The news arrived today that some top folks at the hospital have agreed to meet with me to hear our story. It will happen in a couple of weeks.
My goal is not only to get my story heard and to find some sort of resolution to our issues, but to advocate for all women whose choices are removed and who are injured when protocol is not followed. I'm new at this and am planning and preparing a ton so that my presentation is clear, concise, and professional.
Cheer me on and hope with me for justice and the right things to be done!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Is This How It Is With Us & God?
So my son is teething. His top front teeth have been trying to come through for some weeks now, but despite hugely swollen gums, nothing else is happening. He's in a lot of pain, and that combined with his hesitation to sleep when he'd rather be spinning around in circles, made for a rough bedtime routine tonight.
I fed him, gave him pain meds, read to him, rocked him, and nursed him before laying him down the first time. He cried and cried and cried. And these cries were not angry ones, but pitiful and frightened ones. So after a few minutes, I went and got him. And rocked him and tried to nurse some more. He wasn't having it, but wanted to play, so back to bed he went so I could eat sushi with my husband. (Oh My Goodness, that was wonderful. Of course, we didn't get anything that had raw meat in it. Everything he chose was cooked for my sake.)
Grasshopper cried solidly and again they were not angry cries, but ones that let me know he really needed me. So we dimmed the kitchen lights and went and got him, taking turns holding him so we could eat. But when I was finished and went to rock him, he just wanted to move all over the place like a squirmy worm. I knew he was so tired and desperately needed sleep, and that if he would just relax and stop turning circles in my arms that he would go right to sleep. But he wouldn't, so back to bed he went as there was nothing he would let me do for him.
Finally, his cries were getting totally frantic and I could tell from the volume that he was now standing in his crib, facing the doorway. He needed me. So I turned off the living room lights, went and got him, and then came back and rocked him.
This time he was ready. He melted into my chest under his flannel blanket, sucking his thumb contentedly. Awhile later, I could feel the slow, even cadence of his breathing, letting me know he was ready to curl up in his crib by himself. He practically melted into his crib mattress too, curled up in a little ball before sprawling out on his tummy as I covered him with his blankets.
And it hit me. Am I like that with God? Does God know that I desperately need His comfort and rest, and want me to just melt into His lap so that He can give those things to me? But instead, I spend my time turning in circles, looking to other people and things for comfort, calling this person and that person never satisfied that anyone really understands me, doing a bit of retail therapy we really cannot afford, eating chocolate anything not thinking of how it will show on the outside of my body, refusing to just settle down with His Word in the quiet of my home. And I wonder at my unhappiness and unsettledness, confused and surprised that nothing is making me feel better. But then desperation sets in and I run to Him with overwhelming emotions, throwing myself headlong into His mercy.
Before I know it, I'm passed out in the rest and comfort He gives, finding my tense muscles melting into the original supple way He designed them to be. And I realize that this could have happened much sooner had I only run to Him first and let Him be my comforter.
And I wonder, does God see me as I see Grasshopper?
I fed him, gave him pain meds, read to him, rocked him, and nursed him before laying him down the first time. He cried and cried and cried. And these cries were not angry ones, but pitiful and frightened ones. So after a few minutes, I went and got him. And rocked him and tried to nurse some more. He wasn't having it, but wanted to play, so back to bed he went so I could eat sushi with my husband. (Oh My Goodness, that was wonderful. Of course, we didn't get anything that had raw meat in it. Everything he chose was cooked for my sake.)
Grasshopper cried solidly and again they were not angry cries, but ones that let me know he really needed me. So we dimmed the kitchen lights and went and got him, taking turns holding him so we could eat. But when I was finished and went to rock him, he just wanted to move all over the place like a squirmy worm. I knew he was so tired and desperately needed sleep, and that if he would just relax and stop turning circles in my arms that he would go right to sleep. But he wouldn't, so back to bed he went as there was nothing he would let me do for him.
Finally, his cries were getting totally frantic and I could tell from the volume that he was now standing in his crib, facing the doorway. He needed me. So I turned off the living room lights, went and got him, and then came back and rocked him.
This time he was ready. He melted into my chest under his flannel blanket, sucking his thumb contentedly. Awhile later, I could feel the slow, even cadence of his breathing, letting me know he was ready to curl up in his crib by himself. He practically melted into his crib mattress too, curled up in a little ball before sprawling out on his tummy as I covered him with his blankets.
And it hit me. Am I like that with God? Does God know that I desperately need His comfort and rest, and want me to just melt into His lap so that He can give those things to me? But instead, I spend my time turning in circles, looking to other people and things for comfort, calling this person and that person never satisfied that anyone really understands me, doing a bit of retail therapy we really cannot afford, eating chocolate anything not thinking of how it will show on the outside of my body, refusing to just settle down with His Word in the quiet of my home. And I wonder at my unhappiness and unsettledness, confused and surprised that nothing is making me feel better. But then desperation sets in and I run to Him with overwhelming emotions, throwing myself headlong into His mercy.
Before I know it, I'm passed out in the rest and comfort He gives, finding my tense muscles melting into the original supple way He designed them to be. And I realize that this could have happened much sooner had I only run to Him first and let Him be my comforter.
And I wonder, does God see me as I see Grasshopper?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Determination
There are a lot of things conspiring to get me to just give up. But today I decided something after being disappointed by an expert for the millionth time this month.
I am going to fight. I am going to be valiant. I am going to write my own story with the ending I want. Sure, I cannot heal my broken body on my own. But I can make other important decisions that shape me as a woman, a wife, and a mother. And I am going to listen to my Father God and use the wisdom and the heart He gave me. And I will decide. I will write a good story. And there will not be a victim in it anywhere. Just a good and true and valiant woman striving to love her God, herself, and her loved ones well. Fighting for justice, for healing, and for hope.
I am tired. But I am determined. Once again. At the end of my rope. But still hanging on.
If you want to hang on with me, as I know some of you have expressed, I'd be glad for the company. There's always room at the end of this rope for another hand or two to grip alongside mine.
Yes, this story is growing longer than I ever wanted. But it's good to be reminded that I am the author and I get to do the writing, even if I can't control all the characters. So this redheaded author is going to write a good story with a good ending. Even if it takes a million pages.
I am going to fight. I am going to be valiant. I am going to write my own story with the ending I want. Sure, I cannot heal my broken body on my own. But I can make other important decisions that shape me as a woman, a wife, and a mother. And I am going to listen to my Father God and use the wisdom and the heart He gave me. And I will decide. I will write a good story. And there will not be a victim in it anywhere. Just a good and true and valiant woman striving to love her God, herself, and her loved ones well. Fighting for justice, for healing, and for hope.
I am tired. But I am determined. Once again. At the end of my rope. But still hanging on.
If you want to hang on with me, as I know some of you have expressed, I'd be glad for the company. There's always room at the end of this rope for another hand or two to grip alongside mine.
Yes, this story is growing longer than I ever wanted. But it's good to be reminded that I am the author and I get to do the writing, even if I can't control all the characters. So this redheaded author is going to write a good story with a good ending. Even if it takes a million pages.
Sorry For The Quiet
It's been a little busy over here. A sick babe, multiple physical therapy and surgical and other medical appointments for the mama, guests from out of town, trying to find real help for the mama, and the usual tasks of life have kept me quiet. I'll write again soon.
In the meantime I'll leave you with this....
When a person is in need and you have a friendship with them and some ability to act (working hands, a working mouth, working feet, whatever), don't just offer words of solace or prayers, DO SOMETHING PRACTICAL AND TANGIBLE to let them know they are not alone in the world.
I would love it if some human out there could be that for me. But my prospects look grim. See to it that those in your life have better looking prospects today. =) A grateful redhead thanks you for making the world a less lonely place.
In the meantime I'll leave you with this....
When a person is in need and you have a friendship with them and some ability to act (working hands, a working mouth, working feet, whatever), don't just offer words of solace or prayers, DO SOMETHING PRACTICAL AND TANGIBLE to let them know they are not alone in the world.
I would love it if some human out there could be that for me. But my prospects look grim. See to it that those in your life have better looking prospects today. =) A grateful redhead thanks you for making the world a less lonely place.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Well then...
I'd like to get on here and say that life is wonderful. In reality, it is very hard.
British Columbia has no money for healthcare until next year. That means only a miracle will get me in for surgery before the new year. We're looking into paying for it, even though we really cannot afford it. We have a tiny bit in savings - for an emergency or for the beginnings of a down payment on a house. But I don't think I can keep going on living unless I get my body fixed.
No one seems to want to advocate for me, and I am learning how to work the rules of this crazy Canadian system. Socialism works if the government isn't broke. When it runs out of money, a screen door on a submarine is more effective at keeping out water than socialized medicine is at taking care of people.
I am low. I've cried out for help. But there really isn't much anyone can do. And people are tired of trying.
I am numb. Because really, if I allowed myself to feel what I'm feeling to its fullness, I would probably not make it.
So there you have it in a nutshell. Life is very hard right now, and I'm thinking that the only thing at the end of this tunnel is probably an oncoming train.
Don't you just love my optimism? Yeah. Me too.
British Columbia has no money for healthcare until next year. That means only a miracle will get me in for surgery before the new year. We're looking into paying for it, even though we really cannot afford it. We have a tiny bit in savings - for an emergency or for the beginnings of a down payment on a house. But I don't think I can keep going on living unless I get my body fixed.
No one seems to want to advocate for me, and I am learning how to work the rules of this crazy Canadian system. Socialism works if the government isn't broke. When it runs out of money, a screen door on a submarine is more effective at keeping out water than socialized medicine is at taking care of people.
I am low. I've cried out for help. But there really isn't much anyone can do. And people are tired of trying.
I am numb. Because really, if I allowed myself to feel what I'm feeling to its fullness, I would probably not make it.
So there you have it in a nutshell. Life is very hard right now, and I'm thinking that the only thing at the end of this tunnel is probably an oncoming train.
Don't you just love my optimism? Yeah. Me too.
Monday, July 13, 2009
And This Was Going To Be A Long Post
But my dear son is grumbling in his cradle, apparently only wanting to nap on me today. Ah, he will sleep when he's 18. Until then....well, at least he's cute. Here you go...
Friday, July 3, 2009
Today
Today is my birthday. I am 35. When I was a kid, I remember my brother and I having a conversation about how 35 was middle aged. Now that seems funny to me because I'm pretty sure 50 is the new middle aged, and I still feel like a kid who is playing "dress up" and "house".
It's weird to think about, but now that I'm a mom, I've discovered that it's okay to do work on your birthday. And now that I'm a wife, I've discovered that it's okay to cook your own birthday dinner and make your own birthday pie or cheesecake. Granted, we aren't celebrating until next weekend due to other scheduling commitments. But today I found myself doing dishes and laundry as if it were any normal day. Temporarily gone are the days when I lounged around all day and acted like a princess with no duties other than reading a book and eating chocolate. Things like nursing and changing diapers don't stop just because someone is turning middle aged. =)
I've been totally blessed today. My husband left me a special e-card on my computer to find this morning. A friend of mine - who just had her second child mere days ago! - called and left a sweet message and then took time to talk later. A blogging friend sent me chocolate and the coolest diaper clutch ever. The border wait was very long and hot, but despite bringing enough goods back into Canada that they could have charged me duty, they let me pass without a comment (and they were nice, which isn't always the case). My brother closest to me in age called me. And my parents are soon to be sending me a refurbished Mac to replace my aging and rather apoplectic one. It will have a built in camera so we can more easily stay connected and they can see Grasshopper's growth and latest accomplishments. And because it hasn't been dropped twice (and Lord willing, won't be), its battery will actually work without having to be plugged in all the time.
So I'm feeling loved. Now, if the cheesecake recipe I've dreamt up from my imagination turns out when I make it sometime in the next day or two, it will be perfect. (I'll let you know if it turns out. I have this vanilla/strawberry/ganache idea going on, and I think I know how to pull it off.)
But I do have a question. Does a person ever feel like a grown-up? Do they ever feel like they have a right to be sitting with adults and conversing with them as if they belonged there? I'm just wondering, because I still feel so strange in that one aspect of my life. An incredibly responsible nine year old who loves my baby spent the day with me this week to help out, and she plans to spend a day each week this summer spending time with Grasshopper so I can get work done around the house. I remember when I was her age or a little older, doing the same thing for a lady named Winona, among others I begged to allow me to help. The women who allowed me to do that are the reason I was totally fine with babycare for Grasshopper from the very beginning. They invested in my life, teaching me so much. I only hope that I was a blessing to them. It seems so surreal that now I'm the grown-up, investing in a child's life, helping her become a capable and skilled babysitter.
Anyway, that's my burning question. Do we ever grow up? Do we ever feel grown up? And is it a bad thing if we don't feel that way? I mean, is this like some sign that I've got some deep seated therapy-needing issues to work through? =) Is it possible to feel mature and be young at heart? And why is it that I feel less mature at 35 than I did at 19? Just wondering.
So this isn't a brilliant post or anything, but I just wanted to record today that I feel blessed. I am so totally imperfect and disappoint people (namely my husband) almost daily. And yet, people (especially my husband) love me and delight in me. There is a little boy sleeping in a cradle who will one day figure out how to call me mama, and he smiles a unique smile just for me. There is chocolate in my pantry and a cheesecake in my future. Yes, I am blessed. If I counted all the blessings of these 35 years, you would be reading a very long book. Life has been hard at times (even now), but it has also been very good (even now).
*******
In other news, I survived a special test a couple days ago that involved me drinking copious amounts of really gross barium and having an IV. Hopefully, it will help the surgeon see the path of the fistula. And then we just wait to hear when I get to have my turn having surgery. It will probably be at least a two-step surgery, and I'll probably still have to see another specialist for another birth injury issue that is currently putting a serious cramp in my outdoor loving style. It's going to be a long road, but I'm hoping to be able to celebrate next year's birthday at the beach with no fear of infection or having to have indoor plumbing within a few yards walk. And hopefully, my body will one day be healed enough that we can give Grasshopper a sibling. I'm hanging in there. There are days when I fall apart, but this week has mercifully been devoid of any of those despairing moments. And for that, I am so very thankful.
********
Happy late Canada Day. Happy early Independence Day. =)
It's weird to think about, but now that I'm a mom, I've discovered that it's okay to do work on your birthday. And now that I'm a wife, I've discovered that it's okay to cook your own birthday dinner and make your own birthday pie or cheesecake. Granted, we aren't celebrating until next weekend due to other scheduling commitments. But today I found myself doing dishes and laundry as if it were any normal day. Temporarily gone are the days when I lounged around all day and acted like a princess with no duties other than reading a book and eating chocolate. Things like nursing and changing diapers don't stop just because someone is turning middle aged. =)
I've been totally blessed today. My husband left me a special e-card on my computer to find this morning. A friend of mine - who just had her second child mere days ago! - called and left a sweet message and then took time to talk later. A blogging friend sent me chocolate and the coolest diaper clutch ever. The border wait was very long and hot, but despite bringing enough goods back into Canada that they could have charged me duty, they let me pass without a comment (and they were nice, which isn't always the case). My brother closest to me in age called me. And my parents are soon to be sending me a refurbished Mac to replace my aging and rather apoplectic one. It will have a built in camera so we can more easily stay connected and they can see Grasshopper's growth and latest accomplishments. And because it hasn't been dropped twice (and Lord willing, won't be), its battery will actually work without having to be plugged in all the time.
So I'm feeling loved. Now, if the cheesecake recipe I've dreamt up from my imagination turns out when I make it sometime in the next day or two, it will be perfect. (I'll let you know if it turns out. I have this vanilla/strawberry/ganache idea going on, and I think I know how to pull it off.)
But I do have a question. Does a person ever feel like a grown-up? Do they ever feel like they have a right to be sitting with adults and conversing with them as if they belonged there? I'm just wondering, because I still feel so strange in that one aspect of my life. An incredibly responsible nine year old who loves my baby spent the day with me this week to help out, and she plans to spend a day each week this summer spending time with Grasshopper so I can get work done around the house. I remember when I was her age or a little older, doing the same thing for a lady named Winona, among others I begged to allow me to help. The women who allowed me to do that are the reason I was totally fine with babycare for Grasshopper from the very beginning. They invested in my life, teaching me so much. I only hope that I was a blessing to them. It seems so surreal that now I'm the grown-up, investing in a child's life, helping her become a capable and skilled babysitter.
Anyway, that's my burning question. Do we ever grow up? Do we ever feel grown up? And is it a bad thing if we don't feel that way? I mean, is this like some sign that I've got some deep seated therapy-needing issues to work through? =) Is it possible to feel mature and be young at heart? And why is it that I feel less mature at 35 than I did at 19? Just wondering.
So this isn't a brilliant post or anything, but I just wanted to record today that I feel blessed. I am so totally imperfect and disappoint people (namely my husband) almost daily. And yet, people (especially my husband) love me and delight in me. There is a little boy sleeping in a cradle who will one day figure out how to call me mama, and he smiles a unique smile just for me. There is chocolate in my pantry and a cheesecake in my future. Yes, I am blessed. If I counted all the blessings of these 35 years, you would be reading a very long book. Life has been hard at times (even now), but it has also been very good (even now).
*******
In other news, I survived a special test a couple days ago that involved me drinking copious amounts of really gross barium and having an IV. Hopefully, it will help the surgeon see the path of the fistula. And then we just wait to hear when I get to have my turn having surgery. It will probably be at least a two-step surgery, and I'll probably still have to see another specialist for another birth injury issue that is currently putting a serious cramp in my outdoor loving style. It's going to be a long road, but I'm hoping to be able to celebrate next year's birthday at the beach with no fear of infection or having to have indoor plumbing within a few yards walk. And hopefully, my body will one day be healed enough that we can give Grasshopper a sibling. I'm hanging in there. There are days when I fall apart, but this week has mercifully been devoid of any of those despairing moments. And for that, I am so very thankful.
********
Happy late Canada Day. Happy early Independence Day. =)
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