So I had nightmares all night (the whole four hours of sleep I got)...about Sam, and our missing dog, and the screaming baby in the room next door.
If I start to cry I may never stop.
Sam's leg is better and worse this morning. I'm told it's normal to look bigger before it looks smaller...oooohhh-kayyy. But he seems to be feeling better and is currently eating an apple. He is amused by the constant stream of doctors and med students in and out of his room. He is quite the showman. And if one more woman gushes about how cute he is, I fear we won't be able to fit his head into the van for the ride home (whenever that may be).
Milo the dog is still missing. No signs that he has been back home. I fear he is gone forever. I miss him already.
Seriously...I KNOW it could be worse...but I'm not sure I can take any more.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Just when you thought you were safe...
Pardon the changes in tense and voice...some of this is as it is happening and some of it is subject to my poor recall.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
I'm marking time this morning. My baby is sick...and by baby, I mean, of course, my very independent big kid. He complained of a sore throat and general achiness Monday night. Yesterday he developed a weird rash with blisters on his right leg and a rather high fever by bedtime. Today, his daddy is taking him to the doctor while I sit here and try to concentrate on work. I do that a lot lately, so you would think I'm good at it. But this is different. This is my baby. My one and only living baby.
Despite losing Alex and Travis, I have lived the last two years without any sort of weird psychological tics that make me worry uncontrollably about other family and friends. I don't know. Maybe because the danger seemed to be totally within myself, so I could rationally not worry about anyone outside of it. But as I lay in bed last night, air conditioner AND fan blowing, placing cold washcloths on my boy's body trying to cool him down, I started to panic. My baby is sick. My one and only living baby. Oh.My.God.
The thoughts that ran through my head were too horrible to speak out loud. And my darling husband did not help much by consulting Dr. Google on horrible things like West Nile Virus...at which point I calmly told him to, "Put the computer away now." (I really wanted to tell him what an ass he was being as I melted into a complete puddle of tears. But I wanted to maintain at least an outward appearance of calmness for my baby boy.) (and yes, this IS a dig at my husband. I think after all this time of keeping this blog, one or two are allowed to slip through, especially when they help to explain my insanity in some sort of context...I mean really...West Nile?!?! Does he HAVE TO be so damn comforting?!?!)
So I sit here watching the minutes tick past. 10:10am...finally...appointment at 10:20am...have to go through the "infectious" entrance...my baby boy...10:13am...
What if it IS something horrible? My Sam is strong. We were just at his four-year check-up and the doctor had said, "Has he really been this healthy?" That's when we realized that he hasn't been to the doctor since his check-up last year. Yes, he HAS been that healthy. So what IS this? How much SHOULD we worry? He's all we have.
So now the fear sets in. Irrational? I don't think so. Not anymore. I've learned the hard way that things don't go according to "plan" or according to "the laws of nature." It's all upside down, inside out, turning round and round. I won't let the fear take hold of me so completely that I am paralyzed...but I have been foolish not to see it staring at me from different places outside of myself.
10:20...I hope the doctor isn't running late.
Damn it! The universe, God, whatever better damn well stop picking on my kids! We're off to the hospital for a day or two for IV antibiotics...for what the doctor calls a bacterial infection of the skin. Our pediatrician was going to prescribe regular antibiotics, but a consulting pediatrician said the faster route would be better, "Just to be safe." Good Christ...I can NOT take anymore of this! I give! You win! Leave us alone!
12:45pm Stop at Speedway for gas. Steve has lost his ATM card. Another fun thing to worry about today.
2:00pm Arrive at hospital. First, we arrived at the Pediatric ER to be greeted with confused looks. Cellulitis of the eye? uh...no...(pointing to his leg)...the leg. And he's not four months old either is he? uh...no...four YEARS. Steve and I have made a vow that Sam will NEVER be left alone in this place. They very well could amputate something important while we're not here to protect him.
3:00pm I almost have a nervous breakdown in the bathroom after washing my hands. That soap...they still use that same soap.
4:30pm Hurry up and wait. The fun part of the program is yet to come. An IV. God help us, how are we going to do this? And our little trooper just wants to get this over with so he can go to McDonald's. He says, "This is taking FOREVER...!" hehehe...he got his patience from his mama.
4:45pm The child life specialist brings in two Tonka trucks and a basket of wooden train track and a battery-operated Thomas the Tank Engine. Score!
5:00pm Talk to grandma and try not to scream at her. It's not her fault, but I just feel so damn angry...I hope she understands (another thing to worry about).
5:30pm Order spaghetti and meatballs for Sam for dinner.
6:00pm IV line inserted, blood sample and cultures of blister juice taken amidst a lot of screaming and yelling...Sam...not me or Steve.
6:30pm Try to get Sam to eat spaghetti and meatballs...he won't touch it.
6:45pm Send Steve to parking garage to get Sam's Thomas the Tank Engine toys from the van (I forgot them in our mad dash into the Pediatric ER with our laptop, camera, suitcase, crochet bag, purse, stuffed animals and red blankie...Steve was carrying Sam).
6:55pm Moved to a new, private, room. The first room was a shared room and the people next door were not exactly what you would call quiet. Plus, we shared a bathroom and the poor boy, who is hooked up to an IV himself, kept getting caught in the curtain that was supposed to separate our areas as he went in and out of the bathroom. Poor kid was probably worried we were gonna see something private that we didn't really want to see.
7:00pm Steve returned with the Thomas the Tank Engine toys...and without the valet ticket that we will need to get possession of our van again. Batting a thousand so far today, I sent him to the cafeteria with my ATM card. What am I? Stupid?!?!
7:05pm Discover that our new room has a videotape of Bob the Builder in it. Score! He eats!
7:15pm Steve returned WITH my ATM card AND the valet pass! woohoo! our luck is improving? Though we're still waiting for the damn IV antibiotics there IS food...so it's not all bad, I guess.
7:20pm The medicine arrives! It's gonna get better from here...it's gonna get better from here...it's gonna get better from here...or else.
8:15pm Steve joins Sam in his already over-active attitude. (At some point today he told me he didn't have to do something because he's "too cute." oy!)
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
I'm marking time this morning. My baby is sick...and by baby, I mean, of course, my very independent big kid. He complained of a sore throat and general achiness Monday night. Yesterday he developed a weird rash with blisters on his right leg and a rather high fever by bedtime. Today, his daddy is taking him to the doctor while I sit here and try to concentrate on work. I do that a lot lately, so you would think I'm good at it. But this is different. This is my baby. My one and only living baby.
Despite losing Alex and Travis, I have lived the last two years without any sort of weird psychological tics that make me worry uncontrollably about other family and friends. I don't know. Maybe because the danger seemed to be totally within myself, so I could rationally not worry about anyone outside of it. But as I lay in bed last night, air conditioner AND fan blowing, placing cold washcloths on my boy's body trying to cool him down, I started to panic. My baby is sick. My one and only living baby. Oh.My.God.
The thoughts that ran through my head were too horrible to speak out loud. And my darling husband did not help much by consulting Dr. Google on horrible things like West Nile Virus...at which point I calmly told him to, "Put the computer away now." (I really wanted to tell him what an ass he was being as I melted into a complete puddle of tears. But I wanted to maintain at least an outward appearance of calmness for my baby boy.) (and yes, this IS a dig at my husband. I think after all this time of keeping this blog, one or two are allowed to slip through, especially when they help to explain my insanity in some sort of context...I mean really...West Nile?!?! Does he HAVE TO be so damn comforting?!?!)
So I sit here watching the minutes tick past. 10:10am...finally...appointment at 10:20am...have to go through the "infectious" entrance...my baby boy...10:13am...
What if it IS something horrible? My Sam is strong. We were just at his four-year check-up and the doctor had said, "Has he really been this healthy?" That's when we realized that he hasn't been to the doctor since his check-up last year. Yes, he HAS been that healthy. So what IS this? How much SHOULD we worry? He's all we have.
So now the fear sets in. Irrational? I don't think so. Not anymore. I've learned the hard way that things don't go according to "plan" or according to "the laws of nature." It's all upside down, inside out, turning round and round. I won't let the fear take hold of me so completely that I am paralyzed...but I have been foolish not to see it staring at me from different places outside of myself.
10:20...I hope the doctor isn't running late.
Damn it! The universe, God, whatever better damn well stop picking on my kids! We're off to the hospital for a day or two for IV antibiotics...for what the doctor calls a bacterial infection of the skin. Our pediatrician was going to prescribe regular antibiotics, but a consulting pediatrician said the faster route would be better, "Just to be safe." Good Christ...I can NOT take anymore of this! I give! You win! Leave us alone!12:45pm Stop at Speedway for gas. Steve has lost his ATM card. Another fun thing to worry about today.
2:00pm Arrive at hospital. First, we arrived at the Pediatric ER to be greeted with confused looks. Cellulitis of the eye? uh...no...(pointing to his leg)...the leg. And he's not four months old either is he? uh...no...four YEARS. Steve and I have made a vow that Sam will NEVER be left alone in this place. They very well could amputate something important while we're not here to protect him.
3:00pm I almost have a nervous breakdown in the bathroom after washing my hands. That soap...they still use that same soap.
4:30pm Hurry up and wait. The fun part of the program is yet to come. An IV. God help us, how are we going to do this? And our little trooper just wants to get this over with so he can go to McDonald's. He says, "This is taking FOREVER...!" hehehe...he got his patience from his mama.
4:45pm The child life specialist brings in two Tonka trucks and a basket of wooden train track and a battery-operated Thomas the Tank Engine. Score!5:00pm Talk to grandma and try not to scream at her. It's not her fault, but I just feel so damn angry...I hope she understands (another thing to worry about).
5:30pm Order spaghetti and meatballs for Sam for dinner.
6:00pm IV line inserted, blood sample and cultures of blister juice taken amidst a lot of screaming and yelling...Sam...not me or Steve.
6:30pm Try to get Sam to eat spaghetti and meatballs...he won't touch it.
6:45pm Send Steve to parking garage to get Sam's Thomas the Tank Engine toys from the van (I forgot them in our mad dash into the Pediatric ER with our laptop, camera, suitcase, crochet bag, purse, stuffed animals and red blankie...Steve was carrying Sam).
6:55pm Moved to a new, private, room. The first room was a shared room and the people next door were not exactly what you would call quiet. Plus, we shared a bathroom and the poor boy, who is hooked up to an IV himself, kept getting caught in the curtain that was supposed to separate our areas as he went in and out of the bathroom. Poor kid was probably worried we were gonna see something private that we didn't really want to see.
7:00pm Steve returned with the Thomas the Tank Engine toys...and without the valet ticket that we will need to get possession of our van again. Batting a thousand so far today, I sent him to the cafeteria with my ATM card. What am I? Stupid?!?!
7:05pm Discover that our new room has a videotape of Bob the Builder in it. Score! He eats!
7:15pm Steve returned WITH my ATM card AND the valet pass! woohoo! our luck is improving? Though we're still waiting for the damn IV antibiotics there IS food...so it's not all bad, I guess.
7:20pm The medicine arrives! It's gonna get better from here...it's gonna get better from here...it's gonna get better from here...or else.
8:15pm Steve joins Sam in his already over-active attitude. (At some point today he told me he didn't have to do something because he's "too cute." oy!)
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Stuck home with the kid...
...and even Bob the Builder annoys me.
Wendy and Dizzy, talking about building a new dove house...
Dizzy: How many doves will go in there Wendy?
Wendy: Just a few to start with Dizzy. But after they settle in they'll probably have some babies.
Dizzy: ooohh...
Me: sigh
Wendy and Dizzy, talking about building a new dove house...
Dizzy: How many doves will go in there Wendy?
Wendy: Just a few to start with Dizzy. But after they settle in they'll probably have some babies.
Dizzy: ooohh...
Me: sigh
Monday, August 14, 2006
so tired
I am sooooo tired...very busy weekend...pictures to follow...must sleep work...zzzzzzzzzz...no, I'm awake...really...
zzzzzzzzzzz...........
How tired am I? I just realized, on my third trip to the bathroom today, that I was wearing my underwear inside out.
Somebody get me some caffeine!
zzzzzzzzzzz...........
How tired am I? I just realized, on my third trip to the bathroom today, that I was wearing my underwear inside out.
Somebody get me some caffeine!
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Happy 12th Anniversary My Love
Well Steve, what are we gonna do to top the last twelve years? We sure have had an adventure, haven't we?
That first year with no sofa, sitting on the floor of our little apartment in Podunk, Indiana where neither of us wanted to be, eating macaroni and cheese and watching that little television (twelve inches, was it?)... But you know, I look back at the pictures from that time and I see us with all the possibility in front of us. It was hard, but there was a possibility of more.
And now here we are. So much achieved...most good...some really good...some bad...some really bad. So much possibility still remains. Remember that. Remember that no matter what life throws our way and no matter how badly today sucks, tomorrow holds possibility. I never in a million years would have guessed we would be visiting our boys' graves on the weekend of our anniversary. But the rest is better than it was in my imagination. Our home, our zoo, our boy, and us. When I think of it all, I still have to pinch myself to believe it is real...that WE have achieved all this (happiness and sadness)...together.
Thank you for holding my hand...and for holding me up. Thank you for making me smile...and for letting me cry. Thank you for making my life the gloriously messy and beautiful experience I always dreamed it could be. Thank you for being my friend and my love.
I love you and I always will.
That first year with no sofa, sitting on the floor of our little apartment in Podunk, Indiana where neither of us wanted to be, eating macaroni and cheese and watching that little television (twelve inches, was it?)... But you know, I look back at the pictures from that time and I see us with all the possibility in front of us. It was hard, but there was a possibility of more.
And now here we are. So much achieved...most good...some really good...some bad...some really bad. So much possibility still remains. Remember that. Remember that no matter what life throws our way and no matter how badly today sucks, tomorrow holds possibility. I never in a million years would have guessed we would be visiting our boys' graves on the weekend of our anniversary. But the rest is better than it was in my imagination. Our home, our zoo, our boy, and us. When I think of it all, I still have to pinch myself to believe it is real...that WE have achieved all this (happiness and sadness)...together.
Thank you for holding my hand...and for holding me up. Thank you for making me smile...and for letting me cry. Thank you for making my life the gloriously messy and beautiful experience I always dreamed it could be. Thank you for being my friend and my love.
I love you and I always will.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Boring boring boring...but I post it anyway
I am inspired to share what I will be doing this weekend...but...uh...not much. lol
Tonight I'm going to dinner with my hubster...who is currently enjoying ice cream courtesy of his boss...all in the name of a "meeting." I think we need to work on this as a concept for meetings around my work.
Hopefully before we head off to dinner we'll get out to the cemetery to get the boys' flowers planted. Red mums...Sam chose them because his favorite color is red. I love that kid.
We also have to hit Walmart to buy my mom's late birthday present. We're getting one of those firepit tables for her for her garden sitting/swing area. It comes in a set and there are four chairs. We're still debating how to split up the set, but we'll be taking at least two of the chairs to sit on our brand new front porch (if it ever actually gets built).
Tomorrow is the highly anticipated take-the-four-year-old-to-the-fair-to-ride-on-rides-until-he-throws-up trip. Should be fun. :o)
I'm also helping transport some dogs to rescue tomorrow afternoon...a good excuse to find myself in Erie, PA where there is no tax on clothing...cause I NEED some new clothes. hehehe But I can't indulge in too much shopping since I will be meeting up with the amazing Julie next weekend for some outlet mall shopping. I'm all excited and trying to budget for that.
Sunday is work at home day. I figure I'll have some tomatoes to pick, some weeds to pull, and Steve has some grass to mow.
Then Sunday evening I have to get over to help my mom pack up her glass items at the medieval faire she's been working at for the past six weekends. We didn't make it out to visit the faire this year...or last year...I just wasn't in the mood. Maybe next year...
And that's it. That is the boredom that is our life. I'm looking forward to it. I have to get OUT of this office. I've been sort of stuck here since I hurt my ankle and these four walls are starting to close in on me.
If I don't talk to you...have a great weekend!
Tonight I'm going to dinner with my hubster...who is currently enjoying ice cream courtesy of his boss...all in the name of a "meeting." I think we need to work on this as a concept for meetings around my work.
Hopefully before we head off to dinner we'll get out to the cemetery to get the boys' flowers planted. Red mums...Sam chose them because his favorite color is red. I love that kid.
We also have to hit Walmart to buy my mom's late birthday present. We're getting one of those firepit tables for her for her garden sitting/swing area. It comes in a set and there are four chairs. We're still debating how to split up the set, but we'll be taking at least two of the chairs to sit on our brand new front porch (if it ever actually gets built).
Tomorrow is the highly anticipated take-the-four-year-old-to-the-fair-to-ride-on-rides-until-he-throws-up trip. Should be fun. :o)
I'm also helping transport some dogs to rescue tomorrow afternoon...a good excuse to find myself in Erie, PA where there is no tax on clothing...cause I NEED some new clothes. hehehe But I can't indulge in too much shopping since I will be meeting up with the amazing Julie next weekend for some outlet mall shopping. I'm all excited and trying to budget for that.
Sunday is work at home day. I figure I'll have some tomatoes to pick, some weeds to pull, and Steve has some grass to mow.
Then Sunday evening I have to get over to help my mom pack up her glass items at the medieval faire she's been working at for the past six weekends. We didn't make it out to visit the faire this year...or last year...I just wasn't in the mood. Maybe next year...
And that's it. That is the boredom that is our life. I'm looking forward to it. I have to get OUT of this office. I've been sort of stuck here since I hurt my ankle and these four walls are starting to close in on me.
If I don't talk to you...have a great weekend!
Fair Etiquette
I spent my lunch hour walking over to the county fair. It took me the entire hour despite being a mere two blocks from work because of this dang ankle. But the lure of grease-laden munchies beckoned and I have resisted all week, so I felt it was time.
I spent a good portion of the time walking and talking with a woman who has never had a corn dog. I personally can't believe that such a life exists. Where would I be without corn dogs? My...what a different life that would be.
So B mentioned that she might be pizza for lunch. Pizza! At a fair! Again, I was flabbergasted. It was clear that some education was in order. There will be, henceforth, the following rules about the fair culinary experience...
You may indulge in any of the following:
~anything on a stick
~anything deep fried
~anything made with local ingredients and sold by 4Hers
~anything made of or covered in sugar
~anything served in a bucket
Other tips:
~once you go to sugar, do not go back to grease
~walk slowly so as not to upset your stomach
~stay out of the cow barn immediately before and after eating
I spent a good portion of the time walking and talking with a woman who has never had a corn dog. I personally can't believe that such a life exists. Where would I be without corn dogs? My...what a different life that would be.
So B mentioned that she might be pizza for lunch. Pizza! At a fair! Again, I was flabbergasted. It was clear that some education was in order. There will be, henceforth, the following rules about the fair culinary experience...
You may indulge in any of the following:
~anything on a stick
~anything deep fried
~anything made with local ingredients and sold by 4Hers
~anything made of or covered in sugar
~anything served in a bucket
Other tips:
~once you go to sugar, do not go back to grease
~walk slowly so as not to upset your stomach
~stay out of the cow barn immediately before and after eating
Our thoughts go out to Sherry
Sherry's Dad passed away yesterday, the day before the anniversary of her Ryan's passing (today). Please hold her close in your thoughts as she walks down her path of grief.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
I'll tell you when you're wallowing
When Alex died, a friend emailed me and asked about him. I was in those initial moments when I feared that my grief would frighten friends away and I told her so. She told me she loved me and that I could trust her to tell me when I was merely engaging in self-indulgent wallowing. She hasn't said anything about it since.
I have been grieving for one reason or another for over a year.
God, to see that statement typed out like that makes me sound so pitiful. And I suppose I am, to some extent. So...
How long is too long? Do I start all over every time the universe steals a child from my belly? Or am I supposed to start off further along down the road, taking less time to travel the path to "healed?"
At this point, I don't even know if I'm really grieving or if I've stumbled into full blown depression. I am impatient with myself and I know others are impatient with me. But at the same time, I can't shake it. I'm not feeling this way out of a sense of obligation to my children. I just feel this way...it's not a conscious choice.
How do I get out of this? Can I get out of this? Is it too early to expect that I could get out of it?
One year ago today I was writing about visiting the perinatologist for our 'preconception consultation.' There was information and conflict, but there was hope. That hope now has a name and is buried next to his brother.
And today here I sit with little to no hope and this blanket of sadness. At one point, I thought I kept it surrounding me because it was comfortable, having become something I was used to carrying with me. But now I realize it's with me not because I want it there, but because it is somehow attached to me...I am not able to rid myself of it.
Part of me feels like it's ok. I keep telling myself that three months isn't that long in the grand scheme of things. At three months out from losing Alex I was still crying daily.
But part of me feels like I'm an old pro at this and I should just be over it already. I mean really, it's not like this is new or anything. So I don't understand why it hurts so much.
I'm going tonight to plant flowers on my sons' graves. I used to go all the time and I looked forward to the catharsis because there are, in my opinion, no better cleansing tears than cemetery tears. I don't do this much anymore because we only have one car and I don't have the freedom to go at will. But I will go tonight and I don't mind admitting that I'm afraid of the tears. I'm afraid of the feelings they will bring forth and I'm afraid of what will be left of me after the catharsis is over.
I have been grieving for one reason or another for over a year.
God, to see that statement typed out like that makes me sound so pitiful. And I suppose I am, to some extent. So...
How long is too long? Do I start all over every time the universe steals a child from my belly? Or am I supposed to start off further along down the road, taking less time to travel the path to "healed?"
At this point, I don't even know if I'm really grieving or if I've stumbled into full blown depression. I am impatient with myself and I know others are impatient with me. But at the same time, I can't shake it. I'm not feeling this way out of a sense of obligation to my children. I just feel this way...it's not a conscious choice.
How do I get out of this? Can I get out of this? Is it too early to expect that I could get out of it?
One year ago today I was writing about visiting the perinatologist for our 'preconception consultation.' There was information and conflict, but there was hope. That hope now has a name and is buried next to his brother.
And today here I sit with little to no hope and this blanket of sadness. At one point, I thought I kept it surrounding me because it was comfortable, having become something I was used to carrying with me. But now I realize it's with me not because I want it there, but because it is somehow attached to me...I am not able to rid myself of it.
Part of me feels like it's ok. I keep telling myself that three months isn't that long in the grand scheme of things. At three months out from losing Alex I was still crying daily.
But part of me feels like I'm an old pro at this and I should just be over it already. I mean really, it's not like this is new or anything. So I don't understand why it hurts so much.
I'm going tonight to plant flowers on my sons' graves. I used to go all the time and I looked forward to the catharsis because there are, in my opinion, no better cleansing tears than cemetery tears. I don't do this much anymore because we only have one car and I don't have the freedom to go at will. But I will go tonight and I don't mind admitting that I'm afraid of the tears. I'm afraid of the feelings they will bring forth and I'm afraid of what will be left of me after the catharsis is over.
Attention clothing manufacturers
I understand that long skirts are 'hot' right now. But I am only 5'5" and I have freakishly short legs. I look like I'm playing dress-up in my mother's clothing when I wear long skirts. Could you do me a favor and make one or two normal length skirts. I'm not picky. Basic color and design so I can mix and match would be fine.
Maybe you could lay off the cute little lace insets and embroidered crap too. Further, I do not, nor do MOST women, look good in a Peter Pan color. In fact, the last time I wore a Peter Pan color, I was...oh...EIGHT!
Thank you.
PS...Save a tree...Don't send me a flyer advertising all these great sale prices if you do not have the items in stock!
Maybe you could lay off the cute little lace insets and embroidered crap too. Further, I do not, nor do MOST women, look good in a Peter Pan color. In fact, the last time I wore a Peter Pan color, I was...oh...EIGHT!
Thank you.
PS...Save a tree...Don't send me a flyer advertising all these great sale prices if you do not have the items in stock!
The victim of a decimal point
My aunt went to see her surgeon yesterday. Yes, that's the opening line to a not so funny joke. My aunt went to see her surgeon yesterday and he told her that there seems to have been a misplaced decimal point somewhere in her pathology report. They did find cancerous cells, but based on the imaging, it's nowhere near as bad as she was led to believe. In fact, he thinks it's relatively minor...if you can call having any cancerous cells in your body minor. She will have an MRI next week to really figure out what's going on and then they will plan the lumpectomy from there.
I think I hear the phrase, "You're fired," in someone's future. Someone else's bad luck is our good luck...finally! Thanks universe!
I think I hear the phrase, "You're fired," in someone's future. Someone else's bad luck is our good luck...finally! Thanks universe!
I seem to have been misunderstood
And maybe that comes from burying my lead (bad journalism student, bad girl). Or maybe it's because I didn't explain very well what I was trying to say.
"But believing to the exclusion of all fear..." (or at least trying to believe to the exclusion of all fear)
That is the type of person who gets to me. The person who dismisses the bad things. The person who refuses to face the very real possibilities.
For example...
When you talk to a mommy-to-be who has never suffered a loss...she doesn't want to hear it can happen to her and her baby.
When you talk to a mommy-to-be who has suffered a loss...she doesn't want to hear that it can happen AGAIN to her and her new baby.
There are things that are considered...what's the word?...taboo. You just DON'T talk about them. And I am shocked at that. I would think, that by suffering one loss, we would (as a species) be more open to the possibilities and the conversation. But we're not. We're just as guilty of trying to remain deliberately naive as those women who have never suffered a loss.
"I don't want to talk about it."
What's so different saying it now than when you said it way back when? And interestingly enough, we do a hell of a lot of throwing stones at those women for their attitudes (at least I do...and I know a couple other people who do).
I'm just saying maybe I need to reevaluate my position on the naivete issue. Because no matter where you are on your journey to mommy-hood, there is always a certain level deliberate ignorance. Maybe I need to lighten up on those who have never been (and hopefully never will) be in my shoes.
-----------------------------------------
Edited to add: Whoever said, "Fake it until you make it..." Doesn't that presume that you WILL make it? Is that a helpful coping mechanism for those who may never make it? Or does it make it worse with the feelings of failure, etc? Because I really think it made it worse for me.
-----------------------------------------
Edited to add: This conversation really has two points in time to consider. The decision to TTC again and the pregnancy stage. I think we're talking about two very different situations when we distinguish the two. When you're pregnant, you get through however you can. But when you're trying to conceive is when I think you should really face the issue head on. Ask yourself how you would deal with another loss.
For instance, right now, there is no way I could get pregnant again. Another loss would land me in the looney bin. I'm comfortable enough considering that and making the decision. A LOT of women I have talked to do not even think about it. They just think that getting pregnant again as soon as possible will magically "fix" everything. And that is dangerous, in my opinion.
"But believing to the exclusion of all fear..." (or at least trying to believe to the exclusion of all fear)
That is the type of person who gets to me. The person who dismisses the bad things. The person who refuses to face the very real possibilities.
For example...
When you talk to a mommy-to-be who has never suffered a loss...she doesn't want to hear it can happen to her and her baby.
When you talk to a mommy-to-be who has suffered a loss...she doesn't want to hear that it can happen AGAIN to her and her new baby.
There are things that are considered...what's the word?...taboo. You just DON'T talk about them. And I am shocked at that. I would think, that by suffering one loss, we would (as a species) be more open to the possibilities and the conversation. But we're not. We're just as guilty of trying to remain deliberately naive as those women who have never suffered a loss.
"I don't want to talk about it."
What's so different saying it now than when you said it way back when? And interestingly enough, we do a hell of a lot of throwing stones at those women for their attitudes (at least I do...and I know a couple other people who do).
I'm just saying maybe I need to reevaluate my position on the naivete issue. Because no matter where you are on your journey to mommy-hood, there is always a certain level deliberate ignorance. Maybe I need to lighten up on those who have never been (and hopefully never will) be in my shoes.
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Edited to add: Whoever said, "Fake it until you make it..." Doesn't that presume that you WILL make it? Is that a helpful coping mechanism for those who may never make it? Or does it make it worse with the feelings of failure, etc? Because I really think it made it worse for me.
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Edited to add: This conversation really has two points in time to consider. The decision to TTC again and the pregnancy stage. I think we're talking about two very different situations when we distinguish the two. When you're pregnant, you get through however you can. But when you're trying to conceive is when I think you should really face the issue head on. Ask yourself how you would deal with another loss.
For instance, right now, there is no way I could get pregnant again. Another loss would land me in the looney bin. I'm comfortable enough considering that and making the decision. A LOT of women I have talked to do not even think about it. They just think that getting pregnant again as soon as possible will magically "fix" everything. And that is dangerous, in my opinion.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
The saga of the broken clothes dryer
We had the laundry assembly line working full tilt on Saturday...until the clothes dryer refused to dry. In fact, it refused to turn at all. We knew it was getting electricity because the light still lit up so we guessed it was some sort of overheating (given the 90 degree weather we were having, the extra work from a week's worth of dirty laundry being run through, and the dog and cat hair of five years building up in the machine *blush*). We were right. Turns out the heating fuse blew because of all the lint and hair in that thing.
The repair man came out last night and I could have kissed him when he proclaimed that it was FIXED. I even tipped him $10 on a $95 bill that included labor already. I was so happy!
And then my happiness turned to despair. About an hour after the repair guy left, my husband came out of the kitchen (yes, our washer and dryer are in our kitchen...old farmhouse...you make do...a fact that will be corrected in our renovation project when we install a laundry room upstairs) and proclaimed, "It's not working."
I wanted to strangle him. What do you mean it's not working? The GUY said it was working! What did you DO to it? Oh, ok...I know it's not YOUR fault. But you'd better call HIM and get his ass back here to fix it! He SAID it was FIXED!
I'm afraid I became slightly hysterical. In my defense, my hysteria is somewhat justified in the clothes I currently have air drying on the backs of chairs throughout the house and the fact that I'm currently spending my nights wrapped under a Thomas the Tank Engine Comforter that is designed for a twin bed (ours is a king). Thank heavens we had decided to wash and dry a load of underwear early on Saturday...before the breakdown...so we're not running around commando. But still...
The lady at the repair shop said someone will come by tonight. She said it most likely just slipped the belt (since you can now hear the motor running, but the tub doesn't spin). But I'm not convinced I should let the guy get away until I at least get a dry load out of the thing.
Now I understand how people hatch those crazy plans to shackle someone in their basement.
The repair man came out last night and I could have kissed him when he proclaimed that it was FIXED. I even tipped him $10 on a $95 bill that included labor already. I was so happy!
And then my happiness turned to despair. About an hour after the repair guy left, my husband came out of the kitchen (yes, our washer and dryer are in our kitchen...old farmhouse...you make do...a fact that will be corrected in our renovation project when we install a laundry room upstairs) and proclaimed, "It's not working."
I wanted to strangle him. What do you mean it's not working? The GUY said it was working! What did you DO to it? Oh, ok...I know it's not YOUR fault. But you'd better call HIM and get his ass back here to fix it! He SAID it was FIXED!
I'm afraid I became slightly hysterical. In my defense, my hysteria is somewhat justified in the clothes I currently have air drying on the backs of chairs throughout the house and the fact that I'm currently spending my nights wrapped under a Thomas the Tank Engine Comforter that is designed for a twin bed (ours is a king). Thank heavens we had decided to wash and dry a load of underwear early on Saturday...before the breakdown...so we're not running around commando. But still...
The lady at the repair shop said someone will come by tonight. She said it most likely just slipped the belt (since you can now hear the motor running, but the tub doesn't spin). But I'm not convinced I should let the guy get away until I at least get a dry load out of the thing.
Now I understand how people hatch those crazy plans to shackle someone in their basement.
Soap
I don't know why I have a fascination with the topic of soap and handwashing, but I do. It's not like I'm a germ freak...though by all rights I should be at this point. lol But I once saw an Oprah show where she hid a camera in the bathroom and recorded her audience members before the show, timing them to see who actually washed their hands long enough to say that they were really clean. It disgusted me to see that the majority of people just don't wash their hands long enough to be effective. Can anyone say "GROSS"?
The tip that Oprah gave was to sing 'Happy Birthday' to yourself...it is exactly the right length of time to measure a hand-washing. I mentioned this on a message board once and will now forever be remembered for THAT little tidbit. Hey, I guess it's better than the girl with two dead babies, right? :o)
So recently, I've been trying to instill in my son that he needs to really lather his hands with soap to get them clean. And like any normal four-year-old, he asked me, "Why?" And I said, "Because it gets them clean." And then he threw me..."How?" Huh. I have no idea.
So now I share with all of you what I have discovered about how soap works and why we should lather really well in order to get our hands clean.
First let's take a look at how soap works on a chemical level. To make soap, you need to combine an acid and a base (or alkali). The acid is fat (fatty acids and triglycerides), and the base is sodium hydroxide (NaOH). The mixture causes the fatty acids to separate from the triglycerides and fuse with the hydroxide ions, forming a salt that we call "soap." Soap has two main functions:
* Decrease water's surface tension
* Bind to dirt, oil and bacteria
It can do these things because one part of the soap molecule is hydrophilic (water-binding) and the other is hydrophobic (water-repellent). The hydrophilic part allows the hydrophobic fatty acids to come into contact with other hydrophobic substances, such as the dirt on the surface that is being cleaned. When the grime adheres to the soap's fatty acids, it becomes encapsulated in droplets of water. Dirt, oil and bacteria are easily scrubbed off and washed away in this suspended state.
May that be my legacy...that I have educated the masses on WHY you need to use soap while singing Happy Birthday to yourselves when you wash your hands.
The tip that Oprah gave was to sing 'Happy Birthday' to yourself...it is exactly the right length of time to measure a hand-washing. I mentioned this on a message board once and will now forever be remembered for THAT little tidbit. Hey, I guess it's better than the girl with two dead babies, right? :o)
So recently, I've been trying to instill in my son that he needs to really lather his hands with soap to get them clean. And like any normal four-year-old, he asked me, "Why?" And I said, "Because it gets them clean." And then he threw me..."How?" Huh. I have no idea.
So now I share with all of you what I have discovered about how soap works and why we should lather really well in order to get our hands clean.
First let's take a look at how soap works on a chemical level. To make soap, you need to combine an acid and a base (or alkali). The acid is fat (fatty acids and triglycerides), and the base is sodium hydroxide (NaOH). The mixture causes the fatty acids to separate from the triglycerides and fuse with the hydroxide ions, forming a salt that we call "soap." Soap has two main functions:
* Decrease water's surface tension
* Bind to dirt, oil and bacteria
It can do these things because one part of the soap molecule is hydrophilic (water-binding) and the other is hydrophobic (water-repellent). The hydrophilic part allows the hydrophobic fatty acids to come into contact with other hydrophobic substances, such as the dirt on the surface that is being cleaned. When the grime adheres to the soap's fatty acids, it becomes encapsulated in droplets of water. Dirt, oil and bacteria are easily scrubbed off and washed away in this suspended state.
May that be my legacy...that I have educated the masses on WHY you need to use soap while singing Happy Birthday to yourselves when you wash your hands.
Naivete and bitterness
I have discovered something peculiar.
Women who experience one loss talk about how they have lost their naivete...how they now know they can lose a baby (while other women remain blind to that fact). They mock women who retreat into their safe place where nothing bad can touch them or their baby.
But try to talk to them about the possibility of losing a second baby and the majority (that I have encountered anyway) retreat into their own safe place where they dismiss it with, "I know that nothing can guarantee a positive outcome, and yes, we might have another baby die, but we felt better about TTC after this appt." They buy into the belief that if they just get pregnant again...if they just maintain control...then everything will be all right. They think like I did...that extra tests, or more monitoring, or a nicer doctor with a better bedside manner will make it turn out right. And THEY, the ones with that hard won knowledge of loss and grief, refuse to truly acknowledge the possibilities.
I'm frustrated by this. Mainly because I'm the freak that nobody wants around to remind them that the bad stuff CAN happen again. When they ask for opinions on trying again and I say, "How would you handle another loss?" they look at me as though I have stabbed them and they rarely answer the question. But partly because I do not understand this naivete. Why would you, when you have experienced the shock and horror of a previous unexpected loss, set yourself up emotionally like that? Why won't you go into it with your eyes open?
I know hope is a precious thing, and many women would love to hang onto it when all else fails. And that is fine. But this refusal by women who have suffered a loss to contemplate the worst is just as "bad" as those women who have never lost, who refuse to contemplate the worst. Why is it women have such a hard time learning from our own experiences? Why is it women have such a hard time accepting any insight from someone else's experiences? Fear? Insecurity? I don't get it.
Of course this comes from my own place...where I thought I could control a second pregnancy...where I bought the plan hook, line, and sinker...it shouldn't happen again if we're just extra cautious. Yeah, well, he was right, it didn't happen again...something ELSE happened. And I was blind to that possibility because I NEEDED to feel something other than the fear. That in and of itself isn't bad. But believing to the exclusion of all fear...that made the fall twice as bad as it needed to be. And for what? A few weeks of an illusion of control? I'm a fool for not preparing. I should have really contemplated it ALL.
When someone asks me about trying to conceive after a loss...when is it right?...I just say, "How would you handle another loss? Would you survive it emotionally?" It doesn't make me the life of the party...but it's a hell of a lot better than, "You'll know what's right for you." Because most of the time, we don't know what's right for us. Most of the time we're believing a delusion.
Women who experience one loss talk about how they have lost their naivete...how they now know they can lose a baby (while other women remain blind to that fact). They mock women who retreat into their safe place where nothing bad can touch them or their baby.
But try to talk to them about the possibility of losing a second baby and the majority (that I have encountered anyway) retreat into their own safe place where they dismiss it with, "I know that nothing can guarantee a positive outcome, and yes, we might have another baby die, but we felt better about TTC after this appt." They buy into the belief that if they just get pregnant again...if they just maintain control...then everything will be all right. They think like I did...that extra tests, or more monitoring, or a nicer doctor with a better bedside manner will make it turn out right. And THEY, the ones with that hard won knowledge of loss and grief, refuse to truly acknowledge the possibilities.
I'm frustrated by this. Mainly because I'm the freak that nobody wants around to remind them that the bad stuff CAN happen again. When they ask for opinions on trying again and I say, "How would you handle another loss?" they look at me as though I have stabbed them and they rarely answer the question. But partly because I do not understand this naivete. Why would you, when you have experienced the shock and horror of a previous unexpected loss, set yourself up emotionally like that? Why won't you go into it with your eyes open?
I know hope is a precious thing, and many women would love to hang onto it when all else fails. And that is fine. But this refusal by women who have suffered a loss to contemplate the worst is just as "bad" as those women who have never lost, who refuse to contemplate the worst. Why is it women have such a hard time learning from our own experiences? Why is it women have such a hard time accepting any insight from someone else's experiences? Fear? Insecurity? I don't get it.
Of course this comes from my own place...where I thought I could control a second pregnancy...where I bought the plan hook, line, and sinker...it shouldn't happen again if we're just extra cautious. Yeah, well, he was right, it didn't happen again...something ELSE happened. And I was blind to that possibility because I NEEDED to feel something other than the fear. That in and of itself isn't bad. But believing to the exclusion of all fear...that made the fall twice as bad as it needed to be. And for what? A few weeks of an illusion of control? I'm a fool for not preparing. I should have really contemplated it ALL.
When someone asks me about trying to conceive after a loss...when is it right?...I just say, "How would you handle another loss? Would you survive it emotionally?" It doesn't make me the life of the party...but it's a hell of a lot better than, "You'll know what's right for you." Because most of the time, we don't know what's right for us. Most of the time we're believing a delusion.
Attention knitters!
Visit the RedCross.org store for a vintage Knit Kit. During the Second World War, tireless knitters from shore to shore took up their needles to make millions of socks, caps, and sweaters for soldiers and prisoners of war. The American Red Cross has reissued our original World War II Serviceman's Socks knitting pattern and have included it - with yarn and needles - in this special collectors' tin.
How cool is that?!?!
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