bina

This isn't working

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 02:37:34 GMT

This Isn’t working.

I am not comforted by my daily interactions with people. I continually question my ‘performance’ in any conversation and feel I am about as interesting to speak with as a piece of driveway gravel. Perhaps uninteresting doesn’t quite cover it, depressing is more appropriate. I know I’m depressing. I’m the Debbie downer for your party. I rain on everybody’s parade and if I try to do otherwise it comes off sounding unnatural and embarrassing. I rarely have a happy thought and so have become unaccustomed to happiness.

This is all sounding as though I’m very angry when in reality I’m just sad. If you haven’t guessed by now today was another doctor visit day. It was with a rehabilitation therapist this time, a young, handsome and quietly friendly man. I was struck by my inability to answer his questions. As the meeting wore on I realized his concern for my child seemed to out-weigh mine. Is it possible I’ve grown to not care anymore? Perhaps I’m confusing caring with action. He has a definite proactive stance that I lack. For a time I felt moved to accomplish anything our little son needed, now that feeling has disappeared. I feel neglectful and selfish, yes selfish. I’ve occupied a lot of my time recently with my wardrobe. I dressed stylishly for the appointment today perhaps hoping to make a good impression, or hide the fact that I am an incompetent care giver. I sat there in my cute little plaid pants and Peruvian alpaca poncho and I felt stupid and egocentric as I realized my failings.

Poor weight gain is always a big issue. On being asked how long it takes to feed him four ounces, I lied and said about an hour (in reality it’s more like 2). “That’s a long time” he said and concluded that most of our day is spent feeding. Yes that is true, but in order for me to accomplish other tasks throughout the day (including writing this wickedness) I often deprive him his needed nutrition. This I did not tell him.

He spoke about the possible need for a feeding tube, but to my relief scheduled us for a feeding workshop first. He also scheduled a wheelchair workshop but I won’t go into that.

This doctor in no way made me feel guilty about anything, I’ve already felt this way for awhile, right down to my faulty womb. It’s just today everything became blatantly obvious and disturbing. I don’t mean to sour anyone’s day by expressing my current feelings, but I always hope writing things down will in some small way help me with my insecurities. I honestly despise myself right now and apologize and ask that no one carry this weight but me. Forgive me for being silent for awhile, but I don’t think I can contribute to my friends or families needs in any positive way until I’ve worked out some issues.

good mommy day

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 07:14:09 GMT

My four year old wet his pants this morning. I was making lunches when I heard him say "I have to go to the bathroom". Usually I hear that phrase as he's dashing to the toilet but this time he just stood there. I turned to look at him. He was looking up at me with a horror struck face, a wet leg and a puddle forming beneath his feet.
Here is the amazing thing, I didn't get mad. It seems a terrible thing to be proud of, but it really is difficult not to get frustrated when your trying to get out of the house and a change of pants is required. Problem is, if you get angry your guaranteed to have several more accidents like it all week.
Nope, no anger this morning. I just got him to the potty, helped him out of his wet clothes and gave him all the hugs he needed.

Lyre bird

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 07:05:08 GMT

It's nature film day! My good friend Esther shared this one with me. It's funny too because my hubby and I were just discussing the evolution of talking/mimicking birds. This explains a-lot, as well as being too damn cool!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuFyqzerHS8

big feet, little brain

Tue, 15 Jan 2008 22:45:25 GMT

"He is very long" replies the nurse as she stretches my son out on the table. How did I get a long baby, I ask myself, and with such big feet? I strip him down to his tender pink skin and gently place him on the scale. A strapping twelve pounds eight ounces. "How much growth since last time?" I ask. She gives me the information in Kilograms so my preoccupied mind fails to comprehend the significance.

Enter the neurologist. Our dear sweet timid neurologist. From what I read she's a fantastic doctor with a poor bedside manner. She's never been mean but does tend to stutter some, which gives her a tone of apprehension. Today, despite her vocal quiver, she has many direct things to say.

Good news, his spinal tap showed no sign of metabolic condition. Ok, so all we're dealing with here is the damage that has already happened yes? No. A low oxygen event is a serious issue, it's effects are still continuing to be a problem. "There is something we call atrophy" she says, I nod my understanding but fail to fully grasp it's meaning in relation to brain tissue. She shows me a chart of his head/brain growth. He's already below average and beginning to level off. Atrophy, atrophy, atrophy repeats in my head. I'm reffered to an eye specialist, it seems his optic nerve could suffer from degradation due to his condition. Atrophy, atrophy, atrophy. His seizures are still an issue, and she lists off several drug choices. My head is swimming.

She then honestly, and more tenderly than I thought her possible, asks "how are you doing?" I break down, a blubbering sobbing mess. Just when you think you can't cry anymore it spouts forth like a fountain.

We conclude our visit with a new drug prescription and several referrals for therapy and vision screening. The nurse re-enters with some information, I suddenly notice she is pregnant. Aren't you terrified? I want to ask her, then realize the terror is all mine. I gather myself, the boy, our things, and quietly leave the office.

In response to the death of a friends father

Sun, 13 Jan 2008 23:09:06 GMT

So pause everyone, and put your hands to your ears. Listen ever so piously to the sound of a soul entering the universe. It is tragic, frightening, and beautiful. Our fragile terrestrial lives limit us to our known surroundings, it seems impossible to know any other existence. Only through our imagination and dreams do we catch a glimpse of this other world, a world through which our loved ones can touch our lives in a new way.
With damp eyes and heavy hearts we sit and ponder the future. What now? What to do in a world without our loved one? The answer ever so simply, comes from the soul itself. It is carried on the wind, an echo too gentle to be heard by our ears; but if we listen intently and with great meditation, it can be heard with our hearts.

rain

Thu, 10 Jan 2008 23:07:27 GMT

It's pouring like a waterfall today. I love the sound it makes on the roof and the sidewalk by my door. I watch it out my kitchen window while doing dishes and it helps the chore seem somewhat tolerable. Being inside, safe and dry, should be a blessing but I sometimes wish I were trapped somewhere in the pelting rain, wet and miserable. At least then I'd have something to blame my misery on. At home I'm often miserable anyway, as to why I can't directly say.
Perhaps a more positive use for the rain should be applied to my emotional fantasy. What a wonderfully cleansing thing to be doused by the rain, even more so if in the nude. I like the thought of racing wildly around my yard without a stitch on, the icy water stinging my skin and running down my body. Somehow I don't think my neighbors would feel the same way. So I stay put, feet planted firmly on the kitchen floor as I watch the rain fall outside my window.