The Lesson in Daffodils

I have always loved daffodils.  In fact, I planted them in the tiny yard of our little apartment back in Santa Rosa, and dozens more in both the front and back of the Rancho house.  I wanted to bring them with me when we moved, but it seemed silly to dig up the yard.   But I knew how much the love I had given to my yard would be appreciated by the next owners of our little house.  So I left behind my daffodils, irises, crocus, lilacs, wisteria, callas, African daisies, and roses to be loved in their new life by their new people.

About three months after we moved from Rancho, we were invited back to neighbor Betty's house to go swimming.  When we got to her back yard, I couldn't help but glance through the chain link fence between her yard and that of my old house, only to see that all of it, every flower, every plant, was either dead or dying.  Even my hearty lavender was nearly gone.

.......Yes!  Of course I was devastated!!!  I should have rescued every last bulb and branch!

But we live here now.  Here, where the deer will eat anything.  Anything, that is, but daffodils.  I don't know why, but they won't touch them.  And there are, kindly left behind by the previous owner, several patches of daffodils throughout our new property.  Soon after we moved in I decided I would add to them, but missed the planting season last year.  So this fall I bought a big bag of bulbs, and marked my calendar for the perfect day to plant them; October 5th.  There was no special reason except that the almanac showed it to be ideal.  Funny, though, now that I think of it, it is both the day Guy and I got engaged and the day we lost one of the babies.  Isn't it strange how after so many years -a day of such joy, and later a day of such pain- it would become just a day; a nice day for planting flowers.

But buying those bulbs in the middle of September might have been the last thing I did before the shingles hit.  I postponed the bulb planting, thinking, soon... soon... But when the shingles morphed and Hashimoto's showed up, the bulbs were set aside.

Aside, but I could feel them begging to be planted.  I know bulbs need to be cold all winter to bloom well, so that wasn't a problem.  They were certainly cold enough in their resting spot by the stairs.  But they wouldn't last forever out there.

I have been, in the interim,  going to doctors about once a week and getting lots of tests run.  The GP sent me to the rheumatologist and the allergist.  The allergist sent me to the dermatologist.  The optometrist sent me to the ophthalmologist who is sending me to the oculoplastic surgeon.  Everyone is giving me creams and drops and ointments, which is just a barrel of monkeys.  The big, superdy-duper important appointment, the one with the endocrinologist, is finally just days away.  That is the one where (we hope, though we have been told we shouldn't bother hoping) there may be some answers and treatments for the Hashimoto's.  My thyroid ultrasound showed two large growths, so that is what I am most interested in resolving (read between the lines... checking for cancer).  And all the while the damage to my thyroid has played out in the typical symptoms... the exhaustion, sleepiness, pain, dry eyes and hair loss, for me, are dominant out of the dozens of symptoms of the disease.

So there they sit... the daffodil bulbs, with all of their potential for life and beauty, packed in tight behind a mesh net bag.  They have become a symbol for what is going on for me.  All that I want to do but can't, all that I desire to create and accomplish, bound up and restrained.

I went outside a few days ago to help Adam find a part to the leaf blower.  We searched the usual spots (put away. why would it be put away?) and then I went for the less obvious spots (the ones where lazy children dump things.  I know, why didn't I check there first?).

Well, I didn't find the part, but I did find the bulbs. And the instant I saw them I burst with a joyous laugh...

They didn't care that they weren't planted... no soil, no pot!  They didn't even mind the tight mesh bag pressing them from all sides.  There, peaking  -no, reaching!- out of the blue mesh, were two dozen green stalks.  They had found their way out of the bulbs, out of the bag, and into the light, reaching skyward.

I can't tell you what those amazing little bulbs have done for me.

I'm still very tired and often in pain.  I sleep a lot, and when I am not sleeping, I'm counting the hours and minutes till my next nap.  I'm not painting or making pots or much else.  I do school with the kids, and drive here and there, and then collapse on the couch in the sunny window, trying to warm up.  But ever since seeing those daffodils reaching out of their bindings, I have felt a little freer, a little more cheerful, and a little less weighted down.  I know that this is going to be a long process and maybe get much worse before it gets better, but I think the lesson in the daffodils, for me, is to take my rest but not give up.  It might be hard, and it won't be like it was before, but I will still be able to make, and do, and be something beautiful.

The other day I asked my husband for a blessing, a special prayer for health and comfort.  After it was done, a friend who was there suggested that maybe someone out there who is going through a similar struggle would benefit from my sharing my journey here.  

I hope you all won't mind.

Feelin' Hot, Hot... Not

In Costa Rica, as a missionary I lived in 5 different places, each with it's own special ....idiosyncrasies.  My first area had no real ceiling and no front or back doors, just creepy, spider-filled rafters over our heads and iron gates between us and the outside world.  Chickens happily stepped through the bars to come in and peck grains of rice I scattered at my feet while I ate my breakfast.  In my second place, there was no way to cook, so I used a hotplate on my bed to scramble eggs which thankfully, I was able to buy two at a time from the little corner market, since we also lacked a fridge.  My third home had an open concept; walls that only went about 8 feet high like tall bathroom stalls opening to the rafters and roof above, which the bats very much appreciated as they made their way across the rafters to our room (okay, it was one bat, but it was the size of a chihuahua. And anyway, hello!  It was a BAT!).  My fourth little place was the most exiting; tarantulas in the yard, poisonous dart frogs to lull you to sleep at night, and cockroaches in the fridge.  It even boasted, a first for me since arriving in the country, a tiny water heating system; an electrical device that was attached to the shower head that instantly heated the mountain water from icy to faintly chilly-warm.  It came with the added thrill of a mild electrical current that ran through the metal shower knobs, giving a tingle that ran up to your elbows every time you turned them, and if you were lucky, a little shock as well.  When I got to my last area, I was awestruck by something I had not experienced since leaving the United States; a hot shower.  Though by then I had long outgrown my wasteful American habit of turning the water on and leaving it on till I was all done.  No, no, in Costa Rica you get wet twice - once to soap up and once to rinse off. The time between is a frenzied lather and scrub, and a hasty shave.  That's okay though, the showers were a favorite hang out for mosquitoes, so you never wanted to loiter too long exposed to the elements.  The only thing worse than a mosquito bite is a mosquito bite in a place you can't scratch in public.

I have, since that time, held a certain reverence for hot showers. It is something that, as Americans, we come to expect and even claim to need.  How many times have you said it in your life; I need a hot shower?  So it was rather a shock when Guy announced two weeks ago that the water heater wasn't working.  We could tinker with it and get it to turn on long enough to heat a tank full, but soon it would be out again.  We called Patrick, our trusted plumber, who upon completing his exam of the unit declared the worst; it was pointless to repair it.  How did he put it?  It would be like "throwing good money after bad" to invest $400 in a 24 year old water heater.  He offered his remedy, which came with a $1200 price tag, where he would install a heater that he purchased through his regular supplier, including his labor and extra parts.  But because we have sent a lot of business his way, he made a second suggestion; we could find a water heater on our own and just pay him for the install. The price was coming down, but still topped $800.  I told him I would talk to Guy.  Patrick said he would try to check around for a price on the bad part, if he could even get it anymore, to just repair the old thing, but he was very busy with jobs.  It may be a few days.

Do you know what? I have become spoiled in a hot-waterly way!  It turns out that dishes really should be washed in hot water.  Diapers too.  It's also nice on a chilly Sacramento morning to NOT step your pale parts into a stream of ice water.  I mean, unless that's your thing.

My dad is 3 hours away, too far to come to the rescue, so I did the only thing I could think of; I called Dan.  He was out in his yard, probably building a gazebo or laying cement or something.  He's like that.  He said he'd be by after the daylight faded and he couldn't see to work anymore.  I love a man who measures time by the setting sun.  I asked him to stay for dinner.

Dan came just after dark, still in his work clothes, and surveyed the damage.  He said most of the job was self-doable (I'm working on my own dictionary, can you tell?) but there would be some welding that he wouldn't be able to pull off.  It looked like a professional would be required afterall.  We called Steph's contractor dad, Don, and asked him to price it for us.  Maybe we would get a lower bid.  Don just laughed in his cheery way and said, "I'll be by Saturday morning with my truck," refusing our offer of payment.  He would take Guy and help him choose the best model for the money, and "pop it in" (even though I don't believe in reincarnation, in my next life I want to be a plumber or an electrician.  Nobody ever has an art emergency.  "Help! Help! I am in dire need of a still life!"  Yah.  Doesn't happen.).  

The next day was Friday.  One more day before the joys of a hot shower would be mine again.  Guy woke me to get the big boys off to school.  "I called for a sub," he said in a miserable voice.  

"Uh-oh," I worried.

To understand what those five words meant, you need to know that at the end of each school year Guy usually still has all his sick days.  When I was hospitalized last year, he had enough sick days built up to take off two months if needed.

Guy doesn't call for a sub.

He slept that day till 4PM, ate a little soup, and then slept some more.  In twenty years of marriage I have never seen Guy so sick.  He got up for a few hours that evening before he fell into bed exhausted that night.  "I have to be well by tomorrow.  Don is coming," he croaked.

"We have been without hot water for 5 days.  We can get by a few more" I said in my most confident-wifey, go-back-to-bed voice.

 In the mean time I got a call from Dan.  He was at the big hardware store pricing water heaters for us (yup, that's Dan.  I challenge anyone even half his age to keep up with him).  He had all the specs.  Of course he did.

While Guy slept, I took a crash course in Mechanical Hydro-Thermal Financing.   It turns out there is an income based program where qualifying homeowners can get a free water heater.  We made $80 too much to qualify -  $80 per year.  That's $1.53 too much income per week, or in my world, about 3 rolls of toilet paper.  So we decided to go for the rebate the gas company offered for qualifying energy-efficient water heaters.  The Energy Factor (EF) needed to be above 0.67.  The water heater we could afford had an EF of 0.62.  That's 0.05 too low, in case you were slow on the math, or the energetic equivalent of one flap of a butterfly wing.  So we stepped up the price scale to a unit that, with the rebate, put it in a tolerable, if not slightly steep, price range.  Mockingly, that particular heater was one half of one tiny inch too big to fit through the doorway to the water heater space.

I began to feel a little picked on.

The nice thing about having had a big change-your-life crisis, as anyone who has had one will attest, is that it leaves daily reminders to chill the heck out.  Things may get bad, but honestly, we are talking about first world problems here.  We have food, we have shelter, we have love and health.  What's a little cold water?  Onward and upward!

(here is where I write "to be continued". 

 Guy puzzled that anyone could write so much

 about a water heater. 

 I told him to go soak his head.)

  To be continued!

So blessed

It was a year ago today.

My first blood clot.  My leg got stiff and then painful, and then our world sort of fell apart.  One year ago today I met Jane, and Dr. F. and many others who would care for me in the coming year.
One.  Long.  Year.

I went today for my usual blood draw to test the clotting of my blood.  Virginia took me back and asked how I was doing.  I told her of my little anniversary.  She said, "Well, you must be very grateful, I mean, well, after all that with the woman in the news."

I didn't know what she meant.  I don't watch broadcast TV or see much news.

"There's a mama that had a DVT (deep vein thrombosis, or blood clot) and it caused a pulmonary embolism and now she's brain dead.  Apparently, the family wants to let her go, but the state is keeping her on life-support to save her baby."

I tried to focus on the calender on the wall.

"Yes," I said, "we are so grateful.  I have been so blessed."  I don't remember if we talked anymore after that.  I think I told her "See you next time".

I walked through the hall pressing my thumb into the cotton ball taped to the crook of my arm.  I walked fast as tears filled my eyes, like they are now as I think back on it.  I got to the van and drove home through a few more tears.  Needing to be mothered, and Francine not picking up, I called Ruth, who doula-ed me long distance as I made my way home.  I mean, of course I knew I was okay, but having heard that story, having spent the past few days reviewing in my mind all that has happened, and having a close friend lose her sweet baby this week, all spiraled into the perfect emotional storm.

Walking into the house, Guy saw my cry-face (tear streaks and puffy eyes, and rudolf nose).  I told him.  He held me.  I cried a little more.  "We were very blessed," he said, "Not just blessed, we saw miracles."  And then he held me some more.

When I think about how often we were held during that time I am so truly grateful.  We were held by God, by loved ones, by excellent caregivers, by dear friends, and by untold numbers of strangers.  We were held in prayer, in thought, and in hand, as so many participated in the day-to-day upkeep of our spirits and our family needs.

This afternoon Adam found the little olive wood cups filled with shells from the Red Sea that Ruth's mama, Marta, brought back from the Holy Land.  I showed them to Kathy and told her how Marta had been praying for me at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem while I was in the middle of it all.  What a sweet reminder, all those tiny shells, all of the prayers.  What a blessing.

I know that we will face challenges in the future.  We have not reached some magical difficulty-deductible.  There have been and will be more, but I know that God knows our family, and yours, because we are all part of His family.  I know the comfort and peace that come amid the tempest.

Whatever your storm, whatever your trial or challenge, Heaven knows you.  You are loved.  God will not waste your pain.  Peace, peace, be still.

I am a blessed woman.  So blessed.  And so are you.

*****

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Towards the Light

My first jug of used needles.  Working on my second. 

 

There is an old 80's movie

called Poltergeist where a little girl named Carol Anne gets sucked into an after-life spirit limbo.  At one point in the movie she sees a light.   Her mother calls out to her, "Stay away from the light!" because she will end up in the after-life, never to return.  Later in the movie, a wacky munchkin-medium tells the mother she must instruct Carol Anne to go toward the light, as it becomes her only way out.

 

Often Guy and I call to each other, "Go toward the light!" and the other responds, "No, Carol Anne, stay away from the light!"  We think we are so funny when we misquote old movies.

 

But this has been in my head today.  Going toward the light.  I have become so sensitive to every tone of voice, statement and expression of other people.  If someone responds sadly to something I say, I feel their sadness.  If I think about or linger too long on things, I get pretty far away from the light.  I don't know why this is a lesson I must learn over and over again, but it is.

 

Tonight I went to see Stephanie.  It might be the last time for a while.  She was tired and so drained from the chemo.  I brought her a silk scarf I made to cover her head now that she is shaved, and showed her how to tie it pretty (thank you youtube cancer survivors and devout jewish women for your tutorials!).  We visited for a bit.  I wanted so badly to hug her and take away her fear and pain.  I wanted to wash away her memories of the past three months and fast forward her to a time when all this will be fading memories.

 

As we talked, I heard in my head the words I tell so many laboring mamas, "Don't think about the past contractions and how hard they were and how many, and don't project forward to the next one.  If you do, you give away the peace of this moment."  I have been telling myself this over and over in the past few days as I find myself fretting about the birth, perhaps another cesarean, and the procedures waiting after that. 

 Just be here now; and if something makes you feel dark,

 go toward the light.

 

The dark tells me to count my troubles since February; (31 doctors appointments, 70+ blood tests, 184 shots, hundreds of blood sugar tests... oh yeah baby, suddenly I'm a math rock star!).  It tells me to worry the baby won't latch, that the NICU stay will be much longer than expected because baby will be very sick, that I won't be able to hold the baby at all or get to the NICU if I have surgery, that I will be in one hospital getting my procedures while my baby is in another. 

It whispers discouragement and fear

and interminable trials.

 

But when I try really hard to see the light, I can see that there are only about a dozen shots left.  Only about as many days till I am able to really hold my baby in my arms as there would have been if I had gone up to my real due date (or later, like I usually do).  Only a few more of the terrible what-ifs left on my list to move past, instead of all of them.  I see that it all could have been so much worse, that I have made it to 38 weeks, 5 days, and that the past 7 of them have not been with a preemie in the NICU.  I did get a blood clot twice, but not three times.  No abruption.  No fetal distress.  I have been carried in the arms of loving friends and devoted family who have picked up the pieces of my life, loved my children, and been true instruments in God's hands.

 

This quote bears repeating here:

 

"Don't you quit. You keep walking, you keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead. Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don't come till heaven, but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come.
  It will be alright in the end. Trust in God,

 and believe in good things to come."
- Jeffery R. Holland

 

We can get through this.

God is in charge.

 

Ethan joined many of our friends and shaved his head
to support Stephanie in her battle-future-win with cancer.
Proud of this boy.

 Oh, and no, we have no idea about when this baby is going to come.  Contractions last night for 3 hours that stopped.  No word from any of our millions of doctors; total radio silence (likely the holiday weekend didn't help that).  I imagine sometime this week.  A month ago it was all they could talk about to get this baby out, now nothing.

Weird.  Feel like I am in limbo, too.  Carol Anne, help!!!

 

 

 

 

That Our Burdens May Be Light

How do you balance 

all that you do, and need to do, with all that you feel at this time of year?

I don't know why Christmas is such an emotional time for me.  I have spent the better part of the last two days holding back tears; and not very successfully, I might add.  It is for us, as with most families, utterly busy now.  We have yet to put the studio back together from the sale, and only just managed to get the tree and the lights up last night.  I think if it hadn't been for the prospect of hosting our first advent here tonight, we might still have an undecorated tree under our drippy eve on the side of the house where it has been all week.  

Tessa is struggling under a weight.  She has cried almost every day about her hamster dying.  "I wish Nibbles would just die again up in heaven so that he could come back to me." she said so poignantly.  This, in tandem with her belly pain has led to us sitting together for long, sad spells; her weeping, me consoling.  I know how to help a mama in labor, but this has been much different.  Her pain and sadness have no happy ending waiting.  I hear myself saying, "I am so sorry, sweetheart," again and again.

Adam is struggling as well.  Our Toby dog began having accidents in the house over the last week or so.  Last night he suddenly began falling down and staggering, unable to stay on his feet.  I called the sweet folks who gave him to us to ask advice, only to learn that his sister died just last week with the exact same symptoms.  When I got off the phone, I told Adam.  He is already heart broken.  Toby is really his dog.  

How do you lose your first dog?

I guess I am struggling a little, too.  Yesterday we went to our church Christmas party.  It was a lovely breakfast and service project where we decorated tiny table-top trees and delivered them to a nearby nursing home.  Though I was in charge of the caroling, I dragged my feet.  I knew what awaited us there.   We walked what I would call "a hall of last and forgotten souls".  We sang to the residents as we came and went from their rooms.  Most of them were women, alone in a tiny space with a few scant possessions.  One rocked a baby doll in her arms and lovingly gazed into it's face with a sweet smile, as though the baby smiled back.  One met my gaze and instantly her eyes filled with tears.  Another stared intensely into my eyes, but only met my smile with a blank and utterly vacant and yet penetrating stare.  Perhaps the hardest was Edna, a lovely and proper lady, her hair in meticulous order, her outfit impeccable right down to her pearl necklace and matching earrings.  Her room was an encapsulation of what I imagine her house might have been;  orderly photos, dainty curios,  and carefully placed books and silk flower arrangements.  We sang to her, and tears rushed into her eyes, followed immeadiatly by my own.  

"I'm sorry," she blushed, "I just get like this these days."

"Me too!" I sincerely replied.  I felt like her in that moment - for what ever both our reasons were for our tears, I felt so connected to her.  She could be me; I could be her.  I wanted to scoop her up and take her out of there.  It seems a tragic way to spend the end of a rich lifetime on earth. 

Today in church we talked about what gives us the strength to get through our trials.  We talked about the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and the understanding that not one of us is alone in our grief and heartache.  We are understood by One who has endured all manner of pain and sorrow.  A sister leaned over to me and whispered, "That's what get's me through my trials - just realizing that I am not the first person that has ever felt this way."  

I know what she means.  

Tonight we hosted our first Advent.  It is a family tradition in many cultures that we have been invited to share these past few years with Kathy and Bishop.  We lit candles and spread out goodies, and I read Christmas stories about charity and love and sharing of our blessings with those in need.  Again, I wept and could barely get through the sweet passages and scriptures.  

In one story, a man waits all day for a promised visit from the Lord.  Throughout that day he is visited by many a stranger in need.  He warms, feeds and fills their needs one by one, with an ever watchful eye on the window so as not to miss the Lord when he passed by.  When night comes, he is sad that the Lord had never come, when one by one each stranger he had faithfully administered to appeared before him and said, "Have you not seen me?"

  "For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. 

Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."                                           ~Matthew 25

 ***

Our burden is never ours to carry alone. 

He is there.

We can reach out to our Savior as we touch the lives and fill the needs of others.

As we lighten the burdens of others, our burdens will be made light.

May the weight that we each carry feel lighter 

in the knowlege of His Love for us,

 is my prayer for you this Christmas week.

God bless.

***

 Tessa-loo waits to her turn to put the star on the tree.  

Her turn won't come again till she's nearly 12.

  Up, Up and on.

 Advent...

 The goodies, cocoa, and herb tea...

 The Slaughters...

 and the Jensens.

 A very rare sighting indeed... three teenagers singing carrols.

 In keeping with Kathy's tradition of singing 

Silent Night in German at the end of the night, 

Guy taught it to us in Finnish.

Crazy hard.

We had to bribe Ethan to join us.  He said he would only come if there was beef jerky.  So I made sure there was.  But that wasn't his only reward for coming... he snagged baby Ryan from Kathy and settled his fussing.  He told me later that if he comes next week, Kathy promises beef jerky and all the Ryan-time Ethan wants.  

Good deal for us all!