Today has reminded me...

... why Advil is such a wonderful thing.

... why I tell myself every morning to go to bed earlier that night.

... that birth control really does have it's merits.

... that the to-do list is not ever really conquerable.

... to count to ten and pray to Jesus in the midst the latest intolerable kicking/screeching/i-won't-take-a-nap-and-you-can't-make-me tantrum.

... that even though my husband's driving really pisses me off, I love him anyway.

... that it's OK to have breakfast for dinner. Toaster waffles, anyone?

... why sometimes, I could really go for a nice cocktail. Or two.

The P word

"Productivity" is sort of a dirty word among us clinicians at work. I bristle whenever I hear it, mostly because it makes me feel devalued as a real-live person whose skills and talents are worth more than the numbers on the page might reveal. (I have to say I felt a little justified in this opinion when I attended a training course on our then-new computer system and learned that I, as a therapist, was lumped in with room space and equipment under the "resource" category. Very nice, eh?) And for the record, my productivity is more often than not at or above what is expected of me, so I'm not just whining about something I don't achieve.

But then I thought about how good it feels to be productive at home -- to get things done, to work on projects I enjoy, to feel a sense of accomplishment. It's relaxing, really.

I wonder if there is a way to bridge that disconnect. I doubt it. Unless they create a new category in the system for invaluable, insightful, compassionate, best-care, best-practice, highly-trained, committed "professional."

I'm not holding my breath.

Do you ever get that feeling?

Know how kids, at least kids of a certain age, seem to experience everything at full tilt? They have never been happier/sadder/more scared/more tired/angrier/in love with you than they are at that minute. Sometimes I love it. Other times (you can figure out which ones), I don't.

Do you ever still feel that way? I do.

I felt that way at church last Sunday, when I looked around at this room full of kids and adults and families and friends and felt so incredibly happy to be there. So enveloped. It was the best place to be right at that very minute. Everything was right.

And it's happened at work, when I have been overwhelmed by the kindness and goodness and generosity of the women that I work with. I believe we would do almost anything to help each other.

Sometimes it's utter helplessness. My cousin's family has been dealt three completely unrelated and equally unnerving medical blows over the course of the last few weeks. Two seemingly strong, healthy people are now looking at very scary situations. I sit by and know that there is nothing I can do to help, to make it better, to releive their fears. And I would do anything, if I just knew what.

Occasionally I feel invinicible. I went to the pool again today. Tried out my new Zoomers that I got for my birthday and I almost feel like I could go back again for more. I am convinced at this very minute that I can overcome everything -- even exercise.

And of course there are times when I feel overwhelmingly saddened by loss. It comes from nowhere and surrounds me. It takes my breath away. But what's odd is, even this is OK sometimes. I think the feeling of loss comes after a split second of feeling their presence -- like I could turn around and see them there. And that time is sweet, let me tell you.

I like these feelings. Maybe not the bad ones so much, but even those make me feel more human. I think I turned it all off for awhile because nothing felt very good and there didn't seem to be any promise that it would ever change. Now... Hey, I know life's not a free ride. It will get rough again. I hope I can remember to feel it though. It's just better somehow if you feel it.

Splish Splash

So, as anyone who reads this knows, I hate exercise. Hate it, loathe it, despise it, whatever. I even told this to a trainer once who then eyed me with a combination of such disbelief and disdain that I nearly knocked his block off. I guess it makes sense that he would react that way, but I was sort of surprised... my only real goal was for us to have a common understanding of the facts at hand, but it didn't work out that way. We didn't exactly "make friends."

But I digress.

In some twisted turn of fate, about the only form of exercise that I can tolerate [dare I say enjoy?] is swimming. I know, I know -- the mental picture has burned it's way into your brain and for that I am sorry. But the fact remains that swimming is the only thing that works for me. After Rob and I moved in with Dad we joined the Y (where I experienced the episode detailed above) and I eventually found my way to the pool where I actually grew into a routine of sorts. As Dad declined the routine went away and brownies and popcorn and country breakfasts crept in. Ah, the double whammy of death and weight gain. Doesn't seem fair, does it?

I've been ramping myself up to restart.... anything. Exercise, drinking water, eating better, taking my Glucophage, anything. I finally opted for exercise as it seems the most pro-active and is concrete enough to not totally overwhelm me. I went to the Lands End site and got a new suit and decided once it arrived I'd hit the pool, gawkers be damned.

D-Day was today.

I coached myself all morning: You've GOT to do this. The alternative is abysmal. It's not an option to skip (and my college friends can attest to my skipping prowess). It doesn't matter how you look or what other people think, this is what you need to do for yourself and Rob and Sara and any future kids you might want. JUST GO AND DO IT ALREADY.

So, I did. We did -- Rob, Sara and I all landed at the Y and I was ready to go. Bring on the pool! Screw the looks of disgust! Never mind that this is just a drop in the bucket! I'm ready!!!

And that's when I noticed the TV cameras.

No joke. F*&%#$^ TV cameras! And they've remodeled, so the pool area is now open to the sign-in desk, the lobby area, and the Wellness Center, so my ginormous sorry ass is displayed for the whole world to see. Well, at least to everyone at the Y. There was no dodging it, none at all.

But I trudged on. I put on the suit, grabbed my goggles, donned my flip-flops, and took that long dreaded walk to the display case known as the Indoor Pool. I did my laps, made a dash for my towel, and got the H out of there.

God love me, I did it.

Next time though, if I see TV cameras? I'm outta there.

Waves

They say it comes over you in waves, and They're right.



(Some day I think I would like to meet They. Or maybe not.)



It comes over me when I see Sara riding the rocking horse that Dad gave her. He never got to see her play on it. It comes over me as I go through the stacks and stacks of Medicare envelopes, the ones he never bothered to open because they always said "This Is Not A Bill." It comes over me when I find the little bag of Oreos we kept in his room, in case he wanted one. The last thing he ever ate was an Oreo. It comes over me when I say prayers with Sara at night and see over the top of her head the picture of him and me dancing at my wedding, my favorite picture of him in the world. It comes over me when we pray to Dahd to please tell Bamma and Bampa that we still love them and miss them. It comes over me when out of nowhere I imagine the two of them lying there side by side, forever in that small silent darkness.



It came over me when I saw this picture, the last one he ever took, one of only two from Christmas Day.














Yep, waves.

Civics lesson

I just sent a letter to my senator - no, not kidding - asking him to denouce the mindless, mean-spirited, and generally asinine comments made by Ann Coulter eariler this month.

What a moron. I was embarrassed as a woman and as a conservative and as a person in general.

Icky. Icky, icky, icky.

Sara-Speak

I thought I was too old to learn a new language but what do you know...


Pete = Pete (and any other cute, furry, four-legged creature)
Kitty = Pete (and any other cute, furry, four-legged creature)
Gahk = Sock. And sometimes "shoe."
Dahd = God.
Uhnkuh = Uncle C.J.
Eeyah = Sara
Ansee = Aunt Nancy
Peece = Please
Open = Do whatever it is that you do to this thing that I can't do by myself yet.
Moh = More
Kakah = Cracker
Kookey = Cookie
Neenah = Banana
Ahhhdaaahhhhhnnnnuh = All done
Hiya = Hi
Aymeh = Amen
Beebeebeebeebeebeebeeb = I'm really tired
Up, Eat, Mama, and Papa = um... Up, Eat, Mama, and Papa


So OK, maybe it's not rocket science. But it's music to this Mama's ears.

Finding the New Normal

The dust is settling. There is no current crisis, no current major medical illness, no current financial stressor.

I have to admit that all of this is nice.

Now in saying that I feel some guilt, as the greatest source of stress (which also resulted in the vast number of unknowns of life) was Dad. I was never angry at him because of it and I don't resent him for it now, it just was what it was. At the same time, I miss him, I miss sitting with him and getting his pills together and asking how he is and hearing him call out to mom even though it made me incredibly sad. I miss knowing he is there.

And so here the three of us are, in some ways "our family" for the very first time. I feel like it's an opportunity to establish how to be Us. How do we operate as a family? How do we strike our balance? What will be our routines? It's (almost) a clean slate, and I feel some urgency to get it right, although I have no idea what "right" really is.

***** ***** *****

Last year at this time we left the only home we three ever shared.
I've wondered and worried and dreamed since then about where home would eventually be.
Now we are home.

Last year at this time we prepared for Dad's newest battle with cancer.
We fought and prayed and helped and worried and struggled everyday.
Now the cancer has won.

Last year at this time I laid awake at night worrying about money.
We were fortunate enough to have had many of those demands removed while we were with Dad.
Now the worries are different, not as urgent, but just as real.

Last year at this time we packed up most of our wordly belongings and locked them in a room that we rarely entered.
We spent the year missing some things and forgetting even more.
Now we can retrieve them, but I wonder how they'll fit into this new life we create.

Last year at this time we would visit Dad from time to time.
We spent 10 months living with him almost every day.
Now I wish I had been there for him even more.

Last year at this time Sara was so small and quiet and helpless.
She spent the year learning and growing and doing new things every day.
Now I wish she would just rest sometimes. Even just a little.

***** ***** *****

Last year the Old Normal was comfortable and stifiling all at once, but offered the security of a father that I know I didn't (and still don't) appreciate. Now there are still just as many questions, but they are new and hope-filled and seem to open up the world in a way that I haven't known for a long, long time. I can't wait to see what the New Normal becomes.

Ecclesiastes 3

Yesterday at about four o'clock we buried our father.
Five hours later his nephew, Jacob Michael Ketner was born.

Like my aunt said, I guess God works all things out.

My life, courtesy of Nabisco

So I've been hearing NBC's evening news promoting their series on adults caring for their parents. The latest installment seems to be about those of us who are caring not only for our parents but our children as well. (I remembered this as I carried Dad's pills up for his last round tonight but stopped by my room to give Sara her bottle first: Vicodin and steroids in one hand, warm milk in the other.)

"The sandwich generation" is what came to mind. I'm sure I didn't coin the term -- I'm not that original -- but it is appropos. I imagined myself as an Oreo cookie -- the white goo in the middle holding the two outside pieces together.

And then I realized that I, personally, would be a Double Stuf. Cause you know, there's a lot of me to love.

Smooth

Classes were cancelled at IUPUI today so Rob and I went out for a Valentine's Day dinner. I decided to live a little and ordered a Raspberry Lemondrop.

Mmmmmm.

Next time I will forgo the raspberry; I thought it actually made it too sweet. But still -- oh, so good.

The week in review

Falls: 3 (one for Dad, two for Sara)

Home care visits: 1.5 (the first lady didn't go up to see him, so I'll only give her a .5)

ER visits: 1

Sleepless nights: 8 (two for each of us: Nancy, Rob, Amy and Sara)

Days of work missed: 2

Bed changes: 3. So far.

Loads of laundry: 8? 10? I've lost track.

Arguments: More than I care to admit to.

Deaths: None. But the cars are still a little dicey.... we're definitely on borrowed time.

The way of things

Dad: Fell today. Seems a little less alert to me and a bit more confused. I'm just going with whatever comes our way. I'm not sure what else I think I can do about it anyway.

Sara: Nearly got frostbite yesterday (see below -- and no, I'm not kidding). Then she took a header off of the changing table and landed on her face. Her right cheek is purple and swollen. And, as usual, she's not sleeping well.

Rob: Also having sleeping troubles. This happens to him from time to time. It's rough on all of us. Plus he's the designated Dad picker-upper who just happens to have a bad back. And he's the resident "mechanic" who's fighting a losing battle (again, see below).

Cars: They're all dying. I'm not kidding: yesterday we got five minutes into the drive to work when we turned around because the self-destruct alarm on Dad's minivan went off and never stopped. Sara was freezing and screaming from the cold. I felt like such a good mom. Today the fan on the Mazda started to go. There are four vehicles between these two houses and not one of them is really appropriate to drive right now. I believe God is trying to tell us something. Problem is, He's not footing the bill...

Weather: Um, snowy. And cold. Yes, indeed -- there is ice on the window.

Me: Tired. Resigned. Waiting to see what happens next. I've stopped believing that there's an end in sight. There's no end. It's just a really long, bumpy road.

Amy Harrison inspired me

I have fun watching her avatar change, so I went to Yahoo! and played around with my own. It's kind of addictive.

Check out the real me over on the side bar. Pete even made the scene!

Most unsettling

So I'm sitting in the living room this afternoon with Sara. She is doing her Sara thing, wandering here & there and generally wearing me out. She heads down this tiny little hallway where she actually can't get into any trouble and a minute later comes toddling back to me, hand outstreched and fully intent on handing over whatever it is that she's found. This is quite unusual.

It is poo.

It is hers.

And I have no idea where it came from.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On a lighter note, I nearly had a complete breakdown today. I comtemplated running away from home but decided against it. I'm going to give it another day. We'll see how things go.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Today I not only thought but actually said, out loud, "Lord, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take." I was serious.

Then He decided to try me on it. Really? Not nice.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I can honestly say that these days are the most spiritually trying of my life. I have never prayed with such specificity and desperation -- even when Mom was so sick, it was more like rote begging than actual prayer.

I keep thinking that when we come out of all of this I'm going to be so much more "mature" and "faithful."

Fat chance.

there is nothing sadder than an empty crib

i know a lot of people will cringe when i say this, but right now it feels very true:

nothing in the world makes me as happy as she does. nothing even comes close. now, it is also true that nothing makes me feel as tired, or as nervous, or as inadequate, or as overwhelmed. but it's a fair trade i think.

tonight sara b is staying with the brenners. i love them for it, as very very soon i plan on taking these tylenol pm tablets sitting next to me, peeling out my contacts, and snuggling in for a long winter's nap. my aunt elaine is here to help out with dad and, with no baby itching to start the day at the crack of dawn, i hope to get caught up on some much needed sleep.

enter the empty crib.

i don't know what it is, but walking into the room tonight and seeing her empty crib made me feel so sad. it was about the time i would be giving her her last bottle -- the only time of day she will actually sit with me, content to be quiet and still. her blanket was there, and the toys she pitched onto the floor from her nap earlier today. the bink was close by, just in case. but the reason for it all was missing.

i'm such a sap.

the picture with this post is a familiar sight: here mama, open this up so we can play with it. ok bear, we can play with it. tomorrow, we can play all you like. i promise.

Ha Ha Ha

Ladies, I am sooo sorry. Really.

the rubber met the road

really, it would be more accurate to say that the shit hit the fan but i thought that seemed a little too much for a title.

dad had an appointment scheduled with his oncologist today. he needed to have some blood drawn the day before so when i got home from work yesterday he asked me to go get the car warmed up. no problem.

on the way out of the house he nearly fell sideways into the shrubs. and this was while using his walker. (it is quite likely that his balance is failing again due to changes/growth in the tumors.) anyway, nanci caught him, he thanked her and we kept on walking. i opened the car door for him and he started to walk around to the driver's side door and... i'm sure you can see where this is going. i asked what he was doing, he said he was going to drive, i said i thought that wasn't a good idea, he said he wouldn't get his blood test, i said that was his choice. he threw a tantrum (an odd sight coming from a 72-year-old). and then things really got ugly.

the good news (good news??) is that my siblings and i are all on the same page about this. actually, every sane person in the world except for my father is on the same page about this. (perhaps that means that my dad is no longer sane. i hadn't really considered that before.) too bad for me, i was the one that had to actually call him on it. since then my brother & sister have both talked to him about the "episode" and now he is equally pissed off at all of us. he even asked my sister for the car keys again today and when she said no he refused to go to his oncology appointment. awesome. good choice, dad. good choice.

now he's not eating. he isn't talking to any of us except sara, which is better than i expected if you want to know the truth.

what's also "good," in a manner of speaking, is that i'm not really upset about it. normally i feel a lot of guilt -- not to mention a nausating pit in my stomach -- whenever i am in a confrontational situation. this time, i really feel ok. not happy, not glad, not vindicated, just ok. i would feel worse if he were driving. i would never forgive myself if something happened because i caved.

maybe i'm growing up? or maybe my nightly prayers for wisdom/compassion/strength/patience are paying off?

maybe they are.

Plug-plug chug-chug

More and more I remember my Mom saying that time goes faster the older you get. When I was a kid that annoyed me. Now it scares me.

Anyway, we are plugging along here on Washington Boulevard. I am home today with some sort of unpleasant stomach bug. I'm actually feeling much better now than I did this morning at 3:30, when I spent some quality time in the loo. Didn't feel like risking dicey moments at work so here I am. Work is fine, but it's still work. I dream of a time when I get to stay home and take care of my family. I know that's not a popular dream any more, but it's mine. So, I keep my fingers crossed.

Sara is great, as usual. Well, maybe I don't think that when she is climing out of her high chair (she actually had one leg out this A.M. -- fantastic), throwing fits, pulling everything in sight onto the ground, and head butting me. So, she's developing an independent streak. I guess I thought I had another year before that became an issue but what do I know? (Not very much apparently.) Still, most of the time she is more fun than I would have imagined. She loves loves loves the kitties (in fact "kitty" is her first real word), loves to stack and throw her buckets, loves to push her truck (kudos to Uncle David, because I never would have thought to get her a truck), loves to screech, loves to throw things (she's got her Grandma Sara's arm), loves to play peek-a-boo, loves to hug her teddy bear, loves to babble, loves being_awake__ for__ a___really___long____time_______. She says "kitty" and "hat" and "night-night" and "hi" and "Mama" (at least I think that's what she's saying) and "Pete" (which, naturally, came long before "Mama"). She generally knows where her ears, nose, and tummy are, if she feels like showing you. She's usually got at least two bruises - one on her face - at all times because she's a monkey-girl. She is trying to run but wipes out every time. Her hair is crunchy by lunchtime and she tends to reek of sour milk by dinner (those neck folds are a killer). She loves bathtime and hates getting changed. She loves to have people sing to her, never mind if it sounds good or makes any sense. She falls asleep when we say prayers every night. She is an everyday roller coaster of the very best kind.

And boy, does she wear me out.

Rob started classes this week. He's taking something that has to do with circuits and a lab. Seems to like it so far which is good. The beard is back which makes him happy be me, not so much. (I just read a post somewhere that listed the top 10 blogging cliches and "not so much" was among them. Guess I'd better clean up my act.) I don't know why I'm not so crazy about the beard, because I think it looks good enought, but... Anyway, I live with it. He's enjoying the Eagles games and his new PDA. He's still a self-confessed slob but helps me out probably more than most husbands even though I don't usually acknowledge it, so I think I'll keep him.

Dad is Dad. We take everyday as it comes. I remind myself, when I remember, that time really is of the essence here. I had better make the best of everything even when it's not very pleasant. Sara and I pray every night for we-don't-know-what and then I hope that I get it right. That's about all there is to do I suppose.

So there's a little snapshot of us these days. We're kind of like the Little Engines That Never Would Have Believed We Could, but apparently we can. Most days it's despite ourselves, but we just keep plugging along up the mountain. (I have to admit though, that I'm looking forward to coming down the other side.)

Family

You've got to love them, right?

Right?

(Well, this one for sure.)