A bowel obstruction.
That's what we are told my mother in law has. She's in ICU...in a haze of foggy morphine induced stupor after a successful surgery for...a bowel obstruction. She's developed an infection, and that's not so good, though the surgery went well. She won't have a colostomy bag....and that is good news. She's recovering...and that's good too.
However...she happens to be in a relationship with a man that is, for lack of more appropriate words, crazy. Oh yes...he's from the same "background", which makes him acceptable to her...but, the guy is certifiable. Literally. He's bi-polar, and has brain damage. He may come from the country club arena she is so committed to, but...he's a homeless ex-hippie guy. So why does this matter to me at all? In general, it's none of my beezwax. I could care less. I don't have to deal with him, and if she likes her homeless boyfriend who lives off trust funds and friends in between bouts of irritable mania...more power to her. But, it matters to me when he calls my home and starts trashing my husband because he can't just pick up and leave to take care of his mother (who is going to be fine.). This homeless crazy guy seems to think that my husband, who spends his days counseling the poor, the abused, the sexually violated and the mentally ill, and then comes home to nurture and care for four little boys and his pregnant wife, is somehow...negligent in his duties because he doesn't say "screw it all! I have to leave my life and take care of my mom....to hell with the fact that I have a mortgage to pay and children to feed."
Now, in a more comfortable world, my husband would have unlimited paid vacation time...like a homeless guy who has a cozy trust fund...but, he doesn't, and we don't, and it isn't AND, his mother isn't dying. She simply had bowel surgery for an obstruction.
I don't like it when mentally ill a**wipes interfere with my families hard fought for harmony. We struggle every day to maintain peace and joy in a world that seems very unstable. We grope for calm as we endure pregnancy while knowing that it could end any day...that we could lose our little girl, for no reason. We strive for love as we watch the world fight and kill our earthly brothers and sisters. We pray for hope as we deal with an eldest son who ALSO struggles with mental illness and brain injury.
We don't need this. We don't have the energy for it. And yet...it is like a relentless waterfall of drama.
My 12 year old broke his wrist. I spent all afternoon in a clinic to find that out. Tomorrow we get to spend all day getting it in a cast. I spent the morning sobbing in my midwifes office about my anxiety and stress levels and fears. She loaned me a doppler so I can hear my ever elusive baby's heartbeat while she hides sweetly behind an anterior placenta that prevents me from being able to feel her. My husband spent his day caring for his clients and listening to their pain, trying to find ways to help and comfort the broken hearts placed before him. I spent the evening driving kids to Aikido and band practice and then, I made an amazing Thai meal of bison panang. All this BEFORE the phone call that stole my evening with my husband away with the transformation of chaos into the attempted peace we were striving for in spite of a crazy day.
This man, my mother in law's boyfriend, friend...whatever he is......he had the gall to tell my husband that he is a failure because the book he wrote that was published and released in the same week that our twins DIED...has not done better. He mocked it and spit on the love that carefully tended to each and every word. It didn't do better because we had nothing to give in the way of promotion as we dealt with broken hearts and shattered dreams. The book is wonderful. The timing sucked. I still believe in that book, by the way. It's beautiful. I pray that one day, someone will read it and give it to someone else, who will give it to someone else, who will give it to someone else......etc. It's worth reading.
It broke my husbands heart to be so trashed about something so precious to him. His book. Losing his babies. But to be seen as "a failure" in the eyes of a man who has done little more than pamper his own whims...well that was enraging.
Mental illness. Personality disorders. Brain injury. Abuse. Trauma. Selfishness.
WHY?
My husband took my hand after that phone call and said..."Sara, I know we wanted to spend time together, but I don't want to rage all night...I need to play the drums. I need to go out and hit something I'm allowed to hit. I need to play the drums."
And...I understood...and kissed him goodbye.
My husband doesn't drink his pain away. He ROCKS it away. With rhythm and soul. With passion and heart. Tonight, people will dance to his impromptu beat, and he will come home in the wee hours of morning, exhausted...and cleansed. I know he knows how to heal...he knows what he needs....and when I go outside later on to throw a ball for my sweet Fur-friend...I will ask the stars to keep him safe in the night. To bring him home to me. Safely. Healed.
I'll also be sending healing thoughts to my mother in law. A woman whose bowel obstruction ironically mimics her interpersonal constipation. I don't say that to be mean...I just notice it. I'll be sending prayers for clarity to her manic boyfriend...may he see the truth and stop abusing people in an effort to control others while trying to evade a need for control in his own life. I'll be sending hope to my eldest son...may he remember how much he is loved and stop pushing away the source of that love. I'll be sending warmth to my sleeping boys, may they always be the best of friends...and to their little sister...in the hopes that she will grace our home with her laughter and joy...and to my twins...who I will love forever. Sending peace to the world....may we all remember we are not separate. May we all remember we are star-dust. Together.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
A review for "Time 4 Learning"...Thumbs UP!
Hello everyone...
With a little less serious topic today, I am pleased to be reviewing an online program for home-school kids as well as kids who may enjoy a little extra tutoring in one subject or another. At www.Time4learning.com, I have discovered a home-schooling mom's best helper ever! As many of you know, I'm someone who does NOT enjoy math. In any form. I'm adept in most other subjects, but, math is my nemesis. However, my kids do not share my wanton disability in the area of numbers. They even LIKE them. Thus, in home-school, I am a bit challenged to not pass on my dislike for a subject that I genuinely want them to like, be able to do...and enjoy. I have found that no matter how much I may not like numbers, they are one of the major hoops life requires one to jump through...and I don't want my kiddos to suffer as I have.
So, I started looking. And looking. We've bought workbooks, paid tutors, and had my husband who is a full time plus therapist, an artist, an author and a musician, teach them the skill he is more adept at. All of that was helpful, and with the love of numbers in the forefront, they have been thriving....
And then, my youngest decided reading wasn't fun. Oh yes, we read, but...not with enthusiasm. This was new to me. We are readers. But, this little guy seemed to think in some part of his mind that reading was something "everyone else" could do better. This is because he sees his teen brothers reading Shakespere, The Most Dangerous Game and Whitman. He sees his other brothers reading Harry Potter, Redwall and a miriad of other fun books...and he has to wait if he wants anyone to read something more complicated to him. And, I think part of him believed that maybe, he would never really be as good as his brothers were...at everything.
With love and concern in my heart, wishing to find something more engaging for my little Bear, I stumbled across an amazing site called "Time4Learning". I was a bit dubious at first. My experience with on line tutorials has not been anything noteworthy. But, Time4Learning was different. Fun graphics, cool games, and ALL of them really informative, helpful and educational in a way that isn't "cheatable". You parents know what I'm talking about when I say "cheatable". You go to the store, you buy a computer "game" that is supposed to teach your kids something...and then, you discover that it is more fun for your kids to outwit the computer than to actually learn, and the game lets them do this, because it really isn't a learning tool...it's a game. In reality, the only thing being outwitted is the parent who spent his or her money on the stupid "tutorial". With Time4Learning, I found my children working out problems...as it was the only way to really solve them! I found my little Bear really sounding things out, instead of just memorizing. He was engaged and happy. He was LEARNING...and he was having a great time doing it.
That is the most impressive part for me...because my children have a Wii, a Playstation, an I-pod touch and...a life! They have very engaging media enticing them every day...media which I have to deny them as often as a good parent should. But, instead of asking if they could play the Wii, Playstation or I-pod touch...they were asking if they could do MORE homework on the computer with Time4Learning!!!
This mama is pleased.
However, all the glowing aside, there are a few minor things to consider as well. I wouldn't call them down sides, but rather, just considerations any parent will have to look at. There is the cost.
The monthly membership is $19.95 for the first child and $14.95 for each additional child, with nothing else to buy.
The monthly membership is really affordable all in all, but, for a large family like mine, it is a dent in our income that I wouldn't be willing to do unless I felt it was REALLY worth it (and...it is for us!!) Each child has his own account and grade level which he is working with. With an abundance of math, algebra, reading, spelling, science, social studies and MORE, including over 1000 interactive games and a self paced flow, it's a great buy for any parent of a pre-K to 8th grader.
The only thing my children complained about was that they can not seem to save work in the middle of a lesson, so if I (as a freelance writer) NEED the computer right away, they will lose what they are working on...and if it's a harder subject, that is a problem for them to have to start over again. With workbooks, you can stop on any problem or page, and you don't loose your work. We've started having them enter answers on a piece of paper in order to allow them to just enter them at the end, thus avoiding some frustration. And, if I'm thinking straight *not always possible* I will just "switch users" and they can get back to it a little later in the day.
All in all, I highly recommend Time4Learning to any parent wishing for a little help with their kids educational enthusiasm and ability. I can look back on what my kiddos are doing in the handy chart area for parents which gives scores for lessons and tells me which areas they need help in, as well as which ones they are thriving in. I have seen math fluency go up in just one month, spelling has improved, reading has blossomed into something that is enjoyed, and other subjects, such as social studies, language and science are just cake! My kids are still using their workbooks, but I've noticed more enthusiasm for getting them done so they will have MORE time at Time 4 Learning . Silly boys...they sure do love learning...especially when it's FUN!!!!
With a little less serious topic today, I am pleased to be reviewing an online program for home-school kids as well as kids who may enjoy a little extra tutoring in one subject or another. At www.Time4learning.com, I have discovered a home-schooling mom's best helper ever! As many of you know, I'm someone who does NOT enjoy math. In any form. I'm adept in most other subjects, but, math is my nemesis. However, my kids do not share my wanton disability in the area of numbers. They even LIKE them. Thus, in home-school, I am a bit challenged to not pass on my dislike for a subject that I genuinely want them to like, be able to do...and enjoy. I have found that no matter how much I may not like numbers, they are one of the major hoops life requires one to jump through...and I don't want my kiddos to suffer as I have.
So, I started looking. And looking. We've bought workbooks, paid tutors, and had my husband who is a full time plus therapist, an artist, an author and a musician, teach them the skill he is more adept at. All of that was helpful, and with the love of numbers in the forefront, they have been thriving....
And then, my youngest decided reading wasn't fun. Oh yes, we read, but...not with enthusiasm. This was new to me. We are readers. But, this little guy seemed to think in some part of his mind that reading was something "everyone else" could do better. This is because he sees his teen brothers reading Shakespere, The Most Dangerous Game and Whitman. He sees his other brothers reading Harry Potter, Redwall and a miriad of other fun books...and he has to wait if he wants anyone to read something more complicated to him. And, I think part of him believed that maybe, he would never really be as good as his brothers were...at everything.
With love and concern in my heart, wishing to find something more engaging for my little Bear, I stumbled across an amazing site called "Time4Learning". I was a bit dubious at first. My experience with on line tutorials has not been anything noteworthy. But, Time4Learning was different. Fun graphics, cool games, and ALL of them really informative, helpful and educational in a way that isn't "cheatable". You parents know what I'm talking about when I say "cheatable". You go to the store, you buy a computer "game" that is supposed to teach your kids something...and then, you discover that it is more fun for your kids to outwit the computer than to actually learn, and the game lets them do this, because it really isn't a learning tool...it's a game. In reality, the only thing being outwitted is the parent who spent his or her money on the stupid "tutorial". With Time4Learning, I found my children working out problems...as it was the only way to really solve them! I found my little Bear really sounding things out, instead of just memorizing. He was engaged and happy. He was LEARNING...and he was having a great time doing it.
That is the most impressive part for me...because my children have a Wii, a Playstation, an I-pod touch and...a life! They have very engaging media enticing them every day...media which I have to deny them as often as a good parent should. But, instead of asking if they could play the Wii, Playstation or I-pod touch...they were asking if they could do MORE homework on the computer with Time4Learning!!!
This mama is pleased.
However, all the glowing aside, there are a few minor things to consider as well. I wouldn't call them down sides, but rather, just considerations any parent will have to look at. There is the cost.
The monthly membership is $19.95 for the first child and $14.95 for each additional child, with nothing else to buy.
The monthly membership is really affordable all in all, but, for a large family like mine, it is a dent in our income that I wouldn't be willing to do unless I felt it was REALLY worth it (and...it is for us!!) Each child has his own account and grade level which he is working with. With an abundance of math, algebra, reading, spelling, science, social studies and MORE, including over 1000 interactive games and a self paced flow, it's a great buy for any parent of a pre-K to 8th grader.
The only thing my children complained about was that they can not seem to save work in the middle of a lesson, so if I (as a freelance writer) NEED the computer right away, they will lose what they are working on...and if it's a harder subject, that is a problem for them to have to start over again. With workbooks, you can stop on any problem or page, and you don't loose your work. We've started having them enter answers on a piece of paper in order to allow them to just enter them at the end, thus avoiding some frustration. And, if I'm thinking straight *not always possible* I will just "switch users" and they can get back to it a little later in the day.
All in all, I highly recommend Time4Learning to any parent wishing for a little help with their kids educational enthusiasm and ability. I can look back on what my kiddos are doing in the handy chart area for parents which gives scores for lessons and tells me which areas they need help in, as well as which ones they are thriving in. I have seen math fluency go up in just one month, spelling has improved, reading has blossomed into something that is enjoyed, and other subjects, such as social studies, language and science are just cake! My kids are still using their workbooks, but I've noticed more enthusiasm for getting them done so they will have MORE time at Time 4 Learning . Silly boys...they sure do love learning...especially when it's FUN!!!!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
I think my brain has melted!!!!!!!
Yes. You heard me right. My brain has melted.
It happened yesterday at my midwife appointment.
I don't know my midwife very well. I switched to her because my home birth midwife was less than....uh...wonderful...when we lost Simon and Alexander. She wanted me to "buck up" after only 2 weeks. That was 3 weeks before we even knew about our twin. You know...the one that was rotting inside me. I suppose I could have been more stoic. Braver. I could have, I suppose, stuffed my feelings deep inside and took on the song "Don't Cry Out Loud" as my mantra for life at that moment.
But...I didn't. I sobbed. I wailed. I could barely move. I was....to be mild about it...devastated. And that was BEFORE I knew I had had twins.
She couldn't handle it. She wanted me to get on with my life...to be grateful for all that I have. And...in addition, when my husband tried to explain grief to her from a therapist's point of view, she looked at him steadily and said "Ty, I'd like to give you some honest feedback. You talk too much."
Wow.
So...the woman that attended 3 of my five living births and the stillbirth of my twins....will not be attending this baby's birth.
However...I'm too chicken to have another home birth. Not because I think it's dangerous. No...it's because of the fact that I live in a small city. The midwives are all friends. There is no way to choose another midwife without hurting my old midwifes feelings deeply. And though I do NOT want her at another birth....I don't want to hurt her either. Even if I could "get over" how off I feel she was after our loss, I couldn't ever step foot in her home for a prenatal appointment. I couldn't ever do that. Not after....no. Not after all that went on.
So, I am planning on a birth center birth. With a Nurse Midwife. I like the center well enough. I am especially keen on the big birthing spa. I've always wanted a water birth. But.....Nurse Midwives are a little more...medical...than I am comfortable with. They do things....by the book.
The question is: Who writes the book?
I expect some differences. I do. But...when she told me that if my baby was "too big" as in over 10 pounds that I'd be having a hospital birth....I wanted to scream. Why? Because I have had babies that were about 10 pounds...and one who was almost 11. And....it took about 2-3 pushes to get them out. No big deal. I have a wide pelvis. The practically FALL out once they are in position.
I told her this. I told her that it seemed to me that it would make sense to worry about a woman who had an unproven ability to deliver a large baby. It did NOT make sense to worry about ME having a large baby. I've done it multiple times. Easily.
My husband, ever the supportive man, went off on a tangent about unrealistic expectations in our culture wherein woman are penalized for being fuller even when there is no risk involved. He loves me. And my body. He loves our big healthy babies. He did not like that she was suggesting a change in my meticulously healthy diet in favor of slowing my weight gain, and creating a smaller baby. He didn't like it one bit. He called it Bariatrisism: his word for discrimination of larger people.
My husband is a very slender, fit, tall, handsome man. He loves his short, fit, plump wife. He feels very protective of me. I felt loved....but also concerned.
I won't have my baby in the hospital unless it is a real EMERGENCY. I have not had positive experiences in hospitals. They are places of death and scary snap second choices. Places where they do things I have asked them NOT to do...like give me morphine, which I am deathly allergic to. I have counseled numerous women to birth where they feel safe. I don't feel safe in hospitals. At all.
My options? Ignore her completely and continue eating healthy foods and hiking every single day, risking that this baby, like my others...will be BIG. Too big to be allowed in the birth center. OR....cut out fruit and grains and dairy.....and live on meat and veggies to cut back on my carbs and live like a diabetic even though my sugar testing is perfect. I am completely healthy in every way. But...I'm overweight. I am more active than my skinny friends. But...I gain about 60 pounds in pregnancy, no matter what I do. I am completely aware of my dietary intake and it's caloric content. But...I have large healthy babies. Babies that I have no problem pushing OUT when it is time. I have never torn. ever. It's really not a problem. For me.
So that's an issue. It made my husband and I uncomfortable to be handed this information. We felt...monitored. We are already both completely anxious about the possibility of this baby dying too. We don't want our birth "stolen" from us again.
But, none of that is why my brain is melting.
No. My brain is melting for another reason all together.
My brain is melting because....
Our midwife did an ultrasound. And.....(drum roll please!!)
We
are
having
a
......................G I R L !!!!!!!!!!!
Every part of my being is in total SHOCK.
A girl? Are you sure? How? What? OH MY GOD!!!!
I have given birth to 7 boys. 5 of whom are alive. I have spent my life protecting my sons from the assumptions that our culture has about boys. I have spent my life joyfully nurturing the gentle tenderness that is a little boy. And now.....
A girl.
A girl who has a different set of assumptions already ahead. "Girls are hard" "Girls are manipulative" "Girls are emotional" "Girls are a problem as teens" "Girls are catty" "Girls are more expensive" "Girls are : fill in the blank."
I am having a daughter. Unless life steals her from me. I am having a daughter. A young woman who will grow and blossom with 5 living older brothers to keep her in line.
The myths about boys have not been true for my sons.
I don't believe they will be true for my daughter either. I have a new mission. To protect her from our cultural assumptions of what a girl "is".
But...for now...my brain is melting.
With Joy!
It happened yesterday at my midwife appointment.
I don't know my midwife very well. I switched to her because my home birth midwife was less than....uh...wonderful...when we lost Simon and Alexander. She wanted me to "buck up" after only 2 weeks. That was 3 weeks before we even knew about our twin. You know...the one that was rotting inside me. I suppose I could have been more stoic. Braver. I could have, I suppose, stuffed my feelings deep inside and took on the song "Don't Cry Out Loud" as my mantra for life at that moment.
But...I didn't. I sobbed. I wailed. I could barely move. I was....to be mild about it...devastated. And that was BEFORE I knew I had had twins.
She couldn't handle it. She wanted me to get on with my life...to be grateful for all that I have. And...in addition, when my husband tried to explain grief to her from a therapist's point of view, she looked at him steadily and said "Ty, I'd like to give you some honest feedback. You talk too much."
Wow.
So...the woman that attended 3 of my five living births and the stillbirth of my twins....will not be attending this baby's birth.
However...I'm too chicken to have another home birth. Not because I think it's dangerous. No...it's because of the fact that I live in a small city. The midwives are all friends. There is no way to choose another midwife without hurting my old midwifes feelings deeply. And though I do NOT want her at another birth....I don't want to hurt her either. Even if I could "get over" how off I feel she was after our loss, I couldn't ever step foot in her home for a prenatal appointment. I couldn't ever do that. Not after....no. Not after all that went on.
So, I am planning on a birth center birth. With a Nurse Midwife. I like the center well enough. I am especially keen on the big birthing spa. I've always wanted a water birth. But.....Nurse Midwives are a little more...medical...than I am comfortable with. They do things....by the book.
The question is: Who writes the book?
I expect some differences. I do. But...when she told me that if my baby was "too big" as in over 10 pounds that I'd be having a hospital birth....I wanted to scream. Why? Because I have had babies that were about 10 pounds...and one who was almost 11. And....it took about 2-3 pushes to get them out. No big deal. I have a wide pelvis. The practically FALL out once they are in position.
I told her this. I told her that it seemed to me that it would make sense to worry about a woman who had an unproven ability to deliver a large baby. It did NOT make sense to worry about ME having a large baby. I've done it multiple times. Easily.
My husband, ever the supportive man, went off on a tangent about unrealistic expectations in our culture wherein woman are penalized for being fuller even when there is no risk involved. He loves me. And my body. He loves our big healthy babies. He did not like that she was suggesting a change in my meticulously healthy diet in favor of slowing my weight gain, and creating a smaller baby. He didn't like it one bit. He called it Bariatrisism: his word for discrimination of larger people.
My husband is a very slender, fit, tall, handsome man. He loves his short, fit, plump wife. He feels very protective of me. I felt loved....but also concerned.
I won't have my baby in the hospital unless it is a real EMERGENCY. I have not had positive experiences in hospitals. They are places of death and scary snap second choices. Places where they do things I have asked them NOT to do...like give me morphine, which I am deathly allergic to. I have counseled numerous women to birth where they feel safe. I don't feel safe in hospitals. At all.
My options? Ignore her completely and continue eating healthy foods and hiking every single day, risking that this baby, like my others...will be BIG. Too big to be allowed in the birth center. OR....cut out fruit and grains and dairy.....and live on meat and veggies to cut back on my carbs and live like a diabetic even though my sugar testing is perfect. I am completely healthy in every way. But...I'm overweight. I am more active than my skinny friends. But...I gain about 60 pounds in pregnancy, no matter what I do. I am completely aware of my dietary intake and it's caloric content. But...I have large healthy babies. Babies that I have no problem pushing OUT when it is time. I have never torn. ever. It's really not a problem. For me.
So that's an issue. It made my husband and I uncomfortable to be handed this information. We felt...monitored. We are already both completely anxious about the possibility of this baby dying too. We don't want our birth "stolen" from us again.
But, none of that is why my brain is melting.
No. My brain is melting for another reason all together.
My brain is melting because....
Our midwife did an ultrasound. And.....(drum roll please!!)
We
are
having
a
......................G I R L !!!!!!!!!!!
Every part of my being is in total SHOCK.
A girl? Are you sure? How? What? OH MY GOD!!!!
I have given birth to 7 boys. 5 of whom are alive. I have spent my life protecting my sons from the assumptions that our culture has about boys. I have spent my life joyfully nurturing the gentle tenderness that is a little boy. And now.....
A girl.
A girl who has a different set of assumptions already ahead. "Girls are hard" "Girls are manipulative" "Girls are emotional" "Girls are a problem as teens" "Girls are catty" "Girls are more expensive" "Girls are : fill in the blank."
I am having a daughter. Unless life steals her from me. I am having a daughter. A young woman who will grow and blossom with 5 living older brothers to keep her in line.
The myths about boys have not been true for my sons.
I don't believe they will be true for my daughter either. I have a new mission. To protect her from our cultural assumptions of what a girl "is".
But...for now...my brain is melting.
With Joy!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
A Sunny Day...A Sunny Feeling.
It's lovely out. Big blue Montana sky. The color of a robins egg. I can hear my boys on the trampoline...a sure sign that the weather is good and the snow has dissipated enough to let them jump. I can hear the dogs wrestling outside happily. I even hear birds....I can hear ALL of this, because my windows are open!! Spring. I love Spring.
I am particularly chipper this morning. Unusually so.
There is something about feeling my baby move inside that brightens my heart.
It seemed like it would never happen. In all my years of mothering, I have to say I've never had to wait so long before feeling my babies move. But...he or she is in there. And, today, I feel that without doubt. It was about 3 minutes of blissful movement in the wee hours of morning, when I was debating on whether I really wanted to wake up or not. The movement decided. I was awake....but....blissfully still. Just feeling. Life.
I have a midwife appointment today. The first one I've been happy about. I know there is life inside. I know she'll hear a heart beat. I know....because....I felt it. Only hours ago.
I'm greedy for it though. It was this morning...and now it's 2:00. I can't wait to feel that little person again. I literally can't wait.
Today is a happy day. I struggle daily to find positivity. I am not always successful. Let's be honest. I am usually only successful for moments at a time. If I'm lucky.
But...I've been happy all day. Beautiful weather indicates I will soon be able to turn my garden. Or....again, let's be honest....have my sons and husband turn my garden. heh heh. My fuzzi bunz cloth diapers arrived. The woman included a teddy bear that has "my first bear" monogrammed on the tummy, and a lovely blanket of cream and taupe. A blanket to wrap my baby in. MY baby. Who WILL be coming home!!!! (notice the emphatic demand?) And....beautiful movement. From my Happy Jack (or Venus). (notice the assumption that a woman who has had 7 sons, 5 of whom are living beautifully, assumes she will have another son.)
It is a beautiful day...and I will walk down the hill a few miles to my midwifes birth center around 5:00.
It is a beautiful day...and I want to keep it that way.
Beggers can't be choosers....but....my nerves are really enjoying a little break from the pain of fear, loss, and grief.
Hoping you are all having beautiful moments where you are as well. It helps to know these moments can exist after the blackness.
I am particularly chipper this morning. Unusually so.
There is something about feeling my baby move inside that brightens my heart.
It seemed like it would never happen. In all my years of mothering, I have to say I've never had to wait so long before feeling my babies move. But...he or she is in there. And, today, I feel that without doubt. It was about 3 minutes of blissful movement in the wee hours of morning, when I was debating on whether I really wanted to wake up or not. The movement decided. I was awake....but....blissfully still. Just feeling. Life.
I have a midwife appointment today. The first one I've been happy about. I know there is life inside. I know she'll hear a heart beat. I know....because....I felt it. Only hours ago.
I'm greedy for it though. It was this morning...and now it's 2:00. I can't wait to feel that little person again. I literally can't wait.
Today is a happy day. I struggle daily to find positivity. I am not always successful. Let's be honest. I am usually only successful for moments at a time. If I'm lucky.
But...I've been happy all day. Beautiful weather indicates I will soon be able to turn my garden. Or....again, let's be honest....have my sons and husband turn my garden. heh heh. My fuzzi bunz cloth diapers arrived. The woman included a teddy bear that has "my first bear" monogrammed on the tummy, and a lovely blanket of cream and taupe. A blanket to wrap my baby in. MY baby. Who WILL be coming home!!!! (notice the emphatic demand?) And....beautiful movement. From my Happy Jack (or Venus). (notice the assumption that a woman who has had 7 sons, 5 of whom are living beautifully, assumes she will have another son.)
It is a beautiful day...and I will walk down the hill a few miles to my midwifes birth center around 5:00.
It is a beautiful day...and I want to keep it that way.
Beggers can't be choosers....but....my nerves are really enjoying a little break from the pain of fear, loss, and grief.
Hoping you are all having beautiful moments where you are as well. It helps to know these moments can exist after the blackness.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Feeling Rather Blue for Some Reason...
Well...maybe blue isn't the right color. How about gray?
I know I should be happy. My baby is alive.
I know I should be grateful. My baby is alive.
I know I should be calm. My baby is alive.
I know I shouldn't worry. My baby is alive.
My baby is alive.
Right now.
As far as I know.
If you can't handle the idea that babies sometimes don't make it home...spare yourself...don't read any more. I'm sorry...I just needed to vent my...whatever it is.
I remember a person who believed in birth. A woman who believed in the natural, living, process of birth. A strong woman, who even taught other women, that they could do it. And I BELIEVED it. With all my heart. Yes...I was always cautious in the first trimester. I'd had miscarriages...so I knew that phase was...untrustworthy. I knew not all babies were viable in the first trimester. Viable...isn't that a nice, neat, scientific word???
But then...I lost Simon and Alexander. Stillbirth. So unexpected. So....pointless. Nothing wrong...just loss. Something that was from memoirs of our great grandmothers. Something that happened in third world countries. Not to my sisters. Not to me.
Suddenly, all the "it was meant to be's" of early miscarriage were....wrong.
There was nothing wrong with them. They just died. And left me here on earth without them to find my way through loss without reason.
I'm pregnant. And nothing is wrong. I should be laughing with ecstatic joy!!! Sometimes I do...
But this evening, I have a lump in my throat. And I'm having a hard time meditating that lump away. I'm having a hard time distracting myself from the fact that I never know from one appointment to the next what is going on inside of me...because I still can't FEEL any movement. It's driving me crazy. I can't feel him or her. I look pregnant. MIGHTY pregnant. I look about 6 or 7 months of pregnant though I'm 17 weeks, into the second trimester with a rainbow star baby who is, supposedly, the size of a turnip...but I can't feel anything. I can't even hear anything with my feta-scope. So, I have another official appointment on Wednesday, and I've been in EVERY week this month (for unofficial panic visits) ...just to hear it again. Just to check. Just to make sure....
I won a baby sling today. A beautiful designer sewfunky baby sling. Check out their site...these slings are truly lovely.
And I won.
I want to believe I won because I have a rainbow baby on the way that will NEED it. I want to believe in this baby. I want this baby with all my being. For me. For my husband. For our sons. For the healing he or she will bring. For the love she or he will add to our lives. I've been lovingly told that it's good luck to buy things for your rainbow baby.
I don't want any more loss.
I want to push it out of my mind and be the happy, confident person I used to be. I want a person like I used to be to hold me and tell me that I don't have to worry...because birth works. Most of the time.
MOST of the time. MOST of the time everything is perfectly fine.
I want it to be perfectly fine again and I want to forget that it has ever been otherwise.
I want innocence. Confidence. Hope. Joy. Expectation. The ability to plan and nest and be HAPPY. The ability to feel lucky and truly blessed!!
I just want to be happy. Really, truly happy. The kind of happy I used to be.
This baby deserves a happy mama. My family deserves a happy mama.
I wish I could win an unbroken heart in a contest. Boy...that would be a gift.
A miracle.
Hey...mama's who have been in this place....how did you cope? How did you make it through all the worry and fear and....tears? How did you do this? I wish I knew HOW...but this is really new for me. I don't know the answers. For anyone who knows me, I am not someone who likes not knowing the answers. Please help me. I need some coping skills that I don't seem to possess. How did you do it? How did you believe again?
I know I should be happy. My baby is alive.
I know I should be grateful. My baby is alive.
I know I should be calm. My baby is alive.
I know I shouldn't worry. My baby is alive.
My baby is alive.
Right now.
As far as I know.
If you can't handle the idea that babies sometimes don't make it home...spare yourself...don't read any more. I'm sorry...I just needed to vent my...whatever it is.
I remember a person who believed in birth. A woman who believed in the natural, living, process of birth. A strong woman, who even taught other women, that they could do it. And I BELIEVED it. With all my heart. Yes...I was always cautious in the first trimester. I'd had miscarriages...so I knew that phase was...untrustworthy. I knew not all babies were viable in the first trimester. Viable...isn't that a nice, neat, scientific word???
But then...I lost Simon and Alexander. Stillbirth. So unexpected. So....pointless. Nothing wrong...just loss. Something that was from memoirs of our great grandmothers. Something that happened in third world countries. Not to my sisters. Not to me.
Suddenly, all the "it was meant to be's" of early miscarriage were....wrong.
There was nothing wrong with them. They just died. And left me here on earth without them to find my way through loss without reason.
I'm pregnant. And nothing is wrong. I should be laughing with ecstatic joy!!! Sometimes I do...
But this evening, I have a lump in my throat. And I'm having a hard time meditating that lump away. I'm having a hard time distracting myself from the fact that I never know from one appointment to the next what is going on inside of me...because I still can't FEEL any movement. It's driving me crazy. I can't feel him or her. I look pregnant. MIGHTY pregnant. I look about 6 or 7 months of pregnant though I'm 17 weeks, into the second trimester with a rainbow star baby who is, supposedly, the size of a turnip...but I can't feel anything. I can't even hear anything with my feta-scope. So, I have another official appointment on Wednesday, and I've been in EVERY week this month (for unofficial panic visits) ...just to hear it again. Just to check. Just to make sure....
I won a baby sling today. A beautiful designer sewfunky baby sling. Check out their site...these slings are truly lovely.
And I won.
I want to believe I won because I have a rainbow baby on the way that will NEED it. I want to believe in this baby. I want this baby with all my being. For me. For my husband. For our sons. For the healing he or she will bring. For the love she or he will add to our lives. I've been lovingly told that it's good luck to buy things for your rainbow baby.
I don't want any more loss.
I want to push it out of my mind and be the happy, confident person I used to be. I want a person like I used to be to hold me and tell me that I don't have to worry...because birth works. Most of the time.
MOST of the time. MOST of the time everything is perfectly fine.
I want it to be perfectly fine again and I want to forget that it has ever been otherwise.
I want innocence. Confidence. Hope. Joy. Expectation. The ability to plan and nest and be HAPPY. The ability to feel lucky and truly blessed!!
I just want to be happy. Really, truly happy. The kind of happy I used to be.
This baby deserves a happy mama. My family deserves a happy mama.
I wish I could win an unbroken heart in a contest. Boy...that would be a gift.
A miracle.
Hey...mama's who have been in this place....how did you cope? How did you make it through all the worry and fear and....tears? How did you do this? I wish I knew HOW...but this is really new for me. I don't know the answers. For anyone who knows me, I am not someone who likes not knowing the answers. Please help me. I need some coping skills that I don't seem to possess. How did you do it? How did you believe again?
Monday, March 14, 2011
Testing the Fates...
I just won on a bid I placed on E-bay. I just won on a bid. I know that doesn't sound like a big deal...but...
It is.
It is a really big deal. For me.
It's a big deal because...well...it was for a brand new lot of 24 all in one, one size fits 0 to 3 years, cream colored Fuzzi Bunz diapers. For $305. Over $100 less than it would cost to buy 24 of this type of diaper...
Now, in my fantasy, I would have gotten to pick a rainbow assortment of diapers. I had budgeted for 18 of this diaper...and that was pushing it a bit. But, when I saw the lot of 24 new ones, I had to admit that it could be a real bargain, even if they were "cream" instead of rainbow. So...I bid.
Honestly...it's not that it's a big deal when you really think of it....but...it IS a big deal to me because...because I know that I might have just wasted my families money. $305 dollars is a lot for us. Especially if there is no baby in the end.
I emailed the seller...because I was curious about why she would be selling so many brand new amazing all in one fuzzi bunz (can you tell I loooove these diapers?) I emailed her because I wondered why she had never used them. I wondered if she had lost her baby too. It turned out that her mother had bought them, but that she preferred the idea of disposables because they did not have a washing machine. The mom had thought 24 would be enough without a washing machine, but the new mom wasn't "into it". I wish I had a mom that wanted to buy me diapers. But...that's another tale.
Anyway...
I drooled over this type of diaper when pregnant with Simon and Alexander...that was when my sweet man was unemployed, and there was no way in hell I would be able to have even one of them. I already had dozens of pre-folds and tons of diaper covers...lovely cottony ones.
And then...they died. I got rid of every other cloth diapering thing I had. I got rid of the co-sleeper. I got rid of ALL the baby items. ALL of them. Except one little outfit. The one I'd intended for my baby before I knew I had twins nestled within me. One little cream and brown striped outfit that had been lovingly picked. I couldn't bear to part with it. But everything else.....everything....my slings, my nursing pads....everything...went. Gone. Given away. I could have sold it all. But....I didn't have the oomph to do it. So I gave it all away. And now...I'm trying to find the courage to replace it all.
It's expensive to replace it all.
And part of me...the scared part...wanted to wait until I had a live beautiful baby in my arms. Part of me...the anxious part...wanted to know everything was perfect to prevent wasting a penny of my families precious resources. Part of me....doesn't believe it will turn out o.k...
In trying to combat that very negative fearful person...I told my husband that I wanted to bid on these diapers. They really seemed like a great deal. I started my bid at $125. A few moments ago...I saw the price climbing...and climbing. It really WAS a great deal....even after watching it climb, I knew how much 24 of this particular diaper cost.
Suddenly...letting the diapers go to someone else almost felt like giving up on this baby.
And...I COULD NOT LET MYSELF!!!
I bid again. And again. Knowing that my limit was $10 below cost. Even though that was silly...because I could have had all the colors I drool over at that price. I bid in the last 32 seconds...and watched it tick away and wondered if someone else would bid higher. 31. 30. 29. I bit my lip so hard it bled. 19. 18. 17. 16. I started to feel my throat close up. 9. 8. 6. I started to cry. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. 0.
"You are the highest bidder at $305."
I sobbed.
I won. I saved over $100 dollars. $140 to be exact. For 24 cream colored, never before used, soft, fuzzy, all in one, one size fits 0-3, snappy set, beautiful fuzzi bunz diapers. All mine. Every single one of them. Mine. For my baby. For my rainbow baby. My star child.
And then, the panic set in. What if.....what if I get them....and it's all for nothing.
And, it wasn't about the money. It was about more loss. And I cried some more. I was so grateful my kids were taking turns on the Wii fit; it helped to give me space to have a panic attack.
I just won 24 perfect diapers. For a perfect baby who I want more than anything.
The diapers will come. They are guaranteed to arrive within a week. I will have those diapers, of that I can be sure. The baby however....the baby is not guaranteed to arrive. And I have to live with that truth. There is nothing I can do about it. Except continue forward as if I am not afraid, because this baby deserves to have a mom who is excited to nest...who has high hopes...who has prepared for his or her arrival with all the joy I had with all my babies. Including Simon and Alexander.
I hope that other mama's will donate clothes, a co-sleeper, a car seat....and everything else I will need. Because I just spent it all on diapers.
And...it was something I had to do no matter how silly it seems. Because...though it feels like testing the fates....It mattered to me. It is empowering to me. I needed to be able to do something like that...for my star baby.
And now....I wait.
It is.
It is a really big deal. For me.
It's a big deal because...well...it was for a brand new lot of 24 all in one, one size fits 0 to 3 years, cream colored Fuzzi Bunz diapers. For $305. Over $100 less than it would cost to buy 24 of this type of diaper...
Now, in my fantasy, I would have gotten to pick a rainbow assortment of diapers. I had budgeted for 18 of this diaper...and that was pushing it a bit. But, when I saw the lot of 24 new ones, I had to admit that it could be a real bargain, even if they were "cream" instead of rainbow. So...I bid.
Honestly...it's not that it's a big deal when you really think of it....but...it IS a big deal to me because...because I know that I might have just wasted my families money. $305 dollars is a lot for us. Especially if there is no baby in the end.
I emailed the seller...because I was curious about why she would be selling so many brand new amazing all in one fuzzi bunz (can you tell I loooove these diapers?) I emailed her because I wondered why she had never used them. I wondered if she had lost her baby too. It turned out that her mother had bought them, but that she preferred the idea of disposables because they did not have a washing machine. The mom had thought 24 would be enough without a washing machine, but the new mom wasn't "into it". I wish I had a mom that wanted to buy me diapers. But...that's another tale.
Anyway...
I drooled over this type of diaper when pregnant with Simon and Alexander...that was when my sweet man was unemployed, and there was no way in hell I would be able to have even one of them. I already had dozens of pre-folds and tons of diaper covers...lovely cottony ones.
And then...they died. I got rid of every other cloth diapering thing I had. I got rid of the co-sleeper. I got rid of ALL the baby items. ALL of them. Except one little outfit. The one I'd intended for my baby before I knew I had twins nestled within me. One little cream and brown striped outfit that had been lovingly picked. I couldn't bear to part with it. But everything else.....everything....my slings, my nursing pads....everything...went. Gone. Given away. I could have sold it all. But....I didn't have the oomph to do it. So I gave it all away. And now...I'm trying to find the courage to replace it all.
It's expensive to replace it all.
And part of me...the scared part...wanted to wait until I had a live beautiful baby in my arms. Part of me...the anxious part...wanted to know everything was perfect to prevent wasting a penny of my families precious resources. Part of me....doesn't believe it will turn out o.k...
In trying to combat that very negative fearful person...I told my husband that I wanted to bid on these diapers. They really seemed like a great deal. I started my bid at $125. A few moments ago...I saw the price climbing...and climbing. It really WAS a great deal....even after watching it climb, I knew how much 24 of this particular diaper cost.
Suddenly...letting the diapers go to someone else almost felt like giving up on this baby.
And...I COULD NOT LET MYSELF!!!
I bid again. And again. Knowing that my limit was $10 below cost. Even though that was silly...because I could have had all the colors I drool over at that price. I bid in the last 32 seconds...and watched it tick away and wondered if someone else would bid higher. 31. 30. 29. I bit my lip so hard it bled. 19. 18. 17. 16. I started to feel my throat close up. 9. 8. 6. I started to cry. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. 0.
"You are the highest bidder at $305."
I sobbed.
I won. I saved over $100 dollars. $140 to be exact. For 24 cream colored, never before used, soft, fuzzy, all in one, one size fits 0-3, snappy set, beautiful fuzzi bunz diapers. All mine. Every single one of them. Mine. For my baby. For my rainbow baby. My star child.
And then, the panic set in. What if.....what if I get them....and it's all for nothing.
And, it wasn't about the money. It was about more loss. And I cried some more. I was so grateful my kids were taking turns on the Wii fit; it helped to give me space to have a panic attack.
I just won 24 perfect diapers. For a perfect baby who I want more than anything.
The diapers will come. They are guaranteed to arrive within a week. I will have those diapers, of that I can be sure. The baby however....the baby is not guaranteed to arrive. And I have to live with that truth. There is nothing I can do about it. Except continue forward as if I am not afraid, because this baby deserves to have a mom who is excited to nest...who has high hopes...who has prepared for his or her arrival with all the joy I had with all my babies. Including Simon and Alexander.
I hope that other mama's will donate clothes, a co-sleeper, a car seat....and everything else I will need. Because I just spent it all on diapers.
And...it was something I had to do no matter how silly it seems. Because...though it feels like testing the fates....It mattered to me. It is empowering to me. I needed to be able to do something like that...for my star baby.
And now....I wait.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Fessing Up...
So...here it goes. Time to fess up. I've hinted and hemmed and hawed. But...I've not really SAID it here.
I'm pregnant.
I just hit the second trimester this week.
And, I'm very honestly...terrified.
Happy yes.
Terrified...even more.
A wonderful baby loss mama over at Once a Mother just gave birth to twins...beautiful perfect twins. She's been waiting and hoping and worrying for so long...I couldn't be happier for her. She needed them. So very very very much. I saw their pictures and I just thrilled to the core for her. And, of course, I cried too. I am not jealous OF her...but I'm missing Simon and Alexander...the idea of them. What it would have been like to have twins. . . Which...I am not having this time.
This time, there is a little jumping Jack (or Jill) inside of me....he (or she) moves around with such vigor there can be no lingering doubt that maybe...just maybe...there might be two...like before. Not this time. Just one.
Now, I'm HAPPY....but when my midwife said happily "You'll be happy to note there's just one..." I froze inside. Why would that make me happy? She didn't think obviously...and I tried to brush it off. Of course she would think that would make me happy. I have five sons. Living. Who in their right mind would want twins after FIVE living sons?
One more is really more than I could handle...right?
It's o.k...really. I'm really in love with this baby. My baby. Created under the light of Venus in love with the man who holds my hand in good times and bad.
A star baby. MY star baby.
And I tell my husband every day how much I want to hold this baby...alive...in my arms. How very very much I want my rainbow. Sweet Kristin...and her beautiful snowflakes...you have given me a little hope. You MADE it. They are with you. Safe. Sound. Healthy. In your arms. Where they belong. You DID it.
I'm hoping that in August...I'll find that kind of healing too.
So why is there a lump in my throat?
Fear.
Fear about the fact that their are no promises for happy endings.
Fear about the fact that I can not know the future holds a healthy alive baby for me.
Fear that my children will be crushed by another loss.
Fear that my husband will hold that pain in his eyes forever.
Fear that I will never trust life again.
Fear.
I am pregnant. Beautifully so. Happily so.
And I'm going to need a lot of strength to enjoy what that IS. Right now.
This is a new time.
A new pregnancy.
I'm not having twins.
I have no expectations.
I do, however, have wishes.
For my rainbow star baby. My star child.
Please...please come home to us. We need you so.
I'm pregnant.
I just hit the second trimester this week.
And, I'm very honestly...terrified.
Happy yes.
Terrified...even more.
A wonderful baby loss mama over at Once a Mother just gave birth to twins...beautiful perfect twins. She's been waiting and hoping and worrying for so long...I couldn't be happier for her. She needed them. So very very very much. I saw their pictures and I just thrilled to the core for her. And, of course, I cried too. I am not jealous OF her...but I'm missing Simon and Alexander...the idea of them. What it would have been like to have twins. . . Which...I am not having this time.
This time, there is a little jumping Jack (or Jill) inside of me....he (or she) moves around with such vigor there can be no lingering doubt that maybe...just maybe...there might be two...like before. Not this time. Just one.
Now, I'm HAPPY....but when my midwife said happily "You'll be happy to note there's just one..." I froze inside. Why would that make me happy? She didn't think obviously...and I tried to brush it off. Of course she would think that would make me happy. I have five sons. Living. Who in their right mind would want twins after FIVE living sons?
One more is really more than I could handle...right?
It's o.k...really. I'm really in love with this baby. My baby. Created under the light of Venus in love with the man who holds my hand in good times and bad.
A star baby. MY star baby.
And I tell my husband every day how much I want to hold this baby...alive...in my arms. How very very much I want my rainbow. Sweet Kristin...and her beautiful snowflakes...you have given me a little hope. You MADE it. They are with you. Safe. Sound. Healthy. In your arms. Where they belong. You DID it.
I'm hoping that in August...I'll find that kind of healing too.
So why is there a lump in my throat?
Fear.
Fear about the fact that their are no promises for happy endings.
Fear about the fact that I can not know the future holds a healthy alive baby for me.
Fear that my children will be crushed by another loss.
Fear that my husband will hold that pain in his eyes forever.
Fear that I will never trust life again.
Fear.
I am pregnant. Beautifully so. Happily so.
And I'm going to need a lot of strength to enjoy what that IS. Right now.
This is a new time.
A new pregnancy.
I'm not having twins.
I have no expectations.
I do, however, have wishes.
For my rainbow star baby. My star child.
Please...please come home to us. We need you so.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Priorities
We all have our priorities...they vary from home to home.
At the moment, I'm trying to focus on what it is my priorities are actually all about. And, to be honest, they are really pretty simple. I want my children to be healthy, happy and well adjusted. I would prefer for my children not be to harmed permanently or killed ever again. I would like my husband to be able to enjoy a life of contentment with work that is fulfilling and compensated well, with friends that nourish and support him. I'd like to know my home is not only safe and cozy but also functional. I'd like more time to brush my sweet Ferdinand. I'd like time to walk and talk each day with my best friend and lover; and I'd like to live a nice long life with him, preferably into our 90's as healthy and mentally in tact elders. I need wholesome food, and the time to create dishes that are economical and tasty. I'd love to be able to pay my bills, and maybe even save a little from time to time... I'd also like to finish my degree.
It's that last one that is bugging me today. Finishing my degree.
What does that entail? Well...I used to think that it simply meant that I would jump from hoop to hoop, easily passing courses, as I usually do, and that effort would one day result in a silly little piece of paper that proclaimed I had successfully jumped through all the collegiate hoops required to be a professional someone.
However...there is one hoop that is tripping me up.
One hoop that may prevent me from achieving my goal.
One hoop that threatens all my educational plans and mocks the amount of loan money I've taken out thinking I would be able to pay it back once I had my degree.
One hoop....called Linear Algebra.
As I write the word...I shudder. Linear Algebra. It sounds like a weird disease you wouldn't want to catch. Linear Algebra.
I have a math disability. This means that while I score in the 98th percentile for all other subjects, (a genius I tell you!) I also happen to score in the 3rd percentile for math ability. Not the 30th. The 3rd. This doesn't mean I can't do simple equations. It doesn't mean I don't understand concepts. It means that I can not compete with normal brains in the realm of upper level math. Even lower level math is hard for me. It's not a matter of practice. I practice and practice. I always have. It doesn't stick. I can't keep it. Not with a hundred problems...not with a million. I've been tested on this. I am an anomaly. It's not just that "math is hard for me". It's that my brain will NOT absorb math in a linear (or any other) way. It will not KEEP math within it's neuronal boundaries. I understand what I read, and can perform instructions. I can not remember formulas, or applications, or....anything really...with numbers.
or letters posing as numbers.
So. As I write, which comes easily to me, I am stewing over the past four hours wherein an exam I took which allowed double time due to my disability was still, even with my most dedicated efforts, not passed. I got a D. Better than an F perhaps. But not better enough.
If I don't pass the class. They will have me take it again. The problem with that is this. I won't remember anything I've learned in this semester, so it will be as if I am doing it all over again having never seen it before. I. do. not. learn. math.
And yet...it is required.
In spite of the fact that I am missing the limb required to perform the function.
It is required.
In spite of the fact that I will never...and I MEAN never...use math for anything other than my calculator buttons.
It is required. Even though it has nothing to do with anything I will ever do.
And so...even though I am an honor student boasting A's and B's in every subject...I may not be able to get my degree.
And so, I am brought to my knees. Questioning priorities.
I am two (math) classes away from my degree. Two (math) classes I may be unable to pass. Two (math) classes away from being able to work for a wage that would carry my family above poverty level. Two (math) classes away from showing my kids you can do anything if you try hard enough.
And...I'm failing.
Priorities.
There really are more important things in life....
Things like smiling children...healthy babies...loving partners...good food....good health....quality of life.
Things like rainbows...flocks of birds...ocean waves...mountain peaks....ice cream.
Things like healing from loss...
Things like protecting the future...
Things like love.
Friends.
Spirit.
Hope.
Sincerity.
In the history of the world, my having a degree is but a spot--less than a spot--in the cosmos. It means nothing.
And yet....
I cried this afternoon when I got my grade back.
Because...it did mean something. To me. It meant that no matter how hard I try...some things will never change. Some things are exactly as they are. math disabilities. dead babies. brain injuries. loss. It's all permanent. It never goes away. I can reroute my life...I can heal from loss, and find a new normal. I can try to have another baby and love the children I have with all my heart...looking away from the pain...trying to find the mom who believed in joy. I could keep trying to remember math equations that will not stick...like a dog trying to chase a stubby tail. I could keep trying. and trying. and trying.
But...there is a thing called learned helplessness. And...in all honesty...when you try and try...and your efforts all fail, you learn that no matter what you do...you can not succeed. Depression lies there.
In any case...I will keep trying. Because I have to. Because I want to pass. Because I need to pass.
I will keep trying. Blind in an obstacle course with no instruction, I expect I will fall a lot. I may never even find the way out.
I suppose I can smile about one thing though....my boys do not appear to suffer with the same disability I have. They are as brilliant in math as they are every other subject. So, when I smile at them and say "Sweetheart...you can be whatever you want to be. You can succeed if you put in the effort." I am not feeding them a falsehood. They really can. Nothing like a silly class will stop them. The hoops will not be covered in spikes and fire. They will be able to decide "hey...I'm interested in this...I think I'll learn it". I've always had to ask..."What will have the least math?" Not because I'm lazy. Or stupid.
But...because I have a certain kind of brain.
Priorities...
It's just math....
Just math.
My priorities are not calculated in an equation or ratio of importance.
They are more real than that. More real...than numbers.
At the moment, I'm trying to focus on what it is my priorities are actually all about. And, to be honest, they are really pretty simple. I want my children to be healthy, happy and well adjusted. I would prefer for my children not be to harmed permanently or killed ever again. I would like my husband to be able to enjoy a life of contentment with work that is fulfilling and compensated well, with friends that nourish and support him. I'd like to know my home is not only safe and cozy but also functional. I'd like more time to brush my sweet Ferdinand. I'd like time to walk and talk each day with my best friend and lover; and I'd like to live a nice long life with him, preferably into our 90's as healthy and mentally in tact elders. I need wholesome food, and the time to create dishes that are economical and tasty. I'd love to be able to pay my bills, and maybe even save a little from time to time... I'd also like to finish my degree.
It's that last one that is bugging me today. Finishing my degree.
What does that entail? Well...I used to think that it simply meant that I would jump from hoop to hoop, easily passing courses, as I usually do, and that effort would one day result in a silly little piece of paper that proclaimed I had successfully jumped through all the collegiate hoops required to be a professional someone.
However...there is one hoop that is tripping me up.
One hoop that may prevent me from achieving my goal.
One hoop that threatens all my educational plans and mocks the amount of loan money I've taken out thinking I would be able to pay it back once I had my degree.
One hoop....called Linear Algebra.
As I write the word...I shudder. Linear Algebra. It sounds like a weird disease you wouldn't want to catch. Linear Algebra.
I have a math disability. This means that while I score in the 98th percentile for all other subjects, (a genius I tell you!) I also happen to score in the 3rd percentile for math ability. Not the 30th. The 3rd. This doesn't mean I can't do simple equations. It doesn't mean I don't understand concepts. It means that I can not compete with normal brains in the realm of upper level math. Even lower level math is hard for me. It's not a matter of practice. I practice and practice. I always have. It doesn't stick. I can't keep it. Not with a hundred problems...not with a million. I've been tested on this. I am an anomaly. It's not just that "math is hard for me". It's that my brain will NOT absorb math in a linear (or any other) way. It will not KEEP math within it's neuronal boundaries. I understand what I read, and can perform instructions. I can not remember formulas, or applications, or....anything really...with numbers.
or letters posing as numbers.
So. As I write, which comes easily to me, I am stewing over the past four hours wherein an exam I took which allowed double time due to my disability was still, even with my most dedicated efforts, not passed. I got a D. Better than an F perhaps. But not better enough.
If I don't pass the class. They will have me take it again. The problem with that is this. I won't remember anything I've learned in this semester, so it will be as if I am doing it all over again having never seen it before. I. do. not. learn. math.
And yet...it is required.
In spite of the fact that I am missing the limb required to perform the function.
It is required.
In spite of the fact that I will never...and I MEAN never...use math for anything other than my calculator buttons.
It is required. Even though it has nothing to do with anything I will ever do.
And so...even though I am an honor student boasting A's and B's in every subject...I may not be able to get my degree.
And so, I am brought to my knees. Questioning priorities.
I am two (math) classes away from my degree. Two (math) classes I may be unable to pass. Two (math) classes away from being able to work for a wage that would carry my family above poverty level. Two (math) classes away from showing my kids you can do anything if you try hard enough.
And...I'm failing.
Priorities.
There really are more important things in life....
Things like smiling children...healthy babies...loving partners...good food....good health....quality of life.
Things like rainbows...flocks of birds...ocean waves...mountain peaks....ice cream.
Things like healing from loss...
Things like protecting the future...
Things like love.
Friends.
Spirit.
Hope.
Sincerity.
In the history of the world, my having a degree is but a spot--less than a spot--in the cosmos. It means nothing.
And yet....
I cried this afternoon when I got my grade back.
Because...it did mean something. To me. It meant that no matter how hard I try...some things will never change. Some things are exactly as they are. math disabilities. dead babies. brain injuries. loss. It's all permanent. It never goes away. I can reroute my life...I can heal from loss, and find a new normal. I can try to have another baby and love the children I have with all my heart...looking away from the pain...trying to find the mom who believed in joy. I could keep trying to remember math equations that will not stick...like a dog trying to chase a stubby tail. I could keep trying. and trying. and trying.
But...there is a thing called learned helplessness. And...in all honesty...when you try and try...and your efforts all fail, you learn that no matter what you do...you can not succeed. Depression lies there.
In any case...I will keep trying. Because I have to. Because I want to pass. Because I need to pass.
I will keep trying. Blind in an obstacle course with no instruction, I expect I will fall a lot. I may never even find the way out.
I suppose I can smile about one thing though....my boys do not appear to suffer with the same disability I have. They are as brilliant in math as they are every other subject. So, when I smile at them and say "Sweetheart...you can be whatever you want to be. You can succeed if you put in the effort." I am not feeding them a falsehood. They really can. Nothing like a silly class will stop them. The hoops will not be covered in spikes and fire. They will be able to decide "hey...I'm interested in this...I think I'll learn it". I've always had to ask..."What will have the least math?" Not because I'm lazy. Or stupid.
But...because I have a certain kind of brain.
Priorities...
It's just math....
Just math.
My priorities are not calculated in an equation or ratio of importance.
They are more real than that. More real...than numbers.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Take a Deep Breath with the Newest Issue of Exhale!
Hey everyone...it's finally out! Exhale magazine is up and running once more, with a beautiful and inspiring new issue for your enjoyment, introspection and ponderings... you can find it here and...if you like, you can check out my article in particular, Adrenaline Overrated at this spot.
Exhale was created for people who have lost a child to miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal loss, and is also for those who deal with infertility. A cathartic, literary jaunt into the worlds of amazing artists, photographers and writers who have walked this road, Exhale strives to offer a place of healing with an intelligent look at what is, might be, and has been.
As an editor and writer for Exhale...I hope you will enjoy this beautiful issue as much as I have and encourage you to consider contributing your own pieces for future issues.
Enjoy!
Sara
Exhale was created for people who have lost a child to miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal loss, and is also for those who deal with infertility. A cathartic, literary jaunt into the worlds of amazing artists, photographers and writers who have walked this road, Exhale strives to offer a place of healing with an intelligent look at what is, might be, and has been.
As an editor and writer for Exhale...I hope you will enjoy this beautiful issue as much as I have and encourage you to consider contributing your own pieces for future issues.
Enjoy!
Sara
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Sugar and Spice is a Boy thing too...
What are little boys made of? What are little boys made of? Snips and Snails and Puppy dog tails...that's what little boys are made of.
What are little girls made of? What are little girls made of? Sugar and Spice and All that is Nice...that's what little girls are made of.
I recently read this poem to my 7 year old.
He frowned at me and told me he thought it wasn't fair that girls got to have all the nice stuff.
I agree.
As the mother of sons...I agree.
Boys, in my experience, are tender. They are the most huggable little loves...if you let them be that way.
I've witnessed women and men chastise my boys for wearing pink. Grown ups. Adults. People who should know how to watch their mouths and keeps their bigoted opinions to themselves.
Nervous about displays of male affection...ie: hugging. Disaproving over colors that anyone who hasn't been brainwashed might enjoy. Irritated at the birthday gift of a unicorn or a silk cape in a lovely shade of rose that lit up the eyes of a brown eyed 5 year old.
What IS this?
When we demand that little boys are only allowed to like certain colors, certain toys, and certain ideas, we create exactly what is wrong with our world today. A universe of little boys dressed like big men with big tough exteriors that beg to not be torn down or peeked inside of. Little boys pretending to be the men they were told they HAD to be. And they forgot who they were...they forgot that they were allowed to be gentle.
We create men who don't know what they feel, or why they feel, or why anyone else is allowed to feel.
And it hurts us all.
Why do we do this to our boys? Why do we allow our girls to tell our boys that the toy they are playing with is a "girl toy"? Why do we stop our children from being who they really are simply in the name of a fear...or, in all honesty, a prejudice.
If the fear is "turning your child into a gay person"...it's important to understand something real: You can't make a person what they are not by allowing them to be who they are. Enjoying certain colors, toys, hobbies or jobs does not make someone who they are not. In fact, a recent study I read in a psychology class indicated that most gay men have been shown to have had un-supportive or emotionally unavailable fathers. This is NOT to say that every boy who has an emotionally constipated father WILL be gay; correlation doesn't equate to causation..but there is a correlation that should be looked at...wondered about. And I had to wonder in light of this...why don't we shudder when we see a father being dismissive to his child in the same way that we shudder when a little boy gets to wear the pink sequined chuckys he's been coveting for months? Why don't we think it might screw with a child's sexual image when dad plasters his face to a football game all weekend instead of playing with his child in the same way we might when we find out that an 8 year old loves cooking above sports? Why don't we cringe when we see a little boy get a tonka truck when he REALLY wanted a rainbow unicorn or a baby doll?
I'm just pondering here....because I see a world wherein my sons are being allowed to feel. And I see that they are being raised differently than their male peers. The results? I have a 14 year old who WILL stop in the middle of a soccer game if a kid on the other team gets hurt to make sure he is o.k no matter how much his peers chastise him for being sensitive. I have an 8 year old who wants to hug me for several minutes, without being patted away impatiently: Comfortable with how it feels to nestle up to his mother, without fear of being teased as a mama's boy. I have a 12 year old who nurtures all things soft and fluffy and who isn't afraid to admit that he doesn't care for the gun games his peers play or the sports they covet watching on t.v... I have a 7 year old who adores pink, and green, and blue and anything sparkly and can often be found wearing all three at the same time bejeweled with any glittering thing he can find. All of these boys are quick to select pink frosted cupcakes with hearts over sports themed cupcakes. All of these boys are immediate in their efforts to console one another over heartbreaks and life disappointments.
Sure, they joke and use occasional potty talk and tell jokes about farts too. They play in the mud and adore bows and arrows. They like rock music and are clear about their opinions about girls. As the 14 year old stated yesterday..." I feel sorry for skinny blonds. They look so pale and hungry. I'm more into girls that look like they don't starve themselves...they have more to look at and enjoy."
Smart lad. I guess wearing pink socks hasn't altered his feelings toward the opposite sex. But honestly, even if he wasn't in to girls...it wouldn't have been the freaking SOCKS that determined it. And, I'd love him as fearlessly as ever.
All in all...I guess what I'm saying is that while I have zero experience with little girls, and so can not KNOW if they really are sugar and spice and everything nice...I DO know that my little boys are everything sugar and spice and everything nice. They know how to be sweet. They are sassy and clever. And...there is nothing sweeter than the little boys who look up at you, even into their teens, as you kiss them goodnight and tell you..."Mommy...your the best in the whole world."
If that's not everything nice, I don't know what is.
Homeschooling Considerations
I've been invited to try Time4Learning for one month in exchange for a candid review. My opinion will be entirely my own, so be sure to come back and read about my experience. Time4Learning is an online educational program that can be used in many ways including as a homeschooling curriculum or afterschool tutorial. Find out how to write your own curriculum review for Time4Learning
Monday, January 31, 2011
Dreaming of the Dream...
Walking on the first spring-like day of the year, I saw it. A brilliantly arranged flock of birds, dancing in the wind patterns only they could see. The sky was vivid blue, and their inky blackness swooped in perfect harmony.
It made me wonder...
Why aren't human beings in such beautiful communal union with their surroundings...with each other?
Why do we walk down the street, passing the faces of our community with barely a glimmer of recognition?
Why do we eat alone, in our private homes, away from the fires of other hearths. In fact...where are the hearths to begin with?
Where are our sisters and brothers? Our uncles and aunts? Our grandmothers and grandfathers? Our parents?
Where are they?
Often, we, in our nuclear families, are alone. Striving to make things work with less than we have ever had. Yeah, there is more "stuff"...but less substance.
Where are the elders who could pick you up if you fell? Where are the wizened folks who look to teach the ones who are trying to find their way?
I look into the sky, and I see community. I look into the fields and see the grazing deer, and community is there as well. I look into the town, and see the cars rushing past each other...each person with his own agenda and plan for the day, the week, the year...
My children go to Aikido classes, and there, they see other children who they will laugh with as they learn the art of non-violent defense. And then, at the end of the hour, we all bustle back into our cars and drive off to our homes.
Once in our homes....distractions abound. Homework, housework, meal prep, consumption......bedtime.
I look out the window and see the stars twinkling together in the sky...and I wonder where my community is.
I wonder how many tomorrows will be spent in a human created isolation that contrasts with what I believe humans, as social creatures, were meant to have.
In another time...We would have played and worked together. We would have cooked and eaten together. Our children would grow up and learn together. And we would commune with the stars, moon and sun together. We would birth our children together. And mourn our losses together. Our husbands would bond together. And we would nurture together. We would KNOW each other, just as the birds in the sky flying in perfect harmony know each other. And we would be there for each other...because, we would BE each other.
It made me wonder...
Why aren't human beings in such beautiful communal union with their surroundings...with each other?
Why do we walk down the street, passing the faces of our community with barely a glimmer of recognition?
Why do we eat alone, in our private homes, away from the fires of other hearths. In fact...where are the hearths to begin with?
Where are our sisters and brothers? Our uncles and aunts? Our grandmothers and grandfathers? Our parents?
Where are they?
Often, we, in our nuclear families, are alone. Striving to make things work with less than we have ever had. Yeah, there is more "stuff"...but less substance.
Where are the elders who could pick you up if you fell? Where are the wizened folks who look to teach the ones who are trying to find their way?
I look into the sky, and I see community. I look into the fields and see the grazing deer, and community is there as well. I look into the town, and see the cars rushing past each other...each person with his own agenda and plan for the day, the week, the year...
My children go to Aikido classes, and there, they see other children who they will laugh with as they learn the art of non-violent defense. And then, at the end of the hour, we all bustle back into our cars and drive off to our homes.
Once in our homes....distractions abound. Homework, housework, meal prep, consumption......bedtime.
I look out the window and see the stars twinkling together in the sky...and I wonder where my community is.
I wonder how many tomorrows will be spent in a human created isolation that contrasts with what I believe humans, as social creatures, were meant to have.
In another time...We would have played and worked together. We would have cooked and eaten together. Our children would grow up and learn together. And we would commune with the stars, moon and sun together. We would birth our children together. And mourn our losses together. Our husbands would bond together. And we would nurture together. We would KNOW each other, just as the birds in the sky flying in perfect harmony know each other. And we would be there for each other...because, we would BE each other.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Another time...another place.
I spoke to my dear friend Amy today. As I relayed to her the reality of fear in my gut, I was comforted by her wise reply. "Sara, the body you have today is completely different from the body you had two years ago. Everything about you is different. Everything about everything is different."
I heard her loud and clear. You can't project the past onto the future, because, even if "you" think "you" are the same person who might get the same thing...."you"....aren't.
What do I mean by that?
Hummmm.....well....let's see. . .In biology, we learned that we are a compilation of ever changing matter. We breathe out our cells, and breath in newness. Every part of every one of us is completely different every single year. This is why we sometimes witness miraculous change in disease factors....why we see things differently from year to year....we are ever changing. We are not stagnant. We are....change.
So, though memory and circumstance plague us, and tell us that something IS....in reality, it ISN'T. Not NOW anyway.
I was a woman who watched her beautiful teen son on the brink of death. His stunning face mangled by harsh pavement. And though I have those vivid and horrible memories....I am not THERE. I am here. The lungs that breathed in the smells of the hospital do not have a trace of that reality in them anymore. I am here.
I was a woman who held a dead baby in her arms, drifting away in a haze of allergic reaction to a poison specific to my body. Opiates. They screw me up....in a very real way....a deadly way. My body, two years later...has no trace of that day. I remember it. It has made me who I am....but my physical body....is not the same. Nor is my understanding of life. Or death.
I was a woman who bled to death...only to discover that the cause was a retained baby that SOMEONE should have known was there. But...no one did. Not until....later.
That woman was filled with masses of blood clots and rotting tissue that, at one time, had been my baby...my twin son. Rotting tissue that filled me with heaviness and poison....rotting tissue that could have killed me from blood poisoning....
Months of regular periods have flushed out that uterus...months of exercise and healthy eating have cleaned this system, leaving me healthier than ever before.
There is memory...oh yes....muscle memory...cell memory...nervous system memory......
But...it's a memory. Not a physical reality.
What has happened doesn't mar the now with anything more than...memory.
Somehow, hearing my friend describe my body as a different body...in a different time....in a different circumstance...
Well, it gave me a smile. It gave me some hope. It gave me a vision of reality that I really needed.
I remember. I remember it all. And, I am willing to make some new memories in honor of the old. I am a new person. A bigger person. A wider person. A more whole, if somewhat broken, person.
I see life in a new way.
I'm open to life in a new way.
I want life...in a new way.
So....2011....BRING IT ON! This girl is NEW. This woman has potential! I will not be defined by the past.
I am here.
Now.
I heard her loud and clear. You can't project the past onto the future, because, even if "you" think "you" are the same person who might get the same thing...."you"....aren't.
What do I mean by that?
Hummmm.....well....let's see. . .In biology, we learned that we are a compilation of ever changing matter. We breathe out our cells, and breath in newness. Every part of every one of us is completely different every single year. This is why we sometimes witness miraculous change in disease factors....why we see things differently from year to year....we are ever changing. We are not stagnant. We are....change.
So, though memory and circumstance plague us, and tell us that something IS....in reality, it ISN'T. Not NOW anyway.
I was a woman who watched her beautiful teen son on the brink of death. His stunning face mangled by harsh pavement. And though I have those vivid and horrible memories....I am not THERE. I am here. The lungs that breathed in the smells of the hospital do not have a trace of that reality in them anymore. I am here.
I was a woman who held a dead baby in her arms, drifting away in a haze of allergic reaction to a poison specific to my body. Opiates. They screw me up....in a very real way....a deadly way. My body, two years later...has no trace of that day. I remember it. It has made me who I am....but my physical body....is not the same. Nor is my understanding of life. Or death.
I was a woman who bled to death...only to discover that the cause was a retained baby that SOMEONE should have known was there. But...no one did. Not until....later.
That woman was filled with masses of blood clots and rotting tissue that, at one time, had been my baby...my twin son. Rotting tissue that filled me with heaviness and poison....rotting tissue that could have killed me from blood poisoning....
Months of regular periods have flushed out that uterus...months of exercise and healthy eating have cleaned this system, leaving me healthier than ever before.
There is memory...oh yes....muscle memory...cell memory...nervous system memory......
But...it's a memory. Not a physical reality.
What has happened doesn't mar the now with anything more than...memory.
Somehow, hearing my friend describe my body as a different body...in a different time....in a different circumstance...
Well, it gave me a smile. It gave me some hope. It gave me a vision of reality that I really needed.
I remember. I remember it all. And, I am willing to make some new memories in honor of the old. I am a new person. A bigger person. A wider person. A more whole, if somewhat broken, person.
I see life in a new way.
I'm open to life in a new way.
I want life...in a new way.
So....2011....BRING IT ON! This girl is NEW. This woman has potential! I will not be defined by the past.
I am here.
Now.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Roller coasters
Roller coasters.
They are part of life. A very real part of life.
Right now, I'm calling out to you talented people who read here and write elsewhere to submit something to Exhale magazine. I'm co-editing for it right now, and we need all types of submissions, regarding the theme "Roller coasters". Exhale is a mag. devoted to the subjects of miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal loss, PAL, baby death in general...and infertility. It is generally a very supportive and uplifting, sympathetic place for those of us who know...and those of us who know someone who knows.
It is a hard place to be. "In the know".
So much nicer to be in the dark...where a pregnancy is greeted with hope, and phone calls of laughter and delight for the future you know will be. Where the question is: "What are you having?"
See it there?
"What are you HAVING?" The assumption that you will...after all of the pregnancy discomforts...have SOMETHING.
When you know that it's not always like that....when you know that you may end up with nothing but tears and empty arms....wow....
It's overwhelmingly different.
Unexpectedly different.
At least...I find it so.
Here I am...on a journey I'd given up on. And instead of the joy I expected, I am finding myself wading in terror.
The terror of what if's. What if I die? What if I lose him or her? What if....what if.........what if........
The terror.
It surprised me. Took me off guard.
I expected to feel nothing but elation.
I did not expect the terror.
I did not expect the fear.
I did not know....that it would be waiting for me with sharpened teeth that would present me with nightly dreams of death and loss. Dreams that would impact my days....cause me to seem off balance...weepy.
Roller coasters. I enjoyed them as a young person. I loved the thrill of losing my breath. I adored the pressure pushing me back as I whipped around in a delightful kind of horror. I'd rush back into the line as soon as the thrill was over. MORE!! MORE!!!
Not now.
Now, roller coasters are symbols of being out of control. The last time I went on one was shortly after my eldest son's brain injury. A time wherein the security of life was at best...shaky. I hopped on with my kids, thinking I was in for an exuberant ride of a lifetime. Strapped in, I felt the ride going up...up...UP....and suddenly, we were free falling. My mouth opened in a voiceless scream. I could feel my heart pounding maniacally in my chest. I was shaking in fear so powerful I could NOT scream...and I started laughing in a crazy way....like I'd lost my marbles. When the ride was over I heard my kids laughing and proclaiming it the best ride EVER....I couldn't stop laughing, and I ran toward my husband who had opted to NOT go. I fell into his arms, and the sobs began. Hard, racking sobs that wouldn't stop. My kids were shocked. One minute, I was laughing out of control...and the next? sobbing.....My husband, patting my hair, explained to onlookers that the ride had been a little much for me.
What an understatement.
Anyway, the point of all of this is to explain that right now...I feel like the ride is a little much. I feel out of breath...afraid. . .I don't want to free fall anymore.
I want to take a ride on the merry go round, or something benign like one of those motorized car rides where you stay on a track, even if you opt to not steer.
I used to like the adrenaline rush of a roller coaster. That was before I understood that roller coasters in life sometimes land you in arenas of death. Where all you have in your arms is someone you loved that you have to bury.
It's the understanding that you'd rather NOT tell anyone...because telling someone means you might also have to tell them that it's all over. It's the reality that you don't tell your kids...because you can't bear to hurt them again...can't bear to tell them it's over. Again. So...you don't tell. And, it is the very act of not being able to tell that reminds you there is a REASON not to tell.
Because...there are no guarantees.
But, when you don't tell....when you choose to keep it inside...considering holding back on telling your family until you have a living breathing babe IN ARMS...that you understand that to give life is to walk side by side with the possibility of death. You don't tell...because you can't bear to face the possibility of loss.
I want to step onto a bumper boat ride...where the only threat is a little water in my face. Perhaps even a lot of water...but...nothing scary. Nothing....deadly.
So, on that note...please contact me or Kristen Binder, the amazing mama at http://onceamother.blogspot.com/ "Once a Mother" if you have something you would like to submit to the next Exhale.
With love....and hope....
They are part of life. A very real part of life.
Right now, I'm calling out to you talented people who read here and write elsewhere to submit something to Exhale magazine. I'm co-editing for it right now, and we need all types of submissions, regarding the theme "Roller coasters". Exhale is a mag. devoted to the subjects of miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal loss, PAL, baby death in general...and infertility. It is generally a very supportive and uplifting, sympathetic place for those of us who know...and those of us who know someone who knows.
It is a hard place to be. "In the know".
So much nicer to be in the dark...where a pregnancy is greeted with hope, and phone calls of laughter and delight for the future you know will be. Where the question is: "What are you having?"
See it there?
"What are you HAVING?" The assumption that you will...after all of the pregnancy discomforts...have SOMETHING.
When you know that it's not always like that....when you know that you may end up with nothing but tears and empty arms....wow....
It's overwhelmingly different.
Unexpectedly different.
At least...I find it so.
Here I am...on a journey I'd given up on. And instead of the joy I expected, I am finding myself wading in terror.
The terror of what if's. What if I die? What if I lose him or her? What if....what if.........what if........
The terror.
It surprised me. Took me off guard.
I expected to feel nothing but elation.
I did not expect the terror.
I did not expect the fear.
I did not know....that it would be waiting for me with sharpened teeth that would present me with nightly dreams of death and loss. Dreams that would impact my days....cause me to seem off balance...weepy.
Roller coasters. I enjoyed them as a young person. I loved the thrill of losing my breath. I adored the pressure pushing me back as I whipped around in a delightful kind of horror. I'd rush back into the line as soon as the thrill was over. MORE!! MORE!!!
Not now.
Now, roller coasters are symbols of being out of control. The last time I went on one was shortly after my eldest son's brain injury. A time wherein the security of life was at best...shaky. I hopped on with my kids, thinking I was in for an exuberant ride of a lifetime. Strapped in, I felt the ride going up...up...UP....and suddenly, we were free falling. My mouth opened in a voiceless scream. I could feel my heart pounding maniacally in my chest. I was shaking in fear so powerful I could NOT scream...and I started laughing in a crazy way....like I'd lost my marbles. When the ride was over I heard my kids laughing and proclaiming it the best ride EVER....I couldn't stop laughing, and I ran toward my husband who had opted to NOT go. I fell into his arms, and the sobs began. Hard, racking sobs that wouldn't stop. My kids were shocked. One minute, I was laughing out of control...and the next? sobbing.....My husband, patting my hair, explained to onlookers that the ride had been a little much for me.
What an understatement.
Anyway, the point of all of this is to explain that right now...I feel like the ride is a little much. I feel out of breath...afraid. . .I don't want to free fall anymore.
I want to take a ride on the merry go round, or something benign like one of those motorized car rides where you stay on a track, even if you opt to not steer.
I used to like the adrenaline rush of a roller coaster. That was before I understood that roller coasters in life sometimes land you in arenas of death. Where all you have in your arms is someone you loved that you have to bury.
It's the understanding that you'd rather NOT tell anyone...because telling someone means you might also have to tell them that it's all over. It's the reality that you don't tell your kids...because you can't bear to hurt them again...can't bear to tell them it's over. Again. So...you don't tell. And, it is the very act of not being able to tell that reminds you there is a REASON not to tell.
Because...there are no guarantees.
But, when you don't tell....when you choose to keep it inside...considering holding back on telling your family until you have a living breathing babe IN ARMS...that you understand that to give life is to walk side by side with the possibility of death. You don't tell...because you can't bear to face the possibility of loss.
I want to step onto a bumper boat ride...where the only threat is a little water in my face. Perhaps even a lot of water...but...nothing scary. Nothing....deadly.
So, on that note...please contact me or Kristen Binder, the amazing mama at http://onceamother.blogspot.com/ "Once a Mother" if you have something you would like to submit to the next Exhale.
With love....and hope....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)