been saying since we rescued Niko: if you don't have the time, patience, and love to give to a four-legged fur child, PLEASE don't take it on. Don't chain it to the lawn as a lawn ornament. Don't neglect its well-being because you're too busy. Don't send it to a kill shelter because you "don't know what else to do". There are so, so many rescues willing to help place animals. There are so many people willing to help you take care of your four-legged fur child. EVERY animal deserves a good home. If you can't be a good home for an animal, don't bother bringing it into your home. Because I know for a fact that a dog--mistreated or well-treated--will love you unconditionally. And it will take years to undo the damage of being abandoned and mistreated. Take it from me: I've helped rescue six dogs. Each has their own problems. Each has needed patience and love instead of punishment and abandonment. Each has a troubled past that they've had to overcome. 

Zoe's owners refused to pick her up from the shelter because she kept escaping their yard. They were going to put her down the following day when we received a phone call. 

This dog is absolutely amazing. She's smart and sweet. She cuddles and howls. She sleeps on the couch quietly in the afternoons and I almost forget she's in my home. She loves chicken, tuna, peanut butter, and carrots. She races around the backyard and runs along the fence line with the neighbor dog. She gives kisses and loves to jump really high on her walks. She's terrified of laminate flooring, but she's working on her fear. She loves chasing cats and chickens. Every night, she crawls into my arms and falls fast asleep. And it brings me to tears. Tears that someone would just stop caring for this little furball who weighs 34 lbs. Who doesn't have a voice. Who can't tell anyone how much she just wants to be loved and give love.

It's not Zoe's fault. It will never be her fault. She did nothing wrong. She was probably neglected. And if you have any experience with huskies, you know they can't be left alone. They thrive in packs--even if their pack is human. They need interaction and patience. They need exercise and--preferably--other dogs. 

I wish I could do more for her. I wish I could undo the time she spent in the shelter, longing to be rescued by her family. I wish I could take back the hours she was probably tied to a tree in the yard because her family didn't have time for her. Knowing all she needed was some love, a quiet place in the corner with an antler chew and blanket to claim as her own. 

If you are considering getting a new dog, please think about it long and hard. It's a 15-year commitment. And these animals can't help but love you with everything they have. If you can't love back with the same ferocity, then maybe this isn't for you. If you decide it is, PLEASE consider rescuing. After rescuing six dogs--all with differing degrees of issues--there is nothing time and patience can't fix. 

Some day, I hope I can save more. But for now, I'll just hold my fur-babies close and give them lots of kisses and head rubs. Because every dog--regardless of its past--deserves to be loved and saved. 

On a less solemn note, Father's day was a FUN day. We had pulled pork, coleslaw, watermelon, corn on the cob, baked beans and banana pudding at my in-laws. It's always fun to spend time with family. I wish I could have spent it with my father, He was at the shooting range 1,500 miles away, so I know he spent his day doing something he loves.

Here's my dad, brother and I nearly 24 years ago. We've all changed so much since this image was snapped. Especially my father's hair :)

My father-in-law, mother-in-law, and sweet husband. 

Looking at both these pictures makes me realize how fast time flies by. 20+ years really does come and go. And if we're not careful, we'll miss out on the good stuff--like family afternoons laughing about how much banana pudding my brother-in-law made. 

I've spent a lot of time with my huskies lately. We walk, we play, we go for car rides. They're my babies and I love their company. I can't imagine my house without their howls, blanket of white fur covering EVERYTHING, and constant licks and kisses. 

It's a good life, my friends. Even on the days it doesn't seem like it. There's always something good in each day. And most of my days are good because of my four-legged fur children :)

--Jessi

Happy 4th Anniversary, My Love

Well, "I do" are the two most famous last words

The beginning of the end

But to lose your life for another, I've heard

Is a good place to begin

'Cause the only way to find your life

Is to lay your own life down

And I believe it's an easy price

For the life that we have found

And we're dancing in the minefields

We're sailing in the storms

And this is harder than we dreamed

But I believe that's what the promise is for

So when I lose my way, find me

And when I loose love's chains, bind me

At the end of all my faith to the end of all my days

When I forget my name, remind me

--Andrew Peterson

Happy Anniversary, My Love

Thank you for four years of adventures.

But, mostly, thank you for always gently holding my hand

through life's ups and downs.

I love you more than you will ever know :)

XOXO Jessi

The Story of My Mother's Life

To you, my mother is no one special. Her name will never appear in bright lights and she would probably shave her head before appearing on TV. She is just a simple woman who runs a resale shop in a small town a couple of days a week.

My mother was born to two East Coasters who found themselves living in Santa Barbara in the early 60's. My grandmother spoke with a Boston accent and when she'd drink alcohol on rare occasion, her nose would turn red. My grandfather devoted his days to routine and his Bible. I never really got to know the people who raised my mother. They lived 3,000 miles from us. But I do know that they must have been amazing because they raised my mother, who just happens to be the most amazing woman I've ever known.

If you ask my mother, she will tell you she had an idyllic childhood. She rode her bike, went to church, spent carefree days with her brothers drinking from the garden hose, and would walk to the grocery store for her mom to buy groceries. "Life," she'd tell you, "was simple and easy."

My mother wasn't popular in school. The only thing she's ever really told me about her high school experience, other than her love of long-distance running and stalking cute boys, is that she attended high school with some famous people. The list includes: Kathy Ireland, Eric Stoltz, and Anthony Edwards. Is she impressed that these people made names for themselves? No. She has never based anyone's success on fame and fortune. She bases success on people's hearts.

Her biggest high school regret? "I wish I hadn't cared what other people thought," she once told me.

Even though she had the option, my mother didn't go to college. Her parents encouraged her to get a job and make a living. So, she did.

And that's how she met my father. They both worked at a fast food restaurant and like all young, carefree, fast food sweethearts, they fell in love.

My parents married on August 18, 1985 in a small ceremony at the courthouse. I have old videos from their reception at my grandparents' house. My mother wore flowers in her hair and she smiled the whole time. I have never seen her look more beautiful than the day she dawned that white lace dress and became my father's first wife.

I don't really know a lot about my parents' marriage. I just know that my mother devoted her days to cleaning and cooking. My father, conversely, devoted his days to work. I think that eventually separated them. They had nothing in common and our dinner table was surprisingly quiet at night. They weren't passionately in love. There was no fire. As the years wore on, I think they both realized that.

For years, I studied my mother as she prepared my father's meals and washed his clothes. She never argued with him. Never purposely annoyed him. Never did anything but simply exist in his house like a picture on the wall. She was in the background while he was the main attraction. And she never minded.

Looking back, I'm grateful that my father decided to end their marriage. Sure, it felt like the end of the world at the time. It hurt. We cried. A lot. We learned how to keep moving forward. And I watched my mother blossom from a wall flower to a social butterfly as she learned how to live without my father. He set her free when he decided he no longer loved her.

The sound of my mother laughing wasn't heard often in my father's house. I can't really remember her smiling or throwing back her head in amusement. Now, it's rare if I don't hear her laugh on a daily basis. She'll call me in the evenings to let me know she got stuck on something and fell like a ton of bricks to the ground. "I just laid there for a minute," she'll chuckle, "making sure nothing was broken."

My mother has hobbies now. She gardens, She walks. She has a dog that follows her around like a shadow. She's a manager. She's a great listener. She spends her days in the quiet ebb and flow of country life. She dreams about helping people and one day having a bunch of chickens. She laughs a lot and finally stands up for herself. She's never cruel; always kind. And she cries happy tears. All. The. Time.

To you, my mother is no one special. But to me, she is the woman who gave me life. She is the woman who spent countless hours teaching a selfish younger version of myself to care intensely for the well being of others. She showed me how to love quietly and gently. She instilled in me a desire to pick my battles carefully and to never judge someone by their situation. She is my best friend, my closest confidante and the reason I dutifully clean my house and iron my husband's shirts.

The story of my mother's life is this: when the floor falls out beneath you, keep moving. Keep going. Laugh. Cry. Breathe. And when it's all said and done, don't let life make you bitter. Let life make you better.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Thanks for letting me part of your story.

I love you

We Mulched Our Front Yard!

When we first bought our house, the lawn looked like this:

I was excited because it was a clean slate. I could do whatever I wanted to my lawn. So, I planted some roses and plants. And added in a bench seat.

Last year, it looked like this:

This year, Kelly and I pondered what we could do to make the lawn look better. And to keep out the neighbor cats out of my roses. That's where they like to do their "business" and I don't really like how it smells.

We happened to be in the right place and the right time and got 25 bags of mulch for $50. Friends, it was a steal. I haven't found mulch that cheap ever. So, we mulched our front yard.

And now it looks like this:

And I had to post this picture of our blooming red bud!

Slowly, but surely, we will add a gray stone border to the mulch. But I think it's really livened up the yard!