Do Young Living Essential Oils contain gluten? Are Young Living Essential Oils gluten-free? Are Young Living Essential Oils safe for individuals with celiac disease? I know you want to know the answer to this. You know how I know? Because my original post on this subject is still, to this day, my most popular blog post. I receive e-mails and comments all the time, asking for information.
I am creating a new post because I received a more updated list and wanted to make it easier for you to access it, by creating a file for you to download directly from the blog. This way you don’t have to wait for me to check my e-mail, read your message, reply and attach the file. Honestly, this can take months. You deserve faster service than that!
There are MANY people that will tell you (and have told me), the amount of gluten in these Young Living products is very minimal and not worth getting upset about. To these people, I gently reply, for individuals with celiac disease or like me, who have an anaphylactic reaction to gluten, these minimal amounts are really dangerous. They also build up over time, gradually stimulating the immune system to have an immune response. For those who care, and there seem to be a lot of us, this information is really really really important!
Also, I get many people asking what oil to use if they can’t use the V6 carrier oil that Young Living sells. You can use olive oil in a pinch (I hear it stains, so be careful). Coconut oil will work whether in a liquid or solid state. We personally use Spectrum Organic Almond Oil and are very happy with it. I buy a large bottle and it lasts us years! Please see affiliate links to these products below and click on them to purchase if you’d like to support my blog in a very minimal way with no cost to you. (Thank you!)
Here is the note I received from a Young Living associate within the past year: We attached a list that shows which products contain wheat/gluten. The list also indicates which products do not use any gluten containing ingredients; however, we cannot guarantee these products as gluten free. It is possible that these products are manufactured in facilities which use gluten in product formulations. Though there may be gluten processed in the same facility please rest assured that according to cGMP’s (current good manufacturing practices) the machinery is cleansed and sanitized between products to prevent contamination. If you have additional concerns about the use of any of these products we would encourage you to speak to your health care provider.
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Hey mamas! And papas! It’s summer time! Isn’t it exciting? The year has come to a close. Kids are coming home from school with all their hard work shoved into their backpacks. End-of-the-year celebrations and ceremonies. Awards are handed out. Yearbooks. Report cards. Teacher gifts. Summer. Summer! SUMMER! It’s here!
Womp. Womp. Womp.
If you work from home, summer break doesn’t hold the allure it once held as a child. It’s not about sleeping in and having adventures all day, every day. That’s impossible! Instead, summer break is all about figuring out how to entertain your children while accomplishing all of your work duties, fulfilling your hours, and oftentimes making phone calls (!!!!!!!!!) despite the background noise.
Backstory: I work from home, more computer-heavy than phone, but I still have to be available for phone calls and often make them. I have a 6 1/2 year old, just out of kindergarten, a 5 year old, just out of Pre-K, and a 1 year old still attempting to learn how to walk and talk and all that good stuff.
In order to survive the summer, I have arranged my schedule to work most of my hours on Monday and Tuesday. I squeeze the rest of my work into random hours on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. This is how I juggle our activities so I can be with my kids as much as possible.
This schedule or the kids’ ages may not be applicable to your situation or they may match your situation. Either way, take a look at the plans I’ve made below and maybe something will work for you!
Here’s what I did. I took a piece of paper and wandered around my house, the girls’ room, Pinterest and my brain. I wrote down every idea I had. But I was purposeful, I wrote down ideas that would require little involvement from me! My thoughts are: while I’m working, the girls (in between snack and screen time) can come and pick something from the jar to give them an idea to run with. It doesn’t need to be something that mommy helps with (those are on another list). Ages make a difference here. I don’t think this would have been as successful last summer because my daughters couldn’t read. This year, however, my oldest is reading really well and trying to read more all the time, so she can move farther and faster with ideas than ever before!
I grabbed some markers and cut paper into rectangular pieces. I wrote one activity on each piece. Each piece is folded and placed in the jar. I’m hoping they will go with the first item they pull out (but intuitively I know better….).
My list is below, but I may keep adding to it as things come to me. Please adjust your list based on games, puzzles, activities and options available to you! (I also have a Dollar Tree shopping list for one of the outings we will take, so I can gather activity-supplies and science experiment ingredients!)
Less than 24 hours after having my son, I was home with my husband, my two girls (one of whom had a birthday the day we came home), and my parents. It was a Thursday afternoon and I felt amazing. Tired, but amazing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept and I was so high from the natural birth and the thrill of my perfect baby, I just continued to be awake, chatting with my family and staring at my baby’s perfection.
The newborn blur began as soon as we walked in the door. Diaper changes. Clothes. Getting the bed ready for us all. Breastfeeding around the clock. Working on a proper latch. And resting whenever I could. On Saturday we were having my youngest daughter’s 4th birthday party. I am pretty sure I was delusional when I thought I could have a birthday party for her, complete with snacks and decorations. But I did…
Some time on Saturday, between the stress of decorating for the party, the cramps and bleeding from being 2 days post-partum, being dressed and “on” for company, and taking care of a newborn, while trying to shower my birthday girl with attention, I began to notice something was wrong. Breastfeeding could hurt in the beginning. I’d experienced pain those first few days of nursing with my oldest. But I wasn’t finding any relief. The pain just continued and my brand new, perfect son, was not acting content after feedings. He would sleep for 5-10 minutes and then begin crying.
I kept feeding my baby, watching him drift into sweet sleep, handing him off to family members and visitors to hold, only to have him crying within minutes. He would be handed back to me and I would feed him again. The pain of latching wasn’t improving and he didn’t appear to be getting comfort or nourishment either. I thought, perhaps, when my milk came in things would get better.
I was wrong.
The Sunday that followed was dark. It was a dark day that led me down a dark week, and into a dark month. On very little sleep, I nursed around the clock. I felt my milk come in. I hoped it would help, but it didn’t. I nursed my baby everywhere. I started hearing a distinct clicking noise that I’d never heard before. I took videos and sent them to friends. I start asking La Leche groups and moms groups on Facebook what could possibly be happening. Tongue tie. Lip tie. Terms started flying at me and I wanted to dismiss them. But as I nursed him for the 5000th time that dark day, I began to crumble.
Though we had company, I could not get out of bed. I just laid there nursing every few minutes, in extreme pain. My nipples had started to bleed and I couldn’t find relief. I was clenching my jaw so tightly every time he latched, I felt like I would go into a panic if the pain continued. Meanwhile, the milk in my breasts continued to come in but I didn’t feel like any was going out. I cried and cried, alone in my dark bedroom, listening to my girls play and talk with family, wondering what I was going to do.
In a panic, I messaged with my doula who said she would be over as soon as she could. With authority, she said we needed privacy and our guests needed to leave. She said the last thing I needed was to be dressed and wearing a bra and trying to entertain. Off went the clothes. Skin-to-skin was all that mattered. She watched me nurse. She helped with latching. She gave me a schedule to give my bleeding nipples a break. She taught me to use the breast pump I’d had for 5 ½ years but never used. She confirmed there was a lip tie and maybe a tongue tie going on and encouraged me to see the chiropractor. She showed me how to feed the baby pumped milk with a spoon. I tried not to panic, but I was constantly scared he was starving and I couldn’t help him.
My chiropractor was on a flight that night that didn’t get in til after midnight. I messaged him and his wife. I needed to know if an adjustment would help my baby eat or if something more drastic was required. Every hour that passed by was torture-filled with pumping, painfully nursing, spoon-feeding, applying oils to my nipples and my breast tissue. I wore cabbage leaves to stop the painful engorgement from turning into an infection, and I mourned the newborn experience I had hoped to have. I can’t remember ever crying so much nor being so afraid.
My kind chiropractor, who was probably jet-lagged and sleep-deprived, met me and my dad at his office in the morning. I could feel my panic and nausea return as my postpartum body balked at the idea of being in public, standing, walking, conversing…. I handed over my fragile, precious, hungry newborn and watched him be examined with care and delicacy. My chiropractor did an adjustment, advised jaw massaging while nursing, and confirmed a lip and tongue tie. He wasn’t sure if the tongue tie needed to be removed, but the lip tie definitely did. He was allowing air in when he nursed, causing the chapping, blistering, and bleeding of my nipples. And his poor latch was preventing him from getting the milk he needed.
I was heart-broken. On the drive home I called the dentist I was referred to and tried to make an appointment for a frenectomy evaluation and procedure. The soonest they could do it was 10 days out. I started crying. I explained that I was hormonal and emotional. I apologized profusely and asked if there was anything they could do because my baby was hungry and I was in so much pain. Within the hour they called back and the dentist had agreed to do the evaluation and procedure on his lunch break the next day.
My husband had already missed work for the birth and was anxious about trying to get time off. My parents were getting ready to begin their 22 hour drive back home. The dentist was 3 hours away, just outside Baltimore, MD. My dad agreed to take me and I cannot tell you how grateful I was. I just needed progress. I needed something to give me hope.
That night, the dentist himself called me to talk about the procedure. I was shocked and impressed. He told me the youngest baby he’d worked on was 15 hours old. I thanked him for working through his lunch and he simply asked that I not bring him food, because sometimes people did that and he didn’t need it. I had to laugh. Of course, I’d thought about bringing him food, but couldn’t do much more than take care of my baby, let alone myself.
My friend volunteered to take the girls to and from school. My mom would stay at home so someone would be there when they got out. My husband left for work and my dad and I embarked on our 3 hour drive with my newborn. Bleeding. Cabbage leaves. Leaking milk. Exhausted. Nervous. And iron-deficient, no-doubt, I remember pieces of the drive. Chunks of conversation. Views out the window. Looking back at my sleeping newborn. Praying. Constantly praying.
In the office, I filled out paperwork, nervously watched patients come and go, chatted with some other people and waited my turn. I pulled out my Copaiba essential oil and whispered to my baby how everything would be okay. One woman had the nerve to comment, “In my day, you just suffered through those first couple of weeks of painful breastfeeding, but nowadays, everyone gets this lip-tie thing cut off.”
“I’ve had 2 other kids,” I informed her. “I know breastfeeding pain. But this exceeds that. And my baby cannot get enough milk because he can’t latch properly. Driving 3 hours isn’t convenient with a 5-day old baby. This is a necessity.” I bit my hormonal-tongue and decided that getting upset wasn’t going to make any of this easier.
During the exam, I was shown the lip-tie and the tongue-tie by the kind, happy dentist. He was at ease with the evaluation, my baby, and the procedure. I rubbed oil on his gums and held his hands while they began. As the gum tissue burned away I dizzily swayed a little and was asked if I was okay. Immediately, I thought, “This is not about me. All that matters is him.” I nodded. “I’m fine.” And they continued. Both the lip and tongue ties were lasered off and the tongue tie was cauterized. I thought it would never end. Immediately I nursed my baby, not caring about my own pain in that moment. I just wanted to comfort him.
It was a long drive home. My son slept off and on, he cried a lot. In the next 24 hours he would cry so much, I wouldn’t know what to do. I kept telling myself to give him 3 days to heal. So many people said day 3 was the worst. Thankfully for us, the worst was those first 24 hours. I never did end up giving him acetaminophen or ibuprofen. (Ibuprofen isn’t recommended on babies so young. Acetaminophen crosses the blood-brain-barrier and is linked to asthma and many other issues.) I did use some Copaiba on his gums and Helichrysum diluted on his feet. I worked diligently on his latch and continued pumping and nursing around the clock.
As we all recovered from the procedure and the trauma of it all, I realized my milk supply was diminishing. It seemed far too early for that and I panicked yet again. I was trying to feed him as much as possible, even through my own pain, but it still didn’t seem to be enough. We were up all hours of the day and night, him fussing and rooting to eat, and my cringing while trying to breastfeed him again and again and again.
A trip to a lactation consultant confirmed my fears: my baby was losing weight still and probably hungry. I couldn’t even get through a conversation with her as I sobbed and sobbed. I just wanted everything to get better. I had only had him in my arms for a week and a half and it had all been so miserable, so scary, so painful, and so completely unfair. I left the doctor’s office with a list of things to do: pumping after every feeding, spoon feeding all of the milk I pumped to him whenever he would take it, galactagogues to consume, and breast compressions. My doula helped with my milk supply issues as well by giving me homeopathic remedies, essential oils to apply topically and take internally, and more oils to help my painful nipples.
With my parents gone and my husband at work, I relied on my friends to take my kids to and from school and bring us dinners each day, while I worked literally around the clock to feed my baby. I didn’t know night from day except that sometimes I saw people and sometimes I didn’t. All I did was apply fennel and basil oil to my breast tissue, nurse, burp the baby, apply myrrh oil diluted in coconut oil to heal my nipples, pump, feed baby whatever milk I’d pumped before, drink water, drink hot lemon honey water with fennel oil in it, do his frenectomy exercises to help his gums and tongue tissue to heal, change his diaper, take care of my postpartum healing whenever possible, and ingest copious amounts of lactation cookies.
One of these days was a Saturday and my friend took the girls for us so my husband and I could be at home. He helped me through the initial learning curve as I developed a routine with all of it. He helped me make lactation cookies (or lactation pizza we joked, because the cookie dough flattened out and spread out all over the pan when it baked). At some point I became hooked on Downton Abbey and watched it continuously while I cycled unknowingly through day and night.
And still, a week later, at the lactation consultant, he hadn’t gained any weight. My heart raced as they weighed him and broke as they told me the number. I clung to the fact that he hadn’t lost any more weight. We were going to get through this. I was told I could slow down on pumping since my supply was up. I didn’t have to pump after EVERY nursing session anymore. Since the latch was improving and my nipples were healing, it was getting easier to nurse him, so we focused on that. The next week wasn’t as terrible, though I dreaded the next weigh-in.
I slowly returned to a routine, taking my girls to school and picking them up. I had friends over for playdates and started heating up frozen meals for our dinners. My sweet baby still didn’t sleep much, sometimes only 5-10 minutes at a time, and cried to nurse constantly, but I was there for him. I remembered how when he was born, I pulled him into my arms and said over and over, “We did it! We did it!” During this dark season I looked at him often and said, “We are doing this. We are doing this together. We are a team and we are going to get through this.”
At yet another appointment, the pediatrician was unconcerned with the weight, saying he had stabilized and seemed alert and more content. However, the lactation consultant wanted to continue seeing us until he got back up to birth weight. I felt vindicated and defeated all at once. I continued nursing him constantly, but slowed down on supplementing pumped milk because he was just spitting it out at that point.
It took three weeks, three long, dark, exhausting weeks to get my baby back up to birth weight. The day we did it, I rejoiced. I smothered him in kisses and cried. Finally, I was crying tears of joy, the kind I hadn’t shed since his birth. Finally, we were getting somewhere.
I don’t remember much else in that first month. I openly apologize to anyone I may not have responded to or for anything I did or didn’t do. In moments like these, nothing else matters but the health and well-being of your child. And in hindsight, I was a rockstar for my baby. I did the hardest work I’ve ever done. I know I couldn’t have succeeded without my husband and our friends’ support, but I also know that I made a choice to keep going through it all.
My baby is 3 months old now (at the time I originally wrote this). Sometimes when I pick him up at night to feed him, I chuckle at how much heavier he feels in my arms. Even when he nurses every 2 hours and I feel I can’t get anything accomplished, I am proud, proud to have this nursing relationship with him and proud that we got through such dark times together. He’s rolling everywhere now and has graduated out of the rock-n-play and into the pack-n-play, 3 months before schedule!. He’s slept through the night (once) and he sleeps wonderfully, overall. I still get emotional when I think of our first month. I sometimes feel I was robbed of the blissful newborn phase. I may mourn that for a while. Regardless of the sadness, we made it through.
New and breaking news: There is a local dentist (to us here in central Virginia) who now performs these laser frenectomy procedures! He is a dentist we’ve used and respect greatly: Dr. Browning in Waynesboro, VA!
4 a.m. – I roll out of bed and go pee, because going pee all hours of the night is just part and parcel with pregnancy, am I right? As I’d done every time I peed for the last month, I checked the toilet and the toilet paper, looking for signs that labor had begun. Blood. Anything. Nothing. I crawled back into bed, exhausted and depressed about the whole thing. I laid there letting the thoughts come and go. I was sad, exhausted, disappointed, confused, telling myself I would go into labor at the right time, trying to find hope and inspiration… the thoughts just tumbled about like rocks in a rock tumbler. They hurt. They thudded against the walls of my brain. And at some point they dulled. They got more smooth. I knew the reality of the situation. After a month of labor signs, contractions and hope, I may have felt hopeless, but I knew the truth: labor was coming. He couldn’t stay in there forever.
6 a.m. – I roll out of bed and go pee…. Again. (see above) This time, there is blood and mucus (and do I really need to apologize for being so blunt? You’re reading a birth story for goodness sake!) and I couldn’t be happier. It’s happening. I crawl back into bed, cuddle up next to my husband and tell him, “It’s starting.” My whisper feels like it’s riding on wings, sending hope and promise into the room where I’d been crying for weeks on end. He startles to consciousness and asks, “Should I stay home?” “Oh no,” I reply, “It could be a long while. I’ll keep you posted.” The morning continued like all mornings. I made breakfast, packed lunches, kissed my husband goodbye, granted my girls screen time, and got ready for the day. My dad said he would take the girls to and from preschool while my mom and I went to my midwife appointment.
8:45 a.m. – Midwife appointment. I tried not to be too hopeful. After all, I’d been having contractions for days on end for over a month. The texts exchanged between me and my doula were embarrassing at this point. Still, it had to be done. Mom and I went to the appointment, did the weigh in, the pee in the a cup thing, and then waited in the exam room for the nurse. I casually told the nurse that I’d had bloody show this morning and I was hopeful baby was on his way. I had an ultrasound and confirmed the placenta was gigantic, going across the front of my uterus, preventing baby from assuming the correct position (he was transverse). Otherwise, everything looked good. Onto the table I went, except I couldn’t sit still, so I stood, hooked up to the fetal monitoring system, waiting to get my hour’s worth of good heart beat measurements. The nurse kept checking in and said baby must be sleeping. Did I want a juice? Could I walk around? I grabbed my water bottle and started drinking. I didn’t have an appetite and didn’t really want anything to drink. Moving, jiggling, talking to him and laughing with my mom, we saw some great spikes on the monitor. We kept hoping we would get enough to go home.
Finally, the midwife came in and said we’d had enough heart rate spikes. She also said, “You’re having a lot of contractions. Did you know that?” I laughed and said, “I’ve been having contractions for a month! I’ve stopped thinking they mean anything anymore!” She pointed to the chart and said, “These are really long though and really close together.” I smiled and said, “Well, hopefully baby will be here soon!” A little twinge went through me. Maybe this really is it?! I thought sadly about my daughter’s birthday the next day and how I’d been so sure this baby would be here before then. The whole pregnancy I had worried about missing her birthday and assured myself I wouldn’t and now? It looked like this baby was taking the same timeline as she had.
I was also informed at this point that none of the midwives were on call that night. Really? I go to midwives my entire pregnancy, meet them all, and now none of them would be at the hospital if the baby came that night? I felt jittery and anxious. The midwives were my people. And who knows who I would get. They mentioned a doctor’s name and I started texting friends and my husband about the turn of events. Thankfully, my husband wrote back quickly saying that the OB on call had an incredible reputation. I just prayed I wouldn’t be there long enough to care!
The kind midwife came back in and asked if we could schedule my induction. I had prayed it wouldn’t come to this. Each weekly chiropractor appointment, I had said, “I’ll schedule it but hopefully won’t be able to make it.” Each midwife appointment I would say, “I’ll schedule it but hopefully won’t be there!” I had done everything to try to move things along. I took Master Gland. I ate entire pineapples. I did inversions to improve position (a la http://www.spinningbabies.com). I had sex. I did hip circles on the exercise ball. I danced. I played with my girls until I forgot what I was waiting for. I relaxed as much as I could. I bounced. I did squats. I made labor drinks and labor cookies. I drank them and ate them. A lot. I cried. I laughed. And no matter what, it came down to this: My first was 42 weeks and 1 day. My second was 41 weeks and 6 days. And this one? Well, we were at 41 weeks and 5 days, and counting. So, we scheduled the induction. Friday, February 26, at 7 a.m. Pssssh, I thought to myself, I don’t think I’ll have to go to that appointment and even if I did, I certainly wasn’t going to rush to a 7 a.m. appointment to be induced.
After the midwife appointment was over, I told my mom I wanted a coffee from my favorite coffee drive-through, Micah’s. It was raining outside and as we left the building I asked if I could drive. “Are you sure? You’re in labor!” mom asked. “I’ve been in labor for a month!” I replied. I drove us a couple blocks out of our way toward the coffee place and my husband called. I had texted him during the appointment to say maybe he should come home at lunch, just in case. “I’m on my way! Should I come to the midwife’s office, or the hospital, or what?” I laughed at his urgency. “Just come home! I’m grabbing a coffee with mom.” I said, laughing out loud. “I thought you were in labor?!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been in labor for a month!” I said for what seemed the fifth time that day.
Mom and I returned home with our coffees. I sat at the counter, guzzling mine while dad cleaned and cooked. He was going to make his famous chicken enchiladas and I couldn’t wait to eat them. When my coffee was finished (within minutes), I said I was going to lay down. I had this fantasy that I could just lay in bed, progress with labor, focus on hypnobirthing, and my baby would just slip out of my body. Hey, I said it was a fantasy, right?
I was pleased that the contractions had continued. I laid in bed. I drank water. I watched episodes of the Bachelor. At some point, I silenced my phone and stopped texting my friends. My husband came home. My dad picked up our youngest daughter from school and brought our oldest home early, too. I could hear their tiny voices chatting enthusiastically. How exciting for them: grandparents there, daddy home early, mommy in bed. Something was happening! I was proud of the work I was doing. I relaxed into the contractions. I dozed whenever I could (an issue in my two previous births). I stayed hydrated (an issue in my first birth). It all felt good.
4 p.m. – My husband called our doula to let her know I was still having contractions and though I said it could be awhile, she decided to come over just for a minute to assess the situation. I felt sure she would realize I was perfectly fine, conscious, not in late stages of labor, and then she would be on her way. I figured, like my other children, this one would come in the middle of the night, perhaps after days of labor, like my first.
She came in and chatted with me for a bit. Asked me to use the bathroom and have some contractions while sitting on the toilet, which I did. She asked if we could take a walk. My husband and I obliged. She helped me slip on some shoes, saying it was wet outside. I vaguely remembered the afternoon in bed, listening to the thunder and rain and wind outside my window, thinking, this sounded more like a summer storm, not a February afternoon. I noticed how damp everything was outside and how clear the sky had become, watching the soon-to-be-sunset colors drift across the sky. My husband and I walked, me leaning on him when need be, slowing or stopping for contractions to pass. I could hear my doula taking pictures while we walked. Down to the end of the street we went. Turning around and walking back. When we reached the house, my husband decided to go in to help with the kids and dinner. Doula and I kept walking to the other end of the street and back. At one point my neighbor hollered, “Trying to walk that baby out?” I just waved my hand in the air. I couldn’t have a conversation about it right now. He couldn’t know how right he was. I bragged to her about my dad’s enchiladas and she cautioned me about eating dairy before labor. I was so disappointed, but trusted her judgment. The last thing I wanted was to be throwing up my dad’s beloved enchiladas.
6:30 p.m. – I was in bed again after our walk. Our doula didn’t end up leaving after all. I thought perhaps that was a good sign. Maybe I was farther along than I thought. Still, I resumed my position of laying in bed letting the contractions come and go, trusting they would deliver my baby for me. I hear the doula playing hide and seek with my girls. I thought how sweet that was of her. I thought how I had wanted nobody home while I labored. It was such a private thing for me, I had hoped this baby would come before my parents arrived. I had hoped my friend would come and pick up my kids and it would be just my husband and my doula alone in my home. None of this happened though. Here I was laying in bed, listening to them eat dinner and play games while I labored alone.
When my oldest daughter came in to say goodnight, I felt the loneliness overcome me. I missed my kids and my husband and my parents. I had missed dinner and games and bedtime. And here my daughter was asking if I could come do bedtime with her. I hugged and kissed her and said I just couldn’t right now; I was trying to have our baby brother. She left the room looking as sad as I felt and I started crying. I told my doula, “I miss my kids.” And then I began to sob.
She said she understood and maybe it was time to head to the hospital. I had a brief surge of excitement. Did she really think it was time? I hadn’t thought it could possibly be time. “What if I’m not far enough along? What if they send me home?” I agonized over the possibilities through my tears. She said, “Well, then we’ll go out for pizza!” She encouraged me to drink my strong cup of red raspberry leaf tea and use the bathroom before we left. I asked if I could eat my apple too and she said yes. I scarfed it down, whining internally about how it was nothing compared to dad’s enchiladas. I drank the tea, saying a little prayer that it would do what it was supposed to. I used the bathroom, staying in there for 4 contractions.
And then I began to move. My husband had my bag. My kids were in bed. My parents stood in the entryway at the end of the hall, watching me slowly walk toward the door. I stood in the entryway awkwardly. My mom rubbed my back. I looked at my doula and husband for help. I didn’t want this. My headphones were in my ears, playing Hypnobirthing tracks I’d listened to the entire pregnancy. I wanted to stay in my cave, not converse or interact with people. I headed for the door, stopping again for another contraction. They were coming so quickly now. Over the threshold, to the first step, and stopping for another one, I realized my dad was next to me. I could hear the doula getting in her car, and my husband starting his. As usual, the February weather didn’t seem to penetrate my labor. I felt no temperature change as I walked, contracted, walked, and contracted to the car. My dad’s hand was gently on my elbow and he explained, “I’m just going to help you to the car, so you don’t fall.” My eyes filled with tears. He’s a good dad. Not intrusive. Not pushy. Just helpful. Quietly strong. He helped me in the car, squeezed my hand and I leaned back with my eyes closed, trying to focus, yet again, on the hypnobirthing labor cave I had built for myself in my head.
7:16 p.m. – I watched the clock on my husband’s car change. I looked at the dark sky and the headlights passing us. We ran a yellow light. He looked in his rearview for the doula. I thought to myself, she knows where she’s going, it’s ok. At the hospital, he parked and helped me out of the car. Through the parking lot we walked in the darkness and mostly silence, me leaning on him during contractions, then taking a deep breath and walking some more. Into the hospital we continued. Our doula guided us to the elevator and we made our way to the second floor. Once there we were buzzed into the admitting area and I tried to stay in my cave. I heard questions being asked. I heard myself answering them. I heard a nurse ask, “Is she going to want an epidural because our anesthesiologist is leaving for the night.” A flutter went through my heart, a shudder through my body; was I really going to do this without medication? Maybe I should change my mind. Maybe I should ask them to hold the anesthesiologist just in case. Or maybe I should let him leave, because I could do this. Maybe I was closer than I thought. In hindsight, my husband would describe those few minutes as amazing: “She was amazing. She walked through the parking lot, into the hospital, checked herself in, and gave birth. She did it all by herself.”
7:38 – 10:08 p.m. – Two and a half hours. That’s all it was. And yet so much seemed to take place. I was introduced to nurses. Accompanied to the bathroom. Helped out of my pants and underwear. I remember the trail of blood I left as I walked through the room. A nurse said, “You’re the skinniest pregnant woman I ever saw!” I thought to myself, she’s ridiculous. At some point they got a needle in my hand; the “just in case needle” reminding me that I might end up needing intervention. I could smell my doula’s essential oils. I tried to find a comfortable position. I just wanted to lay on my stomach and go to sleep. Soon. Soon, the baby would be out and I’d have my stomach back again. I grasped hand rails of the bed. I rolled from side, to front, to side, moaning through contractions, listening to my hypnobirthing as it played from my iPhone in my doula’s hand. I heard the nurse remark that I was so relaxed; she’d never seen a laboring woman so relaxed before. Someone said they needed to check me. That required laying on my back. There was nothing I wanted less, but everyone helped me get there. I screamed during the cervical check and immediately went back to my side and stomach, curling around my rock hard uterus and wondering if I was going to make it. I heard them say they should call the doctor because she lived in Staunton. I guess I was far enough along to call the doctor, so that was good, right? I didn’t want to know what my dilation was but it killed me that no one was saying, “You’re so close.” In hindsight, I was a 4, maybe a 5 and I’m glad they didn’t tell me. I heard the nurse saying the smell of the oils was too much for her and she was getting a headache; she said it was okay if we used them, but she would switch out with another nurse. I don’t know what my doula did, but the nurse stayed and the smells weren’t so intense. As things progressed, I started moaning, “Nooooooooo” every time a contraction would rise up within me. My doula would say, “Yessss, Theresa, yesssss.” “NOOO!” I would yell louder. I’m pretty sure I knew I didn’t want anymore. In the bathroom I told her, “I think I need something. Drugs. An epidural. Anything.” She said, “No, you don’t. You’re so close. Those are just going to slow down your labor anyway and you’ve been waiting a month for this baby to come!” I felt unsteady, unsure about what I wanted anymore. I returned to the bed, to labor some more.
A huge release came with a loud pop and a rush and I thought, “He’s here!” But it wasn’t my baby. It was my water breaking violently all over the place. I’d never experienced that in my previous births. After the brief rush passed, I realized I still had a lot of work to do.
10:09 p.m. – That’s when he was born. It happened so quickly. One minute I was in my personal hell of contractions and I felt myself pushing. I heard them whispering about me pushing when it wasn’t time yet, but I couldn’t stop. I realized the doctor was there. I saw her down below discussing my dilation with the nurse and doula. Still, I couldn’t stop pushing. At some point, the doctor pushed my cervix’s lip over the baby’s head and announced that I was fully dilated and could push. They wanted me on my back again. I didn’t think I could move. I just wanted to keep pushing and pushing until it was over. Somehow I ended up in an upright, somewhat seated position. The back of the bed was so high, I don’t even know that you could say I was on my back; it was more like I was sitting in a chair. I continued pushing and yelling. I heard the doctor talking to my husband about how my other births have been. He mentioned that I caught my second daughter myself and she asked if I’d like to do that again. How could they sit around talking about me while I was being tortured? I wondered. And within seconds I was told to reach down and grab my baby. In between contractions, my head resting back against the bed, I shook it saying, “No, I can’t.” I was so tired. So very tired. They kept saying, “He’s here! Grab him.” I opened my eyes for the first time in what seemed like hours, looked down and saw a huge baby head and a shoulder. He was facing to my left, completely. I couldn’t believe he was still sideways after all of that! I tried to get a grip on him, shoulder and all, and somehow I pulled him out and started screaming “Yes!” over and over and over and over. Nothing mattered except it was over and he was here and we were together and it was over, it was over, it was over. I had done it. I had really done it. Less than 3 hours of active labor and he was here. In my arms. Screaming his head off. Placenta delivered. Stitches administered through my protests of “What are they doing to me? Why are they hurting me?”
The nurse kept gushing about two things: how big my baby was and how relaxed I was. “You should give classes on how to be relaxed!” “I’ve never seen a laboring woman so relaxed before!” “Your body was completely limp!” “He’s huge!”
“That’s a big boy!” And forever captured on video, her saying, “He’s a monster!”
They moved us to another room for the night, though I insisted I didn’t want to stay. I wanted to go home with my baby. Tomorrow is my daughter’s birthday. I wanted to be home. My husband slept. I couldn’t sleep. I had a baby. The baby I had wished for, prayed for, fought for, begged for; he was here. I just stared at him. In the morning my husband returned home to have breakfast with our birthday girl. I cleaned myself up and sat cross-legged in bed, texting and Facebook-ing and just gushing over the goodness of my little miracle. A nurse came in and said, “If you’re sitting like that, I’m guessing you’re just fine and ready to go home!” Everyone on the floor knew us as the family who wanted to leave early, who had a birthday girl at home. I so appreciated all of their help and concern, but I wanted out.
My husband returned; he brought our daughters and enchiladas! We all hung out. Took pictures. Waited for doctors to come and go and check us off their list. It seemed an eternity before we were getting into our car and heading home to begin our new lives as a family of five.
I would say in these first 24+ hours that this unmedicated, natural childbirth was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. I had no idea what the next month would hold…
Thank you for reading this extremely personal, beautiful and life-changing account of the birth of my son. I appreciate your supportiveness and kindness as you peek into a private moment of my life.
Last week went pretty well, I think! Let’s just say dinner was on the table each night. Sometimes boring. Sometimes cooked hours before it needed to be. But it was there! And we are fed! Phew, postpartum with 3 littles is totally different!
This week, I’m trying to keep it simple and cheap by using what we have in our fridge and freezer so we don’t have to buy much. Monday isn’t really a meal, but more of a mash-up of random foods in our fridge from the weekend, which gives me a clean slate for the rest of the week. So forgive me, but this is a shorter week of plans!
My first weekly meal planning postpartum. Phew. baby is a month old. I didn’t plan on it taking so long to find some kind of routine. Part of this is because my second baby slept all the time and I was able to resume normal activities so quickly. Part of this is because my new baby ended up needing frenectomy procedures at 5 days old, my milk supply suffered and I didn’t have any free time. When I wasn’t nursing, I was pumping. When I wasn’t pumping, I was changing a diaper. When I wasn’t changing, I was helping baby go to sleep. When I wasn’t rocking or soothing, I was using the bathroom and tending to my own healing. When I wasn’t tending to my immediate bodily needs, I was trying to see my other two children, who were missing me to the point of my heart cracking inside of me. It was just a nightmare. I didn’t think having my new baby would be so hard… I pictured a beautiful time of cuddling, nursing, and snuggling with all 3 of my babies. Not the tears, exhaustion and stretched beyond my limits that I experienced…
Anyway, that’s a story for another time, one that I’m excited to share, from the birth to the postpartum, but for now, meal planning. Remember? I did it!! I planned meals and I plan on preparing them! Since the meals my father and mother-in-law made for us in the freezer have been used up, I’m forced to figure this stuff out! Even if it means chopping vegetables in the morning and trying to find as many slow cooker recipes as possible without boring my family to tears!
So, enjoy!
Monday: Frittatas (doubled the recipe to use up our spring oversupply from our chickens) and GF biscuits
Thursday: Baked swai, kale salad (mix from Costco), and steamed rice
Wish me luck this week – making dinner and caring for my THREE children now! And meanwhile, welcome our son, affectionately called Little Man until his nickname comes to him….
Things have been a little quiet on my blog this year and I haven’t been very forthcoming about the reasons. You see, after years of wanting one last baby, my husband finally reached the “yes” stage and we settled on October, 2014.
Well, if you’ve followed my trials and health issues, you know that the fall of 2014 was a trying time for me physically and I was in no position to get pregnant. I didn’t feel safe getting pregnant until January of 2015 and, as usual, we were pregnant right away. That month I also got the flu unlike anything I’d ever experienced and fought a county board of supervisors to legalize backyard chickens (a fight we lost). It was a painful, exhausting, devastating month. And when February 12th, 2015 brought news of my miscarriage, I just felt completely defeated.
As I’ve always had easy conceptions and easy pregnancies, having to wait to get pregnant and then have a miscarriage was just heart-wrenching. My mind and body went into survival mode and I sought out answers using the genetic testing of 23andme.com (affiliate link) and the help of my wonderful chiropractor. I mourned and ached, wondering if my health issues of 2014 had ruined my body forever. Oh I learned a LOT from the genetic testing (definitely another post on that), including a gene I have that indicated I might have estrogen dominance and may require progesterone.
Of course it’s not recommended that you just randomly start taking a hormone, though I was tempted. I was eager to begin healing from the miscarriage and preparing my body for my future pregnancy and still I decided testing was more important, rather than starting something that might make things worse. I decided to use DUTCH precision hormone testing, for many reasons, the main one being that they are the most comprehensive and thorough. I was very amazed by the results I received and how detailed they were. (As a practitioner, I can get much better pricing on these tests, so let me know if you’re ever interested.) I am so glad I got this testing done and was able to immediately apply the information I gleaned.
The test results showed that my hormones would have been interpreted as “normal” had it been done in a regular medical office. While looking at the detailed results of my tests though, I could see (and it was noted) that I was barely hanging on the lowest marker for normal. While this would have been considered a normal progesterone level, it was not normal enough for an ovulating woman of child-bearing age, hoping to retain a pregnancy.
I was pretty relieved by the news and started hunting for a progesterone cream to begin using right away. I really appreciated this website as I researched. And here’s the one I decided on (affiliate link):
It took a couple months to regulate my cycle and in May we were pregnant again. I took tests every couple of days to make sure the line was getting stronger (hormones increasing).
I scheduled an early ultrasound to confirm it was a viable pregnancy at 7 weeks (something I’d never done before). Even after I saw the heartbeat of our baby, I couldn’t relax. I waited impatiently for the 11 week appointment to hear the heartbeat again. I ordered all the blood work, including the chromosome testing. I waited impatiently for those results. Even after finding out that there were no abnormal chromosomes, that we’re having a boy(!!!), that the due date is February 12th (the same date as my miscarriage), and hearing the heartbeat again, I have yet to truly settle into “just being pregnant”, something that I used to do so easily.
I have really panicky days (or nights, as was the case during my insomnia last night) where I think what if he doesn’t make it? How will I cope? What will people say? Would I try again? Or would this be the end? I’ve had very intense prayers asking God to please let this baby stay. Please?!
I’m now approaching 17 weeks and I’ve felt some movement of baby, heard his heartbeat several times and gone through exhausting lists of boy names. I’ve cleared out tons of baby girl clothes to make room for this little man and still I can’t fully accept that he’s coming. Don’t get me wrong, I want him to, so badly. But I’ve been robbed before. It’s hard to trust that it won’t happen again. I asked my friend, who’s also had miscarriages, when the feeling would go away and she said, “It doesn’t.” She could say that, at 32 weeks pregnant. It makes me realize that we put so much pressure on women to be as healthy as possible during pregnancy and to “enjoy being pregnant”, that “worry doesn’t help anything” and “stress is bad for the baby”, but at some point we also need to recognize that these feelings are so very real and very normal. Bad things happen. Loss happens. And there’s no way to ever know for sure that something is going to have a positive outcome. We still try, though. We keep moving forward and we know that despite the doubts and fears, we will find hope and cling to it.
This has been the longest pregnancy ever and I’m not even halfway through. Waiting to get a positive pregnancy test, waiting for confirmation, waiting for a heartbeat, waiting for blood test results, waiting for another appointment to hear the heartbeat again, and now waiting for the anatomy scan in October. And I’m finding gratitude for all of it, even the anxiety. I move forward. I make baby announcements. I go through possible boy-clothes. I day dream about birth and those first few magical days thereafter. And I believe. More than anything I am choosing to believe that this baby will stay.
Needless to say, I’ve been incredibly distracted and in need of major distractions. Between my kids, family, friends and various projects I’ve undertaken, I’ve just had to step away from this blog, even though I love preparing and researching and sharing information with you all. I couldn’t imagine writing about anything else until I shared my loss and my rainbow pregnancy along with my fears.
I hope you understand and can keep me lifted up in your prayers and thoughts. If you’d like to keep an eye on my pins and posts, follow me on Pinterest and Facebook.
You know I have been on quite the journey with my health. You can read about it on my blog: How I took some antibiotics that set off my mutated genes; How I tried to treat Candida and only made it worse; How I discovered I had MTHFR; How I tested and treated my neurotransmitter imbalance; And how I experienced over-methylation symptoms from vitamins that were supposed to help me. Quite the journey, indeed.
Well, during all the panic attacks, stomach aches, jitters and nausea, I still had to function. It’s not like illness sweeps in and the world pauses, waiting for us to get better. No, I still had to take my oldest to school and care for my youngest everyday. We still went to California for our anniversary and traveled to see family for Thanksgiving. There hasn’t been a pause button, as much as I wish there had been.
During it all, I had to find something to stop my anxiety from escalating. I was pursuing a holistic treatment plan, which sometimes takes time and during that time, I still had to survive. That’s why I say crocheting saved my life. Wherever we went, I would take a crochet hook and a ball of yarn. I was so new at crocheting last year, that all I could really create was a square and a rectangle (read: potholder and dish towel). It worked for me though. Focusing on my stitches, moving the hook in and out, turning my work, counting; all of this brought a much-needed distraction to me and something I could be proud of in the end. It also made great gifts!
Have you found your crochet? Do you have something that calms your mind and your body? It truly can be life-saving. You see, your mind can’t actually focus on two things at once. Take this NPR article for example; when people are multitasking, they are actually switching from one thought to the other rapidly and it can be really exhausting. To choose something for yourself that occupies the anxious thoughts is to literally stop your mind from going where you don’t want it to. This article from Forbes says more of the same: it is better to concentrate on one thing than to try to juggle many. So if your thoughts are getting away from you and anxiety is increasing, concentrate on something else!
Sitting on an airplane, juggling two toddlers, feeling the nausea and the anxiety build inside of me, I grabbed my yarn and started crocheting. When I finished my pot holder and was out of yarn, I unraveled it and started again, because that’s how badly I needed my crochet. Long car rides as a passenger have triggered me as well, so I don’t leave without a project. Focusing on my stitches helps me forget the car, the traffic, the feeling of being trapped, and the thoughts about the destination. Sitting had become one of my dreaded states of being. Even if I loved my friends and family, sitting still allowed my body and mind to become so anxious that I just wanted to run away. Crocheting was a way to stay present with people, while occupying my mind and body with another activity.
Everything about crocheting has captured my heart. I love to create and give to others and crocheting has allowed me to do that. From picking out the colors to planning the project, I am thinking of the intended recipient. Each stitch is filled with love and thoughts of others and so I am gifting them as well as myself.
Things are better now. I don’t need crochet to get through a drive or a visit with people. I have started making scarves, hats, purses, and blankets. I feel so thrilled with this developing skill and so grateful for what it brings to me. It is my meditation. It is my relaxation. It is my “do something for yourself” and my “me time”. And with all of that, it’s still something I can do while I visit with my husband or snuggle with my girls. I’ve found my thing and I hope you find yours too. Because there’s no better way to calm your thoughts than to distract them with something beautiful, lovely and productive.
Are you interested in learning crochet? Here are some of my favorite sites to get you started: Video Tutorials for Beginners by BobWilson123 Video Tutorials for Beginners by Moogly Blog Once you get the basics down, you’ll discover that BobWilson123 and Moogly have amazing projects you can create! Ravelry is also a community of people who crochet, knit and loom and are always sharing their projects and patterns. It’s fun to search Pinterest and other sites for inspiration and then challenge yourself to try something new! Enjoy!
Are you following me on Pinterest? Have you liked my Facebook page? I’d love to see you there!
I’ve meant to update about MTHFR and my health for so long! I’ve promised it to many and I’m finally sitting down to write it out. I think I arrived at such a better place after it that I forgot to post at all. I guess that’s a pretty good testament to this protocol!
If you want to know what MTHFR is (and you should, since nearly half of all Americans have it), check out this blog specifically about MTHFR. If you want to follow the journey of discovery and where I came from, see this post about antibiotics & anxiety and this one about Candida and this one about over-methylation.
My discovery of MTHFR began with a bug bite and a prescription that immediately caused panic attacks. It took me months to bounce back from that. I truly believe my discovery of MTHFR helped me to have a successful last pregnancyand a healthy last baby. But I still wasn’t feeling great.
When I had survived pregnancy,postpartum, baby’s tongue- and lip-ties, and was beginning to feel like a human again, I started to get serious about my symptoms. My most concerning symptom was this undercurrent of jitters. It wasn’t quite like anxiety, but more like a high, fast vibration that I couldn’t subdue. Oh sure, I could self-medicate with wine and I reduced sugar so as not to encourage it, but it was always there. I continued my regimen, but it wasn’t working.
I met with my NP, who is an expert with MTHFR. She presented me with a protocol that I was nervously excited to begin. She pointed out that my current regimen (which included a Thorne vitamin) was inconsistent for my needs. It was causing my jitters! All throughout my pregnancy and postpartum challenges, my vitamin was actually making things worse. Insert huge sigh here.
So here is what I did, including affiliate links below. (Purchasing via these links will not affect your price at all, but will contribute a tiny bit to the creation and maintenance of this blog.)
The First Step:
I purchased Seeking Health Active B12 5000. Sometimes this isn’t available on Amazon, but I’ve had no problem getting it directly from Seeking Health itself.
I cut a tab in fourths. For one week, I took a quarter of a tab every morning on an empty stomach. I kept careful watch over myself and my jitters. I didn’t feel terrible, but I didn’t feel better either.
After a week (or maybe 2, because I was scared to increase the dosage), I switched to a half of a tablet. This also seemed to settle pretty well. When you’re hypersensitive to every feeling in your body, thanks to years of anxiety, jitters, and uncertainty, it’s hard to know what’s causing what, but I convinced myself to trust the process.
The goal is to increase until a dose is uncomfortable and then step back to the previous dose that felt good. I tried off and on for weeks to get to 3/4 of a tablet. I had jitters. I had discomfort. I thought maybe it was a stomach bug one week. Another time I tried, I thought it was PMS messing with me. Or I didn’t get much sleep this week, so that could be it. So many possibilities, but I ended up back at half a tablet every time.
When I spoke to my NP about it she said it was clear to her that I was a half-er. And that’s ok! I wasn’t necessarily trying to get up to a point of tolerating a whole tablet of B12. I was trying to get up to my perfect dose and for many people a half is just good enough.
The Next Step:
Once I was on the dose that worked for me, the next step was to add in Folate. But not just any folate and definitely not folic acid. Methylfolate is the supplement needed since MTHFR prevents my body from being able to break down and absorb folate. I purchased Bluebonnet Earth Sweet Cellular Active Methylfolate 1000 mcg.
My mornings began with a half of a B12 tablet and a whole methylfolate tablet. And then I waited. Would I feel bad? Would it cause jitters? Would it make things better or worse?
Let me say that I felt better than I had in years. I felt energized and jitter-free and just so free in my body. I wish I could say that amazing feeling lasted, but I think my body got used to it and the euphoria settled into normalcy. I’m not complaining! I’ll take normal any day.
I cannot issue medical advice, but I am happy to share my journey and my resources with you. I think this protocol is worth trying if you have or suspect you have MTHFR. MTHFR is SO common and can cause so many issues, including but not limited to:
The first step in reintroducing B vitamins into my system was methyl folate. Now, remember, I’ve been pretty bad off as far as anxiety, stomach, nausea, and heart palpitations go, so I wasn’t hoping for a miracle, just some relief. I ordered the methyl folate and began taking it.
Day 1: I was nervous but didn’t feel anything, really.
Day 2: I was surprised how good I was feeling, lots of energy and low anxiety.
Day 3: I cried because I felt sooooooo good. It was truly amazing. Night 3: I had a horrible experience which included cold sweats and an ever-increasing heart rate. I thought I either had the flu or was having a heart attack. It passed quickly, but I was deeply shaken.
Day 4: I didn’t take the methyl folate and I began extensive research on over methylation.
So, for many people, taking a small dose of methyl folate wouldn’t have a negative effect. In fact, many people take much larger doses regularly and feel fabulous. I am super sensitive to vitamins in general and especially B vitamins. I’ve been so desperate to get back on track with my health that I was hoping things would be easier. But alas…
I have since changed my course of action. I have been taking a prenatal with methylated B vitamins (affiliate link below). The full dose is 3 per day and I am only taking one. Eventually, I will get to 3, which will give me the 800 mcg of folate recommended for women of child-bearing age. I think it’s crazy that I’m trying to get to 800 mcg when some people take upwards of 5 mg! (Some people take 50 mg for depression!) This is where I am, though.
While taking it, I haven’t experienced the horrible palpitations I had on Night 3, mentioned above. I have, however, had a sensation of heartburn, or something similar to it, that has had me feeling like I need to burp – the kind of burp you’d have if you drank a large soda… It’s a very strange, unnerving feeling that is fairly constant, like a pressure building inside of me. I imagine the methyl donor going to my cells and as the cells divide, there may be inflammation or nitric oxide or detoxification flooding my body. Something is happening in there!
Symptoms of over methylation:
Achy Joints
Acne
Anxiety
Headaches
Insomnia
Irritability
Migraines
Nausea
Palpitations
Rash
Sore Muscles
It’s sad, really… Try to do the right thing and wind up with some other side effects.
I’ve been following Dr. Lynch on MTHFR.net and HIGHLY recommend that you follow him as well, if you suspect that you have any MTHFR issues going on. There are things that can be done BEFORE starting methyl folate, which may prevent these over methylation symptoms. Dr. Lynch talks about them here. The list includes electrolytes to balance potassium and magnesium levels, glutathione to help increase glutathione in the cells when they divide, and superoxide dismutase to break down superoxide into hydrogen peroxide.
Dealing with over methylation symptoms whether you’ve done the above recommendations or not? Dr. Lynch recommends in this article the following supplements to help: Niacin as nicotinic acid (50-100mg) to quench excessive SAM, liposomal circumin (250 mg) to quench inflammation, hydroxocobalamin to reduce nitric oxide and hydrogen sulfide levels, electrolytes, and glutathione as mentioned above. He also mentions reducing leafy greens until side effects go away because they contain methylfolate and nitrates.
If you’re like me or any of the many clients (and friends and family members) I’ve spoken with, you might be annoyed by all of this. Why can’t you find out what’s wrong and then take something to fix it and go back to normal life? Well, I think we’re programmed by the pharmaceutical industry to think there should be a pill to fix things. We’re blinded by the promises of pills that fix any random ailment, despite the long lists of side effects. Yes, side effects are a possibility of anything you take. Yes, sometimes there are things you should do before starting a treatment plan, to prevent side effects. And yes, sometimes the thing you think will help just doesn’t. But you can’t give up can you? I don’t really believe that if I went on an anti-anxiety medication my troubles would be behind me. Aside from sedation, I don’t think anything would stop me from living in this situation right now. I can’t get away from it and I can’t get outside of my body. Better to stare it all straight in the eye and take a deep breath, dive into the research and choose a path, which is what I have done. I’m going to add the hydroxocobalamin lozenges (affiliate link below) to my regimen in the hopes that helps clear up what I assume is nitric oxide and/or hydrogen sulfide levels in my body. Stay tuned!
