And so it goes ...

The test of the immortal parent continued in March. My not-quite-yet 65 year old mother tripped and fell as she was walking into the house. It was almost exactly 1 month after she got her Medicare card in the mail in preparation for her birthday in June (no, she could not use it yet).

My parents have an enclosed front porch and there is a step up to get in the first door. My mom apparently did not raise her foot quite high enough, got caught on the step and down she went. As she fell, she hit her head on a decorative sled that was leaning against the wall ... if it hadn't been there, she would have hit her head on the brick wall.

And there she sat. Bruised forehead. Bruised ego. Really sore shoulder.

She didn't get up right away and tried to yell for my dad ... which is a joke because we make fun of the fact that my dad doesn't hear anything unless you're looking right at him and say his name first. But she was so shook up that she couldn’t get much strength behind it. When dad finally realized that something was going on, he came to the front porch and offered to help her up. She declined because, by this point, she’d gotten over the shock of falling and was ready to do it on her own.

When she got up, she realized something was really wrong with her shoulder. She called one of the physicians she works for to ask which orthopedic surgeon she was going to want to be referred to out of the emergency room. He told her to have the ER doctor call him and they’d work it out.

After x-rays and a hands-on exam, mom was told she had dislocated her shoulder and that it looked like there was a probable fracture of the upper arm. She did as Dr. B requested and asked the ER doctor to call him. Mom's arm was placed back into her shoulder and she was given a discharge referral to Dr. K.

The next morning, mom called Dr. K’s office and explained what happened. They told her to come in for 10:30 and they’d get her in as soon as they could. She was seen at 10:45. Apparently Dr. B had Dr. K paged first thing that morning to make sure that mom could be seen quickly. Dr. K looked at her shoulder and the x-rays. She had fractured the top of her humerus where it sat in the rotator cuff. Dr. K didn’t think she needed surgery and gave her some exercises to do for the next two weeks.

Long story short (too late?), six weeks and a trip to Dixie later, mom’s arm is doing well and Dr. K doesn’t think he needs to see her anymore. My mom sent out an email to friends and family letting them her medical status. My sister’s response???

YAY!!!!

Now you can come back down and help redecorate the kid's bathroom!!   :)

I didn’t respond to tell her that I was in line before her. I figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Hero. I'm a hero?

I went to a spa party tonight (it's kind of like a Tupperware party but with skin care products). While I was there, the hostess started telling everyone how I am her hero because I've been doing super-couponing and saving all of this money.

This isn't the first time I've been told that I'm someone's hero for one thing or another and it started me wondering ... am I a hero?

My definition of a hero has always been someone that faces danger while everyone else is running away. For instance, the fire fighters and police officers that ran into the World Trade Center on 9/11, definitely heroes. The passengers on Flight 93 that crashed the plane into the Pennsylvania field, heroes. The photographer that grabbed the bank robber, hero.

But these comments got me thinking.

I know my daughter considers me one of her heroes. She always wants to emulate my actions which is a sign of flattery. But other grown ups have told me this.

I was called a hero this time because I have been figuring out how to play the couponing game. During the last 6-8 weeks, I have been learning all of the ins and outs of coupons and how to get the best deal without breaking the rules. I brought my grocery bill down from an average of $550/month to only $283 this month and I have personal products to last a while. Impressive but heroic??

I have also been called a hero because I have figured out how to provide real meals and food for my family in a very simple manner rather than ordering out all the time ... in addition to working full time and running all over the country taking my daughter to one thing or another six and sometimes 7 days a week. Again, impressive but heroic?

I wouldn't consider myself a hero. Heck, take one look at the mess around my house and you'd probably say the same thing. But, then again, maybe Superman's house isn't tidy and clean because he's always flying off to save Lois. Maybe Wonder Woman stops at Target every now and then to pick up a couple more articles of clothing on her way home from the latest Steve Trevor rescue because she hasn't had time to do laundry in, oh, a week or more. Yeah, that could explain it.

When I start thinking about my definition of hero, I realize that maybe I'm being a bit too narrow-minded and boxed up in my thinking. Could I possibly define hero as being a single parent who works more than one job to support the family and make sure there is food on the table and clothes on the backs of the children? Yeah, maybe.

So, how would what I'm doing be that much of a stretch from the heroic acts of a single parent who wants to avoid welfare? It probably wouldn't but I don't see myself as a hero. I still put in my hours at work followed by my hours at home. I make sure my daughter has breakfast and lunch to take with her in the morning. I make dinner 4 or more nights a week. I save money on the non-perishables so that I can spend the money necessary on the perishables that don't go on sale very often.

Hmmmmmm, OK, so, I'm a hero. What letter should I wear on my chest?

9 years ago ...

9 years ago, my life was very, very different.

9 years ago, I was pregnant with my son, Jeffrey.

9 years ago, my husband made me pretty much completely miserable during my entire pregnancy because he was no longer the center of my attention. He didn't talk to me for the first two months after we found out. It was so bad that I was ready to pack things up and walk away if he hadn't improved by the time my birthday rolled around. This was something I hadn't told anyone but my closest girlfriends at the time and I highly doubt they would have said anything to him about it. For my birthday, he bought me my maternity wardrobe so I thought he was finally coming around. He seemed to get a little excited for a while about the baby and, when we found out it was a boy, he was over the moon for a couple of weeks. But he was disappear more and more to go to the track at night. I would ask him to bring me ice cream so that he'd have to come home early. As the due date approached, he started really scaring me. During the last couple of weeks before I delivered, he talked of running the truck into a telephone pole and killing himself but making it look like an accident so that Jeffrey and I would have his insurance money. He was concerned that we weren't in the right place financially to have a baby. He also swore to himself that he'd never bring a baby home to an apartment and we were still in an apartment.

9 years ago, I came to conclusion that I might not be anywhere near my sister's league where my mom is concerned when I told my parents that I was pregnant and they looked like they wanted to crawl out of the restaurant and run away. I could see it in their eyes that they were not happy about what I'd just told them. They were so unhappy that they met us for dinner a second time to apologize. They brought me a quilt that was made for my mom when she was pregnant with me. As my mom would be sitting there holding the lifeless body of my son, she would apologize for not being more excited.

9 years ago ... At this very moment, I was staring at the TV not paying attention to what was on or what was being said.

9 years ago ... 9 years ago, I lost my baby boy. Tomorrow he would have been 9yrs old.

Jeffrey was my first and, as luck would have it, the pregnancy was generally normal. No major complications during the 42 weeks but there were some minor complications.

At 36wks, Jeffrey was still in a breach presentation. Since he had not yet begun to drop, the doctor did an external cephalic version (ECV) to turn him head down. That means that she and another doctor manipulated my abdomen by pushing on it and physically forced him to turn around so that he was head down. It was a rather uncomfortable couple of minutes but the only risk it really posed to me or the baby was the possibility of early delivery due to a ruptured placenta. I then had to wear this 12" Ace bandage type of gizmo, a.k.a. the girdle, around my abdomen to keep Jeffrey from flipping back around.

I also developed a rash that pregnant women get called PUPP (pruritic urticarial papules and plagues). PUPP occurs in about one in every 150 pregnancies and characterized as itchy, reddish, raised patches on the skin that will go away after delivery. It was one of the most uncomfortable periods I can ever remember. I would pretty much bathe in cocoa butter just to stop the itching. So I would slather on the cocoa butter, put on one of my husband's t-shirts, and put on my 'girdle' and I'd sleep sitting up on the couch. I don't remember why I was sleeping sitting up but my instinct tells me it was because I suffered from a great deal of heartburn during both of my pregnancies so that may have been the reason.

My due date was April 9. That day came and went and my Jeffrey had not made any move towards the exit. I was going to the doctor twice a week now and they were checking for various things but by feel as well as using their in-office ultrasound. Nothing concerned them so I felt completely at ease.

On April 19, I had a feeling that I can't really describe even today. The doctor scheduled me to be delivered on Tuesday, April 24. I would arrive that morning and begin the process. I don't know if it was the fact that I was just plain tired of being pregnant at this point or if I actually sensed something was wrong but I asked if there was any way we could do it sooner and he said he wanted to give the baby the chance to do it on his own. OK, there wasn't anything to be concerned about so we can wait.

On April 21, I was sitting on the floor when my son started to kick up a storm. I did the usual mom thing and complained to him about how hard he was kicking. I know now that was the moment he died because, although I continued to do the kick counts here and there, I really didn't feel him kick or move after that even though I felt something that made me think he was moving.

On April 23, I began to go into labor. Knowing that we had time so we went to breakfast and then called the doctor. Rather than make us wait, she had us come right in. By lunch on April 23, I knew my son was gone. I have never really liked my name but I absolutely hated hearing the doctor say it when she told me.

I laid there crying for the rest of the day. What else was I going to do? They gave me all of the drugs I needed so I wouldn't feel physical pain since there was no concern for the baby's health; however, they didn't give me enough drugs to dull the emotional pain.

On April 24, I woke up early enough to see the sun rise. I looked out the hospital window and noticed that the trees didn't have much in the way of leaves yet. I started crying right away and my husband woke up. He asked if anything hurt and I told him it was just my heart.

Jeffrey was delivered still on April 24, 2001 at 1:32pm after a 42wk gestation. He was 9 pounds 3 ounces and would have weighed more if he'd survived or if I'd realized what had happened earlier. He was delivered normally rather than c-section because, as the doctor explained to my husband, they didn't want to give me a physical scar in addition to the emotional ones. (My husband would tell me much later that he was glad they didn't do a c-section. At the time, though, he just wanted me to not be in so much pain.) The doctor said that the cord was wrapped tightly around his neck twice and he believed that was what killed him so we didn't do an autopsy.

My husband made the initial arrangements for the funeral home to pick up our baby. We would go back after I was out of the hospital to bring the clothes we'd packed to bring Jeffrey home. That is the outfit he was buried in. I also gave them a stuffed animal my sister had bought for him since we expected him to be with us for Easter just a couple weeks earlier. I didn't want him to be alone.

When I was released from the hospital, my husband took me to a park because I didn't want to go into the apartment. I noticed that in the couple of days that I was in the hospital, the leaves had come out on the trees. I have always felt the leaves were a sign of Jeffrey. (I also see a mourning dove and think of him but that's another post.)

This week has been exceptionally challenging because of all of the stuff in my post from yesterday plus my husband is out of town until early, early Sunday and there's changes happening at work. So, besides my daughter who would take excellent care of me if I were to break down in tears, I am alone this year for my son's birthday. It's a lot to take when you're already emotional. I also think the emotions have been overflowing because the Spring has been very warm this year and the leaves have been out for more than a week. Last year, I barely noticed the date until it was THE date. This year, I've been building up to it and the only reason I can think of is because of the damn leaves.

At least one good thing came out of the loss of Jeffrey. I found one of my very best friends. She lost her son on April 19 and we met on a bulletin board for grieving parents. Now, I know they say to be careful of people you meet online (and boy were they right! jk) but, after 9 years, she knows just about everything about me and there's not much I can't say to her. Love ya, Nik!

Tomorrow is Jeffrey's birthday. He would have been 9yrs old. Happy Birthday, Jeffrey. Momma loves you and misses you soooo much!

I'm being irrational, right?

My parents are planning on moving from Cheeseland to Dixie. The way they are talking, they are planning on doing this before next Winter because this last Winter was just too much for senior citizens.

Why Dixie? Because my sister lives there with her family. My mom will tell me that she really liked Dixie when we lived there for 11 months 30 years ago but I believe it has everything to do with the fact that my sister is there. I mean, they're considering buying a home in the same subdivision as my sister. How could I think anything else???

Why do I believe that? Because my mom and my sister have had this special bond their entire life. I am and always have been an outsider in their relationship. My relationship was with my dad who, as he's gotten older, has withdrawn more and more since he really can't hear anything. I have tried to build my relationship with my mom. We have gone to plays downtown. We have gone to the Wisconsin State Fair. We did the Breast Cancer Walk. We took my daughter to see a children's performance of Aladdin. We used to go to big craft sales. I have said she should let me know when she wanted to go outlet mall shopping but I never hear anything. She never calls me to do anything.

Why do I think I'm an outsider and not just the way my mom is? Because I can be sitting in the same room trying to participate in a conversation they're having and can't even get their attention.

Moms love all of their children equally, don't they? I have always wanted to believe this but I'm at the point that I'm realizing it may not be the case.

1. When I told my mom that I was pregnant with my son, there was almost no reaction from her. A couple weeks later, they met us for dinner to basically apologize for not reacting. When my mom was holding my son before the nurses took him away and I never saw him again, my mom apologized to him for not seeming very excited about him but that she really did love him.

2. My daughter was born a couple years later, 5 months after my nephew. My mom gave each of them a book called "At Grandmas". My mom wrote in my nephew's book "To the love of my life" and in my daughter's book "To the other love of my life". My daughter and my husband have never noticed this inscription. I did and it eats at me all the time. I tried to convince myself that it was because my nephew was the first live-born grandchild so he was more special ... then my niece was born.

3. When my nephew was younger, my sister and brother-in-law lived in Michigan. My mom and dad would make great efforts to get over there for long weekends. They would babysit, at my sister's house, for my nephew. I would get the same number of visits but they would be for 2 maybe 3 hours at a time. My mom would use the excuse that my dad was tired or they'd plan to drive out to Rockford to see my aunt. Then, mom didn't understand why my daughter wasn't as comfortable with them as my nephew was. Gee, Mom, maybe it's because you don't spend any real time with her and you never do anything with her. This has improved in the last few years. They have never babysat my DD in her own house where she's more comfortable; it's always at their house.

4. My sister moved to Dixie. They go down there 2 or 3 times a year for 4-5 day weekends. The last time they were at my house was in January because my sister was in town for work and they were going to dinner with us. (It has to be noted that this meant that they'd have to drive back to Cheeseland in the dark. Whenever they're visiting with my family, they've got to leave to get home before it gets dark.) Before that, it for my daughter's birthday in December and I had to beg them to hang around for more than just breakfast with us. Before that for her christening and I had to beg them to come down for more than just the mass. Otherwise, I go up there and sit in their family room and talk.

5. My niece was born. She's a sweetie but my mom talks like she is just the greatest thing since sliced bread. G can do no wrong as far as my mom is concerned. Actually, outside of my nephew's temper tantrums, neither of the kids can do any wrong. I do not know if she talks the same about my DD to my sister or not.

6. My parents' dog ripped up my bathroom door in September when I watched her and I tried to get them to come down for a day to replace it when my daughter was out of school so that I wouldn't have to take more time off of work. They were already going to Dixie to help my sister after she had surgery on her toe. They never tried to reschedule it with me and the door is still ripped up.

7. When my DH scheduled his golf trip, I tried to schedule a couple of days for them to come down and help me around the house with painting and electric repairs. They've done quite a bit of this work for my sister in all three of her houses. I have only asked a couple of times for this assistance. I asked a couple of months before he was leaving. In March, my mom dislocated her shoulder and broke her arm. They scheduled a trip to Dixie during the week that DH would be gone. I figured that it was just because my mom wouldn't be able to help me and that they had forgotten I was also wanting help with woodworking and electrics. I was trying to give my mom a hard time about going to extreme lengths to not help me with my painting. She made the comment "well, you always want to schedule it around when [DH] isn't going to be home." That really hit from out of nowhere.

DH is not the most friendly person and neither is my mom. So, I think they're both waiting for the other to make this huge, grandiose effort that will never come. I believe he has a bit of social anxiety and he really only opens up when he's had a few beers. My parents are not drinkers. My mom feels that DH doesn't want them here. DH never says anything of the sort and, in his way, tries to make them welcome by offering drinks, asking questions about stuff around the house, talking politics, talking sports.

Based on the recent comments about how DH doesn't seem to want them here, I have come to believe that my mom was not happy about DS because it would forever link me to DH. I have come to believe that my mom is not as happy about my DD because she is half DH.

Now, when they move to Dixie, based on the comments about DH, I am wondering if my parents will EVER travel to Flatland to see me. And, if they do, is it only going to be for a couple of hours after their flight lands? Am I going to have to do all of the traveling for my DD to see them? And how much is that going to cost me at a time when I'm trying to pay down my debt? Plus, right now, I don't get enough vacation time to make more than one trip a year. And how am I going to explain it to my DD, who now loves to go to Grandma's House, that Grandma and Papa have moved 900 miles away so we can only seem them once or twice a year but they live less than 5 miles from her cousins and they get to see them every day?

I'm being irrational, right?

This too shall pass

My cousin and his wife are having a baby. I am very happy for them. I have been invited to a baby shower for them on April 18.

They've been married for 4 years and have been trying since they got married to get pregnant. And they've been successful ... more than once. Unfortunately, his wife (would she officially be my cousin-in-law??) has a problem with uterine fibroids and she has miscarried each of her pregnancies.

This is the first time she's carried the baby past the first trimester. They've announced to the world that they are having a baby. They are due in July. They are having a boy. There is a baby shower this month because she may be on bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy. When this pregnancy is done, she will most likely have a hysterectomy so this really is their only chance to have a baby.

However, because of the fibroids, there is a chance that there may be something wrong with their son. My cousin doesn't want to know. His take on it is "and what are we going to do if there is something wrong with him?"

So, they are going through this pregnancy with the stress of knowing that their son may not be healthy, knowing that their son may not make it, knowing this is their last chance regardless of the outcome. I know the stress of two out of three of these stresses; although, there's always a chance the baby will not be healthy or that the baby may not make it. This is a reality that no one really talks about.

I wish I could be happier for them than I am. I am worried for them, of course, but that is not from where my hesitation comes. My hesitation comes in the name they have chosen for their son ... Jeffrey Edward. You see, that is the name of my son who was born on April 24. The anniversary of his birth will be just 6 short days after the shower.

It's such a simple, common name and, yet, the name brings up such emotion in me. They mean no malice. They probably don't even remember that this was the name of my son for they weren't married at the time we lost him. They may not even remember I have a son. They are simply naming their son after the grandfathers.

My cousin (his mom) is very upset about the name they have chosen and feels caught between a rock and a hard place. She can't ask them to change the name of their son and, yet, she remembers that this is the name of my son and worries about how I will react. I am grateful that someone remembers him. So often it feels like I am the only one that remembers him.

I wish I could say it doesn't bother me but it does. But, as with everything surrounding my Jeffrey, this too shall pass.

The Immortal Parent (Epilogue)

My dad does have an aortic aneurysm. It is 3.7cm in size and not big enough to operate on. Because my dad is in good health and does not have high blood pressure, the doctor doesn't want to see him about the aneurysm for another 5 years at which time they'll measure it again.

The Immortal Parent

Reality has come to Flatland. My parents are mortal ... or, at least my dad is mortal.

This week we were delivered a crushing blow ... 'they' think my 85 year old dad has an aortic aneurysm. The 'they' in the story is the Veterans Association. He uses them for the routine medical stuff to save money. Unfortunately, the wheels of the VA move about as quickly as the wheels of justice.

My dad went in December for a check up and they heard something with his heart and wanted x-rays to check it out. Well, it was right before Christmas and realizing he'd probably forget to go after the holidays, he went right upstairs and got them done.

Just as he figured, he forgot about them.

About 6 weeks later, he gets a call that they want to do a cat scan of his heart for more information. He asked when the results would be ready and was told later that week or early the following week. 10days later, he hadn't heard anything so he tried to call. The calling thing went on for a few days until he got ahold of one woman who said that if he didn't hear from Nurse Bitch #1 (OK, so the woman on the phone didn't actually call her that but I am) by noon the following day, he should call her and gave him her name and number. Well, Nurse Bitch #1, that he was told would give him his results, finally called but said that she couldn't give them to him and that he needed to talk to Nurse Bitch #2 (again, my name).

Frustrated, he went out to get the mail after hanging up and there was a letter from the VA telling him he had another test (probably an MRI) scheduled for Tuesday and an appointment with the Department of Cardiac Surgery on Thursday.

My dad, now freaked and furious, calls the VA again. He gets transferred all over (which only makes him angrier) and finally gets a guy who tells him "If I were you, I'd call the Dept of Cardiac Surgery and ask what you are being seen for." He does and finds out that he's being seen for a potential aortic aneurysm.

Now, these can be very dangerous. Depending on where and how large, they may be able to put a graft in or they may not even be able to operate. If it's small enough, they could decide to keep it monitored. My husband's uncle died of a ruptured aortic aneurysm while driving a few years back. On the other hand, a friend's dad has had one for 2 years that they're monitoring because it's small and not growing. The good news is that it was found before it ruptured because there are almost no symptoms with this ailment.

The kicker of the whole thing is that NO ONE has talked to him about it. NO ONE has told him what he should do until it is confirmed and/or treated. Should he take it easy? Should he just be lying down all the time? Should he be running a marathon? Should he be making sure his affairs are in order (which we already know they are)? He most probably has a ticking time bomb somewhere in his torso and no one from the "successful" social medicine experiment known as the VA has talked to him about it ... but they've set up appointments for him. In the two months now since the x-rays, he has shoveled snow, done his woodworking side business, exercised for the sake of his health, painted, tiled, and gotten the house ready for sale in the Fall. Could any of these things caused the aneurysm to rupture?

While I am overwhelmed by fear and anger and sadness, I can only imagine what he is feeling. I mean, my head knows that my parents are human and they're going to die someday. At 85, I should be happy for the many, many years I have had with my dad. But, down deep in my heart, in my gut, I secretly hope they're immortal and will live forever. This event has made me realize this. It is a bitter pill to swallow because I want more. I'm not ready to say goodbye but this has forced me to acknowledge the fact that I'm going to have to ... someday.

So, there you have it. My dad is mortal. My dad is human. I'm just desperately trying not to freak out about it.