Whole 30: Post 1

So on Monday, I started doing the Whole 30. I committed to 30 days of no grains, no dairy, no sugar. This journey is a long time coming for me because I have been convicted for quite some time about my eating habits, and it's just so hard to make a change.

After I had Blake, I dealt with a long, difficult ductal yeast infection. Breastfeeding was so painful that I would scream out in agony every time Blake ate. Everything I read about said to minimize sugar intake, but I just struggled to make the change. Mama likes her pasta! But then came the awful guilt trips because when I was in pain, I blamed myself. I had the remedy to make it better, but I kept NOT changing my diet! Then after I had Malcolm, I was terrified of having that yeast again. I actually did have it. In my c-section wound, the *cough* typical area, and in my breast. Thankfully, it was short lived. But God really began working on my heart... I joined a Facebook group for psoriasis support and found out that diet has a lot to do with auto-immune diseases. Annnd the guilt trips began again. If I changed my diet, it could help my psoriasis. But I didn't, and I suffered.

But the psoriasis support group has taught me a lot about which foods are acidic and inflammation-causing. And how psoriasis can get worse if you don't do something about it. And how GOOD you feel when you eat REAL food. These people were healing, and they were thriving.

Why should changing my diet be so damn hard? Of course changing habits is always hard... but I had a serious heart issue. I started experiencing even more guilt now because I knew it wasn't just a cause and effect food issue... I was abusing food and myself. I binge ate when I got stressed. I binge ate just because there was a certain food that I "just can't say no to." I would go to a restaurant, convinced that I would order the taco salad... but I would convince myself that I HAD to get a combo platter instead.  Because everyone else was. And then I felt guilty. Because I knew better. I know that certain foods are bad for me. They are not life giving.

That's a phrase that God put on my heart. As with every decision we make, some bring life and some do not. Why wouldn't I choose life?

So I want better for my kids. That's why I really want to change our habits now. My brother is a big inspiration to me because he eats super healthy, avoiding sugar most of the time, and he is super healthy. He enjoys a good meal, but eating is not happiness to him. Why does eating mean so damn much to me?!

Anyway, this is part of the reason WHY I am doing Whole 30. For me, this is about a lot more than just losing weight, feeling better physically, and changing habits. This is a heart issue. Because I really, really like to eat. Much more than I should. And since this is a heart issue for me, I NEED to remember during this journey, especially during the difficult moments of temptation, that I need to be evaluating my heart. And I want to share this journey with you because I'm hoping to inspire others to evaluate their hearts and evaluate their plates. The food industry is seriously messed up, and we need to stop being ignorant to the results of sugar and chemicals in our bodies before it's too late.

What does my life mean without cheese? Is my life any less fulfilling? I love cheese, but I HAVE to know that I am okay without it. What's that quote from Cool Runnings?  "Cheese is a wonderful thing. But if you aren't enough without it, you'll never be enough with it." Something like that. ;-)

wednesday

Wednesday was the last day that I had a conversation with my dad. I would never have imagined that, though. On Wednesday morning, Blake and I went to visit my dad. He was getting a CT scan that morning. When he came back from the test, he was so exhausted from not sleeping over night. I told him that I would let him rest, and I would come again in the evening. Blake gave him a high five. And we left. That's it. That was the last conversation we ever had.

Blake and I went home for naptime, and after that, we went to my mom's for dinner. TJ was in the midst of his very first progress reports (which is very time-consuming at his school). He was pretty stressed and had a lot of work to do, but he went with me to the hospital on Wednesday evening while we left Blake with Grandma.

When we got to the hospital, Dad was sleeping. I didn't want to wake him, so I left him a note that said I would visit again in the morning. But I didn't want to leave without any answers. I still didn't know what was wrong. So we waited for Dad's doctor to have time to talk to us. We watched Survivor while we waited. Dad's doctor came in after about half an hour of waiting. He got right to the point. The ugly "c word" was in his first sentence. I felt my heart drop, but I didn't cry. My brain was really busy concentrating on what the doctor was saying because there were so many technical words in the diagnosis. The doctor told us up front that even though they didn't know for sure what stage his cancer was in, it was most likely not treatable. He told us that we should have a family meeting sometime in the upcoming days about what Dad's plan would be in the event of being diagnosed with weeks or months to live. The message was clear: Dad was going to die and probably soon.

I don't remember what our conversation was like on the way home from the hospital, but I do remember that I had to drop TJ off at LCCS to finish his progress reports, so I drove the rest of the way home by myself. And I don't think I was crying yet, but I wanted to cry, and I wanted to talk to God about it, but yet I didn't because I was too angry. I felt angry, and I felt sad. And I felt scared. Because my dad is supposed to be the strong one for me, not the other way around. I was having a baby soon. How would I be able to, also, take care of my dad?

Taking care of Blake during that week was like an escape. You would think it would feel like such a burden amidst all the emotions, but it was, for me, a time to turn off my emotions and just go with the familiar motions of taking care of Blake. I picked him up at my mom's house that evening, and I told her what the doctor said. And I remember feeling like, why wasn't she reacting more? And then I had to call my brother and tell him, and I felt the same thing: why wasn't he reacting more? My world turned upside down, and I felt like screaming out a mixture of anger and sadness and fear.

I was expecting bad news like that my dad needed a transplant, as I mentioned in my previous post. I wasn't expecting to hear that he had terminal cancer. And one question that haunts my mind still is did they ever get a chance to tell my dad that he had cancer? And how did he feel in that moment? Remember, I spoke to my dad for the last time that morning, before results came in from his CT scan. We never got to have a conversation about his diagnosis. 

tuesday

Two weeks before my dad went to the hospital, he just had a cold. We all did. But ours went away after a few days, and we all started to feel better. But Dad didn't. I just thought that because he was older, it was taking him longer to get better.

He had been having a lot of nosebleeds that I was concerned about, and I told him to go to the doctor about it about a month before his death. But the doctor said she had no idea why his nose was bleeding so much.

In the week before he died, Dad wasn't getting out of bed. He had no appetite. Our fridge was full of uneaten food. I brought him glasses of water, but I don't know if he drank them or not. That's when I knew something was wrong. This was not normal. With the combined efforts of my uncle, aunt, and me, we convinced my dad to go to the doctor again. This doctor ran a few tests and sent him home. Dad went back to bed and said we had to wait until the next day when the blood test results came in. I was really scared; I was expecting it to be something serious, but not immediately life threatening. Dad and I actually argued that morning (Tuesday) because he said that his appointment was at 11, but I KNEW that the receptionist said 10. We argued about it for a few minutes, and he called back and found that I was right. Dad was loopy though. He couldn't think straight.

The doctor called us about 6 PM that evening. We were just sitting down to have dinner, and she said that Dad's blood test results hadn't come in yet, but the tests that had come through were all wrong. His liver enzymes and his blood counts were all off. It was actually nothing new for Dad's blood cell count to be off. Several years prior, he had gone to several specialists because his white blood cell count was low. They couldn't find anything wrong with him at the time. But this time, doc said we had better take him to the ER. So I finished my dinner and, then, knocked on Dad's door to tell him to get ready. He whined like a toddler,

"Right noooow?! Whyyyy?!"
"Well, Dad, we can either go tonight, or we can wait until tomorrow. Either way, we are going, and we might as well go tonight so maybe you can feel better sooner."

He gave in, and we dropped off Blake at my aunt's house and headed to LGH. Dad was really dizzy. When they showed him his information on his bracelet, Quang M. Bui, he said that the W is supposed to be an M. He also kept standing up whenever they called a number because he thought it was our number. It wasn't even close. They would call 33, but our number was 102. Something like that.

Once we got called back, Dad kept asking how long he would be there because he was worried about Blake and TJ getting home because he had to work the next day. I really wanted to stay until they admitted him, but we had no idea how long it would be, The ER doc told me that it looked like liver disease, which is what we were expecting it to be. As shocking as it all should have been to hear that my dad might have liver disease, I wasn't all that surprised because my dad had been a heavy drinker for quite some time. And like I said earlier, I was expecting it to be a semi-serious issue.

I was not too emotional about everything because I was in problem solving mode. Everything was reactionary to me, and I just kept thinking what do I need to do next? But the one thing I did get emotional about was the fact that I couldn't donate my liver to my dad because I was pregnant. You see, I was assuming that the next day, we would go to the hospital to visit my dad and hear that he would need a transplant. That's the serious news I was expecting to hear. And I was expecting that it would be fixable. It was really hard for me to think that, perhaps, my liver was compatible, but my pregnancy prevented my donation.

I went home that night expecting that I would wake up in the morning and visit Dad and hear how many days they would want to keep him in the hospital. That's what we all expected.

too late to apologize

I find myself apologizing for Blake a lot. I say, "Sorry, he's shy" when someone tries to talk to him, and he fusses and hides. But recently, I started wondering why I was apologizing. What is wrong with being shy? Of course as adults, we know that even though we are shy, it's polite to say hello back to someone when they try to engage in conversation. But Blake doesn't know that. All he knows is that he doesn't like it when someone he doesn't know tries to talk to him. He doesn't like when someone gets too close to his personal space. He's an introvert, and he's shy. And that's okay!

I was actually far worse than him at this age with the same things. I turned out alright. But we are trying to work with Blake about how to express how he's feeling. I am trying to teach him words like "overwhelmed" so that when we have a situation like his birthday party where there were just too many people for him, he will be able to tell me that is how he's feeling instead of just screaming. We are doing our best to help him, but it can be tough sometimes. Blake had a tantrum for about 20 minutes or so the other day because I put a bandaid on his cut. He didn't want a bandaid on his cut. He doesn't speak well enough to even say that, so he just screamed and tried to rip it off. Today he had a tantrum because someone handed him a juice box, and it fell to the floor when he refused to hold it himself. Of course toddlers will have random tantrums over absolutely nothing, so oh well.

Being shy and introverted is nothing to apologize for. Blake gets overwhelmed when there are too many people around, especially when they are all trying to talk to him. He has never been one to smile and wave at strangers, and he doesn't like to accept a sticker from the well-intentioned grocery store clerks. It might sound silly, but it was only recently that I understood that Blake is a human with a personality just like me. I guess it didn't occur to me that a child could be introverted.

Now if only I could carry around a sign all the time that said, "Please don't get in my son's face" we would be all good. But since I can't do that, I still find myself telling people that he's shy, but I have taken out the "I'm sorry" part of it because there's nothing wrong with my son. He hasn't done anything wrong, he just doesn't like talking to strangers. That's really not the worst thing ever. Chances are, Blake will not be accepting any candy from strangers.

Q Update - 11 Weeks Old

Malcolm Quang, or Q as I like to call him, will be 11 wks old tomorrow. Wow, where has the time gone? Malcolm is, by far, a much more easy going baby than Blake was. He loves to sleep, which is great because I do too! He has slept some 9 hours stretches already. Blake didn't do that until he was over a year old! It is a huge blessing. Speaking of huge, Malcolm is a bit of a butterball at over 13 lbs. It's adorable.

Blake initially handled the transition well, but i think once he realized that Malcolm was here to stay, he was not happy. He started screaming almost every night. Still does about half of the time. We have been taking him into our bed and loving it actually, but sometimes it gets difficult because he wakes up when we have to get up. TJ and i are just doing what we can to survive and get some rest. Blake also wants to be held a lot when we go out, which can make it impossible to go out sometimes. He had a meltdown in the Chick Fil A parking lot because I tried to hold his hand rather than pick him up. He was grabbing onto my leg and screaming in the middle of the parking lot. In the rain. While I was holding a big diaper bag and heavy carseat. What a mess.

But Spring has finally sprung, and with that comes much excitement and hope for what the future holds. It has been a long winter adjusting to two, and unfortunately, I did not have much help with it, especially in terms of keeping Blake occupied. But we survived. I felt a lot like my family didn't care about Malcolm's arrival. It was tough for me because this little guy is very special. He is just as special as Blake and deserves just as much love. I didn't realize just how much I loved him until he was here. I kind of thought of him as Blake 2.0, but as he grows, I realize he is an individual. I am eager to see who Malcolm will be because he has already proven that he is much different from his brother (thank God for that!).

Speaking of comparison, this is Blake. He is about 7 weeks old in this photo.

And this one is Malcolm at 9 weeks. 

the annoying thing about my husband

My husband is a terrible photographer. He doesn't understand which angles are flattering and which aren't. He doesn't know what to do about lighting. And he just doesn't ever even THINK about taking a photo, so I don't actually end up being in a lot of photos since I always have to take them. I guess it isn't his fault. Not everyone has a value for capturing the beauty of a moment in a photo. But I do, so TJ gets to be in ALL the photos, which is really annoying. How annoying that there is so much beauty in the way that my husband interacts with his sons, am I right? Gosh. If he was a crappy father, maybe I would be in all the photos.

Then again, when my husband takes a photo, he always catches me in a really unflattering pose. Maybe it's my fault for not knowing how to be a model. But it's like he doesn't even notice that the way that I was standing, plus the angle from which he was taking the photo, made me look like I was five months pregnant! He hands me the camera with the photo display on it, and he says, "This one is really good!" What?! How annoying. Can't he see that I am fat in this picture? It's as if my husband doesn't look at me and see a fat lady.

-"TJ, I look really fat here. Why didn't you tell me I was sticking out my stomach like that?"
-"What do you mean? I think you look great!"

Ugh. How annoying.

And then last night, there was the fact that I specifically explained that there was a bottle with breastmilk in it, and there was some formula in the fridge to add to it when Malcolm woke up. Then when I woke up feeling refreshed four hours later, the bottle had been given with the extra container of breastmilk, and the formula was still in the fridge. How annoying that my husband was too busy preparing his midterm tests to understand my specific instructions about the formula. Now we will probably have to throw it away. What a self-absorbed jerk my husband is!

Then again... I suppose there are worse things in life than a husband who always thinks his wife is beautiful and who stays up late to give the baby a bottle so she can rest.

post c-section

Malcolm is finally here! He is so wonderful and was definitely worth all the aches and pains. He weighed in at 8 lbs 8 oz and 20 inches long. I was shocked to hear how big he was because I was guessing he would be just over 7 lbs!

Anyway, I had a much more pleasant experience this time around. The pre-op ritual was annoying because once you get to the hospital, you are just ready to get the show on the road, but it took almost two hours to get ready for surgery. It was very strange to walk into an operating room and lie down on the table! They gave me a spinal epidural, which was VERY painful. I cried. I was so panicky as they were preparing for surgery that I almost started screaming for TJ. I was just really scared. When TJ was finally allowed in, I could hardly speak. I was stuttering, and I just kept repeating, "Afraid. Afraid." (I don't seem to handle anesthesia very well.) I could feel a lot of tugging as they did the surgery, and when they were ready to get Malcolm out, they pushed really hard on my stomach. I don't remember that part being so unpleasant with Blake's birth.

But I said that this time around was more positive than last time, didn't I? Now to the good part! They lowered the drape, and I saw the most beautiful little face! Then I cried again. They cleaned him off, and I was able to hold him for the rest of the surgery. I was a lot more with it than I was with Blake's delivery, so as they wheeled me into the recovery room, I got to keep Malcolm with me. It was so wonderful.

Recovery from c-section is rough. It is hard to take care is your baby when you are hooked up to an iv and cant get out of bed on your own. It's an emotional experience because all you want to do is go pick up your baby when he's crying, and I just couldn't get up. I actually pushed too hard at one point while TJ was away and opened up my incision getting up out of the bed. I have been healing much quicker after this surgery than I did with Blake's though, which is such a blessing. But now that we are home, I am so emotional from missing Blake. TJ has been taking care of him since I can't lift him or get on the floor to play with him. Blake is handling the transition well so far, but I think it is only because he has daddy to play with him. The real test will come when TJ goes back to work next week.

I am so thankful for a much more positive experience this time around. I know that repeat c-sections are controversial in the mommy wars world, but I am so blessed to have two healthy sons, regardless of how they got here.