Light at the end of the tunnel

Somebody needs to turn the dang light at the end of the tunnel to bright so I can get a better glimpse of it. These past few months have been hard.  I mean HARD.  I have been clawing to my sanity like it was the last pair of boots on earth.  I have been advised by well meaning friends that maybe I should check into medication.  I am not opposed to it.  I have been on it before.  I didn’t like the way it made me feel.  I have had a lot on my plate. Don’t we all?  Which is why I quit blogging for a while. I just couldn’t put it all out there.  There are times when you do have to take other people’s feelings into consideration.  My fears.  My disappointments. My struggles with protecting the image of people my child looks up to.  These things outweigh the pleasure I might get from sharing the truth.

Dad is down to 6 more radiation treatments.  He has been a champion and Mom has been by his side taking care of him every step of the way.  He’s sporting a sleek new do (code for he lost his hair) and he perpetually looks like he has been baking in the sun.  I am constantly asking if it hurts because it LOOKS like it hurts.  He has been given the option to take a break, but he refuses.  He wants to keep moving forward and finish up.  He sees the light at the end of the tunnel.  After radiation we move on to the final phase of treatment, the ommaya reservoir. Chemo directly into the fluid around the brain.  Have I told you what a hero my Dad is?

Juju is starting a new phase in her life.  First of all, she looks great.  She is on a mission and I wish I had her strength and determination to get healthy.  She’s also about to be a mom to a graduate. A young adult. A college student.  How did my nephew grow up so fast?  I love that kid.  He is my no-nonsense, black and white, right is right and wrong is wrong, loves history kid.  He’s going to be so successful.  And he didn’t even flinch when I knocked his bumper off his new car.  Material things don’t matter to him.  Being a good person does.  I am looking forward to the festivities celebrating the end of this journey and the beginning of the next. 

Family reunion is coming up.  My prayer is that Dad is feeling well enough to go.  I made reservations at Mt Nebo for the weekend.  While it is not our usual cabin, it is on the mountain and that is what matters.  I will be taking mom to a wedding that Saturday night while Juju and the boys hang out with Pops at the cabin.  We are each gaining favorite daughter points in different ways.  I’m getting a new dress and shoes out of my end of the deal.  Score!  Now if I could lose the pounds from the last 6 months so I could buy a dress in my old size that would be a real score.

This is my last week of school. That’s a light which is bright and clear.   It has been a great year and I will miss my kiddos.  But I still need a rest.  There is so much more to the school year besides hanging with the kids and bantering history facts.  All of that other stuff has worn me out. I need a break.

 During that break, I hope to find my way back to happy and back to blogging my witty sarcastic self.   I am tired of the dark clouds.  I am tired of being angry.  Tired of being disappointed. By people that are important to me. Tired of letting others control my feelings.  I have a lot of work to do this summer. On me.  Now, can you turn up the light, please?

Advocate or Adversary

When does being an advocate turn into being an adversary?

This is a question that has been on my mind since last night.  We have this hospital thing down pat.  Mom packs up the weekend before.  Julie takes Dad through the admission process Monday morning, while Mom takes her youngest to school.  Dad gets settled in and, hopefully, goes down for his MRI.  I show up around 4:00 with his standing order of Onion Rings from Sonic.  Julie comes back up after work and we leave together somewhere between 7:00 and 9:00pm.  We like to meet the night crew before leaving.  Mom stays with Dad and hopefully has a bed brought to the room.

From the very beginning, Dad has never been alone during his hospital stays.  We like to think that it helps the hospital staff because we take care of the non-medical things; getting his ice and water, helping get him to the bathroom while maneuvering his IV pole (when he was still wobbly we had it down to a NASCAR pit stop; shoes on, cane in hand, pole unplugged and ready to roll), Mom helps with getting into and out of the shower, we change the linens, we keep up with the fluid intake and output, even putting it in the collection cup for the tech, we carry his meal trays back to the collection cart and so on.  We save the staff a LOT of time by being there. 

On the flip side, we do ask a few things from the staff.  We ask for copies of his MRI reports. We ask for copies of his labs when they do blood work tracking his methotrexate level.  And that’s about it.  So hopefully you can agree with me when I say we DO more than we ASK.  For this reason, it is so frustrating on the rare occasion that when we ask for something and they ignore us. It makes it difficult to keep our MY cool.  It has been thoroughly discussed that I am the wildcard in the family. I am the one that is more likely to blow her top than anyone else.  It’s ok.  It’s who I am.  I try really hard to control it, but about 2 seconds in, if you are not being honest with me, well, it’s over.  My fuse is lit and sparking away. I can promise myself to stay calm and collected.  I can give myself all the pep talks in the world, but my fuse is short and highly flammable.

I am thankful that we have not had many occasions to see my fuse light up while Dad has been at the hospital.  There was an argument discussion early on about some meds that they were withholding and I am still not sure who had it right; the nurse, Julie/Mom, or myself.  The next one came when Julie was on duty and the nurse could not tell her when a certain dose of med had been given because it wasn’t charted.  Julie was quick to call me and mom, and we assured her that the dose had been given before shift change, but apparently the night nurse wasn’t aware. That is a scary situation for sure.  We were so glad that Julie was keeping track. We don’t like that nurse.  We are always glad to see her walk to another hallway when Dad is in town.  Then we have last night.   I am not going to bore you with the details other than to say that if my Dad is due a dose of pain-relieving eye drops at 6:30, and we catch you outside our door at 6:30 and ask you about it being time for the dose, and you, the nurse, have not come into the room by 7:45, you are going to hear from us.  Julie was doing her best to diffuse the situation and just let her know that we had asked reminded the tech to get with her about the dose as we left the room.  The spark that lit my fuse came when the nurse tried to explain the “window” of time they have to give the meds and indicated the dose was given at 3:30. WE HAVE IGNITION! Uh no, I was there, in the room, with a clock, and a watch, and it was 2:30 and the day nurse said it was due at 6:30, 4 hours later, because they are prescribed to be given EVERY 4 hours. And my Dad was in pain.  And he never complains. And we are doing ALL of the little things that keep you from having to come to our room all the time. So quit being a lazy less than stellar nurse and give the dose.  Ok, so that was in my brain. What came out of my mouth was just a reminder that they had been given at 2:30 and it was time.  Julie is moving us to the elevator, being nice, and praying I haven’t caused us to go from advocate to adversary.

I appreciate all of the wonderful nurses we have had.  The number of good has far outweighed the crappy less than stellar.  I understand working in a service industry.  I teach public school.  Trust me; parents don’t always like my style standards in my classroom and sometimes I hear about it.  It is my job to keep teaching that student to the best of my ability. As their educational advocate. Avoiding at all costs a parent looking at me as an adversary.   I can only hope as we move forward with this hospital stay that the lazy less than stellar nurse from Monday and Tuesday night understands that we are Dad’s advocates, as is our right to be, and not her adversary.

EDIT: Our favorite nurse is Elizabeth.  She was the nurse that took care of Dad on his first admit to Harris 7 (Oncology). She faithfully checks in on Dad any time she is on the floor, even when Dad is not her patient.  In fact, she stopped by last night to check on him. She was getting ready to leave after her shift but made the time to swing by.  When she asked Dad how he was doing, he shook his head as he was holding a compress to his eye (that is infected with Shingles).  She talked to us a bit and before leaving she gave Dad a hug and a peck on the cheek.  She is a gifted nurse.  She is a true advocate.

Looking forward to...

I woke up really anxious on Sunday.  We are transitioning from our(Dad’s) chemo routine, that we know, to radiation, which right now, is an unknown. We(Dad) do not go for the radiation consultation until the middle of April.  That leaves a lot to time to ponder and wonder what the next step holds.  Chemo isn’t sunshine and roses, but we knew the drill.  There is some comfort in that.  I think the other reason I was a little anxious was seeing an email, from a pseudo-family member, giving their thoughts on Dad’s cancer.  Honestly, I wanted to punch them in the face.  But, I guess people feel like they have a right to deliver their 2 cents worth and move on.  It certainly reminded me to think before I speak, or hit send, with thoughts about something at which I am not a professional.

In order to soak up some relaxation before a busy week, I met Julie at the mall for a pedicure.  I told her how I was feeling and she assured me, like she always does, that God has this.  His plan is bigger than our plan.  I did go ahead and tell her that if(when) I finally crack apart, she has my permission to commit me. But it has to be some place nice.   And she has to visit me. And make sure they don’t take my boots.  Anyway, while getting our toes prettied up, we decided that based on some information from a family member, we would go ahead and book a cabin on Mt Nebo in July.  There is a wedding and our family reunion happening on the same weekend.  There is nothing I love more in Arkansas than Mt Nebo.  (Well, there may be a few family members I love more than Mt Nebo, but it’s not a clean sweep)  We already have our cabin booked for the Columbus Day weekend, so this is bonus time.  I am going to be looking forward to it almost as much as I look forward to the last day of school.

Since Sunday, I have been trying to stay focused on the positives.  I have been reading and rereading my “Jesus Calling” devotional.  It gets me every time.  If I am anxious, it tells me to be still.  If I am worried, it tells me that worry takes up the space meant for God.  I also go back and read Julie’s blog a lot.  She is an awesome writer and I am so thankful that she has been chronicling this journey in such a beautiful way.  I have come to the conclusion that if I am looking forward, I will not have room for the worry or anxiousness that comes from not being in control.  So starting today I will start “looking forward”… to Mount Nebo in July, to Mount Nebo in October, to our miracle that I still believe in. 

Current Events and Questions

I love teaching this class.  This year has been a fabulous year for news stories.  We have the election going.  We have turmoil in the Middle East.  The ups and down of the economy. We have followed some touching human interest stories; the model that walked into the propeller and  her miraculous recovery, student athletes recovering from concussions, a young girl with a service dog that carries her oxygen.  Getting kids to care about the world around them is my mission. To understand how small things make a difference and most importantly to make their own decisions, informed decisions, about what the media feeds society.

We use several sources in class; TIME For Kids, CNN Student News, Junior Scholastic, New York Times Upfront and national media outlets.  I don’t want to influence what my students think.  I want them to “think” about why they think/feel the way they do.   They have no idea if I am Republican or
Democrat. They have no idea who I would vote for if I choose to vote in the Republican primary. They are clueless as to whether I would go out and march in protest of the Florida “Stand Your Ground” law.  What they do know, hopefully, is that the media controls WHAT information is delivered and HOW it is delivered.  They are free to share their thoughts and opinions on any news story we cover. But it is always followed up with questions back to them. 

Examples:

Student A:  I would never vote for a Mormom.

Question: Do you know what the religion of the current president is?  Do you have any knowledge of any negative impact experienced by Massachusetts when a Mormon was Governor?

Student B: I think Newt Gingrich would make a good president. Why is he not doing well in the primaries?

Question: What was the last political office held by Mr. Gingrich? Under what circumstances did he leave that office?

Student C: Playing football is the most important thing in my life. I don’t think I should have to sit out a game just because I took a hard hit and might have a concussion.

Question: If getting hit again jeopardized your ability to perform at your current level on your school work, would you still go out on the field?  Do you have other areas of interest that you could participate in if getting another concussion meant that you would not be able to graduate high school with your current class?

Notice that I am not giving them any answers. Only questions.  We have also been following the shooting of a young man in Florida by a neighborhood watch captain.  The last two mornings students have been STAAR Testing so we have a lot to catch up on.  If my students were a tad bit older these are some of the questions I would ask…

*Why are the photos of a younger man? He was 17 when he was shot. The pictures being used a majority of the time are of a younger football player and younger school picture. Why are the news outlets not using a current photo most of the time?

*Why is the photo of the shooter always a picture of a non-smiling man in a bright orange button up golf shirt, which closely resembles an orange jail jumpsuit?

*If you have made 50something calls to 911 since 2004, how many does that average out to? (my students will do the math, you can too.)

*Does one call every other month sound excessive from a neighborhood watch member?

*What training do neighborhood watch members receive?

*Why was the young man not in school? What events prompted him to be out of town visiting his father?

*Why did the media immediately portray this as a white on black crime?

*What is the ethnicity of the older man involved?

*Why was he not allowed to self-identify his racial background?

*Does white on black crime warrant more media attention than two minorities involved in a shooting/crime?

*Why are we still identifying people by their racial background?

*Why can’t we simply be members of the “human” race?

*Should the president be commenting on the crime using a “son” he doesn’t have?

*How does that impact your feelings on the crime?

*Does it make it more personal?

*Why did the police not take pictures of the shooter at the scene or while he was in their custody to validate what was in the report (broken nose, gash on head)?

*Why did the young man’s mother apply for trademarks for phrases using her son’s name?

*Why would a group of people put out a $10,000 bounty on the shooter? How does this help the situation?

Since they are still on the verge of becoming young adults, I will temper the questions accordingly.  This has certainly been an interesting story to follow.  It is a tragedy.  A young man lost his life.  Another man made a decision that will alter his life forever.  I have a 17 year old son and I cannot imagine having to deal with a loss under these circumstances.  All of that said, the media has played a major role and I am not sure that it has been a positive one.  You can ask your own questions and come to your own conclusions.  Asking questions does not make you “right or wrong” and in this case asking questions does not make you “racists”.  Asking questions makes you an individual interested in the whole story. Not just the story that media wants to tell.

EDIT: One of the stories we have been following had some breaking news. The young lady who walked into a propeller from the plane she had just exited reached a settlement. After dismissing the insurance offer of $200,000, which was the cap for a passenger, she asked for $2million.  Reports are she has settled in the range of $1million.  At question, was she a “passenger” at the time of the accident?

Questions: According to the definition of passenger, someone who is boarding, on board, or exiting the plane, would you categorize her as a passenger?  Since her family, from the beginning, publicly stated that they did not blame the pilot and the NTSB cleared the pilot of any negligence/wrong-doing, should the family have sought more than the insurance cap?  Should the insurance be liable for “damages” above and beyond the medical costs, such as pain and suffering or future loss of income? 

EDIT: People are now demanding that Wrigley, parent company of Skittles, make a contribution of some sort since they have profited off of the young man’s death.

Question: Does Wrigley have an obligation to return a portion of the profits due to the increase of sales? Who is responsible for the candy becoming iconic to this event? The company? The protestors?  If it is not the company, how could this negatively affect them if they refuse to donate?  Will the protestors then turn on the company and ask for a boycott?

I love asking questions.  It’s the answers that are hard to come by.

The one real object of education is to have a man in the condition of continually asking questions.  ~Bishop Creighton

My big fat failure

As most of you already know, I ran away from facebook and blogging last week.  I have started and stopped writing this blog a million times and still don’t know how to approach it, other than brutal honesty.  I failed.

I beat Hubby down to a bloody pulp until he let me get my dog.  I blogged about how much I wanted a dog. I took pictures of our little metal art dog. Hilariously funny. But a far cry from the real deal.   I can now say this without crying or resentment. Hubby was right.  Our lifestyle and my fragile health did not make a great home for the sweetest puppy in the world.

Fiona came home on Sunday evening after spending all day at Mom and Pop’s.  We were up early Monday morning letting her exercise, feeding her breakfast, and then putting her in the crate for our day at work.  We came straight home and let her out and played, played, played.  Come 10:00, she was back in her crate (crying for about 30 minutes).  Repeat for the next 4 days. 

Hubby knew by Wednesday that I was struggling.  I was struggling with the stress of crating (and that is NOT judgment on anyone who crates) and struggling with the pressure of feeling like from 4:00-10:00 she needed constant exercise and attention to balance the time she spent crated.  Come Thursday night, I was a wreck.  Hubby knew it. I knew it. And most importantly, my body knew it.  I could feel an episode of exhaustion coming on. The weight on my chest was heavy, the muscles in my neck and throat were sore.  If I didn’t do something, I would be back in bed in no time. 

Hubby was my hero.  Not one time did he say, “I told you so.” Not one time did he chastise me for not listening to him when he tried to warn me the amount of work it would take to care for the sweetest dog in the world.  He called the breeder, explained the situation and made arrangements to return her.  I cried for a long time.  We didn’t get any sleep. Friday morning, we were both up at 3:30 and had Fiona out of the crate by 4:30.  I sat and held her for nearly 2 hours. We packed up her things and Hubby took her to the breeder on the way to work.  She was paid for in full and I wrote a note saying that I did not want the money back.  I wanted her to be able to go to a good home.  I apologized for being a failure.  Hubby continued his super-hero ways by having the house cleaned and dog items put away so I wouldn’t have to deal with it when I returned home Friday after work.  He was so considerate.  I tried not to cry at work, and my friends were fabulous at letting me share my failure without judging.  Thank goodness for their kind words.  Thank goodness for the support of my family.

It’s been a rough patch and I am not 100% over it.  I spent the weekend trying to return some of the things that had not been used yet. Thank goodness for the best sister ever. She held my hand and helped me take care of the returns and gave me a hug when I started bawling in the dressing room of Ross for no apparent reason.  I still see Fiona’s sweet little face when I look around the house.  Hopefully time will heal the hurt.  I have never been so humiliated in my life to have failed at such an epic level.  It is embarrassing.  It is not something easily shared here, even though I am pretty bold about sharing my opinions on other topics.  Personal failure is quite another story. 

Plenty of lessons have been learned.  Listen to Hubby.  Listen to your gut.  Doing the right thing might be an expensive lesson learned, but putting good karma into the world is more important.  The breeder said she had an interested party by Monday and I hope and pray that has worked out and that Fiona is getting lots of time outside playing and lots of time in a loving lap.  She is the sweetest dog in the world.

I want a dog...

So here is the saga of my dog.  I have wanted an indoor dog FOREVER!  Never had one growing up.  Never had one in first marriage.  Regretfully didn't take the opportunity to get one during my 'single' days.  (Disclaimer: we, Boy and I, did have an outdoor dog that we took in for a friend.  Festus. A basset  hound.  He was so cute and Boy loved him.)  I had/have the opportunity  to get a Toy Poodle from a co-worker.  Fully registered.  Crate trained.  So sweet.  Her name was/is going to be Fiona. Princess Fi for short.  You know she would have been/will be fully accessorized and fit in a purse to go with me everywhere. 


I am not going to bad mouth Hubby on my blog.  He knows how I feel.  I have made a few references on my fb.  But, that doesn't mean that I haven't messed with him at home.  About a year ago he bought this "metal art" dog for me.  Because he KNOWS how bad I want a dog.  He thought that would do the trick.  Well, it didn't.  I still want/will get a dog.  In the meantime, "metal art" Fiona has been making appearances around the house.  Normally, "metal art" dog stands next to "metal art" cowboy, Sam Sam the Six Shooter Man.   I didn't have the patience to figure out how to turn these pictures around on the blog, because they are the right way in my Picture Folder in my Documents Folder, just tilt your head to the right to see the full effect.

So in the meantime, I will continue to amuse Hubby everyday when he comes home and in the mornings when he wakes up by taking care of "metal art" dog Fiona.  Hubby has been quite impressed with my wit and I have to admit, I would agree.  Here's to Princess Fi....

Playing in the yard on a leash.

Waiting to be let out.

Morning feeding

Waiting to be picked up.

Negative or positive...

I read a post by a friend on fb today that made me stop and think about the tone of things I post on facebook.  The gist of the friend’s post was a suggestion for creating a new place for people to vent who are consistently negative in their status updates.  Hmmm.  I wonder what my percentage of negative versus positive posts are.  I am sure if we took a look at, say the last 4 months of facebooking and blogging you would find a split between me being really mad/angry about something and updating my Dad’s status, which would include praising the miracles we have been blessed with as a family. 

A couple of my most recent blogs have been really negative.  In fact, I took one down.  I needed to get it off my chest.  The people that needed to see it did. And after a while I just grew weary of seeing it in black and white. Staring at me. Reminding me that I was really angry.  I received some comments on it.  Some surprised me. Some didn’t.  One comment called me out about needing to come from a place of love and not letting other people control my emotions.  I admit that it stepped on my toes and kind of ticked me off.  After thinking about it for a while, I realized that it was true and letting other people have control over how I feel is not a good way to walk through life. It’s too short and precious to give people that kind of power.  BUT, it is my blog and if I want to get pissy on it and call people out, I dang well will, because it’s MY blog.

Now, back to facebooking. I think I have a pretty good mix of friends that post the good, the bad and the ugly.  My sister has been doing some pretty amazing updates lately.  She inspires me.  She’s the happy one in the family.  Low drama. Responsible. Caretaker of us all.  Shoulder to cry on.  Shopping buddy.  Wonderful wife.  Superhero Mom.  Then there’s me.  I just try to do my best.  Which brings me to the point of this blog.  Actions speak louder than words. Right? So if I am using facebook to get things off my chest and share my angst with my friends, those are just words.  What about my actions?  Does anyone on facebook “see” me send my two 75+ aunts and my 92 year old aunt cards in the mail every couple of weeks? Does anyone “see” the cards sent to my out of town friends? (Is there anything better than opening a mailbox and finding a card, just because?)  Does anyone “see” the text messages I send to my friends when I know they are having a bad day and want to let them know I am thinking of them?  The flowers sent to the friend in the hospital? Volunteering to cover Cafeteria Duty for another teacher, even though it is my most despised duty? The talks with Boy encouraging him to keep up the good decisions as he watches so many of his classmates making bad ones? The extra push given a student because you know they can do better? And the high five at the classroom door when they do better?  

I didn’t say all of that to toot my horn or pat myself on my back, but I wanted it noted that I do have a lot of positive in my life. Even when it doesn’t make it to facebook.