March Madness

March is a crazy month. It is the month my world changed. It is the month when the Whomping Willow comes out of hibernation and prepares to, well, whomp.

March 2004. Michigan. My Core Four were involved in: weekly bowling league (Matthew and Victoria) and tournaments (Matthew), volleyball games with the Sr. Varsity Ladies (coached by my Rock), speech practice (I had 14 students gearing up for a competition), AWANA, choir practice, I had just finished writing a play for the elementary and was gearing up for rehearsals, kids’ homework, regular life stuff, etc. Crazy. Practically perfect.

March. I was tired. What working mom isn’t?

March, the third week. I had noticed some bruising. Not surprising. My parents and siblings will tell you I always was covered in bruises. Graceful I am not. Then small, red, pin prick looking spots started appearing everywhere on my skin. Not surprising. My Irish skin only has two shades: white and red. Then on Wednesday something happened I couldn’t ignore.

Wednesday was a particularly crazy day. We stayed in town from 7:30 am until 9:30 pm. School, dinner, choir practice, AWANA. A full but good day. On this Wednesday I ran back home because I needed a nap. I ran back to town but by the time choir practice was to start I had to go home, the fatigue was brutal. Back home, not an hour from my earlier trip, I found a bruise the size of my hand… not my fist, but my entire hand. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t there an hour ago.

This was my first indication that something was “off”.

Thursday. The next day I asked my friend, and school nurse, what she thought. Lisa (one of my guardian angels) was more concerned with those tiny red dots. She suggested I call my doctor and make an appointment. They were able to get me in that day. The doctor took some blood and said he would call me when the results came in.

Friday. Competition day. Spent 10 hours with my students either observing their acting or judging other students. This competition had over 1,000 students. Super crazy and amazing day. We returned to the school where my husband’s volleyball team challenged the faculty to a volleyball game. It was a blast! My arms and hands were turning all kinds of interesting colors – that silly Irish skin, or so I thought.

Saturday. The Core Four stayed home and recovered from a busy week, prepared for the next week. I sewed costumes for my two for the play that I had written, as practices were about to start.

Sunday. Church day. I stayed home. That brutal fatigue would not let up. Plus those pesky red dots… a few started to bleed and wouldn’t stop very easily. Strange.

Monday. A new week. I was excited to see my students – go over their performances from Friday as well as normal classroom lessons. I taught computers, keyboarding and speech. My students were the BEST. They were family. Many still are. ❤️

9 am. My phone rings. My doctor wants me to come in as soon as possible. I ask if it can wait as I had classes to teach. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday? No. It had to be today. (Insert Whomping Willow here. Not at that exact moment in time. It comes any time I reflect back on that time. At the time I had no idea. None. Now I know better.)

This is the beginning. My prelude. My introduction. The first paragraph in my playbill.