32 Week Update: Where's the Bathroom??

I remember once, when I was very young, a mother telling me how she loved being pregnant. It was a time in her life where she just felt amazing. I really wish I could remember who this women was that said this to me so that I can tell her how much of a lie that was. In fact, I don't know of any mother who absolutely loves being pregnant.

It's been 6 weeks since the last update, and thankfully I've only had three doctor visits in that time. I've learned from the ultrasounds that the baby can move a lot. At 28 weeks, he was head down, then head up at 30, and head down again at 32 weeks. I've also learned that this baby loves to snuggle--against my hip bone. This is probably why I've been feeling so uncomfortable and heavy in that region. It also explains why my bladder feels so tiny now. There have been days this past week where I've had to run to the bathroom every 30 minutes, and I wish I could say that I was exaggerating. Maybe this baby will be a snuggler? The swelling is starting up, and my carpal tunnel has come back with a vengeance. I had it during my first pregnancy, and I was hoping it wouldn't be a problem during this one since I no longer work at a computer all day, but I was wrong. Sleeping at night is fun because if I sleep on one side, one had goes numb, but if I sleep on the other, the other hand goes numb. Sometimes I wake up every hour or two from this, and it's surprisingly painful on the joints. Then there is the usual back pain that comes from when I stand or walk for too long. So if anyone tells you how wonderful and amazing being pregnant is, they have probably forgotten all of the symptoms associated with it.

So how are things for the baby? Up until this point, my appointments have been every two weeks. Things had been pretty stable for the baby. This last visit, things changed, unfortunately. The MCA velocity they were monitoring in the brain increased, meaning the anemia is increasing for the baby. The doctor explained it pretty well, actually. The antibody I have is essentially destroying the baby's red blood cells. Fortunately, the baby was able to compensate for some of this destruction, so the MCA value looked normal. After awhile, though, the destruction of cells becomes greater than the production of cells, and that's where the increase of the MCA value shows up. It's not yet at the critically severe anemia level yet, but it's at the "warning stage." The doctor no longer feels comfortable with me coming every two weeks, so now I'm making the two-hour trip weekly. For now, we just wait. One of these trips could end up with me delivering. It could be next week, or it could be in a month. 

The funny thing is, I had a feeling that this last visit was going to be different. The whole drive home, I felt fine, like I could accept what was going to happen. And then...it hit me. The sadness, the tears, the worries. I know that the baby will be fine. Everything else indicates that the baby will be born healthy and normal, yet why am I sad? I should feel excited. I mean, I know many mothers who can't even have children, have a hard time getting pregnant, or are prone to miscarriages. We've been extremely blessed with being able to get pregnant easily, so I should be excited to see the baby soon. So why do I find myself crying over the littlest things or unable to sleep at night?

Perhaps it's a type of mourning: mourning for not being able to have the birth experience I pictured. I won't get to experience the natural process of my body going into labor. I mean, contractions are no fun, but there is a certain excitement that comes are the body gets closer and closer to delivery. Most likely, I won't get to experience that. If we have more children, I may not get to experience it then, either. They say we have a 50/50 chance of each baby having this issue, but so far, it likes like we're 2-0. The odds have definitely not been in my favor. And I'm sad that the baby will probably have to spend time in the NICU. He may have to get a blood transfusion, too. Then there are all the logistics of planning, driving, prepping. What about future children? I have strong impressions that we're meant to have more children, but then I think about how each child I bare will be put at risk. Many friends and family members have told me to not feel guilty about these things, to not blame myself, but it's harder to do than say.

This has definitely been a struggle for me. There is so much for me to process, to plan, to take care of, that I guess it's no wonder I often end up in tears. I do have to say that I'm incredibly grateful for my loving husband for supporting me through all of this. Often, he's the one with the clear head, who puts things in perspective for me. He helps with our little son, watches him during my doctor visits, makes dinner when I'm just too worn out, and even helps with cleaning (...which sometimes takes some reminding, but hey, he's willing to do it).

So, I'm not really sure how the next few weeks are going to go, but I guess we'll just take things one day at a time.

 

A Mother's Worst Fear

This week marks 27 weeks pregnant. I'm not quite in the third trimester, but I'm feeling very big and emotionally done. Here's why:

Due to the nature of my educational background and my previous job, I've learned a lot about pregnancy. I've also learned that a lot can go wrong during a pregnancy. Seriously, it really is a miracle that any of us are alive when you think about it. Some things are preventable just by diet (think getting adequate folate and other vitamins/minerals and drinking plenty of water), staying active, not smoking or drinking, that kind of stuff. Other things are just out of our control. That is my story.

At 12 weeks pregnant, I learned that my routine lab results came back with something unusual. My bloodwork showed that I was positive for the anti-kell antibody. While not unheard of, it's certainly not a common situation. In fact, my doctor hadn't seen anyone with this particular antibody since her residency nearly 10 years ago. Thinking that it could possibly be a lab error, she had me retested around 14 weeks. A week later or so, I learned that I still tested positive for the anti-kell antibody. Not feeling comfortable with treating this particular case, my OB soon referred me to a Maternal Fetal Specialist in Lubbock, a trip that would take two hours one way.

For those of you, like me, who don't know what an anti-kell antibody is, DON'T google it like I did. You'll find all sorts of horror stories and worst-case scenarios that would make any expecting mother to worry. I don't know everything about it (in fact, not a ton is know about it in general), but I have the basic idea of what it is and what it means. First off, it has nothing to do with the Rh factor in blood types (think O- as apposed to O+). Everyone asks me about that. Completely different. In fact, treating someone who is Rh negative (like me) is very easy nowadays and simply requires some shots during the pregnancy and oftentimes afterwards, too. It's very treatable and almost never a threat to the fetus or mother. Anti-kell, on the other hand, is not so easy to deal with.

About 1/10 people have the Kell antigen in their blood. I was Kell-negative but somehow got exposed to Kell-positive blood. Most of the time, this happens through a blood transfusion, but that was not the case for me since I have never had one. Likely, my first child is Kell-positive, and I was exposed to his blood during pregnancy and delivery. My body didn't recognize this antigen, and so it created antibodies to fight and destroy them. That's why I have the antibodies now but not with my previous pregnancy. The problem occurs when a mother with these antibodies is pregnant with a Kell-positive fetus. Those antibodies can cross the placenta and cause severe anemia for the baby by affecting how the red blood cells are formed. This, in turn, causes a whole host of issues affecting things such as muscle development and can even be fatal for the baby.

Not exactly something an expecting mother wants to hear about.

But, there was a chance it wouldn't happen. It came down to one blood test. If it came back negative, we would be in the clear with a near 0% chance that the baby would be born Kell-positive. If the test came back positive, then there would be a 50/50% chance. In order to have this blood test, however, we had to do a lot of waiting and jumping through hoops.

So, after waiting a few weeks, I got an appointment in Lubbock to see the high-risk doctor...except my first appointment was with a nurse, asking me all of the same basic health questions that my other OB had already gone through (there was definitely a lot of miscommunication going on). And I got another basic pregnancy blood test. Then about two weeks later, I got to see the "regular" OB, who THEN referred me to the high risk doctor. And got another blood test (because apparently they didn't get enough blood the previous time, so a couple of the tests couldn't be done). Finally, at 22 weeks, I got to see the high risk OB and had an ultrasound done. All seemed fine there. Finally, it was down to that single blood test I mentioned earlier.

At 25 weeks, we finally got the results back. Yeah, it took three weeks to hear back about them. There was confusion at the lab they sent the blood to, and then once the results came back, no one felt the need to call to tell me about it.

The result? It came back positive: we were in that 50/50% chance of the baby having the Kell antigen.

During this whole time, I had had moments of freaking out, of worrying. I had several priesthood blessings of reassurance and peace. By 25 weeks, I actually was feeling kind of numb about the whole thing. I felt like I had been waiting forever, kind of in limbo, not knowing what was going on.  I felt like I was always calling someone, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next. There was a definite lack of communication between me, the doctors in Lubbock, and my OB here in town. And while I had had those blessings telling me things would be fine with the baby, I couldn't seem to shake that nagging feeling that something was still going on.

Finally, another appointment was made, fairly quickly, actually, for me to go back to Lubbock. Just a couple of days ago, at 26 weeks, I had another ultrasound done. From what I could see, everything looked fine and normal. The baby was moving, heartrate was healthy, everything seemed normal. The doctor, however, saw and measured things that I didn't know anything about.

During the ultrasound, they can measure blood flow through certain major arteries in the baby (kind of cool, huh?). For us, they measured the middle cerebral artery (MCA) peak systolic velocity. In other words, they measured the velocity or rate of blood flow of a major artery in the brain of the fetus. They then compared that value to my previous ultrasound and noticed that there was a significant increase in the velocity of blood going to the brain. What does that mean? That my baby was already showing signs of anemia. Not severe, but working it's way there. Basically, that 50/50 chance of the baby having the Kell antigen became a near 100% chance.

Not going to lie, I kind of lost it at this point. Not while I was with the doctor, but I cried most of the drive home, that night, and the next day. It's like in my head I had this gut feeling that the baby would indeed have to go through this, but when the doctor actually explained things to me, it really hit me. It's hard for a mother to think that her own body is attacking her unborn child, and she can't do anything about it, and for me, it's likely to keep happening for any future pregnancy.

So, what are our options now? I have another appointment two weeks from this one I just had. They will again do an ultrasound to see where the baby is at. However, my doctor feels that after that, I'll probably have to go in every week to get monitored. If the MCA velocity gets too high, then interventions will have to be taken. Depending on the gestational age of the baby, an early delivery might be possible, but if we're too early still, then the baby will need a blood transfusion. Neither of these options sound particularly great, but, oddly enough, I do feel like we'll still be able to have a healthy baby after all of this is over. 

I'm not sure why I feel the need to share all of this. I think it's just my way of processing what's going on. You know, life is so precious. I don't think I truly got that until I had a child of my own. Babies and children are resilient, but situations like this make you realize also just how fragile life can be. You realize that the worth of a single soul, even one not born, is priceless.

Finding My Prince Charming

Ever since I was little, I've dreamed about my prince in shining armor. My parents always told me to never settle for anything less. He should be smart and handsome, kind and tender, and treat me like a queen. He wouldn't be perfect, but he would be perfect for me.



As I got older, I looked forward to the day when I would someday meet him. I started searching everywhere for him. I dated quite a few frogs that I thought could be princes, but never any that seemed to quite fit. Some would have cracks in their armor that they refused to fix. Others would be too busy fighting off fiery dragons to get involved with me. Some would be lured away by what you could call modern-day sirens; others were blinded by pride and how shiny their armor was. I even dated a beast, who I was convinced was a prince deep down. However, he loved his old ways too much to truly change. I felt like a damsel in distress, but there was no one around to save me. In the end, I was left alone. It seemed like my prince was nowhere to be found.


After I graduated from college, I moved back home. I was discouraged. Maybe I would never find him. One day, I decided to go on an adventure: I sought out a job in the distant land of Texas (so exotic, I know). While there, I continued the search for my prince charming, but  only halfheartedly.

On one occasion, I met this guy (aka Bobby) at church. He asked me to join him for dinner one day. Unfortunately, in my eyes, I just saw him as another frog. I wasn't interested, and I turned him down.

This never discouraged him. Every Sunday at church, he always went out of his way to talk to me and to see how I was doing. I got to know him pretty well as we socialized at church activities. I even started going to his family's house for dinner on Sundays or for movie nights. But still, I wasn't interested.

I'm not exactly sure why I finally said yes--maybe I was attracted to how he fixed my computer that one day 😍, or maybe it was our deep conversation we had about life goals and dreams--but it took close to a year (yes, a year) before I finally agreed to go on a date with Bobby. He asked me to lunch one day, and I thought, why not? He was a nice guy and very sweet. I didn't think anything would come out of it. It would just be a fun date with a good guy, and that would be it.

I've never been so happy to be wrong in my life.

I wouldn't say it was love at first sight, but it was certainly close to love at first date. 

I learned a lot about who he was after that. We talked and laughed and shared experiences. My feelings for him started to change. It was curious, those feelings, because I still saw a frog, not my prince. One day, however, he held my hands and leaned towards me. I closed my eyes and let him kiss me. When I opened my eyes, I no longer saw a frog there in front of me. Instead, it was a prince--my prince--smiling at me. How had I missed him?? His armor wasn't as shiny as others I had met, but he had the biggest and strongest heart I knew. How had I not noticed it before? Here I was, searching everywhere for my prince, and he was right here all along. It took me almost a year for me to see it. And I almost lost him through my own blindness.


I'm not your typical Mormon girl. I didn't get married at a young age. I went to BYU for nearly five years and never found the right one, defying all those stereotypes you hear. I even served a mission and was still single for nearly five years later, despite people saying that I should have been married within a year from coming home. I grew accustomed to (and annoyed at) people asking me why I wasn't married yet. Seriously, if I knew the answer to that question, I would have been married a long time ago. Just saying.


Was it hard being lonely? Yes, it was. It was hard to see the people around me getting married and having kids while I struggled to find my place in life. I admit I was envious of others and seeing their happiness. It took a long time for me to understand that my happiness and my success does not depend on my marital status.

There is no time frame for our happily ever afters. God has a plan for us, and it's going to be different than the person beside us. Just because we wait longer for some blessings than other people doesn't mean that we are somehow less worthy or less righteous. God has his own plan. It's hard to understand that sometimes. I know I had many nights crying into my pillow, wondering when I was ever going to meet my husband. Meanwhile, he blessed me with skills and learning experiences, chances for me to grow and work on myself. And you know, I don't think I could have found a better Prince Charming anywhere. God had me wait for a reason, and I'm so glad I did because Bobby is the biggest and sweetest blessing of my life. He brings me up when I'm feeling down. After a hard day at work, he always finds a way to make me smile. He tells me how beautiful I am when my hair is as messy as can be. He willingly tries my food creations (some are better than others...) He is a bit goofy, but he is my goofy, and I wouldn't want him any other way. I am so happy that I can be sealed with him for time and all eternity. Our happily ever after has begun.

Ladies, Don't Date Jerks

The whole reason for me starting this blog was for me to show my journey towards accepting who I am and loving the me I've found. Well, I haven't been very good at that. This past week was probably one of the worst I have had in quite awhile, and it left me feeling like a worthless piece of dung: a breakup with a guy that I was dating, a major blowup with someone who I thought was a friend, and the imminent layoff from a job that I just started (literally the day before we found out) have all left me feeling hopeless. It would seem that everything I touch falls apart.

It's a horrible feeling that I'm sure all can relate to.

(If you haven't had this feeling, you're either lying or crazy. Just saying.)

In between all of the tears (there were more than I would like to admit), I started thinking about the reasons for why things are going the way they are. There has to be a purpose, right? At least, that's what people keep telling me. I started thinking about the advice, specifically in regard to boys, I would give to my daughters (if I ever have any).

Dating is messy. So is life, so grab some paper towels (that's what my mom says). Obviously, because I'm about as single as they come, I am not the one to come to about dating advice. However, I have learned a thing or two among all the heartaches. Simply put: Ladies, don't date jerks. (Guys, don't date jerks, either. My target audience may be women, but the same thing applies to you as well.)

Sometimes, though, it's hard to tell that the person you are dating is a jerk. When hormones and emotions get involved, it's harder to see clearly what is going on. There are some things that are red flags to watch out for. though. Here are some that I have learned over all of my past relationships:

• If he makes you feel like crap (sorry for the dirty language) when you are around, then it's not right. If you leave conversations feeling worse than when you started, that's not a good sign. Relationships are a two-sided deal. If the person you're dating makes you feel inferior, then it's not right. No one deserves that. No one deserves to be belittled or talked down to. Even if it's meant to be a joke, it's wrong because even jokes have a strain of truth in them.
• Some people underestimate the power of words. The fact is, once something is said, it's out there and in your mind. If you're like me, you try really hard to please people. So, if the guy I'm dating says that I'm a liar or a cheater, even if it's over silly little things that don't really matter, you do all you can to be better. However, when it gets said many times, you start to believe it. Relationships should be about building each other up, not tearing them down.
• If he is paranoid that you're seeing other guys, well, tough cookies. Depending on the level of his suspicion, there is a good chance you won't be able to convince him otherwise. It doesn't matter what you say. He'll always think that there is another guy. Relationships require trust. If you can't trust who you are with, or if he doesn't trust you, then the relationship is not going to progress very far.

• If he doesn't take on any responsibility in an argument or disagreement. Seriously, just be a man and own up to mistakes
• Compares you frequently to his ex's. Bad sign. Be cautious with this one because it could mean that he thinks you're so much better than her--or that he is still missing her.
• He starts hanging out with and having feelings for his ex (run and hide!!). I had a personal experience with this one. With his ex-fiance, actually. Anyway, he basically couldn't get over her, so he didn't want to be with me.
• He forces you to do things you are not comfortable doing. Your feelings and thoughts are just as important as his. If he really cares about you, he'll understand when you are not comfortable with something. If he tries to push you more, then he cares more about what he wants you to do than actually you.
• If he makes you always come to him (to visit or whatever) but doesn't put forth the effort himself at other times, what makes you think things will be different once you are married. You are not obligated to take care of his every need. You serve each other, not one who serves the other.

• Blames you for things that you know you did not do or say. If you know that you didn't do those things he's accusing you of doing, then take comfort in that. You don't want to be around someone who blames you for every little bad thing
• If he gets upset that you haven't texted or talked with him or two hours, then something is not right. This is a very specific example, but it proves a point. This guy that I had barely met got upset when I didn't text him when I was playing volleyball (for only 2 hours!!!), and he chewed me out because of it. It was such a little thing. It's like he thought I didn't have a life besides him. Did I tell you I barely even knew him?! If he can't handle not hearing from you for that short a time, he is too clingy. And no one likes clingy people

• If he constantly points out your flaws and short-comings. Seriously, you don't need to take that. Yeah, we all have problem. We're not perfect. However, if he's not willing to overlook those or work with you on them, then your relationship is not going to be a happy one.
• If he wants you to change something that is fundamentally a part of you, he's not worth your time. I've had a guy who essentially said that he was afraid I will get fat and that I wasn't girly enough. Ouch. Yeah, I do struggle maintaining my weight. What girl won't in her life? Plus, he is bound to get a gut when he hits 40 anyway. And as for thinking that I'm not girly enough, well, that's his problem. I am who I am, and I'm not going to change that for him.
• If he doesn't care when you cry. That's just not cool. Especially if he's the reason why you are crying. 

Most importantly, if you don't feel right about it, then it probably isn't right. That's why we date--to get to know people. If it doesn't feel right, even if he's a wonderful guy, it's just not going to work. It's better to let him know sooner rather than later. Take that from someone who knows...

As I've said, I'm not the one to come to for advice about relationships. These are just my thoughts. I do know, however, that if he makes you feel like the luckiest girl alive and treats you like the princess that you really are, then chances are, he's a keeper.

I'll let you know when I find mine.

Third Transfer

I was so excited for my third transfer to come. It would mean that I no longer had to do the new missionary training called 12 Weeks. This training added an hour extra to our daily studies and was a way to train those new to the mission field. I was nowhere near an expert missionary, but I was done with that one little program, and it was one less thing to stress me out.

I was still with Hermana Garcia for this transfer, which was nice. We both loved the area and the people we were teaching. We met a Hispanic member named Dolores during this transfer. She was an elderly lady who didn't get out of her apartment very often because she had a lot of back pain. We frequently visited her to see how she was doing and to sing hymns with her. One thing that I found amazing about Hermana Garcia is that she loved to sing, so we sang all the time.


At the beginning of the transfer, I was doing pretty good emotionally. I felt like I was starting to get things under control. I wasn't having as many breakdowns, I woke up actually looking forward to the days, and I felt like I could actually do this missionary thing.

Then, things started to go downhill again.

Not going to lie, missionary work can be tiring. Perhaps it's not as physically demanding as other jobs I've had, but it was emotionally and spiritually demanding. I got tired easily, and tiredness is not exactly a friend of mine.

One day I just woke up and felt like crying. All day. I didn't understand why I was feeling that way. Things had been going so well the past few days. Glancing back at my journal entries, I realized that I was in a really good spot for a couple of weeks. One of my entries read,

"I am so happy, in a peaceful way. Even though we're not having a lot of success, I feel good about this area. I feel good about being a missionary. It's hard to explain, but it just fills me up. I feel like that, even though we're not converting a lot of people, I'm converting myself. I know I don't always feel this way, but I'm so incredibly grateful when I do."

Not even a week later, my journal entry changed:

"...Today I was just feeling really off, and I just started crying. I didn't know why. I've just been tired so much. The week has been really good, but I was wearing out."

That same day, I had received a blessing from my District Leader. Sometimes you just need that extra prayer of support to give you the strength to make it through another day. It did help tremendously. I felt like I could be the missionary that I needed to be. I felt like Heavenly Father was pleased with what I was doing, and that I was on the right path. That same day, it even rained! My mom always said that rain is good luck, so I took it as a sign that things would be alright.


The following day, a little girl in the Escondido branch had turned 8 and was baptized. It was such a beautiful moment to see her dressed in white with her mom, grandma, and siblings there with her. Even though the days were long and hard, it was moments like that that made it all worth it.



One of my best days out of my entire mission happened during this transfer as well: Nick was baptized!! Seriously, best day ever! Sister Garcia and I had been consistently visiting and teaching him for the past several month. We thought that he wouldn't be able to be baptized for at least another year, but after talking with our Mission President, he was able to be baptized. So many people had showed up to support him that day. I think, on that day, Heavenly Father gave me a glimpse of his love for Nick: I was so overcome with peace and happiness for him that when it came time for Sister Garcia and I to sing the musical number, I couldn't get the words out because of the tears of joy that kept coming.

You may be wondering, "Jesse, if you were having such good experiences, why did you feel sad?"

My answer: I don't know.

Depression doesn't make sense. You can be having the best day ever and still feel miserable by the end of the day. Being constantly hot, tired, and sweaty doesn't help matters, either. More than once that transfer I had a breakdown. I don't know how my poor companions put up with me! My stress levels exploded during this transfer. I remember sitting in one Zone Training Meeting that went over an extra half-hour or 45-minutes longer than it should have--and it was already quite long to begin with. I couldn't sit there. We had a special guest speaker who came, and I honestly couldn't tell you what he discussed. I know it must have been important. I know he was probably prompted by the Spirit. I just couldn't get anything out of it because I was so anxious of sitting there for hours.

Seriously, anxiety can be such a problem.

But that wasn't the only thing giving me anxiety. I felt like I had so much pressure to be the best missionary I could be. We had to make sure to have members come to all of our lessons, be on time to all of our appointments. We had meetings upon meetings to go to (why were there so many meetings??) As I became more stressed and tired, my Spanish got worse. As my Spanish got worse, my frustration grew because I couldn't understand what people were saying, and I couldn't teach.

My birthday occurred during this transfer. 21 years old! You thought I would have been happy about it. Instead, it just brought more stress and anxiety. Sister Garcia had gone out of her way to let everyone in the Branch know that it was my birthday. They gave me cards and cakes and such (My goodness--SO MANY CAKES). Looking back, I realize how incredibly sweet it was for her to do. At the time, it only made things worse. I'm normally not one to make a big deal out of my birthday, so being put in the spotlight was very uncomfortable. Combine that with my previous eating anxieties (lots of cakes, remember?) and I was not in a good place. I was very much on edge, tense, and about ready to burst into tears. The worst part of all, my companion took offense at it, thinking that I didn't appreciate what she was doing for me.

Don't get me wrong--I love my companion! I thought everything she did for me that day was really sweet and thoughtful. My anxiety just got in the way of things.

Perhaps one of the worst things that can happen on a mission is to not get along with your companion. You're with this person 24/7. The world may be falling apart, but if things are going well between the two of you, then you can make it through the situation with your head held up. If things were not going well...then nothing goes well.

And that's kind of what happened during that transfer. I just felt like everything I did offended my companion. Sometimes little things I said or suggested would set her off, and the next thing I knew, I was hiding back in my little tortoise shell and not saying a word. I know part of it had to do with the language and cultural barrier. When things got a little rough between us, I couldn't even go somewhere else to be alone and cool off. I needed my alone time, and I couldn't get any.

I spent more time in the Mission President's home than I am comfortable admitting. They were just parts of days where I felt so overwhelmed that I just couldn't go out and teach. With the Mission President's wife, we made cookies or played games. It was a nice break. However, whenever I thought about going back and teaching, the anxiety and panic set in, and I just couldn't do it.

One of the frustrating things about anxiety is that it lead you to feeling bad about it preventing you from doing something that you know you should be doing something. This tends to lead to guilt, which then increases depression as you feel like a total failure.

So, it was no surprise when I found myself back seeing the therapist again. She asked me what had changed. I don't know--I just felt awful. I was in a fight-or-flight mode, and I just wanted to run. In fact, while I'm writing this post, I still want to run--run from the feelings and memories. I learned, though, that running doesn't get you anywhere--it just makes you more tired. At some point you need to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and face the problem.

And that is what I did at the end of the transfer.

Round 2: Transfers

Transfers were stressful times in and of themselves. As a missionary, every six weeks we had transfers, meaning that we had the possibility of switching areas, switching companions, both, or neither. Sometimes this can be a nerve-wracking time of the transfer because of so many unknowns. For others, the change was appealing (especially if the area that you were serving in or your companion was difficult). My first transfer I stayed in the same area, but I was to switch companions.

The fact that I was staying in the same area was comforting. After all, I knew the people, I knew the area, I knew what was going on. On the other hand, my trainer, who was leaving to another area, knew everyone and everything WAY better than I did. She had been there for several transfers and fit in really well with the Hispanics there. How would I be able to fill those giant shoes?

I was also getting a companion who was native to Mexico. Well, that was a blessing because she knew the culture firsthand and would be able to relate with them. However, she didn't start learning English until her mission, and we still covered an English ward. Not only would I be showing her around, introducing her to the area, I knew I wouldn't be able to communicate well with her. I knew some Spanish, she some English. We came from different backgrounds. Would I be able to do something like this? Oh, and on top of that, I now became the designated driver.

Did I ever mention that I really don't like driving? Truth.

Needless to say, I was really nervous about this transfer, which didn't help my depression nor my anxiety.

Then on the P-day right before transfers, my mom sent me an email that was just the slap in the face I needed, so to speak:

You have the strength in you.  It sounds easier that it is, but I know the Lord would not just leave you hanging.  You just need to rely upon him and try your best and GET OFF YOUR BACK!  Don't be so hard on yourself.  Yes it is hard and hot but your can pull up your britches and do what you have to.

Needless to say, I really needed this. It sounded exactly like what my mom would say and was the motivation I needed to keep going. I had the renewed hope that I needed to keep going. Aren't moms great that way?

So, Hermana Garcia became my companion. Seriously, she was such a sweet missionary. This ended up being probably the best transfer I had. Even though we both struggled with each other's language, the Spirit was able to make up for what our language couldn't. I would help her with English, and she would help me with my Spanish. I felt like we worked well together, and others around us could see that.

However, it was during this transfer that my anxiety started to mount. Instead of the normal one hour of language study, my companion was supposed to do two hours. On top of that, our mission president asked her to study how to drive for a half hour each day so that she could get her license in the States. Hermana Garcia was a very obedient missionary, so she did what she was asked to do. However, with all of the extra studying, we often didn't leave the apartment until 2:30 in the afternoon.

Everyday I grew more and more anxious. I felt like I wasn't being a real missionary because we didn't have many lessons with all the studying we had to do. I started even getting claustrophobic in our little apartment. During the day, window blinds had to be open. If possible, doors had to be open. Otherwise, I would feel trapped.

The Mesa Arizona temple had a Visitor's Center that was open to the public. Anyone could come in to learn about the LDS religion, about our temples, families, and God's love for His children. Certain sister missionaries are called to the Visitor's Center to work there daily. Hermana Garcia was one of them. Every Friday morning we had her VC (visitors' center) prep meeting. I can understand how they are helpful for VC sisters, but for someone like me who served full-filled (meaning that I strictly served in the community and not in the VC), the meetings didn't mean much. I honestly tried to get something out of them, but there was not much that I could apply into my own missionary efforts. For me, it was just one more meeting to sit through; one more thing to add to my anxiety. It through our Friday schedules completely out of whack. We had the meeting and wouldn't get home until about mid-morning (if I recall, it was probably about 10 or later). Then we had all of our studies to do, which we condensed because we also had at least three hours of weekly planning.

I began to really dislike Fridays.

The one blessing that came from the VC meetings was choir. I love to sing, always have, although my voice isn't the best. It allowed for some stress relief on those days. Not much, but it helped. To this day, however, if I hear those same songs that we sang then, I can't help but tear up at the memory of the anxiety I had when I first sang those songs.

Hermana Garcia quickly learned that I was struggling. After all, when you spend 24 hours a day everyday with someone, you learn quickly. Well, that and also that I was seeing a therapist at the time. It's not exactly something that I could hide. Perhaps one of the qualities I love best about Hermana Garcia is that she always wanted to help. She would ask me if there was anything she could do. Often, there wasn't, but it was nice to have someone around that cared. We did, however, find some ways to help me out. During our lunch breaks, I started wandering around the yard by our apartment to stretch my legs and get some sunshine. Sometimes we moved part of our studies to one of the local church buildings. The change of scenery really helped. Then, during our lunch breaks, we would play basketball in the gym. Neither one of us were particularly good, but it was fun and a break that I needed.

One of my favorite moments with Hermana Garcia happened one evening when she was having a hard day. It was a P-day. For whatever reason, she was just feeling emotionally off. We were to have a lesson with Nick, but she just didn't have the energy to for it. In fact, we had a few appointments for that evening, but we cancelled them all. Our plan was to possibly stay at home for the evening. Nick, being the amazing young man that he is, told us to come over even though Hermana Garcia was in her pajamas. We spoke to him through our car window. He and my companion got along really well, and he was able to cheer her up. Afterwards, I treated her out to a shake at Sonic. There was one really close to where we lived. By the way, the peanut butter chocolate shake literally became my favorite treat when I was in Mesa. Next, we went to a park, sat on the swings, and just talked. I think it was a healing moment for both of us. It's memories like these that made the mission worth it. We didn't go out to teach, but we were still able to serve each other. One thing I learned from that night is that your companion (or whoever you are close to) comes first. People are important.

Being a Mesa Missionary

The first area I served in was part of the Kimball Zone. Our particular area was relatively small area, and one could drive from one end to the other in about 10 minutes. It felt to me very small compared to the areas that missionaries have back in Wisconsin. The interesting part is that Hermana Watkins and I covered the same area that three other sets of missionaries did with the only difference being that we were assigned over the Hispanic branch and a Young Single Adult (YSA) ward. The other sets of missionaries in our area covered one or two English wards in about the third of the space that we did. With so many wards and church members, I felt like I was back in Utah again, but hotter.

Despite being nauseous for the first week and a half, I really grew to love this place. I could tell you where everything was, where members lived, how to get from one end to the other, which parts were to be avoided at night, and where the nearest Sonic was (priorities, right?). I met so many people who have influenced my life and who I think about nearly everyday since.

Admittedly, I was very intimidated when I first arrived. Hermana Watkins knew everyone and everything. She had been a very effective and helpful missionary in that area, and I wondered if I could do the same. Then I started meeting these wonderful people.

Vanessa one of the first people that I met. She was a less-active member of the church, about my age, with a personal background that seemed so much like a cheesy telenovela, except that it was all real. From what I learned through Hermana Watkins, Vanessa had some rough things happen to her but from the few months prior to me coming, she had changed her life drastically, and for the better. I quickly grew to love her, and she became our go-to person when we were having a bad day or if we had some extra time.

Carlos was a young man who lived with Vanessa and her family. For being someone who had been learning english for only a year, he spoke way better english than I did spanish. He was not a member of the church but had been taking lessons from the missionaries once he started staying at Vanessa's home. Again, here was a guy with a crazy background of things you only see on TV. He was a sweet guy with a big heart and a love for cooking (and it was really good food, too).

Franchessga was also one of the first people I met. She was a young lady about my age with about the biggest heart I've ever seen. Adrian and Chaz were a pair of artistically ambitious brothers. Adrian has published a book and is currently working on the rest of the series (I have yet to read the first one--sad, I know!), and Chaz has been working on making his own animated movie.

And then there was Nick. We inherited him from the elders in our district because, even though he lived in their area, he was technically YSA, and so we were able to teach him. Actually, that whole process was somewhat an ordeal, but that's a story for another time.

Luis and Laura were a hispanic couple with three young children. When I came to the area, the two oldest children had been baptized. Laura wanted so badly to be baptized--she could practically teach us all the discussions herself, and went to church even after working long days in the field picking fruit. Unfortunately, Luis and Laura were not married and could not be until Luis' divorce papers went through in Mexico. Until they were married, Laura could not be baptized. For someone outside the LDS church, this may seem a bit strange that we cannot allow someone to be baptized if they are living with someone of the opposite sex, but it comes down to being chaste--not having any sexual relations outside of marriage. Many people will lose interest in the Church because of this, especially among the hispanics where I was serving; marriage required getting visas and having the money to do so, and many that we talked to didn't see the need to be married. Laura, however, was not discouraged. In fact, several months ago while catching up with a member back in Mesa, I discovered that Luis and Laura had indeed been married, and Laura was baptized. Such a sweet experience shows me that our God will take care of those who believe in Him.

Of course, there were many others we met every single day. Some we would see only a few times before we lost contact with them, others would show no interest from the start, and some wouldn't even open the door for us (even though we knew that they were home and could hear the door lock click). With all these wonderful people and experiences, one may wonder how I even had time to be sad, but somehow I could.

Sometimes it was the day-to-day things that would bring it on. Our day looked something like this: We would get up about 6 am to play sports with our district or zone. I'm so glad that Hermana Watkins was an athletic young woman because she would always want to go and play sports. For me, doing so helped relieve some of the mounting anxiety. When we were done around 7, we would come home and get ready for the day. By 8 am were were doing personal study; 9 am was companion study; 10 am was also companion study, but it was specifically aimed at my personal training as a missionary; 11 am we would have an early lunch; 12 pm would be language study. By 1 pm we would be out visiting people, teaching, and serving. Dinner was usually at 5 pm, and then by 6 we were again out with lessons. By 9 we would be back in our apartment to plan for the next day. Then we got ready for bed and were in bed by 10:30.

It was quite the day. Everyday.

My problems would start as early as the morning. I looked forward to sports every morning. I think it may have been what got me out of bed. Where things started to go downhill was during studies. That brain fuzziness that I struggled with in the MTC and back as school was still there. I couldn't focus, no matter what I did. I tried to take notes, to look for things for the people I was teaching, look for themes. All I would get out of it was sleepiness and fuzziness. I felt like I was swimming all day. When it came time to do companion study, I struggled pulling myself back to where we were and to participate. This brought frustration to my companion as we tried to work together. I just couldn't do it. I was supposed to be learning to teach by the Spirit, to follow impressions or thoughts that I was getting--but I wasn't getting anything. The bathroom became my new favorite place because it was the one place I could go that I didn't have to be with my companion. It was there that I would cry. Of course, more than once I cried in front of my companion.

The problem was, everyone told me that the first transfer, or 6 weeks, is hard for everyone. It wasn't uncommon to cry and want to give up. What I couldn't seem to tell anyone was that I knew that this was more than just feeling like the mission was hard--I actually had a problem. I would get so down about myself because I just couldn't function. I would literally be sitting in the middle of a lesson with my brain moving so sluggishly, the fuzziness overwhelming. More than once my companion would get upset at me for hardly speaking during lessons, but my challenge was two-fold: I was still learning the language, and with all the fog, I couldn't process what was going on anyway. Honestly, I would try so hard to pay attention, but I couldn't do it, and that would in turn make me feel depressed. How was I supposed to help these people when I couldn't feel the Spirit and when I just felt so miserable?

Finally, by the end of the transfer, after talking with my companion and mission president, I was to go see a therapist again. She was out of town for a while, so I had to wait even longer to go and see her. The wait was awful. Everyday it would take all that I had--and more--just to get through. I would literally pray all the time, begging Heavenly Father for some relief so that I could help his children. Somehow I would make it to the end of the day and crash, but I couldn't find the relief.

If everyday as being a missionary would be like this, I wasn't sure I could do 18 months of it.