What My Child Has Learned

.....because I've been sick most of her life.

My youngest child is eight and I am always worried about how my challenges affect her childhood experience. I worry that she knows words like "prescriptions" and "specialist" way sooner than other kids. She can tell which doctor I'm seeing by how far we have to drive. And she understands that I have case managers and referrals.

It scares the hell out of me sometimes.

But then I think of things like: she thinks it's cool that I have parking placards and we don't have to park as far away from anything. She calls it "rock star parking". She understands that people get sick, and sometimes they die because of it, but sometimes they don't. And both things are okay. That's the way life goes. It begins and ends. She's not scared of doctors, or tests, or needles, or blood.

She knows what an IV is, and they don't scare the crap out of her. I can't say that I was at the same place when I was eight. I don't think most kids are. She understands surgery and that it means the doctors are helping people.

She's not afraid of hospitals and when we see a fire truck or an ambulance, she asks me if they are on their way to help somebody. Her vocabulary includes words that most kids don't know, but she has a lot more compassion because of it. She gets that some people walk slower than others and she doesn't get frustrated when they do.

The greatest things about my child seeing me go through surgeries and doctor's visits is that she understands people are all different, and sometimes they're sick and you can't see it from the outside. She's not scared or squeamish. She doesn't see anybody as "different".

I hate that she has challenges and understands things that most kids don't have to deal with, but I love that all of this inspires compassion and strength in her.

Warning: Grammar Nazi Rant

I just got an email telling me that I had a message on Facebook. I went to check Facebook and read said message and I started to twitch. "What is wrong with me?" I thought. "Why doesn't anybody else have this tiny little grammar Nazi inside of them?"

The only thing that drives me more crazy than using 'to" when you really mean 'too'....as in: in addition, or along with, is using 'your' when one might really mean you are or "you're".

It drives me up the wall. And I have to wonder if I am just really that OCD? Does nobody else hear this tiny voice that growls when they read "me to"? Doesn't it bug the hell out of you when you read "your okay"? Did I get issued a little grammar and spelling correction officer in my head in elementary school and miss it? Why does this drive me nuts when essentially the rest of the population could care less?

I have been writing since I was in middle school and I have always had an affinity for language as opposed to say...math. So I'm thinking it may just be that I pay more attention to language than most. I know the difference between 'wandering" (meandering around) and 'wondering (pondering....thinking about). Or 'they're' (they are), 'their' (showing ownership), and there (pertaining to the location). I have a compulsion to make sure I use to, too, and two correctly and my biggest OCD is probably 'your' and 'you're'. (And, yes, I do alphabetize my DVDs.)

I don't expect the general population to know when to use who and whom correctly because most people learn enough language to communicate effectively and leave it at that....and that's fine. But for the love of gawd, hit the 'o' button just one more time when you mean to express inclusion and turn 'to' into 'too'. Make friends with the apostrophe key and express "you are" in the tidy little "you're".

I'm certainly no where near perfect in my language use and I got plenty of corrections on my papers in college. I rush through typing in guild chat and miss a letter, or occasionally screw up the entire word. I get it. I shut the Grammar Nazi up a lot. But she definitely pokes her head up at too, to, and two. And your and you're. "Shut UP!", I tell her, "nobody else cares.....and for the most part people get their point across".

She annoys me, that snotty little spelling tyrant.

Life in a Petri Dish

I've been waiting for the phone call about my lab results. They took lots of blood last week when I went to see my PCM. She likes to see me on a pretty regular basis and stay on top of what's going on; and from what I hear from everybody else I know in the area, I have gotten unbelievably lucky in getting the doctor that I have at the clinic.

Aaannnyway......I expected news. They call if your lab results are fine and normal and everything is ducky, but I expected a phone call. The news was pretty good actually. My thyroid levels have dropped significantly, so my medication for that will be adjusted accordingly and I'll be going back in four weeks to have a complete thyroid panel drawn to make sure 1) the new dosage is working and doesn't need to be changed again and 2) they're nothing else going on with my endocrine system.

Everything else is within normal limits, but I'll still be summarily sent to a pulmonologist. Apparently there are still issues with my oxygen so I got told I would be adding a pulmonologist to the collection of specialists I have here. I wasn't asked if I thought I should see another specialist. I got told I was going. She's an awesome doctor and she cracks me up sometimes.

This is a somewhat bizarre experience sometimes....having your life encircled by medical tests, medications, appointments, and specialists. Even if I just wanted to run and hide from all of them (sometimes I do, sometimes I'm in it for the fight) I don't get that option anymore. I'm glad I'm getting good care and being taken seriously. I very rarely get treated like anything is simply "in my head" anymore, but it's still a lot to take in.

So, that's where I'm at in my petri dish right now. I don't know if anyone reads this or cares, but I thought that I would update. The d.h. keeps telling me to write...that maybe somebody somewhere is going through something similar and they'd like to know they're not alone.

The Melody of Heartbreak

I'm sitting here listening to a lot of music tonight, walking around in the agony and the heart ache of some songs and seeking solace and strength in others. Why, would you ask, are you listening to music that hurts? That reminds you of people and places now gone? Because those people and those places are never really gone and they should be remembered, but just occasionally. But it astonishes me that the heart break is still so fresh and raw.

My broken heart never really seems to heal and I'm sitting here listening to songs like "Who Knew?' by Pink or "Not Meant to Be" by Theory of a Deadman or "Stay" by Safetysuit and wondering if anyone has ever hurt this much. Then "Til I collapse" or "Lose Yourself" by Eminem comes on my playlist (yes....it's a very eclectic mix.....there's no telling what the next song will be when it's on shuffle) and I find strength and think that maybe if someone else has survived this much heart break, I can too. 

I listen to "F*kin Perfect" by Pink over and over, soaring through the violins and drum beat and holding onto her searing voice. Finding hope and time in her journey through the lyrics. Waiting for the crescendo of the song and absorbing the promise and strength because I really, really need it right now. "Not Ready to Make Nice" comes on after that and I wander through my own struggle in my mind as I listen to the lyrics. I know their journey, their reason for writing the song, and I think of how it connects to my life and who or what I'm not backing down from.

Then "Sex On Fire" comes on (Kings of Leon) and I hear freedom. I hear driving through Florida in the Spring with the sun roof open. Song after song, melody after melody, and I hear Michigan, Maine, Florida....and I miss every single place. I miss that year, that time, those people. I miss driving down those roads.

I wish I could be one of those people that just listens to music sometimes. That I could just hear something and like it or not like it without being emotionally entrenched in it. But then I think it really is an amazing gift to be able to see and feel memories. Even if it just rips my heart open some times. I skipped past "What You Give" by Tesla. Today, that's just seven and a half minutes of friggin ow. Then....."The Quest" by Bryn Christopher and I see the Grey's montage from the season finale last year in my head and remember falling in love with the song right away.

Jason Aldean comes on and I'm at the concert last summer. Trace Adkins....and I'm at the county fair in Michigan watching him. It's raining, but the show is awesome. "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert comes on and I see the houses I grew up in, wondering through them in my mind and trying to figure out which one built me. She sings "I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, this brokenness inside me might start healing" and tears sting my eyes and I take a deep breath. Somewhere inside of me is still a little girl that's wondering how broken she is. 

"Angel" by Sarah Mclauchlan comes on and I brace for the memory of Angie, but find a softer place than I expected and a little bit of hope. The playlist continues, moving on to "Love Remains the Same" (Maine in the Spring....god, Brunswick is so beautiful)......further on to "Whatever" but Godsmack (greatest angry song...  EVAR) , still further on "Uprising" by Muse (awesome music for in the Nitro), and finally "You Can Do It" by Ice Cube comes on and I decide that's a good stopping point, and anyway my earphones are starting to hurt my ears. 

I've traveled through five or six states and a couple of decades. Found music that brings me to my knees, but I also found strength that I couldn't have found inside of me all on my own. "F*kin Perfect" is one of the greatest songs ever written, Listen to it when self doubt and the rest of the world are kicking your ass. The hope in the music was bigger than the part that would have brought me to my knees and I finished the playlist feeling just a little bit stronger. (Oh...that reminds me....gotta go download "A Little Bit Stronger" by Sara Evans). 

I wish I could write music and wade my way through hurt and hope with a melody, but I guess I'll just have to make do with writing about my journeys through music. 

 

Fiery Redhead? More Like Sensitive Redhead.

Apparently redheads have some thing in them that makes them more sensitive to their environments. I saw my primary doc yesterday and she added herself to the list of doctors and nurses that I've seen in the last year or two that told me that I might be struggling with sensitivities to meds or foods, or stress, or my environment and that they are now noticing that these things affect people that have naturally red hair more often.

It seems if there is a food sensitivity to be found, check your hair. Meds? If there's a side effect, a redhead will most likely have it. Allergies? Yep, redheads.

A little over a month ago, I had a full body reaction to what appeared to be some kind of allergen. Something set off the histamine receptors. What my doctor is now thinking is that the strain of the two procedures I had in two weeks in addition to an incident of high stress set off both of my H1 and H2 receptors. I learned yesterday that the body's H1 (histamine one) receptors show up as a rash or hives....some kind of a skin reaction. The H2 receptors (histamine two) are the ones in your stomach that produce acid. Both of mine went off. Apparently my body cried "UNCLE!!"

So, I got to thinking about it. I was always a sensitive child. I had food issues when I was very young. I started developing seasonal allergies in my teens. I have always had migraines (food issues and stress reactions). I must have been fun to raise. Add to that the trauma of my childhood and ....yay...you get me.

If you're trying to figure out a reaction from your body that shows up as a sensitive tummy or a skin reaction, you might want to look at your natural hair color. It could be that you're reacting to a side effect from a medication, a food issue, or something in your environment aggravating things. We redheads seem to react to something faster than everyone else.Check your stress level too. If a brunette might be able to juggle a few stressful things, you as a redhead might find that a little harder.

So, are redheads fiery? Sometimes. Are we more sensitive? It looks like we usually are.

A Book or Not A Book?

Write he says. Tell your story. I keep telling him no one would believe me. Everybody seems to be writing books these days, telling their story, sharing the memoirs.  Powerful, moving stories that help people deal with separation, grief, eating disorders, or traumatic childhoods. Would my story be worth telling or would it just get lost in the sea of memoirs and life stories published every day?

I keep telling myself that as tough as same of the odds I have faced, there are people that have overcome even more appalling odds. I have the first few pages of a book tucked away in my computer, but every time I open that file and stare at the screen, I can't figure out where to start the story. What point to make? What do I want to share and why?

The best moments in my life? The easy answers would be the birth of my children or my wedding day, but in truth they're more likely to be the kind of days that suddenly make memories. Laughing in the rain with my kids, dancing and just being in the moment on a night out in my 20's, rocking quietly with my baby and watching her breathe and just being grateful and quiet in the middle of the night.

The worst moments? The easy answers there would be the day my father walked away, or holding my tiny baby girl and saying goodbye to a life that never even got a chance. Those were crushing, along with every heartbreak and instant that just took my breath away, every time I said good-bye to someone I loved. I have cried as hard as I have laughed and I have definitely lived.


So, do I sit down and write the book? What's the point? What story would I tell and how would mine make a difference?

They Don't Come With A Manual.

Today is my son's 17th birthday. I never imagined him being 6 inches taller than me and so close to being an adult all those years ago. I just looked at his little football-shaped head and was happy I had a healthy little boy. He was the easiest to deliver, but has been the toughest to raise. He had a tendency to scowl at you when he was just a tiny little guy and he still makes that same face today. He had colic and breathing issues as a baby, and I almost lost him at a year old. He spiked a fever and they couldn't figure out why he was so sick, but he survived and came back from that, and walked three months late. Now he's as healthy as they come, having outgrown all of that.

That means I have a 17 year old and an 18 year old now, and I can't (for the life of me) figure out how THAT happened. I'm pretty sure I was like 18 yesterday, so some days I don't have any idea what I'm doing. But I get somethings right. My kids know that they are loved completely and unconditionally. They don't smoke, or drink, or do drugs. My son is still a virgin, and my daughter was until at least somewhere in her senior year...or maybe until after graduation. I'm not completely sure about that....but I'm good what just the info I have.

What am I getting wrong? Probably a lot of things, but I keep trying to learn from my stumblings and be a better parent. My kids are growing up in a world that tells them that jobs and driving licences are responsibility, not freedom, so I'm struggling to get them to step forward. But they're smart and capable people, and to me that's just as important.

They don't have a pause button or an off switch that might give me time to figure out what I need to do to handle something, and they don't come with a manual. I just told the d.h. yesterday that if I were to go back into psychology and choose a field to study more carefully, I would choose birth order and how no two children have the same parents. I am a completely different person to my eight year old than I am to my eighteen year old.

When I brought my oldest home, I looked, but there was no battery compartment and no off switch, so when I make a mistake, I just have to keep chugging forward and figure it out on the fly.

They're good kids. I get some things right. I get some things wrong. If you happen to find that manual, send me a .pdf of it, would you?