It Never Ends, Until it Does

I cannot believe many things today.

I cannot believe I have not written in two years.

I cannot believe Hayley has been gone 7 years. She should be 26.

I cannot believe it is July 11th.

I cannot believe I feel the same level of suffering for these dates as I did last year.

I cannot believe I am not better.

I just cannot believe.

In July 2022 I had picked up the blog again right after the trial ended. I was finally free to write again. I could tell her story. All of it. I don’t remember why I stopped. But there is a “Part 4” in the draft section that I will complete. Just not tonight. If you asked me how long it has been since I wrote, I would have guessed maybe a year. Certainly not two years. I didn’t know until I opened this page. Everything is different than 2 years ago. Different but exactly the same. I see in my last July 2022 post the Night Terrors were a thing. Guess what? Medication helped with that. I stopped taking the Prazosin. Yet in the last month, the night terrors are back. Is June always going to trigger them? Will it be like this forever?

Last week I woke up to my husband saying “STOP SCREAMING”. I woke up still one foot in the dream and one foot out. I expected that he would give me a hug, a pat on the back, maybe ask if I was ok. Nope. He rolled over and went back to sleep. He did nothing wrong. I had the wrong expectations. The two dogs didn’t even wake up. Had hearing me scream in my sleep become such a part of my sleep routine that nobody was phased. Not even the dogs? My Mom was in the guest room visiting. I wondered if she had heard me. She didn’t, she refuses to admit her hearing may be going. But I am glad she didn’t hear me, she has not slept well for so long. Last year her husband died.

Sleep has been an issue for me since April 1998 when Hayley Storm was born and ruined sleep for me forever. Most babies do. But she was extra good at it. She was an amazing breast feeder. I knew I was lucky, not everyone has a good or easy experience. I swear my left breast could feed an entire town of babies. When my husband stayed home with her for 12 weeks, she refused to take a bottle. Like refused. She did not eat when I was at work. He tried every nipple, every bottle, wore my clothes, tried to hold her different ways. If it was not me it was not happening. She would then cluster feed all night long. We were exhausted. I think it was the last 3 weeks of his leave that she finally gave in. But I was still her pacifier all night long. Everyone said to let her get hungry enough and she will do the bottle. We refused. She had us trained immediately to continue to do everything to make her happy for the rest of her life. My son, he weaned his chubby self at six months. Hayley was 4 and an excellent sleeper and he just wanted to sleep near us. But sleep just got harder for me when I had two gorgeous and amazing little humans to worry about and to take care of.

The nightmares are always different. I never have the same one twice. But it is always the same feeling of not being able to find someone or something. I can’t stop something from happening. The dreams are always complicated. They are always about lack of control and always terrifying. When I say I wake up screaming. It is not a scream, it is always yelling a word or a phrase. One morning last week I had moved to the couch, hoping a change of scenery would make a difference. It didn’t; I just had round two and woke up yelling “Help Me” in the late morning. I felt guilty like I had yelled “fire” in a crowded place. Our main floor at our home on the Coast is a Beach Town and the crushed shell sidewalk is right on the other side of the porch which is right on the other side of the window where the couch sits. I honestly didn’t care if someone had heard me, but I was thankful to not have to explain that on the porch. This time the dogs did notice but probably because I had missed their breakfast time.

I don’t know where to start. Except to start sharing. Between now and August 2022 I have split my time between our original home and a home at the Coast. Close enough to hear the Ocean. If home is where we raised the kids then the Coast is where I feel closer to Hayley. My Ocean Loving Girl. It has been a difficult two years. It just felt like it was always something. After the trial, I assaulted a man in an airport. We built our beach house. We remodeled our home not to erase memories but to refresh the space. It was brutal having to remove everything from the house. Most of it is still in bins in a storage unit. I was in no condition to make decisions on Hayley’s belongings. I have stopped finding her mismatched KBell socks. That makes me sad.

I lashed out at the world, fought battles that did not need to be fought, was taken advantage of (people are greedy) and made new friends to replace the ones that ended their journey with me when Hayley died. It is just how I am built. I was diagnosed with an auto immune disease. That is not uncommon after a traumatic event. I developed a new heart arrhythmia. I unknowingly went through menopause and a hyper thyroid.

I am more aware of other’s pain around me. Hayley’s death has hurt so many. The anger is so real. I imagine what I would do if the people that caused her death were in the same room as me. The consequences of their actions has made ripples that have impacted so many others than just me. I often wonder when I will run into one of them. It is a small world. I wonder if I am ever in the same space as one of the Jurors from the trial. The trial that we regret. The trial that caused a new level of PTSD. The trial that they got so wrong. I hope that the Jurors never find out how wrong they got it. That the lawyers manipulated them. They flat out lied. They dragged us through a slow five week walk through hell. I don’t want them to know. If they did, they would just be another victim of this tragedy. Knowing would accomplish nothing.

I found a counselor this year that I love. I don’t always like what she has to say but I trust her. Grief counseling that I tried in the past was a bust. I thought it was my fault. I wasn’t ready for it. But it was because I had not found the right person. Seeking counseling this year has been the best thing for me. I don’t know what my story will look like this year, but for now it is better than last week, it is better than last month, it is better than last year. Don’t get me wrong it is Brutal with a capital B. It leaves you raw, angry and sad. Making the weekly commitment establishes a schedule that feels a bit like I have control over my life. I wish insurance made annual counseling as important as getting your blood pressure checked. It should be a thing. Without some degree of mental health, physical health is losses on us. Stress kills.

Last year we lost two of the three dogs that Hayley left behind including her baby, “Zoey”. It was traumatic and not the ideal way to have it happen. I still forget it happened and expect that they are at the house I am not at. One of her childhood dogs is still sticking by me in addition to the Golden Retriever that “tricked” us into bringing him home 7 years ago. They are a good reason to get out of bed each morning. Charlie at 14 and not being part of a larger pack now has allowed him to step up. The littles were definitely the boss of everyone. He has always been a good dog. He was just always overshadowed by the bossy littles. He has depths of empathy that were always there but now will be sorely missed when he is gone. They are a part of our family. I will be forever thankful to be able to afford to have them in my life.

I have seen the worst and the best of people in the last two years. Unfortunately the worst are the ones that stand out and stick with you longer than the best ones. I hope that by the end of 2024 I may actually be able to learn to control my need to fix people. No matter how many times my efforts go wrong, sometimes oh so wrong, I still truly believe that I can and should fix everyone else. The problem with that is I don’t fix myself. It is not because I think I don’t need to be fixed, it is because working on yourself is difficult and painful. It is easier to help others.

There is a reason they label a stage of Grief “Denial”. Denial is my friend. It does not necessarily look like I thought it would at the beginning of this path. I thought it meant you would truly deny that your child was dead. But it is not like that. It is standing still. If I don’t move, if I don’t talk, if I just deny it, the pain is tolerable. It is survival. Everyone has some kind of trauma. It is not a contest. I had found myself completely sad and angry hearing someone complain about their child. I think, well they are not dead so there is that. I have softened. I can tolerate this now, even participate in the conversation. I don’t get a trophy for this. There is no #1 MOM mug for this. It is not a contest.

Gratitude is not my thing. I think it is a trendy activity. I remember in the past that people would use social media to post something they were thankful for every singe day until Thanksgiving. My friend and I totally ridiculed those people. (in private). I feel a bit guilty about that. Why does everything have to be a contest? Can’t one thing you are grateful for be enough? I just felt some of the things were made up or they just didn’t have enough to be thankful for that they would be stretching it those last 10 days. Making something happen to be thankful for. Like how I make lists, endless ‘to do’ lists. I will add something I already did, just to be able to have the satisfaction of crossing it off. Gratitude can be like that. Sometimes you have to make something happen so you can check that box each day so you are not 100% miserable. Just 99% miserable. If it works for you, good for you. Gratitude journaling is not for me. It never has been. Because for every gratitude I can find an opposite to balance it. By nature I am snarky. Humor is survival. If I can make others and myself laugh at anything, that is a good day. Denial makes the living tolerable.

It is about how much can you tolerate. Counseling right now for me is about how much pain, self reflection, grief, or emotion I can tolerate at any given moment. Then learning to tolerate more. It will be great if counseling makes my marriage stronger. I will be grateful for that. But what I really want is the skill and ability to tolerate my own existence. I will never be a good partner until I can do that.

I am sure I talked about being Strong in past posts. I no longer respond negatively to someone telling me “you are so strong” or “I could not be that strong”. I have hated that so much. It is like saying to a grieving mother, by being “strong” you really are not grieving your child like you should or like they imagine they would. Again, grief is not a contest. But it is weaponized. I do it to myself. I can’t be happy today because that would not be honoring my lost child. If I find joy in something, I am not missing her enough. Everyone has an opinion about how you should feel, how you should grieve. But you are your own worst critic. I have for 7 years grieved hard. Guess what? I will continue to grieve hard. Not because my loss was bigger than your loss, but because it fucking hurts every second of every minute of every single day. I made being strong a bad thing. It feels like a dig when someone says it. But it is okay to be strong. I want myself and others to stop judging themselves by how “strong” they are after a tragedy. It is not helpful. Everything is a spectrum when you face loss, trauma or tragedy in your life. A sliding scale of many emotions, feelings, moods and thoughts. Sometimes I will say “I am having a bad Hayley day”. Because some days and some moments are just harder than others. You never have the same level of tolerance for the pain every single day. For me a good day is when my tolerance is higher than the day before.

I wondered how I would jump back into my writing. I didn’t know if I could or wanted to. But it is what worked for me. I feel like I have not even started the grief process. First I had to survive when it happened. I had to continue to breathe. Then I had to figure out what happened. Then I had to prove what happened. Then I had to make sure that people were held responsible. I had to make sure Hayley continued to make a difference in the world like she did when she was alive. I had to make sure I didn’t lose my house. Financially tragedies are not helpful. Strong is just breathing each day. But to go to work and make sure your family is taken care of is the next level Strong. Grieving is a full time job. I will never ever consider us “lucky”. We have the means because of Hayley’s death to relieve the financial stress. We can afford a counselor. We can afford two households so we can have our own space to grieve. We can afford to help others. We can afford to grieve. We can help others.

You know how we say “I can’t believe it is July? Where has the first half of the year gone?”. I say where did 2018 to 2022 go? There has always been something else that “has” to take priority over dealing with my grief. I feel embarrassed at how badly I am doing. When someone asks when Hayley died, or how long it has been, I truly do not want to answer. “A few years ago” sounds better than “7 years next week”. Why is that? Maybe we judge grieving people because we are terrified of it happening to us. If we believe that someone should “get over” the loss of a loved one, the loss of a child no less; then we feel like there is hope if it happens to us. We do not tolerate others pain well. We need and want them to get better, complete the steps, complete the grieving process. I swear I feel that I have failed at grieving. It does not feel like 7 years. How long does it feel? I don’t know. Maybe 2 years? I know as a fact I will never not be grieving the loss of my amazing daughter. 19 years of life will never be okay. How she died will never not be tragic. Wishing she was here with me will never stop. I believe that humans have evolved to require a beginning and an end to absolutely every single thing, feeling, thought and existence. Our brains cannot make sense of something that never ever ends. It is our survival instinct. The day is a constant existence of beginnings and ends at any given moment. I am hungry. I ate. I am not hungry anymore. Until I am again. We have to put things in to a cycle, it has to fit into a box so that we can make sense of it.

Hayley was born.

Hayley died.

I grieve.

A never ending cycle. Dates are a tangible reminder. Today was her surgery day. The dates of July 11th to July 24th, they will come every single year. It will never get easier. It will at best get more tolerable. It is not a process that I must complete. I will grieve always. It may make people uncomfortable. It may make people worry about me. It may make people think that something must be wrong with me. People may think I am not living life if I am actively grieving. But that is not true. Grieving is living. It does not end. It will never not hurt. I may never reach others expectations. It may always control my days. The only absolute is that I will always be Grieving. It just is. I will never complete this ‘Process’.It will never make sense. It will never have a silver lining. It will always control me.

Until I am gone.

July 11, 2017

Time for Hayley’s Story, Part One

It has been a very long time (February 2021) since I posted an entry on this Blog. It’s purpose will always be to share my grief journey with the hope that it helps someone on theirs. I hope it helps you understand those around you that are grieving a loss. The reason that I had to stop posting is pretty simple, two words, Legal Action. We filed a wrongful death lawsuit on behalf of Hayley in July 2020. This alone has been a huge learning experience that I will get more deeply into at another time. We were able to mediate with one of the parties and chose to take the other two entities to trial. The trial was 5 weeks long, on Zoom and the Jury got it wrong in our opinion after deliberating less than a day. This happened a little over two weeks ago. Almost 5 years to the day of Hayley’s death. The entire battle has taken every ounce of energy I could spare. The trial took everything I had left. It is public now. We provided proof of negligence. Hayley died a week long painful death. Each day she could have been saved. She could have been saved up until an hour before she crashed. By doing that we hope that the medical professionals involved have made changes in their practice and that the hospital has made changes in protocol; both to increase the probability of this never ever happening to another family.

I have chosen today, because it is July 11, 2022. This is the five year anniversary of the elective procedure that Hayley chose to have. I want to tell her story. My plan is to walk myself through each of the days of that terrible two weeks. I hope I find silver linings or even silver dust in each retelling of MY version of the story. (legal disclaimer, this is my own personal opinion based on what I witnessed, information I have learned from legal proceedings and experts that were interviewed for the lawsuit.) If I am very lucky this will be the last time I have to tell this story in detail. But I need to do it. I have sat through days and hours of depositions, testimony and research for the last 5 years. My opinions are educated but they are only my own. Her story started long before July 11, 2017.

In Hayley’s Junior Year of High School after being on a competitive dance team since the 2nd grade, something went very wrong during a performance. She was in her third year as a member of the Eastlake High School dance team, a competitive program with an over zealous and insensitive Coach. By the end of the first year, we regretted making the switch from studio dance to high school sports. Her Studio experience had been a warm and supportive environment for her to enjoy her love for dance and at the same time navigate all the changes a little girl goes through from age 7 to 14. This was thanks to great coaches and kind teammates. This was not the case for her at Eastlake. I had a wonderful High School experience and it did involve a dance team. The difference was we were allowed to be more than a dancer or a popular girl in a very short skirt. I was able to hold student body office both my junior and senior year. I competed in the DECA program. I had high grades that got me into my first choice college. I had friends that were not on the team. We were good at the sport. We practiced a lot and worked incredibly hard. But not once did I ever feel like there was nothing more to me than that team.

That was not Hayley’s high school experience. This can be directly attributed to the Coach and the Administration at the school. This team won. It had a long history of winning. The coach would expect nothing less than for the program. It had to continue to win at all costs. You could not play another sport. At her studio team she was able to participate on a soccer team most of the years. She had a social life and lots of friends during the studio years. On the high school team it was difficult to hold down a part time job. You could not have any other commitments. It was EHS dance 24/7, WSPS. Wolf Strong Pack Strong. That WSPS still makes me want to gag. I am not able to speak about the present, but I can share my observations for the 8 years my kids attended the school.

WSPS. It was a motto. It had good intentions but for most students it was not positive. Only the popular kids were WSPS. It was not inclusive at all. So many students were left out. The computer nerds, the gamers, LGBTQ, the disabled, the bookworms, and so many more. WSPS was meant for an athletic and popular group of students that considered themselves better because they believed in a motto. Being chosen to be in the leadership class at this school was not always because you were a true leader or had the potential to learn those skills. I was very involved with the school. Part of my actual job was working with leadership classes at High Schools on a Heart Health awareness month. I had direct contact with these kids. The teacher was the football coach. Many of the kids I met and worked with in that class were some of the meanest and self absorbed teenagers I had ever met. On the other hand there were many sincere, kind and true leaders. But overall the Motto was a bunch of bullshit to the majority of the student body. A great idea. Poor execution.

The school website says; Eastlake believes that students need to develop the intellectual strength and character necessary for success now and in the future, as captured by our mission and motto Wolf Strong, Pack Strong (WSPS).

There were many positive aspects of the High School Team experience. She made some strong new friendships and strengthened existing ones. They spent a lot of time together and their shared adversities with the program was very bonding. They were a part of the school’s spirit and legacy. They cheered and performed at home football games. It was always a fun time under the Friday Night Lights. In their uniforms they felt special. Plus it was a lot less expensive than Studio dance. For a middle class family living in an affluent community during tough economic times, this was a huge blessing.

When Hayley made the team, at the first Parent’s meeting before the agenda started parents were chatting. I heard from more than one returning parent, “do not piss off the coach no matter what or she will take it out on your daughter”. I scoffed. If an adult in a power position hurts my child or any other child, you can be guaranteed I am going to say something. With Hayley’s guidance I did have to let a lot of battles go unfought. She saw that it was 100% true, piss off the Coach, your daughter suffers. You were not allowed to miss practice on holidays or ones scheduled during breaks. So there goes your family vacations. Her second year, during February mid winter break I took the kids along with my back up mom and her kids to their company house in Palm Springs. It was an amazing time. We had to fly standby on a family members airline benefits, but you do what you have to do to make things work in your budget. After finally getting there we knew coming back was going to be very difficult. The next practice was on Monday, Presidents Day. Just as we were leaving we found out if you missed that one practice you were disqualified from performing in the next competition. This was not even in the rulebook. It was a verbal command from the controlling coach. In the official rulebook you had to miss a certain number of practices for that to happen. We called those demerits back in my day.

Hayley was stressed out about getting back so we decided to attempt standby out of Los Angeles instead of Palm Springs. More options. As Sunday and Monday approached it was clear based on plane loads we were going to have a difficult time flying back in time. I alerted the coach. I let her know that if one seat was open I would be willing to let Hayley fly back on her own for the first time. We did everything we could to make that happen. On Monday morning it was clear we were not getting on a flight until Tuesday. I emailed the Coach to let her know. She did not indicate it would be a problem as it was unforeseen. I decided to be spontaneous and teach the kids to make lemonade out of lemons and took them on a one park one day pass to Disneyland. The coach found out. I didn’t hide it. At Tuesday’s practice Hayley called me on a break, she was very distraught. She had been cut from the dance because she had missed Monday. Others missed Monday but were not cut. I asked her if she wanted me to be mama bear or not. Her choice. She said yes. I went to the door at the end of practice. I motioned to speak to the Coach privately with Hayley. I explained again what had happened. Her initial response, “Well you didn’t try that hard to get a flight because you went to Disneyland instead”. Needless to say it spiraled from there. Hayley was a strong personality, she worked hard, yet the coach had her on her dislike list from the start. Probably because of me and because she was not the best dancer on the team. But she had the biggest heart for it. Long story shortened a tad, Hayley did not get to perform and the rest of her time on the team, that woman treated her like crap along with most of the other girls. These were girls! Not women. This was High School! This was not division one NCAA. This “Coach” treated them so badly. She messed with their psyche. Girls ended up with anxiety, eating disorders and so many injuries. I wanted Hayley to quit so badly. But she would not give the coach the satisfaction. She kept going with a smile on her face and made it her job to entertain and get her teammates to smile during the grueling practices. This won her the honor of being voted “class clown” on the team three years running. The speeches for this award at the end of the year team banquet always contained the line “Hayley is the one we can count on to lift our spirits when we are down”. The first year I wasn’t sure if Class Clown was a compliment. But it was and it really said a lot about who Hayley was.

Don’t even get me started on the costumes. Think little girls in pageants inappropriate. This became a problem for Hayley that year. Despite me being a late bloomer, Hayley blossomed that year. She was also dealing with a hormone disorder that made her gain weight and her breasts became very large. Her flat friends said they wished she could share. Many of the costumes were backless or low cut requiring special dancer undergarments. This meant strapless bras or backless bras. Have you ever seen a Ballerina with triple Ds? They assume dancers will be petite in this area. Hayley was the one that was not. I drove to every dance store in the western part of our state trying to find a solution to this problem. I ordered a pile from online. It looked like it had thrown up nude colored bras on our kitchen table. (Poor Henry) I begged the coach for help. She did not give a fuck. But she should have. During that first competition, during their performance, Hayley’s right breast decided to make an appearance. She came out of the costume. It is hammered in to their heads, no matter what happens you smile and keep dancing. If that hat falls off leave it. If you lose a shoe, leave it. The performance always goes on. Hayley as a rule follower, took this very seriously. She kept going doing her best to shrug, sneak a pull on the top during a floor move, anything to stop this humiliation. I was supposed to video tape the performance, I stopped. I watched her be humiliated for over 3 minutes with an audience of other teenagers. There was nothing I could do. When they exited the floor I ran to the hallway to find Hayley crying outside the locker room. I held her. I told her I was proud of her. Then the Coach walked out and started chewing her out. Then she started in on me for not finding a bra to hold up and work with that awful costume. Yes. She did. I made it clear that I had spent weeks trying to find the solution and thought I had. That she needed to get involved and help her dancer. She was not empathetic or kind. She was mean and humiliated Hayley further.

Hayley and I argued all the way home. I told her she had to quit. She refused. An email response from the coach indicated that they would make a change to the costume for everyone on the team. Many girls thanked us, indicating that they had felt uncomfortable not having better support and coverage. This would allow all of them to wear a normal and supportive bra before the state competition that was a few weeks away. State was the one day they start working towards the previous summer. The routines Hayley had been a part of the first two years had placed first in the state. It was even held in the same venue I had competed in.

As it approached I was not getting an answer as to what the costume solution was. I should have known. The solution was that Hayley was pulled from the routine a week before state and the coach therefore does not have to make one change to her awful costume. This was a win for her. I took it to the athletic director. I took it to the administration. It took a week, a day before they left for state, for them to tell the coach she really should have changed the costume. Thanks guys for taking a week to half ass do the right thing. Hayley, her Dad, her brother and I still went east across the state to cheer the team on. Hayley stood on the sidelines. She was the only team member not allowed to dance in any of the three routines. I was so proud of the grace she displayed.

I went to the administration. I escalated the situation. You cannot in a PUBLIC school penalize a girl for having large breasts, that is not in the rules. You can’t body shame them with tiny costumes. I told the vice principal, “I am telling you right now, that even though Hayley would be a 4th year senior on the team and never had a returner in that situation not made the team, even though they were still required to try out for their spot, the Coach would cut Hayley from the team. She would do this to punish Hayley for daring to cross her. Tryouts were that week. Results would come out on Saturday. I told him if my prediction was correct to expect me to be sitting in a chair outside of his office before he arrived or had coffee on Monday.

Hayley and I sat there at 6:30 am on Monday, eyes red and swollen from a weekend of crying. I even left messages for the coach begging her not to do this. I promised I would never speak to her that year, she wouldn’t even know I existed. No response. Hayley faced after 10 years on a team, not having a team for her senior year. None of the milestones. Last football game, senior night, honoring her parents, nothing at all. She couldn’t go back to her studio team. They had moved on above her ability. There were so many meetings, the district brass was involved, not one person was willing to force the coach to reverse her decision. She tried to say it was not her decision, she had brought in judges from other teams. What she didn’t know was that one of my coworkers knew one of those judges. When asked she gladly confessed that the Eastlake Coach told the judges that under no circumstance was this one girl to make the team. Yes, the Coach was an adult woman. Do you want to know what her day job was? She was a school counselor at Eastlake. Hayley was that “girl”.

Every administrator at the school and the district level were men. The district hired an attorney to do an independent investigation of the situation. At least she was a woman. She looked at the costume. She interviewed Hayley, the coach, other teammates. We were hopeful. We were naïve. The attorney took until the end of December to file her report. Hayley had missed football season. She didn’t go to one game. She had teammates bully her at school when she wore one of her past year’s team hoodies. “You can’t wear that, you are not on the team”. Hayley was depressed. Her weight went up because she went from being physically active for 2 to 3 hours at least five days a week to staying home and being sad. It was heart breaking. She was not looking forward to Prom or other senior year milestones. Her close friends were her lifeline. She still stayed positive in public, she made people laugh, she made people feel good, she was an amazing friend if you were lucky enough to call her that.

The attorney reported to the superintendent that yes, Hayley had clearly been discriminated against, the coach was not a positive influence, had no business influencing teenage girls, and that the administration (men) had botched the entire situation. She indicated we had grounds for a lawsuit. We didn’t care, Hayley had just wanted to dance. By the time it worked its way through the system the team was way into their practices for the State competition. It was too late to make it right for Hayley. The coach won again.

Shortly after the costume malfunction is when Hayley mentioned wanting to have a breast reduction. We were not on board. We understood why she would want this but our fear was that just like tattoos you don’t make that decision unless you have wanted the same thing for more than 4 years. We told her that she may not be done growing. I had gained a cup size when I turned 18. We told her that if she still wanted the procedure after college we would support the decision.

She looked forward and headed off to WWU for her freshman year of college. She had an amazing roommate that she had met online. She loved the school. She loved that she could come home on weekends when she wanted to and work her hostess job at the local café. She loved that my job brought me near her many times. We were able to go no longer than 2 weeks without seeing each other. We talked many times each day while I was on the road for my job. She was intensely homesick. We were both struggling. My person was not in my house every single day. We had not let her take her car up fall quarter because we believed, rightly so, she would come home every chance she got if she had an easy ride. She was so homesick and probably depressed still. In January we let her take her car. This helped so much. Just knowing she could come home if she needed to seem to reduce her anxiety. She was going to the gym. She was talking about trying out for the school hip hop team.

It was Spring Break when she brought up the idea of the breast reduction surgery again. I had failed to notice that her breasts HAD continued to grow. She was uncomfortable. It was difficult to find clothes to fit. She was in pain. It made it difficult to be physically active. It was keeping her for trying out for the non competitive dance team. Her self confidence was low. At this time my current job was ending. I agreed that we would go see a surgeon and get an opinion and a cost estimate. Her primary doctor was supportive. I found out the name of a surgeon that was highly recommended by several women that had reconstructive surgery after breast cancer. These patients said he was the best, he was a perfectionist but not a man to show his emotions. Just a caring and talented doctor in a quiet way; so don’t be turned off by that, he was who they trusted. I warned Hayley. We discussed the costs. I was going to be job hunting with a kid in college. She accepted that if my current insurance would pay for the procedure that we would move forward, but if not, we would need to postpone and she would need to contribute to pay for it. I really thought it would not be approved.

On our first consult with the doctor, we both thought he was fantastic. He and Hayley immediately clicked. Hayley had a way of connecting with people quickly. She had a way to know who was a good person and who was not. She trusted him and was not uncomfortable undressing. When she did I almost fell out of my chair. I said out loud “OMG”. He gave me a questioning look, I explained I had no idea they had gotten that large. She wasn’t at home now walking around naked like she tended to do. With tears in my eyes I said “Hayley, honey, I get it”. She was a 34 DOUBLE H. Yes, that was two. HH. I didn’t even know there was such a size. Her pain and discomfort was obvious. The doctor agreed that she would benefit extremely from this procedure. He said he could help her and that it would be life altering.

The insurance approved the procedure quickly and she was scheduled for July 11th. He was going to be leaving on a big trip and wanted to get her in before he left so she had the full summer to recover before going back to school. I made sure my insurance stayed in place until the end of July. My job officially ended on July 7th. We felt this was a good decision for her. The opportunity to regain her self confidence, be healthier and dance her heart out.

July 11, 2017. Life Altering.