A Little Bit of Humbug

This past week I attended a wonderful Christmas concert at my grandson’s playschool. Sixteen four-year-olds sang and danced as parents and teachers proudly watched and prompted respectively. The whole show was quite amazing, both in content and competence, much thanks to Mrs. M and Mrs. A – such a lot of love and hard work to bring them to this point. I was proud to be a member of that audience. That said, the reason I’m blogging is because of what happened before the concert.

Just a little thing, nothing earth shattering – or maybe it is. Let me explain. I arrived a little early,  before all but one other lady. Once inside the spacious coat/boot room, I stayed just inside the door as the moms, dads, siblings and grandparents arrived.

Being the helpful person that I occasionally am, I opened the door and held it when I heard others outside. The first family came in, mom carrying gift bags, dad carrying toddler. Another group arrived, I opened the door, smiled.  A third group – the same.

At this point I am beginning to feel a bit like a friendly Walmart greeter so I decided to keep some very informal statistics. For the rest of the arrivals, I opened the door, smiled, and attempted to make eye contact as people arrived. Out of the 40 – 45 adults gathered, only 8 adults acknowledged my presence by saying either “thank you” or “hello”.

I understand that people are busy and fitting a playschool concert into a crowded schedule is a challenge for some. Minds are not on the automatic door opener. I’m a familiar face to the moms and dads that I see twice a week as they drop off and pick up my grandson’s classmates, but invisible?

I know from volunteering in this same little class that the kids are cute as buttons but as pretentious as hell too, some with a very distinct four-year-old sense of entitlement which, in my own observations, the teachers handle with kindness, dignity and firmness. Manners are important in the classroom.

So, I’m wondering – Grown-ups, haven’t you ever heard of monkey see, monkey do? Or in more polite terms, do you not understand that you, as the adults in these children’s lives, are their first and most influential role models?

I do not think for a minute that I deserve accolades for opening the door, nor do I think even one of those adults meant to be rude. It just seems that consideration toward others, especially to those we don’t have a direct connection to, is a thing of the past. And I think that is really sad.

As we left, my daughter held the door for me. I automatically said thank you. She laughed, said it was a test. I guess I passed.

Boomer

As if being a woman of a certain age and having lived a somewhat June Cleaverish lifestyle, at least in the 1960s, isn’t enough, my generation fits into that recently despicable segment of society known as the Baby Boomers.

The Government of Canada defines Baby Boomer as someone born between 1946 and 1965, so why, when the first Boomer celebrated his/her 65^th birthday in January 2011, did the media proclaim that our economy would plunge immediately because a huge burden had suddenly been dropped on every self-serving 30-something, give or take ten years either side? Considering we’re healthier, wealthier and better educated than previous generations, and that most of us will continue working for many more years, there’s no need to get so excited. After all, isn’t 60 the new 40?

Baby Boomers were welcomed after WWII – cuddly bundles of joy into a world at peace. The Depression was over, jobs were plentiful and our parents raised their families in an increasingly affluent society. The Boomers thrived, schools were as overcrowded then as they are now, moms went to work, TV became the babysitter, and the Cold War scared the socks off everyone. The Boomers grew up, forsook their parents’ sensible shoes, wore sandals and beads and went to Woodstock.

Then they became responsible adults and earnestly strove to create a better world. Honest. We did our best. After the party that was the 60s for many of us, we settled down. We were good providers and we had great expectations for our children whom we fully expected would do better than we did. We worked hard to ensure that happened, and … it did.

The world we created has flaws, major flaws. Some would say we messed up. But we also made enormous strides in human rights, technology, communication, health care, transportation, infrastructure, comfort of living and quality of life. Major changes as well as simple benefits like maternity leave, mental health days and more than two weeks summer vacation to name a few, were imagined, fought for and achieved during the Baby Boomers’ tenure.

So, we’re getting older – off to the ice flow we go. We may have gray hair and some wrinkles and let’s face it, our eyesight and our hearing are challenged, but we didn’t suddenly become dumb. We offer love, support, experience, wisdom and the occasional handout. And most of us are still excellent drivers.

As seen in airdrielife magazine, Winter 2012/2014 (lifetimes column, p.59) www.airdrielife.com

Life Is Good

Good news comes in a tempered package. The results of our guy’s 24 hour EEG a couple of weeks ago were more than we could hope for. No spikes, no blips – there was no unusual activity happening in his brain. Wonderful news and his mom will learn what this means and what, if any, changes will ensue at an appointment with the neurologist tomorrow but since receiving the news, I’ve been feeling more optimistic than I have in the past five years. His future is less bleak. This is a step forward rather than backward, and life is good.

But, and there is always a but, it’s only a step, a rung up on his sky high ladder. His clear EEG measures the activity of a brain drugged heavily with anti-seizure medication. What would it look like without the meds? Maybe a gradual reduction is in order – the doctor will decide. The fact that his dosage hasn’t been increased since he was stabilized on these meds four years ago is a good sign. His growing body has gradually needed less to control the seizures as his weight and size have increased. Life is good.

Our boy will always be our boy. Other quirks go along with the syndrome. He is weak and tires easily but his heart doesn’t know this as he pursues his daily activities with enthusiasm. He’s the only seven year old that I know that puts himself to bed at 6:30 but knowing that his tiredness has followed a successful  and active day makes it okay. Life is good.

He has difficulty as school, but this year with the love and attention of a most excellent grade two teacher, he has grown by leaps and bounds. And he is happy to be at school again. Life is good.

Socially he’s a bit of an oddball, but he is kind and sensitive. He’s a lover not a fighter. He has a wonderful sense of humour, a unique perspective and he’s really, really smart. The other kids like him. He’s not a victim. Life is good.

Feeding him is still a nightmare. His sensitivity to textures and his unwillingness to try new things make us nuts. He doesn’t recognize hunger and if something doesn’t look right he won’t eat it. He eats a very limited number of foods and when he decides he doesn’t like an item anymore, we have to search for a substitute to keep him nourished. However, there are a few foods that he eats consistently including grandma’s buns so he won’t go hungry on my watch. Life is good.

Now, if only others could measure what this all means in a rational manner. The first comments after the EEG, even from those closest to our guy, are over the moon. “So good, he’s better, he’s cured, no more problems”. It puts a damper on the joyful news because no, he’s not cured. Everything is not alright in the sense that others refer to better and alright.

Often people lose patience with chronic illness and perspectives become skewed. A child’s struggle is hard to watch. It is easier to believe the illness is finished and that the quirks and the behaviours are due to something else – something with a practical and easy solution. It is hard to accept that what is, really is. These results are indeed wonderful news and I am filled with hope but there is a long road ahead before everything is “better”. However, we’ll take what we can get. Life is good.

March is Epilepsy Awareness Month - Grandma's Story

The future can turn on a dime…
 

 

Five years ago this month, on a fine, sunny afternoon, our guy, our second grandson, came to visit. At 2 ½ he was growing, thriving, learning, and he wanted to play and have dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. We welcomed the opportunity to spend time with him alone and were thrilled at his growing independence.

There was nothing unusual about this day, no clouds gathering on the horizon, no pictures falling off the wall, no birds in the house, nothing foreshadowing the events that were to follow. His mom dropped him off and he played with his toys in the living room under his grandpa’s watchful eye while I started dinner in the kitchen. Life was good.

Suddenly Grandpa was yelling – Something is wrong with C. Help!

I rushed to the living room to see my husband cradling our limp and unconscious precious baby in his arms. I took him and held him, noticed his body was twitching. His eyes rolled back, strange clicking noises were coming from his throat. I cursed, I prayed don’t let him die – help – please. I cried. I remember saying – call 911. How was I going to explain this to my daughter?

 He must be choking, I thought. I turned him face down across my knees, thumped him on the back, turned him over again and searched his mouth to see if I could feel an obstruction – all the wrong tactics to handle what was actually wrong.

But I didn’t know. Until this point, I had only seen a couple of seizures when I worked with children with disabilities. Out of context, I didn’t recognize what was happening. The seizure may have lasted for a minute or an hour – the fear of losing the little guy kept me suspended in time while I held his trembling body. I had never been so scared. My husband, who spent 25 years as a police officer, had never been so terrified.

 

Then our guy started to come around and I gently laid him on the floor and sat with him, stoking his forehead, his arms, desperately wanting to wake up from this nightmare. The paramedics arrived. His mom arrived. Off they went in the ambulance – the beginning of a very long journey.

 That moment, that blink of an eye, that turn on a dime, changed us all. Some of us were broken, some of us became stronger. Some pieces of our old lives survived, some parts were gone forever. Some of us were tougher and more committed than others.

This experience and the years that followed changed the core of my being. Until then I had always flown by the seat of my pants, trusting that things would work out and everything would be okay. Albeit naïve, it was a great philosophy. I became more responsible, more thoughtful, more organized, but less trusting, less secure, less optimistic. More sorrow, fear, and stress have been added to my life but also more joy, more appreciation, more determination, more acceptance. Bad and good combined.

Five years later, I persevere with the hope that our guy will have a rewarding future and an understanding that he will have limits. The trick is to find the right balance. Life is good.

Recently our guy had an appointment with the big guns, his pediatric neurologist. They see each other semi-annually to review progress, setbacks, drugs, symptoms, concerns, new procedures – all that worrisome stuff that never ends. It was a difficult appointment for his mom for reasons any mother would understand and for our guy because he will have to get some “pokes” (blood work) in the near future and he doesn’t like “pokes”.

But his sense of humour remains intact. When prodded by Grandpa (who should know better than to ask questions during a favourite television show) how his visit to the doctor went, our guy said, “He hit me with a hammer.” Subject closed. (Testing reflexes, I’m guessing.)

 For the adults in our guy’s life, the results of the appointment weren’t so much a surprise as a disappointment. His mom is a little more specific. She says, “In terms of kids with Doose Syndrome, our guy is doing well. Not great but not bad. However I got the "hard talk". The gap between C and his peers will continue to widen, his fine and gross motors skills will always be delayed along with his social, emotional and cognitive abilities…. One thing I know is that no matter what, he is one of the most inspirational, amazing men I know!!” How could it be otherwise? He has a pretty amazing mom.

Our guy continues to inspire me too. He is silly, he is fun, he is smart and he is quirky, mostly in a good way. He amazes me every time I see him. He has enough optimism for both of us which gives me the hope that one day people will understand epilepsy and not be afraid …that they will know that seizure disorders cause symptoms apart from seizures…that when a small boy finds it hard to line up at school, or misbehaves in a restaurant or at the grocery store, it isn’t a result of poor parenting but the consequence of a small brain misfiring and the effects of the drugs it takes to keep that brain on the straight and narrow. My hope is that those parents who hug their perfect children close and roll their eyes at our guy, come to realize that their lives too, can change, in the blink of an eye, at the turn on a dime.

 

http://www.epilepsycalgary.com

http://www.epilepsy.ca

Dog Blog

In August 2011, I blogged  And Then There Were Two. It was about the arrival of our new puppy Jake and how I thought it would be a good idea to get our other mini-dachshund, Lily, a friend. I thought it would make our lives easier by providing Lily with a playmate. Not sure why I thought she needed a playmate...if I'd asked her, she would have said no thanks.

Lily and Jake became great friends but there was an uneasiness in Jake. He was nervous, edgy, didn’t like to have his tummy rubbed, couldn’t stand anything around his neck. He backed away when I tried to pick him up. He didn’t trust me.

I took him to puppy class and he wouldn’t leave my side. During play time he hung out with the people and didn't want anything to do with the other dogs. The trainer said he seemed a little lost – she said I needed to find him a job. I could barely get this guy to walk on a leash let alone do anything that required training so we put up with his strangeness. He grew into a lovely, gentle, aloof guy with a collection of doggie neurosis that would choke a Great Dane. And then it got weirder.

In April, 2012, I found another dachshund puppy we called Clancy. Note I am not saying mini-dachshund anymore as both Jake and Clancy left that lofty group behind about six pounds ago and only Princess Lily remains below the 11 pound designation.  Clancy arrived as a result of “oh please, please, please, I’ve always wanted a wire-haired one and three won’t be any more trouble than two, oh please, please, please.” And so he joined our strange little group of four-legged buddies.

When we brought Clancy home, Lily rolled her eyes and went to sleep on the couch. She scowled at me a lot and if the pup peed on the floor, she turned her back in disgust. She had no mothering instinct whatsoever. Take him back where you got him, she seemed to say.

Jake, however, had found his calling. He was a natural mother. He followed the pup everywhere, cleaned his face, cleaned his ears, cleaned…well…everything. He let Clancy play with his toys and he backed away from the food dish and let Clancy eat first. He slept with him and he wouldn’t go outside, or come inside, without him. When the pup came for a cuddle, Jake was there too, making sure we were treating his baby right.

This new Jake was a little disconcerting at first but with a new purpose in his life he calmed right down. He had become a dog with a job and he took it seriously.  The flighty, nervous, squirmy dog we knew had transformed almost overnight, into a responsible canine citizen. And now that Clancy has grown up and is slightly heavier than his mother/brother, he gets a little grouchy when Jake pins him down and licks his ears, but for the most part, they are great buddies.

Jake is happy, cooperative, affectionate and confident. He now likes to have his tummy rubbed and his ears scratched,  and he has taken on a second job – when he isn’t being a mother, he’s a people walker.

 

My Favourite Course to Teach

I'm very pleased that my favourite course to teach is running again beginning on January 24th at the Alexandra Writers Centre Society. If anyone is interested, there are a couple of spaces left. It's a personal essay course but the word essay seems to intimidate people, makes them think of English classes in school, theses, carefully constructed arguments, strong academic focus. But it's not like that.

We all have stories to tell, incidents that we want to relate because for whatever reason they're important to us. They stick. We remember them clearly and they have a deep meaning for us personally. What we try to do in the course is take these personal stories and incidents – easily  relatable anecdotes – and discover why they are important to us, why they stick in our minds, why we think about them over and over, and what deeper meaning behind the emotion they make us feel is.

Possibly most importantly, we explore how we can make them mean something to others, how we can connect with our readers and make them feel the way we do.

 We talk a little about markets and submissions, and we read published essays and discover how and why they work, but mostly we write. Participants are required to do some writing at home, there is a workshop component if the participants request it and, because we're sharing our personal stories, we get to know each other well. Often participants from previous classed become firm friends and decide to keep meeting and writing on their own.

I'm always amazed at how much I learn from the people who come and write their stories. Participants have written about scuba diving, mountain travel in the Andes, a trip to Auschwitz, buying lingerie, selling the family van, false teeth, grief and survival, school bus safety, cleaning up doggie do, canoeing, cultural differences, eating disorders…topics are as diverse and unique and the participants themselves. And it’s always interesting.

So, if you’ve ever wanted to write down your own stories, expand their meaning, and rant a little, visit the AWCS website www.alexandrawriters.org    go to "what we offer" and look under 8 week courses for Our Stories: Personal Essays with Public Appeal and join us. I'm already looking forward to meeting a new bunch of personal essay writers later this month.