Gratitude list

I learned long ago that there is a huge silver lining to our challenging situation. Here is my gratitude list for this trip:

Modern Medicine: We originally came to Shriners (Philadelphia) for their progressive surgical techniques for scoliosis patients. We had two goals: keep Ben's spine flexible and let it grow. We were fortunate to be selected for their care, their expertise and their mission. Dr. Betz (who innovated these techniques) and Dr. Cahill who was Ben’s first surgeon in Philly started us out on a great road. We accomplished the second of our goals largely due to Dr. Cahill’s belief in and skill with these techniques. When we met Dr. Cho in Los Angeles last November we were immediately impressed with him and felt confident that moving Ben to his care would be a positive choice. His skill, confidence, and vibrant demeanor (ok, he’s got a great smile, a great sense of humor, is an excellent communicator, and a snappy dresser) convinced us to move to the LA hospital. Being closer to home both for the pre/post-op visits and for the surgeries has made a huge difference for us. So glad to be in the care of such excellent doctors!

The Kindness of Strangers: While I was planning for this trip I was trying to find a good place to stay while Ben was in the hospital. Near the hospital but in a safe neighborhood. Affordable. Comfortable. Homey, if possible. I kept coming up short. The hospital is in a not so great neighborhood and I couldn’t find a solution that felt like a good fit and was something we could afford. That was when my friends Barbara and Madeleine told me to talk to Paula, someone I know peripherally from my days in LA teaching music at Sholem, a secular Jewish community Sunday school, and who is a friend of theirs in Sebastopol. “Ask Paula,” they both said. “She still knows lots of people in LA.” So I did. Paula put out an email one Sunday to the Sholem community and by Monday I had a response from Susan and Marc Sazer inviting me to stay in their guest room in the Larchmont neighborhood of LA. We spoke and I accepted and…a friendship was born. I am BEYOND grateful for their openheartedness in taking me in. What I got from staying with them was not only a convenient and comfortable place to stay within 10 minutes easy drive to the hospital, but, a loving, warm, and beautiful home to return to every night with friends who wanted to know how I was doing and how Ben was doing. Their dog, Goldie, was my happy companion during the three days they were gone (setting their daughter up at Sonoma State for her freshman year, happy coincidence!), greeting me the way Corgis do, so delighted to usher me through the house to my little guest cottage in the back. Goldie made me smile and kept me company. Susan gave me hugs and a welcome ear to hear of the day’s ups and downs, and Marc uncorked some great wine and grilled up some tasty lamb chops on my last night with them. I deeply believe that what you put out into the universe comes back to you…and I told Susan that they are another link in our chain. (And who could argue with the lovely coincidence of another Susan and Mark/c?)

The Kindness (and tolerance) of Relatives: My gratitude list would not be complete without a full blown kiss and hug and thank you to my aunt and uncle, Adele and Sheldon Miller. They took us in (even a couple days earlier than expected) for over a week and tried to take care of our every need (though we sometimes said, “No, Me Do It!” like toddlers). They wanted nothing more than for us to be happy and healing in their quiet and luxurious home. We got nightly runs for frozen yogurt or pizza, daily runs to Sprouts or Costco. The most comfortable beds were ours for the asking. Wide screen tv. Wifi. We spread out in every bathroom and extra bedroom. And finally, yesterday we got to jump (or wade cautiously) into their sparkling blue swimming pool (Dr. Cho gave Ben the go-ahead for that Tuesday). We enjoyed their stories, love, hugs, and tasty dinners. Thank you thank you thank you, Sheldon and Adele.

Harry Miller: While we were in LA Harry held down the fort. This is not the first time he’s stayed home while we were in LA, but it was the longest time and he was alone for most of it. Not only did he take care of himself and the whole house and all of our critters, but he did it while starting a job at the Sixth Street Playhouse making props for Spamalot, getting hired to be assistant stage manager for that show, and starting a new semester of classes at Santa Rosa Junior College. We’re so grateful to you, Harry, for doing all that for our family, and so proud of you, too.

Toby Miller: Toby was away at camp until moments before Ben and I went to LA for his surgery. We saw Toby for a couple hours in between picking him up from the Camp Tawonga bus and dropping Ben and me at Oakland Airport. After that Toby, otherwise known as Mr. Flexible and Good Natured, went on a whirlwind tour of friends and family staying with: the Boss-Talmans in San Francisco, Cousin Joel in San Francisco, the Nixons in Cloverdale, the Grovers in Oakland, and finally Nana in Oakland. I heard from him every other day or so. He missed me (us) but he did just fine and from all reports he was a good guest and fun to be around. I’m so proud of him. It’s a wonderful life skill to be able to go with the flow and be polite and accommodating and accepting of other people when you’re under some amount of stress (worrying about your brother and missing your family) for an extended period. Proud of you, Tobe.

Friends: Many, many thanks to those folks mentioned above who went out of their way to care for Toby, get him to his next caretaker, feed, clothe and entertain him, and in many ways ease my mind so completely that I had no worries about my baby. That was such a gift. Thank you all so so much.

More loving friends: To the many friends who drove way out of their way to come take care of me, of Mark and me, and Ben with goodies, companionship, and distraction during our two plus weeks here in LA: THANK YOU. You made this period almost feel like a vacation, and I so appreciate that.

Today we head back into LA to visit my lil’ sis, Jenn, and then off to the airport to return home. Looking forward to seeing my honey back at our lovely little rinky-dink Santa Rosa Airport, and all my boys back at Three Boys Farm (and yes, that includes our two cats, two mini-donkeys, and our horse). So glad to be returning with a hale, healthy and TALL middle boy. It’s been quite the time.

Ingredients for healing

Yesterday Ben and I drove into LA for his two-week post op visit with Dr. Cho. Twelve days since his spine was fused with two long titanium rods and 20 3” long titanium screws (and a few hooks thrown in for good measure). Yes, just 12 days since he became the owner of a 16" scar down his back.

 

And yet this boy was able to get in and out of the front seat of the car with ease. This boy traveled pain-free to and from the hospital, walked without assistance of any kind. Yes, this boy was doing so well, he even got on my case when I was overprotective (hey, I’m entitled).

 

Dr. Cho came into our examining room with an ear to ear grin. He had been on a vacation for the last part of our hospital stay so he’d had only reports (from his interns) to go on since he left. But what he’d heard was that Ben was a rock star: strong, healing fast, moving with confidence, low pain. AMAZING. Dr. Cho told us that Ben had bounced back faster, stronger and better than any fusion patient he’d ever seen. He’d blown away said interns. His pride and delight in Ben showed on his face.

He wanted to know our secret. What I told him was physical therapy. Ben’s been going to physical therapy for the past few years and it made a noticeable difference in his recovery from his surgeries right from the start. My belief is that, for kids who have repeat surgeries and limitations to be fully physical in their lives, physical therapy gives them a way to have a strong core, muscle flexibility and strength, and a positive self-concept. I am strong. I can do this. When you’re a kid going in and out of surgeries, like Ben was, well, then those kinds of messages can do wonders for the brain and the body.

Dr. Cho was impressed. “I think I may have to start prescribing that for my patients,” he said. “I think there’s a research paper in there.”

What I didn’t mention to Dr. Cho were some other ingredients in Ben’s success which have occurred to me only now.  

There's meditation. He's been meditating for the past couple years and I know he was meditating in the hospital, post op, blowing the physical therapist away when he told her that.

And there's his sense of humor. Ben told me he was cracking jokes with the doctors as they wheeled him into the OR, indeed continued to crack them up with stories as they were starting to put him under. That is some kind of grace under pressure, right?

But the biggest things have got to be the huge love and support from family and friends. I’ve told you of our hand-holding. I’ve told you about Ben and Mark and their amazing connection. But, I truly can’t emphasize enough how every microsecond of attention that we’ve been there for our boy has made a difference for him. Every spontaneous hug, every hand-holding moment, every incredible conversation I've had with him during these quiet days of rest and recuperation have been healing blessings for Ben (and for me, as well). Lack of stress = opportunity to heal. We were truly changed by this unfettered space and time for him and with him.

An example of the screws in Ben's spine.

Last night, after the hospital visit, we were talking about some folks we know who have no contact with their parents. Ben reached out for my hand (he still is wanting my hand to hold) and our eyes met. "Can you imagine that?" I said. "Only talking to each other once a year or never?" Ben, eyes very wide, very very wide, looked straight at me and shook his head slowly. "I don’t ever want to have a time like that with you, Mama," he said.

We have been so lucky to have been surrounded by love and compassion, so that we could give Ben exactly what he needed: Us. While we’ve been here in LA we have experienced the grace of loving kindness from strangers and family members and friends from many years gone by. The loving embrace and care of these people has made all the difference for us, made it so we could have the space (emotionally, physically, financially) to be right there for Ben as long as he needs us, made it so we can not worry about anything but healing and moving forward.

More to come with a gratitude list tomorrow morning, before we head for home.

scenes of summer

I haven't had a lot of trust in our technology situation of late, but finally organized some of the photos from our summer fun. Here are a few. No captions, since these photos say it all. More to come in a day or so.

 

Surgery the Sequel: Chapter Three

A Yin and Yang Afternoon

Today Toby and I attended a picnic celebrating our friend James, a 17 year old Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma survivor. He was diagnosed with the disease at the turn of the year. He is one of Harry's friends and his mom, Sarah, is one of my dearest buds. This year he had chemo and radiation, lost all his hair, grew it back, and now is in the clear. The party was a thank you from Sarah and James' whole family out to their community for all the blessings and pots of soup and nights someone let the cat out and hugs that had been bestowed upon James' family this year.

I knew quite a few folks, mostly from our days at Harmony School in Occidental. People who know me and my kids and were actually around when Ben had his first serious experience with surgery, brain surgery, over four years ago. Of course, these folks want to know how Ben is and so, I told them. Mostly they were shocked to hear he was back in Philly for another surgery. It's like whiplash how fast the turn around was for this one.

At one point I stood with a few moms who were there for me four plus years ago. Moms who drove down to Oakland to take me out to dinner after Ben had been in the hospital for seven weeks, had had three surgeries and still wasn't healing. They all piled in a car and drove down to take me out for a diversionary dinner at which I learned that not only was I not the only one with a kid who'd spent time in the hospital, but every single one of us had a kid who at one time or another had spent time in the hospital. Every. Single. One.

Toby and I had another stop today. We were attending a gathering at our friends Anna and Dennis' home. Anna fought breast cancer two years ago and they just found four more tumors in her chest. So we gathered to bless her with our words, prayers and songs. I had my guitar with me and I led the group in some beautiful melodies of hope and healing.

Yesterday, just a day after Ben's surgery I felt such overwhelming lack of ambition. I was deflated, like a popped balloon. Looking back over the few weeks preceding the surgery I could add up the anxiety, the anticipation, the dread, the desire for it all to be over. And following that crescendo, Friday the surgery came and went in such a blur (I was truly asleep for most of it) and the relief was so strong to have come through, that Ben was okay, that it was over. The day after is always the day after. It's not a cliche for nothing. My day after was not so horrible, I suppose, but it still took me a bit by surprise.

As Toby and I were leaving James' picnic we got a call from Ben who had spent the whole day in pain. For some reason today was a hard day, but I've been told the third day after surgery is hard. That was today. Full of pain. (Have I mentioned how much I hate being on the other side of the country from my baby who is in pain?) He spent the day in bed. Grandma Joyce came to visit from New York. Dan the concierge brought him a popscicle. He's got his meds, so they're dealing with it. But, sheesh, I'm so tired of the pain...and it's not even mine.


I suppose I tell you all of this because we talked about blessings today at Anna and Dennis'. And Sarah's party was all about gratitude. And truly, when I have some energy I am so totally grateful for my friends, for hugs, for the popscicles and emails the blessings we get from our communities.

But in order to really see the blessings, there seems to be so much pain. Months of chemo or surgical wounds healing. Tears shed by a little brother missing his big brother while he's away. The anxiety and anger that fills my stomach as we wait to hear the results of a test. It feels like too much at times. And yet, I realize it's what life is all about. Every single one of us has wounds and loss and grief and where would we be without each other?

So, thank you for caring about me and thank you for accepting my songs of healing. This is not the end of my story, but I have a sniffly child sitting next to me who needs a hug.

Surgery the Sequel: Chapter One

...departures and arrivals...

Ben and Mark left yesterday for Philadelphia. Toby, Harry and I waved and blew kisses from the doorway (ok, I blew kisses and Harry and Toby yelled, "Bye! Buh-bye now! So long! Have a great trip!") and then turned, breathed a sigh of relief and went back into the house.

The anticipation truly was terrible, but the reality was a relief.

The night before Toby was so anxious he could barely sleep, had nightmares about zombies and ultimately threw up. Mark, downstairs sleeping in Toby's bedroom to provide some degree of comfort, took care of the situation but didn't get much sleep himself. I was upstairs listening and then panic-stricken that Toby had the flu, had infected Ben and Mark and that they would either wake up with symptoms or arrive at Shriners on Friday barfing their guts out. Lovely image. I didn't get much sleep.

Ben, tucked in warmly next to me in bed, slept soundly.

In the morning, Mark and I refigured our plans for airport delivery. Rather than my driving them down to the airport shuttle he decided to drive them all the way to the airport giving them time stop in Chinatown (Oakland) for goodies for their flights. This also gave us time to make sure Toby was truly not sick. (He was fine!) And because we'd arisen for an earlier time commitment that left us with literally two hours to kill.

When Ben heard "Chinatown" he leaped out of bed and ran to get dressed. (Steamed pork buns and sticky sweet rice cakes are super motivating for my kids.) That done, he asked to play a game with me. So, out came the board games...and up until the minute they left the house the whole family sat on the floor playing Scrabble.

No fighting. No bickering. No whining or crying or hiding away with electronic toys. Pure, good old fashioned family togetherness.

A group hug of three brothers and they were out the door.

Throughout the day I received texts and phone calls from the wonderful folks at the Ritz-Carlton, making sure every "i" was dotted and every "t" was crossed in order for Ben to have the best possible experience. I heard from Kimberly, the Medical/Business Liason, who was on vacation. Kimberly, enjoy yourself!

And I heard from my boys. They called from Oakland International. They called from Phoenix. They called from Philadelphia when they were waiting to "deplane." Their day of flying across country was perfect. (Lots of cute babies, according to our baby lover, Ben.) He was in excellent spirits. They arrived at the RC after midnight and found they had the SAME room we had in February with the additional bonus of chocolates, cookies and cold milk waiting for them.

This morning they received hugs from old friends: Violetta (our housekeeper), James (the concierge), and Kylie (from the front desk in February, but who's been promoted to Guest Relations), and had breakfast at Dan(the concierge)'s favorite cafe around the corner.

Mark reports that Ben's comment upon awaking today was: "I think this time it will be easy."

Crossing my fingers, crossing my fingers.

The Kindness of Strangers...and others

I must have a look on my face right now. Gray clouds, lines of worry on my brow. A complete and total stranger asked me if I would like a hug just a moment ago.

Picking up a travel game and a cup of iced coffee at a local book store I was asked by the man behind the cash register how I was doing and, of course, I told the truth, never one to just say “Fine” and be done with it.

“Oh, it’s a challenging day,” I said, darkly, I suppose.

“What’s going on?” He asked me. And I told him.

“My son’s having surgery at the end of the week and it’s just difficult leading up to it,” I said. Wondering why I was sharing with a total stranger. What’s the point, really?

Turns out his nephew had three surgeries for scoliosis as a young child and is doing great now. He passed me my iced coffee. “Well, I hope it all works out for your son,” he said.

“It will,” I assured him/me. “It’s just difficult as it all comes bearing down,” I ended. I turned away, moving towards the side counter to add cream and pop on a cover.

He looked at me over the espresson machine on the other side of the counter. “Do you want a hug?” he asked.

Wow.

I turned him down with a smile, knowing I will soon be amongst some of my best friends at a homeschool park day and then later on the couch at our therapist’s office. It’s a day of many hugs both virtual and actual. Thankfully.

It’s Tuesday, just one day before Ben and Mark take off for Philadelphia. In less than a week Ben’s surgery will be over and he will be feeling fine, most likely. But the lead up, the waiting, the uncomfortable expectation is so difficult for all of us. This morning Ben’s first words to me after arising from bed were, “I don’t feel good.”

“What’s up?” I asked knowing it could be therapist-itis, post-playdate exhaustion, or pre-surgery blues. It was the latter. “I want a different back,” he said.

Poor guy. It’s hard to shake those blues.

The good news is I was able to arrange with the chef at Sur la Table to rearrange her curriculum to accommodate Ben’s schedule so he could take make up classes today and tomorrow (having missed two days of cooking camp a couple weeks ago due to a cold) before leaving on his journey. I dropped him off this morning in the store’s kitchen where he stood shyly eyeing the pretty teenage girls on the other side of the table as well as the pasta machines piled on the class’s work tables. “Good food and women,” I overheard him telling some friends the other day, “that’s all I need!” I predict his needs will get met this morning.

I haven’t done a very good job of predicting our needs presurgery with these most recent two. Of course, when he had his brain surgery four and a half years ago it all happened so fast I didn’t have time to prepare us. Boom, bang, bop. It was upon us. But this time and the last I had months to mark off the calendar or think about what we’d need and be going through.

As it happened, I was off the mark repeatedly. For the surgery in February I had no clue that in the two weeks leading up to the surgery I would be a germ’s worst nightmare and an absolute freak on an antibacterial crusade. We had all sorts of plans, all ultimately cancelled, during that time period that involved sitting in crowded theaters with hundreds of coughing, innocent but germ-infested citizens, or playdates with children with runny noses. I didn’t even contemplate all the germs we’d potentially encounter on the plane flight back east or the train ride from NY to Philly. It’s amazing we survived without mishap.

This time we had to take a surgery date that conflicted with a camping trip with other homeschoolers in Yosemite. I thought, “Great, one parent will go with Ben, one with the other boys.” Neat and tidy. He picked Mark to join him (“Mom’s my emotion parent, Dad’s my hospital parent.” Logical enough.) and so that was that. I was going to Yosemite. But as the time has approached not only have I grappled with the anxiety that is rolling over me about not being near him while he’s in surgery, but I realized that I will not be sleeping a lot while he’s gone, that I’d have to be focused on getting the rest of us packed up for a challenging camping trip at 9000 feet, and that once I’m in Yosemite I would be out of cell range and unable to talk to him. Clearly, this was not going to work.

I’ve rearranged things now so that Harry will be going on the trip with my good friend Laura and her son, Harry’s friend Wyatt. He’ll get the forest time he needs, attending Yosemite Institute naturalist programming for four days, surrounded by our homeschool friends the whole time. Toby and I have chosen to stay back, close to the phone, our critters and our burgeoning garden. We’ll be spending some happy and distracting time in Santa Cruz with my sister-in-law Sharon and her husband, Alan, as well. No one questioned my last minute change of plans. In fact, all of my friends agreed I was making the right decision. But the stress is much reduced.

I got an email last week from my pen-pal Rona, my emissary of immense good will from Philadelphia. Rona contacted me about a week after we’d returned from Philly in March. The mother of our beloved Dan the concierge, she had read my whole blog (Hi Rona, I know you’re reading this!!) and heard all about us and offered not only her friendship but her love and care of our family. She told me that their family was our adopted Philadelphia family and we embraced her right back. She and her husband will be taking Ben and Mark around Philly on Thursday for a (distracting and) fun tour of their city. I’m just sorry to miss the meeting.

So we are embraced. Embraced at the cash register at Copperfield’s Books, embraced by the cooking teacher at Sur la Table, embraced by our friends and relatives, original and adopted.

I’ll keep you posted.

p.s. I apologize for the lack of photos of late. Having some major technical difficulties here in my house full of IT personnel. Hope to have things ironed out in a week or two.

A wedding

I went to a wedding yesterday. It felt like a milestone for me, but of course, I was only an innocent bystander. Jasmine, the bride. Now it was a milestone for her.

I was weepy all day. In fact, I was a wreck. I cried on and off the whole two hour drive down to Walnut Creek. I cried as I sat waiting for the festivities to begin. I cried every time I hugged that girl. So much emotion welled up in me. I was holding some powerful personal history in my heart that day.

On the way down Mark made sure I was wearing waterproof mascara. He's so thoughtful, for a boy! He even carried the kleenex for me.

Jasmine, as you may recall from a previous post, was a student in my class 23 years ago. I was her 4th and 5th grade teacher and she still calls me that when she's introducing me to her friends.

Towards the end of the wedding we were hugging goodbye and she grabbed the photographer to have him take a picture of us together. "This is my 4th grade teacher," she told him, as if that would express the significance of our connection.

He did seem to get it, though. "Wow," he said, eyebrows raised. I suppose most people's 4th grade teachers don't attend their weddings.

Jasmine's mom, Gina, and I had a bit of a love fest. Lots of hugs, lots of memories and tears, too. Gina was Jasmine's rock and I told her that. (Like teachers, moms often don't get the credit they deserve, I think.) Gina stood out from a lot of the moms I encountered in Vallejo. She was there in the background, working hard, making sure her kids knew that she thought their education was important. Jasmine's dad was not a part of the picture then or now, but her brothers and mom were. At the wedding her younger brother Julian walked her halfway down the aisle, and her older brother Jimmy took her the rest of the way, to the altar and then "gave her away."

Gina told me what I've meant to Jazz. More than a teacher, more than a friend. I honestly can't put into words what our relationship has meant to me. Gina didn't seem to mind calling it "like a daughter" and she's right. "You've watched her grow up," she said. And that's true. I remember Jasmine when she first came into my classroom. A sweet and somewhat spacey kid. I remember her performance as a possessed girl in our simulation of the Salem Witch Trials (!). I remember reading with her, singing with her, watching her play dodgeball at P.E. I introduced her to the beach and bagels and horses. And I remember visiting with her as a high school student, talking about the future, hoping to instill in her a sense of importance about her future and what she could make of herself.

I give Jasmine the credit for the connection she and Chanel and I still have. Without Jasmine as the glue, and sometimes the detective (there were years when I just couldn't find Chanel and Jasmine would ask around their extended group of old friends until she found her or at least found out that she was okay), I don't know if I would have had the joy of being a part of her celebration yesterday or Chanel's baby's birth in April. Thankfully, she has always been very good at keeping in touch.

When I think back on the Jasmine I knew in 4th grade, she looks a lot like the girl above. Gorgeous smile, full of fun, sweetness and a sense of humor. And what a sense of style! (This was one gorgeous wedding!) Jasmine is goodness. Her heart is full of love. I love that about this photo, I just want to hug that girl!

Jazz met Clinton, her handsome husband, when they were in grade school, but since he's a few years older than she I didn't have the pleasure of meeting him until they began dating about 10 years ago. She'd had a crush on him forever, but it wasn't until after he came home from college, Grambling State University in Louisiana, they finally started dating.

Things were going great and then one day in a horrible downpour, Clinton was in a car wreck on the highway. He was paralyzed from the waist down and was told he'd never walk again. Seriously, you read about things like this. But here they were, this young couple, and a tragedy of epic proportions hits.

Jasmine was his rock. I watched as she hung in there with him through the hospital stay and his recovery. I watched their commitment grow, too. Having gone through recoveries in my own family, I know that this road is not smooth. Jazz and I had many conversations about commitment, marriage, feelings, communication, and faith during those years. This was no fairy tale, this was gritty real life. But they persevered.

Today Clinton's walking. They have a beautiful little girl, Amora. And they're married.

Mark and I were honored to be included in the celebration of their past and their future. It was a beautiful day.

I'll leave you with a few images of the event.

Something from my heart: for Chanel

On the occasion of the birth of Josiah Obryant
April 7, 2010

It is hard for me to reconcile my memory
Of the young girl with the nappy hair
And the scruffy clothes
Who bounded into my life and stole my heart
All those years ago

With the vision of Woman
I now see
Propped up against pillows
In a hospital bed
Pale blue gown puddled around her voluminous belly
Baby clamped securely on one dark chocolate nipple

Just as you catch yourself on my name
          Miss Stonefield
As you knew it
My name when you and I bonded
In a chalk-dusty classroom
Full of books and music and loud, smelly children
So many years ago
And try to call me by a name more of a friend
Woman to woman

I catch myself on my memory of you
At nine years old
A child so lost and yet so available
To me, to my love, to my words

I have thought I might lose you 
Years passed in between
Without a call or an address
A stuttering connection
Blinking on, then off, then on again
But there existed a thread strong as spider’s silk
Connecting our two lives

And so I blink, seeing you today:
A woman, a mother, a friend
A child, a daughter, a friend

How is it possible that a child
So hungry for food and love
For someone to sweep the debris away and
Show her the path
How is it possible that that child
Would know
On her own
How to nurture
And to hold what is dear
And precious
To be gentle and tender
And speak the Lord’s prayer quietly over the phone
To a daughter about to go to sleep away from her mama
And new baby brother
Worrying about who will take care of them that night?

How did you become this woman?
How did I become so lucky
To hold your hand
As your baby was taken from your body
Lavender gray oily
Blood and life fluids still covering his soft flesh
To be a witness to the moment you first held him
You first kissed him
He first looked at you
And recognized that you were his mama

He blinked when he heard your voice

How did you arrive at this day knowing
How different a life could be
When a child is loved and held
With devotion and passion
Every moment of his life

How did you arrive
Full of that golden wonder and gratitude
For motherhood and babies’ toes
When your life was barren
Of a mother’s loving touch
And how strong you had to be to fill your own voids
To soothe yourself when you went to bed scared
And hungry
And even I didn’t realize how bad bad could be

How did I become so lucky
To hold your baby and bring him to your breast
To teach you once again
Something from my heart
To witness the strength rise in you
As he was nourished by your touch
By your breast
By your milky gold

Motherhood comes easily to you
I see it filling you to overflowing
Many things have come hard to you, but
Motherhood comes easily to you
More easily than anything else
Except love
And optimism

You open yourself to the possibilities
And they flow into your life
The milk lets down
The baby mews to suck
You fold your arms around him
Your life and hopes
Giving more to him
Tenfold
A hundredfold
Tenmillionfold
Than what you ever got from your own mother

I realize now that that little girl still lives in you
As you dress your child
In brand new clothes
As you brush his silky curls
With a white bristled brush small enough to be made for a doll
You can’t stop touching him
Playing with him
Enjoying the feeling of being attached to
A life force so new and familiar

I see that little girl still hoping for a mother to change
Even as she shows she doesn’t know how to tell you she cares
Even if she does
We just assume she does
She’s a mother, your mother after all
And you are lightness
You are sunshine
You will be her role model

You surely are mine

You teach me about love
About strength
Optimism and determination
I won’t lose you again, Chanel
You won’t lose me either
Our bond made first in a grade school classroom
Was made tighter with the sharing of your birth miracle
I held your hand then
And now I hold it to my heart

Baby, baby, baby

Baby Josiah is here. I want to wax poetic, there’s so much to tell, but for now I’ll just post some images from the two days I spent in the hospital with Chanel. I’ll write about it when I have more time. The donkeys are braying for breakfast!

Chanel's friend LaToya and I were in the operating room with her during the C-section.

If this isn't the picture of "the Womanly Art of Breastfeeding" I don't know what is.

Return Trip

I'm heading out to Sacramento again today. Chanel followed my advice and kept her legs crossed this past week! Looking forward to seeing that baby boy by this afternoon. I'll be home with photos by tomorrow night.

Yesterday I received Jasmine's wedding invitation. It made me cry. The words printed at the top were: "Because you have shared in our lives by your friendship and love, we...invite you to share the beginning of our new life together..." How perfect and how beautiful. I took it personally, though I'm not the only recipient of the invitation, of course. I can't wait to share that day with her. To witness it. To be a part of the milestones in her life, as I have been in some way since she was nine years old.

And now to Chanel...this is one mighty milestone. Time to get on the road.

Mission Interrupted

I went to Sacramento. I came back a day early.

Chanel is fine, don't worry. And the baby is still incubating in there. That's ok, it's warm and safe in there.

But the rest of us got the biggest let down on a dark Tuesday morning. And it's just now I am feeling up to talking about it.

******

Monday I arrived at Chanel's place around noon. We talked and talked and talked. I made her open all the presents I brought her. We talked some more. About being a mom. About us. About nursing babies. About her childhood. She shared more with me on this trip than ever before. I sense in her a real arrival, a maturity that I’ve never felt. She was so grounded, so present. My heart swells with pride and admiration.

We went to Target to stock up, too. Baby clothes, a swing, nursing bras and other do-dads. She didn’t even know that nursing bras existed. I bought her three! It felt great to be helping her get started, especially with the breastfeeding. In her world, no one nurses their babies. “Too much trouble.” But Chanel, she’s already spouting things like, “Nuh-uh. Nothing easier than whipping out your boob to feed your baby.” Gee, wonder where she heard that!? She mentioned that maybe she’d end up being a trendsetter, starting a new wave of breastfeeders in her group of friends. I wouldn’t put it past her.

After that we went to lunch and hung out a little longer before I left her to rest and prepare for Tuesday’s event.

I forgot to mention in my last post that I was staying with my friend Kendra, one of my very best friends from my high school years. We connected last year on Facebook and saw each other once last summer, the first time in 18 years! But this was really a fantastic making-the-most-of-a-situation opportunity since she lives about 20 minutes from Chanel. I met her adorable younger boys (15 and 13) and saw her hubby. (Who knows when the last time I saw him was?) But the best part was just getting to talk to her for hours and hours. We had a blast. And we tried to take a good picture of ourselves. I think K looks terrific. Hasn’t changed a bit in the…um…30 years since we graduated! I, on the other hand…

I shall blame my forced smile expression on the long wait time for a double flash exposure.

Tuesday morning Kendra made me a cup of tea and a bowl of strawberries at 4:30 am. What a good friend! I drank my cup, popped a few strawberries in my mouth and headed on over to the hospital. Chanel and Marlin (the baby’s dad) were there. Chanel checked in at the registration desk and we went upstairs to the OB department. As we emerged from the elevator we saw a group of nurses congregated at the nursing station. One of them stood up and said, “Are you Chanel? I’m afraid we have some bad news.”

Now what do you think when you hear that? I mean, Chanel is fine. We know that. She’s right here with us. The baby’s fine. There’s nothing bad in that department that they could tell us. The doctor? Did his alarm clock not go off on time? What? What could be bad news? Did he have a car accident?

“We only perform C-sections at 39 weeks or more. You’re not there yet so we can’t perform your C-section today.”

*cue crickets chirping in the silence*


Huh? We must have looked like deer in the headlights.

“My doctor made this appointment. How could this happen? What am I supposed to do?” Chanel asked.

“Well, you can go to Denny’s!” the nurse replied.

Uh, what?

If only I’d gotten her name. I would SO report that woman. How incredibly disrespectful. How rude. How flippant. I truly would love to clobber her. Even today, two days later.

Poor Chanel, it was such an enormous let down. The planning, the expectation. Everyone was there. Everything was ready. We slowly turned around and went downstairs and sat in a waiting area, composing ourselves. Trying to get a grip on this new reality. The nurses, the woman at the registration desk just kept giving her the party line: “It’s for the health of the baby.” Yes, indeed. As if that isn’t paramount to Chanel? This was planned folks, the doctor’s office made the appointment. She was three days shy of the 39th week. Seems a bit ridiculous to me. (Since Tuesday Chanel’s found out that the hospital has never really upheld this “rule” before in all the 32 years of her doctor’s experience there. Go figure.)

We ultimately went home to her place. Sat around in a depressed stupor for a while. Arianna was there and she did a fashion show of all the clothes I’d bought her. She also started reading the books I’d brought for her. She didn’t seem too sad about the turn of events. More attention for her! Then our appetites returned and I took my girls out to breakfast…a diversion.

But what I really wanted to tell you was that I talked to Chanel tonight. I wanted to tell you how cheerful she sounded. How she was making lemonade out of lemons. Enjoying the time she has all to herself for the next few days while Arianna is at her dad’s. Enjoying the time she has to read the books on breastfeeding and babycare. Tuesday we thought there was no way we’d feel excited again when the baby did come, but tonight she said she could feel it building up again. The anticipation. The exhilaration.

I’m glad for that. And glad that we have another week to chat on the phone, me giving her pep talks and her laughing along. And I’m glad I have another week to knit a hat for baby Josiah. That was something I hadn’t gotten around to. The flannel baby blankets, yes. The hat, no.

In the meantime, I’ve developed an infection in one of my breasts. Hot, red, and very sore. I’m taking antibiotics and today the doctor inserted a needle to see if any fluid would come out. Nope. Just pain! I’m feeling very sorry for myself. I swear it’s sympathetic. I mean, Monday I spent a good part of the day talking about breastfeeding with the amazing Chanel. I think my breasts thought they were back in business.

******

By the way, I'll be heading back up to Sacramento on Wednesday of next week. The surgery is scheduled for 1 pm that day. That is, as long as she doesn't go into labor before then! I'll stay the night at Kendra's again. And this time, I'll come home with baby pictures!!

About anchors and children and babies being born

Chanel and me in 1992. She is 12 and I am 29.

Tomorrow morning I will be leaving home for three days. I’m going to Sacramento to hold a beloved hand.

The story begins about 23 years ago, when I was a young teacher in Vallejo. I was one of those teachers who spent about 18 hours a day, sometimes seven days a week, pouring my heart and soul into my classroom. I can still remember the looks on their faces when I read aloud to them after lunch, their bodies draped across their desks, sweaty from a recess of dodgeball and four-square. I can remember how they smelled! And I remember their hugs and silliness and beautiful poetry and voices when we sang together. Many of those kids became a piece of my heart, their stories of gang violence, drug addicted parents, and loss at an early age causing me to take stock of all that my life had sheltered me from. Two children from my second year teaching are still a big part of my life, Chanel and Jasmine, though now they are beautiful young women of 30. Both still call me Miss Stonefield when they speak of me to each other, I'm sure, though I insist they call me Susie. And both have told me they want and expect me to be present at their personal milestones this year – a birth and a wedding. I would not, I could not refuse.

(Today’s story is about Chanel. I’ll tell you about Jasmine in a month or two.)

Chanel came into my classroom as a child of nine, bouncy and bubbly, loud, funny, and unkempt. She had all sorts of learning issues, she also had a few social issues, but she was never a pessimist. Her family consisted of numerous cousins, aunts, uncles, a few younger siblings, a mother I rarely saw, and a grandmother who was the family matriarch. Most of her relatives lived in the Crest, a gang ravaged neighborhood in north Vallejo, near what is now a colorful amusement park with large rollercoasters sprouting out of the ground like strange alien lifeforms painted orange and red, purple and turquoise. It’s an odd contrast to the neighborhood right next door that seems to house the grimmest of communities. About a third of my class came from just such a neighborhood. Chanel’s family was full of drug dealers and prostitutes and other folk who never seemed to work, but could always be found smoking in front of the TV in Grandma’s living room. Many times I would drop Chanel off or pick her up from Grandma’s house and I would try to make small talk with her elders, always feeling completely out of my element and slightly on edge.

Chanel was in my class for two years, both 4th and 5th grade, and she and I had some mighty chemistry between us. I loved that girl with all my heart. She was an amazing spirit, so funny and optimistic, especially considering the row she had to hoe. Her heart was pure gold and her smile lit up the room. I would frequently take my class down the street to sing at a convalescent home and Chanel would always go right on up to the old folks, even the drooling ones, the ones that freaked out the adults in our group a bit, and she’d sit right down saying, “Well, hi. How are you? My name is Chanel!” What heart. Such an unusual soul.

I remember receiving an envelope the summer after Chanel had graduated from my class and moved on to 6th grade. In it was a photocopy of an essay written in a messy child's hand and a note written by a teacher. "I thought you might want to read this," the note said. The essay was a 5th grade writing proficiency test given districtwide. The topic the students had to write about: "The Most Important Person in My Life." The essay was Chanel's. She'd written about me.

Over the years I kept in contact with her on and off, and it got harder after I left Vallejo’s school district in 1992. During high school she slipped off my radar, but one day Jasmine ran into her in town and told her, “Miss Stonefield’s mad at you! You better call her!” And she did. Again years elapsed before we caught up, but finally in 2002, we connected again through Jasmine, and we had a reunion. It was wonderful to see them both, rather than woman and girls we were all women now. Chanel had made it through a bumpy high school career, helped out of the murk of the Crest by a cousin who’d made it to the NFL. She’d lived with him in Reno, taken junior college classes and met a young man. With him she became a parent to Arianna, her beautiful daughter who is only a year younger than Toby, my baby. That took some getting used to!

Jasmine, Chanel and Arianna at our reunion in 2002.

I often had thought that were it ever to become necessary I would have adopted Chanel, or at least taken her in and raised her. Mark loved her too, so it wasn’t just fantasy. But it never did seem to come to that. She is such a strong person and she’s persevered to become an anchor for her own family. Now, living in Sacramento, raising her daughter and working, her mother and sisters and cousins gravitate to her proximity. I worry that one day they’ll bring her down with them.

Throughout these past eight years we’ve had some amazing conversations and I’ve had the chance to give her some needed support. Chanel has thanked me for being the person all through the years who had faith in her. She told me she knew it to be true even during the years we were out of contact. Knowing that, I told Mark, I could die happy. I'd been her anchor even when I wasn't near her. She'd heard what I'd told her all those years.

Several months ago she told me she was pregnant with her second child. Practically an old woman (by the standards of her peer group) to be having her second. But she was more careful than most, I’d say. I’m proud of her. She knew ahead of time she’d be having a scheduled C-section and she asked me to be there with her. The baby’s daddy is not in the picture, and her mom just isn’t up to the job. She wants me to hold her hand during the operation. I hope I don’t faint, I told her.

So tomorrow I’m heading up to Sacramento. I’m going to go hang out with Chanel and Arianna, take her some needed items for the baby and some fun stuff for Miss Ari. Maybe we’ll go shopping and get some other things, too. Tuesday, though, we’ll meet at the hospital at 5:30 am. Then, after the baby comes, we'll hang out. Maybe I'll spend some time with Arianna. And Wednesday I'll come back for another day, see if I can help Chanel get the hang of breastfeeding. (Have I told you that I have a dream of one day being a doula...when my kids get old and don't need me around as much?)

Ben has been having some separation anxieties, but his pain is almost completely gone. I've talked to him about why I am going away for three days. He seems to get it. He seems to understand that Chanel needs me, too.

I'll tell you how it all went when I come home!

Reading list

I saw this stack of books at a friend's house yesterday.

She's a new homeschooler.

It begs the question all parents considering homeschooling ask themselves: Should I homeschool my kids or should I just commit myself now to the insane asylum?

Truth is, though, that for many of us, that craziness came from trying to make it work in the "system." My feeling about it five years in is: homeschooling isn't perfect, but it certainly is an amazing journey to embark on with your family.

One thing I know about my friend is she is definitely prepared!

About blogging and Ben's recovery (about half way down)

One afternoon after Ben left the hospital, we watched "Julie and Julia" on the TV in our room. The RC offered a large selection of movies-on-demand and though it felt like a splurge (after all, we have Netflix dvds at home...in Sebastopol), it also appeared to be an enjoyable alternative to watching Curling on the Olympics. “Julie and Julia” seemed like a good fit for people who love to cook, eat, and talk about food as much as we do. I can remember watching Julia Child cooking shows with my mom on our black and white TV. Ben and I frequently watch the cooking channel together, too, critiquing the recipes or the chefs. Those are the moments he’s told me he wants to be a food critic when he grows up (and an architect and a chef and a photographer) and I point out that he needs to actually develop a more extensive palate than mac’n’cheese (the way Daddy makes it), or corn flakes, or cheeseburgers (preferably from In’n’Out), or chicken tikka masala. We often cook together, Ben and I. We’re currently working our way through a book of pasta sauce recipes, not exactly methodically, but at least with a “no recipe is too complex for us to whip up one hour before dinner” attitude.

We loved the movie. Pretty much everything about it was enjoyable: the story, the acting, the characterization, the glory of food, the sweet love stories of two solid marriages. But, the surprise for me was the part that focused on Julie’s blogging and how it became something so big and meaningful in her life, that led to something more. I’ve often thought of publishing my work, or should I say, trying to publish my work, but I will admit that I don’t have the core of iron needed to send my pieces out into the world only to be rejected. I don’t have the stomach for it. Blogging is a great alternative. You’re reading this, right? (And you and you and you and you and you…well, maybe that’s excessive.) How hard was it for me to put this blog up and share my writing with you? I’m an opportunist, a nice opportunist, but an opportunist none the less. Ben’s surgery gave me an opening, really, to get my blog up and a readership hanging on my every word. Sounds brutal, but it’s true.

The hard part about the blogging in my real life is that it is a major distraction. As you may have noticed, the time to write is more elusive in my real life, the life that includes three boys, two cats, two donkeys, two horses, one husband, homeschooling, a messy house, appointments, classes, friends, meetings, cooking meals, cleaning up meals, and doing the laundry. Did I forget anything? Most certainly. Suffice it to say, one thing I loved about being at the RC was that life was less complicated. And I had time to write. In my real life I’m not disciplined enough to wake up early, feed the animals outside, pour myself a cup of tea, and sit down to compose jaunty phrases before the kids all wake up and wonder who’s going to make them French toast or crepes. I’ve tried (all of those things, including the crepes) and it just falls apart. It’s the sitting down to compose. Actually, it’s the getting up from sitting down that gets in the way. “Just one more sentence…” I say. Now if I could blog in short bits, that would be better. Instead, the tea gets cold. The kids turn on the tv. The animals bray. And I try to squeeze out a new post. The rest of the day is shot to hell. (And don’t even ask me why don’t I try writing in the evening before I go to bed, just go talk to Mark, who’ll tell you he thought I did write before I go to bed, but really I’m only answering emails.)

A while ago Ben called to me from bed. (In case you’re wondering I did hit “save” and go to his side, but I might have written another sentence first. Or two. He didn’t sound too distressed.) His pain is up some this morning because we got cocky last night. We got off our schedule of pain meds because he was doing so well yesterday. We know that we can head it off at the pass if we keep ahead of it. If we lighten up or go without, the pain sneaks back up and he starts having muscle spasms (think Charlie horse in your back, side or all over your body). Last week I was surprised at how much pain he still had. For some reason I was under the impression it would ease up to Advil-only levels by the end of the week. If you’ve looked at his x-rays you’ve seen the huge change his body is adjusting to, and luckily my friend, Nurse Shawna, reminded me about how angry those muscles are. After all, we’ve made them move, stretch, and reconfigure. Their complaints take the form of spasms and they come out of the blue if we don’t keep him dosed up on pain meds.

Yesterday our friends the Kellys threw him a sweet surprise Welcome Home party with all of his buddies. He was completely surprised and enjoyed the attention, happy to see everyone and celebrate. Everyone was beaming at him, there was much laughing and tentative, but sincere hugs. Sawyer gave him a hat and scarf she'd knit just for him. (That drew an ear to ear smile from him, he's a bit partial to her.) Claire, Harry's girlfriend, came in and went straight to him with a heartfelt hug. I got my hugs too, my mom friends were waiting for me in the kitchen. It's so nice to be home again!

Ben took a break midway through and went into a room by himself to lay down, emotionally and physically overwhelmed. He clouded over, a bit like the sky outside which was going from blue to heavy rain clouds in an instant, feeling lousy that hanging with your friends requires too much of you, that even just having fun and playing video games is more than you can handle. Suddenly, the fact that he has metal in his body and set off the metal detectors at the airport made him feel different, not special. He’s still recovering, so very up and down, and we can’t push it. Remembering to monitor our speed as we move through this recovery period is challenging us. I suppose our normal speed is just way too fast for someone just out of surgery.

Well, I've dodged the bullet, but it's late already. I've been sitting here for two hours trying to get this done. I like writing too much. But the crepes are calling. (Note the eggs up top of this post.) And so are the donkeys.