>Comfort in metaphor

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Jennifer Graf Groneberg faces a familiar journey in Road Map to Holland: How I found my way through my son’s first two years with Down Syndrome. I, too, had to suddenly change my perception, modify my hopes and dreams, and dig for information when my infant son’s blindness was diagnosed. Ms. Groneberg and I faced parallels in some of our thinking processes, and one of those was a constant re-interpretation of life metaphors.
The Holland metaphor in her title comes from an essay by Emily Perl Kingsley describing the paradigm shift when a baby is diagnosed with a disability or other life-altering condition. The well-known essay likens the thought process to planning for a vacation to Italy, only to find yourself in Holland instead. The destination is still beautiful, but it’s totally different from the original plan.
I’ve never been a big fan of the Holland essay and metaphor, although I knew at least one mom who posted it on her refrigerator as inspiration. Rather, I likened the challenge to expecting a car with automatic everything and then getting a manual transmission instead. The driver has to learn to shift gears quickly and smoothly, both literally and figuratively.
Groneberg hears and adapts other metaphors to her own experience. “Kids are like sandpaper” didn’t quite make sense at first. Did it mean raising kids is rough? Wears you down? Eventually she takes a more positive angle on this one, seeing her child as the sander who smooths out her own rough edges as he grows.
Groneberg’s journey with Avery paralleled my journey with Amigo in several ways. I kept nodding as I read, thinking, “Oh, I remember going through that.” But I also remembered that the first few years were the easy ones. Babies are babies, even when they’re disabled. Her twins’ story might be more interesting as they grow up, are forced to face their differences, and the biases toward Avery and his Down syndrome become more overt. Going through the IEP process, making transition plans, looking into job training, and more await the family in the years ahead.

My hope for the Groneberg family is that they will love and cherish all three of their children for themselves, their strengths, and their unique individual traits. Despite the difficulty of the first few years, I hope they can see their glass, however fragile, as half full rather than half empty.

For more discussion of this book and others, go to MotherTalk Book Talks and Salon.

MotherTalk provided me with a free copy of this book in order to read it and review it. If you’d like to read it, leave me a note in the comments that includes your email or a link. I’ll mail it out to the first interested commenter.

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>To sleep, perchance to dream

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Amigo and I were traveling somewhere in a big city, but I didn’t recognize the place. I just know it was a big city and vaguely familiar. We stayed in an old-fashioned red-brick hotel that felt homey, almost dormlike. By day we kept going from one place to another using different forms of transportation: cab, bus, walking, even a boat at one point. Once in a while we’d retrace our steps to go back to another place, say, for lunch or to get something we’d seen earlier. As the dream progressed, he kept losing his white cane. I’d have to be his sighted guide and walk him quickly, almost drag him, back to wherever we’d been to find and retrieve his cane so that we could go on. This happened multiple times, and by the time I woke up I know he had asked to be carried and I’d said yes. To envision this scene, you need to know that he is four inches taller than I am and at least as heavy.

When I woke up, I shook the cobwebs from my head and got started with my morning routine.
When Amigo woke up, he was shaky with discomfort and pain, asking for a bucket because he felt like throwing up. Again. Still. He stayed home from school and visited the doctor again.

Tonight, I hope I dream a solution or better, a cure.

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>Meanwhile, back at the Ranch…

>Two women so different in age, in size, in stage of life. Yet once again (cue the tacky music) our bras got mixed up.
Monday morning, of course. It couldn’t happen any other day of the week. I reached for my, um, garments and found — one of La Petite’s bras instead of my own. It must have gotten mixed up in the laundry. Once again I thought I heard it wailing in fear as I stared at it, wondering how the heck this happened? She’s slim and trim. I’m not.
Wrapped up in a shower towel, I headed for the drying racks in the basement and grabbed one of my own. It was still damp, so I pulled out the hair dryer and blew some hot air (no silly comments from the peanut gallery, folks) in its direction. Then I gave up, threw the bra next to the heat vent, and threw my pajama top back on. A few minutes later, after breakfast was on the table and I’d finished putting in my contacts, I picked up the poor mishandled undergarment and finished dressing for work.
Then the day began, I taught my Tigger-clones, spent an hour at the doctor’s office with Amigo, and came home feeling like I should be singing something from the Musical episode of Scrubs. Never mind which song. You don’t. Want. To. Know.
So now, I feel done. Done in, done out. Not quite together enough to correct math tests, but maybe capable of putting stickers on the penmanship papers.
I could consider this Laundry Revenge, but I didn’t plan it. Honestly. At least not this time.
I just hope La Petite has enough spares to get through until Final Exams.

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>to list, or not to list

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I should not, absolutely not, use the term “list” when we get on the ferry for the five hour trip to our ultimate destination.

I kept seeing recommendations and deals on GPS units on WantNot.net, Mir’s fantastic blog for bargain shoppers. I pulled one up onscreen the other day and asked Husband what he thought. Since we’ll be traveling through several states (at least eight) and then out of the country for a week, I wondered if it might be a good idea to have a little electronic help finding our way.
He said no. Absolutely not. In his view, it’s hard enough to ask a person for directions, much less take directions from a box with a voice. So…I’ll pack a U.S. map and look for an updated state highway map (free, if possible) as we enter each state and try out their rest stops.
He’ll also print out a Mapquest for each day’s plan before we leave home. The plus side of this is that we’ll also print out a Braille copy of the route, and Amigo can do his part to help navigate. White cane and all, our teen will be an active participant in the road trip. He’s a great believer in the slogan that getting there is half the fun!
But then again, the Mapquest I printed for today’s music festival landed me and my minivan in the elementary school’s turnaround for parents instead of in the high school’s parking lot four full blocks away…. just goes to show you, there’s always something.

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>The new addition

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No, it’s not another bunny. It’s certainly not another teenager, and don’t even think younger. I have a new coffee mug. Of course! You knew that right away. Didn’t you?

Everything in the gift shop was half price because it was the last game of the season. I picked this one over the other because it was a little bigger than the average coffee cup and because of the cool “fidget tool” on the handle. See that neat-o little hockey puck with the crossed sticks? It spins. My thumb loves it.

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>I can see the ground!! And — and — more!

>It’s not exactly aesthetically pleasing. Muddy brown, with old half-decomposed leaves, sunbleached boards that soaked up their share of snow for months, and a snake-like dead zucchini vine.

It’s not traditionally beautiful. The trellis is falling down, and that is an old broom handle leaning against the wall. One lone (dead) raspberry bush, if you can even dignify it with the term, stands weakly in the dirt, untrimmed last fall and uneaten by the neighborhood wild bunnies over the winter.

But walk around the corner and look closely. Not green, but red: the rhubarb is poking its head through the matted blanket of last fall’s leaves. Mmm. I can taste the muffins already.

Happy Love Thursday, everyone. I hope you’ll all see the sun, and soon.

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>Walk on, Girlfriend!

>My dear friend Sara is walking — walking up a storm in Chicago. She and a good friend are participating in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer this spring. Sara had breast cancer a few years ago, and she suffered through chemo, radiation, reconstructive surgery (twice!), and more. She is an amazing woman with a fantastic sense of humor and a limitless capacity to love and care for others. Sara and an artist friend designed and decorated this lion, titled Breast Cancer Survivors: Not an Endangered Species.
She is collecting pledges on the Avon Walk web site. Money goes for both research and treatment. In her words,

“For 2 days 4000 people walked for one cause. It was a remarkable weekend….We watched as 4 groups were granted a total of 4 million dollars. Half of that went towards research, which is vital towards finding a cure (for all sorts of cancers), and half went towards care for under-insured breast cancer patients. I carried you all with me as I walked. I am so grateful for your help.”

You can help sponsor Sara and her walking buddy by following these steps.

  • Go online to Avonwalk.org
  • click on “Make a Donation”
  • click on “Donate to a participant”
  • click on “Chicago, 2008”
  • fill in first name Sara and last name Wilda
  • click on “find a walker/crew member”
  • click on Wilda,Sara
  • click on “Click Here to Support Me”

I know your time and your money are valuable. My donations have been embarrassingly small — a drop in the bucket, so to speak. But if enough people put drops in it, the bucket will eventually fill. All of us who have been touched by breast cancer (personally or in our families) really appreciate your support, be it financial or moral.

I almost titled this post “These boobs were made for walking!” Then I thought of all the weird and inappropriate google searches that might wind up here, and opted for the cleaner and more appropriate title. Sara, however, would have laughed out loud at the first one!

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>Illness doesn’t have to be pandemic to matter.

>The annual IEP (in Amigo’s words, the I Eat Pizza) went reasonably well. Amigo at 16 has become much more self-confident in these meetings, and he handled quite a bit of it himself.

We went out for supper, decompressed, came home. Amigo did his homework, took his evening meds (for acne and for anxiety/tics), and went to bed. Almost exactly an hour later, he threw up.

We are the type of parents who analyze, worry, and then analyze and worry some more on the way to our decisions.

Analysis: his IEP caused him stress and anxiety.
Worry: Maybe his stomach wasn’t fully healed from its recent illness.
Analysis: The acne medicine upsets his stomach. He tossed his cookies about an hour after he took it.
Worry: Maybe we should call the doctor and ask for a change in meds.
Analysis: Being sick scares him. His Asperger’s style logic doesn’t let him calm down and heal.
Worry: This adds more anxiety, which upsets his stomach more. Again.
Analysis: He was exhausted and lacked appetite already on Sunday.
Worry: Was this a sign? And we missed it?

Decisions:
Keep him home for a day, let him rest, feed him bland foods, monitor (and analyze and worry) throughout the day. If he’s up to it, we’ll shop for a low-dose over-the-counter antacid. We’ll re-introduce the meds slowly, on a full stomach, well before bedtime, after consulting the doctor.

Upon further analysis, his illness continued for days, weeks, and eventually months. The local pediatrician referred us to the Big Children’s Hospital for a specialist and heavy duty testing. Amigo went through a week of gathering lab samples, only to have to do the tests over because the local hospital’s lab didn’t like the Big Hospital’s containers. These tests (you guessed it) showed nothing new, eliminated nothing from the list of possibilities.

Next up was a three day stint.
Day 1: prepare for tests.
Day 2: Travel to Big Children’s Hospital for Day Surgery, as the tests take place under general anesthesia.
Day 3: rest, resume some normal eating, rehydrate. Maybe, just maybe, start doing homework.

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>Savoring Spring

>When Jordan from Mammablogga proposed “Savoring the Season” for her next group writing project, I thought, savor what?
I live in Wisconsin not only because I was born here, but because I like it. I enjoy the seasons changing: the cool winds of autumn with colorful leaves falling all around. Sipping my morning coffee on the deck outside my dining room door in the comfort of summer. Winter, with its crisp, icy beauty, and the snow blanketing the world, sending us inside for hot cocoa topped with marshmallows and whipped cream.
But now, right now, I’ve had enough of winter. The snow that remains has melted and refrozen, with as much dirt and road salt in it as actual snow. The heaps in parking lots resemble glaciers, odd-shaped and huge, with a small trickle melting from beneath leading to the nearest sewer grate. It’s not pretty.
Something resembling grass lies matted flat, in shades of tan and brown, on soaked yard. I can’t see my garden yet or reach the compost bin.
It’s coming, though. I can smell it in the air. Or maybe that’s just mud…or the molds and spores thawing to make my allergies explode inside my sinuses.
Spring is on the way. I bought seeds! I have to be an optimist! The glass is half full! Either that or that drink I just poured has frozen in the sub-freezing temperatures that persist.
That wind — it’s a warm one, isn’t it? Oh, I give in, get my gloves. Any wind, though, will help melt or sublimate the remaining solid. Apply a little science, and I’ll feel better.
Winter? She’s a queen, and the queen will take her time before abdicating the throne to that young sprout, Spring.
And when spring really turns up, and the grass really gets green, and the compost is happening again, I’ll rejoice. And I’ll savor every moment.

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>Politics — as usual?

>It’s election day tomorrow — and IEP day for our family. This means Husband and I will plan ahead to get our voting done early, before we go to work, before we leave our respective workplaces to go to Amigo’s IEP.
We have concerns. He’s doing well in some areas, not so well in others, and we worry. It’s what we do. We ask questions that are not always easy to answer.
He has a Behavior Intervention Plan. How and when was that distributed to staff members who work with Amigo? (We know the answer to this one.) How can this be handled better in the future?
Are Braille materials available on time? (I hope for a yes answer, but I’m afraid it’s inconsistent.)
And the one that has us really worries now: He’s sixteen. We’re looking for transition plans and job training. So far, Amigo has signed up (with our help) for a job-training camp next summer, but we haven’t seen anything remotely related coming out of the school team.
After the meeting, we usually stop at a nearby, locally owned fast food joint for supper.
Amigo calls it an I Eat Pizza. The meeting, not the restaurant.
I’m glad he maintains a sense of humor. We’ll see how well I maintain mine. It’ll be easier if the line at the polls isn’t too long in the morning. Long enough for a good turnout, just not so long I lose before-school preparation time at my desk.

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