Restless, Agitated, and Combative

Slackin'

2011-12-25T21:15:00.000-08:00

Hmm. I've been slacking. But it's Christmas. And there's no reason to slag on my own slacking. Plus, I found "The Ladies of Star Wars" playing cards at the 99cent store. They are pink and are almost entirely composed of various pictures of Natalie Portman and Carrie Fisher. There is an Aunt Beru card, but she's not as softly lit.

Kittypig, No!

2011-12-17T23:12:00.000-08:00

The kitten and the Christmas tree are in an epic battle. The ornaments are losing. And I'm hoping for a silent-ish night.

Time Out

2011-12-16T23:24:00.001-08:00

Much too busy to post. I wish I had a few more hours in the day....

Shameless Plug

2011-12-15T22:28:00.001-08:00

JAPAN!

Jingle Bell Rock

2011-12-14T22:30:00.000-08:00

I went to the holiday/winter/Christmas program at my son's school today. We live in California, where many schools completely lack indoor spaces that are large enough to accommodate more than about 50 people at a time. The school tries to make it work by having three separate programs, but you still can't fit 200+ parents, siblings, and other interested parties into a space that's too small by a lot. When I got there, people were already occupying most of the standing room only areas. I managed to squeeze in to a small area in the back just behind the woefully inadequate set of permanent seats that grace the floor. I'm taller than most of the other parents, so I had a good view - but there was a fairly constant stream of mothers with small infants/toddlers who kept squeezing past me. I tried to make room and I also tried to make sure that I wasn't blocking anyone.

The mood was mostly light, except for the woman behind me who called one of the other parents an asshole and demanded to be let through. I have no idea what started the issue, aside from too many people in too small a space. It was not in keeping with the spirit of the occasion. The program listed 6 or 7 different groups that were going to perform. Thankfully, my son's class was third on the list. I watched the chorus sing several songs and then the 3rd graders sang "Shout!". My son's class came in and performed "Jingle Bell Rock". He saw me and we waved. I left immediately after because the crush of people was hardly comfortable and I wanted to clear some space for the people who were about 7 or 8 deep out the door.

Next week, I get to go see Budge's Christmas "program" at his daycare. There will be fewer people, but the space is smaller. So, I'm sure that will be fun. Budge and his brother are getting very excited about Christmas. Although Budge wants to unwrap everything now. My parents arrive tomorrow night and I'm sort of not ready for any of this.

Serenity Now!

2011-12-13T22:17:00.000-08:00

I really need to get my Christmas shopper in gear. I went for a few hours tonight and just wasn't feelin' it. My parents are coming in two days, so that will mean massive amounts of shopping in a short period of time. I'll be glad when this week is over. Then we can get out of school mode and into the holidays. I wish I got more time off - and I wish it were more feasible to take some time off. I'm feeling a bit stretched at this point and would love to be able to sit back and breathe for a few days.

Phantasy Phootball

2011-12-12T22:37:00.000-08:00

I realize how utterly and completely ridiculous it is to get excited by fantasy football, but sometimes ridiculousness is necessary. At any rate, my team this year is actually good! All because I picked up Cam Newton in week one and somehow lucked into picking Rob Gronkowski in the draft. So this year my ever faithful Ogden Nash Ramblers (it's sort of a before-and-after combo of the nonsense poet Ogden Nash and the now defunct car the Nash Rambler).

I'm in a league with a bunch of guys. I'm the only female and I have to represent. And fantasy football also makes football worth watching. I grew up in northeastern Ohio, indeed, I was born across the street from the Pro Football Hall of Fame. I am a lifelong Cleveland sports fan and as such, I've had to find ways to maintain my interest past the point of "mathematical elimination" from the playoffs. Fantasy football is a good way to make it more fun to watch matchups such as tonight's less-than-stellar Monday Night game between the Seahawks and the Rams. My fantasy matchup depended on that game - I have both Marshawn Lynch and Brandon Lloyd. And they came through with enough points to put me over the top.

It's a silly past time. And I enjoy it. I guess that's all that matters.

It's Raining Babies!

2011-12-11T22:03:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I went to a dual baby shower for some friends from college. They are both first time moms and are excited and apprehensive about the changes that are coming. It was a low-key shower - the kind where husbands and kids were abundant. My boys made themselves at home and proceeded to zoom around all over the place.

Both of these women know the basics about what happened with Budge. They know that he was premature and that I had preeclampsia. Of course, I also know that this knowledge takes on a much more immediate meaning once pregnancy occurs. Suddenly it's not just something that happened to someone you know. Now it's something that could potentially happen to you.

So I told them a little more about the symptoms and about what to watch for. And about the fact that preeclampsia has an insidious ability to masquerade as a whole host of normal third-trimester pregnancy symptoms. Of course, I hope that they will both sail through the rest of their pregnancies without a major problem - but I know that it's best that they do this without blinders on. It may seem sometimes that preeclampsia is just one more thing that could go wrong and that women shouldn't spend their entire pregnancies worrying about stuff that might not happen. I think that view sells women short. Knowledge of what can happen doesn't make that stuff happen, but ignorance might allow complications to go unnoticed or unheeded.

In the Bleak Midwinter

2011-12-10T23:27:00.000-08:00

Too tired for a full blog tonight. It's after 11:00 and I'm in the food coma that comes from a meal at Tam O'Shanter. Our reservation was at 7:00. We had to wait for at least a half hour and then the meal went up to 10:00. We did get the carolers to sing "In the Bleak Midwinter" - because we like to give them something they don't get every night. They had to consult their books in order to sing it, but sing it they did. A lovely rendition. Still, though, food coma.

Fever!

2011-12-08T21:21:00.000-08:00

Tonight was supposed to be spent helping my son write the final draft of his report. Writing isn't his favorite things, so I was prepared for a bit of a struggle. But I got a call from the school asking me to pick him up today. He was running a fever and that means a ticket home and a day off tomorrow. Thankfully, he seems not to be bothered too much by whatever bug he's fighting off. He's not feeling perfect, but it didn't seem to bother him too much.

We still need to do the report, but now we have a weekend to work with. That won't make him any happier, but at least I know I can pace the rewrite/revision process on Sunday. I'm lucky that having a sick kid doesn't require me to take the day off. That's one of the advantages to working at home.

Books Don't Write Themselves

2011-12-07T22:37:00.000-08:00

I used to work in educational publishing. I wrote, edited, proofread, tested, and played the expert on a series of computer technology education textbooks. I learned a ton. I learned on the fly and often had to figure tricky things out for myself and then tinker with it until I got to the point where I could translate the final product into something that was repeatable for high school students. I didn't always, or even often, like the job. There were days when I left feeling drained. And there were too many days where I felt like I had to choose between my job and my family.

I was laid off, along with everyone else in that office, two years ago this month. Today, the company announced more lay offs. Some of the people who moved from LA to Ohio after the previous layoffs are left without jobs. I hope that everyone lands in a good spot, but that's as difficult now as it was in 2009. And educational publishing is a dying industry - so moving to another publisher may be hard if not impossible.

I am not sure what positions were eliminated or even if whole departments were let go. I wonder because I know how stripped down our own department was. I'm sure the quality of the books and online subscriptions that they sell will be negatively impacted. I'm sure the people who are left will be expected to put even more time and energy into making up for the layoffs. There are many things I don't miss about the publishing industry - and I'm glad I wasn't there for this round, too. My son brought home one of their textbooks today. It made his backpack weigh a lot. I know how much work went into making that book. And I know roughly what the school district paid for it. And I know that if I open it up, I will find errors. Probably a lot of them. It's not because the people who worked on the book were not good at what they did - it's because there weren't enough people working on it and I'd guarantee it was behind schedule. Making a quality educational product takes people. Lots and lots of good, dedicated people with an eye for detail and a desire to teach.

Good luck to everyone who must now move on.

The Duke of Hazzard.

2011-12-06T22:19:00.000-08:00

It's past my bedtime, so I'll just quickly note that it's Tuesday and I'm tired. There are some shopping days until Christmas and I wasted a good 20 minutes waiting in line at the post office to pick up a package that my husband had ordered for himself. Heroclix. My older son waited in the car. Up until he started "freaking out" because it was taking too long. He walked in and stood with me for awhile. When we walked out, I noticed that my hazard lights were on. I guess the freak-out included turning on the hazard lights.

All is well now and we managed to get the package and pick up Budge before the daycare closed. And now I know better than to let my older son stay in the car when I go into a post office in December. Lines are longer in December, you see. Some day I'll learn.

Flaky

2011-12-05T20:56:00.000-08:00

I showed my kids how to make paper snowflakes today. My son brought home a "template" of a snowflake that showed how to fold it and included a pattern to cut out. I folded it for him and then he promptly cut it in half, which caused brief inconsolable tears. I told him that I knew how to do this and that I could show him once I finished work. He seemed to think that it could only be done on pre-marked paper with a fancy template, but I assured him that all I would need would be a piece of paper and some scissors.

So when we got home from picking up Budge, I set about folding up the paper and getting the scissors going. I forgot how hard it is to cut through the multiple layers of paper. And it took a few tries before my snowflakes looked more like snowflakes than ugly doilies. Finally I figured it out.

Paper snowflakes are sort of a rite of passage. I remember making them in grade school - and getting frustrated when the flakes would break or I'd cut them wrong. They don't seem to be quite as integral a part of a California elementary education, but I'm glad for the reminder of my youth. I was a little taken aback by the fact that I actually needed the folding directions on the template as a reminder. My boys were excited by the symmetry and the process of unfolding.

I'm slightly sad that this is as close to a white Christmas as my children are likely to see - but I don't really want to see snow. Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

The TV is a Better Buy than the Zynga Giftcard

2011-12-04T21:01:00.000-08:00

I went shopping - so now I'm caught up with my husband's birthday. My first stop was Best Buy. I wandered around looking at a wide variety of electronic stuff and other things that blink and make noise. I looked at the games and movies and other random stuff - like Zynga gift cards that allow you to "buy" virtual stuff for your virtual farm. I'll admit that I have played FarmVille and a few other games of that ilk, but I absolutely refuse to buy fake stuff with real money. My fantasies of living a simple life on the farm are not entirely fulfilled by "planting" and "harvesting" pixels that sort of look like carrots. I once created a farm in a SimFarm game years ago that was clearing over a $1,000,000 in profit each year. It was a strawberry and orange farm ostensibly located on Long Island. I don't think there are many successful orange orchards in New York state, but such things do not matter in virtual worlds. My husband attempted to destroy my fake farm by spending all of my fake money on crop dusters and then crashing them into my fields. It didn't work. The farm was virtually indestructible. The point, I guess, is that I'm fine with wasting my time on silly games, but I will not waste my money buying fake stuff so that my virtual farmers can "live" better than I do. But, I digress.

So I bypassed the games. And the movies. And the phones and iPads and cameras, etc... I walked around to the back where the TVs were displayed. The last time I bought a TV, it weighed close to a metric ton. Or so it seems every time we try to move it. It's one of those old style TVs that actually has some heft. It didn't have the tubes like the TV we had when I was a kid, but it is old school. You can't buy one like it any more. Now they're all giant HD and 3D flat screens. The vast array of hanging flat screen HDTVs were all showing Adele. The choir of Adeles sounded fabulous. I looked at the screens, compared the pictures, tried to figure out which specs and prices went with which TVs and stood there perplexed. I ventured over to the Magnolia section of the store (which is sort of part of the store, but then not?) Those TV's were even larger - 80" or so. And they were all showing football. There were quite a few people testing the full home theater set up, though I think most of them got up and left once the game went to half time.

I went back to the other TVs and noticed that the 32" and 40" TVs looked much smaller now. TVs are being "embiggened" at an alarming rate. In the store, the smaller TVs are made to look ridiculously small. But my living room is shockingly a lot smaller than a Best Buy. So, I stuck to my guns and asked the sales guy for a 40" to 42" TV in the $500 range. He promptly suggested a 55" TV that was $150 over that, but I insisted that such a TV would be too large for the space it would be filling. It's impossible to really picture what the TV hanging on the wall at the Best Buy with 20 to 30 others will look like in your living room, but I knew that our old school TV is only 27" and that's considerably smaller than 40". See, I paid attention in math class. In the end, I walked out with a 40" Toshiba that was on sale for less than $400. Yay me!

While I was paying for it, the sales dude asked me if it would fit in my car. I looked at the box and guessed hopefully that it would. I didn't have the minivan, so I wasn't sure. The Ford Focus came through in the end. I had to put the back seats down so the box would fit through the trunk into the back seat, but it fit. I realized, though, that this would make the Christmas gifting of it impossible. I couldn't exactly tell Todd to not look in the now unusable back seat - not for three full weeks. And I couldn't exactly get it out of the car by myself and find a place to hide it in the house where it would go unnoticed. And I was not about to wrap that sucker. So I walked into the house and told Todd to go get his birthday/Christmas present out of the car. Not that I mind giving it to him now, exactly. In fact, I just watched the Saints beat the Lions on it. And you know what? A 40" TV looks much larger in my living room than it does in the Best Buy.

Meanwhile, At the Mall

2011-12-03T23:25:00.000-08:00

I haven't yet begun shopping for Christmas - I have a pathological inability to shop for the holiday before the calendar moves to December. This means that I miss out on the "deals" and pepper spray associated with Black Friday. I have worked retail on Black Friday - and the even busier Saturday before Christmas, so I know what it's like. I worked in a book store in a mall - and the whole holiday season involved long lines and answering ridiculous questions. It's hard to keep a straight face when someone asks for "The Account of Monte Crisco" - which my dad later suggested was written by noted French writer, Alexandre Dumbass. I also got really good at wrapping gifts - since we offered free gift wrapping. Thankfully books are usually easy to wrap. Except when they aren't.

So a-shopping I will go. To the mall. To the toy store. And wherever else I end up. Next weekend I'll be going to a dual baby shower and out to dinner at the Tam O'Shanter - really a holiday must if you're in the LA area. It's a beautiful old world style restaurant complete with roaming carolers. The past two years, we've requested the song "Bring a Torch, Jeannette Isabella". I learned it in French class in high school (as "Un Flambeau, Jeannette Isabella") and began using it as a lullaby when my first son was a baby. I like it because it's one of those lovely carols about birth - and it mentions that both the mother and child are beautiful, which is a lovely sentiment. It's a pretty song. And it makes my husband cry: "It makes me think of my children, sleeping" he explains. And considering how difficult it can be to get them to go to sleep - it's a well-earned tear. The carolers always appreciate it when we ask for that song because it's not one that gets requested often. And they're probably sick of singing the same five songs over and over. This year, I'm planning to request another favorite "In the Bleak Mid-winter" which is also kind of a lullaby. It shouldn't elicit tears, but who knows?

Next weekend we're also going to get the tree and hope that the new cat doesn't completely destroy it or himself. The kids are excited - we can see trees in windows already, and there are more every day. We get real trees, so I always like to wait until the second weekend of December so that it's not completely devoid of needles and dried out by the time Christmas gets here.

21 shopping days!

Howl's Moving Castle

2011-12-03T00:14:00.000-08:00

Three words: Howl's Moving Castle.

I finished the book last night and watched the movie tonight. They are very different, but they are both good. So, I'm late on my blog for the night AND I'm really tired, so good night.

Shopping Daze

2011-12-01T21:39:00.000-08:00

Welcome to December! I can't believe it's already December. Now I can count down the shopping days until Christmas with simple math. Which is good, because I don't do Christmas shopping until December, and it's good to know exactly how panicked I should be. Right now I'm not very panicked. There are weekends between now and then. Multiple weekends. And I don't have them totally full of stuff... yet.

My brother's birthday is tomorrow. He will be 40-something - again, I'd have to do the math.... 42! He's the answer to the ultimate question. Thank you, Douglas Adams!

I've created a Christmas music list on Spotify and have been listening during work. That's certainly an advantage to working at home - I can listen to whatever the heck I want to. It's an eclectic mix, but I like it.

24 shopping days. Well, more like 23 - cuz I'm not going to the store right now, I'm going to bed. Good night!

State of the Blog at Four Months

2011-11-30T22:02:00.000-08:00

So the blog marches on through November. I actually missed a few this month, but am holding steady and will have 365 blog entries by July 25, 2012. November has been that kind of month. With a mini vacation in New York and Pennsylvania (complete with two drives through New Jersey). And a visit from my mother-in-law. And Thanksgiving. It's been exhausting.

And now I have two weeks to prepare for a visit from my own parents. So, the holiday season continues apace. And my available free time is becoming more and more illusory. Free time? Me? I'm a mom!

By the way, and this is apropos of nothing... I'm perfectly happy with either Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas. I'm kind of sick of the million or so Facebook posts that buy into the War on Christmas rhetoric. There are plenty of holidays in December. And they all should be happy. Especially Boxing Day. Is there anything more awesome than Boxing Day?

The Zen Buffet

2011-11-29T21:44:00.000-08:00

It's bed time. I made it through the day and even got somewhat back on track. Which is good, because I have to actually take time for "lunch" tomorrow so that I can go to the elder child's parent-teacher conference. I know what I'm gonna get at this conference. And I'm already not particularly happy about it. But, I also know that my boy isn't "normal" but he is extraordinary. You can't be both. Unfortunately, extraordinary kids don't often fit well in the school setting.

We took the boys to the "Zen Buffet" tonight - and in retrospect, we weren't very Zen. Budge had eaten at day care and wanted no part of such niceties as "sitting" or "eating". Bob was very Zen, bringing bowl after bowl of miso soup back from the buffet. Budge was a handful until I spotted the edamame. Edamame is a fabulous finger food for children who have graduated from Cheerios. The boiled soybean pods require dexterity - they must be shelled. They require concentration as it's easy to send the bean shooting across the table and onto the floor. They require time. Thankfully Budge seized the challenge and proceeded to eat a good 15 to 20 edamame pods. He sat quietly, contented to work the beans out of the pods and into his mouth. I think I may have to start carrying edamame around with me everywhere I go. He is a spirited child. His abundance of energy serves to remind me how little I actually have.

Holidaze

2011-11-28T21:07:00.000-08:00

The problem with 4-day weekends is that they end. My job does not observe one set of holidays, so when the people in China and elsewhere have a holiday, I get a light day. However, when we have a holiday that isn't observed anywhere else (I'm looking at you, Thanksgiving), the work piles up while we eat turkey. The end result is a Monday with 3+ days of work piled on. That was my day. And we didn't finish everything, so tomorrow will be similar. The whole week will probably kind of suck.

I can't believe it's the last week of November. We'll be in December by the end of this week. I started listening to Christmas music today. It's that time already. We have plenty of time to get our shopping done and to prepare for the holiday. Sugarplums. Reindeer. Santa and all that.

But first I need to make it through the week. I'm sure it will happen. Eventually.

Again with the Thomas

2011-11-27T21:16:00.000-08:00

I wrote about my issues with Thomas the Tank Engine and Sir Topham Hatt about a month ago. You can read my musings here. I neglected one very important problem raised by the little capitalist engines that could and do, all over my house. I keep stepping on them. But that's not the problem. Their ability to turn my kids into want machines is also not exactly the issue, either. If it weren't Thomas, it would be something else. Something equally insidious. Like super heroes, cars, Legos, or some other hard, sharp painful-to-step-on piece of plastic/metal.

The issue is with Sir Topham Hatt's nickname. He's often referred to in the show as "The Fat Controller." I'm not sure why he's called the fat controller. Fat is one of the hardest things to control. It just happens. And before you know it, it's everywhere. I would guess he's the controller because that's some British-ism for bigwig, or supervisor, or boss. I guess you could say he's Britain's answer to Hazzard County's Boss Hogg, which is also kind of insulting if you think about it.

I'll admit that I sniggered a few times when I first heard Sir Hatt referred to as the Fat Controller. I may have contributed unwittingly to Budge's associations of humor with the word fat. But it's less funny when your five year old takes to using the word "fat" to describe everything and everyone he sees. "Hello, fat Mommy!" he exclaims as he greets me with joy. Or, "I love you fat mommy!" which both melts my heart and makes me self-conscious about those leftover pies in the fridge. He's also taken to correcting himself with "I mean, I love you fat Jennifer!" Or, if I have recently admonished him over the word fat, he will declare "I love you, Jennifer!" and then add a fart noise for good measure. At least it's not the word "fat".

We have discussed the fact that most people do not prefer to be called "fat" even if they are, well, sort of corpulent. Grandma tried to explain the meaning of the word "rude". I'm not sure it sunk in. Hopefully, he won't declare his love for "fat Santa" anytime in the next few weeks. I'm pretty sure that would land him on the naughty list. It would be sad to see him get a big, fat lump of coal in his stocking - even if he could use it to run a steam train. (imagine loud whistle sound....) whooooooooooot!

Mahna Mahna

2011-11-26T23:11:00.000-08:00

Why are there so many songs about rainbows?

We went to see the Muppets tonight. Without the kids. It's essentially about nostalgia, which makes sense considering the target audience is really my generation. We're the late-thirty somethings (I'm sticking with that because I'm still in my thirties.)

So, I'm singing Mahna Mahna in my head right now. And I'm thinking back to my childhood. And my freshman year in college - which was my first trip down nostalgia-lane with the Muppets. That year we named our suite One-Muppet, because we were on the first floor. It's not a coincidence that one of my suite-mates that year is now a professional puppeteer.

We didn't take our children. I wondered aloud about what our children will be nostalgic about. They don't like movie theaters - too loud, too dark. I suppose they will be nostalgic for Katy Perry and Thomas the Tank Engine. I wonder if they too will be nostalgic for the Muppets.

Walking in LA

2011-11-25T23:01:00.000-08:00

I never shop on Black Friday. I like to think of it as an extension of the Thanksgiving holiday - you know so you can spend time with family. I don't like shopping in general, so the idea of trotting around from store to store looking for absurd deals at an ungodly hour is sort of unappealing.

Today, we took the kids to the LA Auto Show, which is slightly less crazy than WalMart. My older son loves cars. Budge kept asking when we would see trains. There were no trains, alas, but there were cars. Lots and lots of cars. The most interesting ones were the ones that did not have locked doors. I have many pictures of the boys "driving" a Cadillac Escalade, Volvo XC90, and various other random cars.

The best part was when we found the kids zone with a variety of free bouncy castle inflatable thingies. Oh does Budge like to bounce. And bounce. He's rather a Tigger in that respect. And he has quite a good sense of balance even when he's bouncing off the walls.

Of course, it wasn't all joy and fun. There were hurting feet and hurt feelings. I suppose that's inevitable when one of the participants wants to look at absolutely everything - but everyone else is tired. And Budge won't walk anymore but has to be carried because he's too tired to do anything but bounce with wild abandon. He suffers from selective energy. Walking? Heck no! Bouncing? Yes!!!! Please! Can I have some more please?

I love a long weekend. I have two more days to recover from the LA Auto Show. Tomorrow will involve getting more fish. It's time to restock. And take precautions against the dangers of overfeeding. I think I'm up to it.

But tonight, I hope to just climb into bed and put my weary bones under a nice warm blanket. And sleep all the way through the night. Last night brought 2 hours of wakefulness between 4:00ish to 6:00ish. Then I got up around 8:00something. I need at least one day of "sleeping in" even if it's only until 9:00. I'll take it.

Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T23:22:00.000-08:00

Today, I visited the new NICU at the hospital where my son was born. I carried a gift basket from the March of Dimes and three packages of muffins (orange & cranberry, pumpkin, and blueberry). This hospital did not have a NICU on the day Budge was born. There was a special care nursery, but it was not equipped to handle a 32-weeker who needed a PICC line.

When he was two days old, he was transferred to a larger hospital down the highway. He needed a PICC line (central line). I needed one too.

We were separated. For 6 days. I was in an ICU in one hospital and he was in a NICU in another. If the same problem happened now, he would probably not have been moved. He would have gone to the NICU in the same hospital. I would have been able to go to him. To see him days earlier. It's not really a measurable advantage. Statistics don't account for the emotional weight of the days that passed. But it's also impossible to weigh the importance of the proximity of mothers and children. It could have benefited both of us in ways that simply can't be counted statistically.

I'm glad that the expansion of the hospital was approved. I cannot even begin to argue the dollars and cents reasons for this. I can't argue the environmental or economic impact of the expansion. Frankly, I don't care. I can attest to how hard it is to be separated from a premature newborn for 8 days. There is no way to account for that.

Today, I thanked the nurses and staff at the NICU that would have taken care of my child if he had been born now. Five years have passed. We didn't have that NICU to rely on. I am thankful that there is another NICU in the San Fernando Valley to take care of the preemies who are born in this area. I am thankful to anyone who works to make the NICU experience easier for anyone who has to go through it. Thanks!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-23T23:35:00.000-08:00

Am I thankful? Sure!

I'm thankful for my family. And my cats (all three of them). And my health.

I'm thankful for friends who will cook turkeys.

I'm thankful for the emergency personnel who knew what to do in the face of eclamptic chaos.

I'm thankful for my kids. And their toys. And their creativity. And their senses of humor.

I'm thankful for food and wine. Good food and good wine.

I'm thankful for my bed - and a good night.

Happy Birthday!

2011-11-21T21:49:00.000-08:00

It's my husband's birthday today. He's officially older than me for the next 8 months. My kids are running around like a herd of elephants upstairs and I'm getting sleeeepy.

I'm feeling a little uninspired with the writing these days - but that's mostly because I leave it until the last moments of the day. I'm tired. I'm cold. And I'm ready to slide into bed with my book.

A Son's Perspective

2011-11-20T21:10:00.000-08:00

My son - the older one - read through the Saving Grace journal from the Preeclampsia Foundation/Foundation for America's Blood Centers dinner gala. On page 28, he came across the personal stories written by my husband and me. My husband's story was entitled "A Dad's Perspective..." My story was called "...And How Mom Remembers It". After reading both of them, he decided he wanted to tell his own perspective.

I am intrigued by this. And a little scared. He has an assignment due in the beginning of December regarding a community event. I suggested he write about the Promise Walks for Preeclampsia. I suggested he write his perspective as an older brother. He's excited - but it also means explaining some of it to him in more detail.

He's old enough now to understand what happened in more concrete terms. This is one of those moments where I realize yet again that preeclampsia didn't just happen to me. It affects everyone that knows me, especially those that I am closest to.

You say it's your Birthday

2011-11-19T23:51:00.000-08:00

My husband is turning 14 on Monday. Or 40. It's hard to tell. He's selectively mature. We have toys. And not just for the kids. My husband plays games and he likes comics. I knew this when we got married - so I can't really say that I'm disappointed by this. It helps make him a good dad. He can relate to them - and read to them in a far more animated way than I can.

He'll be 40 on Monday. I have a few more months to go before I hit that milestone. I won't be counting down officially until January.

Good night!!

2011-11-18T23:21:00.000-08:00

I'm tired. It's the end of a long week. On Sunday morning we awoke in New York City, now we're in suburban Los Angeles. We worked a full five day week. The kids were in school and daycare all week. And now we have less than a week until Thanksgiving.

My mother-in-law is in town and we're holding a 40th birthday party for my husband tomorrow. His birthday is Monday, but who wants to celebrate on a Monday?

Now I just want to sleep. And sleep and sleep. Good night all.

World Prematurity Day: Coming Through Eclampsia

2011-11-17T00:06:00.000-08:00

At the bottom of one of the pages in my medical records, there's a simple note written by the doctor who delivered my first son. It says "poss c/s Nov 17 or 20". I know when he wrote this down. I remember the appointment clearly. It was September 27, 2006. I was a little over 30 weeks along and was trying to pin down the dates for the follow-up c-section. I was worried about my husband's birthday (November 21) and Thanksgiving. I was hoping to be able to get the word out to the grandparents so they could plan their trips accordingly. I thought the biggest issues were going to involve providing care for my older son while I was in the hospital. It never occurred to me that anything else could happen.

At my last OB appointment my blood pressure was 128/70. Up and down the column in my chart, the numbers are in the same range. Never higher than 130. My weight had gone up 7 pounds in the month since the previous appointment, but that was the only indication that something might be up. And it's not a very reliable indicator by itself. Gaining weight is part of pregnancy. Edema (the lovely puffiness of hands, feet, and sometimes face) is a common pregnancy complaint at 7 months.

If everything had gone according to plan... If my records from my regular OB filled the second page like they should... then November 17th would likely be Budge's 5th birthday. We'd be eating cake. Opening presents. Singing "Happy Birthday". If World Prematurity Day registered at all, it would probably fill my thoughts briefly as I considered how lucky we were to have two healthy full-term babies. But the records aren't filled out to the end. They stop abruptly on September 27. There were no more appointments. Not with that doctor.

Budge was born nine days later. By October 6, my blood pressure was 200/90. During those nine days, I progressed through preeclamspia all the way to eclampsia. I was at home by myself seizing off and on for between three to four hours. These were massive grand mal, tonic-clonic seizures. I had no idea what they were - I only knew that I had to wait. I had to hold on and wait until someone came. My whole job, my whole reason for being at that time was to save myself and my son from the disease that seemed to be stalking us. It was all I could do.

Two days later, I awoke in an ICU room in an unfamiliar hospital. I thought my son was dead. I wasn't sure that I wasn't also dead. My husband was there. My mother-in-law was there, despite the thousands of miles that separates her house from ours. In the next few hours I met the doctor who delivered my son. The woman who saved our lives. But I didn't get to meet my son.

It was eight days before I met Budge. I saw him for the first time in a photo taped to the side of my bed. But I couldn't hold him or care for him until I was able to get up and walk out of that hospital. Eclampsia kept me there. Inhalation pneumonia and Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS) kept me there. HELLP syndrome kept me there. My son was moved to another hospital. It was up to me and my broken body to find the strength to get up and go to him.

Budge weighed 3lbs 2oz at his birth. His first APGAR score was a 3. He was not attempting to breathe. He had no reflex response. After 5 minutes, his score had risen to 7. At 10 minutes he had begun to cry. He was born at 32 weeks gestation. My son is now five years old. His birthday is at least 6 weeks earlier than it should have been. Instead of celebrating his birthday today, I am honoring World Prematurity Day. I am honoring it in his name and in the names of all of the premature infants I know. This is for you, Budge - and for all of the mothers, fathers, siblings, and children who know what this day means.

Tomorrow is...

2011-11-16T19:19:00.000-08:00

World Prematurity Day. And I'm writing a blog post for that. So this one will be short and sweet.

Prematurity is a part of our story and it's part of what I think about when I think about birth. When I think of newborns, I think of premature newborns. Babies that are 3 lbs or less. My first son weighed twice as much as my second son. Preeclamspia can do that. Not only can it cause a baby to be born too early- it can also cause something called IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction). But prematurity has many different causes. This is not a problem that can be solved with a vaccination like polio. So tomorrow people will be wearing purple and tweeting, facebooking, and blogging prematurity.

Be on the lookout, I'm planning to post much earlier than I usually do.

Poetry!

2011-11-15T22:50:00.000-08:00

Today I promised to write a poem. Those are muscles I haven't exercised in awhile. The economy of words and the weight of an image. I'll need to read some first, just to get the rhythm in my head. I should stay away from Plath and Pound. I think I'll stick with Seuss. That's the right weight. The right feel. And it's always fun to read. On Beyond Zebra. And To Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street. If I Ran the Zoo.

Why did I promise? Well, someone asked. And I thought, I can do that. I should do that. That sounds like fun. I have the time. Don't I?

So I'll flex my writing muscles. Get out some iambs, perhaps a dactyl or trochee. I can measure my words and my height in feet. I can walk through the garden of verses and cobble together a phrase or two. A limerick, a couplet, or maybe a haiku.

Prose is nice. It serves its purpose quite well. But it's time to write something with a little more shape. I'm tired. And thinking about my World Prematurity Day post for Thursday. I need to write that tomorrow so I can post it earlier than 11:00 at night. G'night!

A Common Disaster

2011-11-14T22:06:00.000-08:00

None of us chose this route of acquaintanceship. None of us would have opted for it if given the choice. Most of us would prefer the delightful anonymity of a perfect experience. But we're the group who didn't get the best birth. We probably all planned to be heroic in our own ways while giving birth to our children. The narrative included forgoing drugs in favor of really feeling the whole process. It included rooming in, spouses, the perfect music, perhaps an exercise ball or a pool of water. It included a doula or a well-loved friend or sister to serve as a coach - reminding us to breathe and allowing us to crush their fingers when it hurt.

But that's not what we got. We are PE sisters, brought together by the disease that nearly killed us. A disease that we have now turned into a calling card. We speak a common language because we shared a common disaster. It creates a short hand - a way to communicate that doesn't involve deep explanation or excessive sympathy. We don't feel sorry for each other because we know what it was like. We can identify with the feelings. We don't have to say much to get the idea across - but we can say things that we normally don't because there's no need to worry about saving the other person's feelings.

I've been in many hotel bars over the past 5 years sharing drinks with moms of preemies and PE sisters - some fit into both categories. We know how to have fun. We know how to laugh at the absurdity of nearly dying in childbirth. We know how to laugh. We know how to tease and when not to. It's easy and comfortable to share. It's fun because we don't spend a lot of time on niceties. We can jump right into a story. We can talk about seizures as though they are normal.

This past weekend I met some of my favorite PE sisters for the first time. Many of them I've known for awhile via Facebook and conference calls. It seems somewhat absurd to fly across the country to sit in a room with a bunch of virtual strangers listening to stories about life and death, sadness and survival. But these friendships are the main reason I got involved with the March of Dimes and the Preeclampsia Foundation. We're survivors and we know how to have a damn good time.

Back to Life

2011-11-13T21:52:00.000-08:00

So I've slacked a little. I missed two days, I think. But it was all in the name of a good cause, or two or three good causes: family, preeclampsia, and blood. I'll write more about this when I'm not totally jetlagged and feeling like I could sleep for a few days. It was a good trip. A fun trip. An expensive trip. An important trip.

We introduced SuperBudge to his great grandmother for the first time. We took the boys on excursions to see steam trains in Scranton, to make messes at the Crayola factory in Easton, and on a walk through Central Park. All good things.

But now we're back to our regularly scheduled programming. And unfortunately it's already in progress. Back to school. Back to work. Back to life. Back to reality. Back to the here and now. (When I'm tired, my brain will take the easy way out - song lyrics are easier than actually thinking.)

I'll write more tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.

Lost in PA

2011-11-10T22:03:00.000-08:00

I missed yesterday. And today, sort of. It's still Thursday in LA. But I'm in PA. Feeling cold in my aunt and uncle's house near Stroudsburg. Yesterday was a mammoth day of traveling. To LAX (1.5 hours - seriously the easiest part was the 405). To JFK (5 hours - not too difficult, but loooong. Children were not happy after the novelty wore off). To PA (about 2-3 hours. Got lost. Roads should not have more than one exit off a freeway that are more than 5 miles apart. The "north-south" 611 actually crosses the "east-west" 80 twice. Because it runs more or less parellel to it. bah!)

I'm giving myself a pass on yesterday. My blog. My rules.

Travelin'

2011-11-08T23:49:00.000-08:00

My alarm is set and my pre-travel panic mode is hovering somewhere between full-on and a desire to just sleep. So I'm somewhere between tired and frantic. Closer to tired right now, I think. I still have running-around throwing things in bags stuff to do before we can leave, but the realization that we're only going to be gone for a few days is beginning to win out. There was a time when traveling didn't set my teeth on edge, but I'm pretty sure that was before I had kids.

A Sad State of Affairs in Happy Valley

2011-11-07T20:23:00.000-08:00

I'm a football fan. Of both college and pro teams. My favorite college team is my undergrad alma mater, Northwestern. But I got my graduate degree from Penn State University, one of the most venerated college football teams in the country. I am also a mom of two boys, ages 5 and 9.

Football is important in this country - far too important. I write this as I watch the Chicago Bears and the Philadelphia Eagles playing on Monday Night Football. I don't even have a rooting interest in the game, but I'm watching it. It's Monday night in the fall. That means football.

The scandal out of Penn State regarding the long-time assistant coach, Jerry Sandusky, is beyond football. It's beyond comprehensible. That anyone could witness or hear about the allegations and not follow up is shocking. That a respected coach would start a charity for at-risk youth and then use that charity to take advantage of these boys is disgusting. People in State College and Pennsylvania revere the Penn State football program in a way that few other programs are adored. It was the last of the old-time, beyond-reproach coaching dynasties. JoePa is literally an institution. He's been there forever. And he's long been regarded as an institution. He is Penn State.

But none of that matters if he looked the other way and didn't follow up after allegations of sexual abuse were brought to him by a graduate assistant. It would be sad to see a legend like Joe Paterno go out with such a cloud over his head - but that's only a minor consideration in this scandal. I don't see how he survives this, except that he is JoePa. The scandal that rocked Jim Tressel at Ohio State was nothing compared to this. His was a failure of omission regarding player eligibility. A fireable offense, to be sure. But this is a failure of omission regarding felony sexual abuse of children. Legally, he's not responsible - but in every other way he had to do something.

Certainly, the main fault lies with Jerry Sandusky himself. But responsibility for this kind of thing belongs with everyone who looked the other way after the information first came to their attention. These kids were at-risk and Penn State and the Penn State football program failed them. Some things are more important than football.

No Shoes, No Shirt

2011-11-06T20:47:00.000-08:00

I spent part of the day at the Camarillo Outlet Mall trying to prettify my wardrobe for the Saving Grace gala. I've never been to a gala, per se. I tend to only wear dresses and/or skirts to weddings. It's been awhile. And shopping for nice clothes is far, far, far outside my comfort zone. Actually wearing the clothes is also outside of my comfort zone.

So, I drove myself out to the mall to stand in front of the racks of clothes at the Dress Barn. I spent a long time browsing through the dresses. And pants. And skirts. I told myself I wasn't going to go the pants route. That would be too much of a nod toward my comfort zone. I wanted to push it - at least a little bit. I looked at some of the louder dresses and was mostly turned off by the texture of the fabric. Again, it's a comfort thing. A few times, I looked longingly at the flannel shirts and denim jeans across the aisle. I love a good flannel shirt.

I wandered around looking at all of the options for a loooong time. Eventually I decided to look at other stores, too. I managed to steer clear of the Wetzel's Pretzels and the Dairy Queen - but I succumbed to the shoe store. If I started with shoes, I reasoned, I could build the outfit from there! And I needed new shoes, right? I don't own a ton of shoes and I'm usually good at passing them by, but since the whole point was to buy something nice - well, why not start with shoes? Shoes are fairly neutral. My shoe size holds less shall we say weight than my dress size. My shoe size has been the same for almost 30 years. I can't say the same about my dress size.

I found shoes. And I found nice shoes with a bit of a heel that are also comfortable and won't require me to get a pedicure. Yay for nice shoes! Now I had some confidence. If I wore nothing else, at least I had new shoes! All the while, I continued to think about the dress options. I could buy a dress. Or I could buy a skirt. A black skirt. Skirts are more comfortable, often. And a skirt isn't pants. So, I opted for the skirt. Of course, that still left one more choice. Now I needed a shirt. But shirts are manageable. Black skirts go with everything. And the store had an acceptable amount of purple to choose from.

So I have my clothes. And my shoes. Now all I have to do is survive a flight across the country with two children. Wish me luck!

Down the Hill and Round the Bend

2011-11-05T21:55:00.000-07:00

The time period from Budge's birthday to Christmas is a minefield for many reasons. Not only is the floor usually littered with plastic and wooden train cars, but the toy catalogs and stores are littered with even more plastic and wooden train cars. We have Emily, but we don't have Splish-Splash Emily. We have Gordon and Thomas, and Percy, and Molly, and....

Budge will watch Thomas videos - particularly the songs over and over again on YouTube. His current favorite is "Here Come the Engines". It starts with a chorus of train whistles - all of which Budge can identify. Good. Proud mommy moment there. But, then he turns it into a game - it used to just be where he'd name a color and I had to name the engine that was that color. I could keep up with that. Now, it also includes the numbers - which give me more problems. But now that he's added the whistles to the mix, I'm completely lost. He's beginning to realize that mommy doesn't know everything. Eek!

I'm also good with the original engines. Back when Thomas had 4 or 5 close friends. Now it's no longer Thomas and Friends - it's more like Thomas and his Facebook Friends - seriously Thomas has way too many friends. Toot toot! I accept Thomas, Gordon, James, Henry, Edward, and Percy. Those are fine English names. Thomas is now friends with Emily, Molly, and Rosie - I can accept that he needs some female friends. Equality and all that. But there are now 90 different Thomas and Friends characters, in addition to the 8 members of the "Steam Team". And you can bet that most of them are available in plastic and wood. There's Bulstrode, the ill-tempered barge. Rheneas, an old, narrow gauge engine who hangs out with a "chipper" engine named Skarloey. There's Smudger and Splatter. And a glasses-wearing rubbish collector named Whiff. It's only a matter of time before the really useful engines end up outnumbering the truly staggering collection of Pokemon.

I appreciate the life lessons and identification skills that Thomas is encouraging in Budge. I appreciate the message of "usefulness" as a measure of a day well spent. I appreciate being able to accuse my children of causing "confusion and delay" when we're trying to leave the house or do grocery shopping in a reasonable period of time. But Thomas is also teaching kids to want every single toy version of every single engine. Sir Topham Hatt runs a tight ship (mixed metaphor, I know), but I'm reasonably sure that he's trying to redistribute my wealth into his pockets. He's definitely part of the 1%. Perhaps it's time to Occupy Sodor.

Friday Night

2011-11-05T01:10:00.000-07:00

This week we will travel to New York to celebrate the Preeclampsia Foundation and America's Blood Centers. Preeclampsia/eclampsia/HELLP Syndrome are all common causes for blood transfusions for pregnant women. They are also common reasons for premature infants to need blood or blood products. I hope the weather will cooperate with my poor California born boys as we travel in November to the east coast. My husband and I are from the midwest (Indiana and Ohio), but I hope my boys will be fine!

The City that never Sleeps

2011-11-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to feel the excitement of the upcoming trip to New York, but the thrill is being eaten by anxiety. The cost, the time, the travel, the flight are all weighing on my mind. The plans yet to be made. The pile of work to get through between now and next Wednesday. Certain moments I can actually let myself feel the anticipation of seeing my grandmother - of introducing her for the first time to Budge. Of seeing my aunt and uncle. And friends.

I am excited to finally get to go to the Saving Grace gala for the Preeclampsia Foundation. I am looking forward to meeting people that I've worked with over the internet and the phone for the last 3+ years. It will be an interesting evening and I've been wanting to do this for a few years.

I am excited to show my sons New York. Budge has never been to New York, and his brother was there only once - at the age of 2. He has no memory of the city. He's seen it online and on TV. Not quite the same.

But still, I'm working my way through the anxiety of the situation. And an annoying pinched nerve in my back. It will give way eventually, but for the moment I'm still feeling a little ambivalent.

Under One Roof

2011-11-02T21:35:00.000-07:00

Home. Five years ago today, we brought Budge home for the first time. We had 28 days to prepare for this moment. To plan. To get ourselves ready to take on the full-time care of our infant son. He weighed right around 5 lbs - just over the lower limit to be placed in an infant car seat.

He had to pass a car seat test before they would discharge him. It's not uncommon for preemies to experience breathing problems while in a car seat. The position is not quite reclining and it's not quite sitting up, either. We had come so far and were so close. I hoped he would pass, but the NICU taught me not to expect it to happen. I could handle disappointment if I didn't think too far ahead.

He passed. On his first try. Phew. Time to exhale. Little Budge was no longer connected to wires and tubes. He was in a car seat! The staff brought a wheel chair for me - hospital rules don't allow for babies to be carried out any other way. I sat done. Budge and his car seat were placed in my lap. And I was pushed out of the doors of the NICU for the first time with my son in my lap.

My husband brought the car around and we loaded up the car just as we had four and half years earlier for our first son. This was the first moment with Budge that held any similarity to my first son. Everything up until this time had been completely foreign territory. There was no rooming-in. I had not yet even been alone with my son. Our relationship had been mediated by equipment, doctors, and nurses.

We drove home. After 28 days, my sons would finally meet for the first time. The four of us would be under one roof for the first time. His due date was still a month in the future, but he was home- finally.

I Am Aware, Are You?

2011-11-01T19:31:00.000-07:00

It's November. The omnipresent pink of Breast Cancer Awareness month is giving way to the green, red and gold of Thanksgiving and Christmas. There's no room on the shelves to raise awareness for the stunning number of causes that claim November as their month. According to the National Health Information Center, November is the national awareness month for diabetes, COPD, diabetic eye disease, foot health issues related to diabetes, lung cancer, family caregivers, healthy skin, hospice palliative care, stomach cancer, and prematurity. Within November, there are weeks dedicated to drowsy driving prevention and getting smart about antibiotics. It's a full month - all of that and Thanksgiving, too. Plus my husband is turning 40, but that's just me.

So how am I going to spend my November? I'm going to raise awareness about the one cause that I know better than I ever thought I would. The one that I learned about first hand both in the ICU and the NICU. Prematurity. I never knew it was possible to be born 8, 10, 12, or even 14 weeks early. Like most pregnant women, I counted the weeks off in my head - noting the big milestones. I knew that 23 weeks was the point of viability - but I never actually considered what that meant. I never considered the length of the NICU stay that would be likely for a baby born that early - if she survived. I didn't know about the whole host of complications that can happen, such as NEC, ROP, and brain bleeds. Until I entered the NICU for the first time, I had never seen a 1lb baby before. My own preemie was 3lbs2oz, which was less than half the size of my full-term son. A 1lb baby is 3 times smaller than my preemie. That's really, really small.

My son was 8 weeks early. That's two months. Up to that point, I had heard of a few preemies - but all of them were around 1 month early. When I came to in the hospital to find that I had given birth, the first thought was "no, that's too soon." I had no idea what to expect, but I expected the worst. It was almost impossible to imagine a newborn emerging from the chaos of eclampsia and HELLP syndrome in good health. Five years later, I still find it incredible to imagine. Seriously, eclamptic seizures feel damn close to the end of the world.

I hope that most people, most parents aren't smacked over the head with awareness like we were. And I hope that parents don't spend whole pregnancies in fear of what could happen. But knowledge is the best way to allay those fears. The statistics are on the side of most preemies. The majority of babies avoid the NICU altogether. We avoided it once. The second time we weren't so lucky. But we survived and we're still surviving. The NICU is not a place you want to find yourself, but it's also a navigable world peopled by nurses, doctors, and other staff who can be incredibly helpful and supportive.

This November we are traveling to New York to be a part of the Saving Grace gala for the Preeclampsia Foundation and America's Blood Centers. I'm also planning to visit the NICU where Budge spent the first month of his life and the new NICU in the hospital where he was born as part of the Days of Gratitude for the March of Dimes. It's a full month. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

The Sad Truth about Tall Shoes

2011-10-31T21:10:00.000-07:00

I took the boys trick or treating tonight. Bob, the older boy, is all about the scary costumes. This year he picked a costume called "Cool Ghoul". It was white with a skullish sort of mask and a white plastic chain. It was sort of a shroud/generic ghost sort of get up. Budge wore a pink princess dress over a Superman shirt. He told one house that he was "Princess Batman" which wasn't entirely accurate, though he did wear a Batman costume (and the Princess costume) earlier in the day at daycare. He treats Halloween like he's hosting the Oscars. It's all about the costume changes.

Princess Batman wore a pair of "tall shoes" - purple plastic shoes with a little bit of a heel. They're not really designed to be worn for long periods of time - and they're not really designed to be worn outside either. After a block or two, he asked me to carry him. I explained that this was why I didn't wear tall shoes very often. They're uncomfortable and they become increasingly uncomfortable with each step. I didn't carry him, but I made a deal with him that we would go back to the car to put his tennis shoes back on. His dress was long enough that the shoes weren't even visible anyway. For a few minutes, he walked in his bare feet as I carried his tall shoes. That's how I usually end up at weddings - because tall shoes may be bad for trick or treating but they're even worse for dancing.

Under his dress, Princess Batman was dressed like the little boy he is. He had a Superman shirt and a pair of jeans with a big hole in the knee. He's an active child with a good sense of balance and an athletic nature. He's a happy kid and he happens to love shiny dresses and tall shoes. He's a boy - and he knows it. There's a part of me that always second guesses letting him wear girls' clothing - but that's usually drowned out by the part of me that wants him to be happy with who he is and what he likes. He's five. He likes what he likes. None of the people he saw tonight tried to make him feel bad for that. I am not going to make him feel bad for it either. Some day someone will probably say something about it, but he's not going to hear it from me.

Weekend of the Living Dead, Part 2

2011-10-30T22:10:00.000-07:00

The story so far....

In the morning, we ventured farther west - toward Pittsburgh. We had gotten a tip about a town called Evans City, but had dismissed it as too far west. Still, George Romero was from the Pittsburgh area - and we knew that the Monroeville Mall had been used as the location for the sequel Dawn of the Dead. And it's just outside Pittsburgh.

Evans City is abut 30 miles north of Pittsburgh, in Butler County. It's a small, small town with a quaint downtown area. We stopped in a book store to ask directions and to see if we were anywhere near our quarry. The woman behind the counter had obviously been asked the question many times before. Our pilgrimage was not unique. She sighed and said "Why do they always come in here to ask?" - and informed us that we had missed the museum hours. There's a museum? Awesome! She gave us directions to the cemetery. Finally we had solid information! I was both relieved and slightly excited. The trip had not been my idea. I don't even like horror movies. I am not into zombies. And I don't exactly love walking around cemeteries. But this would be the last cemetery! And it was the right one.

In the opening scene of the movie, one gravestone is clearly visible - it belongs to a man named Nicholas Kramer, who was born in 1842 and died in 1917. Now that we knew where the cemetery was, now we realized that we still needed to find Mr. Kramer. The cemetery was large enough to have access roads and we decided our best bet was to drive through the cemetery s-l-o-w-l-y while I inexpertly filmed the stones. Some of the stones were far too new to have been there in 1968 when the movie was filmed. I remember one with a giant RV etched on a giant black granite stone. The stone was for two people - one of whom was apparently still alive and presumably still enjoying the RV. Another stone had a lovely etching of a big male deer with an impressive rack of antlers. I presume it belonged to a hunter - some good ole Pennsylvanian who was no doubt familiar with scrapple and birch beer.

As we ventured toward the older part of the cemetery, I shot every tombstone I saw. We didn't find Nicholas Kramer while we were there, but once we watched the footage later in the safety of our State College apartment - we found a few frames of Nicholas Kramer. We drove miles and miles to find this one particular grave in this one particular cemetery. Mission accomplished.

Of course, this was in 1998 - when film locations for cheaply made horror films weren't quite as easy to find on the Internet. And these were the days when Todd would say something like "let's go find the cemetery from Night of the Living Dead" and I would agree because we didn't have anything else we needed to be doing. Now we live in Los Angeles, which is so full of film shoots that you're liable to end up in one if you're not careful. We haven't done anything this silly or spontaneous for awhile. We have kids now. And it's possible to drive down the freeway and say "hey, those hills look just like the hills in the opening of M*A*S*H, because they are the hills from M*A*S*H (surprise, it's not Korea!) It's a trip we probably wouldn't take today - and that's kind of sad. It was crazy, stupid fun.

Weekend of the Living Dead, Part 1

2011-10-29T20:25:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, we were newlyweds living in State College, Pennsylvania. Happy Valley. We didn't have kids, yet. We didn't have a lot of obligations beyond work and school. Our weekends were ours. We lived halfway between both of my grandmothers, so we spent some of our weekends in the Poconos or Canton, Ohio. One night while watching an old Lucille Ball movie on AMC, the host suggested that if we were anywhere near Jamestown, New York around the end of May, we should go to Lucy Fest. We looked at each other - then at the calendar and planned a trip to Jamestown on the spot. But the weirdest weekend quest involved another movie - one that I still haven't seen all the way through: Night of the Living Dead.

One of my husband's coworkers - Brian - at Accuweather had grown up on a farm. His family owned a "cabin" in the middle of nowhere - and he invited us to come out one weekend to stay at the cabin. The cabin is in western Pennsylvania - somewhere near the area where the original Night of the Living Dead was filmed. Todd recognized this as an ideal opportunity to track down the cemetery from the opening scene - the part where a young man attempts to scare his sister by saying "They're coming to get you Barbara" from behind a gravestone. The gravestone belongs to one Nicholas Kramer. This was our main clue. That and Brian's vague comment that he thought he knew where it was.

On Saturday, we traveled along small country roads in western Pennsylvania looking for the cemetery Brian remembered. The first cemetery was on a hill, with a few trees around it. It wasn't very big, but it looked like it might possibly be it. We walked around a little, looking at the markers and checking the different possible vantage points to match some of the shots from the movie. But, this was 1998 and I was trying to compare a three-dimensional, full color vista with a 30 year old black and white movie. We asked someone at a nearby library where the cemetery was. She directed us to another cemetery a few miles away. We explored it in a cursory manner, taking a look at the stones and the vegetation. At this point we realized we needed to rewatch the opening scene. We needed details. When it comes down to it, all western Pennsylvania cemeteries look basically the same. This could be it, but there wasn't anything distinctive to tell us definitively.

That night we went to stay in the cabin. Thankfully, it was really more like a house - and it was fully furnished with beds, boardgames, a kitchen, and a tv. It seemed reasonably zombie-proof, though it would have been ideal for a Jason Voorhees sighting. You can't have everything. We spent the evening watching TV and playing the dumbest board game ever. It was a trivia game with questions such as "Name the snowman". The answer, by the way, was "Frosty, the Snowman".

We weren't satisfied that we had found the right boneyard. But we still had Sunday. And we had a tip that the right cemetery was closer to Pittsburgh. We crawled into bed, ready to get up early to continue the quest.

Things that Suck: Or how not to react to friends in crisis.

2011-10-29T01:13:00.000-07:00

I missed a day. October 28 doesn't have an entry. But that means that October 29 will have two. I've been writing around something for a long time, but I have to write about it eventually. It's a Friday/Saturday night/morning. I've had some wine. But, I'm mostly sober. And this topic pulls me down to earth in a way that few other things can.

This makes me think of so many other #ppdchat moms. And it makes me feel embarressed/sad that I haven't come forward completely until now. It seems silly, but the song "Digging in the Dirt" by Peter Gabriel always makes me think of the trio of people who went too far. Who tried to help, but only managed to make things infinitely worse.

They thought I was suicidal. I can almost understand where they got that, but it was SO far off that I can't even begin to wrap my head around it. I wasn't suicidal. I was tired. There is a difference. I was also on the verge of postpartum depression - but that didn't mean suicidal - not at all. And this experience was so far away from suicide, I couldn't even express how glad I was to be alive. And I was glad. I was beyond happy that I had survived. I was beyond glad that my son was alive. But I had just brought my son home from the NICU two weeks ago. I was so, so tired. My son was less than 5 pounds. He was on a caffeine-based drug to keep him breathing through the night. I was scared, nervous, and full of anxiety. What I didn't need was someone telling me what I should be doing or how I should be feeling. And yet, three well-meaning, though utterly clueless friends, took it upon themselves to lecture me and my husband (in front of my in-laws, no less) on our parenting skills.

If I could have broken into a million pieces I would have. If I could have gone back to the crucial moments during the crisis, I might have. But, those moments taught me everything I needed to know. I wanted to live. Desperately. But by November 17, I wasn't yet okay. I was a work in progress. I wanted to survive. I wanted my son to survive. I wanted my older son to realize all of the happiness that was available in life. I still do. But the moment when some well-meaning, but completely misguided friends decided to stage an intervention where none was needed derailed all of that.

I wish I trusted therapists. I wish I trusted doctors. But I don't in part because the people who attempted to intervene did so on the advice of doctors and therapists who didn't know the situation. I know that this was an attempt for certain people to extract themselves from a situation that was too heavy to handle. I wish they had just removed themselves instead of attempting to dismantle our entire support system in the process. The whole situation really, really sucked for everyone involved. It sucked for me in ways that I can't even express now - 5 years later. I understand that it was scary - and I can't say how I would have reacted at the time to another friend experiencing the same thing. But you made this about you when it was about me and my family. We needed help and you removed yourselves from the situation in the most damaging way possible.

There's more to this story, but I'm too tired. And it's 5 years on. You know what? We're still here. And you are not a part of our lives.

Extra Innings

2011-10-27T22:06:00.000-07:00

I plead World Series exhaustion. For a sport that can be so boring in the regular season, baseball sure is exciting when it counts. Cardinals come back twice from being down to their last strike. I feel for the Rangers fans who were so close to their first world series celebration. It reminds me of the Indians who got to that point against the Marlins a few years back. I would look up the year and the specifics, but I really don't want to think about it more than I am now. And this just reminds me that the Dallas Mavericks won the NBA championship - and too much happiness in Texas might upset the natural balance of things. As a northeastern Ohioan, I've gone a full 39 years without seeing a championship from a home town team. It's actually been longer than that since a Cleveland team has won, but I've only been around for 39 years of Cleveland sports futility.

If I can't have one of my teams, and it's been awhile since I have - I like a series just like this one. The Cardinals have won before, but it's been a long time. The Rangers have never won - and they were in it last year. I'm just glad the Yankees aren't in it. I always feel cheated if they get there. It's like a movie I've seen before - that keeps getting worse with each watching. Watching them lose has also lost its appeal - I'm bored by them.

Game 7. There's no better phrase in baseball. One game for all the marbles. Two teams, two cities, two managers. I'll be watching!

The Lost Blog Post

2011-10-26T20:29:00.000-07:00

So, I just lost an entire blog post. And it was BRILLIANT! Truly the best thing I've ever written. Epic, like a poem by Ovid, or the Decameron.

I wrote about the SST (stands for Student Success Team, I think) meeting at my son's school. Bob is in fourth grade - and this is the third SST that we've had. The problems are always basically the same. The don't substantially improve - nor do they get substantially worse. Every teacher he's ever had has identified "spectrum-like" behaviors. The spectrum means one thing and one thing only - autism. But the autism spectrum is a pretty big umbrella. It includes something called Asperger's - which is the part of the spectrum they always point to with Bob. The term "high-functioning" is bandied about. I've looked at the signs of Asperger's - some of them definitely fit. Some of them don't. But that's the thing about spectrums and syndromes - they function like an a la carte menu. No one ever has all of the signs. And Bob only has a few of them - and some of them are completely opposite, such as his ability to understand (and create) humor.

One clinical psychologist suggested that his problem was boredom. She based this on an IQ test. Her suggestion was more sleep and advanced classes. He's in an advanced class now - but the problems persist. He's very good one on one with adults. I'm planning to go into his classroom soon to see if I can observe any of this behavior. Of course, if I'm there and he knows it - his behavior may change.

He's a smart, smart kid. I'm hoping we can figure out what's going on so that he can get the most out of school. I'm reluctant to apply labels that I don't entirely trust. But, I know that we can't sit back and do nothing. He deserves better. And I want him to be happy.

State of the Blog at 3 Months

2011-10-25T20:56:00.000-07:00

It's October 25th. I've written a blog entry every day since my 39th birthday on July 25. I'm one-quarter of the way through my blog-a-day for a year. Overall, I've written 115 blog posts (including some that were written before the streak). My blog has had over 3,000 page views - most from fellow Americans, but I've also been viewed (if not read) in Russia, the UK, Austria, the Philippines, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Ireland, Brazil, Canada, Latvia, Malaysia, and the Ukraine.

I've been read by friends and strangers alike. I am thankful for anyone who takes the time to read some or all of the blog. And if you've read all of it, more power to you. Sometimes it's a bit of a navel-gazing exercise. And the every-day-ness of it means a wide variety in quality. I'm just writing to write. Writing to remember. Writing to remind myself that I know how to write.

So thanks to everyone and anyone who is indulging me in my effort to keep the blog going. I hope that the people who happen upon this blog find something in it worth their while. Only 9 more months to go!

World Polio Day

2011-10-24T21:15:00.000-07:00

Today is World Polio Day - and polio is now 99% eradicated. It still exists in small pockets around the world - but it's edging ever closer to joining small pox on the extinct diseases list. Currently, the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation (and FC Barcelona) are working on a campaign to reach that last 1%.

We owe our polio-free existence to the Salk and Sabine vaccines, both of which were funded by the March of Dimes. The vaccines became widely available in 1955. It has taken only 56 years to get where we are today. When my parents were children, they lived in a world where polio epidemics were a very real threat. Stories of iron lungs, permanently weakened limbs, and even death were common. Everyone knew someone, or knew of someone directly affected by polio. In 1954, my dad developed polio. He was eight years old at the time. Unfortunately, he missed out on the vaccine trials that were then underway.

My older son is 9 years old now. It's hard for me to imagine going through something like that with a child of that age. But I do know what it's like to grow up in the shadow of polio. My father's right leg is underdeveloped. It's considerably skinnier than his left leg. It would have been shorter, too, except that he had surgery to shorten his left leg. He uses a cane now and also has a handicapped card for his car.

My children are fully vaccinated - against polio, rubella, mumps, chicken pox, and all of the other standard vaccine-preventable diseases. I don't argue with people about vaccination schedules or phantom links to modern day diseases. People are quick to forget when they don't have daily reminders. And while few of us are familiar with devices such as the iron lung, it's good to remember that some things are preventable.

What Passes for Fall in the Valley

2011-10-23T22:13:00.000-07:00

It was over 90 degrees today in the San Fernando Valley. That would be fine if it were July or August, but it's almost the end of October. Southern California doesn't really have seasons - it just has times of the year when the sun goes down earlier. We do have "cool" weather sometimes - from December to February, but it's all relative and I feel silly complaining about it when I see blizzard and snowstorm footage from one of the cold places where I used to live. Northeastern Ohio and its "lake effect snow", suburban Chicago, and central Pennsylvania were all subject to something called "winter".

We don't have that here, and that's a big part of the appeal of this virtual desert (we don't get much rain, either). My husband and I are from the Midwest. We grew up with snow, rain, and thunderstorms. We remember the seasons of spring, fall, and winter. Here, I can usually see snow only from a distance - at the top of the San Gabriel mountains to the east. Mountains are also something reasonably new to us here. We lived in a valley - Happy Valley, home of Penn State University - for a couple of years, but it didn't feel as much like a valley as this one does. I really can see mountains on all sides - if the smog isn't too thick.

Of course, to my kids, this weather is their normal. They barely know what thunder sounds like. They have felt snow once or twice when we drove up to the mountains during the winter. They are used to being within a short car ride of the beach, even if the Pacific Ocean is always cold, even in the middle of summer. It's kind of odd to have such a different frame of reference from my kids. It's not only a generational gap, it's a geographical gap, too.

The San Fernando Valley is the quintessential valley. It's the valley from the song (and movie) "Valley Girl". And the Galleria is like, totally still here (after a long renovation and some serious upgrading). I have two valley boys. And three valley cats (though, to be fair, one of the cats is actually from Happy Valley). It's October in the valley, and it was 90 degrees today. I am hoping that we well actually get some fall weather soon. After all, pumpkins rot very quickly in hot weather. I want my jack o'lanterns to look pretty for longer than a day.

Walk of Life

2011-10-22T21:56:00.000-07:00

I've participated in several charity walks for various causes in the past - all of them good causes. I've walked around the Rose Bowl for multiple sclerosis. I've walked around Griffith Park, the USC campus, and the streets of Simi Valley for prematurity. I've walked around a lovely bay in San Diego for preeclampsia. Walks serve a multitude of purposes. They bring people together. They raise money. And they raise awareness.

A good walk is equal parts fun and remembrance. It's a celebration of survival and a tribute to those who did not survive. It's a way for supporters of a cause to gather together to make a difference. Diseases are large, ugly entities that have no conscience and cannot be reasoned with. Diseases like preeclampsia and others just happen, often with no warning. It's easy to feel small in the presence of something like cancer - and this is what gives walks their power. When you see a couple hundred or even a few thousand people in one place with one purpose, it makes the fight look much fairer.

Today, in the park, I watched as a small army of volunteers set up booths, balloons, and banners for the Light the Night walk for Lymphoma and Leukemia. It felt very familiar, though I've usually had to arrive at the crack of dawn to help set up - when everything is wet with dew and it's still cool enough for a sweatshirt.

We're working on bringing a walk for preeclampsia to the Los Angeles/Ventura County area. I've volunteered to work on it and I'm hoping we can pull it off in 2012. It's early days, but I'm hopeful that it can happen.

Work/Life/Work

2011-10-21T21:47:00.000-07:00

So I found myself working at 8:00 on a Friday night. Working from home is a problem in that if you're at home, you're at work. It's hard to divide the work/life spheres. They bleed into each other - and it's hard to satisfy the needs of both.

The job is one that involves working until the work is done. It's repetitive and frankly, quite boring. Most days, we can get through everything in a normal work day. Some times it bleeds into my evenings - into my family time. My previous job also resulted in a lot of unbalanced days.

I'm searching for balance. I'm searching for work that's dynamic and interesting. That means something. I devote as much time as I can to the March of Dimes and the Preeclampsia Foundation. It's fulfilling, but it's hard to balance with work and family. Ideally, I'd drop the work. But work pays the bills. It provides the health insurance.

So the search for balance continues. It's around here somewhere.

Fourteen Days Later

2011-10-20T22:06:00.000-07:00

It's October 20, 2011. Five years ago today, Budge was two weeks old - and two weeks into his four week NICU stay. I've written about the NICU several times this month, but truth be told, I could write about it every day during October. I could write about it up to and beyond the day that we finally came home - November 2. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that every NICU family knows exactly how many days they were there. It's not something you're likely to forget.

I know many families that spent months in the NICU. I've met a handful of people who were there for the better part of a year. I also know many people who continue to return to the PICU from time to time to maintain the health of their children. It's an experience that leaves its mark. It's also why I've found myself using the phrase "he was only in the NICU for 28 days - ignoring the fact that this is more days of hospitalization than the other three members of my immediate family have endured combined. But, still I use the word "only" - because I recognize that it's not as long as so many other children I know. We were lucky.

At this point, we were halfway through our stay. We had no clear idea how much longer it would be - except the inexact rule of thumb that he would be coming home around his original due date. My official due date was early December. But in mid-October that all seemed so far away. He was still so small that the thought of bringing him home scared me. Two weeks in we were settling in to the routine. We were visiting every day. We were balancing the NICU with our 4 year old at home. We'd become familiar with the hospital and the place where we had to go to pick up parking passes, so we wouldn't have to pay every day. We knew the path to the elevator and the 3rd floor stop where we'd be greeted by an elaborate Disney-themed mural on the wall outside the nursery and the adjacent door to the NICU. The nurses buzzed us in by sight. From time to time, the hospital entrance would be overrun with film crews, this being Hollywood and all. The Hollywood connection only added to the surreality of the situation. This is not how things were supposed to be two weeks into the life of my second child. This is not what we had prepared for - planned for - or hoped for.

Today Budge is 5 years and two weeks old. His birthday seems so long ago. We've moved on to Halloween and to preparations for our upcoming trip to New York. The new toys have assimilated in with the old toys, their newness worn off. Two weeks. Fourteen days. It may not seem like such a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it feels like forever in retrospect.

Falling Far from the Tree

2011-10-19T21:11:00.000-07:00

I can see parts of myself in my kids. It's equal parts "how cute" and "oh, s**t!" My older son, Bob, is smart (yay!), but easily bored (oh, no!) He's struggling to see the point of school - and does decidedly better on subjects that interest him. Really, that's not a surprise. I did better in English (once we got past booooooring grammar lessons), social studies, and French. I preferred words, words, words. I still do. Numbers leave me cold. Addition and subtraction. Multiplication and division. The addition of letters (or "variables") might have made it better, but no, they only make it worse. I'm also bad at economics and budgeting and figuring out taxes. But I do them any way.

Bob has a problem making himself do things he doesn't want to do. He's easily distracted and would rather be paying attention to everything else that's going on in the room. This isn't really a trait that I have in abundance, but I do have some trouble focusing on endless, boring tasks. Like cleaning. And laundry. In school, I always motivated myself to get things done as fast or faster than a handful of other students. We would race through math as fast as we could. But, I'm competitive. I'm an athlete - or I was, before the couch devoured my energy. My kids are not competitive by nature. They aren't athletes. Their father isn't either. This is fine, of course, but I'm trying to find other ways to motivate.

My kids are like me. They are like their dad. They remind me of their uncles and their grandparents. I see little elements of almost all of their relatives. But I also see that they are unique. Their lives are their own. The similarities don't necessarily mean that they will have the same problems as I did - or the same joys. They don't have to be athletes. They don't have to love all of the same things that I do. They can forge their own path. I just hope my sons will be able to find their own happiness.

Even My Toilet Paper is Aware of Breast Cancer

2011-10-18T20:58:00.000-07:00

I have nothing against the all-things-pink breast cancer awareness campaign. Breast cancer kills. Both of my grandmothers developed breast cancer, but not until their 80's. I understand that I have a risk of developing breast cancer at some point in my life. It's an ugly disease - as are all cancers - and it's relatively common.
I'm glad to see companies throwing money at a good cause, whatever their motivations.

But, I feel like I'm as aware as I'll ever be, short of experiencing it myself. I have a breast cancer umbrella. Breast cancer toilet paper. Breast cancer tomato soup. I've donated to the walks. I'm aware! I swear! And I do care.

But one of the effects of this October oversaturation is that everyone assumes that my preeclampsia Promise Walk t-shirts are for breast cancer awareness. Even my March of Dimes shirts sometimes are mistaken. Awareness is so high for breast cancer that it can actually work against the awareness of other diseases.

I care about prematurity. And preeclampsia. And HELLP syndrome. And eclampsia. I also care about diseases that haven't directly affected me, like ALS, diabetes, MS, muscular dystrophy, myasthenia gravis, lupus, and the myriad other forms of cancer....

I care about the fact that preeclampsia is actually more common than breast cancer (358,000 cases of preeclampsia per year, versus 255,000 breast cancer cases), but that the population most in danger of developing it is often completely unaware of it. It's often buried in the back of pregnancy books, in the "Sh*t Happens" section. Sometimes, it doesn't even appear in the books, or is glossed over as something that doesn't happen to women who get good prenatal care. Good prenatal care is essential - but it's not a fool-proof way to avoid preeclampsia or eclampsia. Women don't know the signs and symptoms of preeclampsia. My doctor never once mentioned it to me in all the months I saw him. It didn't come up in my first pregnancy. And it was never mentioned during the 7 months of my second pregnancy, even though my doctor checked for the symptoms of proteinuria and blood pressure at the beginning of every appointment.

I don't think any of us would benefit from being less aware of breast cancer. I'm glad my toilet paper supports breast cancer awareness. But, there are so many diseases that need the same awareness. I'd love to see products, football players, and buildings decked out in a full rainbow of colors every month of the year. November is Prematurity Awareness Month. May is Preeclampsia Awareness Month. And though you wouldn't know it, October is also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Education is one of the most important tools that we have in the fight against many types of diseases. Awareness is essential - and it must be supported.

My ignorance of preeclampsia very nearly killed me - and my son. But it's not the only disease that can achieve that goal with little or no warning. Every disease deserves its own awareness campaign. Every disease should have the support of corporations, politicians, regular people, and toilet paper.

For a Song

2011-10-17T21:37:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend, I was musing over the fact that there are at least two "pop" songs that take pregnancy complications as their subject matter. It seems an odd topic for a song, but when you think of the emotions tied in to the process of birth - it kind of makes sense.

Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work" was originally written for the film She's Having a Baby. The song also appears on her album Love and Anger, the quite good follow-up to her seminal Hounds of Love. It's a beautiful song that has gone on to have a life in recent years - appearing on American Idol and as a cover by Maxwell. It's written from a male perspective, so it actually works quite well. It's a beautiful song - a touching song that contemplates the possibility of losing everything all at once. "I know you have a little life in you yet, I know you have a lot of strength left..." I found the scene from the movie where it was used - and I was surprised to find that the complication was the one that I had with my first child - breech presentation. Granted, breech presentation is a complication - and it can cause huge problems for both the infant and the mother. Before c-sections were widely available, breech births could result in a baby getting "stuck". But as a mother who had one breech baby (via planned c-section) and one seriously complicated emergency c-section boy - I can tell you which one felt complicated. This is a case where the song will outlive and out-emote the movie scene in which it appears. But, it's no crime to be outdone by Kate Bush. She is all kinds of awesome.

The other song that came to mind still befuddles me a little. Part of the reason is that I'm surprised it was as popular as it was. I'd be willing to bet that it's the only pop song that includes the word "placenta". From what I've read, the song "Lightning Crashes", by Live, was based on a real-life situation. It's a lovely song, but I think it took me awhile to wrap my head around the lyrics. Unlike Bush's fairly straightforward lyrics, Ed Kowalczyk's lyrics are a little more esoteric. It seems to be searching for reasons - there are angels, there's lightning and thunder. It's all about feeling. "I can feel it comin' back again, like a roll of thunder chasin' the wind..." There's no reason for the human drama playing out in the song. It's elemental - a natural process that is bigger than the human participants.

I'm sure there are other songs that take on the subject of birth. I know a few others that are about uncomplicated births. Births that don't leave either the mother or the baby fighting for their lives. Birth is a natural process - and it can be beautiful. But, it can get complicated - and those complications can make a profound difference in the lives of those immediately affected.

Neonatal

2011-10-16T21:52:00.000-07:00

It's October 16, 2011. On this day five years ago, Budge was 10 days old. Each of those 10 days had been spent in an isolette. The majority of human contact he had experienced was from nurses. I had been released from the hospital 2 days earlier. I had to have someone else drive me to the NICU - it would be some weeks before I was allowed to drive. Between the abdominal surgery and the seizures, I wasn't deemed to be road-safe. By this time, I had gotten to hold Budge on 2 separate occasions. He was tiny - as with most babies, he lost weight in the days immediately following birth. He was born at 3lbs 2oz, but dipped into the high 2lbs range. I had never before imagined what it would be like to hold a child that small. I never considered what it's like to hold an infant that's hooked up to all manner of wires. It's a process. It involves careful positioning. It involves pillows, blankets, and a chair placed in close proximity to the isolette.

You sit. A nurse, carefully, hands you a bundle. The infant doesn't always open his eyes. Sometimes he continues sleeping. There's not a lot movement in the NICU. Babies that size don't have the energy to cry. They don't move. Babies that should still be in the womb often also don't have the energy or ability to eat - to suck and swallow. They can't regulate their own temperatures.

The NICU is a crash course in neonatal medicine. There's a vocabulary that comes with it. There are goals to be met. There are steps to be taken to move closer to going home. You have to "scrub-in" before they even let you in.

Five years ago, I was easing out of my role as patient - as preeclampsia survivor - and into my role as parent of a preemie. I had seen what preeclampsia can do to the mother. Now, I would see what it can do to a child.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day

2011-10-15T23:34:00.000-07:00

Today was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance day. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about how close we came to losing our Budge. But, we didn't. We were lucky. I am so grateful that we were lucky - but every time I think about our luck, I think of the flip side. I wonder why some people, some mothers and some fathers aren't lucky. I wonder about those who endure the unendurable. I can't imagine anything worse than losing a child. Such a loss is impossible to measure and impossible to replace.

For all mothers and fathers who have endured miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss, I am thinking of you today. And I think about you often. Please know that your children are not forgotten.

Call me Ishmael

2011-10-14T21:31:00.000-07:00

We have one fish left. Of the 10 that we had at the peak of our fish ownership, only one survives. I bought a new tank - a smaller 5 gallon tank - a "hospital" tank for our sick fish. Well, the one that survived, Mr. Sunny, is in that tank. The other tank is mostly empty. It reeks of ammonia - the result of the process of decay. Overfeeding - particularly by 4 year old neighbors - is a problem.

My husband fished out the biggest fish tonight. Trashmaster. The pleco - Bob's pride and joy. In the early days of our fish tank, Budge overfed the fish. But he told me about it right away and I was able to siphon away most of the excess food. All of the fish survived. This time, it wasn't to be. I couldn't stop the processes of decay. I couldn't siphon out the fish tablets.

I don't deal well with dead animals - with death. I gave up on the reclamation process after I transferred the two obviously alive fish from the tank (they were visible from the top). Mr. Sunny did not look happy with the transfer to the new tank. He sat on the bottom, not moving - usually a bad sign with fish. The guppy I had moved looked good - he transferred as though nothing had changed. But the next morning, the guppy had died. Mr. Sunny was swimming around - looking as though nothing had happened.

Bob reacted well - better than I expected - to the deaths of his fish. I, on the other hand, felt as though I had failed to protect the fish. I kept revisiting my initial reactions. I kept trying to figure out how I could have saved more of the fish. I second guessed. Now, I realize that it was a lost cause from the beginning.

So, we have one live fish. He's a survivor. He's my favorite. We'll restock the main tank once we drain it and buy new gravel. It will need to cycle again, so we'll have to add a few fish at a time. I'll need to wrestle with the chemistry. Build up the bacterial filter. It's straight up chemistry.

I was afraid, after the first overfeeding, that the fish tank would be nothing more than an object lesson in death. But, it's more than that. It's also an object lesson in life.

Tongue-Tied

2011-10-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

Dentists and doctors must be used to being in situations when whatever they say can't be responded to by the person with whom they're talking. The resulting monologues can be fascinating. Or annoying. Add another doctor, assistant, person and the whole thing can become an exercise in pretending that the person who can't talk (for whatever reason) is also incapable of hearing the conversation.

Today, my dentist carried on a rather interesting monologue while drilling around in my mouth. I was rendered speechless by dental equipment - and his assistant didn't talk a whole lot. The monologue continued unabated. First, he discussed what he did during the Vietnam War - he's of that age. Apparently, he was a reserve medic. He talked about his reaction to viewing tapes of surgical procedures (which skeeved him out) and actually viewing a live operation (which did not). He talked about the first time he witnessed a surgery - which involved the amputation of a diabetic woman's leg. The leg was "thrown in a bucket." Later, he talked about God, evolution, and creationism, though he eventually realized that the person who referred us was not who he thought he was. It was a little odd, but not exactly offensive. At this point, I was just glad he wasn't talking about operations any more.

When Bob, my first born was born via c-section, I was awake. I remember the rather mundane conversation of the people who were working in the room. The nurses, doctors and others talked about their weekends while waiting for the spinal block to take hold. It was odd to listen to this sort of conversation just minutes before the single biggest life changing moment of my life. No one asked me what I was doing with my weekend. My weekend, and a good number of weeks from that point on were spoken for. And everyone in the room knew it. Between the anesthetic, the morphine, and the gravity of the moment, I was already not exactly in the room - not in the same way everyone else was. The delivery room was an odd juxtaposition between people who do this same thing every day and the women and men who leave the room as mothers and fathers. Lives change - but for some, they stay the same.

It was a different sort of feeling when Budge was born. During the time before I could speak, my mind kept running one phrase over and over again. It was an exclamation, followed by a question: "Holy s@^t! What in the f#$k happened?" The thought rolled around in my head, unvoiced for some time. I couldn't speak when I was intubated. And it was hard to talk even after that. I don't think I ever actually said the words in quite that way. Even in circumstances that may well have called for some swearing, I was far too polite to indulge. After all, I wasn't combative any more. While I was in the hospital, my regular ob/gyn came in for a visit. He didn't have privileges at this hospital, so he came in as just another visitor. His first question to me was "what happened?" I didn't know how to answer that. He's the one with the degree, shouldn't he know? I don't know if he was looking for exoneration in some measure. He seemed completely genuine in his concern. But I was taken aback by the question. My husband and mother-in-law also looked to me for answers. I think my ob/gyn and my family wanted to know how it had happened. How it had gotten to that point. It's almost impossible to describe the way preeclampsia can wrestle your ability to reason from you. I don't think my doctor understood exactly how disorienting it can be. In retrospect, I can say that it happened because I had no idea that such an outcome was possible. I didn't know that the signs and symptoms pointed to preeclampsia, or eclampsia, or HELLP syndrome. By the time I felt bad enough to know that something was seriously wrong, I was incapable of my own distress. Five years later, I can articulate that. At the time, the question seemed seriously misplaced. I could hardly believe that people thought I would be able to answer that question - especially since it was the one question I wanted to ask more than any other.

I still don't have all of the answers. And I certainly don't have all of the questions. Different things can render you speechless, but it's a good idea to keep your ears open the whole time. You might learn a thing or two.

Not in the Mood

2011-10-12T22:27:00.000-07:00

Some days, I'm just not in the mood. Today, my mood just kind of plummeted for a time - I was angry and that turned into a referendum on all that was wrong with my life. Of course, I know that not a lot is wrong, but when the mood bottoms out, all of that is magnified. The sameness of my day-to-day felt less tolerable. My boredom seemed like more of a burden - something that stretches out before me with no end in sight. It's an absurd exaggeration - but it has a familiar feel to it. When my older son, who I will call Bob (not his real name, stands for Brother of Budge), was born and the darkness set in - I felt like it was going to be that way for the next 18 years. I couldn't think myself out of this box. Of course, the thoughts were predicated on the assumption that the infant Bob would never be anything other than he was right then - a needy, wholly dependent baby. The one thing that my depressed mind could not contemplate was change. I couldn't imagine a life different from the one I was currently living. Looking at it from the outside, it seems absurd. But at that moment, at the time, it seemed very real.

Today's mood was temporary. An aberration caused by a relatively unimportant annoyance. I'm not exactly overjoyed at the moment, but I don't think it will last. I need a good night of sleep. So I can get up and go to the dentist tomorrow morning to get a filling. Oh joy!

Out of Joint

2011-10-11T22:09:00.000-07:00

The other day, I asked my husband about the series of events that happened in the immediate aftermath of Budge's birth. It was interesting to hear it from the perspective of someone who could actually remember the events as though they were on a real, recognizable timeline.

My memories are hazy - piled on top of each other with no real recognition of time lapses or the passing of days. There were no nights, no days. I know that I slept and that I slept a lot, but that too was chunked up in little bits between receiving drugs, tests, and x-rays. I never knew until then that there are portable x-ray machines that can be brought in to the ICU. My blood pressure was checked often. Very, very often. I underwent a whole bunch of breathing treatments. Certain smells still bring that memory screaming back into my head.

The problem was that all of the things that normally marked time for me were gone. I can't remember if there was a clock in the room. I remember the TV, but I don't remember much of what I watched. I only know that I did watch. I couldn't remember how I had gotten into the room either. I was disoriented because I couldn't identify where I was in relation to any of the places I knew. I didn't know where the hospital was. I didn't know what floor I was on, or where the ICU was within that floor. I had never given any thought to what it was like to be taken somewhere when you are asleep or unconscious. Most of the time we are pretty aware of where we are - and more importantly, how we got there.

I was out of sorts. And my brain was dealing with recovering from an extremely jarring series of seizures. As I recovered, I abandoned any plans to pass my time by reading. I couldn't retain anything. Crossword puzzles and word searches were beyond me. I even thought about trying to catch up on my thank you cards from the baby shower that had been held the Sunday before his birth. Writing was simply NOT going to happen. It took awhile for this muddle to clear. I'm not completely positive that it's gone even now, but it's hard to tell if my memory is worse than it used to be. Sometimes it seems like it.

I don't exactly trust my memory from the week that followed Budge's birth, but in some ways the shimmering quality of the images from that time have a magical quality. It's like seeing a play through a translucent curtain - the characters are indistinct and move around on the stage as if in a cloud. There are no acts or scenes or stage directions. There's no director. And the plot is almost impossible to discern. For awhile, time was out of joint.

Sometimes Medicine is the Best Medicine

2011-10-10T22:32:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've seen many stories online about the shortage of certain drugs that are no longer profitable enough to ensure a steady supply. These drugs aren't as attractive as the oft-advertised gout remedy, Uloric, or any of a number of drugs designed to combat erectile dysfunction. I understand that drug companies exist for the betterment of their shareholders and board members, but I find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that there is more demand than there is supply for several critical drugs.

The shortages impact cancer patients, people with chronic conditions and others who happen to have the misfortune of falling ill at the wrong time. This paragraph in an article on NPR's health blog Shots surprised me:

Currently, for example, intensive care doctors are coping with a shortage of a drug called labetalol that's used to treat patients whose blood pressure is going through the roof. Labetalol is so scarce that the hospital recently decided to reserve it only for patients having a brain hemorrhage.

Labetalol. Blood pressure. I gathered up my medical records and began searching through them. I am familiar with the pages and know where to find the information that I need pretty quickly. Finding Labetalol was easy. It was one of the first drugs I received when I arrived at the hospital. I wasn't having a brain hemorrhage... yet. But that was a distinct possibility given the rate of my soaring blood pressure. I was already seizing due to my increased blood pressure, and a stroke was also very possible. My body needed help immediately, and labetalol was part of the solution. I can't say that it alone allowed me to pull through. I can't even say that it immediately lowered my blood pressure to normal levels. But, it was a drug the my doctor prescribed and it was available. I got it immediately - within the first hour after I arrived at the hospital.

It scares me that other women in my situation may not be able to receive Labetalol if they need it. It scares me that other people experiencing hypertensive crises may not be able to receive this drug. I'm no doctor and I can't claim to know how it works or if other drugs are available that give similar results. All I know is that there is a shortage of a drug that was used to help save my life.

I understand that Viagra and Cialis are big money makers and that they solve a very real problem - but I wish that their makers would also think about making drugs that might save the poor man mentioned in the ads who is not healthy enough for sex. The man whose heart could land him in the ER in desperate need of a drug that could lower his blood pressure, perhaps.

It's Better to Give

2011-10-09T22:59:00.000-07:00

The first time I signed up for a blood drive, we were in a slow time at work and I simply wanted the excuse to get out of work for an hour or so. I was bored. The fact that it was a good thing to do registered, but it was definitely secondary. I had never known anyone who was directly affected by a blood transfusion. They were something that happened to people on TV shows like ER.

Sometime after that first donation, I received a donor card indicating that I was an CMV hero. The explanation that accompanied the card explained that CMV (cytomegalovirus) is a virus that many people carry. It doesn't do much harm to people with healthy immune systems. In fact, most people who carry the virus will never know about it. But CMV negative blood is essential for all transfusions carried on in the NICU. The underdeveloped immune systems of premature babies are not able to fight off CMV as well. And CMV, like RSV, can be devastating to newborns - causing vision and hearing problems, mental disabilities, and seizures. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Again, I didn't know anyone who was affected by CMV.

I continued to sign up for blood drives whenever they were set up at work. If the Red Cross called, I would sometimes set up appointments for the offices in Glendale or Burbank. I didn't go out of my way to sign up. I think I still felt slightly guilty for initially signing up for selfish reasons - and I kept signing up for every blood drive that came to me. This meant donating blood in a lot of hotel conference rooms - rooms which inevitably have the ugliest carpet on the planet.

So I donated, maybe 2 or 3 times a year. I'd go and answer the questions, get the quick blood pressure, iron, pulse, and temperature screening. Twice I was turned down for low iron levels, but I kept signing up. And eating spinach, broccoli and red meat in the week leading up to my donations. It felt good to do it, but I can't say that I gave a whole lot of thought to the person on the other end who would be receiving the donation. I never gave that part much thought.

That all changed when Budge was born. I started giving that a lot of thought. On the fourth day after Budge was born, I received a blood transfusion. A pint of packed A+ blood. I needed platelets badly. Platelets cause clotting among other things. Having too few is a serious problem. It's the LP part of HELLP syndrome. So now all of those random hours I spent in hotel conference rooms with a needle in my arm seemed less random. Someone with A+ blood spent time at some blood drive somewhere - and because of that, my chances of a quicker recovery were elevated. My chances of getting out of the hospital and in to the NICU to see my son were increased. All because a stranger gave an hour of his or her life.

Now when I go to donate blood, this is what I think of. I think of that person. I think of the daughter of a friend I met through the March of Dimes who was born with CMV. I think of Lauren Larsen who received over 200 pints of blood after developing DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulation) as a result of preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome. Her book, Zuzu's Petals, chronicles her struggles with the diseases. She also actively advocates for America's Blood Centers, an organization that is a network of non-profit community blood centers in North America. I think about the person on the other end. I think about their fear. I think about why they need blood and hope that they will recover completely.

I never expected to find myself in a hospital, recovering from eclampsia and HELLP syndrome. I never expected to be on the receiving end of a blood transfusion. It's not something most people plan for. Of course there are also people for whom blood transfusions are a regular part of their lives, people with chronic illnesses such as cancer and blood disorders. Being on the receiving end of a blood donation is a humbling experience.

There is no adequate way to say thank you to the individual who donated his/her time to help me get back on my feet. So instead I will continue to donate every chance I get. I'm eligible to donate in early December and I'll be there in early December. If you've donated blood, thank you. If you've never donated blood, please consider it. Thanks!

Not So Sanguine

2011-10-08T20:21:00.000-07:00

I wanted to write a whole blog about blood donation. I donated blood this morning. It felt good, even though I was tired from having stayed up way too late trying to save our fish and doing some freelance proofreading.

So, I'm tired now and my attempts to save the fish are coming up short - we've lost one that I know of - the water is green and visibilty is poor. So, we'll just have to see what we have in the end.

I'll save the blood donation post for a time when I'm more awake and can do it justice. Suffice it to say, blood donation can save lives. It can't save your fish from acute overfeeding, but it can save a woman from the affects of HELLP syndrome and preeclampsia. It can save premature babies from a variety of conditions that plague their underdeveloped bodies. It can save accident victims. It could, one day, save you or someone you love.

Tanks, but no Tanks

2011-10-07T22:46:00.000-07:00

My older son loves fish and all things aquatic. A trip to the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach sent us on a wild fish chase after the one thing he HAD to see. The black-tip reef shark? Sea otters? Seals? Bowmouth Guitarfish? Nope, nope, nope, and no. He had to see the Giant Keyhole Limpet. Which is giant only when compared to other keyhole limpets. The search led us to a small touchpool with lots and lots of starfish. He asked about the keyhole limpet and the volunteer attendant bit her lip and moved the cover from the other touchpool. Apparently starfish like to eat limpets, so there weren't many to be seen in the touchpool. But my son was satisfied. He saw his limpet. And learned a truth about nature. Things eat each other.

He begged, begged, begged for a fish tank. Last August, I finally relented - knowing full well that this would become my responsibility. The delicate chemistry. The ammonia levels and nitrates and nitrites. Cleaning. Water Changes. You have to fight the forces of fish poop and evaporation. And overfeeding. Which is a big problem, especially when certain people take the feeding upon themselves.

A few days after we got our first fish, Budge decided he wanted to feed the fish. He dumped about a third of the can of food into the tank. I was attempting to cycle the tank, but this was going to completely screw up the chemical balance. I cleaned what I could and wished we had just gotten a snail instead.

This evening, Budge and his friend Junior were playing nicely upstairs. Reports differ, but Budge says that Junior wanted to feed the fish. And he did. Boy, did he. I just spent about a half hour trying to clean approximately 50 or so disintegrating algae tablets out of the tank. I succeeded in getting some of the mess out, but now the tank is so cloudy that I have to let it settle again. Then I get to clean it. Again. I foresee a weekend of fish tank cleaning. Hopefully, all of the fish will survive. And the chemistry won't go so far off that I'll need to cycle it again. FYI: Fish are NOT easier than cats.

This is another thing I never pictured 5 years ago when Budge was just a 3lbs 2oz preemie.

NOTE: This is the 5th anniversary of the lost day. The empty day that I spent on life support. Other people tell me I was awake on that day. But, I don't remember it. This was Budge's first day of life. He spent it in the nursery of Holy Cross Hospital - he wasn't transferred to the NICU at St. Joseph's until the next day.

Happy Birthday, Budge!

2011-10-06T21:47:00.000-07:00

Five years ago tonight, I was fighting with the emergency room staff in a small hospital in the northeast San Fernando Valley. I was restless, agitated and combative. I ripped out an IV. Once they were finally able to knock me out, I was taken into an operating room for an emergency c-section. Finally, at 9:41 pm my second son was born. He wasn't breathing. His first APGAR score registered at a 3. Out of 10. He had to be resuscitated.

I only know all of this because I requested my medical records. I have no conscious memory of the hours that led up to this - and approximately 36 hours after this. It was a Friday night in the first week of October. A full 8 weeks before he was supposed to be born. At that point, my knowledge of prematurity was limited. My knowledge of preeclampsia was even less. I got a crash course in both.

Now, I know more about both than I ever thought I would. In the NICU, I learned that 32 weeks is not anywhere near as early as some babies are born. I had never really heard of a baby born that early - 2 months? When I first came to and realized what had happened, I thought the worst. I couldn't imagine that he would be healthy. I couldn't imagine that we would be bringing home an infant that weighed less than 5 pounds. In the NICU, I learned that babies are capable of surviving against very long odds. And once I got involved with the March of Dimes, I learned just how long those odds can be. And I learned that not all babies do survive, and there are many that survive with lasting issues that are directly related to their prematurity.

This journey led me to the conclusion that we were and are extremely lucky. Eclampsia is one of the leading causes of maternal and infant mortality. It is a medical emergency that I endured alone for hours. But we both survived. I wish that I could say that about all women and babies who find themselves in the same situation. No one wants preeclamspia, eclampsia, or HELLP syndrome. No one asks for life-threatening pregnancy complications.

As much as this day makes me think about where we were 5 years ago, it also leaves me in awe of where we are now. In the NICU, I barely let myself imagine a future like this. A future where both of my boys are running around the house pushing a new birthday toy car, repeatedly turning on the annoying Hip Hop Birthday Bear that sounds sort of like a Chuck E Cheese animatronic. This is Budge's day. I can't imagine it any other way now.

A Strong Start: Bringing Home the Bacon in the Fight Against PPD

2011-10-05T13:56:00.000-07:00

It's confession time. I don't like bacon. I eat maybe one slice each year. I usually donate any bacon that comes with any breakfast dish I may happen to order to one of my offspring. Or my husband. Because they, like nearly every non-vegetarian I know, love bacon. Right now, there are a handful of bacon-loving women promising to give up bacon FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR in the fight against postpartum depression.

One of the buttons on my blog declares, quite proudly, that I survived postpartum depression. I did. And I did it twice. But I didn't do it alone. I had support from family and friends. The second time, I had support from pharmaceuticals.

All women deserve to have support in their fight against postpartum mood disorders. Organizations such as Postpartum Progress exist to make it possible for all women to get the support they need as they navigate through postpartum mood disorders. I wish that such help had been available over 9 years ago when I first found myself feeling the effects of postpartum depression. It would have made a tremendous difference.

Today is Strong Start Day 2011. Today is the most common birthday. And tomorrow is Budge's birthday. So in honor of all of the babies born today and one very special baby who was born 5 years ago tomorrow, I am donating today's blog and an "I-wish-it-could-be-more" $10 to Postpartum Progress. Let's eradicate postpartum depression - and deny some very strong women their bacon.

A Muse of Time

2011-10-04T22:04:00.000-07:00

Oh for a muse of fire!

Actually, I need a muse of time. One that can manufacture a few more hours in my day so I can actually devote a few of them to myself. To thine own self be true.

Instead I sit randomly working Shakespeare quotes into a blog post because I don't have enough time to do anything else. There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow... the readiness is all.

I'm tired of work and I'm bored. I'm trying to figure out how to fit making cupcakes into my day tomorrow without having them take on the weight of a 'have to' task. I want to make cupcakes. I want to give them to his daycare so that his day can be special. I just hope my day has enough hours in it for me to give the time and care that I would like to. A cupcake by any other name would taste as sweet.

The Grand Gesture

2011-10-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

There isn't really a book on how to react to extreme circumstances. There's no one way to return to normal after everything goes haywire. You can slowly approach normal - or you can announce it loud and clear with some grand gesture. I sort of split the difference - things changed, but there was no fanfare.

I totally admire the people that bust through the gates in a big way. You know, the people who run marathons, triathlons, or walk across the country to raise awareness, money, and to show everyone - especially the disease - that they beat the odds. I know several people who have done this - one of whom wore a "Hey, Lauren! You're not dead!" t-shirt while running the New York marathon. (It also helps to have a sense of humor when you pull a Lazarus.)

There's a part of me that wants to do something like this. It would be empowering. It would force me to get my butt off the couch. It would help me get into shape - you know, like I was back in college - when I walked everywhere (sometimes backwards, if it was cold and the wind made it impossible to walk any other way.) I'm not sure that a marathon is for me, though. Marathons involve running. And triathlons add cycling and swimming to the running. Not my thing. I'm not going to walk across the country, either. That's a pretty hefty time commitment and I'm pretty sure October is exactly the wrong month to embark on such a quest.

The blog is in itself a sort of grand gesture - as it includes a sort of quixotic promise to blog everyday. For a year. But blogging involves an awful lot of the sitting on my butt element that I'm trying to avoid. It's a grand gesture, but it won't improve my cardiovascular health. So, I'm casting about for ideas. Some way to get active. Some way to thumb my nose at preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome. It needn't be a very grand gesture - in fact it could be a series of small gestures. A symbolic slap in the face to the disease that tried - and failed - to kill us.

Hey, Jennifer, You're Still Alive!

Oktoberfest!

2011-10-02T21:24:00.000-07:00

So, it's the second day of October. Four days before Budge's birthday. But, October is not all about NICUs and harrowing birth stories. It's also a great month for many, many reasons....

Monster Cereals. Our supermarket only carries the classic BooBerry, FrankenBerry and Count Chocula cereals during the month of October. My sons are snacking on some as I write. By the time we got married 15 years ago, the cereals were so hard to find that I had to order a whole case of FrankenBerry to give to my brother as a bridesmaid's gift. Yes, he was my maid of honor, or best man, as the case may be.
Fall, or what passes for it out here in SoCal. I played softball this morning in what felt like 90+ degree weather. The sun was HOT. But, October holds the promise of cooler days. And even if it stays hot like this, I know for sure that the sun will go down earlier every day.
Halloween. The Halloween stores are all open and the stores are bedecked in black and orange. And there's candy, everywhere! A wise friend once told me that it is "never to early to buy Halloween candy" and considering that my husband and son (Budge) spend at least an hour each day, every day, all year round considering what their costumes are going to be - it's a much anticipated holiday in my house. We also get to wield giant knives on helpless orange gourds. And this year, we have a black cat that will no doubt feature in many appropriately themed photos. It's really a win/win holiday.
Football season. The college football season moves into the conference games - teams start to become bowl eligible - and the good teams start playing other good teams. And you can finally tell which pro teams are actually good, not that my Cleveland Browns usually fall into that category.
Baseball season. My chief problem with baseball is that with 162 regular season games, it's really hard to care about any individual game - until October, that is. It's much more fun to watch a baseball game that actually matters! And in October, you're likely to get bad weather and stands full of cold people. Fun!
Columbus Day. This sort-of holiday is usually just an excuse for car dealerships and mattress stores to have weekend sales, but its enjoyable nonetheless. I used to live in Columbus, Ohio - there's a replica of the Santa Maria. This time of year, they dress it up for Halloween and call it the Haunted Ship at the Santa Maria. This may be the only direct connection between Columbus Day and Halloween, so if you're in the neighborhood, perhaps you should go.
Haunted stuff. Supposedly, one of my relatives haunts the Hower House in Akron, Ohio. But that's not quite as cool as the "fact" that the Jack in the Box on Topanga Canyon is supposedly haunted. Evidently, the milkshake machines turn themselves on in the middle of the night. I love a ghost with a sweet tooth.
Apples. My husband's hometown has a very quaint Apple Festival every October. I love a good harvest festival. There's cider. There's folk art. There's pie!

If Preeclampsia were a Ring Wraith: Or, Yes, I am a Geek

2011-10-01T22:57:00.000-07:00

Call me the lord of the rings. Call me the ring-bearer. Call me Frodo. I actually saw the three Lord of the Rings movies before I read the books. It's a genre that I don't generally read often - I like my heroes to be life-size. Real people with real problems. Personally, I've never been asked to carry a "ring of power" into enemy territory to chuck it into a volcano. And I don't know anyone who has been carried anywhere by a giant tree. I don't hang out with elves, orcs, dwarves, wizards, or hobbitses. And I'm not particularly afraid of wraiths or giant spiders (though if either were real, I would probably be a wee bit frightened.)

The movies were watchable not because I love the genre or the story, but because Viggo Mortenson is hot. But sometimes hot actors can be gateway drugs. The movies led directly to the Lord of the Rings Online, yes, an MMORPG (am I less of a geek because I can't remember what the acronym stands for? probably not - it's an online role-playing game with lots of other players running around Middle Earth.) I AM A GEEK. Once I entered that world, I was loath to admit that I hadn't read the books. I hadn't. But, I do love to read. And though it's usually my policy to read books before I see the movies, in this case I had to make an exception. So I read the books.

Middle Earth is not earth. The geography is different. There are a whole lot of creatures that exist there that don't exist here. There are hobbits, elves, dwarves, and men. There are magical rings. There's a pretty stark divide between good and evil. But they use the same calendar. And Tolkein is thorough enough to tie most of the important moments in the story to specific dates.

I've written a lot lately about dates and calendars as we slide into October. Calendars are an important way to measure our lives. We grow older with every passing day, but we cycle through the same months and seasons every year. The cycle is essential. And October is my month. It's Budge's month. October 6 is Budge's day. But it's my day, too.

And, it's Frodo's. When I read this bit at the very end of the third book in the trilogy, I smiled. It's a coincidence, but it's also true in its way. And it's one of the few ways in which I can totally relate to the little Hobbit with the heavy burden. If preeclampsia were a ring wraith, Frodo and I would be twins:

"...All that day he was silent. It was the sixth of October.

'Are you in pain, Frodo?' said Gandalf quietly as he rode by Frodo's side.

'Well, yes I am,' said Frodo. 'It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.'

'Alas! There are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,' said Gandalf."

Apt to Brood

2011-09-30T21:53:00.000-07:00

In less than a week, my youngest son will be 5. Five whole years. It's still September, but October is looming, growing larger by the hour. October is the month. The month of October is fraught with dates, with landmines that bring it all back in a rush of conflicting emotions. It's not all bad. It's not all good.

Less than a week before his birth, we had a baby shower at our house, hosted by a friend. It was a Sunday - and we had a good turnout. It was a fun, low-key event - no games, no excessive girliness. There were some men in attendance and my older (and at that point only) son served as official present opener.

I was beginning to feel a little off, but I wasn't worried at that point. On Monday, I went to work. I felt fine, though a little uncomfortable. On Tuesday, I returned to work. I felt like I might be coming down with something. But, it didn't seem like it was anything to be worried about. By Wednesday, I was starting to drag. The work day seemed long. I was sure now that I was coming down with the flu. I decided to take the next day off if I continued to feel like that.

This was all the warning that I got. Preeclampsia had likely set in by that point. My blood pressure was climbing. The cascade had begun - and it was about to gain strength. I didn't know the signs, the symptoms. They snuck up on me, masquerading as seventh month discomfort and a mild flu-like illness. The "bed-rest" that I imposed on myself during my sick day was helpful. I actually felt better. I even considered going back into work the next day. By that night, the idea of working was gone. I was sick. Sick to my stomach. It had to be the flu. Right?

No one ever told me that having flu-like symptoms at that stage of pregnancy was a sign of something far worse than the flu. By Friday morning, I only had enough energy to send an e-mail to work saying I'd be out again. I went back to sleep. I've written extensively about that Friday. Budge's birthday. It's part of the lore. The story. It sometimes feels made up - I think mostly because I don't remember all of it. That - and I was almost completely loopy. My brain was not thinking in a sequential manner. So telling the story has a sort of surreal quality. This happened. I know that it happened. But, it's really, really weird to go back anywhere near that head space.

This is the week. The week that started with a baby shower and ended in the ICU and NICU. It went from normal to completely not normal in less than 7 days. But, then I guess so many life changing events happen in even less time. I'm rather apt to brood during this part of the year. Associations and such. It's a passing phase - but it passes in pretty much the same manner every single year.

Dr. Teeth

2011-09-29T21:37:00.000-07:00

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow with a new dentist. Tonight, I filled out your normal medical history questionnaire. I'm never quite sure how to fill them out - as so many of the questions ask "HAVE YOU NOW OR EVER HAD....[fill in some ghastly condition]". They never specifically ask if you've ever had preeclampsia, eclampsia, or HELLP syndrome. Instead they ask if you have high blood pressure. Well, yes, techinically, I have. And it was astoundingly, eye-shakingly, head-rattling high, too. But it's not chronic. Most of the time, my blood pressure is hunky-dory.

Ever had any respiratory problems? Yes, indeed, I was on a respirator for something like 34 hours, give or take. I developed ARDS. I had pneumonia. I was sucking air pretty hard and not getting enough oxygen out of it. But, it's not a chronic condition. I'm breathing just fine right now. I think. Still a little bit of a cough, but it sounds much better than it did.

Had surgery within the last five years? Yep, and yep. I answered that one pretty easily - it's a yes/no. But how to explain that it wasn't *just* a c-section? Well, I guess we'll find out when he asks - that is if he asks. And the shoulder surgery? Well, that one was fun to explain to my OB. She knew enough to guess that the shoulder injury was related to the eclampsia. Of course, it was an injury that was missed by the doctors in the hospital - but I can't hold that against them. It hurt at the time, but then so did everything else.

My teeth need all the help they can get - and I know I'm overdue for an appointment. But, I'm still heading in with that same reluctance. And who knows how much of the story I'll need to go into. He may not ask at all. And if he does, it's not like I've never explained it to anyone before.

Guided Visualizations

2011-09-28T20:36:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, a friend invited me to a networking event for women. It was suitably new age-y and included a few life coaches, psychics, gluten-free bakers, and a slew of industry types - this being Hollywood and all. I'm not generally given to indulging in that sort of thing, but it was fun - and interesting from a people-watching perspective. Plus there was food and it was good.

I didn't know very many people there - and I'm not a great networker in general - I'll talk to people if they talk to me, but I'm not good at initiating conversations. The event was in an upscale furniture store that felt sort of like an art gallery. There were places to sit everywhere, but it felt kind of weird to eat from my plate full of potentially messy canapes while sitting on a $4000 white sofa.

The idea behind the networking event was to bring creative women together so that we could empower each other - by sharing ideas, business cards, small talk, and various bits of philosophy. There was poetry of a touchy-feely variety - not bad, but not exactly of the variety that I prefer. I like my poetry dark and brooding, you know, like Sylvia Plath and William Butler Yeats. My poetry slouches toward Bethlehem, it doesn't hug toward heaven.

At the end of the event, a woman from a yoga/pilates studio did a guided visualization that was designed to relax and renew our spirits, or something like that. Again, this isn't something I generally do, but I figured I'd give it a whirl. Then she started talking. She began by having us visualize a newborn baby - sort of a blank slate on which we could rewrite ourselves. The point was to focus on the innocence, the purity, the potential of that baby - a baby that had no preconceived notions. I gazed upward to the exposed wooden beams in the ceiling and the skylight just beyond. I couldn't picture the newborn as she described it. I pictured the newborn as I had last experienced it. I pictured the NICU. I pictured the wires and the tubes. I pictured the machines and the occasional flurry of activity whenever one of those machines would start beeping.

Up to that point, I wasn't completely aware of the fact that this had replaced my vision of a newborn. I was no longer able to visualize a healthy newborn. Newborns were broken. They were fragile. They needed wires, bells, tubes, and isolettes to sustain them. The NICU replaced the nursery in my brain. The word "newborn" automatically connoted "premature", the words were linked in my head.

So I stared out of the skylight, not really listening any more. I considered leaving, but I didn't want to disturb anyone. The skylight wasn't bothered by my stare. The exposed beams understood why my eyes were watering, just a little.

State of the Blog at 2 months

2011-09-27T21:20:00.000-07:00

Wow, I totally missed the two month-iversary of the the blog-a-day-a-thon. It was two days ago, on the 25th. Two months down, 10 more to go. I've posted a blog every day for the past 60+ days now. That's kind of exciting. I even managed to blog through my cold without missing a day, thank you Nyquil.

Why am I doing this? Mostly, because I want to write. I like writing, but I've been employed as an editor for so many years, that editing comes more easily. It's easier to correct and tear apart the writing of others than it is to create something. And of course, the subject-matter can be easy to write about, but also agonizingly hard. I'm so familiar, perhaps too familiar with my subject. And there's lots to write about, but do I really want to keep going there? Is it smart to revisit it over and over again? Well, it is definitely better to revisit it in writing than it is to revisit it in thought. If I think about it, I keep treading the same ground again and again. At least with writing, I have to contemplate how to organize my thoughts - how to arrange the sentences so that it says something more or less coherent.

And that's me. I'm more or less coherent. Next week is Budge's birthday. As much as I love celebrating that fact, there's a part of me that can't let go of the "birth" part of birthday. I've talked to many, many moms of preemies about this phenomenon - the power that dates have to swing us right back to the moment. We're 5 years out from the "train wreck". Five years. I think that deserves a party.

Oh, Behave!

2011-09-26T20:56:00.000-07:00

We got another one of those letters today - one of those letters from our older son's teacher regarding classroom behavior. It's not the first time. We've been through this at least once a year for the 5 years he's been in school. So, I'll make another appointment to go in and talk to the teacher about our first born. I wish I had more answers than questions. I wish I knew what to do and how to do it. I wish I knew what normal was. But I wouldn't know normal if it smacked me in the face, sat on my chest, and tattooed the word across my forehead.

In kindergarten, the teacher was worried that he "walked" weird when they lined up for class. My husband asked him if he was walking weird and he replied "as weird as they'll let me". He also had trouble getting his work done and was a little flighty. Not a complete surprise, given what I remember of my own childhood and what I've heard about my husband's. In first grade and second grade, the issues were similar. He's a bit of a loner. He doesn't participate in gym. He doesn't interact much with the other kids. The teachers referred us to different programs at UCLA for kids with high anxiety and autism spectrum disorders. He didn't qualify for any of them. We finally were able to get him in for an evaluation through the Regional Center, but that wasn't very helpful either. He's not on the spectrum. Indeed, the psychologist came to the conclusion that his problem was more likely due to boredom - his IQ put him well above the "gifted" threshold. So, no firm diagnosis - except smarts, which is a plus, right?

In third grade, he switched schools. He's now a minority in his school - one of the few kids who only speaks English. We had some similar problems. He would lose focus in class, sometimes falling asleep. He would have trouble getting work done. He wasn't good at socializing with his peers. Now, he's in fourth grade and we've already gotten the note. I haven't made an appointment yet, but I will in the next few days. There's a process to preparing for these meetings. I need to get the initial emotional reaction out of the way first. I need to go through that initial feeling of despair, frustration, and anger. I need to get to the point where I accept that there is a problem. That we're not going to outgrow it. And that he doesn't fit the definition of "normal" as applied to elementary school kids. Well, we knew that. But, of course, he's the yardstick I use to measure "normal" when it comes to children - so what do I know?

He's a good kid. He gets along better with adults than with other kids - which I think may make evaluations such as the one he received from the Regional Center a little less than accurate. He has a huge vocabulary and uses it correctly. I've never been able to see him in a classroom setting exhibiting the behavior that his teachers have all noted. I have no doubt that they're reporting what they're seeing, but it's hard for me to picture it.

I'm not sure where to go with this, except back into the classroom to talk to his new teacher. It's time to get to the bottom of this, but I'm not sure there is a bottom. It's murky. My son reminds me a lot of my brother, which is both endearing and scary. My brother is wildly creative and extremely smart. He likes to draw and was always into science, just like my son. He's moody and can be really short with people. But it's more than that. He was recently diagnosed as bipolar - something he has always been - but it's only now official. I can't let myself jump to conclusions based on similarities and genetics. But, I grew up with this as part of my normal, too. So, I guess in the end, I have to conclude that normal is highly overrated.

We'll figure it out. We'll adapt. We'll redefine normal until it has no meaning at all. We'll conform where we need to - and push against it where necessary.

On the Mend

2011-09-25T20:05:00.000-07:00

Sunday night and the cold finally appears to be leaving. I'm glad it's on the way out - and I hope the cough goes with it in the next few days. I'm not a fan of respiratory illnesses, they remind me of breathing treatments and hospitals. Of sicknesses that start out mild and end up, well, not mild.

So it's time to get back into the routine - school, work, fun, food, blogging.

Yearning to Breathe Free

2011-09-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

I've made it through the head cold stage (yay!) but now it's settling into my lungs (boo!) I have a lovely deep chest cough that continues to annoy both myself and those unfortunate souls who happen to live in close proximity to me (sorry!) So, I'm hoping it will clear up, but it may require a stronger defense.

Longer posts to come once my health returns.

Better-ish

2011-09-23T21:08:00.000-07:00

Took a sick day and spent most of the day on the couch, sleeping. Massive headache and lots of congestion. The sleep seems to have won out though - the headache is gone and though the cough is still hangin' in there, I'm actually sitting up now! Yay me!

Still Ill

2011-09-22T20:10:00.000-07:00

So now I look like I've been crying all day. My eyes are red and I can barely keep them open for longer than a few moments at a time. The cold is winning, for the moment - but I plan to kill it with kindness -also known as sleep (and Nyquil). I really don't like being sick - especially when I'm not really sick. It's just a cold.

If I were one of the seven dwarves...

2011-09-21T20:24:00.000-07:00

I would be Sneezy.

The cold persists. I spent more time today laying down on the couch than I spent sitting. I'm sitting right now - but will soon be going to bed. Nyquil again - though it's not doing much. Goose bumps on my arms from the chills. And a nice deep chest cough. Hopefully, it's not settling in to bronchitis, but at this point it's kind of feeling that way.

Off to bed - to read and sleep.

Lessons Learned

2011-09-20T19:15:00.000-07:00

I've learned a lot in the last 5 or so years. I've also come to realization that there's a lot that I don't know. I'm not an expert in anything in particular. I can explicate the heck out of a poem, but that's not a skill that's in great demand. Here's some of the stuff I've learned. In no particular order. Keep in mind I still have a cold and my mind is fuzzy with the Nyquil right now. (There was no sickness clause in my rash promise to blog my way through my 39th year - this is one of the things I've learned.)

1. Percoset is my favorite painkiller. It didn't make me tired. It killed the pain - both physical and emotional. I felt all kinds of good on the percoset. I received it first in the hospital. It made me restless, but happy. It made me feel confident and ready to go all eye-of-the-tiger on everyone. Of course, a small part of me recognized that this might lead to some bad things and that I didn't want to find myself driving down the 5 freeway at 3 in the morning to buy some in Tijuana. I became keenly aware of how it affected my mood. In part, this is what made me realize that postpartum depression - for me at least - had a lot to do with my chemistry. It wasn't my fault and it wasn't permanent. Getting hooked on percoset was not the way to fix it - but it did make me more willing to consider drugs as a way to alleviate the PPD symptoms. And you know what? The antidepressants worked, without the nearly manic happy rush that accompanied the percoset. My keel was even once again. Huzzah!

2. The urge to do volunteer work is one that you should indulge sooner rather than later. I always thought that volunteer work was a good way to spend my time. I romanticized taking my kids to the soup kitchen so that they would get to experience the feeling of helping someone else. And you know what? It is fun! It's a great way to meet people. It's a good way to not become a hermit. So, I volunteer regularly now.

3. Writing is a lot easier when you force yourself to do it regularly. I write every night, now - the point is just to write. I'm covering familiar ground, but it's also a way to think of it in a new light. It's cheaper than therapy.

4. Blogs are as varied as the people who write them. In the broadest sense, I guess I am a mommy blogger by default - in that I am both a mom and I blog. But I don't know exactly what that means. Moms are all very different and parenting is an inexhaustible topic. Specifically, I'm blogging mostly about the pivotal experience of my second son's birth. I'm a disease blogger, a cause blogger - blogging against preeclampsia and prematurity. Blogging against HELLP syndrome. Blogging against postpartum depression and PTSD. Blogging against mental illness and the stigma that exists. But it's also a memoir. A space to write it down and remember it because I don't want to let go of the parts that I still remember. There is so much that isn't available to me. There are two lost days that sit on the calendar, unremembered. Blank.

5. I have three weeks to plan Budge's fifth birthday party, which also means that I have three weeks until the blank days come back around again. It's amazing that the calendar has such a strong power to bring it all back. But this day is about Budge. It's his day. It's a day of joy. A day of celebration. And it will be.

And still, I blog. Through sickness and in health. Through ideas and writer's block. Through summer and fall... and winter and spring. What was I thinking? I dunno. Was I thinking? Yes. Perhaps. Maybe. And if you're reading - thanks. I appreciate it. No one wants to be communicating into a void.

Blogging Under the Influence

2011-09-19T21:48:00.000-07:00

I just took some Nyquil, so bear with me if I go all googly-eyed or start making sense all of a sudden. I'm tired and fighting a cold. And fighting tired boys who don't want to sleep. And who sometimes throw things when he doesn't get his way. Kids never want to sleep. Until they get to be like 13 or something and then they never want to get up. We aren't quite there yet, though my older son is not fond of waking up for school. Budge bounces awake - literally bounces. He goes from asleep to 100 mph in an instant.

I love sleep. Of course, I remember the times when I would fight about bed time and make a stink about wanting to stay awake later. Now that I'm the adult, staying up late has lost much of its luster. It's not fun to see the clock turn over to 2:00am any more. It's not fun to hear the birds that start chirping in the predawn hours, the sounds that used to signal the coming deadline for the paper written in one night during college. I remember those days fondly, but I have no desire to repeat them.

It's just after 9:00pm and all I want to do is slide into bed, read for a half hour and turn off the light. I guess I'm making the descent into early-bird dinners and an 8:00 bed time. I'm not becoming my mother, I'm becoming my grandmother - but that would also involve buying a lot of Reader's Digest Condensed Books (which goes against every fiber of my being - condensed? pah!) and learning how to knit while watching TV or listening to Cleveland Indians baseball games on the radio.

The only similarity between my mom and her mother was/is their total inability to sit still. My mother cannot watch TV without folding laundry, reorganizing something that doesn't need to be reorganized, clipping coupons, doing a crossword, or playing some type of game. My grandmother knitted, sorted, read, labeled, or did crosswords whenever she sat down. Or she ironed while standing. I do not share this constant need for motion. In fact, even watching it wears me out. I need stillness from time to time. I need to pause and sit and be in the moment.

One of the chief emotions I felt in the hospital after the height of the trauma, was a sense of relief. I was in the hospital, where I should be. I had only one job and could ignore the pile of work that would have to be done by others at my job. My job produced more stress than was healthy for anyone. We were always behind. When I first started, my first project was already 7 weeks behind. I learned pretty quickly that this was not an aberration. It was the norm. By the time Budge was born, my project was behind. The person who took over the lead on the project had never been a lead editor before and was in over his head. I had been through an edition of the book, but the update was really a complete overhaul. There had been jokes about setting me up with a computer so I could work while I was in the hospital. But it was joke with the bite of truth behind it - the notion that the deadlines weren't going to be moved and that the work would have to get done. I don't work there any more. I was laid off, along with everyone in our office. Some people moved to Columbus, Ohio - where our jobs were moving, but the office out here was closed. In many ways, I'm glad I don't work there. I miss the challenge of figuring out complicated issues - the puzzle aspect, but I don't miss the notion that extreme stress was the norm. One of my bosses actually said during a meeting that this was a time when your blood pressure ought to be elevated. And this was after both she and I went through HELLP syndrome. Her blood pressure never rose very high, they caught it early. But, it did give me pause. I can think of no work situation (except if actual lives are on the line) that warrants stress of that magnitude. I know what high blood pressure can do - and believe me, artificial work deadlines and bound-book dates are totally unimportant in comparison.

So I guess the upshot of this long, meandering post is that I shouldn't sweat the small stuff. In some ways I'm kind of glad that I can get myself worked up over menial things - that means I don't have any bigger issues to worry about. But, I need to keep perspective, too. Menial things are still menial things. Taking the time to sit, to mellow out, to relax, to recover is a freaking important thing to do. Now, I need to go sleep and have some crazy Nyquil-induced dreams.

Closer to Fine

2011-09-18T22:51:00.000-07:00

I'm catching my older son's cold. It's a few weeks into school and it's that time again - new germs, new year, OH JOY! My immune system is not as good as I would like it to be. I am susceptible to colds, which often, though not always, turn into bronchitis. Which can last for months. A beautiful, rumbling, deep chest cough that causes others to remark on how painful it sounds. It's good from a sympathy standpoint, but that provides little solace. And then it's just annoying. It's the kind of sound that caused the phrase "hacking up a lung" to be coined.

Right now, it's just a sore throat. I say "just", but that is often the most painful and least pleasant part of the cold - particularly if it doesn't head down Bronchitis Boulevard. So, I wait to see what it will do. Where it will go. I'll combat it with orange juice, NyQuil, and naps.

And yet.... And yet, if someone asks me in the next few days how I am, I will inevitably reply with "I'm fine". It's such a knee-jerk response that I never even consider answering with anything else. This is fine if I'm exchanging pleasantries with an acquaintance in passing, after all, no one really wants to hear a detailed rundown of all of my health complaints. But, it doesn't work as well when I'm talking to people such as doctors. Last week, I went to Dr. G, my ob/gyn. She asked me how I was. I said "fine". And I am fine, but I also have a million, billion questions to ask her. And they went unasked, yet again. I am so not a strong advocate for myself sometimes. But I will ask. Heck, it took over 4 years for me to even start going to her as my doctor. When I called to make the appointment, I asked if they were accepting "new" patients. But I wasn't a new patient. She had my records on file - at least some of my records. I had never gone to this doctor outside of the context of the 8 days after Budge's birth. She delivered him 2 days before I actually got to meet her. Wrap your head around that one. I know I can't.

I guess I'm just trying to psych myself up. I should probably write a letter to Dr. G. with my questions (not all of them, but the main ones) - put it down in writing and send it to her. I also need to get off my behind and pick up the phone and call someone about the lovely heel pain I've had in my right foot for the last 2 months. Dr. Google indicates plantar fascitis, but I think I need a second opinion - from someone who is actually a doctor.

My throat is sore. My brain is tired. My right heel hurts. But, for the most part, I am fine. If you ask me, that's what I'll say.

Falling For You

2011-09-17T22:27:00.000-07:00

The Budge is a full-on faster-than-his-feet running machine. He trusts his body to be able to soar, leap, run, pirouette, and carry him wherever he wants to go. And he always wants to go. He moves non-stop, which is trying for his sedentary parents. It wears us out physically. And sometimes mentally.

Today, we drove up to Ojai - a quaint little town full of spas, resorts, and a bevy of new age-y types of things. It's only a little over an hour from here and I'd never been there before. And it met my criteria of getting me out of my house - because if I stay at home on a Saturday during football season, I will spend the entire day on my butt watching games. Inevitably I cheer for the underdog - which usually results in disappointment, but oh, it's so nice to watch the student body rush onto the field when an upset occurs. When I was in college (at Northwestern), the goal posts would have ended up in Lake Michigan, which is saying something considering that the stadium is a good way from the lake. But, I digress.

Back to Ojai. We stopped at a park in town with a nice jungle gym "apparatus" (son #1's word for playground equipment). The ground below the equipment was covered with wood chips - which are softer than concrete, but not quite as forgiving as sand. It also doesn't provide great footing, which is a problem when you have kids running around. Budge played for awhile with his brother on the slides while I sat looking over the purchases we had made in the candy store (SharffenBerger chocolate and Spam lip "glaze" among other more standard fare). Budge called for me to help him down from a particularly high platform. I helped spot for him while he expertly worked his way down the ladder. All seemed fine. Then he took off running back to the picnic table for more chocolate. He's faster than me, so I got to watch from behind as his feet slipped out from under him just as he got to the table. Face plant. Into the bench. OUCH! Instant tears. Oh, that had to hurt. Poor Budge. I ran to him, but by this time he had pulled his shirt up over his mouth and started running as though he could outrun the pain.

I caught up to him. Asked him to move the shirt so I could see his lip. There was a little bit of blood and I could see that it hurt. I took him over to the drinking fountain to wash it off and to get him a cold drink to take away some of the pain. Poor Budge. Thankfully, it's just a fat lip - and he's a tough kid. NICU kids often have a pretty high pain tolerance. NICU moms, however, have a higher tendency to freak out at such moments. We're a hardy bunch, on the whole, but the trauma of the NICU does take a toll.

When we got home, I laid down on the couch and took a nap in front of a college football game (Ohio State - Miami, which was eminently nap-worthy). Budge went upstairs to greet daddy and tell him about our trip in great detail. His mouth moves at roughly the same speed as the rest of him, so it can be a little draining listening to him too. At some point, I awoke from my nap to see him tumbling down the stairs. He stopped rolling two stairs from the bottom, scared, but not hurt. He has done this four separate times. The first time, he actually hit his head on the tile floor at the bottom - which resulted in a trip to the Dr. (He was fine). The other three times, he's managed to arrest his fall before the bottom. It scares the crap out of me each and every time. He's never actually hurt himself doing this, but he has scared himself. I hope the scare will translate into him being more careful.

Son #1 is careful. Very careful. He doesn't fall, but he also doesn't test himself very often. He doesn't trust his body the way that Budge does. He's also 9, but even when he was 4 he didn't cause my heart to leap into my throat on a daily basis. I did remind him to be careful often, but it wasn't with the same urgency that it usually is for Budge. Of course, another not inconsequential difference is that we almost lost Budge at birth. I'm sure that's a small part of it, too.

Everything, All at Once

2011-09-16T19:30:00.000-07:00

I have a list of things I want to fix. Some of them are even fixable. I want to improve my health - lose weight, increase my activity level, and rediscover the joy of athletic competition. I want to clean my house and reduce the excessive amount of stuff that's accumulating. I want to embark on the perfect career - one that will allow me to blend parenting and work so that I can feel like I'm succeeding in both. I want to get up off my couch and see more of the world. I want to be able to save money and work toward getting my life in line so that I can send my kids to college, buy a house, and retire eventually.

All of these goals are reachable, the problem is that I want to reach all of them right now. It's daunting to look at the pile of want. Where do I start? Why am I not there yet? I know that such things don't happen overnight, but I can't help but wish that they did. I know that part of this is me trying to live up to self-imposed standards that just can't be met. Another part of it is that depression absolutely steals my ability to identify what I want. It's hard to pursue a goal, when you can't even identify what that goal should be.

What I need to do - and I know this intellectually - is to make better-defined, attainable goals. And though I'm totally inspired by my friend Julie's goal-achieving prowess (seriously, she did an Ironman triathlon in June - that's 140.6 miles of swimming, biking, and running) - I think I'll carve my goals into fun-size chunks (which brings to mind candy bars, but oh well).

Where to begin, where to begin? I miss learning. I miss working with people. I miss leaving the house. I work from home, which encourages my inertia in ways that are not helpful. My blog-a-day for my 39th year is going swimmingly, but until they create software that allows me to blog and jog, I still need something to get my butt off the couch. So, I'm casting about for ideas. Something to shake up the status quo.

It's time for a change, but I have to remember that I can't change everything, all at once.

Unfocused Energy

2011-09-15T19:28:00.000-07:00

The hospital where Budge was born looks totally different. Since his birth, the whole front was remodeled and expanded. Part of the expansion included the addition of a NICU. A large Catholic hospital is across the street from the hospital, with a small local farmer's market on one side. Down the street there are two cemeteries and the San Fernando mission. Not surprisingly, the hospital is itself a Catholic facility.

The hospital may have changed, but my reaction to seeing it, to getting any where near it is the same. This might be the single biggest emotional trigger there is for me. Today, I drove up there for an appointment with my ob/gyn - Dr. G. She's a trigger, too - a major reminder of the ordeal. I can't see her without thinking about the first time I saw her. Of course, the memory isn't entirely clear - as with most of my early memories of the days following Budge's arrival. As I drove, I could feel my anxiety building. It was just a generalized nervous feeling. A combination of the fear from back then and the immense feeling of gratitude that always accompanies a trip to the ob/gyn. It's not an unpleasant feeling, which I think is why I decided to go back to Dr. G. It's not unpleasant, but it is overwhelming. It makes the whole day feel a little weird, a little heightened.

It feels like unfocused energy. It feels good, but I feel like I need to channel it into something productive - otherwise it will just keep me awake. And I know where that leads....

A Nice Day for a White Wedding

2011-09-14T21:24:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my parents' 43rd wedding anniversary. It's also my in-law's 44th anniversary. It would have been our wedding anniversary, too - except that circumstances made that impossible. This is just one of the things that my parents and in-laws have in common. They really are frightfully similar.

Both my mother-in-law and my mother were teachers. My mother-in-law was a kindergarten teacher in rural Indiana. They still live in that area, but she retired a couple of years ago. She's truly the quintessential kindergarten teacher - picture Edie McClurg only even nicer. She's a bubbly southern woman (from Nashville) who didn't know who Naomi Judd was when we walked past her. My mother was a teacher too - though usually of older kids. She retired to Florida a couple of years ago - she often calls me to tell me that her big dilemma that day was when to go to the pool.

My father-in-law and my father were both engineers, though my father-in-law spent his entire career as a civilian employee of the Navy. Yes, there is a Navy base in the middle of Indiana - go figure. MY father was a welding engineer with an MBA. He sold industrial gases, which is about as interesting as it sounds. He jumped around to a few different jobs, but he was never very far from his welding engineering roots.

It's hard to picture being married for longer than I've been alive, but that's the case for both of our parents. We've been married for 15 years - and that seems like a shockingly long time. But, I guess that's what happens when time passes and you stay together. The numbers stretch out in front of you. The years pass as years do. Happy Anniversary Moms & Dads!

If the Personal is Political...

2011-09-13T22:06:00.000-07:00

I don't write often about politics. I know better, even though I am always tempted to respond to the more insane article commenters and Facebook wonks. So here are a few random thoughts about recent (and not so recent) political statements and ideas that I take personally. FYI: I am unapologetically liberal and I have a big ole bleedin' heart.

1. HPV vaccine and vaccines in general: I find it fascinating that this has become a big issue, both in the debates and in George W. Bush's post-presidential activism. I'm actually surprised to learn that Perry supported a requirement for the vaccine. But then, I'm in favor of vaccines in general. The arguments against vaccines have gained traction largely because we are so far removed from the dangers of the diseases that they protect against. Autism seems far more of a threat than polio, even though there is no evidence that the vaccine for one actually causes the other. Polio sucked. It killed. And where it didn't kill, it maimed. My father had polio the year before the vaccine became widely available. I'm grateful that I don't have to worry about my children catching it.

2. Cheering for the Death Penalty: I am against the death penalty. It's expensive, unfair, and there's no room for error. If you get it wrong, there's no going back. But I do understand the reasons why others support it. What I don't get is when people cheer for it, such as the crowd in the Simi Valley Republican candidate debate. Really? Cheering?

3. Cheering for the deaths of uninsured people: From the debate last night in Florida. This is much less defensible than the previous cheering. Letting people die is not sound health care policy. It's unconscionable - and the candidates themselves were not supportive of the reaction. I don't think anyone could win on a "let them die" platform - even in the most conservative areas. Death panels, anyone?

4. Air quotes. During the 2008 presidential campaign, John McCain answered a question about abortion and the health of the mother argument. Here's the exact quote from a transcript of the debate. "[Obama's] health for the mother. You know, that's been stretched by the pro-abortion movement in America to mean almost anything. That's the extreme pro-abortion position, quote, 'health.'" I don't mean to argue the larger cause for or against abortion, but I do know that a mother's health should never be put in air quotes. I can also say from experience that if there is a question of health or life of the mother, there will not be enough time to consider the greater ramifications, nor to argue it out in a court of law or on the floor of the senate. I was livid after I heard this argument - livid at the way women's health was so cavalierly discarded as an "extreme" position. I'm sorry (in more ways than one) that women do still suffer from pregnancy-related conditions that can be life-threatening.

5. Science: Science and religion are not the same thing. They aren't even close. Science is open to questioning, to research, to revision. I appreciate that science continues to push against itself in the attempt to answer a wide variety of questions. I appreciate that evolution describes a complex and beautiful system of growth and change - two things that we all strive for to varying degrees. One of the things that I most love about science is that there are always new things to discover. Learning is encouraged.

I don't pretend to know all of the answers. The older I get the more aware I am that I don't know everything, or, really, anything. I have no intention of veering off into political territory with my blog - if anything, it's really more of a personal memoir than a rant space. But sometimes politics is personal. Sometimes, it's necessary to write about it, even if it goes against my non-fur ruffling tendencies. As always, feel free to disagree.

I Love LA, I Think

2011-09-12T21:03:00.000-07:00

I am flanked on the couch by cats. I am watching Monday Night Football as we slide into the school year and toward fall. One of the cats is sitting on my feet, keeping them nice and toasty. The temporary Halloween stores are open, offering temporary jobs for temporary workers. One such worker was outside holding a sign, dressed as a very easy to find Waldo. Of course, I live in southern California, so the weather is still in the low 90's.

I'm looking forward to the fall and winter. Of course, we don't exactly have seasons - what we have is longer days and shorter days. When the sun goes down early, it's winter. It's cooler and every once in awhile you can see snow on the San Gabriel Mountains to the east. My sons are native Californians. They don't know winter. And the river they see most often is the concrete trickle of the mighty Los Angeles River. Clearly we need to get them out of town more often. Up to the snow, out to the beach, over to the desert, up to the trees.

We've lived in California since 1998, but it wasn't until our children were born that this became home. There are many things about the area that I don't like - it's too expensive, it's too hot, there are black widow spiders, and it's so far away from all of our family. But this is where my sons were born - in Glendale and Mission Hills. This is where we spend our holidays and birthdays, sometimes with visiting grandparents.

I'm from Ohio. That's the answer I give when someone asks, but my family is from California. It still feels a little weird. I still find it strange to drive around Hollywood, dodging the tourists that flock to the area. But I recognize immediately that I am not one of them. I'm a local. I may not be native, but I am Californian.

Playing Through the Pain

2011-09-11T22:01:00.000-07:00

When I was in 8th grade, I broke my thumb playing softball. I was playing third base and a throw came in to me seconds before the runner arrived. I tagged her out and somehow managed to jam my thumb through both my batting glove and my fielding glove. It hurt immediately. But I played through it. I stayed out in the field. I don't remember what inning it was, but I played the rest of the game with a swelling, bruised thumb. I batted, twice I think. The only concession I made to the injury was to allow a couple of balls to go through the infield. I didn't tell the coach that it hurt too much to catch a ball. I didn't tell him that I couldn't wrap my hand all the way around the handle of the bat. I even tried to swing at least once - and felt a lot of pain when I made contact. I did not want to strike out. For some reason, my logic dictated that it was better to keep playing than to take care of the problem. I did show a few of the other players what it looked like. I complained a little, but I didn't think that it was broken. My mom didn't either, later when I showed it to her. After a few hours - and some increased swelling and a lovely blossoming bruise - she decided to take me to the Urgent Care. They sent us to the hospital for x-rays and in case it needed to be set (it didn't).

For the next 3 weeks, I wore a half cast on my left arm and hand. It was uncomfortable and hot. The break wasn't very bad - a hairline fracture right across the bottom of my thumb. It healed and three weeks later I was back at softball practice - catching fly balls in the outfield and grimacing in pain occasionally. I went back because I wanted to play. I was good at softball and I didn't want to let the other players down.

We often applaud people who play through pain. Professional athletes who get on the field despite broken bones, pulled muscles, separated shoulders, or concussions are portrayed as heroes. It's so common to see a lineman in football with his arm or hand in a club-like cast that we don't even think about what he's putting on the line when he goes out on the field. We applaud the player who gets back up and gets back in there, even when this goes against their best interest.

I went back before I was ready in 8th grade. My thumb hurt throughout that entire summer. It didn't help that I was also learning how to play catcher in my first fast-pitch leagues at the same time. I never complained much. And I just kept playing.

There were no lasting physical effects from my early return. My thumb is just fine. But this tendency to return too early and to ignore my own pain continues to this day. After my first son was born, I "played through the pain" of postpartum depression. I sucked it up and just tried to endure. After Budge was born, I took the standard 3 month maternity leave. I probably could have taken longer - perhaps a month or so, but I didn't. I played through it, because I needed to maintain my health insurance. I had gotten on an antidepressant to combat the PPD symptoms, but I didn't deal with all of the emotional fallout. I was too busy trying to keep moving forward to stop and consider that what I was leaving in my wake was actually slowing me down. A year later, when I had my shoulder surgery I took two weeks off to recover. When I returned to an overwhelming workload, I realized I should have taken one more week. The pain made it hard to concentrate. Typing for extended periods of time was difficult. I had to take breaks to keep it under control, and this just made it harder to keep up. It was a recipe for a downward spiral - for a return to a depressed state of mind.

I still fall into this pattern sometimes. I play through the pain. But, I'm better at recognizing this pattern. It's an ongoing struggle to balance work, life, and play. Sometimes you have to prioritize the pain over the play. Sometimes you have to slow down to be able to keep up in the long run. I still play hurt from time to time, but I'm better at weighing the consequences. It's a choice to play through pain, and sometimes it's not the right choice to make.

Anniversaries

2011-09-10T23:23:00.000-07:00

We all know what day it is tomorrow. We all remember where we were and what we were doing. I woke up to a radio broadcast in progress almost two hours into the chaos. I hit the snooze alarm once, not realizing what the noise meant. 9 minutes later, I didn't hit the snooze bar as fast. It didn't make sense. After listening for a few minutes, I walked into the living room to turn on the TV. Seeing it made even less sense. The Pentagon? I remember trying to think through how they were going to put out the fires. At that point, that still seemed somewhat possible. It certainly seemed more possible than what actually happened. My husband and I watched until the second tower fell. This wasn't a normal day, being late to work was not going to matter. But I needed it to be at least a little normal. I was almost 8 weeks pregnant with my first child.

Most of the time, my emotions were heightened during pregnancy. I reacted to sentimental commercials. I was more apt to be moved by schmaltzy TV. But this was not schmaltzy. On this day, my emotions were muted, almost unavailable. My body was more worried about eating and avoiding morning sickness. I knew what was going on and followed the news all day long - but I never really reacted to it, except to recognize that it was horrible. My boss at the time was scheduled to fly back from Europe on that day. No one knew her exact schedule, but we knew she was flying. Later that day, she called. She had flown out of New York City that morning. She was in the air when everything happened. Their plane made it as far as Wichita before it was grounded. But that's as close as I got to 9/11. I had no direct connection to it beyond the collective sadness of the distant witnesses.

Today, I bought tickets for the family to travel to New York City. We are going to see some family - my grandmother and some aunts and uncles. We are also going to for the Preeclampsia Foundation's annual gala, Saving Grace. This year, the event is a joint fundraiser for America's Blood Centers. Blood transfusions are a common issue for women and infants affected by preeclampsia. I received one to boost my level of platelets, so that my blood could do what it's supposed to do - clot.

The boys have never been to New York - at least not that they would remember. Our oldest son travelled to New York with us in 2004 at the age of 2. The boys are Californian through and through. They've lived in suburban Los Angeles all of their lives. So New York will be a bit different. Will we go to the site of the WTC? I don't know. We won't have a lot of time. I'm looking forward to the trip. I'm looking forward to getting some honest to goodness late fall weather - our kids need to know that what passes for fall/winter here is not fall/winter. Of course, that probably means it will be unseasonably warm. But that's New York for you.

It's weird how powerful dates and anniversaries can be. Of course, 9/11 is known best by the date. That's what we call it. I'm not doing anything in particular to mark the occasion, except watching the first Sunday of the NFL season. It has been 10 years. I was just beginning my journey into motherhood. My son is almost 10 - he will be next April. He's the right age for a grand introduction to one of the great cities in the world.

Triggers

2011-09-09T22:06:00.000-07:00

There are many things that make me think of the crapfest that was Budge's birth. There are many moments throughout the day that can call the emotions to mind in an instant. This isn't all bad. There's a part of me that likes to think about it. This is the part that draws strength from it. The part that marvels at the sheer survival. The part that thinks about it as avidly as I used to read the "Drama in Real Life" section of Reader's Digest. Then there's the part that is sort of cowed by it. The part that says "holy crap" under my breath when I think of the scope of it.

I guess you could say I'm conflicted. And any number of things can trigger the emotions and set me off on another round of thinking it through. Again. Endlessly.

I think about it whenever I see an ambulance, especially an LAFD paramedic ambulance. I don't remember the ambulance at all. But when I see an ambulance - either with or without the lights flashing and sirens blaring - I think about the ride to the hospital.

I think about it whenever I feel sick. If I have a sore throat, or some other minor complaint, I worry that it will grow into something that I can't control.

I think about it when I see the ads that are currently running on the backs of the metro buses. The ads feature the hospital where Budge was born. It was recently expanded and looks totally different. Now, it even has a NICU, which would have saved us from the 8 day separation. A few days ago I mentioned that I wouldn't change anything about Budge's birth. That's not entirely true. I wish I could change the 8 days.

I think about it whenever I go into my kitchen. I think about it when I can't find the phone. I think about it when I eat gelatin (liquid diets will do that to you). I think about it when I drive near the hospital where Budge was born. I think about it whenever I come across the term "maternity leave" in my work. I think about it whenever I hear certain songs, such as Peter Gabriel's "Digging in the Dirt" or Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work". I think about it whenever I hear, see, or read something about pneumonia, ARDS, seizures, or any pregnancy complication. I think about when I see a pregnant woman or when a friend reveals a pregnancy. I think about it when I hear about someone saving someone else's life. There isn't much that I can't somehow twist around to relate in some fashion. It's not that I actively try to do this. It just happens.

I don't think about it constantly, by any means. I need to be present for my sons. I need to be able to function on a day-to-day basis. But it's there.

The Sort of Not Good, Kind of Crappy Day

2011-09-08T22:05:00.000-07:00

Today kind of, sort of, somewhat sucked. Things went wrong early and never quite got back on track. I was frustrated multiple times - and solving the problems involved inconveniencing others. I hate doing that.

I work from home. Working from home is sort of contingent on the availability of a good, reliable internet connection. We were going along swimmingly up until yesterday. Yesterday afternoon, our internet went down for a few hours. This necessitated a trip to the library to finish up the last thing I was working on. Pretty simple - even if it was inconvenient. Today, the internet went down around 9:30. I was an hour and a half into the work day and poof no internet.

Ok. I got this. I'll go back to the library! We have one within walking distance! So, I pack up the computer and head out the door. I get there and take a look at the sign on the door. On Thursdays, the library doesn't open until 12:00. Great. So I walk back to my car and drive.... hmm.... where should I go? I can't go to the Borders any more. So, I head over to the Barnes & Noble. Their cafe is smaller and somehow louder than Borders' was. And you can't plug in your laptop. Great. I can work here for 2 hours and then go back to the library, right? Sure!

It's a few minutes before 10:00 and it's already 88 degrees. The Dog Days aren't Over. I'm used to working at home. B&N is loud. Too loud. But I get some work done. I wrap up after two hours, trying to ensure that I don't use the whole battery. One upshot of being out of the house is that I actually took time to eat lunch. Usually I eat while working. Today, I went to the food court and ate food! Yay me.

My next stop was supposed to be the library. I drove over to the closest one to our house, but it was still closed. There were people outside waiting to get in. It was after 12:00. What gives? I went back home and checked the internet. Still out. Off to the other library. In Woodland Hills. When I get there, it isn't open either. I look at the times listed on the door. Oh crap. It opens at 12:30. It's 12:25. I'll just wait.

So I wait in the car for a few minutes and then walk up to the front door area where at least 10 other people are waiting. The door opens finally, and we all walk in. I find a table and set up shop. Here, I can plug in. I get online. Get back on e-mail. That's when I finally find the e-mail from one of my bosses. One of the reports is urgent. And was needed 3 hours ago. Great. I didn't see that e-mail because he sent it to my personal work e-mail and not the generic account that we use to issue reports to clients. I can't be in both inboxes at once, so I missed the e-mail. And I missed his phone call - to my home phone. Which is bundled with my internet. No internet = no phone.

I don't have a cell phone. This drives my husband nuts. I've had three cell phones in my life. Two of them got washed. The third got sucked into the ether somewhere. So I'm sitting in the library trying to answer a 4 hour old URGENT e-mail that asks me to call him. I'm in the library. Without a cell phone. So I e-mail him back, which takes forever because the internet connection at the library is NOT fast.

I kept working - trying to keep up with the inbox and trying to send out reports that sometimes take around 5 minutes to send via e-mail. My son's school lets out at 2:30. I plan to leave the library at 2:15. That should be plenty of time. As I walk out of the library, I start searching for my keys. At first I think I've left them behind in the library. Then I remember, I sat in the car for a few minutes before getting out. Oh crap. I LOCKED MY KEYS IN THE CAR! I have no cell phone. There isn't a public phone in the area. At this point I sort of lost it. I was angry at myself. I was angry at the interwebs. I was mad at our internet carrier for forcing me out my routine.

I went back in the library, got on Facebook, and IMed someone that I knew had my husband's phone number. I wasn't thinking straight at this point. My son was waiting for me. He was probably going to end up walking home to an empty house. I let Todd know what was going on and made him drive across the San Fernando Valley to get our boy. Ack! I thought about working some more, but my brain was elsewhere. So I decided to try to walk home - 3.75 miles. Why? I don't know. I wasn't going to beat Todd home. By that time it was over 100 degrees in Woodland Hills. I entertained the idea of stopping at the bike store on Ventura Blvd to buy a bike. This occurred to me before

I walked past the building where I used to work, before the whole office was laid off or moved to Columbus, OH. Budge refers to the building now as Robot Budge. So I caught the bus and took it to a stop that is much closer to my house. And then a good thing happened. My husband drove by with my older son in the back seat. They drove me back to the library where we unlocked the car and my son and I got in to go back home. My husband went back to work. Home. Oh, please let the internet connection be back up. I don't want to go back to the library. And back on it was! Yay!!!!! So I went back to work.

It was a monumentally dumb day. It was frustrating and the frustration lead me to make some bad decisions. But the day is done. Tomorrow should be better, right?

Support Systems

2011-09-07T21:21:00.000-07:00

There is beauty in the midst of this. Small gestures of kindness. Moments of peace in the middle of the restlessness, agitation, and combativeness.

Preeclampsia changed my life. And as often as I look back and try to figure out what I could have done to make it different, I always have to pause and think about where I would be if it hadn't happened. If Budge had stayed put, if my blood pressure had held to a manageable level, if I had delivered via planned c-section in the middle of November instead of the beginning of October... where would I be? Who would I not know? What would I write about?

It's a futile exercise - this second guessing. There are a million what ifs. A million unanswerable questions. But would I even want to rewrite this part of my history? If I could, would I go back? You know what? I wouldn't. I wouldn't change a thing.

I think about the people that I have met either directly or indirectly because of Budge's birth. The first page of my friends list on Facebook contains 11 people that I have met through my involvement with the March of Dimes or the Preeclampsia Foundation: Alyson, Becky, Caryn, Diane, Donna, Jennifer, Karri, Kate, Laney, Lauren, and Mary. It contains only 5 people that I met in other, more conventional ways. There are many more friends both on Facebook and not who I've met as a result of some element of Budge's birth nearly 5 years ago.

On Budge's first birthday, I took him over to a Project Linus Blanket Day in Pasadena. Project Linus was literally a bright spot in the clinical world of the NICU. Budge's handmade blanket provided both comfort and warmth during his 28-day stay. The tag on the blanket included a poem and a URL for the local chapter's web site. I found the Make a Blanket Day schedule and decided to take Budge in so we could thank them all in person. It was like walking into a room full of aunts and grandmothers. I hadn't met any of them before, but I knew that they were all there to donate their time and talent to helping families in the NICU. I loved them already. The women had a great time meeting Budge and cooing over him. It was easy to see that they were doing something they loved with people that they loved. The blankets that they made were beautiful. Some were hand-knitted. Some were hand-stitched. Many women had lugged their sewing machines in to piece quilts together.

If Budge's birth had been normal, if it had gone according to plan - I wouldn't know these women. I wouldn't have become as involved with volunteering. I wouldn't have met some extraordinary people. Would I give that up to have avoided the pain of prematurity and preeclampsia? No. I wouldn't. I have gotten more back from the experience than it took away. I'm glad I can't change it. I wouldn't want to if I could.

First Days

2011-09-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the first day of school here in Los Angeles. It seems sort of an anticlimax - I've seen so many pictures of first days on Facebook for what seems like the past month. My older son is going into the 4th grade. Budge has one more year to go before he enters kindergarten.

My husband and I liked school, for the most part. My older son is not excited. He is not looking forward to going back into the classroom. He does not like math. And he's bored by most of the work that he has to do. He's a smart kid, reads well above grade level, and prefers science and art. I'm somewhat dreading the homework battles, but we'll get it done.

I'm glad that Budge will not be in kindergarten this year. He's not ready. I wonder how ready he'll be next year. This year, we're going to get him more used to this kind of routine. I know that I shouldn't worry about how his prematurity will manifest when he gets to school - but I can't help it. It's there, in the back of my mind. I know it's not the only thing that will influence his success, but it is a part of his history. I know that the enrollment forms for school will ask about the circumstances of his birth. When we enrolled my older son in his school, I saw those questions and just smiled. For him the answers were all no. We could skip the section and move on. For Budge, we'll have to explain.

Of course, I've gone through this explanation before. I'm used to it. I've explained to doctors, therapists, people performing evaluations, and other assorted people. And as much as I think of him as caught up, I still wonder about the implications of his early birth. I wonder about his behavior in a room full of kids. I wonder about his ability to stay focused. I wonder about how he'll do in a classroom setting. These are all things that I was concerned about with his older brother, too, so I know it's not just a prematurity thing. But it's there. It's part of who he is.

We have a year before kindergarten. We have less than 12 hours before 4th grade. I think it's time for bed. Tomorrow is the first day of school. Let's hope it's a good first day.

Run Over by the Potty Train

2011-09-05T21:41:00.000-07:00

Budge is caught up with his peers. Physically, mentally, developmentally caught up. His speech is age appropriate. His physical capabilities are at or above age level - in fact, he's surprisingly graceful and good at such things as jump rope and dancing. He's a marvel, my little 32-weeker. He's perfect in almost every way - except for one: he's not fully potty trained.

We are working on it. We have talked to his pediatrician. He is four-years-old. We have to get answers to this. We need to get him into preschool. We need to get him ready for kindergarten next year. But he's actively resisting. He can make it to the potty on time to pee - most of the time. But he doesn't want to poop. He usually poops in small amounts throughout the day, which means he smells like poop pretty much all the time. This leads to diaper rash, which makes him even more reluctant to have his diaper changed.

We've reasoned with him. We've cajoled. We've promised rewards. We've threatened to make him sit on the potty until he goes. We've put him in underwear. We've let him run naked. We've put him in pull-ups and diapers. He doesn't seem to realize when he needs to go.

We didn't have this problem with our older son. Potty training happened relatively quickly with him. We waited until he was three, but once he showed that he was ready he took to it pretty easily.

So we're at an impasse. Budge is being stubborn. We are frustrated. The potty train is waiting in the station. We're hoping we'll all be able to get on it soon. I am so ready to say goodbye to diapers.

Any ideas?