We have had a mouse in our house.
We kind of knew we would. I mean, we move to an old farmhouse with an acre and a half of land behind us, so we were expecting little visitors, especially with all this snow.
This morning Brian checked the trap he had set up last night, and cheered, “Got him!” (Side note #1: For all you “save the mouse” people, yes, we killed him, so please just accept this and don’t be a hater.)
For days all I’ve been saying is, “Get that disgusting vermin out of my house. He is wreaking havoc on my perfectly organized shelves and leaving his tiny, disgusting droppings behind as if to laugh at our ineptitude in catching him.”
So I was completely unprepared for my reaction.
I crumpled. I sat down on the couch and wept.
Bri stared at me, wide-eyed, not quite sure what to do or say.
“The thing is,” I sobbed, “I know how he feels. You’re tooling along with your life, doing what you do, and all of a sudden… BAM!!!! (I believe Brian actually jumped at that point.) Life comes along and snaps your neck.”
That was at 6:30 this morning.
At 7:45, I was ushering my boys out the door and preparing to go wave good-bye at the window, when the phone rang. I saw it was from the hospital and I picked it up, missing my morning routine of blowing kisses and signing “I love you.”
“Angela…” she slowly drawled, “Your thyroid levels are extremely low and the doctor wants to get your scan done right away instead of waiting so you can get back on your meds as soon as possible. Can you be here for dosing at 10:00?” My mind raced with all the details that had to happen between now and then, but I told her we’d figure it out.
One of the moms from Redeemer, our boys’ school, was already coming to clean my house this morning, and she was planning to take Bella with her for the afternoon to play, so I knew childcare was covered for her. I found a ride to the hospital (another Redeemer mom–Side note #2: Our boys’ school is awesome in so many ways!), made a few phone calls, and I was on my way.
But not before I had a complete sobbing meltdown on the phone with Jessie, “My boys.” I said, “I didn’t get to tell them good-bye.”
Little did I know when I was sobbing over that mouse’s snapped neck how I would feel that internal snap of a mother’s heart 2 hours later.
See, I went to the hospital at 10:00 and swallowed a dose of radioactive material that is dangerous to the growing cells of my little ones. I am now sequestered in my room until Monday unable to be with them except for a quick hug once or twice a day. (Side note #3: I am not allowed around children, but I am allowed a prudent distance from adults.)
I will return to the hospital on Monday (Side Note #4: This is a correction from Bri’s previous post. I go Monday, not Tuesday) for the scan and we will hopefully have same day results. My parents will be here with us off and on over the weekend and throughout part of next week to help Brian and to care for me. There are some mild side effects to the dosing that are uncomfortable, but other than the continued extreme fatigue and emotional exhaustion, I will be okay.
I am able to be around adults 3-6 feet away, so after the kids are in bed, I can go downstairs and hang out with Brian and watch the Olympics, but mind you, I will sob over every American win, every tug at your heart success story, every Star Spangled Banner played, every emotional Visa commercial, and poor Brian will be absolutely insane by the end of the weekend. But at least we’ll be together (Side Note #5: He has to sleep on the couch. He might not mind too much after watching the Olympics with me.)
We’ll keep you posted… and in the meantime, thank you for praying for us.
That blesses us. It truly does.
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