Fall Term 2010

It's hard to believe I have been back in school for one full year!  My goodness how time flies.  I am only two credits away from applying to nursing school.  Yes!

This term I'm taking it easy and only taking two classes.  Western Civilization (which is towards my general A.A. degree - which if I earn it makes it that much easier for my BSN on down the road) and Anatomy and Physiology II.  A&P II seems like it will be much easier than A&P I which was last term.

My daily schedule has changed a bit as I'm tired of drinking coffee after midnight.  The lack of sleep the last year has been rough!  So, I'm trying something new.  Now anyone that knows me knows several things:  1. I am not a morning person and 2. I am never early for ANYTHING!  However, I've decided it is far better for me to get up exceedingly early than to stay up exceedingly late.  So, I'm working on going to bed earlier and waking around 4am to start my day with a workout and then studying before work. 

I've also started Weight Watchers, so I take a packed bag of food everywhere with me.  I'm happy to say I have lost nearly 30lbs so far and my new schedule seems to be going really, really well.

I will attempt to update far more often.  Now it's off to study and get my homework done. 

I Thought I Had Experienced the Week from Hell

(Image from Life Magazine, showing a woman sorting through her belongs when unable to remove everything prior to being evicted from the home she was renting after the owner went into foreclosure.)

In my last post, on February 16th I posted about having the week from hell. Little did I know it was not even remotely close to being truly that which was created by Lucifer - until the following evening.

Now, I'm going to post this as I feel some awareness must come about regarding the issue.

My parents rent. They were living in a home they had rented for over five years when a notice was posted on the door informing them the home was in foreclosure and they had 24 hours to get out. (This was posted on Ash Wednesday. They had until 2pm that Thursday to be moved out.)

Well, my mother, being a fairly reasonable person and assuming other people were equally as reasonable thought she could call and speak with the realtor about the situation and at least get the 90 days provided by the new "Protection for Tenants Act of 2009" - umm, yeah, not the case. What she was told is a letter providing that information was sent to her home via US Postal Service addressed to Occupant. OCCUPANT?!?!?! You mean like those mass mailings asking if they can buy your house?? Like those??? Yep, that's what she thought too, so if she received it, it was filed under G for Garbage! Unfortunately, because she did not respond to the mistaken garbage in the ten day period allowed, Fannie Mae was proceeding with evicting her from the home.

Ever experience an eviction? Ever know anyone who has? It's not a pretty sight and something, after seeing it first hand, can only be a practice in fascist states, oh and the United States of America.

Basically we had less than 24 hours to pack a 3000+ square feet home. Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, formal living room, family room, formal dining room, eat in kitchen. . .you get the idea, it was filled with stuff. Lots of stuff gathered over a nearly 36 year married. A lifetime of memories filled my parents home and those precious memories were under threat of being tossed in the yard for vultures to pick over.

The first few hours were utter chaos. We had to try to secure another home, secure movers for the next morning, buy boxes, buy moving supplies and on yes, try to get everything into a box!!! We started on the house hunt first which was a lot of dead ends. Finally, we found one that would "do" - it wasn't ideal but it was close to where I live which would be great. Problem - that is nearly 30 miles from where all this "stuff" was currently located. Another problem, it couldn't be shown until the next morning. OK, fine, we make an appointment at 11am to go see the house. The movers are scheduled to be at the house at 8am to start loading. The sheriff's department is scheduled to be there at 2pm. Can we get it done before they get there?

We kick into high gear, packing. The kitchen took nearly 8 hours to pack. The hutch in the dining room, another six hours. Precious items from my mother's childhood, her mother's dining room table, her grandmother's dining room table, my childhood and of course, more current "keepsake" items were frantically packed into misc scrap fabric my mother had in a quilting bin. I placed different religious items in each box, trying to bring some form of holy protection over these items my mother had held so dear for so many years. One box had a cross, another, a rosary. I made it to the top shelf and found I had a pair of underwear, a toilet seat cover and a few pieces of satin to wrap the last items - those being statues of angels, Jesus and the Virgin Mary. I couldn't bring myself to wrap Jesus Christ in a pair of old tidy whiteys and certainly couldn't put the Blessed Virgin in a toilet seat cover. Off to the material bin I went to find some appropriate wrappings. At this point it was nearly 3am and I was exhausted. So was my mother, brother and my brother's girlfriend.

Luckily, we needed more tape which required a quick run in the cold night air. The only place open was Wal-Mart. I never shop at Wal-Mart. A marriage into my husband's family requires a signed contract saying no purchases will be made at the store that has caused so much problems with the American economy and is a major source of corporate corruption and greed. However, it was 3:30am, we needed tape (and doughnuts) so off to Wal-Mart we went. While we were there we cashed in on the opportunity that they were doing shelf stocking and grabbed a few free boxes to add to the collection of 75 we had to purchase for nearly $3 per box. The next morning, as we were packing we found we needed another 25 boxes and ran quickly to purchase them as soon as the Uhaul/Storage store opened at 7am.

We were down to the wire. We were running on no sleep, the house wasn't quite halfway packed, the garage was sure to be a full day of work and the sheriff deputies were due in less than seven hours! Panic set in. We started just throwing things in boxes, filling them and taping them faster than any move ever made on the face of the earth. We called the new "landlord" and asked if we could move our appointment to 10am rather than 11am. She agreed. The movers called to say they were lost trying to find the house and they wouldn't be there until close to 9am. On a day when everything really needed to be on time - nothing was.

The movers pull into the drive right as we are walking out to rent the other house. At this point we decided no matter what the house looks like, if it has a roof and a couple rooms, it will do! To my surprise, when the movers pull in they are driving a pick up truck with a trailer that is somewhat like a "horse trailer" or at least close to the same size. Obviously a four bedroom house is NEVER going to fit in that thing. They say they can call in a second crew with a second truck. I told them to do it and move quick - we've got to get this stuff loaded!

Mom and I jump in my van and take off to meet the new landlord. We drive nearly 90mph to make the nearly 30 mile trip to the new house. It's a small house, only about 1300 square feet and older, built in the 1970's at the latest (I'm leaning more towards the 1950's) but it's clean and it will do. We give the landlord cash, she starts to call references and we head back to the old house. After another 90mph trip back, we find the second moving truck is no where to be found. The house is still sitting with over 3/4's of the stuff, the movers are just sitting in the full truck and my brother and his girlfriend are busting balls trying to get the rest of the stuff in boxes.

Panic mode #2 sets in. The movers say they couldn't stay because there is no destination for the stuff. We explain there is a destination, we are in the process of securing it and if they had a larger vehicle and did what they signed on to do, they would still be loading a freaking truck while the lease was being drawn up. Now we've lost an hour of time getting stuff on a truck. I frantically start calling new movers. I line someone up but the can't be to the house until after 1pm. Right as I hang up with them (this is about 12:30) the sheriff deputy pulls in. He says the "crew" and the realtor will be there around 1:30 and the "eviction will begin."

That's right, we have less than an hour. The entire task seems hopeless. Absolute chaos breaks out. We are shaking, crying, throwing things into boxes trying to cram it all in. A lot of walking around wondering what to do is taking place as the entire task now seems overwhelming and we know we will never, ever hit the deadline given.

Sure enough, 1:30 rolls around. The realtor arrives with a locksmith. The realtor's "moving crew" consisting of six individuals that couldn't speak English and were obviously from some sort of daily labor pool arrive. They run into the house and law enforcement tell us we can no longer enter the house and must stand at the street. My mother leaves to go sign the lease and have the first movers follow her. My brother, his girlfriend and I are left there to just stand and watch as all of my mother and father's belongings are thrown into the front yard. We are told we are not allowed on the property and must stay on the street side of the sidewalk. We watch as desks groceries are smashed on the driveway. Family photos are thrown on the hard ground. Our worst nightmare is taking place - everything hits the grass with a thud, only to have these individuals run back inside to fill their arms with more things to toss them out into the yard like trash.

Personal, private items are on display for anyone to see. Our new moving crew shows up but they are not allowed access to any of the stuff in the yard - only items that overflowed on to the sidewalk. They start loading the best they can. Eventually, the house is completely empty with nearly every belonging my mother and father had blowing in the wind. We were finally allowed back on the yard to start sorting through. Honestly, I felt it must have been like those who experience natural disasters and home destruction. I found myself walking the yard, picking up baby books, baby pictures, framed family photos, artwork my father had created over the years, dried flowers saved from loved one's funerals, in addition to daily living things like computers, printers, shampoo, etc.

I started slipping. With my mother around I knew I had to hold it together for her sake; but with her gone, I fell apart. My brother stepped it up and organized the effort, creating a triage like area for items unsorted, then two different sides - one for items to be kept, the other for items that would be left behind. Our truck was filling fast and we only had one trip to get it all. Once we left, anything there was considered public domain and surely wouldn't be there, not to mention we were losing time and weren't sure there would even be time for a second trip. Once piles were sorted we then had to prioritize the keep pile so items that were of most importance made it on the truck.

The realtor's "moving crew" made some decisions pretty easy considering they broke many things - like two desks, bookcases, electronics, etc.

Our movers crammed as much as they could in the truck. I loaded my mini-van to the brim with items we really wanted to make sure didn't get broken. We plucked my mother's Dale Tiffany lamp I purchased her a few years ago for her birthday out of the yard - thankfully, we saved it!

After all was said and done, we had to leave behind a lot of stuff. It was probably one of the worst experiences I have ever been through and it wasn't "my stuff" - well, it was a lot of my memories though.

Now, over a week later, the shock is wearing off. Life is moving forward. Mom and dad are still unpacking but they have a roof over their heads and I think we saved most of the important stuff.

The Week from HE Double Hockey Sticks Continues

So last week was a really tough week. Unfortunately, this week isn't showing much sign of being much better; but I'll continue to hope. :)

NTP is working TONS of hours. It's really tough when he's working so much as it doesn't leave much wiggle room in our already tasked schedule. Today, I wasn't aware he was "at work" (not working out of the house) and I couldn't find him. Of course, his cell phone wasn't working - yeah finances have been stretched to the limit and it was actually cut off for a little while - it's working now! I wasn't sure if he was picking up the children. I leave work at 4pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I can make it to class on time. Well, I ended up running home between work and school to see if he had children. Luckily, he did but it made me too late to make up my poor quiz grade from last week's madness. We can drop one test from the term, so that's my drop grade.

This week the test is on muscle identification. I MUST do well. So, tonight is going to be an all nighter, or pretty close to it. I also have Statistics to complete and a paper on a healthcare article to finish by tomorrow.

Oh yeah, and tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, so it's a church evening.

Did I mention Ethan has been ill?

Have I said that my work has exploded? mmhmm

Ok, enough for tonight. I'm off to learn great things about all our skeletal muscles and then crunch some numbers and critique our healthcare system.

Night!

First Late Assignment

Well, it happened. The week from utter hell happened and I was unable to keep up. The good news, I scored a 90% on my A&P exam and was 1 of the 6 A's in the class. The bad news, my life exploded with a husband working overtime, a sick baby, a necessary car purchase and unexpected computer issues. All of which prevented me from getting all of my Statistics homework complete. I'm late! :(

Since I've been back in school I haven't had a single late assignment. In fact, I haven't had a single grade that was less than an A on any assignment. I'm really kicking myself for this. Fortunately, I think I can complete the assignments and still receive a B which shouldn't have too big of an impact on my A average, or at least I hope it won't.

Tomorrow I must really put my nose to the grindstone and complete as much as possible. I will absolutely not allow this to happen again.

Now, it's time to go cuddle the sick baby and get a few hours of sleep.

Whew, I Feel Better

Last night I was feeling a bit discouraged, but a good night's sleep has helped with that. I feel refreshed and ready to tackle my many tasks today.

Of course, I can't help but wish I lived up north where a snow day would keep me home so I could take care of the Chapter of Statistics I need to finish, the paper I need to research and write for my Intro to Healthcare class and of course, learning all the bones of the body for my Anatomy lab quiz tomorrow. But, I digress, I live in sunny Florida, so I'm packing up the laptop and books and hoping I can get some power studying done on my lunch hour at work.

Tonight the family is suppose do to go to NTP's parent's house for dinner (Wednesday night tradition). I think I'm going to have to stay home to try to get everything done. Perhaps I'll try to use a vacation day tomorrow.

I CAN Do It!

Right now I'm stretched to my absolute limit. I thought last term in school was tough, but this term is proving to be much more challenging. My class load is only three classes (10 hours) but it is the classes I chose that pose the difficulty.

Human Anatomy and Physiology is proving to be the most challenging. It's not that the material is THAT difficult, but it's extremely time consuming to retain all the information necessary to make an A in the class. (I refuse to settle for less than an A.) I just completed my first of five exams in the class tonight and I feel absolutely exhausted. I must have spent nearly 20 hours studying and I didn't walk out feeling it was a "for sure" A on the test. I'm not sure how I'll feel if I earned less than an A on this test. I've been back in school for almost a year and thus far, I have not earned a single grade lower than an A on any assignment. This is my big class, this is the most important for the nursing program - a B is going to be really difficult to swallow on this test.

Second is Statistics. I've always been extremely strong in math, so I chose to take Statistics online. It is an extremely challenging course full of terminology that is like trying to read Greek without any former knowledge of Greek. But that's not my biggest challenge with the subject; I can learn terminology, I can work problems. I'm logical and math relies on logic. My biggest challenge with the class is I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO INTEREST IN IT! I think this is the first math class I've ever taken that I found absolutely boring and dull. I have a difficult time focusing my attention on the material when I find it this boring. Thankfully, I'm still maintaining an A in the class; I just can't wait until it's over.

Lastly is my "easy" class - Professions of Caring aka Intro to Health Care. I'm also taking this class online and it is the least time consuming, least demanding of the three. However, I have a few projects that are gearing up for the course which I'm going to need to devote time to interviewing individuals. I need to interview a current RN, an elderly person and a college advisor. While the work will not be difficult, it will just be a challenge getting it worked in to the already packed study hours I have.

I sound like I'm complaining. I'm really not. I'm so thankful I have the opportunity to go back to school. I'm thankful I'm able to maintain good grades and work towards my end goal. I just feel very burnt out tonight. Between work, school, the baby that won't go to bed and cries as soon as you lay him down, the late nights, the long days, the early mornings of getting up to get a few extra hours of studying in before starting the day, weekends spent of skipping birthday parties and family gatherings, sitting at a desk with the nose in the books. I'm just tired.

I know in the end it will all be worth it. I know once I have my degree, I pass my boards and I look back at the sleepless nights and the zombie days, I'll feel a huge sense of accomplishment for all my hard work.

Tonight, I think I'll try to go to bed early (yes, it is after 11pm, but this is early these days).

Spring Term Is Here!

Well, last term was extremely challenging. Yes, I was crazy, I took 19 credit hours. Looking back on the term, it was a blur. It went faster than the speed of light but I made it through and I feel a very strong sense of accomplishment. With everything on my plate I was able to still earn a 4.0!

Of course, I mustn't pat myself on the back too much; as spring term is here. While I've taken fewer credit hours (only 10 this term), I have some very time consuming classes - Statistics and Human Anatomy and Physiology I.

You know the class is going to be tough when the professor says on the first night of class, "forget about sleep" and then in another breath says, "your employer is my enemy, as they want your time but I want your time more."

I wonder what he would say about a husband and children? :)

The Frustrations of Going to College at 32

Most people would think the frustrations of college at the ripe age of 32 years old would be lack of time, working full-time or juggling all the responsibilities that go with marriage, parenthood, employment, mortgages, etc. However, none of those seem to be my trigger points. My frustrations are with my fellow student - "kids" that are just barely 18 years old, have little to no responsibility, have mommy and daddy paying for school and have very little vested interest in being there. They are willing to get by with the minimum amount of study, the smallest amount of effort and just fly by the seat of their pants.

The most frustrating thing I see, which truly makes me feel my age, is the lack of respect - texting under the desk during lecture, looking at those that have one or two grey hairs as if they have no idea what they are talking about and being full of pure laziness.

While I know not all individuals in this age group are this way; I can say the majority that are currently in my classes are. It's going to be a long term if I must partner with individuals that speak like valley girls and have no idea how to even take a pulse.

I'm not frustrated about my obligations. I have no problem with the late nights of studying, the lack of sleep, the huge amount of reading, the squeezing small amounts of time in with my children, the not having much time to be a wife to my husband or the exhaustion of working 40 hour work weeks along with night classes - it's my fellow students!!!

One Down

Well, I did it! I completed my first term back in college and I achieved my 4.0 - all A's! Yeah!

I feel very accomplished with earning straight A's. While I was only taking three classes, it was still a challenge with juggling work, school and family. I really enjoyed all my classes, but my favorite was my Ethics & Critical Thinking class. It made me realize that if I felt I could find a job in it; Philosophy would be a pretty fantastic major! Unfortunately, I don't know of many options for people with a Master's in Philosophy - unless it is teaching. I've checked out professor's salaries and it's just not that hot. Perhaps part-time, in addition to another full time job, it would be ok.

Fall term is going to be even more of a challenge. I'm taking 19 credit hours, which is full time status. I'm also working full time and of course, am a full time mother and wife. I just really need to get through these pre-req's so I'm moving full steam ahead!

I'm taking Biology, College Algebra, Humanities - Renaissance and Baroque, US Government, Understanding Religious Traditions and Fundamentals of Speech. It should be an interesting and challenging term.

I'm on break until August 31st. Until then, I'm going to enjoy the time with the family.

Monday, Monday

I've seen these done on several other blogs so I decided I would do one also. Basically it is a record of my daily activities for a typical day. So here goes. . .

6:30am - the first alarm goes off. NTP hits the snooze button and I continue to sleep undisturbed.

7:00am - NTP makes his first attempt in waking me. It is often failed. For the sake of having the "ideal" day I'll get up.

7:00am-7:10am - Stop by the bathroom and empty the bladder. Put the dogs outside, make a bottle for the littlest one, a sippy cup of milk for the three year old and start the coffee. Take the bottle back to NTP so he can give it to the littlest one, pop in the three year old's room and place the sippy of milk and give her the "here's your milk when you're ready to wake up" warning.

7:10am-7:30am - Sit in front of the computer, reading email and such, sipping coffee and getting awake. Remind the seven year old to take his medicine and eat breakfast.

7:30am - Go back into the three year old's room and sing the good morning song. At this point her blanket is pulled over her head and she is saying, "Not yet." Indeed she is her mother's daughter. Place two outfits on her bed so she can choose which one she wants to put on (this avoids a half an hour fight about what she will be wearing - if she can choose, it all goes smoothly.)

Go to the kitchen, pack lunch, pack the diaper bag and put on the crockpot or pull food out of the freezer for the night's dinner. Grab another cup of coffee.

7:45am - Back to the three year old's room for the second half of the good morning song. At this point she is willing to wake up and start getting dressed. Grab clothes for the littlest one so NTP can dress him while I shower.

8:00am - Finished with the shower, dress, brush out hair and let it air dry. Look at the three year old and remind her that her shoes are on the wrong feet. Fill to-go cup with even more coffee, put mini laptop and school books in book bag (just incase I get out of work late and have to go straight to school), grab briefcase/work laptop, fill water bottle and lunch bag and head out the door for work.

8:15am-9:00am - Fight traffic on the 528 to get to work. Luckily it's a short 15 minute drive to work (10 if I'm lucky) and head into the office.

9:00am-5:00pm - Work

5:00pm-5:15pm - Drive home for a quick dinner with the family.

5:15pm-6:15pm - Feed the littlest one in the highchair while enjoying dinner with the family. Make coffee and take some with me to school for the night.

6:15pm-6:45pm - Fight traffic on the 528 to the 417 to the 408 to get to school. Call my mother on the drive to school to catch up on the day's activities.

7:00pm-9:30pm - Classes

9:30pm-10:00pm - Drive home. Call NTP to see how the night unfolded with the children. Ask him to put on a pot of coffee.

10:00pm-12:00am - Work on homework and studying. If I get finished early I'll turn on the DVR and watch one of the recorded television series I like to keep up with.

12:30am-1:00am - Bedtime to start the cycle all over again.

This routine is fairly typical for Monday - Wednesday. Thursday's I dont' get the opportunity to come home for dinner with the family as my classes take place at a different campus; so I have to leave straight from work to school.

Friday's I don't have school, so Friday evenings are with the family. :)

I'm not quite sure why I felt the need to do this and I have no idea who will find it even the slightest bit interesting; but I'm posting it. Ha ha!

Of course, this is the ideal day in my life. Waking up late often throws the entire morning routine off schedule.

The Talented Shirt Maker

His life of five years had been short but filled with the training that would carve out who he would become. His father saw the skills his young son had in shirt making, the talent, the gifts; the dollar signs. He pushed his young son to be the absolute best shirt maker he could be.

Soon others took note of how beautiful this young boy's shirts were. They raved and poured on the accolades. Soon, everyone wanted one of the boy's shirts. Almost instantly the young boy was a famous shirt maker. His father continued to push him; often resorting to abuse to get more out of the boy.

As time went on the boy developed only his abilities to create beautifully crafted shirts. While this was a great talent; other areas of his development were neglected. His only friends were his siblings. Of course, being in the public eye it was extremely difficult to make true, long lasting friendships. While he did receive an education from private tutors and his scholastic knowledge grew; his social development was greatly retarded.

He longed for playgrounds and kick balls. He wished only to play hide and seek in corn fields and catch fireflies on warm summer nights. Those were mere dreams though; his purpose was to make shirts and he often spent eight to ten hours per day making shirts.

His father's scorn scarred his boyhood. The poor boy never felt his work was good enough. He never felt he was good enough.

The boy grew into a teen and then an adult. His early years under his father's grip passed and soon he was on his own. His shirt making skills were advanced and he was soon known as a great artist, a fantastic creator. Unfortunately, the boy's self esteem continued to decline. He had feelings of inadequacy. He was unable to see the talent and gifts he was able to give the world, as all he could hear in his own mind were the words of his father; driving him to be better.

Soon, he was known all around the world. His shirts were the top selling shirts in history. While this pleased the boy, the void remained. He attempted to fill the void with things money could buy; after all, he had plenty of money. No matter what he purchased, no matter how much money he made, he never felt he was good enough.

This pattern went on his entire life. He sought out the acceptance of others; never truly accepting himself. The dissatisfaction with himself grew until it hit a breaking point and he began mutilating himself. With his desire to be perfect, he scarred his exterior as his interior was scarred. As time went on, the shirt maker was mocked. His scars from the mutilations were the source of many jokes.

The regard for him went from fantastic artist to instant weirdo, sicko and freak. This drove him to seek perfection even more and his behavior became even more extreme. These extremes resulted in character judgments.

Unfortunately, the boy never recovered from the torment of his life. He yearned for his lost childhood until the day he died. While he was a beautiful artist; his internal struggle never ended. His name was known by many on earth; but few, including himself, actually knew him.

The Big V

Well, my husband and I have made a life changing decision. We have decided our littlest one will remain our littlest one, forever. At the end of this month we will go to the urologist to discuss the big V.

This decision is fueling an internal conflict with logical CAM vs. emotional CAM. Logically, this is the absolutely best choice for our family. I'm in school for the next five or more years. I'm currently perusing an AA and AS degree, perhaps fast tracking the ASN to a BSN. My end goal is a Master's Degree in Nursing. Pregnancy is something that would greatly conflict with this goal and only delay my progress.

The cost of daycare continues to rise. In two years we will get a break as our daughter will begin school which will mean we only have one left in daycare. With the current state of the economy, we really need the bonus of not having double daycare dues.

NTP has arthritis. This is not an easy disease to live with. Some days are peppered with great pain and stiffness. Some days it's difficult to walk. Lifting and caring for a baby only gets more difficult for my loving husband as each year passes.

Our home is small and modest. We currently have children doubled up in bedrooms. As they grow, more space will be needed and adding another head to shuffle through our small space is not something that even seems remotely fair to all that reside here.

My body does not do well with pregnancy. I know, most women say this. Pregnancy is difficult for anyone; but my health is extremely poor during pregnancy. I am considered high risk due to my weight problem and the fact that I start with severe gestational diabetes very early in pregnancy; typically in the first trimester. This requires multiple doctors on the case, one for me, one for the baby, dieticians, insulin shots, food logs, ultrasounds every month, non-stress tests and constant monitoring. And that just covers pregnancy and not the birth where I would be having yet another c-section. I've been extremely blessed that all but one pregnancy resulted in a beautiful, healthy baby. Anything more and I feel it is just a gamble. The loaded chamber will eventually fire.

It all looks perfectly clear on paper that this is the correct and logical decision to make. Yet last night when reminded of the upcoming appointment, my heart twanged instantly with the thought of never having another baby. If all of the above weren't a factor, I would have another in an instant.

So, our decision is made. I'm quite sure, in time, my heart will catch up with my mind.

Grieving Birth

It's taken me many years to finally stop grieving my lost birth experience, nearly eight to be exact. I'm finally over the fact that I did not get to naturally birth my children, as I had always wanted.

During my first pregnancy I was, of course, slightly scared of the birth process. As typical CAM style, I took a deep dive into anything and everything I could read about birth. I studied, I formed my own opinions, and I wrote my birth plan with the intentions of having a hospital birth with the least possible medical interventions. I began looking forward to bringing my son into this world with this amazingly spiritual, physically empowering process. "I am woman, hear me roar!"

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The alarm went off at 7am. I rolled over and hit the snooze button, snuggled back down in my blankets and went back to sleep. Yes, I needed to be at work but I was tired! I was close to the end of my nine month journey and hoped there would be some slight understanding for what my body was going through - after all - I was tired because I was in the last lap of the growing a human marathon.

I woke up with a jolt and jumped from bed. It was 8am. The "oh my God, I'm really late" feeling set in. As soon as I stood up, there was the gush. The warm fluid ran down my legs and made a small puddle on the floor beside my bed.

"Did I just pee? Is this really it?" I asked myself. I rushed my 37 week pregnant body into the bathroom - yes this meant that while I thought I was rushing, I truly was only going at a snail’s pace. As with everyday during this pregnancy, I immediately had to throw up. Morning sickness does not always go away during the first trimester and I was blessed with having it every day, multiple times a day, during my first pregnancy. I did the typical morning pee and turned on the shower. I had to get cleaned up if I was going to go to the hospital today.

As I showered, the excitement of the day unfolded in my mind. In a few hours, I would be holding my son. In an even shorter period of time my body was going to do what it was meant to do; birth a baby! While I had fear of the pain to a degree; I knew I could do it and was excited about the challenge.

Fast forward, to the hospital. We arrived and it seemed there were many babies, like my son, that wanted to come on the same day - labor and delivery was full! A bed was placed in a triage room and that's where I stayed. No, it had none of the fancy bells and whistles of the new delivery rooms with their DVR players, big screen TV’s, comfortable bathrooms, etc. but it was ok. Being my first baby, I had not planned a water birth (although now, I do wish I had) and I wasn't interested in watching CNN, soaps or the latest DVD blockbuster while birthing my child. I was fine with my modestly simple room.

The contractions started and were about five minutes apart. I was dilated to 4cm and felt good; well as good as you can feel in the beginning stages of labor. During contractions I concentrated in controlling my pain. I withdrew into myself, searched for that inner strength and as each one finished I felt a sense of achievement, "one more down." I thought about this little blessing, this little new soul I was about to meet and the excitement grew. I thought about the final prize of the hard work my body was enduring - this precious baby boy sent to me to care for, to teach, to love.

I had been in labor for about two hours when the doctor ordered pitocin. I was a gestational diabetic and he said he wanted to "avoid a c-section" so was going to use "aggressive pitocin" to get this baby out. Everything I read was contrary to this thought process, but I was the one in the bed and he was the doctor voicing orders over the phone. I didn't have the opportunity to even ask him about it and it seemed my birth plan wasn't of concern to anyone but me!

I consented to the pitocin feeling I really had no control over the situation anyway. I figured I had regular contractions, my water had broken, and it will be ok.

My family was around me. My mother, father and brother all joked with me about the things my body was doing. We laughed, giggled and some tears were shed as we looked forward to meeting this newest member to the family.

In addition to the pitocin, they added internal fetal monitors. This was actually the most painful part of my labor. Hours passed, the pitocin induced contractions were more and more intense and often my inner withdraw was interrupted by a nurse running in the door giving the reminder that it would take at least an hour after I ask for an epidural to actually get it. I understood and I replied each time with I didn't want an epidural, I didn't want pain meds, I didn't want the IV pitocin - "I'm fine, let me do this my way." She would leave but would come back every little bit with the exact same reminder. They continued to check my progress and I remained at 4cm. My cervix wasn't budging. I wanted so badly to get out of the bed, walk a little bit, get off my back and sit up, give gravity a chance to assist; but was told it would be far too dangerous for fear the cord would fall in front of the baby's head cutting off his blood supply.

Time was a blur during labor. I realize she probably wasn't coming in every five minutes asking me about getting the epi - but it felt like it!

The contractions got closer and closer and more intense. I was handling them, focusing with each one, often feeling like I was no longer a participant in the room but in my own little world where it was me verses the pain. The nurse came in during a very intense contraction and gave her standard epi warning, again.

During my labor I had not been the angry birthing mother, yelling, screaming, using profanity - I had been very calm. However, this last question was the final straw she drew me out of my battle for a moment and my fight was no longer focused on the pain, but her, "If I say yes to the fucking epidural will you stop coming in here and asking me to take it? Just give it to me so I can labor in peace!"

She put the order in and my eight hour battle against the contractions was over. I tried to put a positive spin on the epidural - maybe it would give my body an opportunity to rest, dilate further and birth wouldn't be that far off. I no longer could really tell the intensity of the contraction, other than watching the machine. I could feel the tightening and a slight twinge of pain, but it certainly didn't compare to those which required my active involvement prior to the epi. The scene in my head changed, from me being the fighter, to standing on the sidelines, sword at my side and watching Mr. Epi fight my battle for me. It was disheartening, but the excitement of meeting my son superseded any grief I felt about Mr. Epi being my proxy.

Two more hours passed and I was still not any further than 4cm. The doctor decided I had labored long enough. He saw dips in the baby's heart rate and decided a c-section was needed.

At 8:20pm my beautiful son was born via c-section. I had no idea that with the very first cut, all my hopes in dreams for this amazingly spiritual, physically empowering birth experience would be gone. But they were.

----------------------
Time passed and I was terribly sad about my c-section. I took the energy in mourning my birth experience and invested time into researching what I could do to reclaim the experience should I be blessed with another opportunity. I read about VBAC. This is what I wanted! So when I found myself surprisingly pregnant with my daughter, I sought out an OB that had published papers on the benefits of VBAC. I went to his office which was a very large OB practice and spoke to them. My dreams of ever having a vaginal birth were crushed - due to insurance legislation passed in my state; the hospitals had made it policy that they no longer allowed VBAC's to take place.

This sealed the deal. My fate had been decided with that very first cut in 2001.

My next two c-sections went pretty much as planned with the exception of the dates. My doctors always insisted on scheduling them; however, the only thing I'm EVER early for, is the birth of my children. Both my daughter and youngest son came around 36 weeks.

In the last ten months, since my youngest was born, I've had an acceptance over my lost birth experience. It isn't that I condone the rushed actions of my first doctor, or that I would have preferred to have had the c-sections over my natural births - but I've accepted that there really isn't anything I could have changed about it with the knowledge and power I had during the situation.

I'm finished grieving my birth experience - but I'm certainly not finished celebrating my beautiful three children and I'm finally able to look back at their births (even in the sterile operating rooms) with warm thoughts of their beautiful first moments.

Mmmm, Pony Tail Holders

Every Wednesday night we go to my husband's parents' house for dinner. He picks up the kids and goes straight there, I meet them all there after work. Last Wednesday was no different, as far as schedule goes; but it was a very different kind of evening.

During dinner I gave my nine month old a few small bites of mashed potatoes. He isn't quite on table foods yet, but he absolutely loves mashed potatoes and gobbles them down. However, he wasn't real interested in eating them. He would hold them in his mouth and then push them out. This was completely out of the ordinary but I thought he must just not be that hungry. After our meal was finished I warmed up his baby food and began feeding him. He gagged with every bite. At first we thought he just didn't like the turkey, so I opened his peach cobbler. Peach cobbler is one of his favorites; so when the behavior continued I knew something just wasn't right!

I could hear rattling in his chest. At first I thought he may have some of the food stuck in his throat and if he would just cough it would come up. I started patting his back and encouraging him to cough. I'm quite sure that those in my company thought I had completely lost it.

"Cough baby, ehhh, ehhh. Cough."

It took three tries of getting him to mimic my cough before it was extremely obvious what was causing the problem - a pony tail holder! He coughed up a yellow, ribbed, tubular pony tail holder. I fished it from his mouth and he grinned.

I would have thought it came from our house; as our three year old has dozens of these colorful bits for her hair - but he had not been to our house for nearly twelve hours and I knew this bobble hadn't been in his throat for twelve hours. It was obvious he had picked it up at daycare. Perhaps a little friend got too close to his curious grasp and he snatched it out of her hair. Maybe she dropped it while playing and he swooped in to get this prized treasure. Regardless of how it "all went down" it indeed went down my nine month old's throat.

I called daycare the next morning.

"Sue, can I speak to you a moment?" I said, calmly.

"Sure, let me go in the office where I can hear you." and she placed me on hold briefly.

I explained the situation to her, just as I did above. Once finished, I asked, "Did any of the little girls lose a yellow pony tail holder yesterday?"

"Yes, yes, that would be Emma. She was wearing it all day and the girls in the room kept trying to keep it in her hair. In the afternoon it was missing and they searched and searched for it - they couldn't find it."

"Well, we found it! I'm fairly certain you don't want it back though," I chuckled.

While the situation was extremely serious, I knew I wasn't going to catch any flies with vinegar. She was extremely apologetic and told me they would look into what they could do to still handle the issue of hair falling into little eyes - while maintaining safety for the little fingers that put things into little mouths.

Overall, it all turned out ok. I'm just very thankful that we were able to figure this one out. It could have turned out dramatically and gravely different!

An Angel of Death

She was a middle aged woman with two teenaged daughters. I was a hospice aid, only two years older than her oldest daughter when I met her. She was a very thin woman, skin and bones, as the cancer had taken its toll. Her hair was thin but new growth made it evident that her chemo has been stopped for several months.

She was in the final stages of cancer when I cared for her. Books sat next to the bed unread; as her body and mind had become far too weak to allow her to enjoy the luxury of reading. The television sat cold; days had passed since she was awake long enough to watch. She was in the great sleep. Almost as if her body must recharge enough to make the passing from this life to the next.

As her body labored towards the finish, I did my absolute best to make her comfortable. I also tried my best to make her family comfortable; fixing meals, straightening the kitchen, talking to her girls about school and life. Hospice is not just comforting the patient but comforting the family.

As I went about my duties I felt humbled yet important at the same time. I felt blessed to participate in this life experience. I often see birth and death as parallels; transitions to and from one life into the next.

The morning she passed was peaceful and quiet. Her husband sobbed softly at her bedside, holding one hand while I held the other. Her wishes of dying peacfully in her home, without tubes, without machines and with her family at her own bedside had come to fruition. While her fight against death was lost (no one ever wins that fight) her fight for dignity and respect through a terminal illness was won. Even with the sadness of the day, her accomplishment was celebrated.

Us 1 - Bug 0

I got up that morning early to get a nice head start on my day. I put the dogs out in the yard; as they were prancing like their bladders might explode if they waited even another second. There was a fine drizzle in the air, not enough to constitute a full rain but certainly enough to make everything wet in the new morning air. The dogs, in typical dog fashion, urinated in turns, each peeing on the spot the previous dog peed on. I open the door and let all three back in and then rush to the bathroom. All that peeing made me feel as though I was going to burst!

I sit down and see a giant, and I mean giant, palmetto bug crawl between my legs into my open pajama pants! OMG!! I screamed and ripped the pants from my body. In retrospect, it was probably the world's fastest stripping. Where are those Guinness book people when you need them? My husband, from a dead sleep, ran to the bathroom; all too familiar with the noise he just heard. He arrived with a boot in hand. He noticed my pajama pants crumpled on the floor close to the bathroom door and immediately went into action; beating the article of clothing with his boot. It was quite the site to see this grown man, with sleep still in the corner of his eye and hair sticking up in different directions; whaling on my pj pants.

When all was said and done, it was us 1 - bug 0.

Now, in case you're asking yourself if I give birth to palmetto bugs; the answer is no. The stupid thing took a nice ride on one of our dogs coming in from the backyard (oak trees are nice, and palmetto bugs think so too).

Study Tips from the Old New Student

I did it! I completed my first week at school. It's been an interesting week and one of some self discovery. This time is so much different than when I was in my teens.

The biggest difference is my devotion and study habits - and the ease of the classes! Granted, I'm not taking extremely difficult classes this term; it's Algebra, Ethics and Nutrition. But, nonetheless, they are college courses and require some study.

1. Do Homework Promptly. Each night, immediately following class I began my homework. I worked on the homework until 1am, which served three purposes. The house is typically quiet when I get home and I can work without distraction. I can work on the assignments while the lecture is still fresh in my mind, only reinforcing what I've just learned and put it into action. And, it leaves my weekends open to be with my children.

2. Pre-Read! I'm also making it habit to read my chapters prior to the lecture, I do this on the weekend prior to the school week. If I read it first and not wait to read it after lecture, I have a basic understanding of what the professor will be teaching and I can more easily actively participate in the class.

3. Get Organized. I'm a freak when it comes to organization. I use Microsoft OneNote for my class notes which is a fantastic product. I take my 8.5 inch netbook to classes with me and I have sections created for each course. I then just type my notes directly into netbook on individual tabs for the night. It really is a fantastic system. I also have my classes with a formulated excel spreadsheet so I can track my points/grades as I'm going. I look at my excel spreadsheet as my "paycheck stub" from school.

4. Keep the Goal in Mind. My goal is not to just check off these classes as complete. These are required classes for the nursing degree and are required because the skills learned are required for the profession. Therefore, I need to learn the material so I may apply it when I'm working. It's easy to get caught up in the day to day "get it done" mentality and not stop and realize how much learning is taking place.

Ok, so it's not a huge laundry list of tips but this is what I'm doing right now. My goal is a 4.0 for this term. It's a pretty big goal considering I'm still working 40 hours per week at a professional job and trying to keep up with family obligations - but I'm not one that typically does half-assed work. My goal is 4.0 and I'm sticking to it!

Happy Saturday everyone!

No Polish Silver

I am at a crossroads in my life. I've decided which road to take. It's the longer path but filled with far more reward at the end. In making this decision I've been reflecting on what is driving my decision to complete nursing school after being out of the classroom for over 12 years.

It was a cold, February morning when I donned my scrubs and began my training as a Nursing Assistant. It was with a home health and hospice department of a medium sized hospital. I was fortunate in the fact that my mother was close friends with the director of the department and she knew of my aspirations to become a nurse. She offered me a position as a Home Health and Hospice aid which had taken me to the fast tracked training I received. Joe, an experienced nurse who had taken the daunting task of training aids, still wet behind the ears, met me at the door.

I walked in and begin learning the basics. It was really great to learn about vitals, blood sugar testing and personal care. I was excited to get in the field and actually apply these things I was learning. Within a few weeks I was certified and on my own in the field. It was then that the true learning began; but it was so much more than memorization or tests - it was empathy, compassion, anger and love.

Soon I cross-trained and would work challenging cases in the hospital; often on an inpatient rehabilitation unit. Many times those patients were young people who had the unfortunate experience of head injuries and were having to re-learn to walk, talk and complete the basic tasks in life.

One of these individuals was a young boy. He had been in a bicycle accident and had suffered a head injury which left him with limited function but not paralyzed. He was unable to walk, talk clearly and displayed the typical change in personality many with head injuries experience. I was called to the unit as he required one-on-one care which was not something the nursing staff in the hospital could provide.

Over the weeks he made great progress. He learned to walk again, first with a belt and assistance and then eventually on his own. He learned to talk again. He went from a feeding tube to being able to taste and enjoy meals again. It was amazing to see the progress this young boy was making to reclaim his life. I felt humbled and privileged to be a part of his care, to make a difference in his life and help him while he was down.

------------------------

She was full of fire and spunk, even as she approached a century old. In her time, "Mam" liked to go dancing and would fill her dance card every Saturday night. She was a divorced mother and provided for her children by working in an upscale department store. Stories were told like they were events that took place yesterday; even though over 60 years stood between the time and her memories. She had always been a very independent woman and still lived in the house she had called home for over 70 years. Now her body was failing faster than her mind and it was not something she was going to take sitting down. She didn't want to leave her home and had been on the nursing service for many years before I had the wonderful opportunity of caring for her.

Mam was considered one of the more challenging patients, as she was very particular about the aids that would come to visit. I was still in my teens when I met Mam for the first time. She and I hit it off immediately and it was quite amazing the relationship we built with an age difference of 80 years.

When I first started working with her, she still liked to go up to her old, claw foot tub and take a bath. Many mornings we spent, her in the tub, me sitting beside it chatting about her prime years. On bad days, she would have to look upstairs in the bedrooms for jewelry and other items she was sure the other aids may have stolen - which never came to fruition.

Over the months she pushed against pressure to go into a nursing home. Her mood changed and she was no longer the happy Mam I had grown to know and love. Eventually she lost the battle and she walked out of her house, closing the door for the last time. She spent her last few years in a nursing home. While the quality of care she received was acceptable; it was not her wishes to die in an institution. She missed her tea and toast at the kitchen table she had dined at for so many years. She missed walking passed the stainless steel "silver" in her china cabinet and pulling it out to explain that the silver never needed polished.

"Look, CAM, look, it never tarnishes. It's no-polish silver."

Going into the nursing home broke her spirit.

It was my experience with Mam that made me realize the anger I would feel when families made decisions for loved one's that I would disagree with. I had to learn to cope with that anger in a professional way and how to distinguish between patients' rights and families' rights. It was often difficult to remember my role was to work compassionately through the disagreement without bias.

------------------------

Eventually I wanted to gain more experience in a hospital setting so I requested a transfer to the Med/Surg floor of the hospital. It was quite different caring for 15 patients during an eight hour shift rather than the one-on-one, long term care where intimate relationships were built. This was a whole new world of fast-paced care, many different faces and sore feet. Each day brought new challenges and shifts flew by like minutes were seconds.

From hospital corners to post-mortem care, I gained a wealth of knowledge, experience and yearning that fuels the fire today to complete my education and get back to what drives me as a person. Helping, healing and listening to the sick.

Please Go Gentle Into That Good Night

My grandmother was a great influence in my life growing up. She was warm and she was home. She was the ultimate comfort and a symbol of strength. I loved her dearly.

On December 20, 1993 my grandmother had a stroke. You know how life changing days stick with you for the rest of your life? That date will forever be stuck in my being. My grandmother was never the same. The stroke affected the left side of her brain; consequently her right side was paralyzed and she was never able to speak words, again. After months of physical therapy and speech therapy we had to surrender to the fact that she simply wasn't going to get any better. She lived the rest of her days in a nursing home, powered by her left foot and a wheelchair. It was the experiences during those years that made me realize I wanted to be a nurse. But this really isn't about her final years, months, weeks or even days. It's about her final night.

I turned off Jay Leno and took one last look at her. She was sleeping; peacefully it seemed, with the dull hum of the oxygen concentrator in the background. My experience as a hospice aid told me it wouldn't be much longer. She had not been awake since yesterday and her breathing was much slower. I pushed back in the metal recliner chair and pulled the blanket up to my chin. I dozed off and on until about 3am.

I woke to the sound of my grandmother. She was awake and hungry. I walked out to the nursing station and asked if she could have something to eat. She ate a cheese salad sandwich and a cup of ice cream. As I fed it to her, we "talked." Well, mostly I talked, she listened and nodded. After she ate, she laid back down and closed her eyes. As she started to drift in and out of consciousness I remember encouraging her to let go.

"It's ok grandma, you can go on. They are all here for you waiting to take you back with them. It's ok, I'll be ok, it's ok to go with them. I love you."

The previous night she was signaling towards the ceiling in a half moon motion. After a little questioning, we realized she was seeing already deceased family members. This is an extremely common phenomenon during the final hours on this earth. I had seen it happen before, so it didn't come as a surprise when she started seeing her son, her husband and even her mother.

It was about 4am and she was sleeping soundly. I settled back in my chair, unable to really get comfortable and certainly not able to sleep. I heard humming. Not the mechanical hum the oxygen concentrator this time, but a female melodic humming. I checked my grandmother's roommate; she was sound asleep. I walked out of the room into the hallway, and it was gone. I walked back in the room, and there it was again. I stayed for another four hours and then went home to take a shower, change clothes and grab a bite to eat.

When I arrived home, my mother was getting ready to go to the nursing home. I explained the events of the night. I then casually mentioned the odd humming I heard. A look of disbelief came over my mother's face.

"What is it mom? What's wrong?"

"My grandmother ALWAYS hummed little tunes."

She went on to say that her grandmother also said if a picture fell off a wall, there was going to be a death in the family. That morning a picture in the hall crashed to the floor.

I was out of the shower about 15 minutes when the telephone rang. It was the nurses at the nursing home telling us my grandmother was gone.

I truly believe it was too difficult for her to go with me at her side. She had to wait until I left to let go.

Thirteen years ago this week, my grandmother passed away. I remember it like it was yesterday and probably always will.

Back to School

Well, I'm doing it. After nearly 13 years away from the classroom setting; I'm going back to school at the age of 32. Well, I'll be 32 in 17 days, so close enough.

I've always wanted to be a nurse. Right out of high school I was given the opportunity to work as a certified nursing assistant while going to WVU-Parkersburg taking my core classes for future acceptance into the nursing program. I loved the work. Unfortunately, life took over and after one and a half years of school - I stopped. Yet this yearning has remained - this need to do something with my life that means more. I want to make an impact. I want to apply my empathy, compassion, logic and skill, on a daily basis, on a professional level - yes, I want to be a nurse.

I can't say I'm embarking on this task without some nerves. Walking into the college to register felt much like showing up to the party late; instant ackwardness that surrenders to the fact that it doesn't matter when you arrived - just that you're there at that moment. While I do worry about time management and the addition of student hat to the mother, wife and employee hats I already don; I know many have come before me and have taken on much more difficult tasks with much more challenging situations.

So May 12th is my first day of school. I'm filled with excitement.

And with that, I leave you with this:

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Got a lot of lolly, jolly adverbs here.

Anything you need and we can make it absolutely clear...
An adverb is a word

(That's all it is! and there's a lot of them)

That modifies a verb,

(Sometimes a verb and sometimes)

It modifies an adjective, or else another adverb

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Hello, folks, this is Lolly, Sr., saying we have every adverb in the book,

so come on down and look.
Hello folks, Lolly, Jr. here.

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That's where the adverb comes in.

He can also give you a special intensifier so you can paint it very neatly or rather sloppily.

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your buddy wants to know where and when.

Use an adverb and tell him!

Get your adverbs!
Use it with an adjective, it says much more,

Anything described can be described some more.

Anything you'd ever need is in the store,

And so you choose very carefully every word you use.

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Where it happened, where you're going, where you've been.

Use it with another adverb -- that's the end.

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These questions are answered

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Come and get it!

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Cutting Edge Technology

I simply had to post an image of the table they tortured me with for 20 minutes while the x rays were being develpoed. I was actually trying to find a date for the x ray machine itself when I found this:

"Appears to be first known example of radiolucent surgery and urology table. The table is described as a model L-F, with Westinghouse Potter Bucky diaphragm. Best guess on age is approximately 1930 or 1935."

Geriatric X-Ray Machines

First, let me start it out with something not so funny. Last Saturday night, NTP doubled over in pain and we had to make a mad dash to the emergency room where he was admitted to the hospital with kidney stones. The doctor finally took him to surgery on Monday and they inserted a stent into the kidney. He tried to use a laser to get the stone but was unable to reach it so "pushed the stone back up into the kidney" because it was blocking it. This was the only explanation he gave us which didn't sit well, so after protesting and getting a second opinion, it was explained correctly and we understood. Well since this doctor did the procedure, NTP had to go back to him today for a follow up x-ray and go over our options. Our opinion of this doctor hasn't been the greatest and we certainly haven't had warm, fuzzy feelings when thinking of his health entrusted to this doctor, but we decided he may be one of those really great docs with bad communication skills/bad bedside manner. So we scheduled the follow up.

Today, the appointment was set for 1:45pm. I had to take the day off work as NTP can't drive right now with the stent (per the doctor's orders). So we head to the doctor and arrive at 1:30pm. We walk into the office and it was like walking into a blast from the past. The furniture was 30-40 years old in harvest gold, white, olive green and black chairs with brass studs. The tables were the all-in-one style table/lamps and in the center was a giant octagon shaped coffee table - the top was so full of old magazines and a giant plant, you couldn't see the actual table top. Throughout the office were brown and white signs that included a "No Smoking" sign that only added to the dated affect. NTP and I were in awe at the general feeling of this 1960's/1970's world we had just walked in on. It was like an undisturbed universe. We walk up to the glass windows and notice that every woman sitting behind the desk was approaching 70 years old. The wall behind them was a wall of cabinets in the original press board material that made its debut the year the office was built.

We couldn't help but notice while standing there that you got a straight view into the staff bathroom and toilet while checking in. Little did we know how very funny this would be later. While getting checked in and answering questions that had already been answered on the book of paper they mailed to us to be completed prior to the appointment, we see the doctor, walking across the desk area (which is viewable from the windowed wall) with a newspaper under his arm. He waves at a patient he is obviously familiar with and continues to walk into the bathroom and close the door. I have to hold my laughter back thinking of my husband being examined by this doctor that just moments prior to his appointment, wiped his ass in the bathroom. While I know we all do it, the thought of a doctor doing it immediately before YOUR appointment makes one hypersensitive to the medical professional's hand washing techniques. Soon after the door closed, it wasn't just our imagination drawing conclusions about the restroom activities - as the noise of passing gas filled the area! At this point, I could hardly contain my laughter at the entire situation. My poor husband doesn't just get saddled with kidney stones; he has to visit the farting, shitting doctor that is stuck in a time warp with elderly staff at the helm.

We take our seats and wait, still making observations about the office. After an hour wait, we are called back to the exam room. We notice lights above each exam room which we can only assume are used to signal to the doctor which room he should enter. We go through the normal vital signs, chit chat, Q&A session and then one of the elderly women, “Myrtle”, comes to get NTP for his x-ray. She tells me I can wait in the waiting room until he is back. Over a half hour passes and I'm finally called back in to a consulting room littered with diagrams and models of prostates and penis'. NTP soon joined me and he told the story of the oldest x-ray machine in operation in the entire world. He said it was at least the same age as “Myrtle”, who seemed to operate it fairly well. It seems “Myrtle” not only is the office manager but also the x-ray tech! He had to walk up steps to get on the x-ray table and he said the machine hummed for a good 15 minutes after his beautiful photos were taken. Soon, the doctor with his comb-over from hell enters the consult room, says the stone is still there (yeah, no shit, I didn't think he passed a 9mm stone without us knowing!) and we would need to schedule a time later this week or next week for EWSL to break it up.

Back to the front waiting room we go, but first we have to stop by the "bookkeeper's" office (not medical billing, not accounting, but "bookkeeping") to pay our bill. We think we are nearly finished when we go to the check out desk after visiting “the bookkeeper” only to find out that “Myrtle” must schedule the procedure as it is done as an outpatient surgery. “Myrtle” comes by, takes our paperwork and says she will be a few minutes. Twenty minutes pass and we joke about “Myrtle” using a pencil and schedule book, perhaps a typewriter, to schedule the appointment. She appears, with a paper that was, sure enough, manually typed on a typewriter!

Compassionately Pro-choice

I am pro-choice. Not because I believe mother's have the "right to murder their children" not because an unwanted "clump of cells" is a fetus but a wanted "clump of cells" is a baby. I'm pro-choice because while I'd like to be an idealist; I'm a realist. The reality of our society is not everyone that finds themselves pregnant is ready, willing or capable of having a baby and not all babies conceived are ready, willing or capable of being born. Our society is in no position to support all the un-wanted and un-healthy. In an ideal society, every child would have a home, every woman would have the means to care for her children; emotionally, physically and financially and no child would be created with disabilities that may prevent it from living a quality life. Since we don't live in an ideal society, there is no one, ideal answer.

In all fairness, if we lived in an ideal world, any woman that found herself unwantedly pregnant would be the very same woman that miscarries and the women that suffer loss after loss would be the very women that would find themselves with a viable, healthy pregnancy every time.
Again, no ideal world in which we live.

So, the bandaid in this situation is abortion. Abortion is a sad, sad situation. It is a decision that I do not wish on anyone and feel very blessed that it is a decision I've never faced. I feel nothing but sympathy for those women that find themselves in such a tragic situation to feel it is an option that must be considered and then carried out. I feel sadness for the child aborted but I would feel even more sadness for a child brought into the world left with a hunger - for health, for survival, for love, for compassion or for the bare necessities of life.

No one I've spoken to applauds abortion. While I'm sure there are a few in our society that do or perhaps take it more lightly; most consider it a very serious, very grave decision.
I do believe in God. However, I believe in a merciful, loving God. I believe in a God that forgives and understands the ups and downs of life. Perhaps it is He who sends these children down, for only a split second, to touch these women's lives. I do believe there is a reason for everything, even an abortion.

So, there you have it from someone that agrees with many points on both sides of this social debate - yes, I think of the unborn as babies. Yes, I am sad for the mother's and babies. Yes, I believe in God. And yes, I remain pro-choice.

Equal Protection Under the Law? Not Quite

I've changed, I dare say, close to 700 of my daughter's diapers. She, like my son, made it through her first days of life without genital surgery, without a sore wound in her diaper reminding her it's there every time she urinated. Now, one would say, of course she did, she's a girl! You can't circumcise a girl!

Why not? Why do we hold laws protecting our daughters from genital cutting but this same protection isn't legally in place for our sons? Why are my daughter's intact genitals so much more valuable than my son's intact genitals?

I once held the director spot in my area for a national anti-circumcision group. During my tenure, and during my pregnancy for my son, I heard some of the most unbelievable reasons to cut a boy's genitals.

Can these same reasons be applied to little girls? Of course they can, and are by people in FGM practicing cultures. Mother's often want their daughters cut to be like them. Fathers fear their daughters will be plagued with disease if they are left intact. Parents worry that their daughters will be rejected from society if the deed isn't done.

Obviously, we as American women know our genitals don't turn black and fall off just because we didn't have our labia excised or our clitoris removed. In fact, I dare say, most of us cringe at the thought of experiencing sex or *gasp* orgasm without ALL of our naughty bits. Hmmm, sounds similar to most European men regarding their foreskin. Yet, those that have fallen under the knife, male or female, typically say they "experience sex just fine and can't imagine it being anymore pleasurable." (Of course, women KNOW we would lose something without our happy spot.)

What if foreskin is the male's happy spot? According to the WHO it is! They stated the sensitivity of the foreskin is equal to the sensitivity of the clitoris. What????? And we want to routinely remove this from our male children?

If, in our country, we are to have equal protection under the law, why isn't that applied to the most basic thing - body integrity. Are boys body's really that less valuable than girls?

I look at my son and daughter. Both were born perfect. There isn't a piece of either that I would electively remove. While they are not equally protected in our society - they are in my home.

A Mother Weeps

A mother, sitting in her home somewhere in America weeps tonight. She thinks of the time she held her precious son close to her chest. Tonight, the void begins and lasts for eternity. Her son is gone. She will never again touch his face, hear his voice or have a simple conversation. She will never know his children, see him in their eyes or rock them to sleep with fond memories of the rocking she did over twenty years ago.

A mother, sitting in her home somewhere in Iraq weeps tonight. She thinks of the time she held her precious son close to her chest. Tonight, the void begins and lasts for eternity. Her son is gone. She will never again touch his face, hear his voice or have a simple conversation. She will never know his children, see him in their eyes or rock them to sleep with fond memories of the rocking she did over twenty years ago.

Pray for peace.