Author Archives: NinjaInTheCity

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About NinjaInTheCity

AmandaJean is a thriving pulmonary embolism & stroke survivor, passionate Paralegal, Advocate, and Blogger who believes she can change the world one person at a time. She is obsessed with the Law, beauty subscription boxes, collecting costume jewelry, visiting flea markets, Ruby Red Squirt and Candy Corn. World Traveler. Serial Volunteer. Lover of Frank Lloyd Wright, Heart Healthy Living, and good wine. Mama to a Muppet like dog. Aunt to @HalfPintNinja

{Baby E} My baby, you will always be 

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Two years ago today it was Mother’s Day and I found myself sitting on the bathroom floor starring at a plus sign in disbelief. For years I was told that getting pregnant would be a small feat and one I’d most likely never achieve. Yet there I was sitting on the brown tile floor starring down a test with a plus sign. In that moment the impossible became possible and I was going to be a mom again. 

Having lost a child before I was skeptical, nervous, and scared that something would go wrong again. I was excited, but not to excited. I didn’t want to get attached to this little one until I saw the flicker on the 6 week ultrasound. A flicker is all I needed to see to reassure that this one was real and that I was going to be a mom again. I counted down the days until our perinatal appointment. Jay was excited and nervous, he had started to look at baby gear online and we had picked out names. We were going to have a baby. 

All it took was one swoosh of an ultrasound wand to dash our hopes and dreams. An empty sac showed on the screen. I was 8 weeks and some odd days, we should have seen a yolk, a fetal pole, and that elusive flicker of a heart beat. Instead we saw a cold empty sac. We were quickly sent down the hall to meet with the doctor, she kept on saying “let’s give it another week.” I knew deep down that this baby wasn’t meant to be ours and I didn’t want to entertain another ultrasound. 

My gut was right. A few weeks later we had another ultrasound and just like before the sac was empty. A surgical consult was scheduled and a plan was made to ensure that the horror show of the 2010 D&C did not occur again. A girl’s uterus and cervix can only be punctured so many times. The procedure was completed on 07/07/2015 and the pathology reports revealed that the little empty sac was more than a sac. I had a partial molar pregnancy, our baby had to many chromosomes, two sperm fertilized one egg, and Baby E, just wasn’t meant to be ours. 

It’s been two years since I saw that plus sign, my rainbow it eludes me. I have tracked my cycles like a boss, peed on more sticks than I can count and have seen zero plus signs. In October I put my big girl pants on and sat down with a reproductive endocrinologist, secondary infertility is the label I received. She walked me through our options and explained which ones were safe for me. Its been a journey, we’ve had 3 failed medicated IUIs and now our only hope is mini-IVF. 

There are days where I want to throw in the towel and call it. But this tiny voice reminds me “you are already a mother to angels, you can do this one more time.” Fertility treatments are exhausting, you have ultrasounds, meds to take, IUIs to schedule, injections and so on. It’s literally a second job. For now we are taking a break and on the 22nd we have a consult with a new clinic and I am praying that they will 1. Approve me for mini-IVF and that 2. This will be my time to catch that rainbow. I have faith that my turn is coming, it’s just taking awhile for that darn bottle to point to me. One day, we will get our take home baby. 

In the mean time I rest easy knowing that my babies are together in heaven just like they would be on earth. Lucia went first and Baby E followed 5 years later. They will always be apart of me, they are the reason I walk this earth with a broken heart and they are my strength for a better day,  a day where I too will get a take home baby. 

{Lucia} Happy Birthday Baby 

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Lucia it has been seven years since you graced this earth. My heart is happy because you have spent those seven years in heaven. My son you were to beautiful for earth, so the angel closed the book of life and sent you to heaven. You got your wings before you got a chance to touch the soil. Your life though short fucking mattered. You existed Lucia and you will continue to exist until the last breath I take. 

Child loss, I never signed up for it however God chose me. He chose me to walk this earth with a piece of my soul in heaven. It takes a strong woman to love a child in heaven. My heart is forever broken, it broke the day I said goodbye to my son. I trust that Lucia is in good hands and that he is entertaining Baby E, that one day we will meet again. 

His birthday rolls in quietly. There is no fan fair, party or cake. It simply comes and goes. I celebrate my son by blowing out a candle on a cupcake while saying a silent prayer for Lucia’s safe keeping. I pause and wonder what he would look like at 7. Would he be a curly top freckled blue eyed child like me or would he have the Jewish features of his father. I try to imagine what his voice and laughter would sound like. Would he be a wild child or a wall flower? In that moment I find comfort in the land of wonder and what if. 

This year Lucia would be old enough to attend Y Camp Pepin. He and I would be making the drive down to Stockholm WI and I would drop him off for a week of fun. I loved camp as a child and I have no doubt Lucia would have too. Maybe he would take to sailing and windsurfing like his mama or spend time in the arts and craft room. Maybe he would have a camp crush and pick her flowers or just maybe he’d miss me so much he’d beg me to come get him. This I’ll never know for the opportunity to send him was taken too soon. 

Lucia is missing out on weekends with his grandparents. He never got the chance to sleep in a log cabin. To run through the field catching frogs, toads, snakes, and salamanders like his mama did. My father should be teaching Lucia how to fish and after they’re done going to the Cenex in Elmwood for ice cream. Lucia should be playing in my mom’s garden and watching her tend to the camp stove and asking her “when is dinner done!?” Those things never came to fruition because God had other plans. My parents got cheated out of their first grandchild. A child that they deeply wanted. 

Seven years without Lucia honestly feels like a lifetime. Time, it carries on. Some days it moves rapidly, others it creeps along, the months tick by and my son turns another year older in heaven. I rest easy knowing that he is not alone, that somehow he found Cora, then Charlie, and his sibling Baby E. I am certain that he is being an excellent big brother and letting Baby E chew on his red legos. That together they will have a grand birthday party in Heaven and he will look down and see his mama blowing out his candle. 

Lucia is always with me. He is and will always be my son, my baby he will always be. Happy Birthay my sweet precious Angel. Mama loves you from earth to heaven. 

{Infertile Me} Three steps closer, Three steps back 

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For three months I have tried and failed to get pregnant. My life has been consumed by Femera tablets, ovidrel injections, ultrasounds, IUIs, and progesterone. I’ve taken and done all of those things and I am no closer to motherhood than when I started. It is still eluding me. No matter how much money I throw at it or how much effort I put in the one thing I want most in life isn’t yet mine to have. 

Part of me wants to give up and throw the towel into the pile. I tried and it didn’t work. Then deep down I hear a little voice that says “keep going AJ, keep goin.” I listen to the little voice only to have my heart broken. By now I’ve seen and heard so many negatives that it no longer phases me. I am numb to the words “I’m sorry” and to a pregnancy test with no plus or second line.  If I ever see a positive I will probably throw thing on the floor like I did when I found out I was pregnant with baby E. 

It’s been almost two years since my last pregnancy and 7 since my first. The experts say my body is alright and they could not find any reason for me not to get pregnant. I’ve got good eggs and my hormones are good, it’s just unexplained infertility. There is no reason why I shouldn’t be able to get pregnant on my own. Yet here I am walking in the land of infertility wondering when my turn will come.

Lord knows everyone around my is getting pregnant. Even the weather lady on KARE11 is pregnant, I don’t know her but I can tell you she is having a girl, they announced it on Easter. It’s hard to live in a world where pregnant woman swish on by without a care in the world all glowing and happy. I wonder if they struggled, if it was an oops, or maybe they planned it perfectly. I’ll never know their story unless I ask. I am to polite to ask so that won’t happen.

Right now I am down but I am not out. Because of my insurance I have to switch to what they call a Center of Excellence Clinic. Part of me is hopping that they will find something that the other clinic didn’t find. All I want really is a reason, a reason on why it takes me forever and a day to get pregnant. This new clinic specializes in mini-IVF, I am hoping that they will agree that I am a good candidate and that they will let me try it. Hey IUI didn’t work out so why not try mini-IVF. Why not full blown IVF? Well because it’s not for cool kids like me and it’s expensive as fuck. Mini-IVF costs less per cycle and has comparable success rates to big kid IVF. 

I am taking a break. The month of May is sacred to me. May 13th is Lucia’s 7th angel birthday and May 11th marks two years since I found out that I was pregnant with Baby E. My babies they will always be. Deep breaths, me time, and joy will fill the month of May. I need to restore my soul and get mentally prepared for my appointment at CCRM minneapolis. 

Meeting a new reproductive endroconlogist is scary because you have no idea what they are going to say or what there ideas of treatment are. I am going into this appointment knowing I want mini-IVF, I want a science baby, a better chance at motherhood. If it doesn’t work at least I can take a seat on the bench knowing I gave it everything that I had. That I didn’t fail, because we only fail when we never try. 

{Cora} 23 years doesn’t heal the heart

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23 years ago today I came home from attending a twins game with my fellow school patrol kids. It was our reward for a job well done. I was overly excited about going to the metrodome and getting to go to the big city. Like a normal 11 year old girl would be. I could tell my mom was trying to be excited, but something was off. 

Like all mom’s do she called my dad into my room and sat me down. I could tell she was about to cry, she said “I’m sorry Mannie but Cora died today.” My soul was instantly crushed, I had questions, I was angry, and the tears came seeping out. The last thing I knew was that she was going to the nursing home to recover from a bad fall and that she would be home in a few weeks. It was spring. Cora had to come home to see her violets bloom. Violets were her favorite flower. I felt lied too. At 11 I instantly associated nursing homes with death. Cora went in alive and well she didn’t get to leave. 

I cried for hours that night and I was so upset that my parents kept me from school the next day. Ms. Dorothy had plans for me. I went over sniffling with my Mama at my side. Berk and his wife were there too.  I remembered him from the pharmacy. Dorothy and Berk decided that I should get to pick out Cora’s final outfit and jewelry. 

Through my tears I opened her wardrobe and ran my fingers across her dresses. Her nylons and unmentionables were neatly folded on the shelf, her shoes at the bottom, and her ratty sweaters rested on the hook. The clothes smelled just liked her, I breathed her in as I looked through her dresses. Green was her favorite color. I picked out a green dress with stripes, black shoes, and nylons, because according to Cora a lady always wears nylons. I carefully chose a pair of clip on earrings, a pearl necklace, an owl pendant necklace and the matching Pearl bracelets for her. Basically I had the necklace layering thing down at 11, I am sure Cora shook her head in heaven when I chose not one but two, she’d never wear two.

Her funeral arrived sooner than I liked. I sat in the front row next to my mom in  full on ugly cry. People squeezed my shoulder, they thought this was my first funeral. Nope it wasn’t. I just lost my best friend and I was devastated. The minister made mention of our funny pairing, a 97 year old woman with an 11 year old best friend. We laid her to rest in the Wisconsin country side, at the Swedish cemetery.

Since Cora left I have written her 22 letters (#23 will be dropped off on Easter), tended her grave, left photos, and planted flowers. Every time I go I am instantly 11 again and the tears they still fall. I trace my fingers across the letters in her name and clear away the dirt on her stone. A stack of pennies, show the visits I’ve made to this tiny sod yard. She died at 97, 3 years shy of her 100 year goal. If you ask me she died to young. 


Cora and I spent hours playing dress up, she’d drape her pearls on me and I’d run around in her heels and with a purse half the size of me. She would always tell me I looked beautiful and would offer me an empty cup of tea. Speaking of tea, Cora would reuse her tea bags three times before she threw them out and she horded condiment packets like I horded barbies. She never let anything go to waste and always always mend her cardigans no matter how ratty they became. 

Fifty cent pieces always remind me of Cora. She would drop one in my hand on New Years and would tell me to make a wish as we ate spamoni ice cream. I longed for summer, summer meant sitting in the back room, sipping lemonade while playing dominos. She always beat me by the way, that is until I learned how to properly count. She would just roll with laughter when I won and would say “come on again.” I would beg my parents to let me stay up late so I could watch golden girls and the news with Cora. What she did I wanted to do too. 

Cora taught me how to be a lady, to be strong, and to never let anyone decide my future. She’d say “it’s ok to be a spinster Mannie.” Being little I had no idea what a spinster was and that it had to be cool, because Cora was one. 

Cora didn’t have any children, I am the one left with her stories. My memories are all that remain of her. The best way I can honor my best friend is by naming a child after her. She will live on through the stories I tell and domino games I play with CoraLeigh. She will be in every violet we pick and every fifty cent piece we wish on. 

I know deep in my heart that she is smiling in heaven with my babies at her side. She is watching over a piece of me in heaven as a tend to a piece of her on earth. One day when my turn comes she will be in the rainbow that breaks the storm and lands a baby in my arms. 

I was Cora’s and she will always be mine.

{Infertile Me} Femera + Ovidrel = a maybe baby? 

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Facebook told me in January/February that 6 of my friends were pregnant. It’s a reminder that I am still standing under my umbrella waiting for the rain to pass. Some women fall pregnant easily and then there are those of us who fight tooth and nail to get pregnant. Part of me is jealous of those women, my mind drifts to the land of what if where baby announcements and pregnancy photos exists. A land that I am fighting to be apart of. 

On days where baby announcements fill my news feed I lean on my fellow angel mamas and ask for words of peace. I once had a baby announcement, but Facebook wasn’t as popular back then so I had no place to really shout it. Just like I shared Lucia’s  announcement in a status update, I shared his death. I shared my struggle and I healed openly. I always thought I would get another chance to make a perfectly crafted announcement. That chance slipped through my fingers when we found out Baby E was never meant to be. Instead I once again shared a death, more quietly this time as I didn’t want to shout it to the world. My babies they will always be. 

Lucia and baby E were 5 years apart. According to doctors that’s 5 years to long. It will be two years this May since I was last pregnant. Again they say “that’s far to long.” Apparently doctors think women are magic baby making machines. In which I am the defective prototype sitting in the corner waiting for an update. Since October I have been seeing a reproductive endocronologist, she is nerdy and straight forward. Before I walked in the office she had formulated a plan, clomid wasn’t for me as it raised progesterone, so she skipped to level two. Femera with Ovidrel would be my ticket to motherhood. The doctor politely told me that IVF wasn’t for me as the medications used in the process can increase your risk for blood clots and that IUI was my best option. 

IUI it is!! It’s strange when you think about it. Cycle days 3 – 5 I take the Femera and then go in for a follicle check, if they are good we trigger with Ovidrel and then go in a couple days later for the IUI. Which if you have a fucked up cervix will be done by ultrasound. If everything is lined up you will end up with a baby, maybe. IUI does not guarantee that you will get pregnant. It comes down to science and timing everything just so. Our first IUI in February was a bust. Going in I knew that the first attempts are rarely a success and I didn’t want to get my hopes to high. I stayed even keel and waited for what I knew was a negative. 

So what happens after a negative? Well you repeat until you end up with a magical positive. This time around the doctor is bumping up the Femera and adding in progesterone after the IUI is completed. Who knows just maybe this will work and I will get a baby too. Femera and ovidrel with a little help from progesterone are my passes to motherhood. I’ve got all of my eggs in one basket, faith, a loving partner, and hope in my heart that one day our rainbow will come. 

{Go Red} My Father will always be why 

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In February we focus on women’s hearts. But this month isn’t just for me, it’s for my Daddy too. 

15 years ago I was in college in Ladysmith WI, I called home to talk to my Dad. My sister answered, she said “he’s sleeping.” I pleaded with her to wake him up so I could talk to him. She was persistent and uttered “Dad isn’t here, he’s in the hospital.” My heart sank and I hung up.

When I finally go through to my mom she told me it didn’t look good. His heart was sick. I took to my knees and prayed with every fiber I had. I asked God to spare my father’s life. At 19 I couldn’t imagine a world without my father. I needed him at my side to tell me that this to shall pass. My rock was fading and all we could do was fucking pray and wait.

When my dad arrived at Mayo he had a survival score of “zero.” His heart was beating so fast it just fluttered in his chest. Congestive Heart Failure and aortic fibrillation was to blame. The doctors prepared my Mama for the worst. She lied like all mothers do and told us he was going to be alright. I was a mess and couldn’t think straight in class. My body was in Wisconsin but my heart was in Minnesota. 

Two weeks later that zero walked out of the front doors of Saint Mary’s and he never looked back. Today February marks his 15th survuvior anniversary. With every beat of his heart he steals time from the sandman and keeps death at bay. We know each day isn’t spoken for and that only the good lord knows if we will see the next sunrise. He lives with faith in his heart and appreciates every second of his borrowed time. 

Borrowed years are a gift. My father has lived to see his daughter graduate from college, he was the proudest father in the arena. He walked his daughters down the isle and held me as I cried into his should on the day I found out my son had died. He’s picked up the pieces after our divorces and was the glue that our hearts needed. He stood by my side as I fought for my life and put his arm around me when we found out that I inherited his heart. I’ve watched him hold his second and third born grandchild for the very first time while morning his first. He is the ultimate road trip companion and dinner buddy. As long as a ride is involved he’s game. 

Borrowed time is all but rosy. My father looked on as doctors fought to save my life. Blood clots are no joke and strokes they are even worse. He taught me how to inject myself with blood thinners, “make sure you clean the area real good” he said. Little by Little I got stronger and I never looked back. My dad’s face lit up when he saw me on a billboard and in a TV commercial promoting heart health. He tearfully watched the video of my speech in DC, his surviving heart was so very proud. Those teary eyes looked on as I strutted down the runway and shared my story at the fashion show. All because his heart, it saved mine. 

My father’s heart saved mine. If it weren’t for his broken heart I never would have gotten involved with the American Heart Association.  If I hadn’t gotten involved I would never have learned that women have different symptoms than men and that cardiac events can happen at any age. In one moment I became the very surivivor I advocated for and I’ve never looked back. 

Because of my father I am alive today. Because he lived, his heart saved mine. Because of his heart and the research they are conducting my future looks fucking bright. I’ve followed in my father’s footsteps, he was 50 when his heart gave out, I am 34 and I am not afraid to tread down his path. For I know having high levels of C-reactive protein is no longer a death sentence, it allows us to go boldly into the night and wakeup to a beautiful painted sunrise. 

{Go Red} For Women’s Health 

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The  Go Red campaign focuses on women’s heart health which is the number one killer of women. I suffered a stroke, a stroke that came after my pulmonary embolism was discovered. Sure a blood clot is not a cardiac event, but it still is an event. An event that only 1 out of 5 survive.

If you ask me those odds are shitty. Fuck only one out of five people who have a P.E. will survive. That statistic is one I cannot escape and it haunts me to this day. I am the ONE out of FIVE. I’ve lived seven borrowed years on this earth and I’ve done my best to make every second count. I cannot undo the events of October 2009, I can only move past them. 

Five days before my 27th birthday I drove myself to the ER. My chest felt like it was being split open and I could barely breathe. I collapsed as soon as I got inside and woke up to a nurse telling me “well you are not having a heart attack and you can either help me take your clothes off or I can cut them off.” I opted to help. I was confused and gasping for air. Every breath I took ripped through my body. I’ve never been in labor but I imagine the pain I was feeling is on that level. The ER doctor told me that my oxygen level was below 50% and he was leaning towards an infection in my lungs. He was going to run some tests. As he headed toward the door he stopped and asked “are you on a birth control?” 

I uttered yes and he explained about the d-dimer test and that it checked for possible blood clots. He was certain it wasn’t that, he just wanted to check to be sure. The lab came in and took my blood. It would be a bit before the results came back. As I was being taken to x-ray the Doctor stopped us and stated “put her back in her room she doesn’t need an x-ray.” I thought this meant it wasn’t serious and I was on my way home. He calmly explained “the d-dimer came back positive. We need to do a CT scan to look at your chest to check for any blood clots. The contrast dye if you are allergic to it it could kill you. But it’s your best option.” 

I looked at him and said “I might die either way right?” And signed my name to the consent form. The Radiology Tech said it would take about an hour for the results to come back. I waited and listened to the clock tick the minutes away. Thirty minutes went by, I heard a phone ring and the doors voice in the hall. I only made out “shit! You have to be kidding me!” Followed by a page for extra staff to the ER. Then I heard foot steps, lots of them running towards my little room. The doctor popped in and explained “you have a pulmonary embolis.” I stared at him blankly and he explained “you have a blood clot the size of a ten cent gumball blocking the valve from your left lung to your heart. Blood and oxygen can’t get through.” 

Those words were a lot to process. In that moment I did not fully comprehend the shit I was in and how bad it was. He explained I needed blood thinners and that I would be in the hospital for a while. He stepped out for a moment to put in RX orders. And that is when I lost my words. My body felt strange, it felt like I was sinking and I couldn’t get my words out. The heart monitor started beeping and everyone was frantically moving around. My blood pressure was well above 200 and I was fading. Clot busters, TPA to be exact were ordered and given, my stroke was stopped right in it’s tracks and my life was spared. I live with the knowledge that I almost died 5 days before my birthday.

I became accustomed to my new life. A life of blood thinners, scans, diet change, and never ending doctors appointments. I was angry and bitter. I wanted to put a why behind the how. I wanted to know why this happened to me and how I could prevent others from enduring my fate. To this day the answer is still hard to swallow. 

Truth: my pulmonary embolism and stroke were 100% preventable. The blood clot was caused by the progesterone in the Nuvaring, my birth control. One week before this occurred I had my annual check up and I told my doctor that I was feeling unusually tired, had redness and warmth on my upper leg. She ignored my symptoms and told me “oh just go home drink some water and walk more.” Since she didn’t think anything of it, I didn’t either. Boy was I wrong. I now know I had all of the classic signs of a potential blood clot and that a simple d-dimer test could have caught the clot before it reached my lung and brain. My whole ordeal could have been prevented if only my doctor had truly listened to me that day. 

I go Red for women’s health. All of us need to realize that we know our bodies better than anyone. We know when something isn’t right and we need to listen to our guts. It’s time we put our health first and push for the answers that we need. Our symptoms are and will always be different from men, because hello we are not men. It breaks my heart to know that young women are often dismissed. We shouldn’t be, blood clots, heart disease and stroke do not know age and they can occur at anytime. Love yourself! Make a doctors appointment and make sure you are being heard. If one doctor won’t listen keep on pressing until you find someone who does. You only have one life, one heart, and you deserve the very best. 

Don’t be like AJ, she didn’t push for answers and almost died 5 days before her 27th birthday. 

{Go Red} A Chance at Motherhood is Why I Go Red 

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Looking up at my children. The blue balloon is in honor of Lucia and the purple balloon is for Baby E. My babies they will always be

I am the mother of two babies. My babies do not walk this earth, instead they paint the colors of the sunrise. Lucia would be 7 years old and Baby E would have just turned one. I would have my hands full. My arms are not filled with children, instead they are filled with hope. When you are the mother of angles a part of your broken heart lies in heaven. It’s a hard job and it’s one you don’t get to choose, it chooses you instead. 

I didn’t choose to have a pulmonary embolism or a stroke, it chose me and I’ve never looked back. 6 months after it chose me I found out I was pregnant. Like really pregnant, whoops “I was pregnant and I didn’t know it.” I lovingly called the baby little bear. It was a boy, a boy who died quietly in my womb. He was safe, he was loved, he will always be my first. Lucia, my baby you will always be. 

After a baby dies you have this strong desire to get pregnant again. To rewrite history and prove to yourself that you can carry a baby to term. To prove that God found you worthy of motherhood. But what happens when you are told “it’s not wise for someone with your history to get pregnant……” You get angry, you cry, and then you slowly come to terms with it. You pray that science will catch up with you and that this cruel joke will be over and you will have your rainbow.

Five years after my stroke my rainbow came. Again doctors said “you will be high risk. We need to watch you closely, blah, blah, and blah.” We got excited, that excitement just like before dwindled when an empty sac appeared. Our baby, my rainbow was not meant to be mine. Baby E wasn’t meant to be ours. My rainbow slipped through my fingers and renewed my desire for motherhood. Baby E, my baby you will always be. 

Babies are always at the back of my mind. I have names picked out and plans laid out. Jay and I tried for a year with no luck. Who knew a rainbow was so hard to catch. So I started down the path of fertility screening. I am now on a first name basis with the ultrasound wand, needles, and x-ray machine. I am fertile like myrtle who lives down the lane, yet my body can’t get intune. They say the nuvaring is most likely to blame, but we will never know for sure. In the past I was told “fertility meds are not for you.” Which makes sense since it’s recommended that I never use birthcontrol again. Hello blood clot creating hormones! Until now……….Science! 

Science! Finally caught up with me. Medical research is a beautiful thing and now I can has a baby too! In October we tried a combo of Femera and Ovidrel with no luck. In February we are going to the next level, Femera and ovidrel with IUI. I can has an IUI too! Motherhood was a thing I could never touch, it eluded me and now I have her in my crosshairs. Because of medical research it’s within my reach.

My pregnancy (when it happens) will be different too. Back in the day doctors believed in large doses and starting lovenox early. Today we will still be starting as soon as I get a plus sign, but the dose will grow along with my pregnancy. We will start with a shit ton of monitoring and a small dose of lovenox until we build up to the higher dose when I am 7 months along (that’s if my body needs it). There is still a chance that our baby could be born lovenox dependent and that I could have a clot, but for me the risk is worth the reward. 

Because of research and medical technology I will be able to have a healthy pregnancy too. Not all survivors get a chance at motherhood. In a lot of cases the risk is far greater than the reward. My heart breaks for them. I know the ache they feel and I know what it’s like to look up and wonder “why me?” All it takes is one look at a baby bump to make you feel less than. The baby isle and shower invites are a reminder of your inability to have children. They are a reminder of what was taken from you. We did not choose this road, the road chose us and we have to walk it until our time runs out. 

I once belonged to that club, then I got lucky. Science and technology caught up with me. Because of research Femera was found to aide in ovulation by decreasing the estrogen levels without increasing progesterone. The Progesterone in the nuvaring is what caused my blood clot. The likelihood of a blood clot event on Femera is low and I don’t know about you but, I like low. I am a survivor, a survivor who is standing on the cusp of motherhood. 

In my heart I know that this time I will bring a baby home. Heaven has two pieces of my heart and it’s time for a third to live on this earth. One thing I am certain about is that the doctors will learn from my fertility treatments and pregnancy and that information will help other women like me bring home a healthy baby. That right there makes all of this worth it. 

I go Red for the survivors who will never get to be mothers. 

{2016} Life Found Its Way In 

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2016 was about learning to let go of my single girl shoes so that I could walk comfortably in my relationship shoes. I no longer buy groceries for one, I actually buy vegetables and things that I have no intention of eating but I know Jay will. It’s about yelling “Cully stop trying to hump your brother (Dexter the bitchy cat) while making dinner for two. Doing laundry for two, watching Netflix while eating Chinese, and walking out to a light house because why not. Sharing thoughts and feelings before you drift off to sleep only to be awakened by the snorasours who is inhabiting the left side of the bed. Coming home to surprises and finding the kitchen to be spotless when you open the door after a long day. It’s the little things in relationships that matter. The little things are what allow us as humans to smoosh two big lives into one life. 


2016 was the year the “mass engine failure” light popped up on the 2002 Prius dash board. The Prius barely made it to the shop. I was hopeful that my trusty sidekick could be fixed. I wanted it to be fixed because I am simply not me without a Prius to drive. Then the call came “its in the hybrid system and it will be expensive to fix.” Those words broke my heart. I called my dad about twenty times that day, we weighed out the options and he said “maybe it’s time for a new one?” I gasped at those words. A new one! A new one! I want mine, I haven’t hit my 300,000 mile goal yet. We still have some road trips left! My dad replied “it’s time.” Capital one sent me an email earlier in the week saying I was approved  for an auto loan. Though I’ve never had a car loan in my life or such a big responsibility. I window shopped online. I need a Prius, not a new one, but a new to me Prius. A used one. As luck would have it a 2013 seaglass pearl Prius popped up. The shade was just a tad darker than my original Prius. It was meant to be mine, I bought her, and she is amazing. 

What happened to the old one you ask? It sat at the shop for almost a month when I decided to throw in the towel and have them impound it. The title was in the ex-husbands name and well I wasn’t going to get the fine and fees so I didn’t care. But then my phone rang, the mechanic, his name is Fred asked if he could have it. Knowing I would get practically nothing for a trade in or resale, I handed him the keys. I gave him my beloved well dented old Prius for free. Fred is smart and good at what he does, he breathed life into my old Prius and got it running again. I wave at it every time I drive by the shop and see it in the parking lot. Seriously people I do! It’s like seeing an old friend. 

Sophia turned four and Jack turned one. Being an auntie is a gift. I get to watch this two Little’s grow into tiny humans with heart and guts. Also Sophia loves riding in auntie’s new car, mainly because she thinks it talks. She doesn’t realize the voice she hears is Siri being projected through the speakers to tell me where to go. One day she will figure it out and my car will loose its magic. 

Jay and I took the kids to the county fair and watched their faces light up as we walked around looking at animals while noshing  on funnel cake and hot dogs. Sophia found her brave shoes at the fair. She and I road down the big slide. As we climbed up steeper and steeper she said “auntie I don’t think I can do this.” I said, we are going to do this tongeher Sophia. She happily sat on my lap as we raced down the slide. When we hit the bottom she immediately wanted to go again and we did. 

Kids have been on my mind a lot this year. We tried with no luck. In the fall I finally put my big girl pants on and sat down with a reproductive enocrnologist. We made a plan. Our plan didn’t work and now we move on to level two. I am still trying to wrap my head around sperm washing and inter uterine injection. I picture the nurses picking up the little sperm to wash their bellies and putting them back in a tub. I know this isn’t exactly what happens, it’s science. In away I’ll kind of be like the Virgin Mary, I’ll get pregnant without bumping the uglies. Stay tuned for further updates in 2017. I think 2017 is totally going to be my year. I can feel it in my soul. Fingers crossed! 


In 2016 I found my travel shoes again. In the spring I took my Dad to Southwestern Iowa and Omaha Nebraska. We spent the weekend looking at World War I era planes and touring distilleries. Jay and I returned to Wisconsin Dells and took a trip to the north shore in September. My mom for years has been bugging me to take her to Madison County Iowa. We went in October and spent the weekend touring the covered bridges and drove down to Omaha for a day. In December I took a work trip to Ohio and Kentucky. It felt good to travel again, to explore, and tick of miles on the new to me Prius. 

2016 had a little red in it to. In February I was invited to walk in the Hearts For Fashion Show at the Mall of America during the Go Red Expo. I didn’t trip and I owned that run way! Well I feel apart a little inside when I looked over to see the misty eyes of my parents and Jay. Sherri was there too! Did I ever mention that I have the worlds greatest best friend!? Truly I do! Every survivor needs a confidant in life and she is mine. We’ve been friends for almost 10 years. The show was fun and I had a blast walking in it. Sharing my story allows me to heal. 

2016 is the year my life actually felt like a life. I have a career that I love and I admit I think riding the bus to work is fun. I have a boss who appreciates me. I’ve changed zip codes. I’ve settled into relationshiphood and our home in the burbs. Though my crap is still hap hazardly stacked in the garage, I’ll unpack one day. Motherhood is no longer a mystical thing, but an actual tangible thing that is within my reach. It’s just going to take a little work. Life feels good, I have the life that was always waiting for me and I am never looking back. 

{Cora} Amber Yellow 

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It’s no secret that I have a Pioneer Woman Collection addiction. After I put Cully’s food in my cart I find myself drifting over to the homegoods in Walmart. I know exactly which isles hold the quirky magical and brightly colored items of the Pioneer Woman’s collection. I have everything from the measuring spoons, to the butter dish, sets of plates, and the Adeline Glassware. At first the only colors in the glassware were, plum, clear, and turquoise. I purchased the turquoise right away, 6 of the tall tumblers to be exact. Jay and I love them. 

Photo credit: Walmart.com


As if I couldn’t love her collection anymore, she came out with a whole new product line in the fall. Full of deep tones and prints that were perfect for fall. I was eyeing the new plate designs when something caught my eye. Low on the bottom shelf sat the Adeline tumblers and goblets. The color was different. A color that marked my childhood. As I ran my fingers across the amber yellow tumblers, I was instantly five years old again sipping lemonade from Cora’s amber yellow depression ware juice glasses. Four tumblers and four goblets found their way into my cart. Bonus, I got them on sale. 

Amber Yellow Depression Ware (the real deal)


In our cabinet the amber yellow tumblers sit perfectly next to our terquoise ones. They make me smile. I don’t think Ree ever thought how much amber yellow would mean to her customers. To me, it means a lot. In away even though they are not Cora’s, the color brings a piece of her into my kitchen. It reminds me of lazy summer afternoons in Cora’s sea green kitchen with the splattered linoleum floor sipping lemonade and playing dominos. Of stories from a far away time where women made dresses out of flour sacks and collected stamps to get glassware from the grocery store. Mostly they remind me of the best friend a little girl could ever ask for. Cora was mine and I was hers. We were an odd pairing, but she didn’t care. 


Cora would spend her afternoons telling me stories about the depression, the wars, what it was like to be a telephone operator, and a spinster. She didn’t marry until her mid thirties which back then was scandalous. Today we call it normal. In between the stories Cora taught me how to be a lady, to be outspoken, and to always look put together when leaving the house. To this day I still cannot bring myself to wear sweat pants or pajama pants in public, I always look somewhat put together. I was the closest thing Cora had to a child and she was the Grandmotherly influence that God planned for me to have. She was mine and I will always be hers.

Cora was with my until I was 11 years old, she died at the age of 97. My mother very carefully told me that Cora died, my heart instantly broke and I cried for days. My whole 11 year old world was shattered, I had lost my best friend, my confidant, and soul sister. I loved her more than words could ever describe and that love has never ceased to end. One day if we have a daughter she will be named Cora, in honor of the oldest woman I ever knew. Because of the Pioneer Woman’s amber yellow Adeline tumblers and goblets I can share a piece of Cora’s legacy with my future children. 

It’s funny how one single color can send a flood of memories back and make you smile every time you touch it. Amber yellow was Cora’s color and now it’s mine too.