I haven't taken the time to update about our week. Caleb had his MRI on Tuesday in Columbus. It was a nightmare day for us. His test was not scheduled until late in the day and so he could not eat or drink past 6 am. He was hungry and tired and cranky and threw probably the biggest fits of his life, in the car on the way up, in the reception area of the MRI, and later while the nurse was examining him. We watched a video on the test, went over his history, signed the consent forms and then waited. They score every patient before the test and Caleb scored a four which requires an ENT consult and stand by during the test; if you score a five, they do not do the test.
I should mention that Jason and I were very anxious going into this test. Caleb has had procedures before but this one was probably the most nerve wracking. We were both remembering the moments after his last surgery when they brought him back to us and he went apnic and had to be bagged. He didn't do well with anesthesia that day and so we were nervous about this time.
Our nurses were wonderful and understanding to our screaming, fighting mad little boy. We had to help hold him down for the iv and it's always so hard for me. Caleb can't stand to have his hands or feet touched because he has had so many iv's and needle pricks. He's pretty sensitive about it and here we are forcefully holding down his arms so they can stick another needle in. Our nurse was skilled and was able to get the iv in the first time although she did remark about all of his scar tissue. She also said usually with preemies it takes the full dose of anesthesia because their bodies are used to fighting. I smiled and told her I was already familiar with Caleb's fighting spirit, you can't make this boy do anything he doesn't want to do. She was correct, it took the full limit of medicine to put him under. Jason said that was the hardest part for him, seeing Caleb so limp and lifeless, it brought back many memories. I think it was hard to reconcile those memories of a tiny sick infant to the vision of Caleb now big and stronger lying so still. The test took about 25 minutes, we were in the room with him. Afterward, Jason picked Caleb up and handed him to me and I held him until he woke up. I sat in a rocker with him, so soundly sleeping, and just enjoyed the moment of holding him. He doesn't sit still long nowadays for moments like that. The nurses started to urge us to gently wake him up because he wasn't waking up on his own. The gentle urging turned into moving him to an exam table, jostling him around, undressing him, wiping him down with cold rags, and finally a sternum rub to wake him. It took him much longer than normal to awake and we began to feel a little panicky. As soon as he awoke, he tore at his iv, and I said, "Ah my fighter is back." We stayed a little longer to make sure he could hold down liquids, were given our discharge instructions and were on our way out the door. Not twenty steps down the main corridor of the hospital and Caleb vomited everything down the front of me. He kept vomiting and so we headed back from where we came. The nurses kept us a little longer, changed our discharge instructions to not feed him for a few hours and for one of us to sit beside him in the car on the way home. He was very floppy from the medicine and his low muscle tone. Jason drove home. I sat beside Caleb who slept the whole way home. I rode home in my bra covered by a small blanket because my shirt was disgusting and I'm super classy. Our evening home was long, but we both did feel relieved that the test was over and although we had a few uncomfortable minutes we had no major drama, no machines going off because his heart rate was too high or his breathing was too low. Into the next day Caleb was still dizzy and unbalanced, he would fall over sitting in his crib. He wanted down to play but then would fall and he just was not a happy boy. Around one yesterday afternoon our phone rang and it was our neurology office. We were told to not expect results until Tuesday and so I was a little nervous answering the phone, not knowing what to expect. Can I tell you they took forever to spit out the results! The results were great, no evidence of brain trauma from birth or underlying condition. Our neurologist still wishes to follow us due to Caleb's delays but the news is incredible. I can tell you I feel so much lighter. I didn't realize how much anxiety I was carrying around. I have a renewed sense of hope. It often felt like all of this struggle would be neverending and now I feel it's only for a season. We aren't sure how long the season will last and there is still struggle in it but hope is an amazing, motivating thing.
I think, no, I know I am just hesitant to share, that I have released some of the guilt I carried for so long now. I might touch on that a later time; it's a new awareness I haven't quite processed fully.
So good news in our household. The news felt as good as when I discovered I was pregnant each time; new life, new opportunity, new hope. I feel like I have let go of some things and embraced more of the future I was fearing.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Tomorrow is a big day for us. Caleb has an MRI scheduled, it's been on the horizon since a few days after birth, a follow up for most micro preemies, especially those that suffered brain bleeds like our little guy. In the last two years, I have hoped and prayed that as the time drew closer to the 2 year mark, the doctors would say the scan was unnecessary for our little guy. I hoped his development would be on track enough that it would be obvious he suffered no major ill effects from his birth. I've been holding my breath waiting, hoping just one doctor or specialist would say it was not necessary. Those words were not spoken for us, in fact the opposite, we were encouraged to schedule his test and follow through.
We saw the neurologist two weeks ago, a precursor to this scan. It was a difficult appointment for me because my hope seemed to be on a scale with my reality, which one would outweigh the other? It is not easy for me to hear and to speak of the lag of development in Caleb. It is not easy to hear how he does not measure up to other children his age, even other micro preemies. Development can be so broad, each child is different. However it is obvious how Caleb lacks in every area of development and it is hard to hear that he does not even compare to other preemies of his gestational age. It was very hard for me to have the conversation with our neurologist, although he is gracious and kind. But I also must say, and this may sound odd or even hurtful, at least at the neurologist office there is freedom for me to voice everything on my heart. I haven't been given that freedom much, to talk about my child, his disabilities, his delays, fears for his future, frustration for where we are at. I have many loving people in my life but often my voice is quieted, or my faith is questioned or criticized. And so for the most part I have stopped living out loud our story. I haven't blogged in I don't know how long. I still write, most every day but I do not share.
I sit here today with a quiet house, girls off visiting family for a few summer days and Caleb asleep in his crib. We wont have answers tomorrow but we will have at least started on a new path.
I can tell you I remember clearly the first moments I met Caleb, so tiny and so fragile, hooked up to so many machines, I never imagined the full ramifications of his birth. I vividly remember the doctors pointing to his tiny head and showing us where his brain was bleeding. I remember wanting to scream "Shut up!" The future seemed so far off with all of it's consequences and predictions and the now was so scary and real. I just wanted him to live, to breathe on his own. And it seems like along the way of his life, it's been like that for me, just willing him on to the next step, from breathing on his own to rolling over or sitting up or now walking.
It's been a struggle the last few months with his therapies; tiresome, frustrating, hard work. Jason and I feel as though in a way we are holding our breath for the results of this scan. Our neurologist has told us that even if we have positive results it still does not change the reality of our situation. Caleb is still severely delayed, testing at the one year mark for a boy who will be 2 in six weeks. Caleb will continue to battle and have to work through his delays. Even if we have a positive result from the test, there will be no reprieve from his therapies for a long time. There are days when the results matter very much to me and other days when it does not matter so much. I feel like I have been waiting and anxious for a very long time, wondering how severe the ramifications of his prematurity would be, longing to know into the future.
Caleb has been sick for almost a week, battling a fever and an infection. In fact, we thought we may have to reschedule the scan. His fever broke this morning and so the doctor said to go ahead and come. It's been awhile since Caleb has been really sick and I had forgotten how much my world is rearranged when he is sick, shuffled, prioritized, shelved.
I believe my frustration and my weariness are present in my writing today. And yet I will still post this.
We saw the neurologist two weeks ago, a precursor to this scan. It was a difficult appointment for me because my hope seemed to be on a scale with my reality, which one would outweigh the other? It is not easy for me to hear and to speak of the lag of development in Caleb. It is not easy to hear how he does not measure up to other children his age, even other micro preemies. Development can be so broad, each child is different. However it is obvious how Caleb lacks in every area of development and it is hard to hear that he does not even compare to other preemies of his gestational age. It was very hard for me to have the conversation with our neurologist, although he is gracious and kind. But I also must say, and this may sound odd or even hurtful, at least at the neurologist office there is freedom for me to voice everything on my heart. I haven't been given that freedom much, to talk about my child, his disabilities, his delays, fears for his future, frustration for where we are at. I have many loving people in my life but often my voice is quieted, or my faith is questioned or criticized. And so for the most part I have stopped living out loud our story. I haven't blogged in I don't know how long. I still write, most every day but I do not share.
I sit here today with a quiet house, girls off visiting family for a few summer days and Caleb asleep in his crib. We wont have answers tomorrow but we will have at least started on a new path.
I can tell you I remember clearly the first moments I met Caleb, so tiny and so fragile, hooked up to so many machines, I never imagined the full ramifications of his birth. I vividly remember the doctors pointing to his tiny head and showing us where his brain was bleeding. I remember wanting to scream "Shut up!" The future seemed so far off with all of it's consequences and predictions and the now was so scary and real. I just wanted him to live, to breathe on his own. And it seems like along the way of his life, it's been like that for me, just willing him on to the next step, from breathing on his own to rolling over or sitting up or now walking.
It's been a struggle the last few months with his therapies; tiresome, frustrating, hard work. Jason and I feel as though in a way we are holding our breath for the results of this scan. Our neurologist has told us that even if we have positive results it still does not change the reality of our situation. Caleb is still severely delayed, testing at the one year mark for a boy who will be 2 in six weeks. Caleb will continue to battle and have to work through his delays. Even if we have a positive result from the test, there will be no reprieve from his therapies for a long time. There are days when the results matter very much to me and other days when it does not matter so much. I feel like I have been waiting and anxious for a very long time, wondering how severe the ramifications of his prematurity would be, longing to know into the future.
Caleb has been sick for almost a week, battling a fever and an infection. In fact, we thought we may have to reschedule the scan. His fever broke this morning and so the doctor said to go ahead and come. It's been awhile since Caleb has been really sick and I had forgotten how much my world is rearranged when he is sick, shuffled, prioritized, shelved.
I believe my frustration and my weariness are present in my writing today. And yet I will still post this.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
admitting discouragement but not defeat
Today in a conversation I spoke words and conveyed an attitude as a mother for my child for which I am not proud.
"He should be walking by now. My arms are sore from carrying him everywhere." As soon as I said the words I wanted to hit reverse and put them back in my mouth or better yet delete them from my train of thought, from my heart. These words, the frustration behind them did not come from the beautiful part of my mother's heart that fosters and nurtures. This sentiment, this feeling came out of my own selfish need for progress, even more so out of frustration and the need for relief, respite.
Caleb took his first steps over a month ago. Since then he has taken a total of seven steps on his own, most often refusing to walk or even try. In that time frame he also spoke his first words, "dadda and mamma." We have also heard "Sissy" and what sounds to me like "Nca", for Seneca I believe. The words are few and far between. My ears are fine tuned to hear babbling and cooing or actual vocabulary but often hear screeching instead. He is one stubborn little boy who chooses to do things his way or no way. Yes,this sounds exactly like me and I know his tenacity is part of what has kept this little boy fighting against all the odds stacked against him. It isn't easy to always celebrate the tenacity when it manifests itself in jelly legs and tantrums or outright refusals to cooperate. I've been discouraged lately; even had late night and early morning confessionals to close friends questioning my stamina, my patience, my endurance, my mothering.
The future right now seems daunting to me. In the last months we have heard new words, new possibilities for surgeries, new treatment options. We have started new therapies, added more to our day and our week. Just yesterday a nurse called to move up some of his testings because the doctor was suddenly concerned about his development. New words like autism, like plateaued development, words are also being reintroduced, recirculated: lifelong disability, brain damage. I love words, I embrace them, enjoy studying the meaning of words and how they play off of each other, mingle,express ideas and emotions. Right now though I would like to shut the words out; not have them floating around in my head. Also at this moment the words that most often come to me are tired, angry, frustrated.
Tired of waiting, tired of answering questions, tired of hearing cliches, physically tired from therapies and appointments, tired of carrying my baby boy who is now a toddler, tired of battling him when I just want to cuddle him.
angry at doctors predicitions and pronouncements, of the callous way they throw things out that aren't certain, of how they encourage me to prepare myself, angry at comparisons, from others, and from my self. angry at how my life has changed so much.
frustrated in this cycle of waiting and hoping, frustrated that my role as a mother is more challenging than it has ever been, frustrated in others judgement and abandonment or denial
I am also angry and frustrated at myself for venting, for being honest, for putting my frustration out their voiced in a way that it sounds like criticism of my son. This is not the place I want to be in right now. Another few months of waiting, of wondering, of watching. May, June, July...we have appointments and tests each month. Each month we will learn more and more. It's like putting a puzzle together slowly. Each month that passes his doctors and therapy team seem to see as a marker or an indicator for problems, underlying issues in his development. They keep saying by this time he should be doing this, doing that. And I want to say just stop, stop doubting my son. He beats the odds, he fights. Stop discouraging me. I am not ready to be realistic because nothing about my son is realistic, he was born breathing on his own, screaming even, he has my fight in him and his own.
I love spring, I love the freshness of it, the hope of it. The chance for rebirth in flowers and trees, for growth, for beauty. When what seemed lost or stark is painted in a new light. I feel the need for that in my life right now.
"He should be walking by now. My arms are sore from carrying him everywhere." As soon as I said the words I wanted to hit reverse and put them back in my mouth or better yet delete them from my train of thought, from my heart. These words, the frustration behind them did not come from the beautiful part of my mother's heart that fosters and nurtures. This sentiment, this feeling came out of my own selfish need for progress, even more so out of frustration and the need for relief, respite.
Caleb took his first steps over a month ago. Since then he has taken a total of seven steps on his own, most often refusing to walk or even try. In that time frame he also spoke his first words, "dadda and mamma." We have also heard "Sissy" and what sounds to me like "Nca", for Seneca I believe. The words are few and far between. My ears are fine tuned to hear babbling and cooing or actual vocabulary but often hear screeching instead. He is one stubborn little boy who chooses to do things his way or no way. Yes,this sounds exactly like me and I know his tenacity is part of what has kept this little boy fighting against all the odds stacked against him. It isn't easy to always celebrate the tenacity when it manifests itself in jelly legs and tantrums or outright refusals to cooperate. I've been discouraged lately; even had late night and early morning confessionals to close friends questioning my stamina, my patience, my endurance, my mothering.
The future right now seems daunting to me. In the last months we have heard new words, new possibilities for surgeries, new treatment options. We have started new therapies, added more to our day and our week. Just yesterday a nurse called to move up some of his testings because the doctor was suddenly concerned about his development. New words like autism, like plateaued development, words are also being reintroduced, recirculated: lifelong disability, brain damage. I love words, I embrace them, enjoy studying the meaning of words and how they play off of each other, mingle,express ideas and emotions. Right now though I would like to shut the words out; not have them floating around in my head. Also at this moment the words that most often come to me are tired, angry, frustrated.
Tired of waiting, tired of answering questions, tired of hearing cliches, physically tired from therapies and appointments, tired of carrying my baby boy who is now a toddler, tired of battling him when I just want to cuddle him.
angry at doctors predicitions and pronouncements, of the callous way they throw things out that aren't certain, of how they encourage me to prepare myself, angry at comparisons, from others, and from my self. angry at how my life has changed so much.
frustrated in this cycle of waiting and hoping, frustrated that my role as a mother is more challenging than it has ever been, frustrated in others judgement and abandonment or denial
I am also angry and frustrated at myself for venting, for being honest, for putting my frustration out their voiced in a way that it sounds like criticism of my son. This is not the place I want to be in right now. Another few months of waiting, of wondering, of watching. May, June, July...we have appointments and tests each month. Each month we will learn more and more. It's like putting a puzzle together slowly. Each month that passes his doctors and therapy team seem to see as a marker or an indicator for problems, underlying issues in his development. They keep saying by this time he should be doing this, doing that. And I want to say just stop, stop doubting my son. He beats the odds, he fights. Stop discouraging me. I am not ready to be realistic because nothing about my son is realistic, he was born breathing on his own, screaming even, he has my fight in him and his own.
I love spring, I love the freshness of it, the hope of it. The chance for rebirth in flowers and trees, for growth, for beauty. When what seemed lost or stark is painted in a new light. I feel the need for that in my life right now.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Siblings
I took all four of the kids to the zoo yesterday, by myself. It was a beautiful spring day full of sunshine and laughter and only a little bit of whine and bickering. It was Caleb's first trip to the zoo, a place I have always loved to go, and he loved it as well. He is such an interactive, engaging social boy, he ate up the crowd, the activity, the interaction. The girls were sweet and helpful and excited to see their own favorite animals and ride the carousel. I thought I might become overwhelmed with keeping track of all of them, handling their needs without becoming grouchy myself but really it was lovely.
The only hard part came when others would remark on Caleb's cuteness, ask the expected question you ask with a baby, "How old?" When I would answer with 19 months, they would look startled or surprised and even a few wanted to know why he wasn't walking or talking yet. One lady in line behind us at the carousel, even suggested if I just put him down and didn't cater to him, he would walk. Some people, right? Oh I see the babies all around younger than he, laughing, babbling, reaching for things, toddling, standing alone, walking. Even just a few weeks ago, the comparison would have made my heart break, sink further into my chest into despair, envy. But to see him yesterday, his delight in just sharing the day with his sisters, his easygoing, engaging smiles to me and strangers, I couldn't despair. I couldn't be jealous. He has a harder road, more of a struggle but he is my delight. This sweet little stubborn boy who works hard, and loves even harder. He stood up, supported of course, at the aquarium, intently watching the manatee and the fish swim by. Excitement and joy in the simplicity of nature, of fish swimming by and waves and people all around. He leaned back into his big sister's arms and reached up to touch her face and it made me want to cry. I am so blessed with children who love and support each other, rely and encourage one another. The girls took such joy in just showing things to him.
It's been a hard adjustment to make, this new status of a special mom. I struggle with my own inadequacies and fears often. Am I capable to provide everything he needs, the girls needs? What about my own needs? I struggle with frustration and misunderstanding, with feeling overwhelmed and alone, drifting sometimes. But yesterday I caught another glimpse, another reminder of hope and maybe even provision.
I have siblings who have seen me through the rockiest times of my life, shared in the ups and the downs. Yesterday I saw my children demonstrate their own bond, their own willingness to love one another and support each other. It's a little bit of a relief for me. I do my part as their mother and I also do my part to encourage and not halter their bond. I can relax a little in that because I have my own sibling track record. My siblings are some of my closest confidants, my greatest cheerleaders, and also the truth tellers of my life. We can annoy each other, rarely am I the cause of this, guaranteed, but in the end we are in each others' corner. I see this with the girls and Caleb. My goal is to continue to foster it and not impede on it.
My girls have this selfless love for Caleb, it is truly an amazing thing. I hope we can always find the balance and not fall into the trap of catering to Caleb too much but for now I am so thankful for their sweet, loving hearts. I am a very blessed girl.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
my public service announcement about twins
What do u struggle with most? Someone asked me this question and the answer for me is immediately forthcoming. I struggle with being a twin. A surprising statement to actually voice, shocking almost when you consider my relationship with my identical twin sister. We often joke that we are each other's soul mate, we talk of completion and total understanding, of being joined in such a close inexplicable bond. So struggle seems an odd sentiment, it doesn't correlate, how can such a bond be categorized in any way as strife?
I do know that part of the strife does come from the closeness of our bond, our dependency on each other. When you feel such a connection with one person it can be very easy and even unintentional to shut others out. Why take the time and effort to explain yourself to others when someone else understands you with an ease and such grace? Quickly other relationships can feel dimmed under the spotlight of such dependency and attachment. Boundaries are necessary but are not always easy to set. This dependency is a new part of the struggle. For a very long time I was content in this reliance, this beautiful if unbalanced friendship and bond. Only in the last few years, when my life has been on such a shaky foundation, have I realized the drawbacks and the effect of our closeness on others. I haven't fully invested in other relationships or in attempting to foster closeness with others I love. The realization of how my twin relationship affects my other relationships has created a need for balance, thus creating struggle.
My struggle of being a twin cannot solely be attributed to dependency. My struggle has always been in finding myself, defining myself, setting myself apart from someone who looks almost identical to me and acts very similar in many ways. The balance in embracing our similarities while drawing out our differences has been hard for me. Often I have went to one extreme while others chose the other extreme. We are categorized as "the twins." When together the focus is most definitely on our likeness to each other. Often people assume we like the same things, feel the same things, want the same things. I can't tell you how many times we have received the same gift or compliment. Often as children we were dressed alike, our identicalness was celebrated and fostered. And while this happens, I find myself going to the other extreme, screaming out for my own identity, place. I've talked about it before, her zig became my zag. You want long hair, well then mine will be short. You want girly-girl appearance and make-up and dresses, well then I'll do natural ponytail and jeans. These are simple things but often I went to extremes. Overachiever/slacker. Compliant/Rebellious.
For years I felt I lived in her shadow or in the shadow of our twinness. I would guess in ways she has felt the same. Even today at times I feel it. I wonder when I feel it now if it is just remnants of past thoughts and emotions. Yesterday someone remarked that they didn't know she was a twin. I thought how odd, we are truly living separate lives now, in different cities. How odd that something so key to my identity is not known or visible by everyone. Someone else remarked how much my oldest daughter looked like her. I thought "Hey wait a second, she's my daughter." Logical? No, I know when we both look so similar but it did rub me a little wrong. My pride, my joy, my sweet daughter;link her to me. Illogical, the thoughts of a twin sometime.
The struggle to be noticed and not just noticed but celebrated for who you are while not being compared or measured to someone else has always been my fight. I shared a room, a closet, a life and everything it entails with someone who became my own personal measure of self-esteem, beauty, acceptance. We shared friends, experiences, secrets, clothes, a bathroom. We still share all of those but a bathroom. We still spend hours talking, still sometimes late in the night. She is always one of my markers for joy, the one I laugh with over silly things, the one I cry to and confess to. I'm truly blessed to be able to call my sister my closest friend. I'm thankful that the competitive atmosphere of our friendship is rarely present now. My choices now are my own, not brought about my knee jerk reactions to distinguish myself as separate. I still cringe when I hear someone call us the twins though, even when they say 'the gorgeous redhead twins.' (I may have added the gorgeous part but I love descriptive words, the more the merrier!) I want to say we are so much more than what you see as us together. We are individual and deserve to be recognized for that.
So in reading this I am offering you a public service announcement. When you see twins, do not, I repeat, do not call them twins. Take the time to learn their individual names. :)
I do know that part of the strife does come from the closeness of our bond, our dependency on each other. When you feel such a connection with one person it can be very easy and even unintentional to shut others out. Why take the time and effort to explain yourself to others when someone else understands you with an ease and such grace? Quickly other relationships can feel dimmed under the spotlight of such dependency and attachment. Boundaries are necessary but are not always easy to set. This dependency is a new part of the struggle. For a very long time I was content in this reliance, this beautiful if unbalanced friendship and bond. Only in the last few years, when my life has been on such a shaky foundation, have I realized the drawbacks and the effect of our closeness on others. I haven't fully invested in other relationships or in attempting to foster closeness with others I love. The realization of how my twin relationship affects my other relationships has created a need for balance, thus creating struggle.
My struggle of being a twin cannot solely be attributed to dependency. My struggle has always been in finding myself, defining myself, setting myself apart from someone who looks almost identical to me and acts very similar in many ways. The balance in embracing our similarities while drawing out our differences has been hard for me. Often I have went to one extreme while others chose the other extreme. We are categorized as "the twins." When together the focus is most definitely on our likeness to each other. Often people assume we like the same things, feel the same things, want the same things. I can't tell you how many times we have received the same gift or compliment. Often as children we were dressed alike, our identicalness was celebrated and fostered. And while this happens, I find myself going to the other extreme, screaming out for my own identity, place. I've talked about it before, her zig became my zag. You want long hair, well then mine will be short. You want girly-girl appearance and make-up and dresses, well then I'll do natural ponytail and jeans. These are simple things but often I went to extremes. Overachiever/slacker. Compliant/Rebellious.
For years I felt I lived in her shadow or in the shadow of our twinness. I would guess in ways she has felt the same. Even today at times I feel it. I wonder when I feel it now if it is just remnants of past thoughts and emotions. Yesterday someone remarked that they didn't know she was a twin. I thought how odd, we are truly living separate lives now, in different cities. How odd that something so key to my identity is not known or visible by everyone. Someone else remarked how much my oldest daughter looked like her. I thought "Hey wait a second, she's my daughter." Logical? No, I know when we both look so similar but it did rub me a little wrong. My pride, my joy, my sweet daughter;link her to me. Illogical, the thoughts of a twin sometime.
The struggle to be noticed and not just noticed but celebrated for who you are while not being compared or measured to someone else has always been my fight. I shared a room, a closet, a life and everything it entails with someone who became my own personal measure of self-esteem, beauty, acceptance. We shared friends, experiences, secrets, clothes, a bathroom. We still share all of those but a bathroom. We still spend hours talking, still sometimes late in the night. She is always one of my markers for joy, the one I laugh with over silly things, the one I cry to and confess to. I'm truly blessed to be able to call my sister my closest friend. I'm thankful that the competitive atmosphere of our friendship is rarely present now. My choices now are my own, not brought about my knee jerk reactions to distinguish myself as separate. I still cringe when I hear someone call us the twins though, even when they say 'the gorgeous redhead twins.' (I may have added the gorgeous part but I love descriptive words, the more the merrier!) I want to say we are so much more than what you see as us together. We are individual and deserve to be recognized for that.
So in reading this I am offering you a public service announcement. When you see twins, do not, I repeat, do not call them twins. Take the time to learn their individual names. :)
Thursday, March 11, 2010
A step in the right direction
Man, I am struggling tonight. It was a very busy, full day, an emotional rollercoaster of a day as well. And I am reminded tonight about how life is about moments. Moments that shape you, mold you, change you, reform you or sometimes even break you. We don't get to pick the moments I have learned that, but we do get to pick how we respond.
I spent the morning with a room full of lovely girlfriends. I held a sweet little baby, who was not my own, hugged an almost-due beautifully pregnant friend, listened in on other conversations of friends voicing their desire to have more babies. Celebrated with a dear friend's joyful news, and talked of how I am feeling post-op, physically, emotionally. Then had lunch and headed off to my first post- op doctor appointment, a room full of beautiful, abundant, glowing pregnant ladies and a few late in life ladies. I sat with the late in life ladies. I read a senior magazine on bone density, I couldnt bring myself to look at all the Pregnancy and Conception Magazines. I texted my sister, sending out a plea for a lifeline. Quick, make me laugh, distract me, pray for me, save me from myself right now. Then they called my name and off I went to speak with my fabulous doctor.
It was a great check-up, I have to say I have bounced back rather nicely. But he had pictures and discussion for me. Oh I was expecting it but still so not ready for it. My hysterectomy was a direct result of mistakes made from my c-section; I think I have shared that before but if I havent, there it is. And I saw close-up in color pictures of the mistakes, pictures of my damaged womb, my damaged ovary and tubes. And I learned the damage was more extensive than I had originally thought. I dont mind gore, blood, organs, tissue, doesnt bother me in the least. But I have to say seeing my organs and the damage was shocking, upsetting. I have a wonderful surgeon who was able to repair what he could and remove what he couldnt. I am caught up in the removal, in the loss, in the senselessness and the carelessness of it. Preventable, all preventable, and I am not sure how to wrap my mind around that. But you see today I was reminded life is about how you react to the moments. The damage done to my body was in a moment, in that same moment I received the gift of a miracle, my beautiful baby boy. Oh I have heard it so many times over the last two years, "Just be glad you have Caleb, focus on that and dont worry about the rest." It's so hurtful when someone else recommends, even sometimes demands, that you move on. But it is beautiful and freeing, when you, your self can move on. My moment was at least two-fold, loss and blessing. What an interesting dynamic to come to terms with.
I told you of the pictures, I have several sheets of them. My doctor was kind enough to make me copies. I had them on the counter at home. Seneca was fascinated by them, asking what organs were what and where the incisions were made. Sierra was disturbed and covered her eyes and could not look. And my sweet Vanny, standing in the middle of both of them, stealing glances and then hugging me after each look at the pictures; my reassurer. This scene with the girls, struck such a chord with me. I've been like each girl in the midst of this struggle. Most often like Sierra, not ready to fully deal, avoiding. Sometimes like Vanny, diving in for a look, for a reality check and then pulling back, all the while reassuring myself and others. And recently more like my logical, realist Senny. Let's look it in the face and see what we are dealing with, no fear, no disgust, just focused interest and introspect. A key to moving on, at least a step in the right direction.
I'm so thankful I have beautiful amazing friends who share their lives with me. I am so blessed by my wonderful girls and the promptings they give to my spirit on a continual basis. I am amazed by the gift, the miracle of my sweet boy. It makes dealing with loss and ache much easier.
I spent the morning with a room full of lovely girlfriends. I held a sweet little baby, who was not my own, hugged an almost-due beautifully pregnant friend, listened in on other conversations of friends voicing their desire to have more babies. Celebrated with a dear friend's joyful news, and talked of how I am feeling post-op, physically, emotionally. Then had lunch and headed off to my first post- op doctor appointment, a room full of beautiful, abundant, glowing pregnant ladies and a few late in life ladies. I sat with the late in life ladies. I read a senior magazine on bone density, I couldnt bring myself to look at all the Pregnancy and Conception Magazines. I texted my sister, sending out a plea for a lifeline. Quick, make me laugh, distract me, pray for me, save me from myself right now. Then they called my name and off I went to speak with my fabulous doctor.
It was a great check-up, I have to say I have bounced back rather nicely. But he had pictures and discussion for me. Oh I was expecting it but still so not ready for it. My hysterectomy was a direct result of mistakes made from my c-section; I think I have shared that before but if I havent, there it is. And I saw close-up in color pictures of the mistakes, pictures of my damaged womb, my damaged ovary and tubes. And I learned the damage was more extensive than I had originally thought. I dont mind gore, blood, organs, tissue, doesnt bother me in the least. But I have to say seeing my organs and the damage was shocking, upsetting. I have a wonderful surgeon who was able to repair what he could and remove what he couldnt. I am caught up in the removal, in the loss, in the senselessness and the carelessness of it. Preventable, all preventable, and I am not sure how to wrap my mind around that. But you see today I was reminded life is about how you react to the moments. The damage done to my body was in a moment, in that same moment I received the gift of a miracle, my beautiful baby boy. Oh I have heard it so many times over the last two years, "Just be glad you have Caleb, focus on that and dont worry about the rest." It's so hurtful when someone else recommends, even sometimes demands, that you move on. But it is beautiful and freeing, when you, your self can move on. My moment was at least two-fold, loss and blessing. What an interesting dynamic to come to terms with.
I told you of the pictures, I have several sheets of them. My doctor was kind enough to make me copies. I had them on the counter at home. Seneca was fascinated by them, asking what organs were what and where the incisions were made. Sierra was disturbed and covered her eyes and could not look. And my sweet Vanny, standing in the middle of both of them, stealing glances and then hugging me after each look at the pictures; my reassurer. This scene with the girls, struck such a chord with me. I've been like each girl in the midst of this struggle. Most often like Sierra, not ready to fully deal, avoiding. Sometimes like Vanny, diving in for a look, for a reality check and then pulling back, all the while reassuring myself and others. And recently more like my logical, realist Senny. Let's look it in the face and see what we are dealing with, no fear, no disgust, just focused interest and introspect. A key to moving on, at least a step in the right direction.
I'm so thankful I have beautiful amazing friends who share their lives with me. I am so blessed by my wonderful girls and the promptings they give to my spirit on a continual basis. I am amazed by the gift, the miracle of my sweet boy. It makes dealing with loss and ache much easier.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Not just the pretty girl in a dress
Yesterday, I wore a dress and high heels and make-up and hairspray to church. I looked great and felt misleading to some extent. I'm such a jeans and t-shirt kinda girl, I probably wear a dress or skirt six or seven times a year, hairspray even less! Because of my surgical incisions, I did not want to wear jeans yet, I was concerned the waistband would rub against my stitches. So my choices were sweats (and only rough looking ones because the others were unlaundered, aka dirty) or a dress. Now to be completely forthcoming,I could so get by with sweats at my church, it isn't about a dress code there. In fact, I think in the past I have worn sweats on days I was teaching Sunday school and I do tend to rock my WVu sweatshirt in the fall after great victories. I chose the dress and the hairspray and lipstick and heels because I wanted to look nice, more than nice, womanly, pretty again. Realizing in some ways this surgery has robbed me of some of that feeling of womanly or youthful confidence. And before you start to think I am completely shallow and vain for spending a paragraph on what I wore to church, hold on I am going somewhere with this.
I wore the dress most of the day, rocked the dress, but the whole time I was in it I was internally crying out for my jeans and t-shirt. (and flip flops; the weather was springy yesterday!)
In a way the dress felt ingeniune, something I put on that did not represent me, embody me. Now I am a girl who doesn't struggle too much with body image issues or beauty issues. I am quite comfortable in my skin, not constantly comparing myself to others. I know I have flaws but I tend to focus on my attributes. I am not sure how or where I picked up body image confidence; my struggle is more with personality insecurities. I was completely comfortable with how I looked in the dress, that wasn't the issue. What was vexatious about my appearance yesterday was that I felt like it was not a true representation of me, or it wasn't the me I wanted to present. I wanted the ponytail and the fresh face and the jeans and flip flops.
Those features or items speak comfort to me and I am all about comfort in every aspect of my life. I desire to be cozy and warm. But more than that I am a giver of comfort, of calm. Several years ago I recognized I had an inclination to encourage people. I can very easily walk alongside individuals and support and cheer for them. I believe it is a gift I have that has helped in many of my relationships. It has helped to make me a good mother, a good friend, even in management when I worked outside of the home. I think it even comes out in my writing. I have this desire to see people where they are, love them there and encourage them to strive for more and believe for more. So for the past five or six years I have worked on this gifting or this personality trait. I am an encourager, it is a central part of who I am. I will also go as far to as to say the last four or five years most of my encouragement has pointed people towards my faith, towards Jesus, towards hope in a living,loving God.
I sat in church yesterday in my fun wrap dress and heels, feeling completely at a loss of who I am, feeling unauthentic, even in my dress, but more so in my faith, in my personality, and in my life right now. Struggling with a desire to still want to encourage others; yet I am so disheartened in my own faith and the reality of my life lately. I would not go so far as to say I am faking anything. I can still feel beautiful and fun in a dress. I don't believe I am faking the faith either. My faith is still there, it just seems so distant and marred right now. It's more than a choice of dress, it's more than a discouraging feeling.
Who am I as a mother, a friend, a daughter, as a woman when I am in the midst of struggle and unquiet in my faith, in my life? Me who gives calm and quiet, who points towards peace yet doesn't feel the peace herself?
I know others have solutions for this, some answers have touched me, others aggravated me. I feel a pushing and a pulling along as if someone else can just drag me back into an accord. Right now in my life there is struggle and dissatisfaction and anger and frustration, loss. I guess the thing I can still pull from my faith, still rely on is that there is hope. All of this will be worked out but I get to be who I am, in the midst of my struggle, in the day to day of my life, all of who I am,not just the pretty girl in a dress.
http://holdonandbelieve.blogspot.com/
I wore the dress most of the day, rocked the dress, but the whole time I was in it I was internally crying out for my jeans and t-shirt. (and flip flops; the weather was springy yesterday!)
In a way the dress felt ingeniune, something I put on that did not represent me, embody me. Now I am a girl who doesn't struggle too much with body image issues or beauty issues. I am quite comfortable in my skin, not constantly comparing myself to others. I know I have flaws but I tend to focus on my attributes. I am not sure how or where I picked up body image confidence; my struggle is more with personality insecurities. I was completely comfortable with how I looked in the dress, that wasn't the issue. What was vexatious about my appearance yesterday was that I felt like it was not a true representation of me, or it wasn't the me I wanted to present. I wanted the ponytail and the fresh face and the jeans and flip flops.
Those features or items speak comfort to me and I am all about comfort in every aspect of my life. I desire to be cozy and warm. But more than that I am a giver of comfort, of calm. Several years ago I recognized I had an inclination to encourage people. I can very easily walk alongside individuals and support and cheer for them. I believe it is a gift I have that has helped in many of my relationships. It has helped to make me a good mother, a good friend, even in management when I worked outside of the home. I think it even comes out in my writing. I have this desire to see people where they are, love them there and encourage them to strive for more and believe for more. So for the past five or six years I have worked on this gifting or this personality trait. I am an encourager, it is a central part of who I am. I will also go as far to as to say the last four or five years most of my encouragement has pointed people towards my faith, towards Jesus, towards hope in a living,loving God.
I sat in church yesterday in my fun wrap dress and heels, feeling completely at a loss of who I am, feeling unauthentic, even in my dress, but more so in my faith, in my personality, and in my life right now. Struggling with a desire to still want to encourage others; yet I am so disheartened in my own faith and the reality of my life lately. I would not go so far as to say I am faking anything. I can still feel beautiful and fun in a dress. I don't believe I am faking the faith either. My faith is still there, it just seems so distant and marred right now. It's more than a choice of dress, it's more than a discouraging feeling.
Who am I as a mother, a friend, a daughter, as a woman when I am in the midst of struggle and unquiet in my faith, in my life? Me who gives calm and quiet, who points towards peace yet doesn't feel the peace herself?
I know others have solutions for this, some answers have touched me, others aggravated me. I feel a pushing and a pulling along as if someone else can just drag me back into an accord. Right now in my life there is struggle and dissatisfaction and anger and frustration, loss. I guess the thing I can still pull from my faith, still rely on is that there is hope. All of this will be worked out but I get to be who I am, in the midst of my struggle, in the day to day of my life, all of who I am,not just the pretty girl in a dress.
http://holdonandbelieve.blogspot.com/
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