crafting-sanity

Shaking the Leopard

7/22/2010

(NOTE: May contain verbiage that is offensive to those with a weak stomach or easily offended by nature. Still can’t resist? Then be advised, you may want to skip paragraph 3.)

A friend of mine told me about how animals in the wild will shake after they’ve escaped a dangerous situation. It’s their natural way of coming down from the stress of fighting for their lives. I guess you could say it’s a coping mechanism of sorts, one that allows the body to respond to the adrenaline in a way that brings the animal back to its baseline. In some ways, I guess you could also say it’s better than a coping mechanism because it liberates them from perpetually carrying that stress.

I found myself in the emergency room this weekend. I’m a bit of a hypochondriac. You can imagine the trouble that can get you in when Google is just a click away. Well, I thought I might have overdone it with the sweets and actually made myself puke from too much sugar. Pretty ironic, considering I just went to a sugar awareness workshop at work. Then again, I can be pretty masochistic. Maybe it was slightly intentional on a subconscious level.

After a second puking episode where I projectile vomited all over the restroom (and yes, I even took a minute to clean it up with Clorox right after), and realizing I had a fever and abdominal pain, I started to really freak out. Then, Google added another layer of paranoia: What if it was my appendix? What if it was my gull bladder? Or my kidneys? Or pancreatitis? Or a heart attack?! I think I puked more in those few hours than during any other moments in my life combined – and that is most likely not an exaggeration.

I don’t know, but back to the emergency room . . . even on morphine, I couldn’t seem to keep my mind from wandering back into the past year. Would that be some kind of post-traumatic stress related tendency? Hmmmm. I wonder.

Well, there I was in the emergency room, on a hospital gurney, waiting to find out what the heck was wrong with me. You see, this past year I’ve been so focused on making sure my kids were taken care of that I neglected my own health, for the most part. Plus, you know, I have Google and I love to self diagnose.

I get wheeled in for an ultrasound to see if they can find anything wrong with my stomach and/or kidneys. You’d think this wouldn’t be a problem, but there I am in the middle of the ultrasound. The technician/nurse excuses herself for a minute. I start to freak out. There’s something about this not knowing and the positioning of my body (laid flat on a hospital bed) that takes me back to that moment right after my cesarean. Funny how we think we live in linear time, but somehow its all circular. I start feeling like I’m reliving that moment right before I found out that Tatiana was different. That same moment when I felt that something was terribly wrong and I begin to sob, deep sobs.

I take a deep breath and I bring myself back into the moment. The nurse reenters the room and resumes the ultrasound. Nothing. Then, she wheels me back to the emergency room. I try not to freak myself out with all the what-ifs and start counting the what-ifs of a different variety: What if it was just a virus? What if it was just food poisoning? What if a little more than one glass of wine really was too much alcohol for me? Thank goodness the morphine knocked me out for a good while. I think I would have driven myself crazy.

I was discharged from the hospital after a few hours with no clear diagnosis. Frustrating. They sent me home with a prescription of anti-nausea medication and Prevacid. I was tore up for another day and half – mind you, I am thirty years old and I don’t think I’ve been that sick in over two decades. I tried to follow the discharge instructions, but one little detail kept tugging at me – they didn’t know what was wrong with me. How was I supposed to put total faith in guesswork? I don’t care how educated your guess is – if you’re asking me to put chemicals into my body, there better be a good amount knowledge and a basis in fact for that recommendation to be taken seriously. After a 3 day long migraine, I decided to throw the prescription out (against hospital indications). It just wasn’t worth not being able to function. I did the same with Tatiana’s acid reflux medication a few months back. Did wonders for her too, but I’ll save that for another time. (Spare me the lectures and at least read up on the whole story before passing judgment.)

All of this made me think about how strong Tatiana is and of how far she’s come in the past year or so. It added another layer of perspective into the experience, of her mark on the world, and of how she’s shaped me in so many ways.

I started thinking about how right before my hospital visit I was finally feeling like I could breathe, of how everything seemed to be coming together, finally. A lot has happened in the past two years, aside from Tatiana making her mark on the world. I was looking forward to my Sunday of doing absolutely nothing. The stress was starting to lift, and I could relax. And, that’s when it hit me, and my body rebelled.

I guess I forgot to shake the leopard.

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So Many Memories . . .

6/17/2010

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Multi-complex congenital abnormalities, Tracheo-esophageal fistula, esophageal atresia, blind pouch, imperforate anus, tethered chord, fatty filum terminale, pneumothorax, gastro-esophageal reflux, caudal regression, anorectal abnormalities, general pediatric surgeon, anaesthesiologist, radiologist, urologist, cardiologist, ear nose & throat specialist, audiologist, neurologist, physical therapist . . . That’s just a sampling of the litany of terms that have been used to describe some of the things that have gone off kilter with my child’s little body, along with the fancy titles of all of the wonderful medical professionals that she’s visited along the way. If it weren't for her scars and all of her follow up appointments, it would all seem like a distant memory - almost like a dream . . . or a nightmare, depending on how you look at it.

There are so many memories of that first year.

I remember being forced to leave Tatiana at the hospital after my recovery. I remember feeling like I had been robbed of the joy that rightfully belonged to me in those early stages – not by anyone in particular, but by the circumstances that not even medical research could explain . . . and by insurance policies that are, in short, not very people-oriented. I remember being exhausted and overwhelmed, as my body tried to repair itself from the cesarean and I tried to divide my time between visiting Tatiana at the hospital and caring for Natalia at home. I remember feeling guilty and frustrated. I remember our economic situation forcing my husband to be apart from us because he had to take work in other states. I remember feeling like there was no one who could truly understand what I was going through. I remember wondering how my then 3 year old handled all of it - there were no big sister books to prepare her for all of this. I remember Tatiana’s swollen little face and wondering how she could look so different from one day to the next. I remember hating that I had to leave Tatiana every evening, and that I would sometimes cry myself to sleep.

I remember people asking about Tatiana's condition and I remember their faces when they heard the watered-down cocktail version - they were faces of deep sadness, and some couldn't hold back the tears. I remember staying composed through all of this because really, there was no other choice for me. I remember people asking me "How do you do it?" and honestly, I still don't have an answer.

But, I also remember those moments of happiness like being grateful that I could just sit there and hold my baby for hours at a time (after not being able to even take her out of her incubator for over a month). I remember the first time I saw her without tubes connected to her face and of how she would react to my voice. I remember how happy I was when I finally got to take her home. I think it was those moments that helped me keep it together.

Throughout all of this, I also remember refusing to remain a participant of my circumstances. I began putting this website together, and I put as much energy as I could into other efforts that I considered “productive.” Part of that effort included coordinating a fundraiser to help cover portions of the costs that the insurance company denied coverage for, participating in the March for Babies, and learning how to make crafts I could sell to supplement our income - those medical bills are still haunting me.

I learned quite a bit from keeping myself busy. I learned that there are several positives that came out of this situation. I learned about my strength as a mother and an individual; I learned I have the powers of a magician when it comes to time and money; I learned that strangers could be moved and inspired by my words and by Tatiana’s story; I learned that some people will lend a hand to help you in times of need, while others will kick you when you’re down.

More importantly, I was reminded of the monumental difference we can make in each others lives. I believe that the power of positive energy, prayer, good will, and physical effort all played a role in Tatiana’s recovery. And, I am thankful for the tremendous show of love and support we received, and continue to receive, from family, friends, and even strangers.

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The Four Letter Words That Never Sounded So Nice . . . Until Today

3/19/2010

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I’m sitting at the hospital. We’re in our private room with the baby. She’s sleeping. She is serene. She is finally comfortable.

The TV is on really low in the background. There’s not much going on, so I browse the Internet aimlessly. I’m grateful that Tatiana is resting.

I think about how she’s such a little rebel with good instincts. I think about today’s personal revolution to get rid of her NG tube - as in “nasogastric tube” if you want the full on medical term. It’s basically a plastic tube that goes in through the nose, past the throat, and into the stomach. It can be used for quite a few different reasons, but in Tatiana’s case, the tube was in place to drain her stomach and prevent her from vomiting, following yesterday’s surgery.

The results of that revolution: three points for Tatiana; zero points for the NG tube. It only took her a split second after she actually went for it. And a split second later, she seemed instantly relieved. The tube was irritating her throat and causing her constant pain. As soon as she yanked it out, she babbled sounding relieved, and I’m sure she would have done a little dance if she weren’t so strung out from the morphine in her system.

It wasn’t the first time she pulled such a stunt; she’d done the same thing twice during her stay in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit back in her first six weeks of life.

I felt like I had been nagging different nurses all day about the tube. Her surgeon had come by earlier to check on her, and he mentioned the possibility of taking it out - especially if it continued to drain such a small amount of fluid.

I guess you could say she was being proactive in her care.

Well, after that, the nurses relocated her IV, which was also causing her some grief. And since then, it’s been smooth sailing. Now, it’s just a waiting game – we have to wait to see when her bowels will wake up and show us some proof that everything is in working order. What exactly does that mean? Well, it means we have to wait and see if she can actually poop out of her bottom without any major issues. Fun stuff.

I’ve been thinking about what that would be like. I know, thinking about poop – so short of glamorous. Still, that would be huge for Tatiana, a child born without the natural ability to do what so many of us take for granted. Up until this last surgery, she was pooping into a colostomy bag out of the side of her belly.

So, here I am. Typing. Checking my stats. Looking up other mommy blogs. Debating whether I’m going to stick to my guns and resist Twitter or throw in the towel and tweet ‘til the cows come home.

It’s so quiet. I can’t decide whether the humming of the air conditioner is soothing or annoying, but its there.

It’s 10:24pm.

Suddenly I hear the faintest little sound. Trrr.

“Did she just fart?!” I ask my husband.

We look at each other stunned, excited. I’ve never been so happy to hear someone pass gas, break wind, cut the cheese, flatulate . . . toot.

She’s still sound asleep. Relaxed.

“Wait. Did she just poo?!”

“I think she just poo’d!”

I check her diaper. “We’ve got poo! Yay, Tatiana we’ve got poo!” My husband and I are grinning ear-to-ear.

I change her poo-soiled diaper for the first time in her life, and I’ve never been so happy to deal with someone else’s crap.

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It's Like Ten Thousand Spoons When All You Need is a Knife . . . Isn't It Ironic? Don't You Think?

3/18/2010

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So, being the night owl that I am, I couldn’t sleep last night. Funny how I was completely exhausted at about 10pm, and there I was - close to midnight with a bizarre surge in energy. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by that because it is, after all, a regular occurrence. I knew I should have been getting some rest, but my body and my brain were not cooperating. I kept trying to imagine how I would react to the absence of Tatiana’s stoma, and I started to feel that nervous internal energy – the kind that could fuel a mental marathon. In some ways, it’s a nice feeling, but it was making me anxious and it was preventing me from getting any sleep.

Well, that anxiety pales in comparison to the anxiety I felt this morning. I am pretty sure I woke up to experience a full-fledged panic attack.

I woke up to my phone ringing at 6:27am. My heart dropped and I felt the most extreme panic I’ve ever experienced in my life. This is by no means an exaggeration – I’ve been calmer in major emergencies. I think I might have even felt more panicked than when we first found out about Tatiana’s condition. I’m pretty sure the first full minute after opening my eyes and shooting out of bed was filled with all of the curse words imaginable. My body was shaking from the adrenaline. This was a nightmare – one I’ve had so many times before, but now it was actually happening in real life. I have to admit there was something funny about how close this was to those horrible dreams.

I ran downstairs frazzled. “Wake up! We were supposed to be at the hospital 15 minutes ago!” My husband had stayed up with Tatiana most of the night. Part of her preparation for the surgery required that we give her only clear liquids 24 hours before and nothing at all after midnight, so you can just imagine how unhappy she was about that.

I ran back upstairs.

Stay calm, stay calm – I dialed the hospital. I don’t even know what I said, I was freaking out to such an unfamiliar degree. All I remember was the person on the other end of the line telling me that they would let the surgeon know and that they would see us soon.

Oh crap. We have to make it. We’ve been waiting for this surgery for so long. I don’t know if I can take another disappointment on this one, and this one would involve an entirely new level of self-blame.

I had set four alarms. Unfortunately, none of them went off. How that happens, I have no clue. I am pretty sure it has something to do with the silly things that happen to me and with the universal plan that puts me on track to being late to my own funeral. I’ll admit, I was late to my own wedding, but I have never been late to any of Tatiana’s surgeries – until today, that is. We were supposed to check her in to the hospital by 6:15am.

I don’t even know how we managed to get out of the house so fast, bring everything we needed, and have my 3 year old ready for daycare. I guess it was a good thing I had packed the night before.

My sister found humor in how much the chaos of this morning resembled the scene from the movie Home Alone. She wasn’t too far off the mark, but at least we remembered to bring the baby!

We made it just a few minutes past 7am. And thank goodness, they were still able to admit her for surgery. Phew!

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4. Flash Forward

3/14/2010

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I am notorious for not answering my phone. Much to my dismay, my phone has had this glitch that delays my incoming calls and even though this glitch has caused me ongoing frustration, I haven't done much about it. Not that high on my list of priorities, I guess. There are those rare occasions, however, when the magical phone fairies carry the call through. Last Wednesday was one of those days. . .

"How soon would you like to schedule Tatiana's procedure?"

"Um, would you like me to bring her in today?" I responded - half joking, half serious.

"How about next week? Would Thursday work for you?"

I almost jumped out of my seat from the sheer excitement of the news. We've been waiting for this surgery for quite a while now. It’s the one that would close up her colostomy and hopefully, allow her to poop like any other normal kid. What exactly is a colostomy? Well, a colostomy is an abdominal opening that is created by bringing the intestines out through the skin and then sewing the intestine to the skin to create a stoma, or a little opening that in this case, provides an outlet for Tatiana’s poop. It’s funny how we can take those bodily functions for granted; at least I never gave it much thought before Tatiana was born.

When we first discussed how long Tatiana would have her colostomy, we were working off of a 4 to 6 month timeline. Back then, I felt like that was going to be an eternity. I thought "Well, it could be worse. Some kids have to have their colostomy for life. Who am I to complain about a couple of months?" That thought has become something of a mantra in those times when I feel like I just can't do it anymore. And even then, I'm embarrassed by those moments of frustration because they remind me of how weak and shallow I can be. Things could be worse and yet, in those moments of frustration, I feel like this world is caving in around me. I try not to think about what must be going through people's minds when they see her little pouch of baby poo. Sometimes, the comments are cute and harmless: “It looks like split pea soup” and yes, sometimes, it does. But it’s those silent stares that I wonder about. They don’t bother so much anymore, but I still wonder.

We had originally scheduled this same procedure for some time back in December, but if this past year has taught me anything, it's that I should always be open to rolling with the punches. The surgery was postponed back then because Tatiana needed another surgery that we hadn’t quite planned for. Thankfully everything turned out fine.

I’m looking forward to the surgery. I’m nervous, excited, and anxious.

I think about all of those moments when I’ve had to change Tatiana’s colostomy bag; I think about those moments when I’ve sat there staring at my hands, covered in my daughter's blood and crap, and I can’t help but think back to those first days in the hospital. After so much of the same - blood, crap, sweat, and tears - we welcome the change. We've come a long way, and we have much to be thankful for.

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3. The Diva Complex: Tatiana's 1st Surgery

4/24/2009

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I remember it felt like an eternity waiting for Tatiana to come out of that first surgery.

It was April 23, 2009.

There we were, my husband and I, waiting in the hospital room of the mother and baby unit, not even a full day after Tatiana's birth. I remember feeling angry that I had to be surrounded by all these mothers with their crying babies. It was torture. It was a constant reminder that things weren’t as they should be – at least that’s what I felt back then.

We had to sit and wait.

I’ll admit, I can be a little impatient and neurotic at times, and I can let my imagination run wild with a list of situations gone wrong. I think it has something to do with watching way too many hospital dramas and reading far too many tragedies. It might also have a bit to do with my personality: even though I always hope for the best, I tend to prepare for the worst. I can’t help it. I like being prepared. These quirks combined with the level of frustration, helplessness, and impatience I was feeling could have probably driven me insane. I tried to keep my mind preoccupied so that I wouldn’t drive myself crazy with all the what-ifs of this situation. I still wonder how it is that I found the strength to hold it together.

So, there we were, my husband and I. Waiting.

We talked about how and when we were going to share all of this with the world – and by the world, I mean our extended family and close friends. Up until that point, the only people that knew of Tatiana’s birth and her complications were our immediate family members, and even then, not all of our siblings had been completely informed. I guess we relied on our parents to share the news. It never occurred to me that they were experiencing some of the same pain and confusion that we were feeling. We wanted to give ourselves the time to absorb and process everything. We knew people would have questions, but we didn’t have answers. We were still trying to understand everything, and more importantly, we didn’t have the energy to relive the much too recent trauma of the experience. We needed the time to be “alone” with everything.

The phone rang. It was the family pediatrician, the same kind and caring pediatrician our family has been entrusting with our care since I was ten years old. Here we were, nearly two decades later. I don’t know if she realized how important her call was to me. Her concern helped me come to terms with the idea that Tatiana was in good hands –not only because she had an excellent surgeon, but because she had people involved in her care who cared enough to provide that personal touch.

I don’t remember her exact words, but they were something like, “Tatiana has an excellent surgeon. People fly their kids in to have him work on them, and if I had to have my kids on the table, he would be my first choice.” I’m pretty sure she also mentioned that he had been featured on Oprah and the Discovery Channel. Her confidence in his abilities provided some relief and the fun facts made me laugh as I thought, Wow. This little girl is going to be special. She came into this world screaming, demanding to be noticed, rebelling against the ‘natural’ way of doing things, and now, she’s got a claim on a world-class surgeon. Pretty hefty bragging rights when you add all of that to the broader context of the conditions she was born with.

Her words made the time more bearable somehow.

I don’t remember how many hours later it was that the phone rang again. “The procedure went well. We’re just waiting for Tatiana to recover for a bit. We’ll call you as soon as you can see her.”

I remember the pain in that moment, but I also remember the hope, and I realized that even though I had been telling myself to breathe, it wasn’t until then that I truly exhaled.

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2. The Morning After

4/23/2009

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Please tell me I’m dreaming. Please tell me I’m dreaming. I thought to myself as I lay there with my eyes closed. The smell of hospital starched linens told me otherwise. Slowly I opened my eyes. My body felt like it had been hit by a truck – at least that is how I imagined it would feel, because of course, I’ve never been hit by a truck. I looked over at my husband – judging from how he looked that morning, I was definitely not dreaming.

Okay, I’m not dreaming. Silent prayer – Dear God, please tell me I just got “punked.” This is all a cruel twisted joke and they are going to bring the baby in any minute. And everything is fine.

Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe, this was all a misunderstanding. Maybe, I imagined it all.

How could it be that after months of taking care of myself, trying to be totally by the book . . . what?! . . . how?! How could this have happened? And, when in the world were they going to let me see my baby?

“They said they would let us know more this morning.” I want to see my baby. I’ve carried her for so long, reading to her, singing to her, explaining to her sister that mommy and daddy would only be gone a short while so that we could bring her baby sister home. Now, I get to sit in limbo. Not easy for a control freak.

All the education in the world could not have prepared me for this moment. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shrivel up and disappear, I wanted to be anywhere but there – trapped, silenced, without my miniature feisty me’s.

The social worker comes in. “Hi, I’m a social worker. The hospital wanted me to come check in on you. It’s standard.” She was very nice. I wanted to scream and shout – “I want my baby” – I felt like we had no idea what was going on, but of course, I stayed composed. Maybe it was the shear exhaustion of trying to process everything that helped me stay composed. Maybe it was a lifetime of training in staying calm under pressure. I still don’t know.

The social worker was very nice, and she tried her best to help us get answers. She made arrangements to take us down the hall to the hospital’s Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). There she was. I remember being so overwhelmed with the flood of emotions. You see, in my mind, this was the first time I was seeing her. I was so out of it the night before that I didn’t remember I had been wheeled down to see her while I was recovering from the anesthesia. There we were for our second visit together. I sat there in my wheelchair. I clung to her tiny hand.

The most major surgery I had ever had was the night before when I underwent a cesarean, and here they were telling me they were going to cut open my precious baby girl. We can do this. Just breathe, keep it together. Breathe. Be strong. If I had been standing, I’m sure my legs would have failed me. I know if I had fallen, my husband would have been there to catch me. You see, I’ve always been the strong one in my family – the eldest of eight, composed, responsible, etc. The only person I allowed myself to lean on was my husband, and I was grateful that he was there. I was grateful that even though he was tired and going through as much emotional turmoil as I was, he was willing to be that soft rock during this difficult time.

“Would you like to hold her?”

“Yes.” Finally. They let me hold her for a short while, and as I held her for the first time, I wondered how she was making sense of everything going on around her. She seemed to find comfort in my arms, and I was grateful for that.

I made sure my husband had a chance to hold her before putting her back in the incubator. We couldn't hold her for very long because they had to begin preparations for her surgery.

I remember thinking, She’s a strong one.

And, I remember calling on the strength of my ancestors, the women who walked this earth before me. Please watch over her and give her the strength to recover from this. Please help me to be strong.

I knew in my heart that I had to allow myself to feel the pain so that I could begin to heal.

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1. Earth Day 2009: Tatiana's Debut into This World

4/22/2009

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I just gave birth to my second daughter. She doesn't quite have a name yet. Although, I'm pretty set on Tatiana. We'll see. It's Earth Day, so the pressure is on to give her a name with meaning that conjures up beauty, strength, and resilience.

Of course, nothing went as planned. We were scheduled for an induction. I wasn't too keen on the idea of having my labor induced, but I cut my losses and took yet another blow to my birthing ego. The doctor was a bit concerned at the amount of fluid I had accumulated - better to be safe than sorry and avoid having her gush out, yanking the cord with her in the process. Seriously, I had about enough fluid to hold twins. My three year old would have had enough space to swim around in there! The doctor thought it was associated with my gestational diabetes. I thought I was going to give birth to a 10lb baby. Turns out we were both wrong, but I'll get to that later.

After having my water bag "popped" and experiencing several hours of the worst cramps I've ever had in my life, I still was not dilating. To top it off, the baby wasn't looking like she would be ready to make her way on out anytime soon. In the end, I was urged to have a caesarean. I cried the entire time - mad at myself and my body for betraying me during this critical moment.

On the one hand, it felt like an eternity before it was all over; yet, on the other hand, it also felt like it was over in a heartbeat. There she was, ripped out from me, crying, a beautiful baby girl. The trauma was overshadowed by this beautiful being that was created out of love. I remember her piercing eyes and that first scream that told me she would be a force to be reckoned with. I remember thinking to myself, "Thank goodness. She's got all her parts in the right place." I remember the doctor's words, "See. A healthy baby girl." Turns out we were both wrong, but I'll get to that later.

The doctors explained that she would be taken to another room for a short while. We would both be cleaned up, suctioned out, and whatever else it is that I'd rather stay hazy about. My husband would go with the baby and they would return in a few minutes so that I could hold her and feed her. I was anxious to hold her, but I waited patiently. After some time, I couldn't tell if I had entered a bizarre time warp where the minutes felt like hours, or if in fact hours had gone by. I still can't say for sure.

What I can say is that the look on my husband's face when he returned without our baby was a moment I would rather forget: it was one of sorrow, pain, and grief combined. He seemed to have aged a decade in that moment. I'm sure my face must have mirrored the same right on back when his words failed him and the doctors had to explain why I couldn't hold my daughter in my arms, not even for a moment, after having held her in my belly for over nine months. "When we were suctioning your baby, we discovered that there was a blind pouch in her esophagus. She has Esophageal Atresia and Tracheoesophageal Fistula, which means she'll need surgery. . . ." It turns out she also had a few other problems. There were so many confusing medical terms. It felt as if someone was praying over me in another language as I lay there recovering from the anesthesia. I remember repeating "Esophageal Atresia" . . . "Esophageal Atresia" . . . "Esophageal Atresia" over and over in my head. I had to remember so that I could run a search on my laptop as soon as I could, to make sense of it all in my own way.

About half an hour to an hour later, they wheeled me over to her. There we both lay, her in a snow-white-looking-shell of a bed in the NICU, and I in an unpleasant medical bed with wheels. I couldn't hold her in my arms just yet. I don't quite remember why, but then again, I'm still trying to recover the memory of this first visit. There are pictures and witnesses to prove that I was there and that I was able to touch her and hold her little hand in mine for the first time, but my memory fails me. I remember crying myself to sleep and going over every little detail in my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong during my pregnancy to affect her this way. I remember being sad, hurt, and angry that after months of being attached to this little being, we were forced into an unnatural separation from each other. I remember it was the memory of her eyes and her perfectly round face that finally gave me the solace to give in to the exhaustion and finally sleep.

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Forward>>

Shaking the Leopard

So Many Memories . . .

The Four Letter Words That Never Sounded So Nice . . . Until Today

It's Like Ten Thousand Spoons When All You Need is a Knife . . . Isn't It Ironic? Don't You Think?

4. Flash Forward

3. The Diva Complex: Tatiana's 1st Surgery

2. The Morning After

1. Earth Day 2009: Tatiana's Debut into This World

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