Barnmaven

Healing, finally

In the last twelve months I've published three posts.  Three.  I've written nine. Six posts sit in my drafts folder, unfinished. While I fail at blogging, I succeed majestically at the art of staring at a computer screen, failing to find words. 

It's hard to find the words around big stuff sometimes. If I write about something that's more theoretical or reflective, words come easy. If I try to write while my heart is full, not so much. My heart is full. My words won't flow. Don't ask me how many times I've edited this post.

I wrote in February about going back to physical therapy. I predicted that 2016 would be the year I ride again, and I was right, although I haven't written much about why. I wrote in January that my father passed away, but didn't write much about the last years and months of his life. There's a lot I tend to leave out which in retrospect I shouldn't because these two things might seem disparate, but they are deeply connected.

My dad spent the last several years of his life doing little more than sitting in a chair by the window. He was a diabetic and developed congestive heart failure, a result of which was severe swelling in his feet and ankles. He took a diuretic medication to help with the water retention, but diabetes and CHF are not terrifically friendly to your kidneys, and I think it's a delicate balancing act to get the body to shed enough water to keep the patient breathing but not enough to shut down the kidneys. Eventually the swelling was a permanent condition for him, and he had some loss of feeling in his feet as well. 

He had a terrible time walking, but he was so damned stubborn he'd refuse to use a cane or a walker, instead holding on to furniture and counter tops to make it from his chair to the bathroom or the table or to bed. Occasionally he'd fall, and since he was a large man and my mother a small woman, she could not get him up on her own. At first she called me, but the two of us could not do it. Next she called SG, but he couldn't manage it either, so she ended up being reliant on the local Fire Department to come help. 

After Dad decided to stop taking his medication just before the holidays last year, he had a fall, and when the firefighters came once more to offer assistance, he told one of them that he had decided to stop taking his medication and that he wanted to die. Because of that, the decision was made to take him to the ER and admit him into the hospital for some evaluation. At that time it was determined that he was eligible for hospice care.

After Dad was accepted into hospice and his dementia increased, he was put on an anti-anxiety medication to help keep his mood more stable. This helped a lot with his irritability, but had an even further detrimental effect on his mobility. He finally was willing to use the walker, but needed more and more help getting up and down, getting dressed, using the bathroom. He fell more frequently. Eventually he went to hospice house for a respite stay so that Mom could have time to arrange some help for herself at home, but as it turned out he never came back home, passing away five days later.

Watching how hard this was for my mother was simultaneously heartbreaking and enlightening.

I had reached a point in my own pain and mobility issues where depression and fatigue had fairly well stripped me of the idea that I could or would eventually get better. Any optimism I may have held about being well enough to ride again had exited the building. For the sake of others I often pretended that I still felt I would improve, but my internal dialogue went more along the lines of "You will never get better. NEVER." I understand how unhealthy a place this was for me to be, particularly considering my parenting and work obligations, but I didn't really  have the motivation to change it.

As I witnessed the last months with my father, helping Mom with things like getting him in to bed, getting to and from the table, going to the bathroom, it finally dawned on me that if I wasn't going to do anything to change my own circumstances, I was essentially watching my own future.It wouldn't be much fun for me, but even more importantly, my family was going to suffer for it. In good conscience I needed to find a way to get better.  I just felt like I'd run into so many damn walls with doctors that I was hesitant to go to them for more help. At some point in researching ilipsoas and piriformis inflammation, I came across an article about Graston therapy which sounded promising. I researched local physical therapists and found an office that offered the technique. I gritted my teeth and  made an appointment.

While therapy seemed to be helping in keeping my pain from getting worse, I also wasn't getting any better. I'd have better range of motion and a bit less pain after a session, but if I overdid it between sessions or went too long between, I'd regress.  Finally, after three months, my, PT suggested I visit my pain doctor for another steroid injection to help us get on top of things.

The doctor who performed my stem cell and PRP injections was no longer providing services at the practice I'd gone to, so I decided to try a different orthopedic group. I scheduled a consult with their pain specialist, who decided an updated set of x-rays would be useful. He took one look at them and refused to touch me. He referred me instead for an MRI and a visit to the orthopedic surgeon.

The 8th of August I had my right hip completely replaced.

I AM BIONIC. I also set off metal detectors, which is a great way to get felt up at airports.

All joking aside, I am not sure I can adequately describe the change this has made not just in terms of fixing my busted old body but in the way of curing my soul.

Let me ask you this: do you have a hobby or activity that you engage in that brings you joy, peace, sanity, wholeness, or any combination of these things? If you could no longer engage in that activity, would you be able to easily replace it? What would you do if it was taken away? How would you feel, in general, and how would your self-perception change?

You know, I hesitate to diminish what my horses are to me by calling them a "hobby" or an "interest." They are indescribably more. From the first moment I beheld that first horse - a fat old paint named "Ginger," it's like I was injected with a virus (benevolent or otherwise, hard to say) that wound itself around my DNA. To lose that for such a length of time; to contemplate that horses were perhaps out of my life forever - kind of took away the incentive to do anything beyond remember to breathe in and out once in a while.   It isn't just that what was happening with my body prevented me from being able to ride - it ultimately prevented me from doing much of anything with my horses. Occasionally I'd hobble out to the barn or put a chair in the pasture just to be around them. Even doing groundwork was too painful to be worth it.  In short, I've spent the last couple of years wanting to be with my horses, hoping that someday soon I might be able to ride, but most of the time being very afraid that I would never ride again. 

8 weeks post-surgery I rode my horse for an hour. We walked, trotted, cantered. Nothing hurt. NOTHING HURT. 

The time frame between surgery and being released to ride was short, I think partly because I'm relatively young for a hip replacement patient, but mostly because I was so incredibly motivated to return to my life, to get back in the game. I've since managed three or four good rides, at least two of them better than two hours long. I still feel good. 

SG and I have started going on a morning walk most days, and I feel my stamina improving right along with my mental state. 

I'm so much better. I've been gone from this space for too long. I hope this finds you all well.

PT, Redux

 

I started physical therapy. Again. Third time’s the charm, right?

I am trying a different provider this time, and I have to say I’m seeing better results. I chose this after doing some research on a newer technique for connective tissue injuries. It’s called the GrastonTechnique, and it’s sort of like Rolfing, except the practitioner uses a series of stainless steel instruments, which allow them to really get into the muscle and break any adhesions to the fascia, increase heat and blood flow to the affected area, and according to the literature, increase cellular activity (whatever that means).

So far I can tell you two things:

1. It’s working.
2. It HURTS

They do other things in conjunction with the Graston. They usually hurt too. Plus they make me do exercises every day. In short, I’m paying them to torture me, and this is apparently good because I’m getting results. Lots of improvement over a few short weeks. It's a bit of a dark bargain, but worth it if the end results net out the way I'm hoping.

I did have a little setback last weekend when I brought Lala home (finally!). I strung quite a bit of hotwire and cross-fenced the pasture so that I could keep her safe and separate from the other horses. This of course did not stop them from being complete assholes and chasing her through the fence at every opportunity. At one point she ran through fence to get away from Bugs and ended up in the section with Z and Penny, and both of them went after her. I ran after them before remembering I can’t actually run yet and really put a hurting on my hip flexors.

The next week at PT I was so disheartened, but my PTA counseled me not to lose hope, that I’d be surprised how much more quickly I bounced back, and he was right.

This is going to be the year I ride again.  I'm sure of it.

 

 

No.

It was a subtle regression, from broken but hopeful to just broken.

I was doing all of the things I believe a good patient is supposed to -- following up with my doctors, diligently going to physical therapy,  communicating with my doctors.  I trusted my doctors to be actively concerned for my well-being, to understand the limitations being imposed on me by the pain in my hip and legs and to actively seek solutions to restore quality of life. 

Months of doctor's visits.  X Rays and MRI's, injections and physical therapy.  I'm still in pain.

The hip doctor sent me to the spine doctor who sent me back to the hip doctor who still insists he can't help me.

Constant pain will wear you down.  I suppose I was naive to believe that I could maintain a positive demeanor despite my circumstances.   Maybe I just didn't try hard enough.  Maybe I wasn't accepting enough.  Maybe acceptance wasn't the answer.

I hadn't factored in the impact of my extreme loneliness on my ability to both cope with my pain and be patient within the process of finding solutions.  Solitude can be gratifying.  It can bring great personal growth.  It can clear your mind and soul, bring you back to your center.

Solitude can also be incredibly painful.  He has been gone for such a long time.

What do I miss the most?  Touch.  I crave the sensation of his hand pressed into the small of my back, placed on my shoulder or stroking my hair.  I miss the passing hug, feeling his arm slide around my waist as I walk past, turning into his shoulder and resting my head there.  As my pain increased my solitude became crippling.  My life has compressed to nearly intolerable levels.  I can get to and from work.  Driving isn't as excrucitating as it was before the lumbar injections; I ask people to come to my office for meetings and only deal with stairs and long walks when I can't avoid them, chin up and get through it when I can't.   Evenings are mostly OK.  I can get dinner on the table and not do much until its time to do barn chores.  I hurt after that, but I can go to bed and wake up with only a slight limp.

Weekends are what really get to me.  I always had so many things to look forward to - a ride, time with my kids, parents, friends, husband.  Shopping, going out, working on projects.  

Not any more.

I carefully choose my activities.  If I need to do housework I pick the biggest priority.  It can't be on the same day I go to the grocery store.  If I do too much in one day I pay for it for hours.  

I never expected this to happen to me.  I suppose no one does, really.  

I refuse to accept that this is my life.

Thank God I've got good insurance.

 

 

Waiter, There's a Horse in my Lasagna

Photo Credit:  Suzanne Plunkett/Reuters 

SG and I were chatting a little about the big scandal happening over in Europe, where it appears food manufacturing plants in Ireland and the UK have been adding horsemeat to products which are supposed to contain beef or pork.  Horse DNA has been showing up in testing on supposed beef and pork products both on the shelf and in restaurants across Europe.  Burger King, Tesco, Aldi, Nestle’, Birds Eye and Sodexo, among other, have all been impacted by the fraud. 

Some officials have raised health concerns about whether the horsemeat could contain phenylbutazone (Bute), a commonly used equine pain reliever that isn’t approved for human consumptions.  Others suggest there is a risk to consumers from Equine Infectious Anemia, which in and of itself isn’t dangerous to humans, but according to officials might be indicative of other health issues with the animal and point to poor sanitation and handling at the factory, which could indicate the presence of other, worse contaminants.  Personally, I think these impacts would be negligible at best, since it would impossible for Bute to be present in concentrated in a horse in large enough amounts to actually cause harm to a person.  Now the sanitation issue could be plausible threat, since a factory that is slipping horsemeat into their beef and pork products could conceivably be cutting costs by skimping on their plant sanitation or faking test results as well.  Still, no outbreaks have been reported (yet) of infectious diseases being transmitted by the affected products.

Aside from the visceral reaction of “OMIGOD WE DON’T EAT HORSES, THAT’S GROSS,” I think the bigger issue is how the prepackaged food industry either directly or indirectly manages to blur the lines of information about where our food comes from and what it is composed of.  We’re not made to eat all these chemical additives and highly processed foods.  We aren’t mean to have a bigt helping of gluten or corn filler in our staple products.  We aren’t meant to eat bread that can be squished down to a nugget the size of an eraser and has been processed to the point that you need extra helpings of fiber just to get it to pass through your intestines. 

When most of our food is produced by subsidiaries of giant corporations much becomes invisible to the consumer, unless the consumer is willing to spend a lot of time researching who owns who and who produces what.  Boycotting anything on principle these days pretty much means you just can’t shop anymore. Anyhwere.  A couple of months ago when some companies which I’d always assumed were just great little producers of organic foods showed up on a list of companies opposing a measure in California to identify GMO products on food labels.  Turns out those companies were subsidiaries of larger corporations which had a vested interest in hiding the origins of many of their food products. 

The horsemeat scandal is just the current frosting on the cupcake of how the giant business of producing all of our food in factories is for the most part pretty bad for our health and probably our planet, but so long as its good for the company bottom line, who gives a shit?

I personally would be horrified if I found out something I ate contained undisclosed horsemeat; but I’m realistic enough to know anything at all that I eat that was packaged in a big giant factory somewhere possibly – probably? – contains things that are even more objectionable than THAT.   And I probably think it tastes AWESOME too, because big companies are very good at taking advantage of the sense of taste that when we were still wandering around the forest in loincloths led us to eat the foods that were good for us and avoid those that would kill us. 

In our house we are always talking about food and about eating healthier.  SG’s doctor wants him to eat paleo; my personal food style is to try and eat more green things, more whole things and fewer processed things, but that sweet tooth of mine keeps tripping up on the Ho Ho’s.  I’m not a Whole Foods hipster, by any means.  I think it’s a shame that the foods that are pesticide and antibiotic free are also way more expensive and that most people can’t afford to buy them.  But for fuck’s sake, if we’re going to manufacture a situation where a large portion of the population can’t access fresh food, could we at least make the stuff they can afford less toxic for them?

If nothing else, the situation in Europe is just that much more incentive to buy things locally as much as possible and to always always read labels.   And if you go to London, DON’T GET A WHOPPER AT BURGER KING.  Gross.

Related articles

Horsemeat found in Ikea's Swedish meatballs

Sweden brings in police as horsemeat scandal spreads

Passages

Over the years I've fallen in love with so many blogs.  Every so often I'll see someone I really look forward to reading stop posting with any regularity, and I wonder if they're OK, if this is the beginning of the long decline to the end of blogging altogether or just the silence while they weather a crisis or a dry spell.  When I first started blogging I was so enthralled with the form and the media I couldn't imagine ever wanting to stop.  I'd see someone I really like put their blog on haitus or take it offline entirely and I'd be so perplexed...why would anyone want to go silent like that? 

I also remember being a woman without children and I'd watch people who were parents say and do certain things and I'd be absolutely flummoxed why parents were so crazy.  I, after all, would never say or do such things.  I'd never buy my kid a happy meal just to make him stop crying for one goddam second.  I'd never fill my kids rooms with plastic crappy toys or ignore them just so I could have one minute of sanity in the bathroom or let them wear clothes made in third world countries by indentured servants to the smiley face or...and so on.

I gather this is the standard process for most people.  When something is new or not yet experienced, we bury ourselves under the weight of uninformed opinions and find ourselves surprised when we one day find out just how little we actually know about anything.

The good news (depending, I suppose, on your point of view) is that I'm not planning on falling off the web into that large graveyard of discontinued blogs.  The bad news, if there is such a thing, is that I have no current urge to write much at the moment and no idea how to solve that problem.  Or even know if that's actually a "problem."   My health has been a bit difficult of late, work has been very challenging and stressful, and the things that need doing far outnumber the hours of time available.  In truth, my attitude about blogging and bloggers has changed dramatically over the last year or so, and my reasons for writing, such as they were, are no longer the same.  My goals for blogging have changed significantly, and my self-knowledge of my place in the world of blogging has clarified.  I'm ok with where I am and who I am, and I'm less worried than ever about accidentally offending anyone or even whether or not anyone "important" is reading, because I DO get, frankly, that everyone who takes the time to come here and read my continuing attempts at writing has given me a great gift of time and attention, and I'm grateful for every single one of you. 

Lately I'm in a state of wonderment at the ability life has to be simultaneously amazing and awful.  Or joyous and depressing.  Or stressful and flatlined.  Pick your metaphors, they all fit. 

My friend Debbie, who has taken the reins over organizing my barn, my pastures, my horses and trying to convince me to implement ten thousand fabulous ideas all at the same time, says constantly "Its amazing how you're just so normal!"  I think she has it ass-backwards.  I think we get along really well because on a certain level we have brains that work the same (wrong, not-normal) way and we don't get frustrated by the tangential nature of practically every conversation we've ever had.  Over the course of the summer we've repaired stall doors and expanded so that I now have three working stalls.  When there was only one stall functional and three to four horses being fed with different requirements for supplements and each with the right to be able to eat without someone else chasing them away from breakfast, things were a little crazy out there.    She's also picked my dry pen clean of weeds and rocks.  She's found someone to haul away the manure pile.  She's found someone to put up wall racks for tack and someone to paint.  She's cleared the area behind the barn where all the scrap lumber and fencing materials used to get tossed (don't look at ME, the old owners started it, I just kept the tradition alive) and put down pallets and tarps and quadrupled our ability to store hay.

She also drives my husband a little batty because he is used to being along much of the time and she is by nature a very chatty person.  I can tell he likes her though. 

The kids this summer...what an amazing change in both of them.  My daughter is getting taller and more beautiful by the nanosecond.  She's taken two sessions of swimming lessons, gotten to level three and only needs to perfect two things to get to level four.  She's at that stage of transformation between little girl and startling long-legged tween and she's just stunning.  That's not even subjective mother-pride.  Its just God's honest truth.  What I find fascinating is her ability to verbalize her understanding that she knows she's growing up but she's not in any hurry to do so.  "I just want to be a kid, mom.  I don't want to grow up yet," she'll say, and my heart melts with love and pride and bittersweetness all at the same time.  She will grow up whether I will it or no.  I know that little girls can change dramatically as they age, and I hold onto the firm hope that the person she is, the things about her that make her so awesomely her will stay intact.   She gets more out of my reach every day, and as I let go with a heart that strains under the hope and fear, I simply pray that God lets life be gentle with her for as long as possible.  In les than two weeks she will be a fifth grader. 

My son is learning to negotiate.  His anxiety and ODD issues make certain things difficult.  He hates taking showers because he doesn't want to get any water in his eyes, but baths take too long and his anxiety informs him that soaking in your own dirty water is just YUCK.  So showers were always a struggle, until he came home from his dad's one weekend and announced that he and his dad worked out a deal:  Daddy bought him swim goggles and now he doesn't get upset in the shower.  I'm not sure who thought up the idea, but hot damn if it hasn't made getting the little dude clean a much less stressful event.  Hallelujah and pass the cornbread!  He's gotten tons more compliant about taking his meds, and he's learned to negotiate that as well.  We've also had to learn to listen when he starts to refuse things - sometimes we have a hard time remembering that his anxiety makes certain things far harder for him to tolerate than we can understand.  

SG has been a stay-at-home stepdad all summer and has had both kids pretty much every day of the week since their dad and I are both working, and I really believe his even-tempered nature has had a positive impact on both of them.   Their dad and I both tend to moodiness, and I sense that our unpredictability has been stressful for them.   They have evened out much, both of them, they fight with one another a lot less, and its clear that they both adore their stepdad.  School starts soon, so my husband will be joining the ranks of the employed unless I either get a highly unexpected and very large pay raise or I actually buy a lottery ticket and it turns out to be a winnah.  He's been my rock the last month or so while I've struggled physically and mentally.  That's love for you.  I am not afraid to admit that my patience is thin and my attitude bad, and he has endured it with a great deal more grace than I would likely exhibit were I in his shoes.

We lost Mojo kitty this summer.   He disappeared in the spring for a few weeks and when we finally found him he was so skinny and deteriorated we weren't sure he would make it.  He recovered for a while with special food and supplements and monitoring, but then he went suddenly downhill and we had to make the tough choice to say goodbye.  I suspect it was cancer.    He's joined Hercules, Lady and our little old banty hen Cin-Cin under the tree out in the back pasture.  I think I've learned pretty well the last few years that people and animals too often leave our lives far sooner than we are prepared for them to do, and it reminds me to make a point of taking time each day for each animal to have some attention, for me to be more vigilant about picking up the phone, and to treasure every opportunity to play with my children and create memories to sustain me when they have grown up and begun lives of their own.  It will happen sooner than I think.

How's your summer been so far?

 

Your greatest teacher

How is it that so many people make a living convincing us that we're not living the best lives we can possibly live?  We'd be happier/more fulfilled if only we invested our money and time in their sure-fire program to improve our selves/homes/yards/clothes/bodies/faces/attitudes.   And if we question any of the steps of their particular program or mention that our life experience doesn't jive with the brand they're trying to sell us, we either didn't understand the book, there's another set of DVD's we should purchase that addresses that VERY thing, or we're just DOING IT ALL WRONG. 

Hint:  Most people who make a living telling you how to live your life don't make money if you don't buy the line that they know better than you how to become happier - more popular, more successful - more authentic/creative/better-looking/ thinner/ curvier/taller/hairier/less hairy.

I've noticed too that many Important People who make a living selling you their ideas don't like having their ideas questioned or hear about the ways in which your life experience doesn't match up to their "program."  If you got in a car accident and you were depressed, you must have manifested it or you just didn't work the program right.   If you didn't make a fortune after the first three months of following their Internet Miracle Marketing scheme,you just need to invest more time (and money) in their product in order to achieve the promised success. 

Its not that these writers, geniuses or gurus don't have something to offer -- they do.  They all do.  But not a single one of them is the end-all, be-all of life.   No book or DVD or system is going to solve all of your problems or turn you into somebody else.  And you need to know that the people who write these books and sell these programs don't have all the answers.  Maybe they have the answers for themselves and their own successes, but they don't have all the answers for YOU. They each carry with them the assorted baggage of their internal belief systems, their life experiences, their particular biases.  They all prefera certain way of doing things and would like you to believe that they offer you this wisdom only as a way to "help" other people.  That's easy to believe so long as you don't look at the man behind the curtain - or the price tag on the next set of DVD's.

And maybe some of the things they espouse will work for you.  But likely as not there will be parts that aren't a good fit.   That's where you have a choice.  You can accept what works for you and not worry about the rest, you can reject the entire philosophy because it has to be 100% perfect for you to accept it, or you commit to it anyway and try not to worry too hard about pretending to agree with the parts of it you aren't convinced about.

You get to live with whichever choice you make, but please know that you don't have to throw the baby out with the bathwater and you don't have to walk around in clothes that don't fit.

I relate it to the way I go about learning with my horse.  There are a LOT of famous trainers and clinicians out there.  In the same way as some people feel compelled to convert you to their new religion after a deeply moving spiritual experience, people who've had a breakthrough with their horse after learning from a certain trainer want to introduce you to the Next Best Thing to happen to horse people.

Since I'm open to learning new things and new and better ways of getting where I want my horse to  be, I'll glady invest in lessons or a clinic with that trainer, or audit a clinic if its out of my price range for me and my horse to participate.  If I'm open minded enough to try that trainer's suggestions, I might find something that works a lot better for me and my horse.    But if I find that the thing I was already doingt that I learned from someone else works better, I'll keep doing that instead. 

A good trainer won't insist you do things his or her way.  In fact, a really good trainer will watch what his students are doing and be willing to ask about something if they see it and they think its working as well or better than their own techniques. But you don't have to believe any trainer that insists if you're not doing it HIS way you're doing it WRONG.  The proof is in the results you get with your horse, no matter what the trainer says.  You don't have to keep doing something that just doesn't feel right to you. 

You don't have to stay in a relationship that doesn't feel right or where you don't feel safe.  You don't have to stay in a job that doesn't fulfill you. You also don't have to engage in a personal/spiritual/self-help program that's not working for you just because the person who happens to gain from your participation tries to make it sound like you're just not doing it right and you need to try harder.

Just because someone is successful and an "expert" doesn't mean they're going to be any better at living my life than I am.  They just get paid to convince me that they are.    Just because they wear a certain kind of clothing or use a certain kind of household product doesn't mean that my jeans don't fit me just fine or my countertops are any less sanitized.  Just because I don't agree with their dogma doesn't mean my own faith is wrong for me.

Look, I KNOW when I'm doing the right thing and I know when I'm not.  I know what fulfills me, what charges my battery.  I know who I'm supposed to be.  There's an inner voice and a feeling of well-being that comes when things are as they should be.  I think that's God talking to me, other people may consider it their conscience or the manifestation of spirit within them.  Whatever works for you.

I know that spending time with my family and my friends feels good.  I know that helping other people feels good.  I know that riding my horse feels good.  I know this about digging in the dirt, playing with my dogs, petting my cats, working in the barn, swimming in the river, making music and writing words. Being thankful to God and trying to develop as a person who is loving and compassionate feels good and right.  But you know what, these things are authentic for me.  No conference, retreat, keynote, book or CD  is going to change these things about me.  And I don't need the approval of a life coach or a guru or anyone on the internet to know that I'm OK.  

The list of the people whose opinion I actively seek on whether I should do this or that is short.  You're probably not on it unless you're my husband, my mother, my close friend or my horse trainer.  It doesn't mean I don't love you and it doesn't mean I don't value your opinion.  I do.  It feels good to be liked, to be agreed with, to receive support and cheers and have like-minded people share with you.  But it also means that if do something or write something that you don't agree with, I won't be crushed or feel rejected or bad about myself.   It means that if some famous "authentic living" guru insists that I couldn't possibly be happy because I'm not doing things their way, I'm going to somehow feel that I must change my beliefs to suit their agenda.

Maybe you don't feel confident, maybe you don't feel like you're "ok."  Well, that's fine.  That's your own voice letting discomfort drive you into doing things differently because what you're doing now doesn't seem to be working.  When you seek new wisdom and new approaches, keep in mind that there is no program in this world that will make you or your life perfect.  Remember that everyone has a different perspective on the words "best," "ideal," "correct" and "true."  Seek answers everywhere you go.  Take what works for you.  Leave the rest.  Seek the approval of your own conscience and those who matter most.  Don't believe everything you read on the internet, in the newspapers or in the pages of a self-help book.  And remember always that we are never, ever "finished" learning or growing. 

The journey, the moment, the now, they REALLY ARE the point.

 

Making a list and checking it twice

I slogged through work Thursday and Friday with this nasty cold that's going around thinking that the weekend would magically make it go away, except that it didn't, and so I stayed home yesterday and I did my very best imitation of a log.  I didn't do anything.  Almost anything.  Well, okay, maybe I ran the dishwasher.  And fed my animals and my kids, because letting them starve would be very wrong.  And I drove my kids to school and I picked them up from school and I wrapped presents that the kids picked out for their dad's birthday.  And other than that, I made like a very quiet, very motionless log.

I don't sound much better today, but I feel lots better.  And lots better is still marginal, but it beats hell out of how I felt all weekend and yesterday.  Onward and upward!

My husband got laid off this weekend.  Its a long story having to do with industry stuff and basically a whole bunch of guys on this job had to be laid off for technical & budget reasons outside of their control.  We don't know what it means yet in terms of whether he'll go to a different plant between now and March.  There are some other possible options for contracts - some now, some next month, some in February.  He found out today that the soonest possible option won't be until January, so guess what?  HE'S COMING HOME!  I'm probably a lot more excited about it than he is, but he's making tracks west tomorrow, and that's more than enough of a Christmas present in my stocking than I could have dreamed of.

I'm trying to schedule more evaluations for the little guy.  We have one kind of evaluation set up for next week, and I'm trying to work with my insurance company and an out-of-network provider for some other testing.  Unless my insurer can work something out with the doctor, I'm going to have to find $1300 lying around in a drawer somewhere so I can make sure we've covered all bases.  Does anyone have any good connections with the Money Fairy?  Just keep all things crossed.  This doctor does not like to do single-case agreements with the insurers and so typically he would require payment from me and let me wrangle out the final settlement with my insurance.  That's not quite workable for me, so we need some stars and planets to align in our favor.

Now that Christmas is drawing near, we sing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" pretty much all the time.   The little guy was acting up in the car the other day and I said to him, "Shhhhh....Santa's watching. "  He turned to me, wide-eyed and concerned.  "But HOW does Santa know what I'm doing?"  Santa's a stalker, buddy.  I didn't even have to try and answer, Amazon Girl took over.  "I think Santa's just like God.  Except smaller than God.  Just like God is all around us, Santa's kind of like that too.  He's like God's little brother."  She's almost at that age where she should stop believing in Santa.  Every few days she comes home from school bent out of shape because some kids just won't stop talking about how they don't believe in Santa Claus anymore.  I sense that she thinks they're probably right, but that she's not ready yet to give up the fairy tale.  Fine with me - I want her to be a little girl for as long as she can.  The teenage years will be here soon enough, and then she'll know everything and I'll know nothing and my makeup bag will be fair game.  Stay little, baby.

 Tomorrow is Pearl Harbor day.  My Grandpa Smith was a WWII vet.  He retired from the Coast Guard as a Lieutenant Commander, and he was stationed at Annette Island in Ketchikan, AK.  My mother recalls being evacuated from their home in the dead of night to a ship out in the harbor.  I can imagine that to a little girl it was probably pretty exciting, but maybe not so much for my Grandma.  I visited the Pearl Harbor memorial when I was a senior in high school and my mom took me on a trip to Hawaii.  I watched the bubbles of fuel and oil from the sunken ships breaking the surface, and it sobered me to realize that the harbor floor was littered with the skeletons of ships and men, this same harbor where tourists were flocking and enjoying the sunshine and the warm hospitality of the Hawaiian people.  Every year I add "World Peace" to my Christmas list, and every year Santa fails to come through.  Maybe I just wasn't good enough this year.  Next year I'll try harder.

Eye of the Hurricane

On reading it, I realize my last post sounded sad.  But really, I wasn't sad when I wrote it.  I was thinking what a positive experience I'd had, reclaiming my inner foster baby.  I had spent years thinking of that little girl as a separate person from me.  She had a different name, a temporary set of parents.  I separated her off and regarded her as a distinct individual who had nothing whatsoever to do with me.  As it turns out, that wasn't really true, and changing my perception of that was a very powerful thing.  There is more work I have to do, integrating and healing so that I can leave the past behind me and get on with the important job of living in the now. 

I'm remarkably calm right now.  I have a million things to do, and now that SG has hit the road, I've got no one to help me do it.  But I know I can do this thing called living my life because I've done it before.  I'm capable.  I'm strong.  And I have lots of support, both near and far, including SG, who is always just at the other end of the phone if I need him. 

Getting everyone out the door this morning was remarkably easy.  I made myself a checklist for every evening and every morning.  Lunches.  Meds.  Dogs, horses, chickens, cats.  Coffee.  Laptop.  All the essentials - and I still had time for makeup (thank you short hair for taking only seconds to be done).  And I was so relaxed I had to keep double checking myself to figure out if I was still me.  Because this is not the me I remember being before.

The me I used to be would have created so much drama around her man leaving her for an extended period of time.  I would have clung and cried and wailed.  His leaving would have been so stressful and miserable for him because I would have been all undone.  It would have been all about ME ME ME ME ME.  And sure, some of its about how I'm feeling.  Sad, missing him.  Lonely sometimes when I want to feel his touch and I know I will need to wait.  But its also about how HE feels and what HE needs.  No guilt, he's not leaving me, he's heading to his job.  He deserves to have a smile and a kiss and a loving sendoff, not a crap bunch of emotional mama drama.  My children (especially) deserve to have a mother who isn't sobbing in a corner because oh God I'm going to have to be alone!  They need a mother who is fully present and engaged. 

I don't think I'm feeling this way simply because its the logical way to be.  I think it has to do with love, faith, letting go of fear and the need to control the things that scare me, trust, and a whole lot of healing.  And its not that fear and hurt aren't there - of course they are.  But we can let go of our fear when we understand that we don't really have any control of the things that we are afraid of anyway. 

Fighting things, trying to make everything go the way we need it to is a terrible waste of our time and our energy.  It depletes our spirit, steals our joy, saps our strength.  Buddha said, "The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, not to worry about the future, or not to anticipate troubles, but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly."  If I am worrying about situations I cannot change, how can I live in the moment?   If I am afraid of how certain things are going to make me feel, how can I recognize the small joys of just being where I am right now?

In the hurricane's eye is stillness.  In the center of yourself, there is stillness as well.  Sometimes you have to stop listening to the rest of everything else, get out of the wind of your angst and your troubles, to find it.

It takes work, but it is so worth it.  My life isn't perfect or easy, but it doesn't have to be as hard as I used to make it.

Mutation!

I remember when I was trying to get pregnant many years ago, and I read several articles that encouraged me to increase my intake of folic acid.  Folic Acid, or Vitamin B9, is an essential compound that our bodies use to synthesisze and repair DNA, grow babies and produce healthy red blood cells, among other things. Folic Acid is not only good for you but it is a necessary compound for health and life.

The finished product that our bodies create from Folate is an enzyme called methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase,(Say THAT ten times fast!) and the gene that provides the instructions for processing the folate is also called methylenetetrahydrofolate reductas (NAD(P)H).  I just call it the "motherfucker" gene because its official symbol - MTHFR - begs me to do so. 

When the MTHFR gene is functioning properly, all is well.  When it's not, all hell breaks loose. 

Mutations in the MTHFR gene cause problems like homocystinuria, anencephaly and spina bifida. ( I have a mild form of spina bifida known as spina bifida occulta.  Basically, this means I have a hole in one of my lower vertebra, but there is no compromise to the spinal cord.)  Pregnant women with mutations in the MTHFR gene have difficulty carrying pregnancies to term.  

Researchers have discovered that two particular polymorphisms of the MTHFR gene (C677T and A1298C) are associated with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and depression.  Sources here and here.  These mutations which prevent the body from taking up and processing the folate into the final enzyme, seem to have an effect on mood and brain function.

This is relevant to me and my kids in so many ways.  I haven't had the blood test done to determine if I have one or both of the mutations - but I would say that my own bipolar illness and spina bifida occulta are evidential.  My kids' other parent has been tested.  And my son has been tested. 

Getting our pediatrician to test him was a challenge. When I broached the subject he had never even heardof the MTHFR gene issue.  I think he thought (as I'm sure he often does) that I'm off my rocker.  To his credit, he did the research, and agreed to request the blood test.  When the results indicated that he has one of the gene mutations I was not in the least surprised.  However, our doctor was unconvinced that he needed to have the medication that is usually prescribed for this, a concentrated form of L-methylfolate. 

At our appointment this week, reviewing the rating scales we always fill out, he suggested a change in the ADD meds.  I countered with a request that we consider trying the L-methylfolate.  And he agreed.

L-methylfolate in high dosages depletes B-12 in the body as the methylation process utilizes B-12 as a coenzyme.  Once B-12 is depleted, the folate gets stuck and then the supplement becomes less effective.  Even worse, B-12 deficiency causes other problems like pernicious anemia, which untreated can become fatal.  B-12 absorbs poorly via the stomach, so only B-12 shots or sub-lingual B-12 supplements are recommended.

Do I think this will work?  I'm cautiously optimistic.  I know at least two people who started taking L-methylfolate and successfully control their bipolar disorder without the addition of any other prescription medication.  I'm not excited about introducing two new pills to a child who pretty much refuses to take pills, but we'll cope. We always have.

Cross your fingers for us.

 

 

I support breast enlargement

Back when I was a nursing mom I had a bumper sticker on my car that said "I support Breastfeeding."  Some helpful coworkers put a piece of athletic tape over the feeding part and wrote enlargement instead.  I was so not offended by it.  In fact, when I finally noticed it, I guffawed out loud.  

Besides, breastfeeding does cause breast enlargement, so largely...the same thing.  Man, when I was nursing my kids, I had - to borrow the vernacular - HUGE KNOCKERS.

One of my favorite pictures from when my son was little is this picture of my daughter:

 She's "nursing" her baby doll on my extra boppy. 

In my twenties I could not have imagined breastfeeding.  My sister in law used bottles as did all my friends that I knew who were parents.  I babysat a couple of times for my boss and his wife when their youngest was an infant and they left me bottles of expressed milk, but I never actually saw anyone feed their baby from their breast.

By the time I was in my mid-thirties and pregnant with my first, things had changed.  Many of my adult friends were or had been nursing mothers, a few were La Leche league leaders.   Someone from work gave me a Dr. Sears baby book and just like that, I was introduced to the concept of attachment parenting.  I was hooked from the beginning. 

A lot of things about breastfeeding surprised me.  I knew all the benefits, but no one really prepared me for cracked and bleeding nipples, painfully engorged breasts, a jaundiced baby, mastitis, poor latch - and yes, all of those things happened to me while nursing one or the other of my children.  But we got through all of that.  We got through me returning to work.  I was so lucky to have supportive employers who provided me with a place to pump and adjusted break schedules so that I would have enough time.  I had daycare providers who weren't used to getting bottles and sippy cups with breastmilk in them, but they worked with me.  I had a mother and a mother-in-law who were both adoptive parents and knew next to nothing about breastfeeding, but they supported me 1000%.  We learned together. 

I learned to be brave about nursing my baby in public and I learned to stare right back at the people who thought maybe I should be hiding in a bathroom stall while I did it.  I made a mental collection of random quotes to support my right to feed my baby wherever, whenever:

Would you fix your baby's bottle in a toilet stall?  No?  Then I won't nurse my baby there either.

Do you eat your sandwich while sitting on a toilet?

Breasts are for feeding babies.

Cows milk is for cows.  Breast milk is for babies.

 

Where I live, in Washington State, the 2011 breastfeeding survey indicates that 89% of mothers breastfeed their babies to begin with, and at 6 months, 60% of mothers are still nursing.  Those are pretty awesome numbers.

Breastfeeding isn't for everyone.  All families have to decide what works best for them.  I support the right of every mother to choose how she feeds her baby, whether via breast or bottle.  But I hope every woman who is thinking about whether or not breastfeeding will work for her or if it is worth the effort will consider the following:

Breastfeeding is good for babies AND mothers.

Human milk is the superior food for babies.  Breastmilk is more easily digestible than cow's milk, and it has antiviral and antibacterial properties that cannot be found in formulas. 

Women who breastfeed have a lower risk of developing breast cancer.  ^{N Eng J Med 1994; 330: 81-87}

Women who were breastfed as babies have a lower risk of developing breast cancer later in life.  ^{Freudenheim, J. et al. 1994 "Exposure to breast milk in infancy and the risk of breast cancer". Epidemiology 5:324-331}

Breastfeeding helps stimulate the release of oxytocin in the body, which contributes to mom's sense of well being and assists with mother-infant bonding.

Breastfeeding helps protect children against diseases like Crohn's, juvenile diabetes, allergies and more.  Six months of breastfeeding is like giving your child a booster shot against poor health.

August 1-7 2011 is World Breastfeeding Week.  Support breastfeeding moms everywhere.