Them Bones


Breaking my hand is the first broken bone experience I’ve ever had. That stuff hurts!! Like right up there with my c-section recovery hurts and my broken bone is just a tiny one. I couldn’t imagine an arm or leg feeling that way. It just plain aches all the time no matter what. It’s bearable, but oh so very annoying to have this random throbbing going on when you least expect it. 

Also, can I just say pinkie fingers are totally underrated? You use that digit for EVERYTHING, but you don’t notice until it sends searing pain through your arm every time it moves or brushes against something. Ugh… I did get recast after my follow up appointment which was a blessing and curse all at once. The ER cast thingy was much more stable and secure. Nothing moved, and I felt more comfortable with that one. The one I’m in now gives me more maneuverability which in turn makes it easier for me to tend the kids. The ER thing made it impossible to tend the kids. Like it was just impossible to do anything for them with out pain. Mostly the Twins. Little is pretty easy now that she’s potty trained.

It was the worst thing ever not being able to pick up the babies. I don’t care about anything else that’s restricted because of my hand, but that day not being able to hold them was awful. Especially since they are aware enough to look for me when they want/need me. I had four of the biggest grey eyes staring at me most of the day followed by intermittent fussing. They needed their mama, and I couldn’t take them until bed time. 

My sisters helped me with bottles and diapers and such through out the day, so it’s not like they were completely neglected or uncared for. Sometimes babies just need mama, and being unable to provide that for them is heart breaking. I was able to pick them up, cuddle them and put them to bed. Which made all of us feel a lot better. They stopped fussing so much, my anxiety toned down notch or two. It was just better for everyone. 

Baby snuggles are magic. 💜

A Turn of the Tide

Now that all the court stuff is out of the way, I can finally publish this… 

Last May, I broke my hand. I sort of vaguely mentioned it here but couldn’t really get too much into it as we were working through the court system. So here’s the account of the events and most of the drama I silently endured during the later half of 2016.


My hand was broken in an epic ending to a major piece of continuing drama in my life. PTSD blind fight reflex is not with out its drawbacks, but aside from an inconvienance it worked out for the best.
It all started when I attempted to stay with my parents while we were having the house built. Yes, I know I’d said we had an apartment but that was to avoid other drama associated with my childhood home. The plan had always been to stay with my parents. I kind of knew it wasn’t going to be easy for sure with mom’s NPD, but I survived 18 years of her shenanigans so a few months seemed doable. At least in theory it would have been doable, but mom was in rare form. It usually takes a few weeks before shit hits the fan, but this last time? Not even 24hrs after Hubs went back to Indiana. 

She’d been picking at me since the moment we arrived with petty passive aggressive verbal barbs, and boy did she pull out all the stops! She kept calling Hubs by my ex’s name while he was here (which she excused by saying he looks so much like his dad who shares the name), then she started picking at my dog and threatening to send it to the pound which scared Little to tears, then she started in on my parenting, all which I took in stride. It did trigger some obvious anxiety but nothing I couldn’t handle with an hour or so out of the house. 

Which made her blood boil and lack of supply freak her out to the max. Which is why after she got home from work on Monday, three days after we arrived, as the kids were doing their usual afternoon, tired fussy pre bedtime play time, all hell broke loose. 

The boys were in their pack and play and B1 had rolled over and wiggled his way on top of B2’s arm so they were both crying kind of stuck where they were. It wasn’t mega urgent emergency crying, just fussing, so I decided to finish downloading some new episodes of shows onto Little’s iPad before I went to check on them. It was charging so I was tethered to the bedroom. 

Mom comes home wondering why I hadn’t immediately rushed to the Boys’ aid in a mood and started in on my parenting again. I pretty much ignored it with a comment on how I had three children and needed to take care of Little at the moment, the boys were fine until I could finish what I was doing. I guess she was in and out from the car bringing in groceries. Somehow our dog got upstairs from the basement and Little not understanding why she shouldn’t help the dog out, opens the door letting our dog out side. 

Mom says: “oh, well she’s gone.” Trying to hurt Little’s feelings for being three and making an innocent although poor choice. I wasn’t about to have that, so I charged out the door after the dog thinking mom would stay at home stewing over the whole thing and watch the kids. But no…. No that didn’t happen because that would have been logical, rational and sane. Instead my mom comes traipsing down the street leaving the kids unattended yelling at me for not wearing shoes. I turned around to ask who was watching the kids to be met with my mother’s usual response of casual indifference and insults about my parenting. That was annoying, but the real kicker was my Little standing unattended two houses away in the middle of the street. 

Obviously, at that point to hell with the dog, I have to tend to my kids. I rushed back down the street to get Little safely inside. I tended to the boys who at that point needed to be changed and fed for dinner, and then when they were taken care of after my mom returned sans dog, I asked why, we started screaming at each other, mom hit me acrossed the face for being “disrespectful” and then… It all changed. The strike to the face is nothing new, we always end up screaming at each other and she’s always retaliated with violence. This time, instead of taking it like I usually did reflexes took over and I immediately swung back connecting with her head somewhere. Not the face, but the head. She tried to return the blow, but I blocked it so she grabbed a coffee mug off the counter and tried to break it over my head, but I blocked that with another blow and then my Little started screaming.

I had no idea she had wandered into the room, but she saw mom throw the cup at me and my return blow. So… We’ve got lots of therapy to look forward to in the next few months. AWESOME. So, I hear her scream and immediately run over to her trying to comfort her, which is when mom decides to call the police and try to have me arrested. Try to, being the key phrase there. Once they got there and took our statements, mom ended up getting arrested and having charges filed by the state. 

I didn’t even notice my hand was injured until after the fact as I was trying to write my statement. It hurt but it wasn’t bruised or swollen at all. I called a friend who raced over to take my kids if I got arrested, so since the kids were okay and I wasn’t going to jail, she ended up taking me to the ER instead. We sat there forever waiting to be seen, and eventually the results came back: broken. What they appropriately call a boxers fracture of my right fifth metacarpal. The bits that connect my pinkie to my wrist. Snapped right through, but thankfully didn’t displace too much. 

So… Now, as I’m pecking this out with my left hand, we’re waiting to go through the court system and see how that pans out. It’s weird having all of these victims resources available to me all of the sudden after dealing with my mom my entire life. People are all like omg you’re a victim of a crime! Do you need help!!? And I’m trying to be polite but thinking to myself: nice try but you’re about 30 years too late, thanks. I’m fine, I’ll be fine. I’ve made it through everything else, a broken hand is the least of the damage from this. Lol.

Really the only thing that sucks is being stuck in Ohio as I’m finishing my medical stuff and try to figure out what to do with the build and my poor Little who doesn’t understand where Grandma went and why she hurt me, and I fought back. 2016 took a nose dive real quick there. Like overnight. 

Emerging from the Shadows

Beautifully written, and worth a read!


Over the weekend, someone asked me if I was happier now than I was eight years ago when my PTSD took over my life. I was surprised when my answer without thought was, “no, I’m not happier.” The answer stopped me in my tracks. I have worked my ass off to find some semblance of health these past years. I have gone from having a repressed, all dark past, to a congruent timeline with all puzzle pieces filled in. I know the who, why, when, how-the-heck these things could happen, all of it. I know the big picture and the minutiae. But I had mistakenly thought that my PTSD would be gone, (like my cancer was gone after treatment) cured, and I would be skipping back to work with no lingering symptoms. No one put that in my head but me. My symptoms are still active, and that’s the way it…

View original post 903 more words

First Traumaversary 

Today marks one year since one of the most terrifying experiences I’ve ever faced in my life. Waking up to find my 5 week old baby boy covered in bloody vomit, and enduring his emergency surgery the next day. 

My anxiety has been on 11 the past two days and I couldn’t really figure out why until the picture I took in the hospital showed up on my social media. It occurred to me that I’ve never really processed that event. I mean I was aware of it, but instead of really allowing myself to feel the emotions I repressed them to function through the event. 

It’s a PTSD reflex unfortunately, the “normal” way my brain functions under times of high stress. REPRESS ALL THE THINGS SO YOU EXPERIENCE RANDOM PANIC ATTACKS LATER WITH NO IMMEDIATE CAUSE. Exactly like that. That’s what my brain says. I’m certain of it. Lol. 

Anyway… as I’m attempting to process these rogue emotions and get my panic under control today I thought I’d share what I wrote last year.

Well, in a rather interesting turn of events today I’m at an entirely DIFFERENT children’s hospital with B ONE waiting for minor surgery to correct Pyloric Stenosis. Yes… Here I was worried about little B2 potentially going under the knife, and around flies B1 (who hasn’t had any medical issues what so ever up until this point) completely out of left field. 

Seriously… No joke. It all started yesterday morning about fifteen minutes after my post published about B2’s ENT appointment. I walk in to check on B1 who had been fussing to find him covered in mucusy brown vomit, but otherwise acting normal. So I scoop him up out of his bassinet and rush out to wake Hubs. I’ve never seen brown vomit from an infant before, so we knew it wasn’t normal or okay but we weren’t entirely sure it was immediate ER worthy. 

We called the pediatrician on call which happened to be our regular doctor and explained the situation. She said since he was acting otherwise normal, to keep an eye on him and call back if he had any other issues, fever, or loss of appetite. So Hubs and I went ahead and took B2 to his appointment and left little B1 in the care of my mom who had come up to watch the other Littles. At some point during the hour we were gone with B2, B1 lost his lunch accompanied by more mucusy brown goop. 

Literally as soon as we walked in the door with B2, I had to turn around and take B1 to the pediatrician’s office to get him checked out. Our doctor looked him over, tested some of the brown goop which we discovered was curdled milk and blood. So she went through all the possible scenarios, gave us instructions to go on a pedialite fast or take him to the children’s ER if he couldn’t keep anything down. 

I returned home with B1, relayed the instructions to my mom and the darted back out the door to my own appointment not thinking too much of it. On my way home from my appointment, I get a call from my mom saying not only did B1 vomit again, but it was projectile clear across the room and still brown even after only receiving a small bit of pedialite. 

So I called Hubs, he came home from work and away we went with B1 down to Children’s ER. We sat there for almost four hours going through various tests trying to get a diagnosis before they finally came up with the Pyloric Stenosis. Which is easily treatable, albeit with surgery. 

Surgery, on my five week old son. Because, y’know, life hadn’t been busy enough right now. We’re still waiting to get him in for the ultrasound to confirm the diagnosis, and no one really knows why his vomit was bloody brown. I’m hoping it’s not another under laying issues like B2’s breathing.

Which, speaking of little B2’s breathing, also got a diagnosis of something really long that starts with an L and has something to do with two glands in his throat being just a hair too big, which blocks his windpipe when he gets upset or excited. It can also be treated with a minor surgery, or he could simply grow out of it. 

If he doesn’t grow out of it he’ll be 2 years old when they preform the surgery which is the same age they performed my sinus surgery, the root cause of my PTSD. SO… Depending on how everything goes with B1, we’re going back to the ENT with B2 next month to discuss our options. I don’t want B2 to go through what I went through with surgery and trauma at such a young age, so my vote is to get him the surgery now before he starts retaining memories. The only saving grace keeping me sane right now.

The fact that both of my B’s will have no memory of any of this insanity as long as we can get it out of the way before 18 months. Beyond that we’ll have to address the mental affects… Hopefully it won’t get to that point. 

Uh Oh

Ever since my little B2 figured out the phrase “uh oh” it’s been hilarious around here. The kids will all be playing in the living room, or he’ll be in his crib for nap time, a crash of a falling toy will happen then the smallest voice will exclaim: “uh oh!” He’s also figured out his brother’s name, “whoa”, “hi”, “ow”, “mama”, “dada”, “sissy”, “up”, “DVD”, “no” his nickname, and he can mimick almost any word you repeat to him. This kid is going places. As soon as he gets past his sensory issues and starts walking anyway. 

Right now, he won’t put his feet down on any sort of surface. Soft, hard, shiny, opaque, doesn’t matter. He will hold his legs up and refuse to put his feet down. The doctor held him for five minutes suspended to see if he would drop his feet to the exam table and he basically just refused. Looked right at her and said: “no” when she asked him to stand up. She’s decided to wait until 15 months to see if he catches up to B1, but if not B2 gets more fun testing, and developmental therapy. Which we always knew was a possibility with his thyroid condition. I’m still just amused that he actually told the doctor no lol. 

The really sad part about his early expanding vocabulary, is that he said “ow” when they were doing his blood work. “Ow!” He yelped before he started crying. It completely shattered my heart into a million pieces. 😦 I really hope he outgrows the need for bimonthly bloodwork when he turns three. I actually need to get a hold of the specialist and double check his results. He’s surpassed B1 in weight and height in the past few months, and the two times he’s had his blood drawn have been on days before I gave him his meds and they said his levels were normal. I understand the medication is cumulative, building up in his system, but that seems odd to me. 

Eh, what do I know? I’m not a doctor lol. 

Mom Problems

I feel like I’m failing my Little. She’s been acting out A LOT recently, and I don’t know what to do to help her. 

I thought maybe she was jealous of the time I spend interacting with the Twins now that they’re beginning the interaction phase of Toddlerhood, so I switched up our schedule a little bit to have more one on one time with her after the Twins go to bed. Didn’t help.

I thought maybe she was bored, being cooped up in the house all day for the past week so we got some activities to do this weekend. I bought cookies sheets, cookie mix, and decorating icing to do something fun and festive. I told her after her quiet time (which she has every day) we’d bake the cookies. Then I decided to take a quick shower while all the kids were quiet. That was a mistake, because for some reason Little decided that she didn’t have to stay in her room and sprayed all of the decorating icing into the carpet, plus colored on the dining room wall. Fifteen minutes I was in the shower, and we didn’t do anything to deviate from our normal routine. MASS DESTRUCTION. 

Something is wrong, she isn’t feeling secure, and I don’t know what it is or why. She says she misses Hubs all the time, so I think that’s the biggest part of it but there is nothing I can do to change that. He visits whenever he has a chance and we’re still looking at houses every opportunity we get in an effort to get back under one roof. 

I wish I could just make her feel better, give her whatever it is that she’s missing, and calm her little spirit. I hate watching her struggle so much. It breaks my heart. 😦 

Kelli’s Brain Chemistry Adventures

I’m a scientist at heart, so my social media has been wrought with little blurbs about my rollercoaster of emotions trying to adjust to these meds. So far, I’m really not a fan of them at all. They do help my anxiety, which is a HUGE relief on the rest of my physical body, but my brain is taking it’s sweet time and trying on all the emotions as accessories to my new normal. Lol. 

I love that I’m alert and aware enough to take care of the kids. I was worried about being a sedated, barely functioning, lump like I was after whatever they gave me in the ER, but this med doesn’t seem to really affect my sleep or awareness. Winning! 

It does have its downsides, which is why I’m thankful the entire process is only temporary. (Yes, my doctor actually put me on a six month plan. The goal is to get me through these rough months with out Hubs and re-evaluate once we get settled back into our new home and old routines.) I feel like I’m disconnected from the world. Not dissociated, not Fugue, but sort of unplugged if that makes sense? 

I’ve always relied on my intuition and ability to sort of sense energies of situations and people. Now instead of everything being at my fingertips as it where, it feels like I’m living in a fishbowl. Everything is sort of muted. Like the sensations are still there, but it’s like someone turned down the volume. Or as I put it in discussion with a friend, maybe this is normal, and it’s only creeping me out because I’ve been turned up on 11 for so long? 

So we have that, and then the random tears forever and always streaming down my face in recent days. I’m not sad, I’m not depressed, I’m not particularly emotive one way or another but my eyes are basically just leaking tears no matter what I’m doing lol. That, I’m hoping is part of the adjustment phase and will run its course when my body gets used to this. Or I’ll have to try something different lol. 

The other thing that’s a little disconcerting is the fact that without my anxiety I also have ZERO filter to my mouth. I mean, I’m a pretty scrappy girl already but without the nagging “what ifs” swirling around in my head? I’m extra feisty and really have to think about consequences to my actions. I’m aware of them, so it’s not a grandiose, or invincibility thing but it’s kind of gone from “OMG if I do this a, b, c, d, or e could happen!!” To “if I do this…hell let’s see what happens!” which could go very badly for me in a million different circumstances lol. 

I’ve put myself on a very tight leash until everything settles down. I have people checking in on me several times a day, and people proofreading my blog. It’s supposed to take a month to really see how this is going to go. We’re on week three. So far? Better than I thought, still not great. 

This Makes it Worth the Struggle

2016 was a rough year for us, for so many reasons, but it ended on a high note with Hubs in town visiting for the weekend. I was so happy to have my family all together under one roof again, and the kids were ecstatic. Little B1 whom I’ve been worried about since he fell ill at the beginning of December immediately bounced back to his former Wild Child self as soon as he laid eyes on Hubs. All of the kids just brightened right up, and it made me realize that depression is an ailment not limited by age or understanding.

Saturday we went out and enjoyed a meal together as a family and Hubs spent the majority of the evening on the floor playing with the kids. Things that kids are supposed to do with their dad.


It helped me relax a whole bunch too. I got three nights of natural, un-aided sleep, which I so very desperately needed after the past month. Sleep with a sedative is one thing, sleep because your body rthyms are working correctly is another. I still can’t really get over how much better I feel on these meds either. I never really felt BAD before, but slowing my brain down a few notches has really helped with my over all moods. I have much more patience with the Littles, and I’m able to focus on tasks again. Well mostly… I’ve lost a little bit of my sharpness during the adjustment phase, but hopefully that will all level itself out here in the next two weeks as I completely acclimate.

I’m just so relieved to be starting this year on a good note. I think this is the first year I haven’t felt some impending dread over the coming year in a really long time. There are a lot of things on the horizon that I’m anticipating, but instead of facing them with apprehension and fear I’m ready to challenge them head on. I guess I feel kind of like I got my spitfire back after a long spiritual beat down. Idk… I’m having a little bit of trouble coming up with the words to describe it. It’s good. It’s all good.

Feeling Suicidal? Read This!

Great read, always worth checking out. There are links in the article for resources in the U.K., -!: I’m including here the link for the USA National Suicide Hotline.

Child of Cynicism


With one in four of us estimated to have experienced or expected to experience a serious mental illness within our lifetime, it’s no wonder that the vast majority of us will have pondered “what’s the point of being alive?” at some point or another. For some, these thoughts visit fleetingly proceeding an upsetting event-for others, they develop into a devastating downward spiral of deep and prolonged despair.
When I was thirteen, on top of my already present PTSD and OCD, I developed severe clinical depression: something which clouded my sky and eradicated all hope and positivity from the world around me. It took me a long time to open up-there’s something about the black wall of the illness that obscures realistic thought processes; I saw myself as a burden, nothing more than an inconvenience to those closest to me. Surrounded by a terrible lack of support from the mental health…

View original post 671 more words