I Can't Know...

I'm learning so much about what I don't know. And, I'm discovering that what I don't know could fill rooms and canyons and caverns and oceans. I'm a teacher. I'm also a perpetual student. So, I'm supposed to know stuff. My mother has always stressed the importance of education, striving for knowledge, and being well-read. I bought the whole idea that "Knowledge is Power". But, I'm discovering that what I don't know wields a mighty sword.

A couple of weeks ago, Dan and I made a trip to Birmingham for a follow-up visit in their CF Clinic. She had been hospitalized at UAB in an effort to improve her dwindling lung functions, and we were seeking a second opinion about the next step in courses of treatment. Unfortunately, UAB was unable to offer anything really different or innovative in the plan of care for Danielle. And, it wasn't because they didn't try. There isn't anything new medically to do.

Previously, the doctors said they didn't note any permanent damage on her chest x-rays. We all held onto that report like a life-preserver. In Cystic Fibrosis, scar tissue replaces healthy tissue in the lungs as the disease progresses. This scar tissue ultimately makes it more difficult to breathe and essentially suffocates the person from the inside out. Thus, it came as a sickening surprise when Dr. Hoover told us that based on her current lung function and predicted disease progression, Danielle only has 2 to 3 years left to live unless we do something radical, drastic, risky, scary and miraculous... A double lung transplant.

I have walked around in a fog for two weeks. For seventeen years, my sole mission in life has been to keep my girls healthy enough to live whatever life they have wanted to live. I would passionately write letters to be included in their school files about their care that always included the line: "We live with Cystic Fibrosis, not for it." We enrolled in drug trials, and walked a delicate balance between living life and doing the medical necessities to care for the girls' bodies. With CF, the statistics have always been in the back of my mind. The mean life expectancy is currently 37-years-old, but it was 17-years-old when Danielle was born. Lots of people with CF are living into their 30's and 40's. Then there are the "outliers"... One woman lived to be 79 years old... Several people with CF have survived into their 60's. My girls were/are going to be the outliers. But, this throws a wrench in my "outlier plan".

Dr. Hoover explained other statistics... (And, I couldn't help but think that math has always been my nemesis.) Currently, there is a 50% survival rate for 5 or more years of life post double lung transplant. And, there are outliers within lung transplant recipient statistics too. You can read about the courageous story of Susan Burroughs, one such "outlier" here: http://www.reachingoutfoundation.org/lungtransplantation.htm.

So, I'm sitting and I feel the weight of the numbers bearing down on me... I believe that I have always relied upon God. I have always felt His/Her loving presence watching over my family, and I have developed a close, personal relationship with my God. You see, this God has come to me in the hospital bathrooms when I have locked myself in, sobbing silently into a towel after difficult medical procedures in which I held my girls down so the nurses could stick them one more time. I've never had a white light and George Burns didn't show up smoking a cigar, but I knew in my heart that God was healing me, healing them, healing us all because I felt the presence in moments of extreme vulnerability. But, I haven't had to be a crumbling mess to feel God. I have experienced that presence in prayer and meditation too. I have experienced that presence in class when I really want to pinch a student's head off. I have experienced that presence when I have walked out and looked up at the sky and noticed an incredible sunset. So, since I was about 14-years-old, I have walked with God... And, my concept of God is probably not the same as yours, but I have known an all-loving, all-forgiving presence in my life, and I have done my best to introduce that God to my children.

But, my error has always been in trying to figure out God. I have tried to mash together my knowledge about CF, treatments, therapies and the like with what God's will is supposed to be. And, I think I have always been aware that I do that. I have probably even written about my spiritual struggles here. It's like I was trying to create my own mathematical formula. If God is all-loving, then my girls will live long and healthy lives. And, that still may be true... But, it also may not, and it doesn't mean that God isn't all-loving if I can't have my way.

And, I think I have done an O.K. job with Dan because she has handled this news WAY better than I have. We both cried as Dr. Hoover delivered the news, but after he walked out of the room, Dan wiped her eyes, looked at me and said, "Wow... That was scary!" We erupted into peels of laughter. A few days later, as I was moaning and groaning, Dan said, "Mama, I'm not going to die. I'm going to get new lungs and be able to exercise and dance and breathe... But, even if I die, this isn't the end." And, I know that. I know that what my wise-beyond-her-years, 17-year-old child says is true. But, I want her here with me. I don't want to have to figure out how to live in a world that doesn't have Danielle in it.

Hence the power of what I don't know... Right now, I have a student with severe language delays. Instead of "I don't know", he says, "I can't know"... And, I have begun to think that maybe, just maybe, he isn't the one with the delay. "I can't know" pretty much sums up my state of affairs at this point. I'm going to have to rely on God to carry me through the next step, having no idea what the future holds. But, I can choose to be a crumbling mess, or embrace the gift of not knowing. I can't learn this until I've gone through it... And the only way around it is through it.

This Conscious Moment Brought to You by Micah...

This morning I had a Conscious Discipline "Ah-Ha" moment! Conscious Discipline is a program developed by Dr. Becky Bailey http://www.lovingguidance.com/to help with classroom management and discipline... At least, I'm assuming that is why she developed the program. The introduction to her book, Conscious Discipline: Seven Basic Skills for Brain Smart Classroom Management, describes an experience she had while attempting to get a boy with special needs out of the pool during a field trip. Her frustration with that experience, and her belief that there must be a better way to manage a classroom and facilitate student cooperation while honoring the spirit of each individual child is the basis for the development of the program.

And, I wish it were that simple. I wish it was just a program with cute little songs and dancing and catch phrases to use in particularly hairy moments in the classroom. But, of course, nothing is ever that simple for me. My school hosted a training for many teachers in our district last year. In fact, on my first day back from maternity leave, I attended the first session, and began a year long, probably lifetime journey. My CD experiments began in the classroom, but immediately moved into my home, as I became aware of how much better I could have handled situations with Dan and Sarah if only I had Conscious Discipline when they were small.... And, trust me, I'm forging the way using CD techniques with my teenagers, but really, because Micah came along at about the same time Conscious Discipline came along, she is my experimental subject... Well, I say that she is the subject, but most of the time, the subject turns out to be me.

That is the beauty of Conscious Discipline... And, the thing that sucks the most... It's not so much about "managing kids"... It's about managing myself. CD simply brings startling awareness to my complete inability to manage myself, my emotions and my attitudes... Hence the term "Conscious", I suppose.

Back to my Ah-Ha moment... So, this morning, I was unloading the dishwasher and Micah was toddling around the kitchen "helping" me. She loves to help with the dishes and the laundry. The cabinet that houses plastic storage containers remains without child locks, so she has free access. When I unload the dishwasher, she helps by putting the plastic bowls and lids into the cabinet. She loves to put them away almost as much as she loves to pull them all out. And, keeping her busy with plasticware guarantees she is within my visual field and not off playing with an electrical outlet somewhere. Micah is meticulous in her plastic bowl stacking techniques. She stacks them by size order, and then restacks them by color. She puts the square bowls with square ones and round bowls with round ones. It is really quite amazing how systematic she can be in her organization of the bowls. She knows how to put the bowls in the cabinet. She knows how to open the cabinet door and close it. She knows everything about the process.

This morning, I gave her the round plastic bowl and asked her to put it away. She toddled over to retrieve it and went to put it away. And, of course, I beamed with pride at the brilliance of my littlest daughter. Then, I asked her to put the accompanying green lid away, as well. She came over and retrieved the lid, and toddled over the the cabinet, but at that precise moment, she saw the kitty. And, she squealed, "Kitty!" and promptly dropped the lid to ooh and ahh over the kitty she has seen every day of her life. (Although, given that she is only 15 months old, that really isn't enough days for the newness to wear off, I suppose...) I continued unloading all the breakable dishes and sharp utensils while her attention was diverted. And, when the wonder of the kitty sighting had faded, I prompted her again to put the green lid away. She picked it up and proceeded to waddle right by the cabinet to her Fisher Price Learning House where she flipped the lights on and off. I called into the living room, "Micah... Come put the lid away. Put the green lid with the red lid." She again grabbed the lid and staggered back toward the cabinet, only to drop the lid two feet away from the cabinet, where she abandoned it completely to pick up a leaf that had blown in from the back door.

By this time, I had finished unloading the dishwasher, so I simply picked up the green lid, and placed it in the cabinet. And, the heavens opened up, with a golden light streaming down and angels began to sing... (Not really, but this is where I had the Ah-Ha moment.) I realized that I didn't think, "What in the world is wrong with you, Micah Glyn Maxwell? You know how to put the *#$^% plastic lid away, but you aren't doing it! You are purposely trying to defy me! I am SICK to death of this behavior. What in the world is wrong with you? Your parents probably allow this type of behavior at home! You can just do whatever you want, and now you won't even put away the green lid. I am going to spend my nights thinking of ways to make your little life miserable until you can figure out a way to put the green lid in the cabinet like I told you to..."

Instead, I realized that she was doing exactly what she is supposed to do. She was doing her baby job. But, how often do I think something similar at school when a child doesn't do what I ask him to do at precisely the moment I ask it? And, then... worse than that little revelation comes an even more uncomfortable insight... The problem is not the child's behavior. The problem is the thought in my brain triggered by the behavior. With my own baby at home, I had compassion and an understanding that developmentally, she was doing exactly what she was supposed to do. With my kids at school, there are times when I believe the defiance is on purpose, when really... honestly... even if it's "on purpose" my thoughts about the "defiant behavior" drive the outcome of the entire interaction.

"Put the crayons away and come to the table", can become the catalyst for immediate conflict. Now, the difference at home is that I'm not trying to wrangle 13 little versions of Micah with none of them putting the crayons away and all of them scattering and breaking crayons all over the house. But, my mental language is key. The truth is that my students are doing things that are developmentally appropriate for them, most of the time. Even open defiance is helping them to become independent and able to serve themselves in the future. Sometimes their behaviors might be helping them to survive in homes riddled with abuse and drug addiction. It isn't always clear... But, the thing that became crystal clear is that my ability to control what goes on between my ears is the most important factor in promoting a positive interaction in my relationship with anyone. Dr. Bailey covers all of this in the Power of Perception, the Power of Acceptance, and the Power of Empathy, but moving the lesson the 12 inches between my head and heart is the longest journey of all.

Peace and Everlasting Gobstoppers

Here we sit. And, sit. And, sit. Just waiting. That seems to be a tremendous part of this trial. Can we endure the waiting? Sarah inhaled her last dose of the magical elixyr this morning, only to begin the marathon sessions of blood drawing, blood pressure getting and pulmonary function testing. But, amidst all the flurry of medical activity, there sits the waiting. And, we sit with it looming over us and becoming part of us.

I'm not complaining. Spending the day with goofy old Sarah is always a lot of fun. We have listened to lots of music and goofed off on the laptops. However, currently, I am blogging on Sarah's as my touchpad mouse died a little earlier. I have also had the opportunity to read and edit a book for my friend, Tom.

Tom has been writing all about his life as it intertwines with meditative practice. Today, I read about how he fought a battle with prostate cancer, recovered from a severed Achille's tendon, and swam out of veritable financial collapse only to meet a car accident resulting in eventual brain surgery. And, he did all of this with grace and faith and courage... And, I have to say that part of me just wants to puke. Don't get me wrong. I am SO in awe. I mean, I want to be Tom when I grow up. I want to nod and smile a spiritual smile, and hold hands with the doctors singing Kum Bah Yah with absolute faith that all is in Divine Order. But, I don't. I snatch at serenity and peace. I grasp at meditative practice. For me, it's like trying to hold onto very fine, dry sand. I can hold it in my hand and it just slips gently through my fingers until I reach desperately down to grab another handful.

Yesterday afternoon, I sat in this same office with my other beautiful, blond daughter, Dan. She has been having real trouble breathing again. So, we skipped over to Mobile to visit our very favorite doctor... He is the indeed the Willy Wonka of medicine. But, even Mr. Wonka can't get the formula right for the Everlasting Gobstopper to make Dan's lung functions improve. Since March, her lung functions have decreased. We have had moments of slight improvement, but in general , the results haven't been lasting. Randy, the girls' dad, has been asking me about taking Dan to University of Alabama at Birmingham (UAB) to let those doctors have a whack at her. So, yesterday, I asked Dr. Sindel (aka Mr. Wonka) what he thought about that idea. He agreed that it might be good to hear another opinion, so he is making the referral, and we will make the journey north. (Not too far north... Afterall, it's still Alabama.) I want Dan to get better. Watching her struggle to breathe is so hard. And, in the midst of this, I sit. I try to "be mindful" like Tom is writing about. "Be in the moment. Be present. Happiness is in the present." And, I get it. I think I get it. And then Dan breathes and it sounds a little like an accordion as she exhales, and I don't get it anymore.

I believe that God is all good and wants only the best for each of his children. I also firmly know that I don't know what is "good" or "bad". So, I understand that accepting what is has be the place of peace for me. But, I can't help the gnawing in my stomach that crops up when I watch Dan or Sarah struggle with the manifestations of CF. I do understand the whole "dying for our sins" concept at this level, though... (Although, I still have great difficulty with the Christian belief that God required this of his son, but that's a topic for a different blog, and I will probably never write it since the Obama/Palin blog struck up such controversy amongst my family.) I just know that if I could die and relieve Dan and Sarah of this disease, I would. If I could take it on myself, I would, gladly. But, that's not my role here. I'm supposed to find a more lasting peace, a stronger sense of courage, and a deeper faith as I sit with the fear whenever my girls face a CF-related trial.

Honestly, while this entry may not read like it, I'm really pretty accepting today. The drug study has been very positive. Tony Cowan, our researcher, is a blessing in how well he handles Sarah's little personality quirks... In fact, everyone at Dr. Sindel's office rallies around to support the girls in whatever way they can. I have listened to Rachel, the nurse, patiently field calls from frantic patients calling all day about the Swine Flu. My family and friends lift us up in prayer support and I do have moments of such peace that flies in the face of all the circumstances that present themselves in our lives. For today, we're all breathing... And, we are grateful.

Magical Inhalation

Sarah is enrolled in a drug study for inhaled Levaquin. In fact, she was the last patient in the Phase 2 trial before it goes to FDA approval to move on to Phase 3. (We considered blowing it off since school started, but given the importance of moving the research along, agreed to go through with it.)

All the particulars are topics for a different day... Maybe the next day Sarah is hooked up to I.V. waiting for periodic blood-letting as outlined by the procedures in this trial. I just haven't had much time for my quirky, bloggy updates... But, preliminary results show a marked improvement in lung function after only a week on inhaled Levaquin. Large airway functions increased by 10%, while small airway functions increased by 18%. And, these improvements were after Sarah developed a cold.

Dan did not qualify for the study because she was sick this summer and had to be on I.V. antibiotics. However, she is snuggling up REALLY close to her sister as she does these treatments in the hopes that some of this magical elixir wafts her way.

Danielle Update

As of today, Dan is still in the hospital. She has been rumored for discharge for the past few days, but Dr. Sindel has advised keeping her a little longer because she is coughing up red mucus, which indicates blood. With CF, this happens sometimes with a serious lung infection.

On the bright side, the sputum cultures have indicated that Danielle is currently receiving the correct medication to treat what ails her. Nothing new and scary grew in the sputum culture. In fact, she is no longer growing fungus, so one of her medications was discontinued.

Thanks for all your love and concern. You have no idea what your prayers mean for all of us.

Love and Light to Each of You!

Child-Like Faith

I receive the Daily Word, a daily meditation publication from Unity, each day via e-mail. When I opened my Inbox this morning, this is what I received:

Today's Daily Word - Wednesday, June 10, 2009
By Example
I lead, and I am led by example.
We may not always be aware that little ones are paying attention to us, learning how to love, care, and trust. Our acts of kindness toward children are gifts from our hearts. Praying with children demonstrates our faith and an expectation of good.
And often, it is the children within our midst who lead us by example. Children know without question that God answers every prayer.
Children see majesty in even the most minute elements of the world: the varieties and aromas of flowers, the colors in a rainbow, the splendor of a sunrise.
As adults we lead by example. Let us also take the time to let our children be our teachers and guides.
"Remember your leaders, those who spoke the word of God to you; consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith."--Hebrews 13:7

And, as I read this, know that I am grateful for this Truth. It has been so enlightening to watch Micah looking at flowers or touching a kitty. She looks at each new thing with such amazement and wonder that it makes me look at things with a gratitude for all the simple things that exist in this world. She is my teacher, as much as I try to be an example for her.

Then this thought brings a measure of anxiety. Have my children learned their faith from me? And I am reminded of this story... This story from Matthew that makes me crazy... This story that leads me to beat myself up mentally:

Matthew 15:21-28 (New International Version)
21Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. 22A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, "Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is suffering terribly from demon-possession."
23Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, "Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us."
24He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel."
25The woman came and knelt before him. "Lord, help me!" she said.
26He replied, "It is not right to take the children's bread and toss it to their dogs."
27"Yes, Lord," she said, "but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table."
28Then Jesus answered, "Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted." And her daughter was healed from that very hour. - http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2015:21-28

This story just kills me. Since Dan was born with meconium ileus, a bowel blockage, and her intestines had ruptured in utero, I have been on a quest for faith. Until then, I believed that intellect would be my saving grace. And, don't get me wrong. I have great faith is academic and educational pursuits, or I wouldn't be a teacher. If I didn't believe that education could change the world, I wouldn't bother, because truly, in many instances, ignorance is bliss... However, when I was told at the age of 23 that I was going to have a child with a chronic, terminal illness (That's how CF was presented at the time...), my heart needed something more. I knew I couldn't face CF with just education, because the more I learned, the more frightened I became. I needed faith. I needed to believe that miraculous healing could take place if only I believed strongly enough.

And, then, when I began learning about spiritual healing, I was introduced to the above story from Matthew. And, frankly, it ticks me off... As I sit in the hospital with Dan, who is currently NPO (not allowed to eat or drink anything) until her surgery at noon to place a port-a-cath in her chest, I just feel pissed. So, if I am "getting" this story, a Canaanite woman approached Jesus and asked him to heal her daughter because she was possessed by demons. I don't really know, historically, what a Canaanite woman is, but I am assuming she didn't follow Jewish traditions because of the reference about taking children's bread and tossing it to the dogs. (If anyone is reading this and understands the historical interpretation of this scripture, please let me know... Hint... Hint... Reverend Christy) So, then this woman kind of smarts off to Jesus and says that even dogs will eat crumbs that fall from the Master's table. I can't actually tell if she is smarting off or trying to stroke Jesus' ego, but this is precisely my mode of operation when I am trying to get my way... Just ask my boss... And, all of a sudden, Jesus turns to her and tells her that her faith is so great and based upon this, her daughter was healed that very hour. Ta Dah!

And, this is exactly what I have been wishing, and hoping, and praying for since Dan and Sarah were little. But, this is the FURTHEST thing from how God works for us. I desperately want a Ta Dah! But, spiritual healing isn't like that for me. And, I guess because it isn't like that for me, I'm not able to convey something I haven't got to my girls... In the past, this has been the reason for my self-flogging. My mind tells me, "Christy, if you were just more spiritual... If you didn't fall into fear and doubt every time one of them gets sick. If you didn't feel overwhelmed and question why this was happening at this particularly ill-timed moment... If you just had greater faith, your girls would be healed."

Recently, I attended a Unity retreat. The focus of the retreat was Hands On Healing, by Dr. Glenn Mosley. It was a 2-day retreat in which I received training in hover touch healing modality, based upon Eastern philosophies surrounding Chi energy. Of course, my attendance at this particular retreat just demonstrates my continuing pursuit of the Ta Dah! type of healing. However, Dr. Mosley didn't talk about Ta Dah! healing. There were no snakes being handled. People didn't rise from their wheelchairs and walk. In fact, he talked about being open to all modalities of healing. And, in true Unity fashion, making use of the expertise of doctors and health professionals, but embracing a healthy lifestyle and changing diet in addition to using the Hover Touch healing methods. And, during the workshop on the second day, he said something that troubled me deeply. He said that my guilt and non forgiveness can get in the way of being able to convey healing energy to others. (Now, he wasn't speaking directly to me... He was speaking to the main group, but he may as well have pulled me aside and wagged his finger at me while giving me a good talking to.) I left the workshop and entered the prayer room in tears... Finally, something changed in my heart, and I began to understand that I have to quit beating myself up for being a genetic defective and passing this illness along to my girls... Not because it isn't true at some very technical, medical level, but because the guilt and non-forgiveness get in the way of healing for my girls. And, the other enlightenment that I had is that the guilt and non-forgiveness get in the way of my healing. God loves me even more than I love my children. So, given this, I'm sure He hates what I do to myself mentally and emotionally every time they get sick.

I went home with this small revelation, and attended church last weekend. We always say the Lord's Prayer after our meditation, but our version of the Lord's Prayer is a little different... We say, "Forgive us our offenses, as we forgive our offenders." And, all of sudden I understood that CF is an offender. I can only forgive CF as an offender as I forgive my offenses, or whatever I perceive my offenses to be... And, my offenses are great in my own mind. I work so hard to be CF mom extraordinaire, but I fall short. I get scared. I worry. I don't keep up with the insurance and medical billing like I think I should and then become overwhelmed with the mounting medical bills and the annoying insurance denials. I forget to order meds sometimes when the girls run out, and they go without for a couple of days. I don't lead the girls in rigorous aerobic exercise programs that are sure to make their lung functions better. I don't even insist that the girls do a daily Yoga practice, which would also enhance their breathing capacity. Now, I do a lot... But, my mind doesn't give me credit for all of that... It's narrow, mean-spirited focus is always on my short-comings... Always magnifying my offenses into mountainous structures making it so difficult to sit in the quiet knowing of God's love. But, at the retreat, alone in the prayer room, looking at a picture of Jesus and a little statue of Buddha sitting in front of a brownie with a small bite taken out of it, (Unity people have quirky senses of humor), I understood that I have to learn to forgive myself. And, later in church, I understood that I have to learn to forgive my mind and CF, for those are my primary offenders.

In the grand scheme of things, I'm really a pretty good mom. What is my major crime? I love my kids so much that I want a miraculous healing for my girls. I want them to be magically cured of CF, so they don't have to take medicine and do treatments and get surgeries and deal with more in their lives than most people deal with in a lifetime. I want this so much for them. But, God deals in miracles, not magic. And, really... It isn't miraculous at all. It is quiet moments of realization in which I can give myself a break... It is quiet moments of knowing that it is all really O.K., and that my children are being healed... But, the healing doesn't necessarily look like I think it needs to look. I don't get to play the Caananite woman in this life. But, who the heck really knows? The Bible didn't do a follow-up and tell about how maybe the very next week the woman's daughter was again plagued by demons and she had to have great faith again. I keep wanting the faith job to be done, so that I can coast merrily in the "land of spiritual make-believe".

However, it just is not to be. And, honestly, I don't want that anyway. I have been blessed to have been chosen to be the mom of Danielle, Sarah and Micah. I am blessed with wonderful friends who support me with prayer and help and dinner deliveries. I am blessed with a fantastic husband who gets up every morning and gets the girls going with treatments. I am even blessed with an ex-husband and his new wife who come to the hospital every time and make sure the girls are always covered by secondary insurance. I am blessed with grandparents galore who come from Pensacola to help, or just live next door and help every day of their lives. And, I am blessed to have a CF doctor who is committed to achieving wellness for my girls. The healing presence of God is in our lives. It's just a gentler, quieter on-going story.

Beauty is in Getting the I.V. on the First Stick

Here we are again... Back in the hospital. Pulmonary Function Tests revealed results at 39% for large airway function for Dan. So, Dr. Sindel wrote the orders, and we skipped merrily over to USA Women and Children's.

Now, a couple of interesting things happened upon our arrival... First, as we were checking in at admitting, Sarah began having a serious coughing attack. This was precisely the type of curl your toes coughing fit Sarah calls an "allergy attack". She had only a few short minutes before been trying to describe the attack to Dr. Sindel. The admitting clerk waved Sarah over to get her hospital bracelet on, and I had to explain that Danielle was the one being admitted. The poor clerk looked at me like I was obviously on some type of hallucinogen, but put the hospital bracelet on Dan's arm, against her better judgement.

The next interesting thing that occurred was that we checked in at 5:30, and no nurse came to see us until 7:30. Well, this was fairly predictable. You see... Shift change is at 7:00, and I'm sure the day shift nurse, (who we never even laid eyes upon), said to herself, "I'm not doing an intake... Leave that for the night nurse."

When the night nurse wandered in, I almost laughed. The last time Dan was in the hospital, I couldn't stay. Grammy and Mimi took turns staying, along with her Dad and Dave. Well, Dan didn't fair so well. She ended up getting stuck a lot, and nurses were unable to find the vein or prevent it from blowing. It is a fairly traumatic process. But, this particular night nurse is one that is infamous in our house. Both Dan and Sarah despise her. We have much history with this particular nurse. She is older, and sports a very large mole directly on the tip of her nose. Although, it really isn't just the mole that creeps the girls out... She comes in the middle of the night, flips on the light and talks loudly. She doesn't make an effort to catch the I.V. before it beeps, and things generally don't get done in a timely manner. Usually care from this nurse means less rest and more disturbance and upset. Sometimes I have been tempted to say, "Take some time off... I'll take this shift for you. Just bring the drugs."

The funny thing is that we always get this nurse, which leads me to believe that she probably sees the girls names on the board and asks for them. And, I wonder... Does she like them? Doesn't she feel the disdain in the room? Does she mistake the curt answers and uncomfortable grinning for genuine affection?

But, tonight when she walked in, I just told Dan to trust the process... And, this loud, annoying, disruptive, mole-on-the-tip-of-the-nose nurse was able to get the I.V. on the first stick. Suddenly, none of the annoying past experiences mattered. All that mattered was that she got the I.V. and saved my kid a little bit of pain. And, she saved me a little bit of feeling that horrible hopelessness that plagues me each and every time one of my beautiful girls has to get stuck. And, I told her, "Thank you so much..."

Now, as I type this, it is 11:30 p.m. No I.V. meds have been hung. No one has even offered us a cup of ice... But, I know that all is well. And, I am so grateful that she was able to do exactly what we needed her to do. Get the vein on the first stick without blowing it... And, because of that, she looks like Miss America to me.

Jeffrey

And, then, there's Jeffrey... Dan has been dating a tall, handsome, goofy boy named Jeffrey for well over a year now. He has become a regular installation in my household and a part of the family. We all love him. But, I didn't count on having to figure out how to comfort or explain this beast that is cystic fibrosis to a boyfriend.

When the girls were small, and even before Dan was born, I educated myself. I read all about CF. Someone gave me the book, Alex: The Life of a Child to read while I was pregnant with Dan... (Which, by the way, is a freaking horrible book to read if you are 23-years-old and pregnant with a baby you know is going to be born with CF.) I think the person was trying to show me all the realities of daily breathing treatments, medications, and chest percussion therapy (CPT), but all that particular book did was frighten me into my bones. It really is a touching, heartfelt story about a father, Frank DeFord, who lost his daughter to CF in 1980 when she was only 8-years-old. Maybe I will go back and read it someday. Not today... But, someday.

On February 23, Danielle was admitted to the hospital for an overnight stay to have a mid-line catheter placed. This is rather routine for us. What wasn't routine and just a matter of course was the lack of progress she made on I.V. antibiotics. But, much like the Energizer Bunny, Dan just kept going and going until she couldn't go anymore. When we went to a follow-up appointment, her lung functions had dropped to 38%, and she was hospitalized. So, Dr. Sindel changed I.V. meds and kept her in the hospital for a week. She made slight improvement, but nothing to jump up and down about. She came home on I.V. and that little mid-line was like "The Little Engine that Could" because it kept going until we pulled it last Saturday. Mid-lines are really only supposed to last a month or so, and we were just so absolutely over it. But, one week later, Danielle is awfully puny again. She is very winded and breathing heavy and fast even when she is asleep.

However, tonight is her Jr. Prom, and by golly, she will go. We will dress her up and she will be lovely. Her dress will match Jeffrey's tie and cumberbund exactly. I don't know that they will dance the night away. Maybe they will dance and sit and dance and sit. But, CF can't have her prom.

So, on Monday, I will call Dr. Sindel and see what we can do. She is scheduled for a follow-up appointment on April 24, but that won't be soon enough. We'll do what we have to do, and now that I'm writing again, (Thank you! Sanity!), I will post the updates here.

But, I really didn't mean for this to be about the medical side of CF. This is about that sweet, smart, silly boy who shows up at my house regularly, and even brings laundry down and helps take care of Micah. Jeffrey loves Dan, and Dan loves Jeffrey. And, I'm glad. I wanted Danielle to experience everything that life has to offer, and teen love is part of that everything. In fact, when you are a teen, it is everything. However, when Danielle was a baby and I was struggling to make her choke down enzymes in applesauce, I never considered there would be a boy someday who would love her and worry and feel helpless and be looking for answers too. I never considered there would be a boy who would ride with me to the hospital to visit and who would want to go to CF clinic to see how it all works and meet her doctor, just like when he had to stomach the courage to meet her dad for the first time. I never considered Jeffrey... And, I SO wish that I could be more of a comfort to him. Last night, he looked at me and asked, "Is she O.K.?" How do I say, "I don't know"? We have never had a time like this when the illness has just lingered for months. We have never had a time when Psuedomonas Aeruginosa hasn't been tamped down by antibiotics. Usually Dr. Sindel puts on his cape and brandishes his super powers and is able to keep Psuedomonas at bay.

Right now, I'm immersed in a program called Conscious Discipline by Dr. Becky Bailey. I won't go into that now... That's a whole 'nother blog on its own... But, one of the things we are encouraged to say to children instead of "It's O.K." is "I know it's hard. You can handle this." But, I don't want to say that to Jeffrey. I DO know it's hard. I know it's hard to be scared. I know it's hard when Dan is cranky and short tempered and you think, "I don't care if you do have a chronic disease, don't bite my head off like that!" Yes, we all know it's hard. What we don't know is, can we handle it? I believe that God will give me the strength to handle what is mine to handle. I believe that God will give Jeffrey the strength, too. But, somehow saying, "You can handle this," seems to negate the understanding that I know how he feels. I, too, hold my breath and wait to see if I can handle it. I watch myself wondering what I will do and how I will walk through the trepidation and fear... What I really want to say to Jeffrey is simply this... I don't know what is going to happen. This has been a fantastic emotional journey, and I am so happy and grateful that you have come to be a part of my family. Thank you for loving my daughter. And, no matter what, I will be in this with you. This is hard, but we are in it together.

Republishing My Blog

I am going to repost my blog for a while. My lovely co-worker and assistant teacher, Ms. Leggett, has chosen to write a paper about cystic fibrosis for school. Thus, she may find some of my information useful, or perhaps just plain zany. I have missed writing, so I may add a couple of thoughts here and there. Be on the lookout! ;-)

Speaking of CF... This has been a rough couple of months for Dan. Please hold visions of perfect health for her. She is recouperating, but we have really reached a plateau with regard to the effectiveness of the I.V. antibiotic therapy. This is when I start running to the Health Food Store and studying up on VooDoo Chalk Circles and such... If it might work, I'm willing to try it. But, this is also when I rest in that quiet place... When I try as much as I can to "Be Still and Know". I'm not always great at it. Friends help me, know with me and love me in my infintile spirituality. And, I so appreciate it.

Namaste'~ Christy

Yesterday I received an e-mail referencing an article written about teachers who have received disciplinary action based upon Facebook postings. I have also heard a lot of whisperings about a local teacher who got in the same type of trouble for MySpace pictures. Part of me screams, "What about my right to free speech?! Freedom of press?! Freedom to have a life apart from school?!" But, another part of me simply asks, "How important is it?" If Dave and I have learned nothing over the past couple of years, we have learned that you can never tell what someone will take offense to.

Initially, I was going to go through and remove only the postings that had anything to do with school; however, reading them all became a daunting task. Then, further, I realized that people might find some of my other postings offensive in some way. Teachers are being held to a higher standard of accountibility. So, I removed everything.

I don't write this blog anonymously. I write it large and loud with my opinions blaring behind photos of me smiling. Kind of like I am in real life, actually... Mom had a saying growing up... "If it's worth doing; it's worth talking about." Further, I like myself (sometimes too much) and the person I am becoming. It has taken a long time to get to this place in my life. Still, because it has taken me a long time to get here, I don't wish to mess up my career at this juncture. I also don't wish to harm any of the people I work with who I have grown to love.

So, working with the spiritual idea, "No one or no thing is against me," I'm choosing to embrace this opportunity for change. I love to write. It's a hobby. It's a passion. It's a compulsion. But, I will just have to choose a less public venue. Or, maybe I will write another blog anonymously, and strictly use this one to post family photos. Maybe I'll write children's stories and post them to this one. Maybe I'll only write about our struggles with that ever present villian, Cystic Fibrosis. I don't know... I just know that you won't be reading about my adventures in "Making It Up As I Go Along" because I need to eat, and I need my bosses to keep those paychecks coming... Perhaps one day, I'll be writing professionally in some way, and I can be held to the less rigorous moral standards of a writer. Until then, I'll just be a teacher with big ideas and a filled-to-exploding journal.

Wishing you all well! Namaste'~ Love and Light, Christy

Soup from a Stone! Imagine That!

Stone Soup:

Ingredients-
Stew Meat
Basil
Garlic
Onion
Beef Boullion Cubes
Water
Salt and Pepper
Canned Vegetables-
Tomato Sauce
Green Beans
Peas
Carrots
Potatoes
Corn

Directions-
Run to Jerry Lee's the night before and buy two large packages of stew meat in the hopes of feeding everyone, since you don't remember whom you have invited. Also, purchase extra canned vegetables and juice since you aren't quite sure who will actually bring the items assigned in class. (At Jerry Lee's- Avoid former students and that one annoying parent who wants to talk to you about discipline issues at the middle school over which you have absolutely no control.) Leave bags in the trunk of the car to avoid having to haul grocery bags out in the morning.

Upon returning home, dig out the crock-pot and plug in. Realize you left onion and garlic in the trunk of the car. Run out to get them. Chop onion and add to pot. Add about 2 Tbsp of garlic. (For convenience, use the kind in a jar, already chopped. Because of this, listen to crap from your husband about how inferior the garlic in a jar is versus his "I lived in Italy and always use fresh garlic" stance. After inviting above referenced husband to chop the *#%$#&* garlic if it is important to him, he declines and wanders out of the kitchen.) Realize you left beef boullion cubes in the trunk of the car. Run out to get them. Add 4 cups of water and 4 cubes of beef boullion. Add salt, pepper and basil to taste. Cook beef overnight.

Pack strainers, big spoons, can opener and anything else you can think of in the Burnham’s Drugs bag. (The day before the bag was used to receive an I.V. medicine delivery.) In the morning, scramble around like a mad woman. Feed and dress your new baby, and make sure her bag is packed for daycare. Get everything ready and pat yourself on the back because you are SO totally together. As you are backing out of the driveway, realize you have forgotten the crock-pot full of stew meat. Slam the car in park. Run back into the house and retrieve the crock-pot.

As you are turning out of your street, the crock-pot meat sloshes over into the baby seat base where you have precariously balanced it. Instruct your middle-schooler to unbuckle her seatbelt, squat in the front seat and twist to hold the pot and lid in place. Drop middle school child at the door of the bus behind the school so that she doesn’t miss the bus necessitating your driving her to school for the second time in a week. Drive to the front of the school with one hand on the wheel and the other twisted into the back seat, holding the crock-pot lid steady.

Enter the school dragging the wheeled crate packed with the Burnham’s bag of Stone Soup supplies. Help students maintain control despite feelings of electric excitement floating through the air. Complete relevant nutrition activities with students to kill 2 hours until time to begin making soup.

Watch in amazement as your co-teacher manages to effectively steal numerous lovely centerpieces and decorations from various locations around the school. Marvel and applaud her proficiency and procuring these items.

Divide meat into three crock-pots. Assemble students with special needs in a half circle around table. Add a stone to each pot. Call students one at a time to open cans and add ingredients. Be prepared to catch cans as they fall off the can opener, as students don’t understand the concept of holding the can lightly with one hand while operating the can opener with the other. Help students strain vegetables prior to adding to crock-pots. As you open the corn, notice it is creamed corn instead of kernels. Say to yourself, “What the heck,” and add it to the soup, anyway. Continue adding vegetables. Decide there isn’t enough water and pour previously strained vegetable juice haphazardly into the crock-pots.

Pay attention to anyone picking noses or putting fingers in their mouths. Instruct them to leave immediately to wash their hands. Apply Germex liberally upon their return to class.

As students gain an understanding of how to add strained vegetables, instruct student with a significant disability to add tomato sauce. Student opens the can perfectly, (as with vegetables). Everyone applauds his success. Student promptly turns and empties tomato sauce into the strainer. Grab the strainer quickly and salvage as much sauce as you can by dumping it quickly into the crock-pot. Have students take turns stirring soup. Attempt to control the slosh factor as much as possible. This is a fruitless effort. Use liberal amount of paper towels to sop up the mess. Keep crock-pots covered on low until guests arrive.

Breathe a sigh of relief as guests arrive and the whole thing goes off without a hitch. Bask in the glow of another year of Stone Soup.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho! It's Back to Work I Go...

Yesterday, I took Micah to First United Methodist of Pascagoula, her new daycare center, to meet the ladies who will be keeping her and drop off supplies. Next week, I will take her on Monday, Wednesday and Friday for half days. I'm not sure if I am trying to transition her or me... Maybe both... Mom, Dave and I visited the center before after it was recommended by my friend, Jeannie. It is very nice, and everything is brand-new. The center also received an endorsement from Ms. Renfroe, Sarah's kindergarten teacher. Given that Ms. Renfroe's approval is akin to that of Mr. Rogers, Captain Kangaroo and the teacher from Romper Room, I can rest assured in knowing that Micah will be well-loved and cared for.

But, it doesn't make it easy. I have been trying to find the words to explain how hard it is to leave her, but I keep coming up short. When I was living in Virginia Beach, I stayed home with Dan for the first 6 months or so... Then, after Sarah was born, I wasn't making enough money teaching preschool to make it worthwhile financially to put them both in daycare. I went back to work and school when Sarah was 10 months old, creating a need to seek childcare for her. I remember it cost $115 per week. Danielle was enrolled in a free preschool program called Early Discoveries. The unsubsidized student loans I took out went to pay childcare expenses so that I could finish school. But, by the time went back to work, both girls were at least 6 months old. And, I was working at the YMCA, which is where the girls attended preschool and daycare. So, even though the girls were attending daycare, I was nearby. I was involved in their programs. I knew their caregivers, sometimes intimately.

Micah will be 8 weeks old on Monday. And, I just feel so torn about having to leave her. Even though, everyone I know and trust praises the program, I am still leaving her with people I don't know. Because I taught preschool for such a long time, I know what to look for. I know she will be in a quality program. But, I am going to miss her terribly. She smiles and laughs now. She cries when I walk away if she wants me to pick her up. I know that she burps best sitting straight up and having me lift her in and up and down motion, followed by patting her back. I know that she hates to have anyone mess with her feet. She sneezes in the bright sun, just like Danielle does... And, she loves to wrap her fingers in Sarah's hair, getting and handful when she can. If she kicks her feet and fusses, her tummy hurts. I also know that she sleeps best on her tummy, even though doctors and researchers say to lay babies on their backs. She loves to take baths. And, if she is screaming in the car, popping in Jeremy Camp's Christian Rock CD quiets her immediately. (Yes, it is a weird and amazing phenomena how quickly she gets quiet...) All of these things I have learned about her by being there day in and day out for the last 8 weeks.

So, now... Someone else will learn things about her. She will be in a different environment, so there will be new things and people to either like or dislike. And, I won't be a part of it because I won't be there. There's really no other way to say it. So, is it jealousy? Is it worry? Is it fear of the unknown? Maybe I'm feeling a little of all of that. I have friends who have talked about how they couldn't wait to get back to work and freedom. Being a stay-at-home mom is a gloriously thankless job. I understand my friends' point of view. But, know that I am not experiencing that in the slightest. I'm not yearning for freedom. Even when I am frazzled because she is screaming, I don't want to be anywhere else.

I'm sure that I could figure out a way to bag work for a year. We could cut back on a lot of expenses and make it work. But, that has never been the plan... I have a great career and a wonderful job situation that I worked hard to achieve. I work 2 minutes from my home, and work with people who have become dear friends. They have supported me and my family through all the trials we have experienced. And, Micah deserves to have this support system in place, just as Dan and Sarah always have. The reality for me is that God has always supported me by working through the people in my life. Of course, the people have changed over the years, but those changes have felt God-directed. So, I have been praying a lot. And, the Guidance I am getting so far is to send Micah to daycare and go back to work. Frankly, the Guidance is ticking me off.

What I want to do is much like what I wanted to do when Dan was a baby. I decided that I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I was listening to a lot of Dr. Laura at the time... So, I decided that I would stay-at-home, make clothes, use cloth diapers and grow tomatoes in the backyard while wearing a big, floppy straw hat. The reality of the stay-at-home experiment: I can't sew and my attempts at making baby clothes resulted in cloth sewed together randomly with long string hanging out in strange and curious places... Cloth diapers would stay in the diaper pail until mold grew because I wasn't motivated to get in there and wash the nasty things daily, as required... Tomatoes? Plants are a challenge for me. I hate to get my hands dirty digging around in the dirt and I water plants only as an afterthought, if they are in my face dying... I don't really have a stay-at-home mom bone in my body. Truth is... I am far more productive and together when I am working. But, I don't like that truth about myself. I want to grow a stay-at-home mom bone; however, if I'm honest, I haven't grown one and I don't really look to sprout one in the near future.

So, I feel a little guilty too... A little guilty that I don't have what it takes to stay at home. Then I start to tell myself that I suck as a mom... And, that isn't a Godly thought. The God that I know loves me and doesn't think I suck. So, it is time to head back to work. Just know that during this transition time, I will be drinking in Micah... Smelling her, and holding her, and watching her... And, hoping that one day, when she has a baby, I can stay at home and keep my grandchild...

Namaste' ~ Christy

I Have a Really Hard Time Not Taking a Bite

Micah after her bath!

She is so pretty in a bonnet! Dan and Sarah can't stand any kind of hat on her.

Aunt Micki and Micah!

I'm so proud of this sweet baby.

Calm and quiet.

She is starting to talk.

Daddy is adoring her in the hospital.

Rather than stirring controversy, I thought I would post baby pictures. She is so precious and we are so lucky... And, NO, she doesn't look anything like me...

New Baby, No Time...

Well, Dave informed me the other day that I haven't blogged in a while. Two things are pertinent about that comment: a. Baby Micah joined us via c-section on August 11 and takes up lots of my time, and b. Dave has time during the day at his new job as Assistant Director of the Applied Technology Center to check my blogging progress. Both things have been great blessings in our lives. The baby is such a joy, and we are all enjoying every minute of having her here in the world with us... And, Dave loves his new job with all its challenges.

Having a baby at my "advanced maternal age" has been such a wonderful blessing. Danielle was born when I was 23 and Sarah when I was 26. Both girls were prenatally diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, so both pregnancies were riddled with a whole host of concerns. With Danielle, I felt apprehensive and under prepared much of the time. It was like someone said, "Here is this fragile, little baby with a life-threatening illness. She was supposed to die upon delivery, or at best, be very, very sick due to a ruptured intestine and meconium ileus. However, somehow, her intestines healed, so try not to kill her at home." With Sarah, I was a little more relaxed, but she, too, had many challenges as a baby including coughing up blood at a relatively early age... There were all the daily duties of giving enzymes and the whole host of other meds... I also had to "beat" them several times daily (chest physical therapy). Later, we added the routine of nebulizer treatments. But, I became accustomed to the routine and never knew anything different. I also developed a strange sense of gratitude that both of my girls had CF. Given their closeness in age, I think there may have been some emotional difficulties we never had to face had one had CF while the other didn't. With Dan and Sarah, they have always been in it together... Mind you, I don't wish the disease on anyone, but I also know that having CF is a part of each of them, genetically. And, I wouldn't have wanted any other children... Even if I could have traded for a "healthy" child. I have always felt "chosen" by God for the honor of being their mom; so, even though I have periods of feeling terribly inadequate for the job, I have always felt grateful that God gave me Dan and Sarah. I value them for the people they are, CF and all...

But, back to Micah... She will be two weeks old tomorrow, and she doesn't have Cystic Fibrosis. After the c-section in the hospital, I was a little loopy on Demerol. Dave was the perfect husband, by my side every step of the way, and doing a fabulous job taking care of the baby while I was unable. I looked over and saw him feeding Micah a bottle. My first instinct was to ask if he had given her enzymes. It just seemed odd to feed a baby without worrying about enzymes first. Although, the other day, Micah seemed to have a tummy ache, so I gave her some CPT, and it actually seemed to comfort her. I remember it calmed the girls' tummy troubles along with clearing their lungs. But, the rest of the routine seems so easy. No meds... No treatments... No feelings of being absolutely inept and ill-equipped to handle the new addition to our family.

Other things have changed too... The girls are a tremendous help with Micah. They dote on her and are clamoring to hold her and help any way they can. Dave and I tried for such a long time to have her that we are valuing the experience of having a baby much more. But, beyond that, I have changed. I'm calmer than I was in my 20's... And, I realize that time goes so much faster than it did in my 20's. With the girls I seemed to always find myself thinking, "If I can just make it through this phase..." With Micah I find myself thinking, "I want to savor every moment..." I realize that every moment is precious and seriously fleeting. I don't want to miss a thing. (Hence the reason I haven't necessarily been blogging, or doing much of anything else except experiencing each and every moment with Micah.)

My own recovery from surgery has been a breeze too. I just find myself thinking, "I'm a little uncomfortable... This won't last forever." The challenges of breast-feeding don't seem so earth-shattering either. All the things that rocked my world with Dan and Sarah, are much easier to handle with Micah. And, I think it is simply because I am older. I understand that time passes so quickly. It is easier to value to blessings inherent in the moments, rather than focusing on the negative aspects or challenges.

After all, Danielle turned 16 on August 10th. She received her dad's fixed-up Volvo for her birthday, and has moved succinctly into her Junior year of high school. And, I rub my eyes, as if waking from sleep, wondering when this happened... When did she become old enough to drive? What happened to the little girl who used to hop around the living room like a frog? Where is the 4th-grader who yearned to have two front teeth like all the other kids her age? Did I miss it? Was I just trying to "get through a phase"?

I think I did the best I could... But, I was ill-equipped with youth to enjoy my babies the way I am currently with Micah. I kept hoping for something different... Praying for good health... Wishing for a different, better something for my beautiful girls... Now, I realize there isn't anything more, or different or better. Right now is the moment that is full of beauty and wonder and everything I need to pay attention to. I don't want to miss it! I don't want to miss a thing...

The Little Red Hen

Sunday, our minister told the delightful story of "The Little Red Hen". This Russian folktale is meant to remind the reader of the importance of hard work, and that in life, you can't get something for nothing. I understand that. Generally, I love fairy tales and folk tales. In my classroom, I often use them as teaching tools. So, I understood exactly the message she was conveying in her sermon...

However, my brain rebels. My spirit rebels. My very emotional nature cries out in rebellion, "SCREW YOU, LITTLE RED HEN! You found the grains of wheat! You decided that you wanted to plant it! So, you live with it and do it yourself. Don't try to suck me into your plans!" This all goes back to my latest spiritual struggle with the concept of "one more thing". I think I have actually blogged about it before... I really hate for people, or the universe, or circumstances to assign me "one more thing" to do.

I mean, I can relate to the "lazy cat". What if the cat isn't really lazy? The Little Red Hen, after all, is a known busy body who thinks she knows what is best for everyone. She looks around, sees the cat stretching and lying down to take a nap, simply assuming that the cat is a lazy do-nothing. What if the cat is running around the barnyard to keep the rodent infested place free of disease? The cat, then, only takes a nap out of sheer exhaustion after a morning of chasing mice, trapping mice and catching mice... Mice! With their nasty little whiskers and scratchy little claws clamoring all over the barnyard nibbling holes into those tasty bags of corn that The Little Red Hen just takes for granted will be scattered daily for her and her chicks to enjoy. Mice pooping all over everything, spreading bacteria and filth and disease all over the barnyard! Maybe the "lazy" cat meowed exhaustedly, "Not I" when asked to help out of a feeling of being overwhelmed and purely exhausted.

And, what of the dog? Isn't he out herding sheep all day? He is running around like crazy keeping the sheep from straying too far into the meadow. I even heard that he came face to face with an insanely criminal wolf who had dressed himself in sheep's clothing. The dog is thinking, "I didn't realize I had to be an undercover agent for this job!" But, he rose to the occasion. He sniffed out that wolf, despite his clever disguise, and chased him off so that those sheep might live another day. He had only just wandered back into the yard when that prissy Little Red Hen was all over him, "Who will help me reap the wheat?"

"Reap the wheat? Reap the wheat? I didn't ask you plant the damned wheat in the first place! Reap it yourself!" is probably exactly what our extremely weary friend was thinking. Haven't you ever heard the phrase, "Dog-tired"?

And, finally, the duck... Why couldn't she help? I mean, they are both birds. Surely they could have forged some sort of partnership based on their fowl status alone... I probably shouldn't share this, but I think under these circumstances, it is necessary. The duck has serious emotional and mental problems. The duck, had a nest to sit upon each and every day. However, she also believed wholeheartedly that it was her duty to paddle around the pond each day, working hard to present an image of perfection and serenity to all who gazed upon her. While she floated gracefully along atop the water, people were unable to see all the paddling she was having to do beneath the surface. You see, although no one told her, the duck felt it was her job to present an image of peace and harmony to all who visited the farm. No one guessed how hard her poor little webbed feet were working beneath the surface just to keep herself afloat. Thus, each day, after working hard to present this picture of perfection, she returned to her nest to sit, nurturing her eggs and waiting for her precious little ducklings to hatch.

One day, she came back to her nest to find an extra egg there. It was absolutely huge! She had no idea where the egg had come from, but she knew that the life inside could not survive without her ministrations. Well, you know what happened from here... Her ducklings hatched and she proceeded to rear her precious ducklings as best she could. (Most people don't know this, but her husband had run off with that terrible Goosey Loosey, so she was on her own with the ducklings.) She was also doing her best with the large, gangly gray adopted duckling who didn't fit in with any of his siblings. Most days, the duck dragged herself to the fence line where she received free counseling from the kind cow. These talks were the only thing really helping to hold herself together since the stresses of single motherhood, rearing a whole brood of children (along with one adopted one), and doing all of her duties while trying to maintain an air of peace and serenity for onlookers nearly drove her to the brink of insanity!

So, when The Little Red Hen approached her, her eyes welled-up with tears and she hung her head in shame. She felt that she should be able to help, but she just didn't have another ounce of anything to offer to anyone... She was emotionally, physically and spiritually drained.

These are the thoughts that ran through my mind in church on Sunday as my minister spoke. Obviously, they had nothing to do with the intent of the lesson. But, they provide a basis for understanding my own personal spiritual struggle as of late. And, as much as I can justify why the cat, the dog and the duck couldn't help and how demanding The Little Red Hen was being, there is a lesson in here about humility for me, personally. If I believe that God works through people, then I have to believe that God manifested in the form of the Bitchy Little Red Hen, too. The cat, the dog and the duck, (all me), even though they have numerous good reasons for not wanting to help, are still exhibiting behaviors steeped in selfishness and self-centeredness. Only in being willing to join in with God's other people to do "extra" assignments He presents daily, am I able to experience true peace and serenity that comes with the humility of being willing to rise to whatever occasion with which God is presenting me.

Spending so much time in mental or emotional rebellion is more exhausting than doing "one more thing". If I can learn this... If I can really "get" this idea about trusting God to give me the strength and abilities I need to do the things that cross my path daily, with an attitude of gratitude and loving service, I will be so much more peaceful and serene... Some days, I'm there... Some days, I'm just faking it, like the duck. Which, I guess, is O.K. too.

All of that being said, I know I also have a tendency to take on too much at times. Thus, being compassionate to my cat, dog and duck selves is important, as well. There are times when I need to say, "Not I". However, that means that I don't get to eat any of the bread when all is said and done.

But, the really amazing thing is when I have true moments of greatness. There are times when I can be like The Little Red Hen, only at the end of it all I can say, "I know you didn't help me plant or sow or reap this wheat. I know you didn't help me grind the wheat into flour. I know you didn't help me bake the bread... But, please, join me anyway... I would love to share my bounty with you because I am so terribly grateful that you are all here. Thanks for taking care of the mice, Lazy Cat. Thanks for herding sheep and scaring away wolves, Lazy Dog. Thanks for rearing your ducklings and working hard to mother a duckling that isn't even yours biologically, Lazy Duck. You all enrich my life. For that, I am grateful. Come rest your weary bones with me and have some bread."

Happy Birthday, Sarah!

Today is the day that I have become the mother of two teenagers. Dan has been a teenager for a while, but Sarah embarks on her journey today, as she turns 13. She is already well on her way... In fact, in some ways, Sar dived headlong into all things "teen-agery" even more than her sister.

Sarah isn't my easy child... She is the child who evokes a response... She is the child who forces me to flex my parenting muscles. She is the child who brings me closer into my relationship with God because I never know for sure that I am doing anything "right" with regard to her.

But, Sarah is also the child who needs me... Not because she is dependent, but because something about me is able to soothe her soul. And, amazingly, something about Sarah speaks to my heart like no one else can.

When I cleaned Sarah's room when she was a little girl, it was always a fascinating experience. I would find plastic containers full of magical potions (mixtures of shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash, glue and finger paint). I would also find purses full of treasures like sweet gum balls and pine needles. She always had tons of notes folded up everywhere that gave insight into the workings of her mind... Little lists: 1. Call Kevin. 2. Pet Susie. 3. Play in the red dirt pile. I could never decide if I was horrified at the level of mess, (although there was always a strange, systematic order to Sarah's mess), or if I was completely in awe of stepping into her giant, child-sized mind for a while. Maybe it was a little of both.

This past year was one of worry and fear for me as far as Sarah was concerned. She seemed to get sick around every bend. We spent a lot of time in the hospital and even more time doing I.V. meds. She wouldn't eat... She wouldn't drink Ensure... Rebellion dogged her every step. Nothing I did or didn't do seemed to help. I developed an understanding that while, as a parent, I have a responsibility to lead, my children have no responsibility to follow. Further, sometimes maybe facing their own consequences is exactly what they are supposed to do. The problem that pervaded my mind daily was the fact that Cystic Fibrosis has startling and lasting consequences.

And, now, with the onset of summer, her weight is up and her lung functions are better. She is doing the things she needs to do to be well and healthy. She has also been a tremendous help to me during my pregnancy. It's as if the sun came out, and we can see the path more clearly.

Certainly, I feel relieved... But, as I reflect on Sarah on this special day, I more fully understand that she is on her own spiritual journey. She is certainly a part of mine, but as she grows older, hopefully the lessons will become more her own. Or, maybe the lessons have always been hers and I have just taken them too much to heart.

So, Happy Birthday, Sarah! I'm so grateful you came into my life 13 years ago.

Better Living Through Chemistry

So, I just finished reading some of my sister-in-law's blog. I need to make time to really sit down and peruse the whole thing. Many of her recent entries are related to a variety of psychotropic drugs being regularly prescribed along with side effects, etc. Interesting stuff, really. We are such a "better-living through chemistry" society. And, I have to add that I have taken anti-depressants during my life. When Dave and I started trying to get pregnant, I stopped taking Wellbutrin. And, mostly, I have been O.K. I wasn't willing to risk side effects to my unborn child, even though multiple doctors conveyed that remaining on antidepressants is perfectly safe. I just don't always have the most faith in the long-term effects of such things, even if professionals are trying to convince me otherwise.

I began taking antidepressants after separating from Danielle and Sarah's dad. I was enrolled in college full-time, working full-time, and was attempting to rear two children with CF. Further, I had taken my grandmother to the hospital for chemotherapy treatments after a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Talk about your toxic drugs! I remember reading about the treatments during her admission and asking, "Grandma Dot, are you sure you want to do this? I'm not really sure this is a good idea." And, it turns out I was right. The chemo killed her. After sitting idly by, watching her deteriorate, I broke down in my therapist's office. (Yes, I'm sure you are relieved to hear I was receiving professional therapy at this point in my life.) My therapist, a completely savvy woman, listened to my current state and decided, "Wow, you are depressed." And, after referring me to a shrink (because a psychiatrist has the letters after his name allowing him to prescribe drugs), I was placed on Wellbutrin.

I have no criticism of the drug. It was a miracle for me at the time. It allowed me to go about the business of my life without bursting into tears for no apparent reason. It allowed me to finish papers late at night and made it possible to crawl out of bed every morning without cursing the sun's existence. I believe I desperately needed it at the time. I also believe that I no longer need it. I believe that God is doing for me what I could not do for myself. And, I believe that any problems my baby may or may not have will not be as a result of me taking any type of drug.

Now, all of that being said, I believe drugs are extremely necessary in my life at this point. And, I mean, bring on the drugs! The heavier-duty the drug, the better... Given that I am such a hippy and so into yoga and alternative therapies, some may be shocked to read this. But, I can't help it. There are times when heavenly, blissful escape is all I can think about. There are times, several of them occurring this very morning, when I crave the easier, softer way that I believe drugs can offer. Keep your 12-step meetings, your Serenity Prayer, your slogans... I know you are well-meaning, but I have tried all that and have met with incredible failure. It is not working, even though I'm trying to work it. Thus, in my desperation, I'm willing to dive into the better living through chemistry pool, in an attempt to find sweet, sweet relief.

Last night, Danielle caught Dusty, one of our three cats, peeing on the rug in the kitchen. She put her out, but I am at my wits end with these cats. I have been working feverishly to get the baby's room ready and have had to clean cat pee daily. These cats are peeing all over my house. And, I am grossed out. I'm freaked out. I just can't stand it anymore. The Internet reveals that the cats are under emotional distress. Often, with the arrival of a new baby, cats can become anxious. The Internet also states that homes with multiple cats have more problems with spraying and "naughty bathrooming". But, regardless of the reason, it is SO nasty. I have waged full out war with Clorox wipes and multiple cleaning products to no avail. And, alas, while the Internet pet doctors talk about how sad it is that people turn their pets over to the Humane Society citing that cats peeing in the house is the number one reason people get rid of their pets, they are offering no real reasonable solutions for my family.

Last weekend, after cleaning cat pee off of the baby's new changing pad (yes, note the irony) I laid down the edict that cats were to stay outside. After calming down, Dave tried to talk to me about how hard it would be to keep them outside all the time. Thus, in an attempt to be reasonable, I conceded that we should stop at the pet store to get the pheromone spray, which is reported to make cats feel all warm, fuzzy and secure so they don't feel a need to pee on my stuff. It seemed kind of homeopathic and natural, so I was willing to give it a try.

But, this morning, after Dusty was thrown out for the night and I sprayed the warm, fuzzy spray on the area where the carpet had previously lay (since I have to wash the @#$#@ thing again!), Dusty was allowed back in the house this morning. She lay in wait for Dave to leave for the gym, hopped on the counter top and peed all over my kitchen counter and further sprayed her villainous odor all over the coffee pot. IT WAS REVENGE PEE! Not wishing to drink cat pee, I poured out the coffee, fully disinfected the area and scoured the counter top. But, I am obviously very upset and at my wits end.

Dusty was left outside when we went to church, and feeling a little more spiritual, I decided to pray for all of the cats during our prayer circle time at the end of the service. Lo and behold, upon arriving home, I was greeted with cat pee on the back mat when I entered the door. GARFIELD! I CAN'T STAND THIS! THEY ARE PEEING ON EVERYTHING AND I HAVE TO BRING A BABY INTO THIS FILTH. I guess my prayer went unanswered, or God said, "No", or God said, "Wait." I don't know what God said, but I know cat pee awaited our return from church.

So, I have Googled all the information I can find, and the only acceptable thing I can find to do is drug these cats. There is something called Kitty Prozac, and I say "Bring it on." Dave is ready to allow the cats the opportunity to experience the next life, but I am willing to give this a shot. Dave also revealed how his brother, Keith, gave a parrot, who was plucking out all of his feathers, a couple of drops of whiskey in his water and the parrot was miraculously cured of the plucking behavior. I am not above trying a kitty cocktail either. We don't have any alcohol in the house, but a trip to the liquor store may be warranted. I mean, I'm up for anything. Kitty marijuana brownies... Kitty heroin... Kitty Valium... While I am committed to sobriety, do my cats have to be?

The thing is... Dan and Sarah absolutely love their demented, peeing cats. Dusty is a cat we adopted for Dan as a Christmas present. She howled the entire time during the car ride home when Dave and I drove to Mobile to get her. We should have known she was mental that first day and turned around to return her, but she was so pretty. She is a muted calico with gray, white and light orange fur. She sleeps with Dan every night, and when Dan goes to visit her dad, she becomes upset and sits at my feet yowling as if to ask, "Where is my person?" She doesn't enjoy being petted by anyone except Danielle; although, if Dan is out of town, I make a point to pet her so she doesn't become even more anti-social than she is currently. Garfield is one of the cats we accidentally stole, thinking we were rescuing him. (See my blog entry entitled "Yoga and the Cat Rescue Mission). Sarah chose him and named him because he liked to eat so much. She didn't have a cat of her own, as Dan has always been the cat person, so Garfield was specifically adopted as her cat. He lays flat on his back, legs sprawled in the air, right beside Sarah every night. He is also the most annoying cat we have. He has what Dave likes to call "Other Side of the Door Syndrome". He meows to go out the back door, then runs around to the front of the house and claws the window screen until someone lets him in. He also jumps up and claws the back door, scratching all the paint off in the process.

We also have Suzy. This little, black, part-Siamese cat was adopted by a sweet lady across town who rescued a Mama cat only to discover she was pregnant. Dan earned Suzy because she stopped sucking her thumb once and for all. She is symbolic of a childhood milestone. And, while she was officially Dan's cat, anyone who has ever had a cat knows that cats determine who actually owns them... Or perhaps, they determine which person they own. So, Suzy is my cat. She also loves Dave. She sleeps with us every night, and she is the least crazy of all the cats. While I am not entirely convinced of her complete innocence in the peeing escapades, she is generally well-behaved and ignores the rest of the cats completely. It's almost as if she knows they are nuts and holds herself to a higher standard. Suzy even goes out in the back yard with the dog, whereas the other cats all go out the garage door entrance. She is too cool to hang out with the other cats; she seeks out an entirely different species for companionship rather than lowering her standards to associate with the aberrant creatures hell-bent on spewing filth and stench throughout my living quarters.

I know that I am justified in getting rid of these frustrating felines. Dan and Sarah would probably get over it eventually. My most demanding responsibility is to the baby's health. But, I have a hard time just writing them off. When we adopted/stole the cats, we made a commitment to care for them for the duration of their lives. And, I have a hard time giving them away, or taking them to a shelter, or any other option that might expedite the end of their kitty lives. I think part of me is geared that way. I mean, I have several family members that could be described as emotionally defective, but I don't get rid of them. (I also don't live with them, but I would like to believe if Dave or one of the girls developed a mental disorder that led them to pee all over the house, I would go the extra mile to seek a solution instead of just getting rid of them.) Isn't that what family is about? Sticking together through the rough times? Loving each other in spite of those glaring flaws that infringe on each other's rights... But, maybe a little chemical help is in order to facilitate a little more family harmony.

So, regardless of the side effects, I believe drugging my kitties is in the best interest of everyone... Certainly in their own best interest, when the alternative means a quick trip to Euthanasia Town. Who knows? Maybe all of that Internet baloney about anxiety is true... Maybe these cats are amongst those who really need medication to function reasonably in society. (Like some of the children I teach...) And, maybe, I am beyond caring as long as I don't awaken to cat pee in my coffee.

Summer is Upon Us

I always listen quizzically to those who are proponents of year-round-school... Not because I necessarily disagree with the concept, mind you, but because summer break feels like such a sigh of relief. School is out in May here in Mississippi, so the entire month feels like an Olympic trial. It is mainly school-related activities that cause the majority of my angst, but some things are seasonally thrown in for good measure to add greater stress. (i.e. family birthdays, Mother's Day, dance recitals, etc.) Thus, as I sit here this Memorial Day, I'm not necessarily remembering and honoring fallen soldiers, I'm just resting and regrouping in an attempt to regain some of the sanity that was necessarily lost throughout the month of May.

Sarah gave and excellent performance in her dance recital this year. However, that came with trials and tribulations of its own. She has spent approximately the last month on I.V. meds. One of the selling points of the port was that she would be able to participate in all of her dance and gym activities without recourse. However, I'm not sure Dr. Sindel was entirely educated on what can happen to an accessed port-a-cath during a back handspring-back tuck combination. After one practice leading up to recital, the needle popped half-way out, causing great pain and an even greater sense of drama. We had to pull the line and miss two doses of meds before Nurse Tammy, our homehealth nurse could come reaccess her. I have been trying to talk her into letting me access her, but she isn't ready for that yet. Our friend, Lauren, accesses herself and I really aspire to that level of independence for Sarah. Even with the ups and downs with the port, Sarah didn't have to be hospitalized in May, which might have very well sent me completely over the edge, as I had a loose grip on sanity and serenity in general at the time.

Danielle also gave and excellent performance in her band concert. She had two solos and performed flawlessly. She also made Symphonic Band next year, so she is very happy about that achievement. I'm most proud that she managed a "C" in Astronomy after making an "A" on her final exam. She struggled with the course, and after I conferenced with her teacher and determined for myself that he is a complete baffoon, I am really proud that she pulled a "C" in the class. I always tell parents at school when they complain about various teachers that it builds a child's character and intrinsic sense of self-esteem if they are able to cope with whatever teacher they are given. That is an easy lecture for me to dish out educator to parent... Not as easy when my own child is struggling with an incompetent boob charged with the responsibility of providing an education to her... However, I stand by my beliefs. Danielle hopefully learned that she is responsible for her own education, even when her teacher has been unable to successfully impart knowledge to her.

Both girls are struggling to achieve optimal health right now. I.V. meds for Sar, and oral antibiotics for Dan haven't really seemed to make an impact this time. We return to Dr. Sindel's office on June 2nd, so I trust you will keep us in your thoughts and prayers as you read this. Both girls are doing well with their weight, so we are grateful for that upturn of events. Sometimes CF is so mysterious... Especially when the doctor has recommended this or that and nothing seems to be helping. Right now, I'm reading "Lessons in Truth" by Emily Cady. She talks about the "appearance of illness" being outside of the reality of God. If we are created in God's image and likeness, truly an expression of God's spirit, then only in aligning ourselves with that Presence and Spirit can we expect to break through the appearance of illness, lack, poverty, or any other image that seems "less than". I continue to pray and meditate upon that idea, and lead the girls in affirming that idea. But, I'm certainly not perfect at maintaining that level of consciousness, when the appearance of illness rings with such clarity in the form of hacking coughs throughout the house. However, I know that I don't have to do it alone, and I trust that those who are praying with us and for us often have greater faith than I.

I also go back to the doctor on June 2nd for an ultrasound. The baby is moving all around. I can sit and watch my belly jump as she moves around and kicks like the Karate Kid. I went to Maternal-Fetal medicine last month to have a "level 2" ultrasound because of my "advanced maternal age", which the doctor kept referencing much to Dave's delight. The funny thing about it all is that I have enjoyed this pregnancy much more as a result of my "advanced maternal age". I was 23 when I was pregnant with Dan and 26 when I was pregnant with Sar. The morning sickness, the swollen feet, the fatigue... All of those things seemed like they would last forever. Now, that I am 38, all of the symptoms of pregnancy, while annoying, don't seem as overwhelming. I know that it is really such a brief time and that the whole experience will be over before I know it. That realization has helped me to enjoy the experience more than when I was younger. I don't mind sharing my body as much.

Dave has accepted a job as the Assistant Director of the Technology Center. He has wanted to work in administration since receiving his Master's degree in the field, so I am very excited and happy for him. Currently, he is fulfilling his last teaching responsibility by writing next year's math curriculum. However, he seems to be handling the change much better than I would. He has been a little sad or nostalgic about not coaching next year, but otherwise he seems ready to embark upon his new path in educational administration. I'm sure he'll be brilliant. I mean, he is brilliant already. He's also extremely forthright, so I pray that he will be able to hold his tongue when it is pertinent to do so.

Anyway, I hope you will join me in a deep cleansing breath as I relax into everything that is summer. Upon reflection, I'm not exactly sure I will regain any sanity. I have only a nodding acquaintance with the concept. But, serenity and clarity of thought seem to be a little closer within reach, and for that I probably won't ever endorse year-round-school.

~Namaste'~